Marvel: The saiyan

The warm Malibu sun rose over the ocean, painting the waves in streaks of gold and orange. Shallot stood on the balcony of his secluded home, sipping a cup of tea—a rare indulgence he had developed since coming to this world. His tail flicked lazily behind him, the motion reflecting the calm of the morning. Yet, beneath the calm exterior, his mind churned with thoughts of the past few days.

The gravity chamber was complete.

It stood on his property like a silent titan, its reinforced walls humming faintly with potential. The engineers Stark had hired had done a phenomenal job, though Shallot had spent several hours personally fine-tuning it, ensuring it could handle the kind of punishment he intended to dish out. The chamber was a marvel—reinforced alloys, energy dampeners, and a power system designed to mimic extreme gravitational forces. Yet, for all its readiness, Shallot hadn't stepped inside it. Not yet.

There was still one thing left to do first. Or rather, one person.

Tony Stark.

With a sigh, Shallot set down his cup and stretched, his muscles rippling beneath his shirt. Today wasn't about his training. Today, he was starting something new—something he wasn't entirely sure he had the patience for.

Training Stark.

A few days had passed since Obadiah Stane's betrayal and the chaotic showdown with the Iron Monger suit. Stark, now out of the hospital and back in the comfort of his home, had thrown himself into his work almost immediately. The glow of the arc reactor in his chest was stronger now, brighter—a sign of his recovery. But for once, his energy wasn't directed solely toward his tech. This time, it was different.

Shallot had made a deal, and Tony was taking it seriously. Well, as seriously as Tony Stark could take anything.

When Shallot arrived at Tony's mansion that morning, the large glass doors slid open automatically, and J.A.R.V.I.S.'s ever-polite voice greeted him.

"Good morning, Shallot. Mr. Stark is expecting you."

"Morning, J.A.R.V.I.S.," Shallot said casually, stepping inside. The familiar hum of machinery and the faint smell of oil lingered in the air, a signature of Stark's domain. He walked through the living room, his boots echoing lightly against the sleek floors, and paused when he spotted someone unexpected lounging on the couch.

The man had an imposing presence despite sitting so casually, one arm draped over the backrest while the other rested on his knee. He wore a long black coat, an eyepatch over his left eye, and his expression was as unreadable as stone.

Nick Fury.

"Well, if someone had told me one day I'd meet Samuel L. Jackson, I wouldn't have believed them," Shallot said, crossing his arms and raising an eyebrow.

Fury didn't move, didn't flinch, but his single eye fixed on Shallot with an intensity that could pierce steel. "Who?" he said, his voice calm and low, carrying the kind of weight that demanded attention.

Shallot chuckled, shaking his head. "Never mind. Just a joke."

"Funny guy," Fury said, his tone as dry as the Malibu air. He leaned forward slightly, resting his elbows on his knees. "You're Shallot. I've been hearing a lot about you."

Tony's voice broke the tension in the room like a knife through butter. "Fury, did you help yourself to my scotch again? Because if you did, I—oh."

Stark appeared at the entrance to the living room, his shirt untucked and his hair slightly messy. He paused mid-step when he saw Shallot and Fury staring each other down, their body language radiating mutual wariness. Tony's gaze flicked between them, a knowing smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.

"Well, isn't this interesting? I leave you two unsupervised for five minutes, and it looks like a Clint Eastwood standoff in here," Tony said, striding further into the room.

Shallot tilted his head, his black eyes glinting with a mix of curiosity and amusement. "You didn't tell me you had a government babysitter," he quipped, crossing his arms. The picture of nonchalant confidence.

"Not a babysitter," Tony corrected with a sly grin. "More like an uninvited guest who likes to show up whenever I'm having a bad day. Fury here was kind enough to grace me with his presence at the hospital. You know, the place I was recovering in after nearly dying?"

Nick Fury raised an eyebrow but didn't interrupt, allowing Tony to continue.

"So, there I was," Stark said, dramatically placing a hand on his chest as though recalling a harrowing ordeal. "Freshly patched up, running on the hospital's delightful cuisine—if you can call it that—and in walks Captain One-Eye here, all business. He doesn't even bring flowers or a 'Get Well Soon' card. Nope, he jumps straight to work. 'Stark,'" Tony said in a mock impression of Fury's deep voice, "'I need to talk to you about the future.'"

Tony gestured to Fury, still grinning. "Which is apparently his way of saying, 'Hi, I'm about to make your life ten times more complicated.'"

Fury smirked faintly, his arms crossed as he leaned back against the couch. "What can I say? I like to make an impression."

"Yeah, well, you sure did," Tony shot back, his tone light but carrying an undercurrent of sarcasm. "That's when I first heard about you, by the way," he added, nodding toward Shallot.

Shallot raised an eyebrow, his interest piqued. "Me?"

"Yup," Tony replied, shoving his hands into his pockets. "Apparently, Fury here has been keeping tabs on you. Said you're, what was the word? Oh, right—a 'walking anomaly.'"

Fury's expression remained unreadable, but his single eye never left Shallot. "That's putting it mildly."

Shallot chuckled, the sound low and unbothered. "Well, that explains why you're so interested. Let me guess—you want to figure out if I'm a threat?"

"I already know you're a threat," Fury said bluntly, his tone steady but firm. "The question is whether you're a threat to us or for us."

Tony cut in, raising a hand. "Alright, alright, let's not turn this into a full-blown interrogation, Fury. Shallot's with me. He's fine. A little weird, sure, but who isn't these days?"

"Speak for yourself," Shallot quipped, smirking.

Tony pointed at him. "See? Weird." Then he turned back to Fury. "Anyway, is this going to take all day, or are you going to let us get on with our business?"

Fury straightened, his coat shifting slightly as he adjusted his stance. "Consider this a courtesy call," he said, his tone calm but carrying an edge of authority. "I wanted to see him for myself. Now I have." He turned his attention back to Shallot. "We'll be watching you. Don't give me a reason to come knocking again."

Shallot shrugged, his demeanor casual. "Sure. Just try to call first next time."

Fury smirked faintly, then turned to Tony. "As for you, Stark, don't forget what we talked about. You're part of something bigger now, whether you like it or not."

Tony raised his eyebrows, feigning innocence. "Bigger? You mean my ego? Because I'm pretty sure it doesn't need any help."

Fury didn't take the bait. Instead, he nodded once, then strode toward the door. "You know how to reach me," he said over his shoulder before disappearing through the entryway, leaving an air of tension in his wake.

The sound of the door closing signaled Fury's departure, and Tony let out a long exhale, dramatically placing a hand over his chest. "Man, that guy is intense. Do you think he practices that 'all-business, no-fun' vibe in the mirror every morning, or does it just come naturally?"

Shallot shook his head, his smirk lingering. "I don't know, but I'd bet he doesn't even crack a smile when he's brushing his teeth."

Tony chuckled, his expression shifting to one of genuine curiosity as he turned to face Shallot fully. "So, how was your first run-in with Nick Fury? Think you made a new friend?"

"Friend?" Shallot repeated, raising an eyebrow. "I'm pretty sure he's deciding whether or not to throw me in a cell."

Tony waved a hand dismissively. "Nah, he's just like that with everyone. He's probably already cooking up some plan to recruit you into his super-secret boy band."

Shallot's smirk widened. "Hmm, I will think about it later."

"Well, good," Tony said, clapping his hands together. "Because today, you're working with the Tony Stark solo project. First day of training, remember? I'm ready. You ready?"

Shallot gave him a once-over, noting the lack of coordination in his stance and the faint smugness in his grin. "Yeah, sure," Shallot said dryly. "You're definitely ready. This should be fun."

A short while later, Shallot and Tony stood in the backyard, the cool ocean breeze rustling the palm trees. Shallot circled Tony like a predator assessing his prey, his sharp black eyes studying the billionaire's posture.

Tony shifted on his feet, raising his fists in an awkward imitation of a boxer's stance. "Alright, Sensei Shallot," Tony said with a playful smirk. "What's the first lesson? Do I get to punch stuff yet?"

Shallot sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. "First lesson, Stark: discipline. If you can't stay focused, you're not going to survive five minutes with me."

Tony rolled his eyes. "Please, I've built multi-billion-dollar companies. I think I can handle a little focus."

"Building companies and surviving me are two very different things," Shallot said, his tone sharp. "Now, less talking, more moving. Let's see what you've got."

Tony threw a clumsy punch, and Shallot caught it effortlessly, twisting Tony's arm just enough to throw him off balance.

"Focus," Shallot repeated, his voice calm but firm. "This isn't a boardroom. Out here, you're just another rookie."

Tony stumbled but quickly regained his footing, his grin undeterred. "Rookie, huh? Alright, Sensei. Teach me."

Shallot smirked faintly, his black eyes narrowing. "Oh, I will. But don't say I didn't warn you."

And so, the first day of Tony Stark's training began—under the watchful eyes of a Shallot who had no intention of going easy on him.

The sun hung high over the Malibu coastline as the first day of Tony Stark's training truly began. Shallot stood on the grassy lawn overlooking the ocean, arms crossed and an air of calm authority about him. His black eyes glinted in the sunlight as he watched Tony jog toward him, looking slightly annoyed but still determined.

"Alright, Stark," Shallot said, his voice carrying a sharp edge. "If you think you're going to jump straight to cool flips and energy blasts, think again. First, we're going to tear you down and rebuild you from the ground up. That starts with getting you in shape."

Tony, already out of breath from his light jog, stopped in front of Shallot, bent over slightly with his hands on his knees. "Seriously? I'm in shape, Shallot," Tony said between breaths. "I'm rich—there's no better shape than that."

Shallot raised an eyebrow and gestured to Tony's disheveled appearance, from his unkempt hair to the faint gut peeking through his T-shirt. "Yeah, sure," Shallot said dryly. "You're in great shape. You're like a shining example of physical perfection… for a middle-aged guy who skips leg day."

"Hey!" Tony straightened up, trying to suck in his stomach. "I'll have you know, I've been working out. Just last week, I hit the gym. I even did... crunches or something."

"Crunches," Shallot repeated, his tone flat. He stepped forward, standing toe-to-toe with Stark. His presence was imposing, and even without powering up, his aura was enough to make Tony feel small. "Listen, Stark. You can't tech your way out of this one. You want to be stronger? Faster? You want to be able to hold your own if something like Obadiah happens again? Then you're going to follow my rules. No whining, no shortcuts, and no excuses. Got it?"

Tony opened his mouth to retort but stopped short when Shallot's intense gaze bore into him. Finally, he sighed, his smirk fading into a look of genuine determination. "Got it," he said.

Shallot's tail flicked behind him as he turned away, a faint smirk tugging at his lips. "Good. Then let's get started."

The training began with simple exercises—or what Shallot called simple. For Tony, it was anything but.

"Alright, Stark, drop and give me fifty push-ups," Shallot ordered, his arms crossed as he towered over Tony.

"Fifty?!" Tony exclaimed, already half-lowered into a push-up position. "Do I look like a Navy SEAL to you?"

"No," Shallot said bluntly, his tail swishing behind him. "You look like a billionaire with noodle arms. Now start counting."

Tony groaned but complied, lowering himself into his first push-up. By the time he reached twenty, his arms were shaking, and beads of sweat rolled down his forehead.

"Come on, Stark," Shallot barked. "You can build a flying suit out of scraps in a cave, but you can't handle fifty push-ups? You're pathetic!"

Tony's face turned red—not from exertion, but from the sting of Shallot's words. "Oh, you're lovely to work with," Tony muttered under his breath as he struggled through another push-up. "Did you take a seminar in motivational abuse or something?"

Shallot smirked, leaning down slightly. "Motivation doesn't come from sugarcoating, Stark. It comes from grit. Pain. You're going to hate me by the end of this, but you'll thank me later."

By the end of the first week, Tony was sore in muscles he didn't even know existed. Shallot's training regimen was relentless: push-ups, sit-ups, squats, and laps around the sprawling mansion property were just the warm-up. Shallot even made Tony practice hand-eye coordination by dodging tennis balls Shallot hurled at him with alarming speed.

"Do you have to throw them so hard?!" Tony shouted one afternoon, narrowly avoiding a ball that zipped past his ear.

"Yes," Shallot replied simply, tossing another ball with casual precision. "The point is to push your limits. I'm not here to hold your hand."

Tony gritted his teeth, ducking and weaving as more balls came flying his way. His movements were awkward and clumsy, but over time, he started to improve.

By the end of the first month, the bruises on Tony's body had faded, but his endurance had doubled. His muscles were beginning to show definition, and he was no longer gasping for air after a few laps.

But if Shallot noticed his progress, he didn't show it. Instead, he upped the intensity of the training.

"More burpees!" Shallot barked one morning, standing on the mansion's balcony while Tony struggled through his latest set of exercises. "You're moving like a ninety-year-old, Stark! Pick up the pace!"

Tony collapsed onto the grass, glaring up at Shallot. "You're a training demon, you know that?"

"I've been called worse," Shallot replied with a shrug.

Despite his constant complaints, Tony never gave up. His near-death experience at Obadiah's hands haunted him, and the memory of being powerless to protect Pepper drove him forward. Every time Shallot pushed him to the brink, Tony gritted his teeth and pushed back, determined to become stronger.

Two months later, the results were undeniable. Tony's body had transformed. He was leaner, stronger, and faster. His reflexes had improved, and his stamina had reached levels he never thought possible.

"Alright," Shallot said one morning as Tony finished his last set of push-ups. "You're not completely useless anymore."

"Gee, thanks," Tony said, wiping sweat from his brow. "You sure know how to make a guy feel special."

Shallot smirked. "Don't get too comfortable. This is just the beginning. Now that your body's ready, we can move on to actual combat training."

Tony's eyes lit up with a mix of excitement and nervousness. "Finally. I was starting to think you were just a sadist with a thing for burpees."

"You'll wish we were still doing burpees by the time I'm done with you," Shallot said, his tone light but carrying a promise of future pain.

While Tony slept off the exhaustion from his training sessions, Shallot spent his nights in the gravity chamber. The chamber, now fully operational, was a masterpiece of technology and design. Reinforced walls, adjustable gravity settings, and energy-absorption capabilities made it the perfect training ground for someone of Shallot's strength.

Inside the chamber, Shallot pushed himself harder than ever. With the gravity cranked up to ten times Earth's normal level, every movement was a struggle. Sweat poured down his face as he unleashed flurries of punches and kicks, each strike creating shockwaves that reverberated through the chamber.

"This is nothing," Shallot muttered to himself, his voice strained but determined. "If I want to keep getting stronger, I can't hold back."

He trained until his muscles burned and his energy was nearly depleted. Only then would he deactivate the chamber and stagger outside, his body screaming for rest.

But no matter how grueling the training, Shallot always showed up the next morning to put Tony through his paces, his energy seemingly limitless.

One day, as the two of them sat on the grass after a particularly brutal session, Tony turned to Shallot, his expression uncharacteristically serious.

"You know," Tony said, his voice quiet, "I used to think I could solve everything with my tech. Build a suit, slap on some weapons, and boom—problem solved. But after what happened with Obadiah… I get it now. The suit's only as strong as the person inside it."

Shallot glanced at him, his black eyes thoughtful. "Took you long enough to figure that out," he said.

Tony smirked faintly. "Yeah, well, I'm a slow learner. But thanks. For all of this. Even if you are a training demon."

Shallot chuckled, his tail flicking behind him. "Don't thank me yet, Stark. The real work hasn't even started."

Tony groaned, flopping onto his back. "Great. Can't wait."

The sound of waves crashing against the Malibu cliffs filled the air as Tony lay sprawled on the grass, his chest rising and falling as he struggled to catch his breath after yet another grueling training session. Shallot stood nearby, his arms crossed and his sharp black eyes scanning the horizon, his tail flicking lazily behind him.

It was the tail that caught Tony's attention. As tired as he was, his gaze drifted to the appendage, swaying with a hypnotic rhythm. For weeks now, Tony had noticed the tail—sometimes wrapped around Shallot's waist like a belt, other times moving freely behind him during their sparring sessions. Each time, the sheer intensity of Shallot's training had distracted him from asking about it.

But not this time.

Tony propped himself up on his elbows, his curious expression breaking through his exhaustion. "Alright, I've gotta ask," he said, his voice still breathless. "What's the deal with the tail?"

Shallot's head snapped toward Tony, his black eyes widening slightly in surprise. "What?"

"The tail," Tony repeated, pointing at it. "You know, the thing that's been swirling around behind you like a golden house cat on steroids. What's up with that?"

Shallot blinked, then glanced over his shoulder at the tail in question. For a moment, he just stared at it as if he had forgotten it was even there. The realization hit him like a ton of bricks: He had grown so accustomed to the tail over the past two years that he often forgot to hide it when he was around Tony.

"Shit," Shallot muttered under his breath, his shoulders slumping slightly.

Tony tilted his head, his curiosity piqued. "Wait a second… Are you telling me you didn't realize you've been walking around with that thing out in the open?"

Shallot sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. "I guess I've gotten a little… too comfortable," he admitted, his tone tinged with defeat. He looked at Tony, his expression somewhere between annoyed and resigned. "I was hoping you wouldn't notice."

"Notice?" Tony scoffed, sitting up fully now. "How could I not notice? It's a freaking tail! And here I was thinking it was some weird genetic experiment you didn't want to talk about."

Shallot snorted. "No, it's not some weird genetic experiment."

"Then what is it?" Tony pressed, leaning forward slightly. "Come on, you can't just leave me hanging now."

For a long moment, Shallot was silent, his expression unreadable as he stared down at the ground. Finally, with a deep sigh, he looked back at Tony, his eyes narrowing slightly as if he were weighing the decision in his mind.

"Alright," Shallot said at last, his tone laced with reluctant honesty. "I guess I can tell you, since you're… somewhat of a trustworthy person sometimes."

"Wow, the vote of confidence is overwhelming," Tony deadpanned, though his smirk betrayed his amusement.

Shallot ignored the comment, his tail flicking behind him as he continued. "It's not that deep, Stark. The truth is… I'm not human."

Tony's smirk faltered, his eyebrows shooting up in surprise. "Wait, what?"

"You heard me," Shallot said, crossing his arms as he leaned back slightly. "I'm an alien."

For a moment, Tony just stared at him, his mouth opening and closing as if he were trying to form a response but couldn't quite manage it. Then, after a long pause, he burst out laughing.

"Oh, come on," Tony said between chuckles. "You've gotta be messing with me. An alien? Seriously? What's next, you're gonna tell me you came here in a flying saucer and abduct cows for fun on the weekends?"

Shallot's expression didn't change. He just stood there, his arms still crossed, waiting for Tony to finish laughing.

The laughter died down quickly when Tony realized Shallot wasn't joking. His smile faded, replaced by a look of genuine disbelief. "Wait… you're serious?"

"Dead serious," Shallot replied, his tone flat.

Tony blinked, his mind racing as he tried to process the revelation. "So, what… you're like E.T.? Or are we talking more like Superman? Do you have a kryptonite weakness or something?"

Shallot rolled his eyes. "I'm not like Superman, and I definitely don't have a kryptonite weakness." He paused, his tail flicking lazily behind him as he considered how much to reveal. "I come from a warrior race called the Saiyans. We're… a little different from humans."

"A little?" Tony repeated, gesturing toward Shallot's tail. "You've got a built-in whip attached to your backside. I'd say that's more than 'a little.'"

Shallot snorted, unable to hold back a small smirk. "Fair point," he admitted.

Tony leaned back on his hands, his eyes narrowing as he studied Shallot. "Alright, so you're a Saiyan. From outer space. And you decided to crash-land here and hang out with me? Why? What's your deal?"

Shallot's smirk faded, his expression growing more serious. "Let's just say… I didn't exactly plan to end up here. It's complicated."

"Complicated how?" Tony pressed, his curiosity now fully piqued.

Shallot hesitated, his gaze shifting to the horizon. "That's a story for another time," he said finally, his tone leaving no room for argument.

Tony frowned but didn't push further. Instead, he tilted his head, a sly grin creeping back onto his face. "So, can I assume the tail's functional? Like, do you use it in battle, or is it just for decoration?"

Shallot raised an eyebrow. "You think I'd keep something around for decoration? Of course, it's functional."

Tony's grin widened. "That's… actually kind of awesome. So, do you have any other cool alien tricks I should know about? Laser vision? Super strength? Please tell me you can teleport. That would save me so much time."

Shallot shook his head, though he couldn't hide the faint amusement in his expression. "You'll just have to find out as we go," he said, turning away. "Now get up. We're not done with training yet."

"Ugh," Tony groaned, flopping back onto the grass. "You're still a training demon, alien or not."

"And you're still a whiner," Shallot shot back, his tail swishing behind him as he walked toward the training area.

As Tony reluctantly got to his feet, he couldn't help but grin. Sure, finding out Shallot was an alien was a shock—but in a weird way, it only made him more determined to keep up with his insane training regimen. If Shallot was going to push him to his limits, Tony was going to make damn sure he didn't quit until he earned the Saiyan's respect.

And maybe, just maybe, he'd find a way to pry a few more secrets out of Shallot along the way.

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So I need some powers for this story to have more visibility. So drop some before exiting.