Steven stood over the corpse for ten seconds.
His body was failing. He knew it with the same clinical detachment he applied to everything.
At 3 meters, he'd reached his body's current limit.
The dark energy he'd absorbed to win this fight was now too much, his cells were destabilizing, internal organs liquefying under the pressure.
He needed to release it. Now.
He threw his head back and roared.
Not a sound of triumph, nor a scream of pain, but just a release valve, a sonic discharge of pure dark energy that erupted from his mouth, eyes, and cracks in his skin.
The beam lanced into the sky, a pillar of absolute blackness visible for kilometers, and he poured the excess energy into it.
His body began to shrink.
2.9 meters. 2.8. 2.7. The veins receded, the muscle mass diminished, the inhuman proportions slowly returning to merely impossible ones.
The pressure inside him decreased, organs partially stabilizing, cells ceasing their frantic self-destruction.
But the damage was already done.
When the discharge finally ended, Steven stood at 2.5 meters, still larger than he'd been at the fight's start, but no longer in immediate danger of detonation. He looked down at himself.
His left arm was shattered from shoulder to wrist, the bone visible in three places, held together only by threads of dark energy and stubborn will. His right side was a crater of missing flesh, the ribs beneath exposed and cracked. His left eye was gone, the socket a burned pit that was slowly, agonizingly regenerating.
His liver had failed during the fight. His kidneys were at 30% function. His heart had microtears in three chambers, brain showed signs of oxygen deprivation and minor hemorrhaging.
He catalogued it all and filed it away.
Then he turned and began walking.
Each step was a study in controlled devastation. His bare feet, torn and bleeding, left prints in the rubble. His breathing was labored, one lung had partially collapsed. But his gait was steady, posture straight and perfect. His face as expressionless as it had been when the fight began.
Behind him, Nocthar's corpse cooled in the wreckage.
Steven didn't look back. There was no satisfaction in victory. No relief at survival, just the next objective.
The next mission, next battle where he would once again pay the price of power in flesh, blood and silence.
He walked through the ruins of the district, past the collapsed buildings and cratered streets, past the emergency services that would arrive too late to matter. He walked until he found a quiet alley, and there he leaned against a wall and finally allowed himself to slide down into a sitting position.
His regeneration was working overtime. The exposed ribs were slowly being covered by new flesh. The shattered arm was knitting, bone fragments finding their way back together with agonizing precision. The empty eye socket itched as a new orb began to form.
It would take hours. Maybe days. He would need to find a safe place to hide, to recover, to endure the pain that was his constant companion.
But he would endure.
That was what he did, what he had always done, and what he would continue to do until the day the dark energy finally overwhelmed him, and he exploded into dust and shadow, leaving behind nothing but silence.
Steven closed his remaining eye.
And in the darkness behind his lids, he felt the familiar burning. The tearing. The degradation. The price of power, exacting its toll with interest.
He did not scream.
He never did.
A arm was suddenly placed on his remaining shoulder, an arm portraying support, encouragement and partnership.
"Steady there big guy. Not gonna die on us now are you".
Brant spoke while motioning the nearby Veronica to assist in the healing. She came over, dragging the already disfigured corpse of Nocthar, wanting to use him as the energy source for healing.
One, who was already observing the corpse with an excited glint in his eyes panicked when he saw the situation. He quickly ran towards Veronica, then forcefully prying the corpse from her hand.
Veronica who saw the situation frowned, her expression one of mild annoyance and confusion.
"What're you doing, you know i can't heal him without a resource right, you can take the corpse but you'll have to find a replacement. You better be fast about that, cause he's running out of time."
One, understanding the situation hurridly spoke
"There's no need to heal him, the serum i gave him haven't been used yet. Using it now that his body's damaged will bring out its full potential. It'll heal him and might even enhance his potential. So, just healing him with your power's will only be a waste."
Brant, having been listening to the conversation was suddenly suprised after hearing that. He searched his pants, bringing out a light green vial of liquid. It was Steven's strengthening serum. Steven had given it to him for safeguarding before the fight. He didn't know that It'll suddenly become useful.
"It's here. It was given to me by him before the fight. Maybe he knew this was gonna happen".
Brant spoke with a perplexed expression while giving the vial to One.
One sighs in relief after seeing that he has managed to convince both of them to leave the body to him.
He has always been curious about what would happen if he were to produce a serum from the body of a mutant. If possible, then what type of serum would that be, but he hasn't had the chance yet, now was the perfect opportunity to test his theory.
He motioned to the timid Anna hiding behind the building gate, directing her to move the body away before the always stoic Veronica changes her mind.
He approached the seriously injured Steven with a serious expression. He carefully examined the damage caused by the fight, inwardly exclaming how resilient Steven's will was to be able to suffer this amount of pain without making a sound. How indifferent to life must one be to not even flinch in this situation.
He adjusted the vial, holding Steven's intact arm while injecting him.
He hurriedly moved away after the injection, he'll rather avoid the aftermath of it afterall, he doesn't really know the results.