X-Force: Beyond Omega

AN: Lacking Powerstones. Give me those stones to continue the daily update. 

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[Ross' base]

Norman Osborn's body slumped onto the cold metallic floor of the armory storage with a heavy thud. The air smelled thick with oil, gunpowder, and sterilized metal. He groaned, clutching his chest as it burned. His veins glowed faintly green, pulsating with the sickly light of the serum coursing through his blood, warring with his body and mind. He was pushing himself up to his knees, gasping for air, his body in violent tremors.

"What. where am I?" he croaked, his voice rough from screaming.

The room was filled with rows of heavy weaponry lining the walls. Norman struggled to his feet, his vision blurry, his head pounding as if a hundred voices were clamoring for attention. The whispers began, faint and indistinct, like shadows of thoughts scratching at the edge of his consciousness.

"Weak... useless... pathetic."

Words were like shards of glass cutting into his mind. He clasped his head, violently shaking it. "No! Get out of my head!"

But the whispers grew louder, more insistent.

"You're nothing without us. Embrace it, Norman. Let us show you true power."

His veins pulsed brighter, and his muscles tensed involuntarily. He stumbled against a rack of weapons, sending rifles clattering to the floor. His reflection in the polished steel of a nearby missile casing caught his attention. He froze, staring. His once human face now bore faint greenish hues. His eyes glowed faintly yellow, and his pupils had narrowed into slits.

"No," he whispered, horror creeping into his voice. "This isn't possible."

"Possible? This is destiny," the voices crooned in unison. "You are the apex, Norman. The failure was never in the serum—it was in you. But now, we are perfect."

Again Norman screamed, letting out this guttural scream because pain ripped through his body. His back arched unnaturally. His skin cracked further open, this greenish energy spilling out like molten lava. His muscles contorted, evolving further, while his hands twisted into claws formed at his fingertips.

The whispers morphed into mocking laughter, a cacophony of madness that drowned out his own thoughts. His mind felt like it was splitting, pieces of his identity fragmenting and scattering into the abyss.

"I... I'm Norman Osborn!" he growled, his voice deeper, tinged with an otherworldly echo.

"A pathetic shell of a man, but you can be so much more," the voices purred, their tones seductive and inviting.

Norman clenched his fists, feeling his power swell within him. The voices were right. He could be more. He could be everything he wanted to be. He would rise above everyone.

The thought sent a thrill through him, a dark smile spreading across his face.

"Yes. That's right. Think about it. With this power, we can evolve even further over time. We can do whatever we want. We can take whatever we want."

The words reverberated through Norman's mind like a drug, intoxicating him with its seductive promise.

"You're weak, Norman. That's why you are in this situation, aren't you? But with us, you can become a god. We will show you how to become a god. We will make you a god."

Norman's eyes widened in realization. It all made sense now. They always said that it was madness and that the serum was a failure. Even Ross, with whom he worked for years, had called him insane and pulled out the funds. Then Trask came and saw potential in his work and decided to take it further, but the time changed. With Trask dead and his experiments exposed, who will fund his project? What will happen to Oscorp? What about Harry's disease?

"The serum works. I was right," He mumbled to himself. "But it could be perfected even further. I need money, facility, manpower..."

"That's right. Harry will die without his cure. Your company will burn to the ground."

Rage surged through Norman at their words. He would do whatever it takes to save Harry and preserve the legacy of his life's work. He would have to seize the reins and make his own path. His future was no longer bound by the rules. His ambition could be infinite. With this newfound power, he would do things that had been impossible before.

"Let's kill them all and burn down this world if that's what it takes to save Harry," He stood up, clenching his fists. His eyes flashed brightly as the whispers egged him on. "Hehehehehehe. Yes, yes, that's the way!" He laughed. He loved the feeling, the adrenaline rushing through his veins. 'This is power,' he thought to himself.

The voices within him murmured with growing excitement. "Yes… yes… finally, you are becoming something more. Let the transformation begin."

The nanites rushed out from his body, covering it with a glowing, green exoskeleton of armor. His metal body shredded and morphed into gleaming plates over his chest, limbs, and back. His claws became sharper and longer than before. Then the helmet came up with glowing yellow eyes and a goblin-like shape.

His transformation was complete.

He looked at his claws, "Well, claws are good, but I want to chop them up to pieces." The claws transformed into energy blades.

The door opened and the soldiers rushed in. They were about to transport the weapons to another facility and destroy the rest, but they were shocked to see the abomination before their eyes.

"Wha-"

Blood flew everywhere as ten soldiers fell dead in seconds. Pieces of flesh and entrails were flying in the air as if they were being torn apart by an invisible hand.

"What do we have here, ladies?" A deep, raspy voice filled the room, sending chills down the soldiers' spines. Everyone went silent and pale. It was an aberration—something straight out of the movies. It could only mean one thing.

They were screwed.

His glowing yellow eyes scanned the room, and his senses heightened beyond comprehension. The whispers in his mind had only grown louder, feeding into his madness, and egging him on. "Yes, Norman, destroy them all. Let none stand in your way."

The soldiers, those who hadn't already fled in terror, tried to raise their weapons in desperation, but it was futile. They fired, their bullets whizzing toward him, but they were deflected harmlessly by his armor. One soldier screamed, trying to run, but Norman was faster. "Going somewhere?" With a flick of his wrist, he slashed through the man's torso, splitting him clean in half before he hit the ground.

"Pathetic," he sneered as another soldier tried to scramble for cover behind a stack of crates. With a single swipe, the crates disintegrated, and the soldier was left in two bleeding halves. He could taste the fear in the air—so thick, so sweet.

"Please, please, don't—" a soldier begged, raising his hands in a futile attempt to stop the oncoming nightmare. Norman's eyes glowed brighter, his energy blades flashing once more as he sliced him clean through the middle, without even a second thought.

For the next 30 minutes, Norman ran through the base, slicing and cutting the remaining guards into little pieces as his heart fluttered with delight. No matter how much time had passed, they all reacted in a manner he didn't expect them to react. They fired, and he blocked. He approached and they fell. The base is enormous, and he couldn't see the end.

"More fun for me," Norman giggled.

"Stop him. Send all the troops!" Ross's voice rang out over the loudspeakers as he observed Norman's assault on the security drones. There were about five of them, and they shot rapid blasts at him. They were too slow and couldn't get away. "Target: Locking. Fire at will! Fire at will!"

Norman spread his arms and used them to protect him as the missiles exploded on him, and smoke flooded the corridor. His nanite armor regenerates quickly, repairing itself as if the damage had never existed.

The barrage slowed down, allowing him to fire his weapons. Multiple metal shards shot out from his arms. They pierced through the smoke and blew up three drones instantly, the pieces crumbled in the air. Ross noticed the broken signals and frowned, "Damn. Engage manual targeting mode!"

From the corner of his eye, Norman saw a machine gun poking out. He quickly hid behind a fallen drone before the bullets could reach him. He spread his fingers to change them into nanite bombs. Three small balls emerged between his fingers and floated in the air, slowly, toward the turret. With a faint tap, he remotely activated the bombs. In just a few moments, they blew up the turret and all its neighboring equipment.

He looked around for a bit, waiting for another wave of attack, but no one came. Then he ran to the top floor and found a reinforced door, his grin widened, satisfaction settling in. The door was thick, the kind designed to withstand anything short of a bomb, but it didn't stand a chance against Norman's newfound power. He simply sliced it through the middle before tearing it apart.

Inside, General Thaddeus "Thunderbolt" Ross and his five remaining men stood ready, weapons aimed at the intruder.

"Who the hell are you?" Ross shouted, holding his weapon steady, ready to fire at a moment's notice. His heart pounded in his ears as fear rippled through his body. 'What was this creature?'

"Who am I? Hahahahahaha. How dare you, Ross, treat me like this," a deep, sinister voice replied as the intruder slowly walked towards them, his footsteps echoing through the room, heavy and ominous.

As he approached, the nanites shifted, revealing his face.

"Remember me?" Norman hissed.

"Osborn?"

"Hahaha, do you like the new me? You said the serum was a failure, Ross. A. Big. Mistake. You pulled the funds and even tried to sway Trask away. You labeled me as a mad scientist. So did many others. Yet the serum works. Not a failure at all! Now who is the loser here? How does it feel to be the wrong one? HAHAHA."

"Oh god," Ross whimpered. His knees were trembling so badly that he nearly fell down to his knees.

"There is no god. Hahaha. Only the dead can find their God if any, though I am still curious as to who or what these dead will find, eh?"

"What?" Ross cried, incredulous at Osborn's comment. "Norman, think about what you are doing," he said, trying to reason with him, although his heart knew how futile that attempt would be.

Norman raised his brows in mild surprise at Ross's nerve, "What am I doing? What are you doing is the question, Ross. Look around you. Hundreds of men are dead, and for what? Because of some meaningless agenda that was thrust upon us all. Did they truly die for a just cause, Ross? Was it worth the lives lost or were their sacrifices for naught?"

"Turn back and no one needs to die, Norman. You don't want to make me angry, trust me," Ross roared, trying to maintain his calm.

"Angry? Ha! Nice joke. What are you going to do? Punch me? Go ahead. I'll be fair and give you a shot. Come on!" Norman smiled as he spread his arms, "This is my first and last offer, Ross. Don't be dumb or die a fool,"

Multiple metal shards shot out of his armor and killed the remaining men in the room.

"See, your anger means nothing. You'll die, right here, right now."

"Stop," Ross snarled.

Norman rushed in and tried to stab him with the blade, but to his surprise, Ross grabbed it with his bare hand. His skin turned red.

"I told you. Do not... make me... angry," Ross snarled. He flung Norman like a ragdoll out the door and then cracked his neck as his size began to change.

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