Kiro hit Torsten with a furious combination, his shock gloves discharging with every impact. CRACK-ZZAP! Each blow sent a visible pulse of electricity through the arena, grounding out over the metal floor.
TORSTEN: (A low, rumbling laugh) "That tickles. Is that the best you got? I must admit... it did something. A little wind knocked out of me." He cracked his neck. "THIS is a real punch!"
He drove a fist into Kiro's torso. The air exploded from Kiro's lungs as his body was launched upward, his lower body whipping behind him like a rag doll.
Before he could hit the ground, Torsten grabbed his head and slammed him into the canvas LEFT! then wrenched him up and smashed him down again RIGHT! a brutal, ragdoll display of raw power. He finished by hurling Kiro across the ring and launching a devastating kick.
But for the first time ever, someone reacted. Kiro didn't block. He rejected the beating. Mid-air, he twisted his body and threw a desperate, wild punch directly at the incoming kick.
KIRO: "HRAAAAAGH!"
BANG!
A shockwave erupted from the impact, rattling the entire arena. Kiro was thrown back, cratering into the reinforced wall. He slumped to the ground, head bleeding, his left arm hanging at a sickening angle.
He pushed himself up with his good arm, spitting out a glob of blood. A wild, pained grin spread across his face.
KIRO: "Uff... Heh. This is getting good."
PAST - THE SLUMS
TORSTEN: (Staring at the clouds, his voice a hollow echo) "Nothing. He could do nothing."
He looked from Kiro back to the sky, the memory swallowing him whole.
TORSTEN: "Was a day like this... but before that... a few days..."
[FLASHBACK - CONTINUED]
ATLAS stood before the shabby apartment door. He took a deep breath, his usual confidence replaced by a grim resolve, and knocked.
Veyra opened the door a crack. "Hi. You again. Why me? My brother's not home."
From inside, Torsten's voice grumbled. "Vey, stop lying. It's bad for you." He came to the door. "So who is it?"
ATLAS: (Smiling warmly) "It's me."
Torsten sighed, the suspicion clear on his face. "Oh. Yep. Nobody's home."
ATLAS: "Oh, come on, boy. I'm just checking in. And I want to take you both out for shopping. I won't take 'no' for an option."
Torsten studied him for a long moment, then finally relented. "Oh... okay."
They prepared and left, Atlas leading them to a clean, brightly-lit clothing store far from the slums. He bought them both new clothes real clothes.
ATLAS: (Holding up a dress to Veyra) "Oh, this looks pretty on you!" He then turned to Torsten, holding up a sturdy jacket. "And look, Torsten! Name brand, I think."
After hours of shopping, they went to a restaurant in the working-class area, just outside the slums, and ate good, fresh seafood a luxury they could never afford.
VEYRA: (Looking out the window at the clean, safe streets) "Torsten... someday I want to live here."
THE NEXT FEW DAYS - TRAINING
Atlas trained Torsten. "Left! And right! Hook!" He called out, effortlessly evading every blow. "Put your back into it! It's all about footwork, boy! But for you right now... it's your back. Trust me, you have way more damage to give."
TORSTEN: (Panting, sweat pouring down his face) "What are you, some sort of martial artist or something?"
ATLAS: "No, far from it. I'm just straight hands. Well, I had this friend... he was a brawler, just fists. Then you've got me, a technology genius. Then you could go martial artist, MMA... but no. You're big. And, no offense, no brains for complex forms. So... you're a brawler. Own it."
Torsten continued, a fury of blows and straights. He put his back into it, and finally threw a full-power punch with everything he had. Atlas sidestepped it with an inch to spare, the force of the blow whiffing through the air.
TORSTEN: (Doubled over, hands on his knees) "Huff...! That is a lot of work."
this training great and all mostly focus on me not on my cube
ATLAS: "This will train your Cube, too. Let me explain."
He paced in front of a focused Torsten, with Veyra watching intently from the sidelines.
ATLAS: "There are four Cube types. You have the Transformation type the strongest physically. So you train your body, and your Cube multiplies it. Simple. But you should work on the timing of those forms. Control, not just raw power."
ATLAS: "Now, transform. I'm going to try a new tech on you." He glanced over at Veyra with a warm smile. "As I promised, young lady, I did not beat him up again."
Veyra allowed herself a small, genuine smile.
ATLAS: "Now, turn into the man-beast form."
TORSTEN: "Is that what it's called? Oh, okay."
Torsten grunted, his muscles straining. Flesh and nerves bulged on his head, but nothing happened.
ATLAS: (Chuckling as a sleek, blue combat suit assembles around him from a briefcase) "Oh, having trouble performing on stage, big guy?"
VEYRA: "You can do it! Don't pop a gasket!"
ATLAS: "Close your eyes. Don't force it. Imagine a crocodile. Not just an animal, but the idea of one. Ancient, powerful, patient. Now imagine you're fusing with that idea. A gentle flex, not a shove."
Torsten did as he was told. He took a deep, calming breath. Slowly, surely, he began to grow. Scales, green and thick, rippled across his skin. In moments, he stood in his full, powerful man-beast form.
ATLAS: (A proud, fatherly tone in his voice) "Good job, kid."
ATLAS: "Now, get in defense mode! Endure the blows, but don't turn back!"
Torsten planted his feet, raising his scaled arms in a solid guard.
ATLAS: "Good. Your Crocodile Cube should grant you incredibly tough skin. Let's test it."
Then, Atlas moved. It wasn't just speed; it was a blur of controlled, overwhelming force. LEFT HOOK! RIGHT HOOK! The impacts against Torsten's guard weren't just loud; they sent shockwaves through his entire massive frame, physically shoving him backward. A swift kick buckled his lower body, followed by a brutal axe-kick directly onto his blocking arms.
Torsten's Thoughts: That suit... it's so powerful! I can still feel it right through my scales!
Just then, a waver went through him. The green scales flickered. His man-beast form was already wearing off, the strain of maintaining it against such an assault too great.
He gritted his teeth, trying to focus, to claw back the transformation. But it was too late. Atlas closed the distance, grabbed him, and in one seamless, powerful motion, slammed him into the ground, then used the impact to launch him back into the air.
In mid-air, the transformation failed completely. Sand and dust fell from his now-human form as he crashed back to the canvas.
Atlas landed gracefully, his suit humming. He looked down at the exhausted Torsten.
ATLAS: "Seems like it's under a minute. More training is required. Remember this, it's the most important lesson: Your Cube only grows in strength through stress. What you feel now the failure, the pain that is what makes it stronger."
THE FOLLOWING DAY - THE BOARD MEETING
Atlas sat at the head of the table, the weight of leadership evident on his shoulders. Midas, smooth as ever, stood to address the room.
MIDAS: "Gentlemen, I have a proposal. A matter of succession. In case our beloved Boss... somehow dies, or is rendered unable to lead, we need a clear backup. A replacement to ensure stability." He placed a hand on his chest. "I volunteer myself."
ATLAS: (His voice a low, warning rumble) "You're not ready, Midas. You're too greedy. I volunteer James. He's more capable. He's been running things seamlessly in my absence. You are not ready."
MIDAS: (A thin, cold smile) "Then let's put it to a vote, Boss."
Hands were raised around the table. Atlas, as the chair, could not vote. The room held its breath.
MIDAS: "The votes... 5 to 6." The smile didn't reach his eyes. It was a calculated loss.
James nodded, a look of relief on his face. "It seems like I win."
MIDAS: "Not so fast, James." Midas's voice cut through the room like a knife. "A simple headcount is... quaint. But this is a corporation. We count shares." He slid a data-slate across the table. The numbers glowed for all to see. "My shares carry the main weight. The final tally is 67% to 65%. Out of 100 percent... I win."
A stunned silence fell over the room. He had been buying out the shareholders in the shadows, making a mockery of their democratic process.
Atlas stared at Midas, the truth dawning on him. This wasn't a proposal; it was a finalized takeover. The fight was already over, and he had lost without even throwing a punch.
ATLAS: (His voice heavy with defeat) "The board has spoken. Okay. Midas... gets it. If anything happens, Midas runs things." He stood, the energy drained from him. "This concludes our meeting. Dismissed."
THAT VERY NIGHT & THE NEXT DAY
Late into the night, and all the next day, Atlas was locked in his study, the blue glow of his PC screen illuminating his face. He worked with a fierce, urgent focus, writing something of immense importance. Finally, he sat back, the task complete. He looked at a photograph of his daughter, his expression a mix of love and grim resolve. With a final keystroke, he encrypted the file.
"All done," he whispered to the empty room.
THE NEXT DAY - RAINY
He met with Torsten and Veyra, sharing a moment of normalcy at an ice cream parlor despite the drizzle.
ATLAS: "Hi, Veyra. How's the ice cream?"
VEYRA: (Licking her cone) "It's nice! My favorite is strawberry."
He bent down and hoisted her onto his shoulders with a warm laugh. "So tell me, young lady, what's your goal in life? Your dream?"
VEYRA: (Looking out at the city) "Oh, me? I want to explore the outside world. Beyond the walls. I hope it's soon..."
TORSTEN: "Nice dream."
ATLAS: (His eyes suddenly snap to a flicker of movement figures in blue combat gear moving quickly over a nearby rooftop. His demeanor shifts. The warmth vanishes, replaced by a deadly calm.) "So, do me a favor, Veyra. Always remember your favorite ice cream flavor."
VEYRA: "Sure... why? I won't forget."
ATLAS: (He turns to Torsten, his voice low and intense.) "And Torsten, what's your dream? Must be dumb, right?"
TORSTEN: "Umm... too childish for me."
ATLAS: "Oh, come on. Or a goal in life."
TORSTEN: "Maybe... to find out what our family surname means. 'Crescent'."
ATLAS: "Good." They walked a few more steps before he gently lifted Veyra off his shoulders and set her down. His voice dropped to a urgent, almost inaudible whisper, meant only for Torsten's ears. "Kid, this is my final lesson to you. Protect your sister. Now. Don't come back here. Wherever you go, you grow up to be a good man."
TORSTEN: (Utterly confused, a cold dread seeping in) "What? Explain!"
ATLAS: (His voice firm, leaving no room for argument) "Go, kid. Now."
Hesitantly, Torsten took his sister's hand and began to lead her away.
VEYRA: (Looking back over her shoulder) "Bye, Mr. Atlas!"
He offered them one last, happy smile. Then, he turned and deliberately walked into a narrow, dead-end alleyway.
The rain began to fall harder, drumming a funeral march on the pavement.
Three men in suits dropped silently from the rooftops, blocking the entrance. The alley was suddenly very, very small.
ATLAS: (Without even looking up from his digital screen) "Three Blue Clan members. Two youngsters, one old guy. For little old me? Midas hired you to do his dirty work."
He finished typing a message, his movements calm and deliberate amidst the pouring rain. hi jammes its strawberry her fav. He sent it.
junior EXECUTIVE: (A man with vibrant blue hair, sneering) "Oh, come on, old man! Stop being on that phone! Aren't your fingers too old? Are you losing your eyesight?"
SENIOR EXECUTIVE: (Blowing a cloud of smoke from his cigarette) "He's stalling. Time's up, old man."
chief EXECUTIVE: (The old guy, his knuckles cracking like gunshots) He drew dual swords that glowed with a malevolent blue light. Cold air, thick with frost, whispered from the blades, causing the rain to sizzle and freeze on contact.
Atlas didn't even take note of them. He finished his task.
junior EXECUTIVE: (Infuriated by the disregard) "HEY! ALL OF YOU, COLD AIR FROM HIM!" He focused his power, and with one raised hand, the rain drops in a ten-meter radius stopped dead in mid-air, hanging like a million glittering diamonds. "PAY ATTENTION!"
Finally, Atlas moved.
It wasn't a dodge or a block. It was a declaration.
In a motion faster than the eye could follow a blur of blue light he shrugged off his coat. Underneath was his signature power suit, humming with latent energy.
His eyes flashed a brilliant, terrifying white.
He didn't step; he appeared in front of the Junior Executive. There was no wind-up, no shout. Just a single, devastating PUNCH.
BOOM.
The sound wasn't just an impact; it was a localized thunderclap. The Jr. Executive was launched backward like a discarded rag, crashing through the frozen raindrops and into the far wall of the alley, slumping into unconsciousness.
The Senior Executive's cigarette fell from his lips. The Chef Executive's frosty blades seemed a little less intimidating.
The Titan had arrived.