The forest clearing was quiet.
Too quiet.
Ben stood at the center, staring down an alien mechbeast left over from a failed DNA retrieval mission by a rogue Highbreed scout. It was ten feet tall, metallic, quadrupedal, and bristling with plasma cannons. Its sensors swept left and right, analyzing threats.
Max and Gwen were at the edge of the treeline, weapons ready — but not moving.
They were watching Ben.
Because Ben wasn't moving either.
Not yet.
He stood calmly, hand hovering over the Omnitrix, eyes locked on the machine.
> "You're not gonna transform?" Gwen asked, whispering into the comms.
Ben replied flatly, "Why waste energy?"
He flicked his wrist. The Omnitrix dial rotated with surgical precision. No hesitation. No showboating. He wasn't guessing anymore.
He knew exactly what he needed.
Grey Matter → Heatburst → Accelerate Hybrid (Temp Build 0.2).
The Omnitrix chimed.
> SLAM.
In an instant, Ben was engulfed in a swirling cascade of green light — and then he was gone, replaced by something new.
His body was sleek and lithe like XLR8, but glowing with molten lines of lava and small exhaust vents along the shoulders. Heat shimmered off his limbs. A solid visor of tempered obsidian covered his face.
He launched forward with a sonic boom, too fast to see.
The mech fired.
Missed.
Ben appeared behind it mid-sprint, launching a thermal sonic punch into one of its legs. The plasma-metal alloy bent and melted from the concentrated heat laced with kinetic force.
> "This is calculated power," Ben said over comms.
Another sonic dash.
Another hit.
> SLAM! CRACK!
Gwen could barely track him. "That's not just XLR8 with Heatblast. What is he doing?"
Max didn't answer.
He was watching the patterns.
Ben wasn't just using speed and fire. He was using perfect positioning. Calculated angles. Predictive physics. He knew where the machine would turn. He knew where to strike to disable joints, drain coolant lines, and push the mech into overheating.
It wasn't a fight.
It was math.
---
Ten seconds later, the mech collapsed in a heap of slag and sparks.
Ben stood above it, the hybrid form's visor retracting to reveal his glowing green eyes.
He tapped the Omnitrix.
Returned to human form.
Didn't smile.
Didn't gloat.
> "I'm testing variables," he said flatly.
---
Back at camp that night
Max ran diagnostics on the mech's remains.
"Three joints melted, two pressure valves ruptured, all within the span of fifteen seconds," he muttered, shaking his head. "That's strategic form selection at a level we've never seen."
Gwen leaned against the wall, arms crossed. "Ben's not just getting better. He's getting… smarter. Like, exponentially."
Max hesitated.
Then finally said it: "He's not acting like a kid anymore."
Gwen nodded slowly.
> "It's like… he's planning something."
---
Meanwhile, Ben was deep in thought.
Inside the Rustbucket's makeshift lab, he had pulled up a rotating 3D model of the Omnitrix's current architecture — visible only through the advanced display lens he crafted using a fusion of Galvan and Earth tech.
He stared at the internal alien tree — branches representing species, subspecies, and now… Prime Form forks.
> Heatburst. Complete.
XLR-Prime (Speed/Flame Variant): 22% complete.
Diamondshift: In development.
> "Three down," Ben muttered, "seven to go until full ten-form strategic dominance."
But that was just the first tier.
Ben wasn't stopping at individual upgrades.
He was now designing fusion strategies. Logical combinations of abilities, elemental opposites, and tactical role pairings.
Not just brute force. But field versatility.
A whole system.
---
Form Roles:
Heatburst – Zone Denial / Area Control
XLR-Prime – Shock Assault / Interceptor
Diamondshift – Tank / Reflective Counter
Grey Root – Tactical Interface / Code Control
Stingwhip (planned) – Crowd Control / Sensory Override
Each would have a battlefield role.
Each would include a "smart scaffold" — a piece of Grey Matter's intellect encoded into their cognitive architecture.
Ben would never be forced to fight stupid.
Never act on panic or impulse.
Because even his instincts… were calculated.
---
Max stepped in, watching from the doorway.
"You're building a strategy, aren't you?"
Ben didn't look up.
"I'm building a war plan."
Max frowned. "We're not at war, Ben."
Ben finally glanced back at him.
> "Not yet."
---
Max left him alone after that.
Not because he agreed.
But because, in the pit of his stomach, he realized something:
Ben wasn't guessing about the future.
Ben was preparing for something they hadn't even seen yet.
---
Elsewhere…
Deep in the Null Void, a scarred figure watched a flickering projection of Ben's battle with the mechbeast.
A cloaked, alien voice hissed.
> "He's deviating from the Prime Loop. He's broken the timeline."
Another voice, smoother, colder.
> "Then we break him."
---
That night…
Ben sat alone outside, legs crossed, Omnitrix softly glowing.
He looked up at the stars.
Not as a kid with dreams.
But as a tactician, watching a chessboard no one else could see.
> "Calculated power isn't about being stronger," he whispered.
"It's about knowing when to become more than they expect."
He held up the Omnitrix.
Watched the green light reflect in his eyes.
And smiled.