Two Months Later
The faint hum of machinery filled the gravity chamber, the air heavy with intensity. The walls gleamed with condensation from the constant heat generated by Shallot's relentless training. He sat cross-legged at the center of the chamber, his body still, his eyes closed. His white T-shirt clung to his sweat-slicked skin, and his black training pants bore the wear of countless grueling sessions. His breathing was steady, controlled—inhale... exhale.
The room was silent except for the rhythmic hum of the chamber and the faint rustle of Shallot's tail, which flicked across the floor like a metronome marking time. His focus was absolute, his mind honed in on one singular goal.
Then, it happened.
A faint shimmer of light rippled in the air around him, like heat waves rising from the ground. His body tensed briefly before an afterimage of him separated, stepping forward as though peeled from his very form. Shallot's eyes shot open, and the corners of his mouth pulled into a triumphant grin.
"I did it…" he whispered, his voice barely audible over the faint hum of the chamber. Then, louder, his voice filled with excitement, "I DID IT! FINALLY!"
There, standing directly in front of him, was his clone—an exact copy of himself, down to the last detail. It wasn't just a reflection or an illusion; it was real, tangible, and brimming with energy.
The clone blinked, then began stretching its arms and legs, rolling its shoulders as if loosening up after being dormant for far too long. It moved with fluidity, perfectly mimicking Shallot's mannerisms but acting independently. Shallot felt an odd sensation—like an extension of his body, but one that he could control with his mind. The connection between him and the clone was seamless, as if they shared a single consciousness split between two bodies.
Shallot stood, his tail swishing with excitement, his sharp black eyes scanning the clone. "This technique... it's more incredible than I thought," he muttered to himself, watching as the clone threw a few punches into the air, its form crisp and precise.
This wasn't just some flashy party trick. This was the Multi-Form Technique—a skill that required immense precision, control, and mastery of one's ki. It wasn't just about creating a duplicate; it was about splitting both your physical body and your energy evenly, all while maintaining your strength and combat effectiveness. And for months, this technique had eluded him.
"This took way longer than I expected," Shallot said aloud, his voice still tinged with exhilaration. "Gotta give props to Tien. This technique is... insanely difficult to master."
He turned to face his clone, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. "Alright, let's see what you've got."
Without waiting for a response—though he didn't need one—Shallot dashed forward, throwing a sharp punch toward the clone. The clone reacted instantly, raising its arm to block the strike with perfect timing. The impact echoed through the chamber, the air rippling faintly from the force.
Shallot grinned wider. "Oh, this is going to be fun."
The two began sparring, the clone moving with the same speed, precision, and strength as Shallot himself. Every punch, every kick, every feint—it was like fighting a mirror image. The clone countered his movements effortlessly, forcing Shallot to push harder, faster, and smarter. Sweat dripped down his forehead as he launched into a series of rapid strikes, each one met with equal ferocity from his duplicate.
The room filled with the sound of fists meeting flesh and the sharp whoosh of air as they moved at blinding speeds. Shallot could feel the strain—controlling the clone while simultaneously fighting it was taxing, pulling at the edges of his focus.
After several minutes, both Shallot and his clone stepped back, their breathing heavy but steady. Shallot wiped the sweat from his brow.
The faint glow of the gravity chamber dimmed as Shallot powered it down, the soft, bluish light fading into the stillness of the night. His breathing slowed as he steadied himself, his body pulsing with the aftereffects of pushing his limits. His head throbbed like a war drum, a dull, persistent ache that gnawed at his focus and left him feeling stretched thin.
"Damn," he muttered under his breath, running a hand through his damp hair as his tail flicked behind him in quiet agitation. "This technique… it's going to be a real pain to master."
The clone he had created moments before had vanished into thin air, dissolving into nothingness as though it had never existed. But the lingering effects were all too real—Shallot felt the drain, a pull on both his physical and mental reserves that left him slightly unsteady. Splitting his energy had been a delicate balancing act, and the effort of dividing his focus between his body and the clone was unlike anything he'd ever encountered.
It wasn't just about control; it was about precision. It was about endurance. It was about maintaining cohesion while simultaneously pushing himself to the edge.
"I can use it," Shallot said to himself, leaning heavily against the control panel of the chamber. "But this ain't mastery. Not yet." His gaze fell to the spot where his clone had stood moments before, his sharp black eyes narrowing in thought. The potential of the Multi-Form Technique was undeniable. The idea of creating clones, of overwhelming an opponent with both power and strategy, filled him with an odd mix of exhilaration and impatience.
But with great potential came great drawbacks. The energy split was a glaring flaw, halving his reserves and leaving him vulnerable if he wasn't careful. And then there was the headache… The pounding in his skull felt like his mind had been pulled in two different directions, stretched and strained as though it were barely holding together. It wasn't just exhausting—it was dangerous.
As he reached for his phone in the drawer near the chamber's entrance, Shallot's mind wandered, clouded by the haze of his exertion. Without thinking, he gripped the device too tightly, and the quiet of the room was broken by a sharp crack.
"Ah, crap," Shallot muttered, staring down at the crushed remains of his phone. The screen was obliterated, spiderwebbed with cracks, and small shards of glass had started to flake off onto the floor. He let out a groan, tossing the now-useless device onto a nearby counter with a bit more force than intended. "Of course. Perfect ending to a perfect day."
He rubbed his temples, wincing slightly as the lingering headache made everything feel twice as irritating. "Gotta work on this balance," he muttered to himself, his voice trailing off as his gaze fell back on the cracked phone.
With a resigned sigh, Shallot grabbed a bottle of water from a nearby shelf, this time being mindful of his grip. Twisting the cap off with care, he drank deeply, the cool liquid rushing down his throat and quenching the heat that had built up during his training. As he leaned back against the chamber's wall, his sharp gaze turned thoughtful, his tail swishing behind him in slow, deliberate motions.
"I need to refine this," he murmured, his mind turning over possibilities. "I need to maintain control without splitting my focus to the point of exhaustion. Maybe…" He hesitated, a small smirk forming on his lips. "Maybe I could even find a way to make the clone semi-sentient, let it think for itself just enough to lessen the strain."
The thought lingered in his mind, bringing with it an array of possibilities. He imagined using the clones strategically—one drawing an opponent's attention while another attacked from a blind spot, or perhaps one taking the brunt of an enemy's assault while Shallot launched a devastating counterstrike.
But with those possibilities came the haunting cost of failure. His smirk faltered slightly as his mind wandered to darker scenarios. "A rogue version of me running around?" he muttered, letting out a quiet, almost nervous chuckle. "Yeah, that'd be terrifying."
Pushing off the wall, Shallot rolled his shoulders, stretching out the tension that had settled there. He headed for the chamber's exit, the faint hum of the machinery behind him fading into silence. "Alright," he muttered to himself, his voice dripping with exasperation. "Time to get a new phone..."
As Shallot stepped out of the chamber, the cool night air greeted him like an old friend, carrying with it the soft rustle of trees and the faint hum of crickets in the distance. The stars above stretched across the inky black sky, their brilliance undimmed by the solitude of his secluded home. For a moment, he paused, simply standing there and letting the night wash over him. His body ached, his head throbbed, but somewhere deep in his chest, there was a sense of satisfaction. He'd made progress tonight—progress that felt hard-earned, even if the road ahead was long and unforgiving.
"Step by step," Shallot said quietly, his voice barely audible over the soft sounds of the night. His gaze fell to the shattered phone still in his hand, and a soft chuckle escaped his lips.
As he made his way back toward the house, his tail swayed in rhythm with his steps, his thoughts drifting. For a universe I feared, it's been… pretty uneventful, Shallot thought. The realization surprised him. On some level, he liked the peace—the quiet rhythm of training and progress. But all this training, all this effort—it would feel meaningless without the chance to truly test himself.
"Who knows?" Shallot muttered under his breath, his sharp black eyes flicking toward the horizon. "Maybe this peace won't last. Someone always shows up eventually."
As the thought crossed his mind, an image flickered briefly in his memory. Someone. A challenge. His mind wandered, briefly tempted to dwell on it, but Shallot shook his head, brushing the thought away. "I wouldn't even know where to start looking," he said quietly, his voice tinged with faint amusement.
When he finally stepped inside, the warm light of the house greeted him, along with a familiar figure. Natasha Romanoff sat at the dining table, her posture relaxed but her sharp green eyes flicking toward him as soon as he entered. She was dressed casually in gray pants and a plain white T-shirt, her fiery red hair pulled back into a simple ponytail.
"What took you so long this time?" Natasha asked, her tone carrying that signature mix of calm and challenge. "The food's getting cold."
Shallot paused for a moment, caught slightly off guard by the domesticity of the scene. A small smile tugged at the corner of his lips as he stepped forward, his tail flicking lazily behind him. "Sorry," he said, his voice more subdued than usual as he pulled out a chair and sat down. Without another word, he dug into the food, the familiar, comforting flavors grounding him after a long and exhausting day.
Natasha watched him quietly for a moment, her gaze unreadable as always, before finally returning to her own plate.
The next day,
It was Sunday, and as rare as it was, Shallot allowed himself a day of rest. Sundays were sacred—a time to recharge, kick back, and pretend for a little while that his life wasn't an endless cycle of training, sparring, and preparation for who-knew-what threats the universe might throw his way.
But today, Shallot had an errand to run. That damn phone wasn't going to replace itself.
Sitting on the couch, Shallot glared at the unresponsive device in his hand like it had personally offended him. The shattered screen was a reminder of just how much he'd pushed himself the night before. With a sigh, he placed it on the coffee table, as though finally admitting defeat.
Across the room, Natasha sat at the dining table, sipping her usual morning coffee, the faint aroma of roasted beans filling the quiet space. She glanced up from the paper she'd been reading, her sharp green eyes flicking toward the dead phone and then to Shallot.
"That fossil finally gave out, huh?" she quipped, her lips curving into a faint smirk.
Shallot let out a low groan, leaning back against the couch. "Yeah, it's done for," he admitted, standing and grabbing his boots from the corner. "Guess I've got no choice but to head out and get a new one. It was on its last legs anyway."
Natasha set her mug down, watching him with a calm, unreadable expression. "Hold on," she said, standing and brushing an invisible speck of lint off her black sweater. "I'll go with you."
Shallot turned toward her, frowning slightly. "It's just a phone," he said, raising an eyebrow. "You don't have to play babysitter. I'll be back in an hour, tops."
Natasha was already heading upstairs to grab her jacket, her voice carrying over her shoulder as she ascended the steps. "Nope. You're not going alone. I need to attend to my 'duties.'"
Shallot blinked, his tail flicking behind him in mild confusion. "Duties?" he muttered, crossing his arms as he stared after her. "Since when does buying a phone count as something Fury would care about?"
It didn't make any sense. Over the past couple of months, Natasha had grown more relaxed around him. The tension from their earlier encounters had melted away, and she'd even trusted him enough to roam freely at times, so long as he didn't do anything that would set off Fury's alarms. And yet, here she was, insisting on tagging along for the most mundane of errands.
As Shallot laced up his boots, he couldn't help but wonder what her real motive was. Was she bored? Did she think he'd somehow manage to cause trouble during a phone shopping trip? Or was there something she wasn't telling him?
Still, he shrugged it off. If she wanted to come along, so be it.
By the time Natasha returned, she was dressed casually—fitted black jeans, a leather jacket, and boots that gave her a sleek, effortless look. Her hair was tied back into a neat ponytail, and her sharp green eyes gave nothing away as she grabbed her keys off the counter.
"Ready?" she asked, her tone calm and matter-of-fact.
Shallot grabbed his wallet and smirked faintly. "Guess we're making this a team mission. Exciting stuff—buying a phone."
Natasha didn't respond, though her lips twitched in faint amusement as she headed for the door. Shallot followed her, locking up the house behind him as they made their way toward the car parked in the driveway.
As they climbed into the car, Shallot shot her a sidelong glance. "You know, I don't need supervision for this, right? It's not like I'm going to blow up the store or something."
Natasha started the engine, the car rumbling to life as she adjusted her sunglasses. "No one said you did," she replied smoothly, her tone betraying nothing.
Shallot raised an eyebrow, leaning back in the passenger seat. "Then why are you coming?"
Natasha kept her eyes on the road as she pulled out of the driveway, her expression unreadable. "Because," she said simply, her tone making it clear she wasn't in the mood to elaborate.
Shallot huffed, crossing his arms as he stared out the window. "Fine. But if you're coming, you're buying lunch."
Natasha's lips curved into a faint smirk. "We'll see."
The car sped down the coastal highway, the ocean stretching out endlessly to one side, glittering under the bright Sunday sun. Shallot rested his chin on his hand, the wind tugging at his hair as he stared out at the waves. Despite his initial annoyance, there was something about the easy rhythm of the drive—and Natasha's calm, steady presence—that made the errand feel less tedious.
For a brief moment, Shallot allowed himself to relax, his thoughts drifting as the car hummed along the winding road. Maybe it wasn't such a bad thing to have her tag along after all.
"Let's just go to the nearest stor—" Shallot began, his voice carrying a faint note of impatience.
"No," Natasha cut in smoothly, her tone leaving no room for argument. "We're going to Harlem."
Shallot blinked, his mouth snapping shut as he turned to look at her, one eyebrow raised. "Harlem?" he repeated. "You're dragging me halfway across the city to buy a phone? Why?"
Natasha's expression remained calm and composed, her green eyes flicking toward him briefly before focusing back on the road. "One of my acquaintances runs a store there," she explained, her tone casual but firm. "He sells phones at a good price, and we'd be supporting him. Simple as that."
Shallot leaned back in his seat, folding his arms across his chest as his tail flicked in mild irritation. "You're really making this a mission, aren't you?"
Natasha's lips quirked into the faintest hint of a smirk. "Think of it as an adventure," she said dryly.
"An adventure to Harlem to buy a phone." Shallot's voice dripped with sarcasm, but he didn't press further.
"Besides," Natasha added after a moment, her voice lighter now, "it's not like you had any better ideas for how to spend your day."
Shallot huffed, glancing out the window as the car sped along the highway. "Fine," he muttered. "But this better be the best phone store on the planet, Natasha."
Natasha smirked again, a glimmer of amusement in her eyes. "You'll survive," she said simply, accelerating slightly as they merged onto a different road, heading straight for Harlem.
Author's note : So how was it ? i know it's shorter and a bit slow but don't worry, a big thing is about to take place, i need to go back to my studies as im in exam period right now, don't forget to drop some stones, props to burts 17 who keeps sending them :)