Superpowers
Undeserved Ascendance
chapter 7
by
copier
· original author:
an188
Val and Matty stood motionless on the riverbank, naked bodies gleaming under the weak, polluted sunlight, bronze skin stretched taut over impossible muscle. Their chests rose and fell in deep, synchronized breaths. Each inhale pushed their colossal pecs outward like tectonic plates shifting; each exhale let them settle with a heavy, living weight that made the air itself feel thicker.
Matty lifted his right arm first—slow, reverent. The limb rose like a crane arm, forearm thicker than his old thigh, bicep ballooning into a perfect, veined football as he curled his fist toward his shoulder. Veins snaked across the peak like dark rivers on a mountain range. His nipple stiffened instantly, dark and erect; below, his cock twitched and hardened again, rising proud against the striated wall of his lower abs.
He stared at the bicep in open worship. This was it—the exact image that had haunted his secret late-night fantasies for years. He pressed the fingertips of his left hand against the peak. Rock-hard. Unyielding. Hot skin over denser-than-steel muscle. A low, involuntary whimper escaped his throat.
“Mamá… look…”
Val’s gaze dropped to her own chest. Where soft, nearly flat breasts had once been, now rose twin slabs of pectoral muscle so enormous they cast shadows across her abs and completely obscured her feet when she looked straight down. She bounced them experimentally—left, right, left—the movement sent a ripple through her entire upper body. They felt like armored plates bolted to her ribcage, yet alive, flexing with every heartbeat.
She cupped one pec with both hands, long elegant nails digging in. Nothing gave. Nothing yielded. A wicked, delighted shiver ran through her. In her mind, the old fantasies roared to life: empresses in black silk, chains clinking, men and women kneeling, begging. Only now she wasn’t reading about it. She was living it. Her lips—plumper, glossier—curved into a slow, predatory smile.
Matty broke the silence, voice deeper, richer, edged with something new. “Are we… really this strong?”
The question hung between them, absurd and intoxicating. Neither paused to consider consequences, science, danger. The transformation still sang in their veins like champagne and lightning.
Val bent at the waist—graceful despite her mass—and picked up a fist-sized river stone. Her long, feminine fingers closed around it. She didn’t squeeze hard. She barely tightened. There was a soft crunch—like stepping on dry leaves—and the stone shattered into gravel that pattered onto the ground.
She giggled—high, girlish, delighted. “I didn’t even try.”
Matty’s eyes flashed. A wicked, lopsided smile spread across his pretty face. He turned toward the nearest tree—a thick oak, decades old, roots deep. He placed one palm flat against the trunk. Bark cracked under his touch like eggshell. With a casual upward tug—as though pulling a weed from soft soil—the entire tree tore free. Roots snapped and sprayed dirt; the massive trunk lifted clean out of the earth and dangled from his grip like a toy sapling.
He chuckled—low, smug, the sound vibrating in his massive chest. “Look at that.”
His ego, so long starved and hidden, began to inflate with every heartbeat.
Val felt heat bloom low in her belly, liquid and insistent. She stepped forward, hips swaying with predatory grace despite her size. She chose a thicker tree nearby—older, broader. One hand. One effortless pull. The ground split; wood groaned and gave way. The trunk came free in a shower of earth and torn roots. She held it aloft like a scepter, then tossed it aside with a flick of her wrist. It crashed downstream, sending up a plume of water.
They laughed—deep, resonant, smug laughter that rolled across the empty reserve like thunder.
They tested more.
Val uprooted a boulder the size of a small car, balanced it on one palm like a waiter carrying a tray, then crushed it to powder between both hands.
Matty snapped a fallen log in half lengthwise with two fingers, then bent the halves into pretzels.
No limit appeared. None even hinted at appearing.
Then the world sharpened.
Val blinked—and suddenly she could count the individual feathers on a hawk circling a mile away. She focused tighter: the microscopic fissures in its beak became visible, sharp as knife edges.
Matty tilted his head. A woodpecker drummed three ridges over; he isolated the sound, peeled away wind, birdsong, river rush until only the rapid tap-tap-tap remained, crisp as if the bird were perched on his shoulder.
Their noses flared. The chemical stink of the pond sharpened into distinct notes—cadmium, benzene, something fungal and alive. Underneath it, they smelled each other: warm bronze skin, sweat, arousal, power.
Touch became exquisite torture. The slightest breeze dragged across nipples like velvet-gloved fingers. The grass underfoot felt like silk threads. When Val dragged a nail along her own forearm, the sensation exploded—pleasure so intense it bordered on pain.
They reveled.
Val tossed her longer, thicker hair over one massive shoulder and struck a double-biceps pose. Peaks rose higher than her ears; veins pulsed like living cables. “Look at me,” she purred, voice husky and commanding. “Look what I am now.”
Matty mirrored her—arms up, chest out, cock still rigid against the cobblestone ridges of his abs. “We’re gods,” he whispered, then laughed again—sharper, darker. “No. Better. We’re better than gods.”
Val stepped closer until their pecs almost touched. She towered over him still, broader, thicker, more dominant. She reached out, traced one long nail down the center of his 8-pack. He shivered violently.
“Everyone who ever laughed at us,” she murmured, “everyone who hurt us… they’re going to kneel.”
Matty’s eyes gleamed. “Or break.”
The air between them crackled—narcissism, lust, cruelty, love—all twisted together into something new and unstoppable.
They stood there, two perfect, smug, egotistical titans, naked and glorious on the ruined bank of a poisoned river, already planning what came next.
What they do?
Matty lifted his right arm first—slow, reverent. The limb rose like a crane arm, forearm thicker than his old thigh, bicep ballooning into a perfect, veined football as he curled his fist toward his shoulder. Veins snaked across the peak like dark rivers on a mountain range. His nipple stiffened instantly, dark and erect; below, his cock twitched and hardened again, rising proud against the striated wall of his lower abs.
He stared at the bicep in open worship. This was it—the exact image that had haunted his secret late-night fantasies for years. He pressed the fingertips of his left hand against the peak. Rock-hard. Unyielding. Hot skin over denser-than-steel muscle. A low, involuntary whimper escaped his throat.
“Mamá… look…”
Val’s gaze dropped to her own chest. Where soft, nearly flat breasts had once been, now rose twin slabs of pectoral muscle so enormous they cast shadows across her abs and completely obscured her feet when she looked straight down. She bounced them experimentally—left, right, left—the movement sent a ripple through her entire upper body. They felt like armored plates bolted to her ribcage, yet alive, flexing with every heartbeat.
She cupped one pec with both hands, long elegant nails digging in. Nothing gave. Nothing yielded. A wicked, delighted shiver ran through her. In her mind, the old fantasies roared to life: empresses in black silk, chains clinking, men and women kneeling, begging. Only now she wasn’t reading about it. She was living it. Her lips—plumper, glossier—curved into a slow, predatory smile.
Matty broke the silence, voice deeper, richer, edged with something new. “Are we… really this strong?”
The question hung between them, absurd and intoxicating. Neither paused to consider consequences, science, danger. The transformation still sang in their veins like champagne and lightning.
Val bent at the waist—graceful despite her mass—and picked up a fist-sized river stone. Her long, feminine fingers closed around it. She didn’t squeeze hard. She barely tightened. There was a soft crunch—like stepping on dry leaves—and the stone shattered into gravel that pattered onto the ground.
She giggled—high, girlish, delighted. “I didn’t even try.”
Matty’s eyes flashed. A wicked, lopsided smile spread across his pretty face. He turned toward the nearest tree—a thick oak, decades old, roots deep. He placed one palm flat against the trunk. Bark cracked under his touch like eggshell. With a casual upward tug—as though pulling a weed from soft soil—the entire tree tore free. Roots snapped and sprayed dirt; the massive trunk lifted clean out of the earth and dangled from his grip like a toy sapling.
He chuckled—low, smug, the sound vibrating in his massive chest. “Look at that.”
His ego, so long starved and hidden, began to inflate with every heartbeat.
Val felt heat bloom low in her belly, liquid and insistent. She stepped forward, hips swaying with predatory grace despite her size. She chose a thicker tree nearby—older, broader. One hand. One effortless pull. The ground split; wood groaned and gave way. The trunk came free in a shower of earth and torn roots. She held it aloft like a scepter, then tossed it aside with a flick of her wrist. It crashed downstream, sending up a plume of water.
They laughed—deep, resonant, smug laughter that rolled across the empty reserve like thunder.
They tested more.
Val uprooted a boulder the size of a small car, balanced it on one palm like a waiter carrying a tray, then crushed it to powder between both hands.
Matty snapped a fallen log in half lengthwise with two fingers, then bent the halves into pretzels.
No limit appeared. None even hinted at appearing.
Then the world sharpened.
Val blinked—and suddenly she could count the individual feathers on a hawk circling a mile away. She focused tighter: the microscopic fissures in its beak became visible, sharp as knife edges.
Matty tilted his head. A woodpecker drummed three ridges over; he isolated the sound, peeled away wind, birdsong, river rush until only the rapid tap-tap-tap remained, crisp as if the bird were perched on his shoulder.
Their noses flared. The chemical stink of the pond sharpened into distinct notes—cadmium, benzene, something fungal and alive. Underneath it, they smelled each other: warm bronze skin, sweat, arousal, power.
Touch became exquisite torture. The slightest breeze dragged across nipples like velvet-gloved fingers. The grass underfoot felt like silk threads. When Val dragged a nail along her own forearm, the sensation exploded—pleasure so intense it bordered on pain.
They reveled.
Val tossed her longer, thicker hair over one massive shoulder and struck a double-biceps pose. Peaks rose higher than her ears; veins pulsed like living cables. “Look at me,” she purred, voice husky and commanding. “Look what I am now.”
Matty mirrored her—arms up, chest out, cock still rigid against the cobblestone ridges of his abs. “We’re gods,” he whispered, then laughed again—sharper, darker. “No. Better. We’re better than gods.”
Val stepped closer until their pecs almost touched. She towered over him still, broader, thicker, more dominant. She reached out, traced one long nail down the center of his 8-pack. He shivered violently.
“Everyone who ever laughed at us,” she murmured, “everyone who hurt us… they’re going to kneel.”
Matty’s eyes gleamed. “Or break.”
The air between them crackled—narcissism, lust, cruelty, love—all twisted together into something new and unstoppable.
They stood there, two perfect, smug, egotistical titans, naked and glorious on the ruined bank of a poisoned river, already planning what came next.
What they do?
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June 13
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