The river current pulled Mark's still from relentlessly downstream, buffeting him against rough stones and decaying debris. The pale, bruised moonlight, struggling to pierce through the thick veil of urban haze, glinted off the water's restless surface, lending it an almost ethereal, melancholic sheen. Below the surface, however, something truly impossible, truly miraculous, was beginning to unfurl.
The raw, undiluted Aurora energy that had been force-fed into Mark's system wasn't inert. It hadn't dissipated or vanished into the void. Instead, in the profound absence of any conscious will or external suppression, liberated from the relentless prodding of scientific instruments, it began to react with the very fabric of his being. His body, designed by a lineage of unparalleled power, became an unwitting, involuntary conduit. The river water, infused with trace minerals, ancient energies, and the subtle, pervasive cosmic resonance that had permeated the planet since the Aurora Pulse, acted as an unexpected, potent catalyst.
Deep within him, where the terminal experiment had brutally attempted to snuff out his life, a divine spark ignited. It wasn't the violent, controlled awakening the scientists had desperately sought. It was a slow, agonizing process of re-knitting, of rebuilding, a silent symphony of creation. His cells, exposed to the pure, concentrated Aurora energy and the deep, ancient life force of the river, began to regenerate. But this was not mere healing; it was an evolutionary leap. The dormant genes, inherited from "The Titan of Light" and "The Divine Healer," flared to life, intertwining in a complex, unprecedented dance that no scientist, no matter how brilliant, could have ever predicted or engineered.
His heart, which had ceased its rhythmic beat, gave a single, faint, defiant throb. Then another. And another. His wounds, the countless scars from years of experimentation, began to close, not leaving rough, puckered tissue, but flawlessly, effortlessly, replaced by new, unblemished skin. His very essence was being reborn, imbued with a nascent power that transcended mere elemental control or simple regenerative healing. He was becoming something more than human, something divine.
The divine energy surged through him, a searing current of life and power that was simultaneously exquisitely painful and profoundly exhilarating. It was too much for his mind, still reeling from the ultimate trauma of his 'death'. His consciousness instinctively retreated, shielding itself from the overwhelming influx, seeking refuge in a deep, protective coma. His body, however, was now a vessel of immense, raw power, humming with a silent, vibrant energy, a latent god waiting to stir.
He drifted for hours, carried further and further from the city's harsh artificial glow, into a quieter, more rural stretch of the river, where the banks were lined with weeping willows and gnarled roots. As the first faint blush of dawn painted the sky with hues of bruised purple, soft orange, and nascent gold, his body finally snagged on a thick tangle of roots and reeds near a small, weathered fishing pier. He lay half-submerged, a silent, powerful cocoon.