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Undeserved Ascendance
chapter 11
by
copier
· original author:
an188
Danny Vos launched from the slum balcony with effortless grace, his 7'0" frame slicing through the night air like a golden arrow. The duffel bag of stolen cash slung over one enormous, vein-laced shoulder felt like a featherweight toy against his 450 pounds of shredded muscle. Wind whipped his metallic-gold hair back from his androgynous face, chilling his milky-white skin and teasing the thick network of veins pulsing across his colossal pectorals and abs. Below, Havenridge blurred into a mosaic of lights—insignificant, conquerable. He smirked smugly, already plotting: with this cash as seed money, he could build an empire, but why stop there? His powers begged for more—enslaving cities, toppling nations, reshaping the world in his image. The human race didn't stand a chance.
Within a minute, his apartment building loomed ahead. He descended silently, landing on the roof with ballerina precision—bare feet touching gravel without a sound. Super senses scanned the area: distant heartbeats in the halls below, the hum of elevators, snores from neighboring units. X-ray vision pierced the structure, confirming empty corridors. No one to witness his godlike return. He ducked through the rooftop access door—bending his massive frame carefully, using super breath to ease the hinges open without a creak—and slipped inside like a shadow.
In his apartment, he locked the door with a gentle twist of his long, golden-nailed fingers. The click echoed in the quiet space. For the first time since the meteorite, Danny exhaled fully, tension melting away. No prying eyes, no risks. He was safe. But that calm bred carelessness. He tossed the duffel onto the kitchen counter—too hard. The granite cracked with a sharp snap, the bag sinking into a fissure. "Whoops," he chuckled smugly. "Guess countertops aren't built for gods." He reached for a glass on the shelf; his grip crushed it to powder instantly. Shards tinkled to the floor. "Fragile little things. Like human egos." Amused, he strode to the living room, brushing a lamp with his elbow—ceramic exploded into dust. "Strike one for the divine touch." He laughed, flexing casually; a nearby vase vibrated off its stand from the air displacement alone, shattering. "Home sweet wreckage. Who needs interior design when you can redesign with destruction?"
Hunger gnawed suddenly, a deep rumble in his armored abs. He lumbered to the fridge, yanking the door open without thinking—metal screamed as the hinges tore free, the door flying across the room and embedding in the wall. "Well, that's one way to open sesame," he quipped wittily, smirking at the dangling appliance. He grabbed armfuls of food—steaks, eggs, protein shakes, veggies, everything—and dumped it on the coffee table. Sinking onto the sofa, his 450-pound bulk collapsed the frame instantly; wood splintered, cushions deflating under him like defeated foes. "Throne fit for a king? Nah, more like a peasant's perch." He devoured it all ravenously—ripping into raw steaks with teeth that could shear steel, chugging shakes in single gulps, juices dripping down his chin and over his massive chest. The feast vanished in minutes, his enhanced metabolism burning it like fuel for a star.
Belly full, apartment half-ruined—furniture splintered, walls dented, floor littered with debris—Danny leaned back amid the chaos, flexing one bicep. The muscle ballooned to obscene size, veins thick as ropes snaking under stretched milky skin, radiating raw power. He glanced down; his colossal pecs jutted like twin shelves, completely blocking his view of his feet. "Look at you," he murmured, smug grin widening. "A body that could crush worlds." Old plans—college dominance, casual conquests, athletic medals—felt laughably small now. His mind raced sharper than ever; unbeknownst to him, the cosmic energy had doubled his IQ, synapses firing like supernovas. Conquering humanity? Not so simple. Governments had armies, nukes, scientists who'd poke and prod if they caught wind. Resistance would be fierce—years of guerrilla godhood, dodging satellites, building secret alliances. He refused to abandon the dream; it burned in his golden eyes. But for now? Prudence. "Patience, Danny. Play the long game."
His gaze landed on the wall calendar, marked boldly: "Bodybuilding Comp—Next Week." He bit his thick lower lip, tasting the lingering sweetness of his own sweat. Perfect. Exploit this body for wealth, fame, publicity—hide the powers behind a facade of "natural" perfection. Become a celebrity, amass followers, then... reveal the truth when ready. But tomorrow on campus? A 7'0" giant where a 6'2" stud had been? Questions, investigations. Better vanish until the comp. Claim a "miraculous growth spurt" over the week—absurd, but more plausible than overnight. Luck smiled: his family's secluded cabin in the Havenridge Mountains Nature Reserve—deep in the peaks, empty of hikers this off-season. Isolation to train, plot, adapt.
He smiled wickedly, pulling out his phone (miraculously intact). Fingers flying—long, feminine, golden-nailed—he crafted a social media post: no photo, just text. "Disappearing for a week to sculpt perfection. When I return, I'll crush that bodybuilding stage like the god I am. First place is mine—bow down, mortals. #DannyDominates #UnbeatableEgo #WorshipMe" Smug, narcissistic, egotistical—pure despicable Danny.
Satisfied, he headed to his closet. Doors creaked open under gentle pull. But nothing fit—shirts shredded at the seams when he tried one, pants exploded around thighs like overripe fruit. "Well, fuck. Can't strut naked forever—though the world would thank me."
What Danny do?
1. Danny measures himself and orders clothes online, stopping along the way only for food.
2. Danny breaks into a mall on the way to the cabin, gets new clothes and food.
Within a minute, his apartment building loomed ahead. He descended silently, landing on the roof with ballerina precision—bare feet touching gravel without a sound. Super senses scanned the area: distant heartbeats in the halls below, the hum of elevators, snores from neighboring units. X-ray vision pierced the structure, confirming empty corridors. No one to witness his godlike return. He ducked through the rooftop access door—bending his massive frame carefully, using super breath to ease the hinges open without a creak—and slipped inside like a shadow.
In his apartment, he locked the door with a gentle twist of his long, golden-nailed fingers. The click echoed in the quiet space. For the first time since the meteorite, Danny exhaled fully, tension melting away. No prying eyes, no risks. He was safe. But that calm bred carelessness. He tossed the duffel onto the kitchen counter—too hard. The granite cracked with a sharp snap, the bag sinking into a fissure. "Whoops," he chuckled smugly. "Guess countertops aren't built for gods." He reached for a glass on the shelf; his grip crushed it to powder instantly. Shards tinkled to the floor. "Fragile little things. Like human egos." Amused, he strode to the living room, brushing a lamp with his elbow—ceramic exploded into dust. "Strike one for the divine touch." He laughed, flexing casually; a nearby vase vibrated off its stand from the air displacement alone, shattering. "Home sweet wreckage. Who needs interior design when you can redesign with destruction?"
Hunger gnawed suddenly, a deep rumble in his armored abs. He lumbered to the fridge, yanking the door open without thinking—metal screamed as the hinges tore free, the door flying across the room and embedding in the wall. "Well, that's one way to open sesame," he quipped wittily, smirking at the dangling appliance. He grabbed armfuls of food—steaks, eggs, protein shakes, veggies, everything—and dumped it on the coffee table. Sinking onto the sofa, his 450-pound bulk collapsed the frame instantly; wood splintered, cushions deflating under him like defeated foes. "Throne fit for a king? Nah, more like a peasant's perch." He devoured it all ravenously—ripping into raw steaks with teeth that could shear steel, chugging shakes in single gulps, juices dripping down his chin and over his massive chest. The feast vanished in minutes, his enhanced metabolism burning it like fuel for a star.
Belly full, apartment half-ruined—furniture splintered, walls dented, floor littered with debris—Danny leaned back amid the chaos, flexing one bicep. The muscle ballooned to obscene size, veins thick as ropes snaking under stretched milky skin, radiating raw power. He glanced down; his colossal pecs jutted like twin shelves, completely blocking his view of his feet. "Look at you," he murmured, smug grin widening. "A body that could crush worlds." Old plans—college dominance, casual conquests, athletic medals—felt laughably small now. His mind raced sharper than ever; unbeknownst to him, the cosmic energy had doubled his IQ, synapses firing like supernovas. Conquering humanity? Not so simple. Governments had armies, nukes, scientists who'd poke and prod if they caught wind. Resistance would be fierce—years of guerrilla godhood, dodging satellites, building secret alliances. He refused to abandon the dream; it burned in his golden eyes. But for now? Prudence. "Patience, Danny. Play the long game."
His gaze landed on the wall calendar, marked boldly: "Bodybuilding Comp—Next Week." He bit his thick lower lip, tasting the lingering sweetness of his own sweat. Perfect. Exploit this body for wealth, fame, publicity—hide the powers behind a facade of "natural" perfection. Become a celebrity, amass followers, then... reveal the truth when ready. But tomorrow on campus? A 7'0" giant where a 6'2" stud had been? Questions, investigations. Better vanish until the comp. Claim a "miraculous growth spurt" over the week—absurd, but more plausible than overnight. Luck smiled: his family's secluded cabin in the Havenridge Mountains Nature Reserve—deep in the peaks, empty of hikers this off-season. Isolation to train, plot, adapt.
He smiled wickedly, pulling out his phone (miraculously intact). Fingers flying—long, feminine, golden-nailed—he crafted a social media post: no photo, just text. "Disappearing for a week to sculpt perfection. When I return, I'll crush that bodybuilding stage like the god I am. First place is mine—bow down, mortals. #DannyDominates #UnbeatableEgo #WorshipMe" Smug, narcissistic, egotistical—pure despicable Danny.
Satisfied, he headed to his closet. Doors creaked open under gentle pull. But nothing fit—shirts shredded at the seams when he tried one, pants exploded around thighs like overripe fruit. "Well, fuck. Can't strut naked forever—though the world would thank me."
What Danny do?
1. Danny measures himself and orders clothes online, stopping along the way only for food.
2. Danny breaks into a mall on the way to the cabin, gets new clothes and food.
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June 13
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