There wasn’t much Jimbo asked from life.

  It was simple. Wake up, have breakfast, go to the gym, shower, have lunch, return to the gym, take part in a photo shoot, shower, and sleep. Sometimes, he would take part in competitions on the advice of his agent.

  That was a normal day in Jimbo’s life. He had been… kind of satisfied with it. The only thing he wanted was to push heavier and heavier weights.

  There was something so satisfying about struggling for months on end, trying to get just one more pound, one more repetition, always progressing, no matter the speed.

  That was the beauty of it. Progress always followed if he worked hard, ate properly, and slept sufficiently. It was a winning recipe.

  Unfortunately, lifting heavy weights by itself did not pay the bills. It did not pay for the twenty dozen eggs, the fifty pounds of chicken breasts and thighs, nor all the rest. His parents were nice enough to help him get started, but he couldn’t depend on them forever.

  Which is why he pursued professional weight lifting. It was the only way to fund his increasingly demanding needs for nutrients. And that was without mentioning rent and other types of living costs.

  With professional weight lifting came photoshoots. Sometimes, he took only a few photos to show these magnificently carved inner thighs after stripping to the smallest possible boxers. It’d be a shame to hide them when he literally killed himself on these accursed leg days. But every muscle counted. Every part of his body was photographed, with him posing in all sorts of epic manners like the heroes of old.

  Following that logic, he would prefer going around naked so that no muscles were missed, but that was improper. It didn’t matter to Jimbo in the end, as long as he got the money from the sponsorships and could buy all he needed to continue growing.

  So yeah, Jimbo had been pretty satisfied with his life. While others migrated to Mars, explored space, or designed exoskeletons that made his pride outdated, he lifted weights.

  It was nice.

  But everything has an end, mostly nice things, apparently. Jimbo recalled his last day on Earth and sighed heavily.

  “Jimbo! Jimbo!” His manager broke into his private gym, interrupting his sacred morning routine. The scrawny guy was very anxious, he noted. He’d only put on his second most expensive suit, and his Versace glasses were hanging loosely from his collar.

  “This is bad, Jimbo.” The manager paced around the gym, stepping onto the clean, non-slip flooring. Jimbo frowned. It was customary to always wear clean, specific shoes for the gym.

  “Titan-Bone Enterprise just released their newest product!”

  Jimbo looked at the manager calmly. “How does that concern me, Miguel? Exos are still not allowed in competition and don’t look good on shoots.”

  Miguel grabbed Jimbo’s massive arm in horror. “That’s the issue, Jimbo! They didn’t release a new Exo-Skeleton! Their new product, it’s… it’s…” He slapped his forehead and simply held out a phone. “Just take a look at it yourself.”

  Jimbo took the phone, his eyebrows increasingly furrowing as the video played out.

  The Steel Physique. An artificial skeleton composed of 206 carbon nanotube bones brought the human body one step closer to enduring the harsh conditions of any environment. Replacements for the… squishier parts of the body were announced to be in development by another branch of Titan-Bone, Tita-Meat, set for release before 2057.

  Jimbo’s gym-addicted brain began to race as he considered the implications. Currently, human bone is strong but not indestructible. It has a compressive strength similar to concrete, around 170 MPa for cortical bone. It can still fracture under extreme stress, though. Jimbo had been forced to restrain his workouts to avoid hurting himself. Muscles would need to keep up, but with the biological limit that were human bones lifted, it would only be a matter of time until someone found a way to reinforce the tendons and ligaments.

  “It starts with superhuman bones, then superhuman muscles, then superhuman everything!” Miguel cried, his head clasped in his hands. “A- And I know about your thoughts on that. We’ve already been fighting hard against steroid users, but what can we do if they send inhuman monsters our way?”

  Jimbo drew a deep breath before carefully giving Miguel his phone. He picked up his pair of dumbbells and resumed his workout, the images of the Steel Physique engraved in his head.

  “We will do as we always did, Miguel. I will push more weights and break more limits,” he stated with a tone that left no discussion. “And we will prove that the human body is already the strongest. No need for enhancements.”

  Miguel nodded tensely, his fingers tapping anxiously against his bulging pocket. Something was peeking out of it, but Jimbo couldn’t bring himself to care enough about it.

  “Yeah, you’re right. No need for enhancements…”

  ***

  “WELCOME!” a booming voice thundered outside of the locker rooms, hyping up the crowd. “TO THE SUUUPEEERRRR… LIFT!!!”

  The crowd's applause and excitement shook the walls. Jimbo tightened his power belt, breathing in slowly and steadily. Miguel was sitting opposite him, hands clasped.

  “TODAY… A DUEL OF STRENGTH AT THE SUMMIT!”

  Jimbo’s heart was as still as a lake’s surface, as always for these types of events. Calm and composed, that was the key to a good lift. Methodical. No need to overthink it. Thinking too much made it seem impossible. But it wasn’t.

  Jimbo had already proven it.

  “OUR CONTESTANT FROM TITA–BONE, BEARING THE NEW STEEL PHYSIQUE, I NAME… SODAK!”

  The crowd booed violently, their screams of hatred and disgust filling Jimbo’s hearts and muscles with even more strength.

  “OUR CHAMPION OF HUMANITY, THE UNDEFEATED, THE KING OF THE GYM, THE ONE AND ONLY… JIMBO!!!”

  Instead of boos, it was twice as explosive exclamations that welcomed his name. Jimbo couldn’t stop the corners of his lips from curving upward.

  “It feels good,” he said quietly.

  Miguel stood up and pressed his hands against Jimbo’s shoulders. His eyes were resolute.

  “You know what to do, Jimbo. Show that iron skull bastard that humans are still the best. If the gap is too large…” He bit on his lip and shook his head. “No, it won’t happen. Go and show them, champion.”

  Jimbo rolled his shoulders, serene. “Yes, sir.”

  He felt the crowd’s eyes turn toward him the moment he took a step out of the locker room, the weight of the entire lifting world on his shoulders. If he failed, everything would change for him. He would probably be forced to either retire or get a Steel Physique for himself.

  Which he absolutely refused to do. His loving parents had given him this already blessed body, he wouldn’t change it for anything in the world.

  But if he lost… that meant no more private gym. Forget the agent, he wouldn’t even be able to pay for his food anymore. 1,200 lbs of supplies a month was quite expensive, after all.

  Jimbo steeled himself and approached the bar.

  The voice of the announcer calmed down slightly, returning to more… pleasant levels.

  “As is the tradition, our champion, Jimbo, will begin! He will open with a reasonable yet impossible impressive 925 pounds! Remember, no straps, no excessive arching, and no jerking! We want a nice, perfect lock!”

  Jimbo tightened his wrist wraps and stood before his weight. He exhaled deeply, not even sparing a glance at his opponent. The only thing he cared about was the weight. His feet solidly planted into the ground, he grabbed the bar in a double overhand grip, his favorite.

  He lifted. His muscles boiled and raged in protestation, the veins bulging and the bones creaking. But like they did for his whole life, they held. The jury stared at him silently, their eyes expertly judging his stance. After what seemed an eternity, one of them made a down motion, and Jimbo was allowed to lower the weight. No dropping, a controlled descent until his knees where he let it go.

  “AND JIMBO DOES IT AGAIN! THE HUMAN TITAN!!!”

  Jimbo smiled softly, basking in the attention of the screaming crowd. He bumped a fist at the sky, raising even more excited shouts and applause.

  “His opponent… What?” The announcer paused in surprise. “J- Jimbo’s opponent opens his lift with 1200 pounds?! This is… This is beyond the world record!”

  The crowd’s happy shouts calmed down, replaced by awed and doubtful whispers. Jimbo finally allowed a look at his opponent. He was bald, like most people in this… profession, and his muscles had nothing to envy Jimbo’s. His chin was square and shaved, a large nose like a potato at the center of his face. A true golem.

  Scars ran all over his skin, remnants of the operation to receive the Steel Physique. He smirked at Jimbo before grabbing the 1200 pounds and lifting them like nothing.

  Jimbo had a hard time stopping his eyes from bulging out at the sight. Sodak’s muscles were still human, but it seemed like he had been training with his new reinforced skeletal structure for a very long time. The tension compressed his muscles to the limit, giving them the appearance of strained steel.

  When Sodak gently placed the bar back on the ground, that’s when Jimbo realized he would lose.

  There was no way he could win.

  “A- An incredible performance for Tita-Bone’s athlete! A thunder of applause for the man who broke the world record, Sodak!” The announcer tried to hype him up, but the crowd stayed silent, their eyes wide with disbelief and their jaws dropped on the floor.

  “Five minutes of break for the athletes to plan with their coaches! Stay on your toes, dear spectators, for it isn’t over yet!”

  Even if the announcer said that, the heart wasn’t really in it. Jimbo almost dragged his feet back to the locker room, the scene of Sodak lifting a new world record playing on a loop in his head.

  Miguel was holding his head in his hands, muttering to himself. “It’s over. We’ve lost. My career is over. My life is over. Damn it, damn it…!”

  Jimbo sat in front of his coach, silent. A few precious minutes passed until Miguel finally opened his mouth.

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  “Jimbo.” The latter raised his head weakly, the strength drained out of him. Miguel fiddled with something in his hands, hiding them from his trainee’s sight.

  “I have a… potential solution, but…” he grimaced hesitantly before eventually jumping in. “Enhancements.”

  Jimbo thought he was going to rip the man’s head off.

  “Your solution is steroids? You… You want me to take steroids and ruin everything I’ve built so far? My natural physique, built over decades of hard work, ruined by your filthy, cow-fattening poison?”

  Jimbo was rarely eloquent, but when he was, he didn’t skip on any words. Miguel froze and unclenched his hands, revealing a syringe with a shiny, golden liquid. Jimbo grabbed it and went to throw it at a wall before stopping himself at the last moment.

  Miguel looked at Jimbo in understanding. He stood up and went for the door, taking a step out of the locker room.

  “This is your decision, Jimbo. No matter what, I…” He wiped a tear and forced a smile. “We had a great run.”

  Jimbo nodded absently as Miguel closed the door behind him. The “Human Titan” sat on a bench, looking at the syringe. He’d never seen anything like that. Steroids that glowed golden.

  He chuckled dejectedly, struggling to stop the tears from flowing out.

  “All of this.. For nothing?” He asked no one in particular, looking at the ceiling sadly.

  “ONE LAST MINUTE UNTIL THE SECOND LIFT!” the announcer shouted.

  Jimbo clenched the syringe and shoved it into his sports bag. He would do as planned, climb up to 1,015 pounds, and see how Sodak does. Perhaps the fool’s muscles would give up during his lift. Maybe he could win this way without cheating.

  His hopes renewed, Jimbo left the locker room and stopped almost right away, his eyes riveted on Sodak’s bar.

  “Two thousand pounds…?” He whispered in disbelief, unable to contain himself. The crowd was silent, staring with wide eyes. Sodak, almost to mock them, lifted the two thousands, locked them in, and gently laid them back on the ground.

  Jimbo could feel the ground give way beneath his feet, his entire world crumbling around him.

  “T-Two thousand pounds, lifted without issue by t- the inhuman Sodak,” stammered the announcer. Jimbo absently lifted his weight, ignoring the crowd’s silence or his own shock. He returned to the locker room, grabbed the syringe filled with liquid gold, and injected it.

  The effects were almost instantaneous. He felt something incredible flow through his veins, his muscles pumping up with inhuman strength. Jimbo slowly opened and closed his fist.

  He felt like the strongest, like he could lift anything, and yet… Never had he felt so disgusted with himself, with his sport, with everything. He felt betrayed, betrayed by his own desires to win no matter what, betrayed by his coach who gave him this easy solution, betrayed by the world for coming up with the Steel Physique.

  Jimbo didn’t even hear the announcer’s call, he just came out when he felt like it. He doubted anyone would resent him for it anyway. Sodak was grinning from one ear to the other, 3,000 pounds laid before him.

  This time, it took everything out of the artificially enhanced human to lift the weight. They disqualified that attempt because he dropped the bar mid-lift. The ground had sunk in slightly when the 3,000 pounds landed.

  One and a half tons. That was Sodak’s limit.

  Jimbo silently looked at the judge and pointed at his bar. “I’d like to request a change in weights.”

  The crowd turned their eyes to him, still shocked by Sodak’s almost success.

  “Three thousand and two pounds,” he declared simply. The judges’ eyes widened, their jaws dropped on the floor, and even the announcer found nothing clever to say. Not like he had been very noisy since Sodak’s arrival, anyway.

  “A- Are you sure?” asked one of the judges, a buff lady who’d already judged a fair amount of the contests he’d participated in. Jimbo nodded slightly, and she sighed.

  She signaled to the organizers, who then ordered a team equipped with exoskeletons to change the weights on Sodak’s bar. Even the artificially enhanced human could barely believe his eyes as Jimbo stood before the impossible weight.

  “Not even Sisyphus’ boulder was as heavy as this,” muttered Jimbo under his breath.

  No matter how it ended, at least he tried. He refused to let that cheater win the contest. If there was one last thing he was going to do, it was that.

  He will turn around these hopeless eyes and push back against the blowing wind of a new era, alone.

  Jimbo exhaled deeply.

  Today, he was going to lift three thousand and two pounds. Three times his personal record. A cool feeling ran through his veins, giving him more strength than he could have hoped for.

  The steroids taking effect, he thought.

  There was no going back after this.

  His hands were still and steady as he grabbed the bar. His heart was calm, almost still. Nothing was going to stop him from being the best lifter in the world.

  And he lifted.

  Time itself seemed to stop as he pulled up the bar. It felt like trying to lift Earth itself, and yet, somehow, he did it. He locked in, looked at the white-faced judges who then gestured at him to put down the bar, and gently let go of the weights.

  The relief was so much he fell backward. Strangely, the showroom was filled with a hell lot of red, blinding him. He couldn’t feel much of anything anymore, and even if he cheated, he was proud. Proud to have shocked that cheating fucker.

  Fighting fire with fire, he thought with a chuckle. He couldn’t hear anything, see anything, or feel anything. It was really weird.

  Was the relief of beating Sodak that great? He couldn’t tell. It wasn’t the first time he defeated terrible odds, even if it wasn’t so absurd usually. And never had he felt like that.

  It was as if every single one of his muscles were relaxed, off his bones to go on some pleasant holidays. They deserved it, in his opinion.

  Jimbo closed his eyes, smirking. Too bad he couldn’t see Sodak’s expression. He sank into the comfortable darkness, dreaming of lifting even more weights.

  ***

  Miguel stood before the coffin, his hands clasped behind his back. His face was of stone, unmoving and emotionless.

  “We gather here today in the presence of our Lord to lay to rest Jimbo Atlas, who has departed from this world and entered into eternal life. Though our hearts are heavy with grief…”

  It’s my fault, thought Miguel. He clenched his hands tightly, looking at the massive, gorilla-sized coffin. If only I hadn’t given him those enhancements!

  He’d prepared them at the last minute, calling a guy who called himself the God of Steroids. He was quite famous in the field for trying out incredibly potent enhancements on his clients. The syringe filled with golden liquid came from him, with the promise of beating ‘even a superhuman’.

  The cost had been steep, but if it allowed them to continue their life, it was worth it. At least, that was Miguel’s opinion until Jimbo died.

  When he defied the heavens, lifting exactly 3,002 pounds and writing his name into the annals as the strongest human who ever lived, Miguel had been watching. The despair that’d built a nest in his heart had melted away, replaced by awe and disbelief, cinders of hope burning fiercely.

  Perhaps they could continue this way? Perhaps they could continue to defy artificially enhanced concurrent and lead the way into a new age of weight lifting!

  But then Jimbo fell. The coroner had explained that every muscle in Jimbo’s body had broken, while his organs all came to a stop together. Even his bones, who were already twice as thick as a normal human, had shattered and crumbled upon themselves.

  It was, for the lack of words, an instant death. The deadliest dead-lift in history.

  Miguel took the rose in his hand and threw it at the coffin, sighing heavily. At least Jimbo’s name was now carved into history, impossible to dethrone. His family would live sitting on a massive pile of gold, never needing for anything.

  The coach thought back to his own bank account, and almost smirked in satisfaction.

  He had taken his share, of course. Because who wouldn’t?

  With thoughts of further opportunities to grow his money, Miguel lit a cigarette and left the burial.

  ***

  “Huh. So this is death.” Jimbo looked at his surroundings, frowning. It was… very uncomfortable. Very dark. He couldn’t see anything. Nor smell. It took him a few seconds to realize that none of his senses seemed to function.

  He tried to move, but something restrained him from moving. It was like he was stuck in a box of some sorts, laid down straight with no space to move.

  “Well. That’s boring.” He pressed his lips together, his eyebrows creasing when he couldn’t feel even that. Death was really not all what people made it to be. It’s just very dark, very lonely, and very boring.

  Perhaps I’m in a waiting room to meet God? He thought with renewed hope. Maybe God would let him lift some weights in paradise? Or if he fell in hell, maybe he could strike a deal with whoever’s the boss to lift some more?

  He didn’t really care, as long as he could continue to… live? his passion. Patiently, Jimbo waited. And waited.

  And waited.

  But nothing happened. The dark was still as dark, death was still as uncomfortable, and no voice called up to him.

  And yet he continued to wait.

  What else could he do, anyway? He couldn’t move, couldn’t speak to anyone, or even feel anything. He was almost beginning to believe he imagined his discomfort.

  Which is why he didn’t believe it right away when something replaced the deafening silence and the terrifying darkness. He ignored it, thinking it was a figment of his imagination.

  But the insistent hallucination eventually forced him to take a look.

  [Congratulations!]

  There. White lettering on a blue, unmoving screen filling his vision. Jimbo almost laughed out loud.

  “Congratulations on what? Dying?”

  If this was God’s message, that was pretty ironic. God congratulating his creations for dying.

  How weird.

  The text on the blue screen changed, as if to reply to his mockeries.

  [Transportation begins in thirty seconds!]

  Transport for what? From whom? From him? Jimbo's heart leapt in his chest and he suddenly began counting backwards from thirty, excited. Was this the moment he met God? At last?

  The box he was stuck in rumbled, moving him violently like a protein shaker. A crack in his box let a few rays of light in, blinding him.

  Finally! Let me out!

  Jimbo felt himself being projected at an absurd speed as the crack of his box widened. He tried to peer through it, but he could only see flames and blinding light, as well as… flying rocks?

  “What…?”

  [Planet 34RTH has been successfully destroyed! Prepare for landing on L3K35 in five… four… three…]

  Jimbo’s eyes widened as blue flames surrounded his box, stopping him from further prying attempts.

  [Two… One…]

  Boom!

  Jimbo thrashed around his tiny box, shaken around uncontrollably. Finally, the chaos was over.

  [Transport Successful! Welcome to Lekes! Kill monsters, grow, get stronger, and please the kind Gods who brought you here!]

  The top of Jimbo’s box cracked open, crumbling on itself. The athlete hesitantly pushed his hand against it, his fingers piercing through the wood — no, it was melted metal. He extricated himself out, expecting to burn in a thousand pains, but once again he couldn’t feel anything.

  Wasn’t molten metal supposed to be burning hot? He shrugged and looked at his surroundings. A few burning trees and blackened grass, a trio of red suns hanging in the sky, and most of all, that damned blue window.

  [Kill stuff to get stronger, then kill stronger stuff, until the reader either gets bored or you become crazy! Come and fight the Gods, and entertain them!]

  “How do I get rid of you…?” Jimbo grunted. Evidently, this place wasn’t paradise, and he wasn’t dead. This whole matter was very puzzling, but the only thing he could really think about was one thing.

  Going back to lift some weights. He needed to get his pump back, in order to beat Sodak and rule as the Human Titan!

  Wait. Jimbo scratched the top of his head, confused. Did he want that? He wasn’t sure. He just wanted to lift some weights. That title, Human Titan, was it even important? No, these desires weren’t his. He promptly shoved away the bothering thoughts and placed his hands on his waist.

  “This doesn’t look very much like Earth, does it?” He said quietly as he stared directly into the three red suns. Curiously, that didn’t hurt him either, his eyes impervious to the blinding.

  He looked at the thing he came out of, a half-molten box of gray metal with the remnant of a carving on the top. Was it his face on the box?

  My face? Jimbo did a double-take at the metal box. This couldn’t be my… coffin, could it?

  A metal coffin? This was weird. Or was it? His knowledge of burials was limited; he only knew that people were put into the ground to be buried with the worms. A metal coffin seemed a little wasteful.

  And he didn’t remember putting that in his will. Did I have a will? I never wrote one, did I? Is this Miguel’s doing?

  One thing was for certain. If someone shoved him into that metal coffin, that’s because he was dead. Jimbo looked down at himself, and that’s when it hit.

  The realization.

  Perfect, almost pearl-white bones, stuck together without the usual muscles, flesh and tendons to keep them as a whole. It was weird, looking at his bones this way.

  Jimbo fell on his skeletal ass, his jaw literally dropping on the floor.

  He’d become a skeleton.