Interestingly, some of the remains showed no abnormalities at all—they possessed only twenty-three pairs of chromosomes, the same as ordinary humans.
Which meant that the extra pair found in others must have appeared later. In biology, there is a technique known as biological modification engineering.
Put simply, it is artificial augmentation. But not everyone is suited for such a process. Experiments have shown that this technology is very much like the Super-Soldier Serum from the Marvel universe.
The Super-Soldier Serum, also called the SSS Project, turned Captain America from a scrawny, frail man into a muscular, towering soldier overnight.
Dr. Erskine once said: Good men become better, bad men become worse.
The bio-modification engineering of the Doom universe follows the same principle. It grants immense power and potential, but at the same time it unleashes unimaginable calamities, drawing out the violence buried deep within one's genes.
Of course, none of this is directly related to Kryptonians. At most, the only connection lies in chromosomes: humans have 23 pairs, superhumans 24, while Kryptonians… possess far more.
Even though he carried the template of a Kryptonian scientist—with countless technologies implanted into his mind—Jon still found himself utterly astonished by this discovery.
What kind of race could possess such traits? What did it signify?
It meant limitless potential, and a wellspring of power.
"Perhaps this is precisely why Krypton had to be destroyed—too powerful."
So long as they basked under starlight, storing solar energy while time slowly reshaped their bodies, they could grow stronger and stronger without end. They were, in every sense, the perfect evolutionary species.
"A race like this… it's cheating! They could win just by lying down!"
Jon patted his hips, got up, and walked into his laboratory. Yes, laboratory—the standard configuration for the second generation of his kind.
Kryptonians did not learn knowledge individually. Instead, it was infused, poured directly into the mind. The rest depended on one's own ability to digest it gradually.
No more tedious study or practice. For Kryptonians, knowledge was always there; whenever you needed it, all you had to do was think, and your mind would provide the answer.
"Guess Mom won't have to worry about me passing my exams anymore, huh?"
Now, Jon's priority was to fully integrate the knowledge in his head. That, perhaps, was his most important leverage for the future. After all, this was the legacy of a civilization that had spanned hundreds of thousands of years—an ocean of accumulated wisdom.
Naturally, no one could withstand having the entirety of Krypton's knowledge forced into them all at once. Even Kryptonians had to receive it in increments. Attempting to take in everything in one go wasn't courage—it was idiocy.
If the data stored in the average human brain were converted into text and images, it would amount to only a few hundred kilobytes. Exceptional minds might reach megabytes. The rarest of geniuses—true treasures of humanity—could hold the equivalent of gigabytes.
But Kryptonian knowledge? Even terabytes wouldn't be enough to contain it.
Standing nearby, Kalle was a little surprised. His young master had been absorbed in these dull experiments all day. Wasn't he usually eager to spend time at the Academy?
"Young master, what are you doing?"
"Ah… nothing serious. Just some experiments, keeping myself busy. By the way, has anything been happening at the Academy lately?"
Kalle thought for a moment. "Well, there is one thing. I heard Chief Scientist Jor-El hasn't been to the Academy much lately. I'm not sure if that matters."
Jon's head snapped up. "When did this start?"
"This past week, young master. Is something wrong?"
Jon shook his head, though inside his heart turned upside down. There could only be one explanation for Jor-El's sudden change—his wife was pregnant. Which meant the countdown had begun. About nine months.
Krypton would soon explode. Time was running out.
From that moment, Jon abandoned leisure entirely. He buried himself in the laboratory, even undergoing several rounds of knowledge infusion.
Outside the lab, his adoptive father Abiel asked the butler, Moos, in a low voice: "He's been like this the whole time?"
"Yes, sir."
Abiel nodded. They couldn't understand why Jon had changed so drastically. Yes, he had been born with the scientist template, but with the H'el family's standing on Krypton, he had every reason to live as he pleased.
Perhaps his son truly loved science. After all, he had been given the mind of a scientist.
Jor-El himself had been the same way. Without such obsession, he would never have become Krypton's Chief Scientist. For the H'el family to produce a scientist of that caliber would not be a bad thing.
It was worth noting, however, that "scientist template" wasn't entirely accurate. A better description was civil lineage, in contrast to the military lineage. Politics, research, labor, logistics—all fell under the civil branch. Different knowledge infusions shaped different strengths and preferences, ultimately leading to different roles.
"See that he takes care of himself," Abiel instructed. "There are matters in the capital I must attend to."
"Yes, sir." Moos watched Abiel leave, then turned back to the lab.
He could sense it—his young master had changed profoundly. Jon even kept asking him to search for the location of the Codex of Life, and a way to access it.
Everyone knew: Krypton had abolished the death penalty, but exile to the Phantom Zone was a fate worse than death. The Codex, meanwhile, was absolute taboo. Not even the Council of Elders could tamper with it easily, let alone a single noble house.
"What exactly are you planning, young master?"
Unable to figure it out, Moos gave up. He was only a butler, after all.
Three months later, Jon finally slowed his intake of knowledge. Even so, he had already undergone ten rounds of infusion—an astonishing number. Most Kryptonians experienced three or four in their entire lifetime, more than enough to serve them. Many never even made full use of that knowledge.
"Moos, do you think we could refit a starship?"
Moos blinked. "Young master, what do you mean?"
"I mean… building a laboratory on the ship. With a Genesis Chamber inside, and…" Jon rattled off a long list of modifications until Moos was left gaping. Was the young master planning to leave Krypton?
"Uh… it's possible, yes. These aren't outrageous requests. Our family could manage it. But… shouldn't we inform Lord Abiel?"
"No, no need. I just thought it would be convenient if I wanted to travel one day—to continue my experiments aboard. Father's busy enough as it is; he doesn't need to know."
"…Very well."
When Moos left, Jon turned his gaze skyward. The night above Krypton was unlike Earth's. A colossal dome shielded the city, pressing down with invisible weight.
Even now, the planet had ceased its rotation.
Crisis loomed at every moment, yet people acted as though nothing was wrong—eating, drinking, going about their lives.
The chill of it made Jon draw a sharp breath. This is far from normal.
That night, Abiel returned from his work, and seeing Moos at his side, knew immediately that something was up.
"So, you have something to tell me?"
"Yes, Father. I believe Moos has already mentioned it."
Abiel nodded. "Then speak. Why do you want this? Tell me the truth."
Jon lifted his head and locked eyes with his adoptive father. Krypton had nine great cities, and Abiel governed one of the most important among them.
"Father… if Krypton were to be destroyed, where would our future lie?"
Abiel burst out laughing. "Oh, child. Moos told me your worries. Krypton has merely stopped rotating. That's hardly a threat to us. Wherever we go, we can always build a new Krypton."
Moos smiled as well. Clearly, they thought Jon was just fretting over doomsday scenarios.
In truth, they weren't wrong. With the ability to reshape planets, Kryptonians could relocate at will. It was no difficulty for them. But that, precisely, was the eerie part.
"Very well then… what about my ship?"
Abiel nodded. "We'll build it. Think of it as a gift from me."
Dinner that night was warm and harmonious.
Lying in bed afterward, Jon let out a long sigh. Even Abiel knew nothing. Perhaps his grandfather, a member of the Council, held the truth. But if so—why hadn't they spoken?
He had no way of knowing.
The refit of the ship progressed swiftly, a display of the family's immense resources. Supplies poured in from all directions, all for Jon's vessel.
It was a small ship, only a few dozen meters long. Larger ships stretched hundreds of meters, with flagships even grander. But then, larger ships required greater power to match.
Jon's vessel was simply a research craft. Its armaments were minimal: plasma cannons, laser turrets—pure energy weapons.
If "plasma cannon" sounded unfamiliar, one might think of orbital weapons, or "sky-based" weapons.
These cannons weren't suited for atmospheric combat due to energy loss, but in space, they were standard fare. Compact, efficient, and capable of recharging from stray solar energy, they were green weapons: if one shot fails, just fire another.
Beyond that, there wasn't much else. But what need was there? Who in the universe could stand against Kryptonians?
Such was their confidence.
"Young master, are you certain about this? If we make these changes, your ship will be nothing but a research vessel," Moos said helplessly. By now, Jon's obsession with science left him speechless.
"It's fine. I like it this way."
Before him stood the finished craft: a research vessel complete with a Genesis Chamber for Kryptonian gestation, basic production lines for materials and fabrication, and more.
Only Jon knew the truth: everything he had done was for the future.
Until he grew strong enough, he would not return to the DC universe. Survival came first, above all else.