Marvel's Alien Force

After the shockwaves of the kinetic burst began to lessen with each passing second, Mark—now fully transformed into Diamondhead—peered through his altered vision. What he saw wasn't just shapes or movement. He could feel the emotions radiating from the person inside the crystal chamber, with a clarity far beyond what his human self was ever capable of. And for the first time since this mess began, he exhaled in quiet relief.

His eyes shifted toward the crowd.

People had already stepped away from him, instinctively keeping their distance. Some of the military personnel had their weapons raised, fingers itching on the triggers, watching the towering alien figure with caution painted all over their faces.

Mark didn't care.

They could point all the guns they wanted—hell, even fire a nuke at him—and it wouldn't leave a scratch on his current form. 

But the truth was undeniable. His cover? Blown to hell.

He couldn't live the same, move the same, or plan the same anymore.

'Whatever. Since I'm exposed, might as well start playing on the big board.'

He spoke inwardly, resigned but calm.

At his mental command, the first crystal wall in front of him began to shift. The jagged structure creaked as it opened a wide enough path for his bulky form to step through. Compared to his human body, he stood a full nine feet tall now, solid and sharp from every angle, his crystal form gleaming under the muted sunlight.

And damn, even in this monstrous shape… he had to admit—he looked handsome.

There was something about the way the light reflected off his crystal skin that made his jawline pop like a comic book hero. He caught a glimpse of his reflection on one of the crystal panels and snorted.

As he passed through the first wall, it sealed shut behind him with a sharp grinding noise, hiding him from the public eye.

"What is that thing?"

"Is he with the X-Men?"

"Is he dangerous? But didn't he just save us?"

"What are you saying? He's dangerous—we should get out of here!"

The whispers spread quickly. Fear. Confusion. Awe. The people didn't know what to believe, so they defaulted to panic. Most slowly moved away in silence, while others stood frozen, too shaken to think clearly.

The female officer from before was still standing, her eyes wide as she stared at the crystalline walls Mark had formed. Amazement and fear battled in her gaze.

But then her hand instinctively touched her vest—right over her heart—and she realized something.

'He saved me.'

The thought came unbidden, but it echoed with truth.

He hadn't just shielded her from a rampaging mutant; he had acted decisively, before anyone else could. Not to destroy, but to contain. Not to harm, but to protect.

And now she knew… this wasn't a monster.

This was a protector.

She looked around at the shaken survivors—some still on the ground, others slowly regaining their composure—and then turned her eyes back to the crystal barrier. Her jaw tightened, and she nodded to herself.

She would wait.

Wait for the strange crystal man to come back out with the girl.

Because despite everything, deep in her gut as a soldier—and deeper still, in her instincts as a mother—she knew.

He meant no harm.

And that girl inside… she was just a child.

'Please be safe…' she prayed, eyes never leaving the shimmering, diamond-forged walls before her.

Mark passed through the crystal walls one by one, each closing behind him with a clean shhk as he moved deeper into the containment maze he'd created. Four walls—layered, curved, reinforced—all designed to contain a single thing: the raw, untrained power of a young mutant who had just awakened under the weight of overwhelming grief.

And now, past the final barrier, she was before him.

The girl sat crouched on the floor, her head bowed, sobs trembling from her body as she clutched her arms around herself. Her twin-tailed hair was messy, her clothes torn and dust-covered. She looked small. Fragile.

"Mom… mom… mom…"

That was all she could say. The word repeated in a whisper, broken and muffled beneath her breath.

Mark—no, Diamondhead—stood there, towering above her at nearly nine feet. His body gleamed with sharp crystal angles, blue and translucent under the fading sky. But despite his imposing form, he didn't feel powerful in that moment.

He felt... awkward.

Not because the Diamondhead form dulled his emotions—he could still feel sadness. That wasn't the problem.

The problem was, he didn't know how to handle a crying child.

Should he shift back to human form? Kneel down? Say something?

Comforting a kid in the middle of a breakdown wasn't exactly something he'd learned in his past life.

He sighed.

And moved forward anyway.

Each step echoed lightly—crystal on crystal—his weight reverberating through the hardened maze he'd constructed. He raised one arm slowly, letting out a faint, invisible pulse. It wasn't Diamondhead's power. It was something else.

Something new.

A subtle psychic shockwave.

His mutant ability—an extension of his senses, of his will—rolled forward in gentle, unseen waves, and as it touched her… he saw it through his altered vision.

Her emotions were unraveling—unclenching. The storm inside her was dying down.

She didn't notice it consciously. She just felt soothed, like warm sunlight cutting through a winter fog. Her aura—chaotic and blazing just minutes ago—was calming. Stabilizing.

Her mutant power wasn't flaring up anymore. It was receding, folding in on itself without risk of another outburst.

Mark continued walking. Slowly. Purposefully.

Then she looked up.

She'd heard the footsteps—heavy and deliberate—and through tear-filled eyes, she saw him. A towering alien figure, built like a walking crystal fortress, gleaming and inhuman.

She should have screamed. Any normal person would've.

But she didn't.

Because something in her gut whispered that this wasn't a monster.

This was someone she could ask for help. Someone she could trust.

Someone who might bring her mother back.

Her lips trembled.

Her eyes locked with his faceless, crystalline gaze.

She stood up, slowly, her legs still trembling beneath her. But she didn't run. She didn't scream.

She looked up at him—this towering, crystalline figure approaching her with thunderous yet careful steps—and didn't flinch.

And then, she heard his voice.

It echoed slightly, like a resonating chime within a cave of stone, alien in tone, deeper and distant. But it wasn't harsh.

It was… soothing.

"Don't worry. I won't harm you."

She shook her head softly and replied in a voice cracked with tears, "I know you won't harm me."

Mark blinked.

He hadn't expected that.

He watched as this girl—barely fourteen, dust-covered, bruised, and broken—took a step forward. And then another. She reached up, her small hand trembling, and placed it gently against his crystal fingers.

"Please… help me."

That touch.

That voice.

Something inside Mark stirred.

Something long buried. Long silenced.

He wasn't sure how to describe it. It wasn't "weird" in the usual sense. It was… foreign. Like a chord in his soul had been struck after years of silence.

He stood frozen as a wave of sensation crashed into him—an unfamiliar ache that wasn't pain but something deeper.

Compassion.

Not just for her. Not just for a single moment.

But for others.

A flicker of something long dead sparked in his chest.

And then—memories.

They surged in, uninvited but unstoppable.

His past life unfolded like a reel spinning at high speed:

Laughter at the dinner table.

His father's warm smile.

His mother's humming in the kitchen.

The dreams of youth—becoming a firefighter, a police officer, a hero to someone.

Helping neighbors. Chasing stray dogs. Saving kittens from gutters.

All of it.

Then the wreckage.

A twisted car. A call at midnight. Silence.

Then—his relatives. Greedy. Heartless. Stripping him of home and inheritance.

Then the job.

That soul-crushing job.

The abusive manager. The coworkers who laughed at his grief. The days he cried in a public toilet, stuffing tissue in his mouth to muffle the sound.

The day his heart died.

The day he gave up on being a good person.

The day he chose survival over kindness.

And now…

This.

This little girl clutching his hand with absolute trust.

And it hurt.

Not because of pain—but because it healed something he hadn't known was broken.

His eyes—not that his current form had pupils—shifted slightly to his own hand. And without thinking, he formed a crystal shard—razor-sharp and humming with energy. It hovered there, suspended in the air by instinct.

Except… he wasn't holding it.

His hand hadn't moved.

The shard floated mid-air, surrounded by an invisible force. A pressure. A tension that didn't belong to Diamondhead.

Mark's crystal brow furrowed.

"Telekinesis…? How?"

He whispered the words more to himself than anyone else, still watching the shard float calmly, as if waiting for instruction.

Then, like a whisper in the dark of his mind, he heard.

Telekinesis... from her? No, through her. Or maybe… because of her.

He glanced down, the girl still clinging lightly to his crystalline hand, her tear-streaked face looking up at him with a fragile, desperate hope.

Something within him responded to that.

And then, it clicked.

His mutant power—it wasn't just the ability to suppress others' emotions. It was something more.

Something evolving.

He lowered his gaze, and despite the jagged, armored plates of his crystal face, a faint glimmer of a smile flickered across his lips—a smile that wasn't human, but somehow... felt more human than anything he'd worn in his previous life.

"Let's go," he said, his voice deep and reverberating, yet warm. "I'll help you."

The girl blinked.

And for the first time… she smiled.

Mark's massive crystalline hand raised gently. With a flick of telekinetic will—not Diamondhead's power, and not even his own mutant ability, but something borrowed from her—he lifted the girl into the air with smooth precision and settled her softly onto his forearm. To him, she was light as a feather. Small, like a doll. He held her with the ease of someone carrying a baby.

With his free hand, he turned to face the crystal walls behind him.

His palm opened.

The barriers began to retract—just like they had formed before, but now in reverse. The structures shimmered as they broke down, segment by segment, wall by wall. The fourth wall retracted first. Then the third. The second. The first. And finally, even the diamond-plated floor he had created began to dissolve.

The ground returned to normal—the old wooden planks of the ship now exposed once more. It was as if nothing had ever been changed.

But everything had changed.

As he stepped forward, now standing before the rest of the survivors, the murmurs rose again. Eyes widened. Voices hushed. Guns twitched in hands.

But then—

A breath of relief escaped the female officer who had confronted the girl earlier. Her shoulders relaxed when she saw the child—safe, whole, and quietly cradled in the arms of the towering crystal being.

Their eyes met.

Mark gave her a single glance.

And then he spoke.

"I'll go help."

That was all he said.

She blinked, confused—help how?—but before she could ask, she saw him float.

Float.

Like gravity itself had become a suggestion.

With the girl in his arms, Diamondhead rose into the air. Smooth. Silent. Controlled.

He turned toward the wreckage of the fallen Golden Gate Bridge, where rescue operations were still ongoing, and in a blink of light reflected off his crystalline body—he shot forward.

Like a meteor made of diamond.

A hero.

The female officer stumbled back slightly, her jaw half-open.

Then, catching herself, she grabbed her walkie-talkie and spoke quickly into it.

"A super… A super hero has arrived on scene! I repeat, do not engage. Don't shoot. He's helping with rescue. I repeat—he's helping!"

She stared at his fading figure cutting through the smoke-filled sky, her grip tight on the comms.

She didn't know his name.

She didn't know what he was.

But she knew—by instinct alone—he meant no harm.

He meant hope.

And in a world already broken by invasions, Kaiju, and chaos…

That was enough.

'Please… be safe,' she prayed silently, watching him disappear toward the ruins of the bridge.

'Help them. Help them all.'

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