Coreflame Awakening

If the Hulk could barely be considered humanoid, the Abomination was a complete monster—its size rivaling the Hulk's, with grotesque bone spurs crawling along its spine, a hideous, vile face, and drool oozing from its bloody maw to drip onto the ground, triggering screams of despair.

The Abomination's birth was partly a stroke of chance—a soldier named Blonsky, obsessed with power beyond human limits, was awed by the Hulk's might and risked his life injecting himself with Hulk Serum. But it was more so the military's deliberate doing; they hoped to replicate the miracle of Captain America, creating stronger, more controllable super-soldiers instead of failures like the Hulk.

So they used the Hulk's serum and successfully created another failure.

The consequences were catastrophic.

Two monsters of immense strength and thick hide clashed in the streets of New York, battling for hours without a scratch on either, but buildings and cars couldn't withstand such force—massive destruction ensued, and countless civilians caught off guard were killed or wounded.

The military dared not use heavy weapons, lest they level the city. Property damage was one thing, but massive casualties would land every commander in a court-martial.

Worst of all, heavy weapons were useless—even missiles couldn't kill these two monsters. Theoretically, aside from nukes and large-scale thermobaric bombs, conventional means were near worthless against the Hulk and the Abomination.

In the distance, people climbed high buildings, watching the devastating battle through telescopes. Reckless reporters even goaded helicopters to fly closer for live coverage.

"What the hell are those two monsters? Anyone know? I'll pay a fortune for answers."

"Must be from some research lab."

Someone claimed they'd seen reports about the green one before—some experimental monster the military had been hunting, but at a heavy cost.

Faces paled, as if finding an outlet, and people erupted in fury at the military's incompetence, wasting taxpayer money—what use was such an army?

Others argued these monsters were too powerful; human weapons were made for fighting humans, not monsters. Their life forms were on a level too high for conventional arms to bring down.

"There are still civilians trapped over there," one person said anxiously.

The Hulk and the Abomination collided again, unleashing a deafening roar. Neither monster had any fighting technique, nor needed one—the angrier they got, the stronger they became, making brute force enough to solve everything.

After a few consecutive punches, the Hulk was knocked to the ground, smashing a crater into the street.

The Abomination howled in frenzy: "Hulk, I'm stronger than you! I'm not what I used to be—this time, you die!"

Before the experiment, it had once hunted the Hulk as a top-tier soldier, but failed and nearly died. Now turned into a monster, it lived for Revenge.

The Abomination cared for nothing else—only vengeance, and no one would stop it.

Donnie hid behind an overturned pickup truck, blood trickling from his ears, ringing loudly, his hearing badly damaged. Two monsters throwing punches starting at a hundred tons each—the shockwaves were catastrophic, shattering glass and brick like paper, let alone mortal flesh.

The middle-aged man beside him also had blood streaming from both ears and had passed out cold.

Donnie forced his eyes open, seeing a couple lying in the pickup's cab, their necks snapped, clearly dead. Memories of their family of three surfaced in his mind. Before the trip, his parents had tossed him into the truck bed to watch the cargo, which saved Donnie from the initial blast—though he was still badly injured.

A scene eerily similar to his past life, the nightmare that haunted him most.

Pain, despair—his mind churned, unable to tell which life was real and which a dream.

He gasped rapidly, vision blurring, a bitter smile on his face. He had died once, been reborn, hoped for happiness—only to lose his family again. The Hulk's level was beyond ordinary people's reach; his parents had been caught in the blast and died, and he would too.

In both lives, his parents perished in a crash, leaving only him—the survivor.

Donnie struggled, reaching out to touch the familiar truck. It was his. He saw a scratch on the body—some brat he didn't know had done it, and Donnie had beaten him up afterward, only to be scolded by his parents for bullying a kid. He looked at his sleeping parents, blood covering half their faces, blurring them into something unreal.

His mind raced, countless memories of their daily lives stabbing into his nerves.

The monsters' battle sent random shockwaves killing people; Donnie didn't know when he'd die—maybe the next second.

"Hateful monsters—I still have dreams unfulfilled. I wanted to earn my own money and buy a big truck. Killed in my past life, transmigrated here, and destroyed the moment I opened my eyes..."

He gently touched his beloved truck, his last emotional anchor—the fruit of his family's hard work, their lifeblood, the most important thing sustaining them in this life. Now it was wrecked, barely alive like him—the three of them and the truck would likely die together.

He wanted to crawl closer, to see his dead parents one last time, but he couldn't move.

"It's over—end of the world, we're all dead!" A survivor with a broken leg bled out, emotionally shattered.

If Donnie had never had anything, it would be bearable—but to gain and then lose was the worst pain. Memories kept surfacing, whispering to him, showing the small moments between the family and the truck—plain, hard, yet warm.

Now nothing was left.

Donnie stared at the two monsters. Their battle had destroyed too much, crushed too many innocent dreams.

Fear and grief pierced his shattered heart; death toyed with his soul. In the shadows, something terrible seemed to stir.

Resentment slowly filled his will. With a crisp crack, some shackle broke open. A monster awoke, opened its eyes, and was unleashed. Donnie touched the truck—the battered pickup seemed to grow warm, or maybe it was an illusion. Donnie felt the truck belonged to him. With his parents gone, it should be his. The feeling was so intense that something mysterious in his mind flowed through his hands into the vehicle. He felt the truck was his—an extension of his strength and will.

"The green one's done for—it's too weak, no match for the other!" a military reporter on the helicopter said into his mic.

The old general's face was grim, laced with deep regret, and finally he slumped in defeat. "Pilot, get out of here. Take Betty away—it's not safe."

"Impossible, Father—he just got the injection, he's still in his weak phase!" A girl tugged at the general's arm, pleading. Her name was Betty Ross, Dr. Banner's girlfriend. But Banner had suffered a terrible accident years ago, bombarded by gamma rays during an experiment, mutating into the Hulk—a mindless beast.

Suddenly, a soldier pointed trembling at something, shouting excitedly: "Look—what the hell is that?!"

In the night, a clear sound cut through the air, like some large machine in motion. But the area was surrounded by the military—where was the noise coming from?

The helicopter's spotlight swept over, and everyone stared, dumbfounded, as if witnessing a miracle—or a new demon being born.

Under the light, an astonishing transformation was underway!

A battered pickup truck, utterly unremarkable, was rapidly reassembling itself. The entire body split into countless interlocking parts, which recombined at a staggering speed, reshaping the vehicle's form.

Finally, a humanoid robot stood tall. Beside it was a smaller figure—Donnie, struggling to stand, forcing his eyes open, the rage and hatred in his chest nearly consuming him.

The truck was called Optimus Prime—a name he'd chosen himself, an extension of his faith and will, following him from his past life to this one!

The small figure stood there, seemingly insignificant, yet an invisible force swept out. Everyone who saw him felt a mountain pressing on their chest, suffocating, nearly choking to death. Their bodies trembled, their souls quaked, wanting to collapse.

Sand and stones flew, the ground shook, wails echoed—a shocking wave swept in all directions, surging across the world, stunning all!

This was the roar of will!

In Westchester, New York, at Xavier's School for Gifted Youngsters, a bald old man snapped his eyes open, exclaiming: "That wave... what astonishing power!"