Reborn as a Saiyan in marvel

The relentless pounding on the front door thundered through the halls like a war drum, shattering the peace that had barely settled in. William exhaled sharply, rubbing his temples. He had just sat down, and now this? His jaw tightened as he tilted his head back, staring at the ceiling, debating whether to ignore it.

Yet, the knocking persisted, growing more impatient, more insistent. A flicker of irritation crossed his face before he finally stood. As he moved, his symbiotic companion, Phage, shifted seamlessly, morphing into a more casual ensemble, though even in relaxed attire, nothing could soften the sheer presence he exuded.

He reached the door in a few effortless strides, his movements deceptively calm despite the quiet storm simmering beneath the surface.

Outside, five S.H.I.E.L.D. agents stood rigid, their postures betraying varying levels of unease. Four of them already wore grim expressions, their faces pale as if they'd just been briefed on the kind of force that resided within these walls.

The exception was the cocky one. Every team had one, the skeptic, the one who thought they had seen it all. He stood at the front, his lips twisted in a smirk, eyes rolling slightly as he scoffed.

"Oh, come on, guys. How strong can he really be? I mean, he's no Hulk, right?" he quipped, his voice dripping with bravado.

With an air of exaggerated confidence, he raised his fist for another knock, only to be met with nothing but empty space as the door swung open.

And there, standing before him, was a titan.

William loomed in the doorway, his sheer presence dwarfing the agent. The light from inside cast sharp shadows across his chiseled form, muscles carved with an unnatural density that radiated power. His iridescent eyes gleamed like twin celestial voids, peering into the agent's very soul.

The agent gulped.

For the first time in his life, words tangled in his throat.

"W...We are here to inform you that Director Fury seeks your presence to discuss something important, and we are here to fetch you!" The words stumbled out in a rush before he barely managed to regain some semblance of composure.

Yet, despite the attempt, his voice carried a betraying tremor.

William remained still, unreadable. His gaze, unblinking, dissected the group before him.

Then, with a voice as cool and sharp as tempered steel, he finally spoke.

"...Fetch me?"

A single phrase, yet it carried a weight so heavy that the already uneasy agents tensed further.

The cocky agent suddenly found himself questioning every decision that had led him to this moment.

And for the first time, he wondered if maybe, just maybe, he should've kept his mouth shut.

With barely concealed desperation flickering in his eyes, the young agent fumbled for his phone, his fingers trembling slightly as he yanked it from his pocket. He didn't hesitate, there was only one number in his contacts.

He tapped it.

Then, without a word, he lifted the phone toward William and bowed his head in silent submission, as if hoping to shield himself from whatever storm was about to be unleashed.

"RING, RING!"

The phone barely managed two rings before the call connected, and the screen flickered to life, revealing the sharp, weathered features of a bald man with a single, piercing eye.

Nick Fury.

William's gaze remained impassive, but the weight of his presence intensified.

"Fury," William acknowledged, his tone carrying no warmth, only cool, deliberate restraint.

On the other end, Fury exhaled slowly. A rare moment of hesitation crossed his features as if choosing his words carefully, yet he knew there was no way to soften what needed to be said.

"Viridian…" Fury muttered, bracing himself before finally speaking.

"We sent your powerful lady friends on a mission, and it appears they have been captured."

The words dropped like a guillotine.

And then—

"RUMBLE!"

The very air cracked.

An unseen force exploded outward, an overwhelming, crushing presence that slammed into the agents like a tidal wave. The ground beneath them trembled as if recoiling from William's fury. A pressure, dense, suffocating, all-consuming, drove them onto their hands and knees, their limbs quaking under the sheer weight of his unleashed power.

One of the agents let out a strangled gasp, his breath stolen by the invisible force constricting around him.

William's eyes, once iridescent pools of ethereal color, now burned with an unholy crimson.

A red so deep, so seething with raw, unchecked wrath that even Fury, miles away, could feel it.

"You sent my women on a mission?"

William's voice was deceptively quiet, yet it carried the promise of devastation. His glare drilled into the screen, the crimson glow flickering like embers of an impending inferno.

Even through the phone, Fury could tell, he had made a grave mistake.

A suffocating silence stretched between them.

The only sounds were the dull, agonizing creaks of the agents' bones, strained under the sheer, unrelenting force of William's ki. Their limbs trembled, muscles locked in place as though an invisible mountain rested upon their backs. Every heartbeat felt sluggish, every breath a struggle.

Then, the pressure vanished.

Like a snapped cord, the overwhelming force dissipated in an instant. The agents collapsed, gasping for air, their bodies shaking as relief flooded them. Sweat dripped from their brows, pooling on the ground beneath them.

But William remained still.

His presence was like a dark star, a force that commanded the very space around him.

Then, his voice rang out, not from his lips, but from everywhere.

A spectral echo, vibrating through the air, sinking into the bones of all who heard it.

"Where?"

It wasn't a question. It was a decree.

On the other end of the call, Fury's grip tightened around a small, black button hidden in his pocket. Without hesitation, he pressed it, an SOS signal. A silent call beamed into the void of space, reaching someone already on approach.

Fury exhaled sharply. There was no use stalling.

"Sokovia… they are all in Sokovia."

And with that, he severed the connection.

The moment the screen went dark, the tension in Fury's office finally unraveled. He leaned back into his massive chair, the leather creaking beneath his weight. Only now did sweat bead along his forehead, dampening his brow. He reached for a handkerchief, dragging it across his skin before exhaling through his nose.

But the moment of weakness passed quickly.

His expression hardened. Determination steeled his features.

He clenched his jaw, his mind already calculating the next move.

"Goddamn it…" Fury muttered under his breath, his eye narrowing into a glare. "I'll show you what's what soon enough."

His fingers danced across a set of keys, inputting a code faster than the eye could track.

Then, his image flickered.

And with a final, distorted shimmer, he was gone.

Elsewhere.

A separate, hidden facility.

A room, identical to the office Fury had just been in, stood eerily quiet. But this was no ordinary space, it was a controlled simulation, a perfect decoy.

"BANG!"

The real Nick Fury burst through a heavy metal door, his boots striking the ground with purpose. The impact sent a sharp echo rippling through the facility, turning heads.

Nearby agents tensed, their spines going rigid as his presence swept over them like an icy wind.

For a brief second, hesitation flickered in their eyes.

Then, as quickly as it had come, they forced themselves back to work

Back in William's mansion, the room stood in eerie stillness. Fury's final words still echoed in his mind, each syllable burning like embers in his veins.

Captured.

His women.

His family.

A sharp glint of red flashed through William's iridescent eyes, his gaze sharpening into something predatory.

And then—

He vanished.

A mere flicker, a distortion of space itself, and in the blink of an eye, he was gone.

The agents stood frozen, their minds struggling to process what had just happened. The only thing left behind was the evidence of his departure, two deep footprint-shaped craters embedded into the concrete floor, cracks splintering outward from the sheer force of his takeoff.

The silence shattered as realization struck them all at once.

"Shit, shit, shit—MOVE!" one of them barked.

The team scrambled, practically diving into their car, tires screeching against the pavement as they peeled away. None of them dared to look back.

Above the Earth.

"WHOOSH!"

A golden comet tore through the sky.

William had launched himself with full force, rocketing upward at speeds that left the air behind him roaring in protest. He ripped through the troposphere like a bullet, the sheer velocity distorting the space around him.

The world blurred.

His surroundings became a chaotic swirl of blues and whites before they snapped into clarity as he slowed near the midpoint of the atmosphere.

Then—

"WENG!"

He came to a sudden, complete halt.

The force of his stop sent a shockwave rippling outward, splitting apart the clouds like fragile silk. Once fluffy white formations disintegrated under the sheer magnitude of his energy, revealing the endless sky stretching beyond him.

His aura flared, but something had changed.

No longer was it the deep viridian green of his past.

Now, it was gold.

Not just the flickering, unstable glow of an incomplete transformation, this was permanent, woven into his very essence.

William's eyes narrowed as he flexed his fingers, his hand clenching into a fist. Power surged through him. The air around his knuckles bent and distorted, warping violently before—

"BANG!"

A sonic crack erupted from the force alone, the sound traveling for miles.

He should have been amazed. The realization that he had grown stronger even without transformation was something to ponder.

But there was no time.

His eyes snapped toward the horizon, his jaw clenching.

There was only one thing that mattered now.

Sokovia.

Them.

With a single motion, William leaned forward—

And then, he vanished.

"BOOOOM!"

The sky exploded behind him as he tore through the atmosphere like a golden meteor, the sheer velocity instantly shattering the sound barrier a hundred times over.

His voice rumbled through the heavens, a vow carried by the winds.

"I'M COMING!"

And nothing, nothing, would stop him.

In the heart of Sokovia

The city burned.

Flames licked at shattered buildings, the once-bustling streets now reduced to a war-torn ruin. Smoke billowed into the air, forming dark plumes that curled toward the heavens like the hands of the damned. The earth trembled beneath the weight of titans clashing, each battle shaking the very foundations of reality itself.

"BOOM!"

A shockwave blasted outward as Iron Man, encased in his Hulk-buster armor, slammed into the pavement hard enough to crater the ground beneath him. His suit, reinforced with an alloy of Katchin and Adamantium, groaned under the force of the impact, sparks flying as his repulsors flared to life.

Opposite him, a rampaging Hulk roared like a force of nature, his muscles bulging with uncontrollable fury. His emerald skin shimmered under the burning sky, eyes glowing with the crimson haze of Scarlet Witch's influence.

"RRRAGGGHHH!"

The monster lunged, fists swinging with the force to level mountains.

"Friday, full countermeasures, now!" Tony barked, bringing his gauntlets up just in time.

The battlefield was chaos.

Not far away, Captain America, Spider-Man, Hawkeye, and Black Widow fought with every ounce of skill and instinct to keep up with Quicksilver, the speedster's movements a silver blur streaking between them.

"Too slow, old man!" Pietro taunted as he weaved through Cap's shield throw, appearing behind him in the blink of an eye. With a smirk, he delivered a sharp kick to the super-soldier's back, sending him skidding across the rubble.

Spider-Man flipped mid-air, narrowly dodging a flurry of attacks. His lenses widened.

"Okay, this is starting to feel like a game of 'Try Not to Die' and I suck at that game!" Peter quipped, webbing toward a nearby building to regroup.

And above them all, on a throne of stolen power, sat Arnim Zola.

Lightning split the heavens.

Blinding bolts, as thick as skyscrapers, rained down in a furious barrage, their crackling glow illuminating the metallic abomination that sat unmoving at the center of it all.

Zola.

Encased within a Gravitonium-Vibranium hybrid body, the twisted remnants of the Nazi scientist watched the battle unfold with an air of boredom, his cold, mechanical features betraying nothing but disdain. A single yellow gem pulsed in his forehead, a beacon of raw cosmic energy.

The Mind Stone.

It thrummed, radiating waves of power as the force field around him stood unyielding against the storm.

And in front of him, Thor stood panting, his mighty hammer crackling with the last remnants of lightning.

"HUFF… HUFF…!"

The God of Thunder's chest rose and fell, his shoulders squared as he glared at the machine in disgust.

"Even Asgardians have heard of the cowardice of the Nazi," Thor spat, his voice tinged with both anger and contempt. "But to witness it firsthand… it is truly something else to behold!"

He hoped his words would sting.

But Zola merely turned his gaze toward the Asgardian, his expression unchanged.

Then, slowly, he lifted his hand.

The ground groaned.

The very land beneath them began to shake violently, fractures forming along the streets as if the planet itself was weeping.

"RUMBLE!"

Then, with a deafening roar, the city lurched.

The battlefield, half of Sokovia itself, ripped free from the Earth.

Skyscrapers crumbled, vehicles tumbled into the abyss, and screams of terror vanished into the howling wind as the landmass rose higher and higher, lifted into the lower atmosphere like a mockery of the gods themselves.

Zola's voice was devoid of emotion, cold, mechanical, absolute.

"A god does not need such paltry morals, Odinson."

His yellow eyes flared, his outstretched hand twisting in a subtle, commanding gesture.

"I would think you, of all people, would understand… but it appears you are merely small beans on the godhood scale."

Thor barely had time to react.

Reality fractured before him.

A rift, unnatural and unstable, tore itself open in the very fabric of space.

Before he could swing Mjolnir, before he could even take a breath, Thor was yanked into the vortex.

The moment he entered the void, chaos consumed him.

The Asgardian warrior was sent hurtling through the cosmos, his body colliding with countless asteroids, the force of each impact sending shockwaves through space.

"BOOM!"

A massive fragment of planetary debris shattered on impact as he crashed through it. He spun wildly, the G-forces threatening to tear him apart, until, finally—

"KRK-KRAK!"

He crashed into a golden realm with such cataclysmic force that the very foundations of Asgard trembled.

The force was so great, so immense, that for the briefest moment…

Odin stirred.

Deep within his slumber, the All-Father's eyelids fluttered.

A warning from the cosmos itself.

Something terrible was coming.

And Thor, once its greatest warrior, had been cast aside like a mere afterthought.

Back on the battlefield, Zola remained seated, his throne unshaken.

He tilted his head slightly, watching as the battle continued to unfold below him.

And then, without a word, he closed his hand into a fist.

The floating city lurched again.

It was not yet high enough.

Not yet ready to fall.

The lab was clinical, the air thick with the scent of sterilization and the hum of advanced technology. The cold, unforgiving walls seemed to close in on the two women who were trapped within this chamber of horrors.

Each of them was bound to a metal medical bed, their bodies heavy with pregnancy, the fullness of their bellies a constant reminder of their twisted fates. Thick tubes snaked into their veins, feeding them a combination of sedative toxins and nourishing fluids, keeping them alive but barely aware of their surroundings.

The women were trapped, but their eyes, dark and full of resentment, still flickered with defiance. They had been forced into this state, not of their own choosing, but there was still a fire in them, a quiet resistance.

Above them, standing tall with an air of cruel control, was Ophelia Sarkissian, the woman who had orchestrated this nightmare.

Ophelia, unlike the others, was not restrained. She was in full control of the situation, her hand gently resting on her own swollen belly, as she looked down on her "subjects" with cold amusement.

Her eyes gleamed with ambition. "My child will be the one to lead us to victory," Ophelia whispered, her voice a soft but poisonous lullaby. "This world will bend beneath the Reich, and all of you will be part of its rebirth."

Her words were a promise, but to the others, they were a curse.

Ophelia smirked as she watched the other women, her lips curling in mock sympathy.

"You think you are the ones meant to change the world," Ophelia mused, her gaze sweeping over them. "But you're nothing but tools, sacrifices for my new order. Your suffering is nothing compared to what's to come."

Without warning, the entire castle seemed to shake. The ground beneath them trembled as if the very earth had been struck by something far more powerful than anything they had ever encountered. The machines in the lab buzzed erratically, their lights flickering as a deep, unsettling rumble echoed through the stone walls.

The pregnant women on the beds felt it, the tremors, the shifting of the world beneath them. Even Ophelia's calculated calm faltered, her eyes darting around the room as the vibrations intensified. Her fingers clenched, and her heart raced despite her best efforts to maintain control.

"RUMBLE!"

The noise intensified, and the ground beneath them seemed to groan under the pressure.

"What is that freak doing now?!" Ophelia snarled under her breath, eyes narrowed with growing frustration. The calm, authoritative presence she usually carried was now pierced with a sharp edge of panic.

The women on the beds could barely move, the drugs and restraints keeping them from reacting as they would have otherwise. But they could feel it, something was wrong. The world outside was shifting, and it felt like they were about to be swept away with it.

Ophelia rushed toward the control panel, her swollen belly pressing against the cold metal as she shoved buttons with shaking hands. Her fingers moved frantically over the controls, trying to regain some semblance of command.

She muttered in German, her voice barely above a whisper, "Was ist los?!" But the room remained silent, save for the distant rumbling that shook the walls.

Ophelia's breath came faster, her chest tightening with frustration as she could feel the pressure mounting, and then, suddenly, as if the earth itself was holding its breath, the tremors stopped.

A stillness filled the lab, the air heavy with the weight of anticipation.

The machines paused, their hum fading to nothing. The only sound was the soft, ragged breath of the women on the beds, barely keeping themselves together as they lay trapped.

Ophelia stood frozen, her fingers still hovering over the control panel, staring at the flickering screen. The room was eerily quiet now, the silence only broken by the sound of her own heartbeat in her ears.

She had a terrible feeling something was coming.