A segment of DNA, incomprehensible to modern science, began to activate—converting the unique wavelength of yellow sunlight into a form of energy. This energy coursed through a body teetering on the edge of death.
Don't assume this process of marrow cleansing and skeletal remodeling is a pleasant transformation. In truth, it's more akin to pouring cold water into a pot of boiling oil—the explosion is immediate and violent.
The energy absorbed wasn't merely boosting strength—it was upgrading the body from the cellular level. Every organ, every sense, every fiber of the body was undergoing a fundamental transformation.
A gentle breeze that would go unnoticed by others felt like a battering ram crashing into the hypersensitive skin, sending waves of pain deep into the internal organs. Even bones began to fracture under the strain.
But the damage didn't last. It was repaired almost instantly. And each time the body rebuilt itself, it emerged stronger than before. This frail vessel was evolving—strengthening through an endless cycle of destruction and regeneration.
Faint sounds that ordinary people couldn't hear, as well as ultrasonic and infrasonic frequencies, now hammered at the eardrums and auditory nerves, forcing them to adapt and grow.
The same happened to other senses—smell, vision, touch, and pain—distributed across every inch of skin. All of them processed the external world at speeds no human could comprehend.
To manage this sensory overload, the brain's neurons were breaking their own limits, regenerating and strengthening over and over again.
It wasn't destiny that created the so-called "Man of Steel." Rather, the body needed such durability simply to survive the intense pressure from these upgraded super senses. Without a corresponding upgrade in physical resilience, the entire system would collapse.
Imagine installing an 800-horsepower Formula One engine and tires on a bamboo-framed car. Instead of producing incredible results, the vehicle would tear itself apart instantly.
These overly sensitive cells began adapting to the aftershocks of their heightened state through rapid self-reinforcement.
Moreover, some cells, now strengthened several times over, developed new and specialized functions. However, these emerging abilities required proper control and development.
It's like fitting a car with a high-performance engine and streamlined body—under the right conditions, it could act not just as a car, but also as a speedboat or even a plane. The potential was there; it just needed to be harnessed.
Yet if this transformation had unfolded over a longer adaptation period, the pain might not have been so severe. But as mentioned before, this was no slow upgrade—it was an explosive leap, like dousing hot oil with ice water. Every reaction was immediate and excruciatingly intense.
And tragically, all of this was merely physical evolution. Although the brain's cells were strengthened, the person's mindset—his cognitive software, so to speak—hadn't evolved accordingly.
Picture running a AAA video game on a supercomputer still using a DOS operating system. The hardware might be more than capable, but without the proper software and drivers, it's utterly useless.
The brain has safety mechanisms, like fainting, to prevent overload. But that's only triggered when functions max out—it's not a complete reboot or shutdown.
In this case, the brain, now filled with advanced neural hardware, hadn't reached a breaking point. But the way of thinking—the old, limited logic—hadn't caught up. So, the system faltered, not because it couldn't handle the load, but because it couldn't understand how to.
Right now, the brain of this transformed person was a chaotic battlefield. Optic and auditory nerves crossed signals. The olfactory center clashed with memory and emotional centers. It wasn't just memory confusion or sensory overload—it was as if different brain regions were fighting for control.
In short, the mind wasn't simply overwhelmed—it was getting in its own way. And yet, despite this internal chaos, the body moved as if governed by instinct.
It functioned on reflex alone—basic biological responses, like a knee-jerk reaction to a hammer tap. No conscious thought guided the body. It was survival on autopilot.
Because of this, the young Russian men carrying what they thought was a corpse had no idea that a biological time bomb was ticking in their arms.
The moment came when they reached their destination and unceremoniously tossed the body to the ground. They began searching for tools and a place to bury it.
That final impact—combined with jostling from transport and harsh grips—created an intolerable level of stimulation. For a body operating on such an extreme threshold, the throw was the equivalent of a bomb going off nearby.
If that didn't wake him, nothing would. So, unsurprisingly—but to the young men, terrifyingly—the "corpse" sat bolt upright and let out a roar.
The effect on the Russians was immediate. Panic. Urination. Horror. Among the many supernatural rumors and fears of non-human threats, the most terrifying was the idea of a zombie.
After all, how do you kill someone who's already dead?
Shoot it in the head? And if that doesn't work? Then it's your own head that'll be in danger next.
But before the stunned men could even react, the not-so-dead man had already bolted—leaving behind only confusion and silence.
The newly awakened individual was still mentally lost, running purely on instinct—driven by a biological hunger for energy. That energy source was the yellow sun, and his body was drawn to it the way a starving man would follow the smell of food, or a parched traveler would chase water.
In his blind sprint, he wasn't destroying anything. He didn't smash into trees or crash through rocks. His path naturally avoided obstacles—his instincts demanded direct exposure to sunlight.
He wasn't aware of it, but he was running faster than the human eye could follow.
By the time he reached the edge of the land, his flimsy patient gown had been shredded by wind pressure. Naked, he reached the cliff's edge—and without hesitation, leapt.
He landed not with a splash, but with velocity. As his feet touched the sea, they barely skimmed the surface, his speed generating shockwaves and towering waves on either side.
It resembled a speedboat slicing through water, but the force generated by this "speedboat" was equivalent to a ten-thousand-ton warship.
Eventually, though, the waves began to settle. The height of the water displaced by his movement diminished, a clear sign that he was slowing down.
Finally, the runner collapsed on a quiet beach, soaked in icy seawater, his strength depleted. The mind remained fogged, but instinct had finally run its course.
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