Hawk didn't know how other Saints cultivated their Cosmo.
After all, the Saints he remembered were from an anime.
This?
This was real life.
And in case you hadn't noticed—
Stories need logic.
Reality doesn't.
So…
After throwing punches every day—ten thousand times a day—for a thousand straight days, Hawk had long since pushed that single basic punch to the realm of mastery.
As the saying goes:
> "If someone draws their sword a hundred thousand times, even the heavens will yield to their blade."
Well, if that's true, then Hawk's tens of thousands of punch-retract-punch reps had more than earned their divine moment.
And when his Cosmo finally awakened?
That one punch technique evolved.
Into—
Sonic Fist.
A strike fast enough to break the sound barrier.
A technique that, when amplified by the burning force of Cosmo, could even exceed it.
What was Sonic Fist?
Simple:
> "When my fist hits your body,
you'll feel the pain—
before you hear the sound."
---
> BOOM!
The Chitauri commander, who had narrowly leapt off his exploding hovercraft, turned his head as the sonic crack still echoed in the air.
His hand went to his back.
He drew a glowing green weapon—shaped not like a gun but like a wickedly curved spear.
His eyes, large and green behind his alloy faceplate, locked onto Hawk.
Who was shirtless now.
Yeah… about that.
Hawk's old T-shirt, already battered and faded from years of wear, hadn't survived the Chitauri's earlier full-scale bombing run. It had shredded to rags.
But honestly?
He felt stronger without it.
Standing barefoot in torn sweats and scuffed sneakers, chest bare, muscles coiled like a sculpted statue—
Hawk grinned.
It wasn't his imagination.
Everyone knows the rule:
> "Lose your shirt, gain power."
---
> "Human!"
The Chitauri commander leveled his glowing spear.
Far above them, inside the alien mothership, Hawk's image appeared on their tactical screen.
Target: Locked.
---
Hawk tilted his head.
Smiled.
Raised one hand.
Curled his fingers. Beckoned.
No trash talk. No threats.
Just—
> "Come."
> "And die."
---
The commander snarled, armor plates shifting with a hiss.
> BOOM!
His foot shattered the concrete beneath him as he launched, spear raised, firing blast after blast of green energy in Hawk's direction.
At the same time—
> CRACK!
Hawk moved.
The ground crumpled where he launched from, his body streaking forward like a golden bolt of lightning.
He didn't even blur—
He ripped open the visual plane.
In his memories, once a Saint awakened their Cosmo, gained the blessing of a constellation, and donned their Cloth, their body became something else.
Their speed reached Mach 1.
Their durability soared.
Their lifespan shattered mortal limits.
Right now, Hawk didn't have a Cloth.
Hadn't even lit his first constellation.
But it didn't matter.
Because even like this—
He wasn't human anymore.
---
The Chitauri commander charged, expecting a fight—
And got a mouthful of blood.
> SPLURT!
He coughed violently midair, his own acidic green blood spraying out with such force it blasted his metal faceplate clean off.
Underneath—
A face more insect than man.
Contorted in shock.
And then—
The sound of Hawk's punch finally reached him.
> BOOOOM!
He looked down—
To see a fist embedded in his chest.
It had punched through his armor.
Through his carapace.
Through his very core.
The commander let out a gurgling shriek.
He tried to lift his head—to look one last time at the being that had ended him in one move.
But he never made it.
Hawk yanked his arm free—
And darkness swallowed the Chitauri.
> THUD.
He collapsed like a felled beast.
Dead before he hit the ground.
---
Hawk caught the alien's weapon before it dropped.
The spear pulsed with glowing green fluid, energy dancing through the shaft like liquid lightning.
He tested the weight.
> Huh.
> "Wonder what this would fetch on the black market."
After all—
Alien tech?
Probably worth a lot.
He glanced back toward the ruins of his apartment building, where earlier he'd stashed four of the Chitauri's energy rifles in a crater next to the bodies.
Might be time to cash in.
But just then—
Out of the corner of his eye, he caught it.
A flare of light.
He turned.
Looked up.
The sky over Manhattan was glowing—brilliant blue—and fading.
The towering beam that had pierced the heavens was gone.
And the gash that had split the very fabric of Earth's sky?
Closing.
Before his eyes.
> "That's it?"
> "Is it… over?"
> "That's the whole Chitauri invasion arc?"
> "Kinda feels—"
He trailed off.
He wanted to scoff, say the alien invasion was weak, that he'd worried too much for nothing.
But then he looked around.
At the ruins.
At the torn limbs, broken streets, and scorched buildings of his neighborhood.
And he swallowed that thought.
No.
The Chitauri weren't weak.
He'd gotten strong.
> "If I hadn't awakened my Cosmo right when I did…"
He didn't need to finish the thought.
Somewhere in that wreckage, his own remains would've been scattered among the rubble.
Hawk took a slow breath.
His gaze hardened.
His will crystalized.
He would get stronger.
Stronger still.
Until he had the power to say—
> "My fate is mine.
Not Heaven's."
But first…
He had some looting to do.
Five alien weapons weren't gonna sell themselves.
Time to fund his post-apocalypse lifestyle.