The 13th Alien

Max Tennyson felt his chest tighten up as Ben transformed. This new form was unlike any of the others—and was one he knew far to well. This galactic blight was the reason he ended his career as a "Plumber" more than anything else. This one alien menace, now Ben wore its "face".

Not gold like the ones he encountered, Ben's shell mimicked the black and white of his shirt, superficially resembling the older armors of this species, but he could feel the heat from its shields—letting him know it was the more advanced, golden form.

Ben spun his new eye-stalk around and moved his remaining sucker-arm about, discovering the limitations of his movement before hovering and twisting his torso.

"GRAND-PA?" It was Ben's voice, but raspy, screeching staccato of this species, "WHAT IS WRONG? I CAN HARD-LY MOVE. I CAN-NOT FEEL AN-Y-THING. WHAT AM I, GRAND-PA? WHAT AM I?"

Ben's sucker arm reached out to touch him, he instinctively pulled back.

Max Tennyson took a deep. Then another. He still couldn't to tell him what horror he had become.

"I AM FULL OF ALL OF THESE…NEW THOUGHTS AND IM-PUL-SES. TIME ANDSPACE O-PEN BEFORE ME….AND I HAVE THIS URGE TO EX-TER-MIN-ATE MY ENEMIES…WHAT HAVE I BECOME?"

Hearing that word finally allowed Max to answer his grandson. To tell him that the Omnitrix had transformed him into the most feared race in all of time and space: "A Dalek."

End.