Alex's POV
After some time on the road, the car finally pulled up in front of a sprawling estate tucked into the quieter, greener outskirts of New York City.
Ryven Mansion.
It stood proudly behind a black iron gate, which slowly opened as our car approached. The long driveway curved through manicured gardens and massive oak trees until the mansion came into full view—four stories of timeless architecture, stone pillars, wide balconies, and stained-glass windows reflecting the late morning sun.
This was home.
My grandfather had purchased this estate after the end of World War II. He was one of the most brilliant minds of his era, a visionary scientist who had contributed significantly to the war effort—on par with Howard Stark himself. In fact, they were close friends, according to family stories. With his wealth and influence, he laid the foundation for what would become Ryven Industries, which my father later expanded into one of the world's leading bio-research corporations. Today, it rivaled Oscorp in prestige and innovation.
As the Rolls-Royce passed the main fountain and circled to the front steps, a line of uniformed staff waited at attention—chefs, groundskeepers, cleaners, and a few guards discreetly stationed at the perimeter. The moment the car stopped, the butler stepped forward and opened the rear door.
"Welcome home, young master," he said with a courteous bow.
His name was Edger Thorne, a silver-haired man in his late sixties. His sharp posture and calm demeanor had been a constant presence throughout my life. Loyal, professional, and discreet—he was more than a butler. He was a guardian of this house.
"Thank you, Edger. It's good to be back," I said, stepping out onto the marble steps.
Inside the grand entrance hall, the light filtered through tall arched windows, casting colors from the stained glass across the marble floor. The scent of freshly brewed coffee and polished wood filled the air.
And then—
"Alex!"
A blur of black hair rushed at me before I could even blink.
She crashed into my chest, arms wrapping around me tightly. Her voice was muffled against my shoulder, but the emotion was unmistakable.
"You idiot... I thought you were gonna die or something! I've been going crazy all week!"
I blinked and looked down at her.
My little sister.
Her name was Aria Ryven, and she was 21 now. Taller than Evelyn, with the same dark hair and piercing brown-black eyes. Her face mirrored our mother's features so closely it sometimes caught me off guard. But her energy was different—bolder, brighter. She had always been the fire in our home. (Image).
I smiled and awkwardly patted her back.
"I'm okay, Aria. Bullet missed the brain, remember?"
She pulled back, wiping at her eyes with her sleeve.
"Still, don't scare me like that again."
"No promises." I chuckled, and that earned me a playful slap on the arm.
Aria had always been my soft spot—my reverse scale. Anyone who made her cry got a beating from me. She didn't need protection anymore, not really—she was tough as nails—but that instinct hadn't gone away.
Evelyn watched us with a soft smile, arms folded. "Why don't we all move to the dining hall? Breakfast is waiting, and Alex could use something other than hospital food."
"Amen to that," I muttered.
---
[Dining Hall – Later That Morning]
The long oak dining table was filled with warm dishes—eggs, toast, roasted tomatoes, fruits, smoked meat, and fresh orange juice. Alfred supervised the staff quietly in the background while the three of us sat and ate.
I could feel both Evelyn and Aria stealing glances at me between bites.
Eventually, Evelyn put down her fork.
"Alex... I know the doctor said you're stable now, but are you sure you're okay?"
I nodded while chewing. "Yeah, I'm fine. Just a little sore. Nothing serious."
Aria leaned in, frowning. "They said you were shot saving someone?"
Right. Time for the cover story.
I wiped my hands with a napkin and leaned back.
"Yeah. I was walking home late and saw a little girl being cornered by some guy in a dark alley. I stepped in, pushed her away... and the guy shot me. Bullet grazed my skull."
Aria's eyes widened. "That's so reckless! You could've died!"
I shrugged. "I'm alive, aren't I?"
Evelyn looked more relieved than angry, but I could still sense her unease. I offered a calm smile.
"Really, Mom. I'm okay now. That's all that matters."
After a few more questions and reassurances, I finally excused myself.
"I'm gonna take a quick shower and change. Then maybe step out for some fresh air."
"We'll be here," Evelyn said gently.
As I walked out of the hall, Aria shouted behind me with a teasing grin.
"Don't hog the hot water!"
---
[Private Basement – Grandfather's Armory]
After a long, much-needed shower, I changed into a black T-shirt and jeans and slipped away from the main living quarters.
I navigated the west wing and descended the hidden staircase at the back—one few people in the house even knew existed.
My grandfather's private basement.
Originally built as an experimental weapons testing lab and armory.
Motion sensors lit up the walls with cold white lights. Rows of old ballistic dummies, reinforced pillars, and secure lockers lined the walls. There was even a gravity-adjustable chamber on the far side. Still perfectly preserved.
I stood in the center, eager to test my powers.
"Time to see what I can really do..."
Third Person POV
The moment Alex stepped into the underground training chamber—his grandfather's old weapons and engineering lab—his heart pounded with anticipation. Steel-lined walls, reinforced flooring, and the faint scent of oil and metal gave the place an almost sacred feel. This was the perfect place to test the power that now resided within him.
Alex stood in the center of the space and took a deep breath. "Let's start with the classic," he muttered, grinning. "Heatblast. And here we go—boom!"
A surge of warmth burst from within as his skin cracked and flared, transforming into molten magma-like scales. Flames erupted from his body as his eyes glowed orange and his face shifted into the fierce visage of a Pyronite. His laughter rang out through the basement.
"Yessss!" he shouted, voice loud and fiery. With raw energy coursing through him, he flung fireballs at the walls and let flames burst from his hands like jets. The Heatblast form made his excitement spike uncontrollably, feeding into a loop of thrill and aggression.
"Let's see if this works," he muttered, turning his palms down.
He ignited his feet and whoosh—propelled upward with a fiery roar. After a few clumsy attempts, he gained balance and started soaring through the chamber, laughing as he spiraled and flipped in mid-air.
Eventually, a faint buzz echoed in his mind. A mental timer, set by his own subconscious, began to signal the end of the 10-minute mark. A red tattoo—an imaginary indicator on his arm—flashed briefly, reminding him to disengage.
With a flicker of light and heat, he returned to his human form, panting from exhilaration but grinning wide.
"That was insane… Now let's try speed."
He took a breath, focused, and called out the next name in his mind.
"XLR8."
In an instant, his legs extended backward, encased in biomechanical plates. His body shifted into a black and blue streamline design. The moment his transformation completed, his impulse to move became overwhelming.
"Let's run!"
What followed was a blur. He zipped from one end of the chamber to the other, ricocheting off walls, weaving through corners at impossible angles. He began to laugh uncontrollably.
"Ha! I could do this all day! Who even needs brakes?!"
XLR8's form amplified his playfulness and confidence, but it also made his thoughts scatter. The speed made it easy to dodge responsibility—even mental ones. He had to focus hard to not lose control in the thrill.
After completing several laps around the basement in seconds, he halted with a sonic boom right where he started. With a breathless chuckle, he transformed back to human, winded but buzzing.
"Okay... next up."
His body bulked up suddenly, muscles tripling in size, red skin spreading across his frame. Two massive arms sprouted beneath his shoulders.
"Four Arms!" he roared, his deep voice echoing with power. As he flexed his four fists, a surge of pride and raw strength filled him. Every movement felt deliberate, dominant.
He pounded the floor in excitement, causing a shockwave to ripple through the steel. Then he launched into the air, landing with a crash.
"Hell yeah!"
Despite the high, he quickly realized how easy it would be to lose control in this form—his confidence flirting with arrogance.
He returned to human form again and without pausing, transitioned into his next alien.
His body hunched, skin turned orange and furred, and his face flattened into a toothy, eyeless snout.
"Wildmutt."
Silence. No words. Just instinct.
He prowled on all fours, his senses heightened, and began navigating by scent and emotion. He could feel everything—his own curiosity, the air's subtle shift, even the steel's coldness beneath his paws. But when a sudden metallic clang echoed in the distance, he growled on reflex, baring fangs at a phantom threat. The feral instincts were strong.
Moments later, he transformed again. This time his insectoid wings unfurled, his limbs became long and flexible, and his face twisted into something far more alien.
"Stinkfly!" he shouted mid-air as he zoomed around the chamber. His speech patterns shifted—his voice coming out in an erratic, buzzing tone.
"Zoom-zoom, stink 'n fly! Hehe, woo! This is nuts!"
He cracked jokes as he spiraled through the air, occasionally dodging imaginary obstacles, occasionally talking to himself. He was chaotic, unfiltered, and hilarious—but hard to control.
After finally landing, he transformed into Ripjaws. His lower body shifted into a powerful fish tail, his jaw elongated with razor-sharp teeth. Though out of water, his breathing adjusted.
A sense of serenity took hold of him.
"Feels... peaceful," he muttered, his voice quieter, almost meditative. He imagined being underwater, letting his body adapt. A deep predator's calm flowed through his thoughts.
Then he changed again. This time into a floating, ghostly form.
"Ghostfreak."
Alex hovered silently. The world felt different—more contemplative, detached, like he was viewing everything from the outside in. Shadows bent toward him.
"All these powers… this world… so fragile…" he whispered, his voice layered and ghostly.
The transformation ended and finally, he called the form he had been most eager for.
"Grey Matter."
Instantly, the world sharpened. Everything slowed down—not in speed, but in mental clarity. He could analyze every line of code, every molecule in the air, every faint buzz of energy.
He blinked, and a mental blueprint of the training chamber unfolded in his mind. Another blink, and he was calculating structural weaknesses and airflow.
"This… is beautiful," he whispered.
But when the form ended, he staggered. His face twisted in discomfort.
"Ugh... It's like being yanked back to Earth after floating above it."
His human mind, still brilliant, now felt sluggish compared to the pure cognition of a Galvan. He shook his head.
"Damn, being Peter Parker level smart feels dumb after that."
He chuckled, but the thought lingered.
Despite the temporary crash, Alex smiled as he grabbed the clipboard he had earlier levitated with telekinesis. Using his mind, he scribbled down insights about each form.
Telekinesis worked seamlessly in all alien forms. So did empathy—though in Grey Matter, he'd naturally suppressed it, viewing emotions as data rather than feelings.
Ten transformations, ten shades of power, and each one hinted at more.
Alex looked down at his hands, still trembling from the rush.
"I'm only at 0% assimilation," he muttered, wide-eyed. "What the hell happens when I reach 100?"