New Veridia
The Evolution Cult had calculated every detail of their infiltration with surgical precision. To avoid detection by New Veridia's sophisticated psionic sensors, they deliberately kept their strike team's power levels modest—the highest-ranking operative was merely Rank Two, Level Five. Overwhelming force would only invite unwanted attention from the city's defenders.
Yet for a single target—one teenage boy—they had deployed five operatives: a Rank Two, Level Three leader, two additional Rank Two masters, and several Rank One, Level Ten specialists. The remaining three cultists waited in the shadows beyond the city limits, ready to execute contingency plans.
As the primary team vanished into New Veridia's urban maze, one of the remaining cultists shifted restlessly. "Deacon, what are our orders?"
The Deacon's eyes gleamed with cold calculation. "We proceed with caution. Failure is not an option." He paused, studying the city's distant lights. "Should the primary team falter, we have other leverage. You two will accompany me to pay Ethan Atherton's parents a... social visit."
The tournament's adrenaline had long since faded, leaving Ethan with a pleasant exhaustion as he walked home through New Veridia's quiet streets. The principal and Mayor Thorne were probably still at his apartment, offering congratulations that seemed absurdly elaborate for a school competition. But that was Aunt Lily's influence—everything she touched became monumentally important.
He turned onto his familiar street, where the streetlights cast their usual warm glow. But tonight, something felt wrong. The air hung thick and oppressive, muffling the city's distant hum. The shadows between the lights seemed deeper, hungrier.
Ethan stopped dead in his tracks. Every nerve ending screamed danger—a primal awareness Lily's brutal training had hammered into him. He was being watched. Hunted.
His hand drifted instinctively toward the Omnitrix.
"Who's there?" His voice cut through the oppressive silence, steady despite the fear clawing at his chest. "I know you're out there!"
Two figures peeled away from the darkness of an alleyway like living shadows. Cloaked in black, they moved with predatory silence. Their psionic signatures blazed into his awareness—both Rank One, Level Ten, radiating malevolent intent.
The first spoke, his voice a mechanical rasp filtered through a modulator. "Impressive senses for an ordinary high school student."
"Enough talk," the second snapped, coiling like a spring. "Take him."
They didn't walk—they exploded into motion, rushing Ethan from opposite angles with inhuman speed.
Pure instinct saved him. Ethan's body moved before his mind could process the attack, dodging the first cultist's grasping hands while the second's lunge met empty air. His heart hammered against his ribs. These weren't playground bullies or tournament opponents.
These were killers.
"It's Hero Time!"
The Omnitrix blazed to life. "Heatblast!"
Intense heat and brilliant green light erupted from his transformation. The air shimmered like a mirage as his body became living molten rock. Without hesitation, he launched two crackling fireballs at his attackers.
The cultists split apart, dodging with practiced ease—but Ethan had learned control. He willed the fireballs to bank sharply in mid-air, pursuing their targets like guided missiles.
A sharp whistle cut through the night from a new direction. Ethan ducked on instinct, feeling the wind of a psionically-charged blade as it whistled past his head and embedded itself in concrete with a violent crack. A second knife grazed his shoulder—the impact weak against his rocky hide, but the message crystal clear.
There were more of them.
"Damn! You actually dodged the kill shot!" A third figure materialized on a nearby rooftop, silhouetted against the moon. He raised his hand, and several more knives condensed from shimmering energy around him. "Let's see you dodge these!"
The blades rained down like deadly arrows.
This time, Ethan was ready. He raised both hands and summoned a roaring shield of fire. The knives struck with sharp metallic pings, their metal glowing white-hot before melting into useless slag.
They know, Ethan's mind raced as the pieces clicked into horrifying place. They know I'm Kid Hacker. They know about my transformations. The Deacon, The Gauntlet... this is the Evolution Cult. Relief flickered through his terror—his family was safe with Mayor Thorne and the principal. He just had to escape.
He clapped his hands together, releasing a massive wave of fire across the street. Using the flames as cover, he launched himself skyward like a human rocket. "See ya later!" he yelled, desperate bravado masking his fear.
He hadn't cleared the rooftops when a brilliant beam of light seared across his back. Electric pain lanced through him, and his flight faltered. He crashed heavily to the asphalt, carving a crater on impact.
A window on the third floor of a nearby apartment building slid open. "Who's making all that racket!" a man yelled. "It's the middle of the night—" His words cut off as a light bullet grazed his scalp, instantly incinerating his toupee. The man froze, sweat beading on his suddenly bald head, then slammed the window shut. "H-hello, 911? I need help!"
Ethan struggled to his feet, sharp pain radiating from his chest. From the rooftop, a barrage of light bullets began raining down. He couldn't afford to worry about secrets anymore.
He slammed the Omnitrix symbol. "I need speed!"
The transformation to XLR8 completed just as the light bullets peppered the ground where he'd been standing, leaving smoking craters in their wake.
"Just as the intel predicted," a new voice stated with clinical calm. Another black-robed figure emerged from behind a parked car, energy crackling around his hands. "You really do have multiple alien forms."
"How many of you are there?!" Ethan's voice came out as a high-pitched whir.
Before the words finished, a fifth figure blurred past with incredible speed, grabbing his tail and yanking him to a jarring halt. Ethan spun around to see another cultist—their speedster.
"Not too many," the knife-thrower said as he floated down from the rooftop, flanked by the others. They formed a perfect circle around him. "Just us five."
Ethan's heart sank. "Five people? Just to capture me? I'm flattered, really."
The leader landed softly, his presence radiating cold authority. "The Deacon's orders were explicit. We take no chances. Your potential is... significant. Overwhelming force ensures zero margin for error." He stepped closer, his voice devoid of emotion. "This has gone on long enough. Surrender now, and we can minimize the physical discomfort."
"Who are you people?!" Ethan demanded, struggling against the iron grip on his tail.
The leader seemed almost amused. "You still don't understand? We are the architects of humanity's future. The heralds of true evolution. The Evolution Cult has taken a... special interest in your unique progression."
A woman whose psionic signature felt like freezing starlight spoke up. "The Deacon wishes to examine the specimen. Intact, preferably."
Trapped and surrounded, Ethan felt genuine terror seep into his bones. This wasn't a game or a sparring match. These people were professionals who killed for a living.
"So," he said, his mind racing for any possible escape, "you're the real deal, huh? No cheesy villain monologue?"
The leader tilted his head. "We are not theatrical fools, boy. We are evolution itself. And you... you are a crucial step on that path." His voice dropped to a whisper. "Now, are you going to come quietly?"