Hulk had no idea what technique Richard was activating.
But instinct screamed danger.
The dark sphere hovering above Richard's palm radiated an oppressive aura that even Hulk could feel. He wasn't a strategist. He wasn't a scientist. But he wasn't foolish either. There were moments when his instincts were sharper than any calculation.
Big body did not mean small brain.
As he prepared to leap away, a column of green light descended from the sky and enveloped him.
It wasn't heat. It wasn't force.
It was targeting.
Hulk instinctively looked up.
What he saw froze him for half a second too long.
A meteor, several times larger than his own body, tore through the sky at terrifying speed.
Had he ignored the green lock and moved immediately, he might have cleared the impact zone.
He hesitated.
Boom.
The meteor slammed into him with overwhelming force. The explosion thundered across multiple streets, and a shockwave blasted outward from the impact site. Windows shattered in waves. Buildings trembled. The pavement fractured violently as if a localized earthquake had struck.
Those who had retreated earlier were grateful they had done so.
Natasha stared at the impact zone, disbelief flickering across her face. The arriving San Francisco police, already shaken by what they'd witnessed, stood speechless. Even hardened officers who had seen mutant abilities before struggled to process what they had just witnessed.
Summoning meteors?
Was that even genetic mutation anymore?
The dust cloud slowly began to settle.
When visibility returned, Hulk was still there.
He pushed himself upright from the crater, anger blazing across his green face. He prepared to move again—
—and the green targeting beam returned.
Richard did not give him breathing room.
Black Materia.
Another meteor materialized.
This time, he summoned it less than half a meter above Hulk's head.
Boom.
The impact came instantly. Hulk raised both arms and caught the descending mass, feet digging into the shattered street beneath him. Because the drop height was minimal, the kinetic force was significantly reduced compared to the first strike.
Richard could have poured more magic into it, forcing acceleration even from that short distance.
But there was no need.
Summoning another was more efficient.
Hulk strained, holding the meteor overhead. He shot Richard a look that was almost defiant.
Richard smiled faintly.
"What about the third one?"
His voice carried clearly across hundreds of meters. It wasn't volume—it was projection. Magic carried the words directly to every ear within range.
Hulk couldn't see above the rock he was supporting.
Natasha could.
High above, a third meteor burned through the atmosphere. This one was massive—easily ten to twenty meters in diameter—its surface engulfed in blazing fire as it accelerated downward.
Before Hulk could comprehend what was coming—
Boom.
The third meteor smashed into the second.
The shockwave was apocalyptic.
A hurricane-force blast expanded outward. The ground convulsed again, deeper this time. Dust engulfed the entire block. Even Natasha and the others, positioned hundreds of meters away, were thrown off their feet.
Had they known, they would have retreated kilometers instead of meters.
But hindsight never arrives early.
When the dust finally thinned, the crater at the center was more than a meter deep.
Hulk lay on his back at the center, arms spread wide.
Aggrieved.
Humiliated.
Like a one-ton child who had been unfairly scolded.
Physically, his injuries were still minor. His regenerative resilience remained extraordinary.
Psychologically, however, he was shaken.
And for the first time, he understood Natasha's earlier words. She hadn't been belittling him.
She had been worried.
Richard teleported to the edge of the crater and looked down at him.
"Get up," he said calmly. "No more meteors. No more cutting with that blade."
Hulk sat up slowly, expression sulking.
"Hulk doesn't like meteors," he muttered. "Hulk doesn't like your knife."
He pointed at the sword.
Richard chuckled softly and dismissed the blade into his system space.
Then he rotated his wrist.
Phantom Sword.
A luminous blue blade, over a meter long, materialized in his hand. It glowed with ethereal light, elegant rather than brutal.
"This time we spar," Richard said. "Do you know the difference between sparring and fighting?"
Hulk nodded.
"Then get up."
"Hulk wants to spar. Hulk is strong. Hulk won't be knocked down!"
He stood and brushed dust from his massive frame.
From a distance, Natasha frowned. She couldn't hear the conversation, but she could see the change. Hulk was no longer raging. He followed Richard out of the crater with something almost resembling focus.
That was new.
Very new.
The two stood twenty meters apart.
Then they moved.
Hulk relied on what he knew best—close combat. His fists hammered forward in relentless succession, each strike capable of flattening concrete.
Richard responded with fluid precision.
Thrust. Parry. Cut. Deflect. Lift. Sweep. Pierce.
No flashy techniques. No grand sword arts. Just foundational movements executed with absolute control.
Even basic forms, when performed at that level, carried elegance.
Hulk's style mirrored Sabretooth's in its primal instinct. Direct. Raw. Honest.
Minutes passed.
For Richard, most battles ended quickly—like mowing down waves of enemies in a game. This, however, felt different. There was rhythm. Resistance. Feedback.
Hulk was an ideal sparring partner. Durable enough to endure. Strong enough to challenge.
And Hulk was learning.
For perhaps the first time, he realized brute force alone was insufficient. He watched. He adjusted. He began to anticipate rather than simply react.
Just as the exchange settled into its rhythm—
Missiles screamed across the sky.
Boom. Boom. Boom.
Explosions erupted where they had been standing moments earlier. Orange-red fire consumed the street. Fighter jets roared overhead.
When the flames dissipated, multiple craters scarred the ground.
Richard and Hulk were gone.
Natasha scanned frantically.
Then thunder split the sky.
Boom.
A colossal bolt of silver-white lightning tore downward—not toward the street, but toward the black fighter jet streaking above.
Boom.
The lightning struck cleanly.
Speed meant nothing against natural force. The jet exploded midair like a burst of fireworks, debris scattering in flames.
Richard had teleported at the final second, gripping Hulk's shoulder and removing them from the blast radius before the missiles connected.
Then he retaliated.
One massive lightning strike.
One destroyed jet.
.....
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