When Nathan returned to New York, the skies were still weeping, and thunder echoed faintly across the skyline. The city—normally bustling and sleepless—seemed hushed, cloaked in rain and shadow. It was as if even New York had gone to sleep.
High above the streets, Nathan sprinted across rooftops, making his way toward the safe house. He had changed into a fresh outfit, the blood-soaked remains of battle discarded earlier. Though the wind howled and rain lashed down in sheets, his pace never slowed.
The canyon massacre was over.
He had destroyed HYDRA's elite force, and with that weight off his shoulders, his thoughts began to shift inward.
He was evolving.
Nathan had unlocked his Spider abilities, but they were still in their infancy. His current strength hovered around 15 tons, far from the hundreds he knew were possible. There was so much more to uncover—so much power left dormant.
"Strength alone isn't enough," he thought.
He needed to train. Constantly. Intensely. To stimulate his unique muscle fibers—a fusion of Spider-enhanced biology and Wolverine's regenerative prowess—and push them beyond natural limits.
That meant maximum load training, ripping muscles apart so they could grow back denser, stronger, more explosive. The kind of training that would cripple ordinary humans.
But he wasn't ordinary anymore.
His muscle structure allowed for massive force absorption and explosive output. Over time, with proper load and regeneration cycles, they would become densely packed with power, not bloated in size but refined in capability.
Nathan laid out his personal roadmap:
1. Heavy-load resistance training, far beyond standard human limits.
2. Nutrient replenishment, with high-protein intake to fuel regeneration.
3. Progressive overload, to continually shatter and rebuild muscle fibers.
4. Targeted ability fusion, combining power systems like a modular framework.
He wasn't just training.
He was building a god.
His mind drifted to another priority—the small spider he had unintentionally mutated. It had shown unexpected strength and intelligence. He needed to run tests, map its genetic profile, and figure out which DNA fragments had activated such rapid evolution.
Could this Spider be the blueprint for artificial mutation?
And then, there was the future.
Nathan smiled to himself. "It's time to begin the Superman Project."
In this universe, there was no Superman—no flying alien of hope or unstoppable force of justice. If such a being was ever to exist in the Marvel world, he would have to create it himself.
And that being… would be him.
But unlike the comics, Nathan didn't have access to Kryptonian DNA or the Yellow Sun's radiation. He'd have to build his own version—step by step—starting from a human foundation and using acquired abilities to mimic and then surpass the ideal of Superman.
The process wouldn't be easy.
These powers, borrowed or earned, were fragmented, isolated. They didn't work in harmony. Nathan's task was to fuse them, integrate them into a singular, organic whole.
A body without weaknesses.
A system of interconnected abilities that enhanced, supported, and upgraded each other.
An evolving framework that grew stronger the more it adapted.
He envisioned a cycle of power—physical strength, speed, regeneration, resistance, intelligence, energy manipulation—all working in concert. When that day came, the Marvel Universe would meet its first Silver Superman.
Nathan's eyes flashed with determination. "And he will have no magic weakness," he whispered. "I'll rewrite even that flaw."
But first—
He needed to tackle the basics.
One key to Spider-Man's effectiveness wasn't just his strength or agility. It was his mobility.
Web-swinging.
In a city like New York, cobweb-based locomotion was not just flashy—it was strategic. Skipping rooftops was exhausting and inefficient. Long gaps between buildings forced detours.
He needed a faster, smoother system of movement.
"Time to create my own web shooters."
—
Meanwhile, at Nathan's reinforced safe house, Claude and his daughter Yana had taken shelter. Claude had just finished bandaging his wounds, and Yana was bundled in a thick blanket by the heater, recovering from the storm.
Claude couldn't access the basement. Nathan had locked it down to protect his ongoing experiments.
Claude understood. He wasn't offended. Nathan had made it clear—this was private work.
And Claude, who had once lent Nathan the house with no expectations, respected that boundary. Still, he worried.
Looking out the window, watching the wind whip trees in violent sways, Claude muttered, "Where are you, brother?"
Beside him, Yana sipped hot herbal medicine and asked softly, "Will big brother come back soon?"
Claude smiled and nodded, though uncertainty gnawed at his gut. "He will. He always does."
CRACK.
The window suddenly creaked open. Wind blasted through the room, sweeping the curtains like ghostly wings. Claude reached for his pistol, instincts kicking in.
But before he could draw, a figure leapt through the window—wet, agile, masked in shadow.
"Who—"
"Big brother!" Yana cried out joyfully, breaking the tension.
Claude exhaled and lowered his weapon. Nathan stood before them, rain-drenched but smiling. He looked different—not just in attire, but in aura. Something had changed.
"Don't hug me," Nathan said, holding Yana at arm's length. "I'm soaked."
She pouted. "Okay..."
Claude stepped forward and clapped him on the shoulder. "You're back! That's all that matters. Are you hurt?"
Nathan shrugged. "Not a scratch."
Claude blinked. Not even a cut? How could that be possible?
Nathan gently peeled away the wet blanket from Yana, gave her a dry one, then turned toward the stairs.
"I'm going to shower," he said. "I reek of blood."
Claude and Yana stood there silently, watching him ascend.
Then Claude whispered, stunned, "He... he really wiped them out... HYDRA's entire strike force..."
He wasn't just being metaphorical. Nathan had single-handedly annihilated one of HYDRA's most elite military units.
Claude felt a strange pride swell in his chest.
"I knew it, I saw something in him from the start," he muttered, grinning. "I invested right."
—
After washing off the grime and drying his hair, Nathan returned to the cozy living room. Yana had fallen asleep in Claude's arms, soft snoring blending with the heater's hum.
Claude glanced up. "She's out cold. Finally relaxed."
Nathan nodded. "Tomorrow, I'll operate on her."
Claude froze. "What…?"
"Her heart condition and asthma. I'll fix them both."
Claude stared at him in disbelief. "Are you serious?"
Nathan's eyes were calm, steady. "I already have the procedure mapped out. Her vitals are stable. The operation will be quick—and successful."
Tears welled up in Claude's eyes.
"Thank you... brother."
Nathan simply patted him on the shoulder. "She's a good kid. That's all the reason I need."
Then he slipped downstairs, into his lab.
—
Inside the basement, Nathan powered up his main workstation.
Lines of code scrolled across the screen.
He opened a specific project file:
"Web-Shooter Design and Subatomic Cobweb Solution v2.3"
Creating artificial webs wasn't just a gimmick. It was a necessity. In battle, they could bind enemies, disarm opponents, block projectiles, and provide mobility.
But traditional materials wouldn't work.
He needed something revolutionary—a synthetic liquid that could harden instantly, withstand massive stress, and dissolve on command.
A subatomic cobweb solution.
He had already started developing it—a nanomaterial compressed at a molecular level using high-energy synthesis, appearing liquid to the naked eye, but solidifying when exposed to sudden air contact.
It was one of his most ambitious projects.
And it was just the beginning.
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