He want to test his body
Undeserved Ascendance
chapter 16
by
copier
· original author:
an188
Lu stood among the moonlit pines, the five heavy duffel bags resting lightly against his thigh like they were filled with feathers instead of cash and cocaine. His golden eyes gleamed with fresh hunger for more. He turned toward a nearby pine — easily four feet thick at the base, roots sunk deep into the mountain soil for decades.
He placed one enormous palm flat against the rough bark, fingers splayed. A smug little smile curved his lips. With the barest upward tug — no more effort than plucking a dandelion — the entire tree tore free. Roots ripped from the earth in a spray of dirt and stone. The massive trunk rose smoothly into the air, balanced on his open palm as though it weighed nothing.
Lu chuckled, low and rich, the sound rolling through the forest like distant thunder.
“This egoism will never bore me,” he murmured, voice dripping satisfaction. “Never.”
He lifted the tree higher, holding it overhead with one hand, then closed his fingers. Wood groaned, cracked, and split cleanly down the middle with a sharp CRACK that echoed for miles. He tossed the two halves aside like discarded matchsticks and planted his hands on his hips, chest puffed with arrogant delight.
“I haven’t even *begun* to test this strength seriously,” he said aloud, talking to the night as if it were an adoring audience. “A forest is too fragile. Too small. I need something that can actually *resist* me.”
He scooped up the five duffels in one hand, bent his knees once, and launched himself into the sky.
The wind screamed past him again — cold, sensual, teasing every inch of his naked body. He hovered for a moment at ten thousand feet, bags dangling from his fingers as if they were plastic grocery sacks. His super-vision swept the landscape below in a single sweeping glance, faster than thought. Dozens of miles to the east, tucked against the edge of the national forest, sat an abandoned junkyard — rusted cars stacked like forgotten toys, crumbling chain-link fence, a single weathered office shack. No lights. No movement. No human heat signatures for miles.
A wicked, predatory smile split his face.
“Perfect.”
He dropped like a golden meteor, adjusting his descent at the last instant so he landed with barely a whisper of sound in the center of the junkyard. The ground barely registered his seven-foot, half-ton frame. Darkness meant nothing to him; the world around him was bright as noon, every rusted bolt and shard of glass crystal-clear.
He strode to the old office shack, set the five duffels neatly on a rickety table beside the door, then turned to the metal door itself. One light tug and the entire steel slab tore free with a screech of tortured hinges. He chuckled contemptuously at the noise.
“Pathetic security.”
He was about to duck — then stopped, remembering he was gloriously, perfectly alone. Instead he planted both palms on either side of the frame and simply *pushed*. The metal walls groaned, bent outward, and the doorway widened by three feet. He walked through upright, shoulders brushing the newly expanded opening like a king entering his throne room.
Inside, dust lay thick on every surface. His enhanced brain processed the scene in a millisecond: footprints months old, a calendar frozen on last August, a half-empty coffee mug with a dried brown ring. No one had been here in at least fourteen months.
He swept a stack of yellowing documents off the desk with a casual backhand, watching them flutter to the floor like dead leaves.
“Private playground,” he whispered, golden eyes glowing. “My secret is safe here.”
At the far end of the room stood a massive, ancient safe — six feet tall, bolted to the floor. Lu’s X-ray vision pierced it instantly: empty except for a few forgotten papers. Still, he grinned.
“For fun.”
He crouched, slid his fingers under the base, and pulled. Bolts sheared like butter. The safe rose smoothly into the air. With both hands he began to crush it — metal screaming in protest, folding inward like wet cardboard. He laughed as the safe collapsed into a dense, screaming cube no larger than a microwave. When he was done he tossed the mangled block aside; it crashed through the far wall and rolled into the yard.
He turned to an old, unplugged refrigerator in the corner. A single tug ripped the door off its hinges. Inside, half a dozen dusty beer bottles lay on their sides. He plucked one out, brought the neck to his mouth, and bit down gently. Glass and metal cap crunched smoothly between his teeth. He swallowed both without a second thought.
The lukewarm, long-expired beer slid down his throat. His body analyzed it instantly — the sour tang of spoilage, the faint toxins — and neutralized them in the same heartbeat. He felt only the faint buzz of alcohol, pleasant and harmless.
He drained the entire bottle in one long swallow, crushed the glass to glittering dust in his fist, and stepped back outside.
Now the real testing began.
The junkyard was a paradise of scrap: crushed sedans, twisted truck frames, rusted bulldozers, stacks of flattened shipping containers. Lu’s cock was already half-hard again, thick and heavy, a single clear bead of precum glistening at the tip. His body had begun to sweat once more — that thick, sweet, syrupy fluid coating his chest and abs in a glossy sheen.
He approached the first wreck — a flattened pickup truck. He gripped the chassis with both hands and *lifted*. The entire vehicle rose smoothly into the air. He twisted it like a wet towel until the metal screamed and tore apart. He laughed, tossed the two halves aside, and moved on.
Next came a stack of three crushed cars. He punched straight through all three in a single blow, his fist emerging from the far side in a spray of rust and glass. The impact sent a ripple of pleasure through his groin; his cock jumped and dripped another thick bead of precum onto the dirt.
He grew bolder. He grabbed the rear axle of an old school bus and pulled. The entire rear half of the bus tore free with a metallic shriek. He swung it like a baseball bat, smashing it into a mountain of scrap. The collision was deafening. Sparks flew. His erection throbbed visibly now, veins pulsing, the head slick and shining.
Sweat poured down his body in glossy rivers. He was addicted — the raw, sexual thrill of effortless destruction coursed through him like the best drug he’d ever tasted. He ripped a shipping container in half lengthwise, folded the two halves together like paper, then crushed the resulting mass into a perfect metal sphere the size of a beach ball. He bounced it once on his palm, laughing, then spiked it into the ground so hard it buried itself six feet deep.
Each act of destruction made his cock harder, his sweat thicker, his breathing heavier. He moved from wreck to wreck — bending I-beams into pretzels, tearing engine blocks apart with his bare hands, stacking entire cars into a towering sculpture of twisted metal just because he could. His golden hair was damp with sweat; every flex of his colossal muscles sent fresh rivulets running down the deep cuts of his eight-pack and over the heavy shelf of his pecs.
He paused atop a crushed bulldozer, chest heaving, cock fully erect and dripping steadily onto the rusted metal beneath him. The night air smelled of ozone, hot metal, and the sweet musk of his own sweat.
Lu looked down at the devastation he had wrought in minutes and smiled with pure, godlike satisfaction.
“This,” he whispered, voice thick with lust and power, “is only the beginning.”
He placed one enormous palm flat against the rough bark, fingers splayed. A smug little smile curved his lips. With the barest upward tug — no more effort than plucking a dandelion — the entire tree tore free. Roots ripped from the earth in a spray of dirt and stone. The massive trunk rose smoothly into the air, balanced on his open palm as though it weighed nothing.
Lu chuckled, low and rich, the sound rolling through the forest like distant thunder.
“This egoism will never bore me,” he murmured, voice dripping satisfaction. “Never.”
He lifted the tree higher, holding it overhead with one hand, then closed his fingers. Wood groaned, cracked, and split cleanly down the middle with a sharp CRACK that echoed for miles. He tossed the two halves aside like discarded matchsticks and planted his hands on his hips, chest puffed with arrogant delight.
“I haven’t even *begun* to test this strength seriously,” he said aloud, talking to the night as if it were an adoring audience. “A forest is too fragile. Too small. I need something that can actually *resist* me.”
He scooped up the five duffels in one hand, bent his knees once, and launched himself into the sky.
The wind screamed past him again — cold, sensual, teasing every inch of his naked body. He hovered for a moment at ten thousand feet, bags dangling from his fingers as if they were plastic grocery sacks. His super-vision swept the landscape below in a single sweeping glance, faster than thought. Dozens of miles to the east, tucked against the edge of the national forest, sat an abandoned junkyard — rusted cars stacked like forgotten toys, crumbling chain-link fence, a single weathered office shack. No lights. No movement. No human heat signatures for miles.
A wicked, predatory smile split his face.
“Perfect.”
He dropped like a golden meteor, adjusting his descent at the last instant so he landed with barely a whisper of sound in the center of the junkyard. The ground barely registered his seven-foot, half-ton frame. Darkness meant nothing to him; the world around him was bright as noon, every rusted bolt and shard of glass crystal-clear.
He strode to the old office shack, set the five duffels neatly on a rickety table beside the door, then turned to the metal door itself. One light tug and the entire steel slab tore free with a screech of tortured hinges. He chuckled contemptuously at the noise.
“Pathetic security.”
He was about to duck — then stopped, remembering he was gloriously, perfectly alone. Instead he planted both palms on either side of the frame and simply *pushed*. The metal walls groaned, bent outward, and the doorway widened by three feet. He walked through upright, shoulders brushing the newly expanded opening like a king entering his throne room.
Inside, dust lay thick on every surface. His enhanced brain processed the scene in a millisecond: footprints months old, a calendar frozen on last August, a half-empty coffee mug with a dried brown ring. No one had been here in at least fourteen months.
He swept a stack of yellowing documents off the desk with a casual backhand, watching them flutter to the floor like dead leaves.
“Private playground,” he whispered, golden eyes glowing. “My secret is safe here.”
At the far end of the room stood a massive, ancient safe — six feet tall, bolted to the floor. Lu’s X-ray vision pierced it instantly: empty except for a few forgotten papers. Still, he grinned.
“For fun.”
He crouched, slid his fingers under the base, and pulled. Bolts sheared like butter. The safe rose smoothly into the air. With both hands he began to crush it — metal screaming in protest, folding inward like wet cardboard. He laughed as the safe collapsed into a dense, screaming cube no larger than a microwave. When he was done he tossed the mangled block aside; it crashed through the far wall and rolled into the yard.
He turned to an old, unplugged refrigerator in the corner. A single tug ripped the door off its hinges. Inside, half a dozen dusty beer bottles lay on their sides. He plucked one out, brought the neck to his mouth, and bit down gently. Glass and metal cap crunched smoothly between his teeth. He swallowed both without a second thought.
The lukewarm, long-expired beer slid down his throat. His body analyzed it instantly — the sour tang of spoilage, the faint toxins — and neutralized them in the same heartbeat. He felt only the faint buzz of alcohol, pleasant and harmless.
He drained the entire bottle in one long swallow, crushed the glass to glittering dust in his fist, and stepped back outside.
Now the real testing began.
The junkyard was a paradise of scrap: crushed sedans, twisted truck frames, rusted bulldozers, stacks of flattened shipping containers. Lu’s cock was already half-hard again, thick and heavy, a single clear bead of precum glistening at the tip. His body had begun to sweat once more — that thick, sweet, syrupy fluid coating his chest and abs in a glossy sheen.
He approached the first wreck — a flattened pickup truck. He gripped the chassis with both hands and *lifted*. The entire vehicle rose smoothly into the air. He twisted it like a wet towel until the metal screamed and tore apart. He laughed, tossed the two halves aside, and moved on.
Next came a stack of three crushed cars. He punched straight through all three in a single blow, his fist emerging from the far side in a spray of rust and glass. The impact sent a ripple of pleasure through his groin; his cock jumped and dripped another thick bead of precum onto the dirt.
He grew bolder. He grabbed the rear axle of an old school bus and pulled. The entire rear half of the bus tore free with a metallic shriek. He swung it like a baseball bat, smashing it into a mountain of scrap. The collision was deafening. Sparks flew. His erection throbbed visibly now, veins pulsing, the head slick and shining.
Sweat poured down his body in glossy rivers. He was addicted — the raw, sexual thrill of effortless destruction coursed through him like the best drug he’d ever tasted. He ripped a shipping container in half lengthwise, folded the two halves together like paper, then crushed the resulting mass into a perfect metal sphere the size of a beach ball. He bounced it once on his palm, laughing, then spiked it into the ground so hard it buried itself six feet deep.
Each act of destruction made his cock harder, his sweat thicker, his breathing heavier. He moved from wreck to wreck — bending I-beams into pretzels, tearing engine blocks apart with his bare hands, stacking entire cars into a towering sculpture of twisted metal just because he could. His golden hair was damp with sweat; every flex of his colossal muscles sent fresh rivulets running down the deep cuts of his eight-pack and over the heavy shelf of his pecs.
He paused atop a crushed bulldozer, chest heaving, cock fully erect and dripping steadily onto the rusted metal beneath him. The night air smelled of ozone, hot metal, and the sweet musk of his own sweat.
Lu looked down at the devastation he had wrought in minutes and smiled with pure, godlike satisfaction.
“This,” he whispered, voice thick with lust and power, “is only the beginning.”
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June 13
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