DING... DING... DING...
The deep, resonant clang of a hammer striking metal echoed like a tolling bell through the void, each blow a divine heartbeat, shaking the very essence of the chamber. Flames of impossible hue roared to life with every strike, bathing the pitch-dark forge in otherworldly brilliance. Shadows fled, chased into the corners by a fire not born of Earth or even the stars, but something far more ancient, primordial.
DING...
A burst of white-hot sparks arced like falling comets across the obsidian floor, vanishing before they touched the ground. From the heart of the forge, nestled within a crucible inscribed with runes that glowed with celestial logic, emerged a blade half-forged, half-alive. It was massive, too large for mortal hands, yet lightless space bent around its heat. It bled flame. Not orange or red, but sun-gold and nebula-silver.
The Sword of Twilight.
DING...
With each strike, the sword's crude, jagged form shifted and evolved. The metallic flesh condensed, the core compressing under celestial pressure as if being sculpted by the gravitational might of collapsed stars. What once was chaotic flame became a concentrated inferno, shaped and tempered. The fiery red blade began to darken, not with soot, but with transformation, its surface cooled, swirling with hues of emerald and sapphire. Veins of glowing energy crawled across it like living rivers, pulsing in time with the hammer's rhythm.
It was as if the sword breathed.
And then.
DING...
A final strike. A thunderous toll that reverberated through space and soul alike. The sound seemed to warp reality itself for a breathless moment, stretching the silence that followed into eternity. The sword screamed, not in agony, but in defiance, and then came the shattering.
A groan echoed, low and guttural, like the death cry of a forgotten god.
The blade split apart, not with a violent explosion, but with deliberate release, its essence unraveling into twin orbs of transcendent power. They hovered above the glowing bed of the Omega Forge, spinning slowly, casting glimmering light across the black metal walls that were etched with the runes of dying civilizations.
One orb seethed with the fire of a trillion suns, an entire galaxy's fury trapped in molten stasis. Every flicker within its surface told of supernovas and starbirths, of solar storms and cataclysmic death. The raw essence of cosmic destruction.
The other glowed with deep, tempered potential: Uru, rare and sacred, fused seamlessly with threads of Vibranium, a synergy of myth and science, endurance and resonance. It pulsed not with heat, but with power, a silent storm waiting to be called upon. It was the heart of potential itself, forged to endure the wrath of titans while guiding the will of gods.
William stood at the center, his face half-shadowed by the flickering light, eyes burning with focus. His bare chest gleamed with sweat and soot, muscles tensed not from exhaustion, but from the sheer responsibility of what he was shaping.
Then, slowly, like a maestro commanding a symphony, he raised the hammer again. The forge itself groaned in anticipation, the walls humming with ancient energy. William gestured, and the twin orbs obeyed, colliding midair with a resonance that sent shockwaves across the chamber. The impact birthed an explosion of sparks, no, stars, soaring outward in slow motion, suspended as though time itself dared not interfere.
For a moment, the room became the universe.
William stood still, unmoving, the silhouette of a god-forger as the heavens spun around him. The sparks formed constellations in the air, drifting and glowing, making him seem as though he walked within a starfield, a titan in a vacuum, striding between galaxies, each hammer strike rewriting the laws of nature.
As the two materials continued to mix, the flames of the dying galaxy within the flame like material burned the Uru and Vibranium into a compound material all on its own which glowed even as it absorbed the light around it.
The relentless inferno of the forge finally began to dim, the roar of otherworldly flames fading into a simmering silence. As the heat receded, the air shimmered, and from within the heart of the crucible emerged a form unlike anything William had ever forged before.
It hung suspended in the air, perfectly black, yet not empty. No, the material was dense with potential, as if it encapsulated a microcosm of creation itself. Galaxies swirled faintly beneath its obsidian surface, flickering like dying stars trapped in frozen time. It did not glow. It absorbed, light, heat, sound, drawing in the universe around it with a gravitational pull born not of mass, but of mystery.
Aetherite. That was what William had named it. The material of void and origin, dream and death. His breath caught for a moment as he beheld it, so silent, yet humming with raw, unchained divinity.
With a thought, William raised the Omega Forge Hammer. Runes etched across its shaft ignited with celestial fire, recognizing the presence of something that transcended even its own legendary purpose. He gestured, and Aetherite obeyed, floating downward like a solemn spirit to the anvil below.
Not just any anvil.
The Demonic Anvil, a slab of cursed, ancient metal forged in the dying heart of a realm that no longer existed. Carved with infernal glyphs and tempered in the screams of fallen gods, it pulsed in resonance with the Aetherite, as if both relic and raw material shared a buried kinship across time.
William exhaled deeply. He could feel it, the power. Not just immense. Final.
Without hesitation, his aura flared with electric fury. Bones cracked and muscles surged as he called upon his Super Saiyan 3 form. His golden hair lengthened instantly, a wild cascade of solar fire that whipped in every direction, caught in the invisible winds of energy that screamed through the forge. The intense gravity of his transformation made the air itself vibrate; his eyebrows vanished, replaced by an otherworldly intensity in his gaze, a narrowed, primal focus that cut through realms.
The forge responded. The walls trembled.
The hammer in his hand crackled with violent anticipation, lightning coiling around its head, feeding on the bioelectricity roaring through William's charged body. His muscles tensed. Sparks danced from his fingertips.
And then—
DING...
The impact was monumental.
A shockwave erupted, blue and gold light colliding in waves of kinetic fury. The very floor rippled like liquid as the energy discharge slammed into the walls of the forge chamber. William felt it in his bones, like a bell struck within the soul. If his ship had been made of anything less than indestructible alloys laced with Gravitonium and Starsteel, it would've been obliterated in an instant.
DING...
Another strike. The Aetherite began to shift, folding in on itself, obeying not just heat and force, but will. William wasn't just shaping it with strength; he was guiding it with his intent, his mastery, his very essence. Every strike etched his vision into reality, carving arcs of energy into form, like sculpting divine commandments into stone.
DING... DING... DING... DING...
Time became meaningless.
Hours passed, though to William they felt like minutes, or years. The forge roared around him, feeding the transformation with the essence of forgotten stars. Sweat rolled down his body, steaming the instant it touched the anvil. His movements were precise, relentless, a symphony of divine labor.
At last, the shape solidified.
Resting on the anvil, still glowing from the forge's breath, were a pair of gauntlets and sabatons, weapons in the form of armor. They did not radiate fire like a sun. They burned with an intense blue, like the final stages of a star collapsing into a singularity. The energy they held was condensed, refined, lethal. The kind of heat that didn't scream, it whispered, lethal and calm, promising annihilation wrapped in elegance.
Runes traced along the surface of each gauntlet pulsed with power. The sabatons, sleek yet monstrous, seemed designed for devastation, each step taken in them would echo like the footfalls of a god.
And still, even amidst the overwhelming silence of completion, William remained focused. With a delicate touch, he began detailing the filigree and node placements, each one necessary to interface with his ki, his energy, his soul.
Then, without warning, a thought crossed his mind, piercing through the haze of creation like sunlight through storm clouds:
"It's been a bit since Carol left…"
He blinked, the moment of introspection grounding him in his humanity.
"…I should probably go check on her after this."
A soft smile tugged at the edge of his mouth, just for a second.
Knowing Carol Danvers as well as he did, her tendency to dive headfirst into chaos with that signature blend of cocky charm and steel-jawed confidence, William didn't waste time. He left the newly forged, as-yet-unnamed gauntlets and sabatons cooling on the Omega Forge, their inner flames humming quietly in anticipation of use.
Sweat still clung to his brow, the aftermath of intense creation and transformation. With a smooth exhale, he powered down from his Super Saiyan 3 form, his hair shortening and aura dimming as golden light receded back into his core like a slumbering sun.
His boots echoed softly on the metallic floor as he walked toward the airlock, muscles still humming from the forge's adrenaline. Just as his fingers brushed the control panel to seal the chamber behind him—
"Hey bro!"
A voice called out behind him, casual but bright with energy. William turned, only to see Peter Parker, suited up in the sleek, crimson-and-navy Iron Spider armor, the metal gleaming beneath the ship's lights. His expressive mask rippled briefly as he tilted his head with that signature Spidey enthusiasm.
"Mind if I tag along planetside? Been cooped up in this flying tin can too long. Spider-Man needs to stretch his legs!"
He threw in a few mock martial arts poses for flair, earning a low chuckle from William, who clapped him on the shoulder with a nod.
"Sure. Bring anyone else who's ready for fresh air. Just stick close—we don't know what we're walking into."
A few moments later, the group had gathered—those hungry for movement, distraction, or just something new beneath their feet.
Harley Quinn came skipping into the bay, a ticking time bomb of manic energy. Her pigtails bounced with each step, and the wild look in her eyes made it clear: if she stayed on this ship another second, someone was getting stabbed, probably Peter. Or the coffee machine.
She was already mid-snarl when William intercepted her with a calm, warm embrace. Instantly, she melted against him, her tension unraveling like thread pulled free from a tight knot. She tilted her chin up and kissed him, full of gratitude, relief, and a touch of mischief. Her voice was soft as cotton candy when she whispered:
"Thanks, puddin'..."
She nuzzled into his side, arms tightening around him, pressing herself close, her signature twin bunnies squishing against his arm as she clung like a koala with issues.
Behind them, Kara stood silently, her gaze downcast, her fingers fidgeting with the edge of her sleeve. She looked out of place among the chaos, unsure, unsure if she even belonged. But then her eyes rose to meet William's, and something shifted.
Swallowing her nerves, she stepped forward. With a soft blush tinting her cheeks, she slipped her hand around his other arm. Her body moved instinctively closer, pressing her curves, abnormally generous even by Kryptonian standards, against his side. The gesture was tentative, but the intent was unmistakable.
William didn't flinch. He simply smiled and gave her hand a gentle squeeze.
Peter, meanwhile, had very suddenly discovered that the far wall was fascinating. He scratched at his chin through the nanomesh of his mask, his posture rigid.
"Okay… cool. Just a couple of superpowered, super-attractive, super affectionate people. No pressure. Totally normal. Yup. Totally fine."
His internal monologue, however, was spiraling:
"Man, I gotta get a girlfriend. Maybe… a planet of spider-babes? Webslinging dates? Oh god, what if their webs come out of, nope. Nope. Dial it back, Parker. Dial. It. Back."
He shook his head and forced himself to refocus as the group stepped toward the airlock.
William didn't touch the controls.
He didn't need to.
With a flicker of power, he willed the doors to open. The reinforced hatch shuddered and hissed, then parted to reveal the abyss beyond. Stars glittered against the ink of space, and in the same instant, the artificial gravity inside the chamber let out a subtle warble.
The vacuum reached for them with invisible claws.
Peter yelped as he stumbled forward, his body tilting dangerously toward the void, until William's hand shot out like a striking viper, seizing the back of his suit and pulling him back to safety with effortless strength.
"Close one," William muttered, calm but firm, his hand still steady on Peter's shoulder. His voice was heavy with quiet authority, a protective weight that lingered.
"Be a little more careful, Pete. Space is beautiful, but it doesn't forgive."
Peter blinked beneath the mask, suddenly struck by the seriousness in William's tone. He straightened, nodding quickly.
"Right. Totally. Careful is my middle name. Peter Careful Parker. That's me."
He smiled nervously, but deep down, something in him shifted.
He didn't want to let William down.
And outside, through the opened airlock, the planet waited, its surface pulsing with red and orange its terrain stretching like an invitation across the cosmos.
This wasn't just a stroll off the ship.
It was the beginning of something far bigger.