Chapter 25

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"The Goku Template has expired," Mark muttered, gritting his teeth as the colossal power that had surged through him only moments before now ebbed away, draining out of his limbs like a receding tide. His massive simian frame rapidly contracted, bones snapping back into place, muscle mass deflating like a collapsing balloon. The howling winds of rage and instinct quieted, replaced by a sharp clarity that carried with it an unsettling weight.

The transformation was over.

His body fell forward onto one knee, robes in tatters, his breath ragged and shallow. Every fiber of him ached with phantom power, a power that no longer belonged to him. He clutched his chest, forcing himself to remain upright.

"Even if I have Saiyan blood now," he thought, "my base strength is garbage. A tenfold multiplier means nothing if I'm starting from zero."

The looming danger wasn't just physical exhaustion. It was strategic vulnerability. If he collapsed now, they would all be taken. S.H.I.E.L.D. would sweep in, detain the entire X-Men team, and strip away what remained of Xavier's resistance. The mutant school would fall. Wanda and Pietro would be taken, and every child in that haven would be reduced to a test subject.

He couldn't allow that. Not again.

"These templates…" he whispered bitterly. "They're borrowed power. A crutch. And the moment they vanish, I'm back to being nothing."

He clenched his fists, nails digging into his palms. The realization wasn't new, but it struck differently now that he had tasted what it felt like to stand on equal footing with gods. He couldn't rely on crutches forever. He had to become stronger on his own. His strength, his identity, had to come from within, not from some character profile downloaded from fiction.

"After this... I start training. No shortcuts."

The memory of Goku's early days flashed in his mind. The boy who fought dinosaurs and armies with nothing but resolve and muscle. That was the mark to reach. That would be the baseline. Once his true strength matched Goku at thirteen, every template loaded after that would act as a multiplier, not a lifeline.

But first...

Mark winced and forced himself to his feet. He pulled open the system interface, his voice sharp and decisive.

"Justice Points bar full. You may now draw one protagonist template. Proceed?"

"Draw."

There was no hesitation. No time for strategy. He needed something, anything, that could bridge the gap. A few seconds passed.

"Drawing in progress... Drawing complete. Template obtained: Harry Potter, Age 14."

Mark blinked. "Harry Potter?"

Disappointment hit immediately. This wasn't a heavy-hitter. He needed power, brute and unrelenting. And he had drawn a half-trained teenager with a wand and a knack for stumbling into danger.

Still, something was better than nothing.

"Load."

At once, the transformation began. His tattered uniform was replaced by a flowing black Hogwarts robe. His hair grew messier and untamed, and a pair of round spectacles shimmered into place across his nose. A faint twinge lit up his forehead, and when he glanced into a broken piece of nearby glass, he saw the unmistakable lightning scar etched above his brow.

In his right hand, a wand of holly and phoenix feather.

In his left, a Nimbus 2001(flying broom) and the Deathly Hallow invisibility cloak.

"So the artifacts come with the template..." he murmured, surprised but not entirely ungrateful.

The broom was fast by wizarding standards, but it wouldn't outrun Captain Marvel. Still, the cloak could be useful. Supposedly, it even hid the wearer from Death itself.

More importantly, the Harry Potter template had given him something subtle but significant: control.

With newfound awareness, Mark looked up at the moon, still full and glowing ominously above the battlefield. A familiar heartbeat echoed in his ears.

Thump-thump. Thump-thump.

He smiled faintly. "The templates stack. They don't overwrite."

He turned to the sky.

The transformation began.

His roar shattered the ice.

For a second time, his body surged upward. Bones elongated. Fur burst through his skin like wildfire. The Great Ape rose once more. But this time, there was no chaos in his mind. No fog. His hands did not tremble with madness.

He was still Mark. Still aware.

He flexed one massive arm, the wizard's robe torn to threads beneath the expansion. Magic coursed through the ape's blood vessels like a second circulatory system. Subtle, fluid, malleable. The Saiyan body, built for violence, was now laced with a magical consciousness that could suppress instinct.

"I'm controlling it. Just like Vegeta."

And that wasn't all. He felt it in his core. The transformation could be dismissed at will. Even under a full moon, he could suppress it. Not through brute force, but through refined magical intent. The calm center of a wand-wielder gave him leverage over the storm of Saiyan fury.

But his power had dropped. Tremendously.

Before, with Goku's 140 base power, the transformation had brought him to 1400. Now, with his true body's base of 10, the transformation only raised him to 100.

A fraction of what he had been.

But no one else knew that.

He stood tall, fifteen meters of bellowing fur and glowing eyes. Captain Marvel, still hovering, bruised and battle-weary, narrowed her gaze.

"He's back," she whispered. "But something's different. He's… not rampaging."

Fury's voice crackled over the SHIELD comms. "Rambeau. Status?"

She didn't answer immediately. Her brow furrowed.

"He's not attacking. He's watching."

Fury cursed. "Damn it. Is he playing possum? What's Xavier doing?"

Inside the X-Jet, Professor X stared out at Mark in his transformed state, his expression unreadable.

"He's not a threat anymore," Charles said finally, calm but tight with concern. "Not unless you provoke him again."

Fury didn't respond. He was calculating.

This Great Ape looked as deadly as before, but something had shifted. His stance was too calm. His breathing too measured. Was it a bluff? Or a trap?

Mark, meanwhile, stood still. He wasn't bluffing out of pride. He simply had no choice.

He couldn't fight. Not right now.

But if he could look like he could, it might just be enough.