London, England — 1973.
Victor D. Armstrong was only two years old the night his parents never came home.
The day had begun ordinary. Laughter, the smell of tea, his mother humming some old melody. The sunlight had danced across the kitchen floor in golden streaks. Then the door closed. Footsteps faded.
And they never returned.
On the first day, little Victor cried until his throat burned. The sobs racked his tiny body, leaving it exhausted, trembling, but still alive. He had no idea why they had gone, where they had gone, or if they would ever return. The fear settled in slowly, crawling beneath his skin like cold water, spreading to his bones.
On the third day, his voice failed. No matter how hard he tried, no sound came except weak rasping breaths. He survived only by drinking water he could reach from a small pot left by the sink. The biscuits he found crumbled too easily, leaving his stomach hollow and aching.
On the fifth day, he lay curled beside the cold kitchen floor. His vision was blurry. His stomach ached with a gnawing hunger that felt like a living thing clawing at him from the inside. The biscuits were gone. The water had almost run out. He had no strength, no comfort, and no hope.
The world had shrunk to a small, gray space, dim and lifeless. He didn't cry anymore. He didn't move much. His body was still alive, barely, but his mind felt numb. He had survived longer than he should have, yet the world offered no mercy.
On the fifteenth day, as the darkness around him seemed to stretch its hands toward him, a faint light appeared.
A blue screen blinked into existence before his eyes.
"Congratulations! Even after your rebirth… you have awakened 99.99% of your past life memories."
"As a one-time reward, the System will grant you a Gift Pack."
Victor barely understood the words, but deep inside—buried beneath the fragile, starving body—his adult past-life consciousness stirred awake.
A golden gift box materialized out of shimmering light.
"Open One-Time Gift Pack?"
Victor weakly, instinctively, thought Yes.
The world flashed gold.
"Congratulations. You have received:"
— Unique Serum
— Haki (All types)
— Three × 100-Rebate Cards
— One Random DC Character Templates
Even as a toddler, his mind trembled with excitement.
Haki.
A Unique Serum.
A DC character template.
Overpowered gifts—if he used them wisely.
The screen shimmered again.
"Drawing Random DC Character Templates…"
One card floated down like a feather.
Kryptonian Bloodline — Potential: Superman Prime One Million or more
Accept?
"The One-Time Gift Pack System wishes you good luck in your new life."
Victor's tiny heart skipped. If he survived to adulthood… he could become a cosmic demigod.
Next came the Unique Serum.
It appeared like a crystalline vial filled with shifting white-blue luminescence, pulsing with life. Victor didn't hesitate. He injected it.
The effect was immediate.
His veins glowed. His heartbeat roared like a drum. His tiny body, weak and starving, suddenly thrummed with warmth—as if divine hands reached inside and rewrote everything broken.
Toxins dissolved.
Defects vanished.
Cells strengthened.
Organs optimized.
The Unique Serum purified him completely.
But at the very end of the transformation—
Unknown to Victor, something else stirred. Something buried deep within his blood. Now awakened. Something that belonged to this world.
Victor accepted Kryptonian Bloodline integration, and after integration completed, he finally opened his eyes.
He didn't feel major changes. His body was still malnourished, his limbs thin, his cheeks sunken. The world remained heavy, gray, and cold. But now, he had the power to move.
For the first time in fifteen days, Victor pushed himself up. His tiny muscles trembled under the effort, but they obeyed him. He staggered toward the sink and drank water. The cool liquid trickled down his dry throat, leaving a faint warmth in its wake.
His mind immediately calculated the next step. He needed more energy, something that could sustain him until sunrise. Sunlight would activate his Kryptonian cells, but until then… he had to survive.
He barely managed to open the upper cabinet standing in the kitchen. Every movement was an effort. Every inch climbed on trembling legs required him to fight gravity, his weakness, and fatigue all at once.
Inside the cabinet, he found sugar and salt. Carefully, painstakingly, he added both to a cup of water. The grains dissolved slowly, sparkling faintly in the dim kitchen light. He lifted the cup with both hands and drank.
Sweetness and saltiness combined in an unpleasant but vital mixture. Every sip gave him just enough energy to keep moving. He leaned against the counter, resting, and let himself feel the smallest flicker of hope.
It would provide him enough energy until sunrise. That was all he needed. Just sunrise.
Victor crouched on the floor, legs weak, breathing shallow and ragged. He could hear the faint hum of the city outside, the dull sound of London moving on without him, oblivious to the miracle—or accident—that had just occurred in this tiny apartment.
His stomach still ached, but less fiercely. His body still trembled, but there was life in it again. He could move, reach, grasp, and survive.
For the first time in over two weeks, he felt something like… control.
He crawled toward the mattress where he had been sleeping before hunger and despair had reduced him to near immobility. Every inch was a struggle, but each inch completed was proof of progress.
When he reached it, he pulled himself up and lowered himself onto it. The thin mattress didn't provide comfort, but it did provide warmth. Dust puffed around him as he shifted, tickling his nose.
Victor lay on the mattress, staring at the ceiling. He thought of his parents, though the sorrow felt muted by exhaustion and survival instinct. He did not know why they had never returned. He did not know if they were dead, missing, or had abandoned him. All he knew was that he was alone—and yet alive.
Somewhere deep within his blood, three forces pulsed quietly:
the Unique Serum repairing and purifying every cell,
the Kryptonian spark integrating alien genes into human biology,
and the unknown power of this world, awakened, waiting.
Victor closed his eyes. His small chest rose and fell steadily. Sleep claimed him not out of weakness, but because for the first time, he had something to regain strength for.
He would survive the night.
He would survive till sunrise.
And when the first rays of sunlight touched his body, the dormant power within him would stir further, setting in motion a transformation that no one—no one in London, no one in the world—would be able to stop.
Victor D. Armstrong, two years old, fragile, malnourished, alone… was no longer helpless.
He was alive.
He was aware.
And he had power.
The night passed slowly, silently. Outside, the city slept. Inside, the boy recovered. Inside, a god—or something far beyond humanity—was awakening.
And all he could do was wait.
Wait for sunrise.