Given the way he'd been acting lately, no one questioned Ethan's behavior anymore.
Inside a facility labeled as a psychiatric institution, abnormality was the default setting. A patient standing rigid under a strip of sunlight for hours wasn't a red flag. It was just Tuesday.
That misunderstanding was currently saving his life.
For two straight days, Ethan tracked the sun like a starving predator stalking prey. From the first sliver of morning light that crept across the wall to the final golden streak before dusk, he repositioned himself relentlessly. When the beam shifted, he shifted. When it narrowed, he compressed his stance to stay within it.
He only stopped when the light vanished or when his muscles physically gave out.
Sleep became strategic. Food became secondary. Survival became singular.
The movements were awkward and exhausting. Holding a rigid, energy-absorbing posture for hours strained tendons he hadn't known existed. His shoulders burned. His spine throbbed. His calves trembled so violently at one point he nearly collapsed face-first onto the concrete.
He endured it.
The pressure of this place demanded power. Without it, he was meat.
If embodying Doomsday meant standing like a lunatic and pretending to absorb stellar radiation, then he would commit fully. If the System one day required him to roar at the ceiling or punch walls until his knuckles shattered, he'd do that too.
Because the alternative was a body bag.
The panel flickered in his vision.
[Doomsday Role-Playing Progress: 4.8%]
He gritted his teeth and adjusted his stance, lifting his chin so the light hit his face more directly.
Sweat rolled down his temples.
[Doomsday Role-Playing Progress: 4.9%]
"Come on," he whispered under his breath. "Just a little more."
Every role point he earned was automatically funneled into unlocking the next stage. No hesitation. No saving for later. This wasn't a game with optional upgrades.
This was escalation or extinction.
He raised his arms again, muscles screaming in protest. The sunlight had shifted higher now, forcing him to stand on the very edge of the mattress to stay within its reach. The posture was unnatural, almost ritualistic.
He imagined the void again.
The armored titan suspended in darkness. The exoskeleton. The bone spurs. The inevitability.
He didn't just mimic the stance.
He believed in it.
[Stage Progress Achieved.]
The air seemed to thicken.
[Doomsday Template Progress: 5.0%]
[Ability Unlocked: Destruction Ray]
[Next Ability Unlock: 20.0%]
[Destruction Ray – Level 1 (0.0%)]
For a moment, he simply stood there, arms still raised, as if the world had gone silent.
Then he slowly lowered them.
A strange heat pooled behind his eyes. Not painful. Not blinding. Just present. Like magma waiting beneath thin crust.
He blinked once.
The sensation intensified.
If he allowed it, if he pushed just a little, something would erupt.
He forced it down immediately.
There were cameras in the corners of the ceiling. Hidden, but not invisible. The guards might dismiss him as unstable, but visible red laser beams cutting through reinforced walls would end that illusion instantly.
Still, the System provided data.
Current thermal output: approximately 1,500 degrees Celsius.
Hot enough to liquefy most metals. Hot enough to turn a locked door into dripping slag.
And this was only level one.
Ethan's gaze drifted slowly toward the thick steel door of his cell.
He imagined it glowing red.
He imagined it folding inward like wet cardboard.
He exhaled slowly and pulled his eyes away.
"Not yet," he murmured.
He was still biologically human. Bullets would not politely wait for him to finish evolving. Lamplighter was still somewhere in the building. And unlike Ethan, that man already knew how to kill.
He needed more.
Superhuman strength. Durability. Something that ensured he wouldn't drop dead the moment someone pulled a trigger.
So he returned to the light.
Two more days passed in relentless repetition.
Morning stretch. Energy absorption. Collapse. Recover. Repeat.
The guards barely reacted anymore.
Inside the monitoring room, one of them glanced lazily at the feed.
"He's still doing the sun thing," he muttered.
"Let him," another replied. "Better than the screamers."
The routine had normalized.
Which was why the summons caught Ethan off guard.
The iron door clanged open mid-afternoon.
A broad-shouldered guard stood in the doorway, a stun baton tapping idly against his palm. His grin carried that same familiar edge of superiority.
"Field trip," the guard said. "You're coming with me."
Ethan's heartbeat quickened, though his expression remained distant and unfocused. According to the original testing cycle, subjects rotated every two weeks. It had only been ten days.
They were moving early.
That wasn't good.
He rose without resistance.
The corridor outside was sterile and long, lined with reinforced doors identical to his own. Armed personnel were present, but not overwhelming in number. The facility relied heavily on one final failsafe.
Lamplighter.
As they approached the laboratory wing, Ethan's eyes scanned everything casually. Security placements. Camera angles. Distance to exits.
Useful.
He had also overheard something important during his sun-chasing marathon.
Stormfront wasn't overseeing this site. Not yet.
That simplified the board.
They entered the lab.
Bright white lights. Stainless steel equipment. Bulletproof observation glass.
Dr. Carlton stood near a workstation, flipping through files with clinical indifference. Two assistants hovered nearby.
And by the window, lazily spinning a lighter between his fingers, stood Lamplighter.
The flame sparked briefly, then vanished.
Ethan felt the heat behind his eyes pulse in response.
There it was. The primary threat.
Lamplighter didn't look especially imposing at first glance. Average build. Calm posture. But the man radiated danger the way others radiated cologne.
This facility had erased people for less.
"Relax," one of the researchers said in a placating tone as Ethan was guided toward a medical station. "Just a physical evaluation."
Ethan allowed himself to be positioned. Electrodes attached. Blood pressure cuff tightened. Scanners hummed.
He kept his breathing slow and uneven, maintaining the appearance of instability rather than calculation.
Dr. Carlton approached, adjusting his glasses.
"Vitals?"
"Stable," the assistant replied. "Recovery trajectory is within normal range."
Carlton studied Ethan briefly, then looked unimpressed.
"No external manifestations," he murmured. "No abnormal tissue growth. No spontaneous mutations."
Ethan kept his eyes slightly unfocused.
Behind him, Lamplighter flicked the lighter again. A tiny flame danced above his thumb.
The heat behind Ethan's eyes responded instinctively, coiling tighter.
He wondered.
If he fired first, would it be fast enough?
If he aimed at the heart—
He stopped himself.
Reckless.
Lamplighter needed ignition. A flame source. Ethan's Destruction Ray did not.
But one mistake, one hesitation, and this room would become an execution chamber.
Carlton waved a dismissive hand.
"Return him to containment. Continue observation. If stability holds, increase dosage in two weeks."
Two weeks.
They were planning to inject him again.
Ethan was unstrapped and guided back toward the corridor.
The trip back was uneventful.
The door to his cell shut with its usual heavy finality.
Silence returned.
He sat on the edge of the bed and exhaled slowly.
That had been a test.
Not just medical.
Strategic.
They had no idea.
No idea that behind his eyes was a beam hot enough to cut through steel. No idea that the "unstable patient" was calculating distances and ignition windows.
He leaned back against the wall and let the fading sunlight touch his shoulder.
Five percent was just the beginning.
He stared at the ceiling, a faint smile forming.
"Me?" he murmured quietly. "I'm not sunbathing."
His eyes glinted faintly in the dim light.
"I'm planting a star."