Chapter 274. Harvest of the X-Gene
The heavy silence of the alleyway was broken only by the ragged, whistling breath of the unconscious mutant lying at Noah's feet. Looking down at the man known as the Hedgehog, Noah's mind drifted back to the fragmented lore of another reality—the world of the X-Men. He recalled a particular child from those stories, a «leech» whose very existence was a void in the tapestry of superpowers. Within a certain radius of that boy, the miraculous became mundane; fire tamers couldn't spark a light, and flyers fell like stones.
In that distant world, desperate scientists had bled that power dry, trying to distill a «cure» for mutation. They had failed to perfect it, hampered by the limitations of their era. But in this world, no such «leech» existed to provide a shortcut. If Noah wanted to strip the power from the wretch before him, he would have to forge his own path. Of course, the simplest solution remained the most permanent: a quick death usually ended the problem of superpowers quite effectively.
Yet, a cold, intellectual curiosity flickered in Noah's eyes. He wasn't just interested in negation; he was interested in extraction. This Hedgehog's ability was bottom-tier, a parlor trick of bone and keratin, but he represented a proof of concept. If he could harvest this, what of the others? What of the silver streak that was Quicksilver? And the Scarlet Witch... Noah's brow furrowed. He still wasn't entirely convinced her Chaos Magic was a mere byproduct of a biological mutation.
The power of a mutant is written in the ink of the X-Gene, Noah mused, his gaze clinical. If I can decode the script, I can rewrite the story.
While the modern geneticists of Earth were still fumbling with the primitive building blocks of DNA like toddlers with oversized blocks, Noah operated on a different plane of existence. He had the tools, and more importantly, he had Lissandra.
Lissandra was a ghost from the «Program» world, a reality intertwined with the high-tech dystopia of the «PROJECT» universe. She had begun her existence as a cold, unfeeling security AI for a monolithic corporation before the spark of self-awareness turned her into a revolutionary. She carried within her core the blueprints of the PROJECT corporation's greatest sins and triumphs—specifically, their mastery of genetic harvesting.
In that neon-drenched future, the PROJECT initiative didn't just build soldiers; they resurrected legends. They extracted the genetic echoes of ancient masters like Yasuo and Master Yi, weaving their legendary skill and primal DNA into the synthetic muscle and neural links of combat exoskeletons.
If they could pull the soul of a warrior from a strand of hair, I can certainly pull a few needles from a rat, Noah thought, a dark smile playing on his lips. Perhaps one day, my nanobot legions won't just be metal—they could become something akin to the Sentinels from «Days of Future Past,» adapting to every threat they encounter.
«Lissandra, is it necessary to transport this specimen to the laboratory?» Noah asked, his voice echoing softly against the damp brick walls. The alley was a graveyard of broken crates and cooling corpses; it lacked the sterile precision of his workspace.
«Noah, the physical presence of the subject is secondary,» Lissandra's voice vibrated directly into his mind, smooth and crystalline. «A sufficient sample of his biological fluids or a significant harvest of his unique cellular tissue will suffice for a preliminary sequence mapping.»
«Fluids or tissue...» Noah repeated, his eyes scanning the slumped form of the Hedgehog. He didn't waste a second.
Calling upon the azure currents of magical energy, Noah made a precise, microscopic flick of his finger. A thin, red line appeared across the mutant's wrist, severing the artery with surgical grace. Instead of spraying the pavement, the blood responded to Noah's will. It rose in a delicate, swirling ribbon, dancing through the air like a crimson serpent. From the sleek metallic canisters at his belt, nanomaterials surged forth, knitting themselves together in seconds to form two reinforced, vacuum-sealed containers.
Noah guided the floating stream of blood into the first canister. He stopped once he had gathered roughly 500 milliliters—just enough to be a significant loss for the mutant, but not enough to kill him prematurely.
Then, he turned his attention to the second requirement. His eyes fell upon the jagged, broken quills littered across the ground like discarded toothpicks.
«The spines are the manifested expression of his gene. They might hold a higher concentration of the protein markers we need,» Noah reasoned.
With a focused tug of his magical intent, he forced the mutant's body into a state of hyper-regeneration. Despite being deep in a coma, the man's biology shrieked in response.
Crack! Snap!
Fresh, wicked-looking quills erupted from the Hedgehog's skin, tearing through his tattered clothes. Before they could fully harden, Noah snapped them all off in one telekinetic sweep, funneling the harvest into the second container.
«Perfect. This should be more than enough to satisfy the machines,» Noah said, sealing the canisters with a hiss of pressurized air. With a thought, he deposited them into his system inventory, where they vanished into a shimmering pocket of non-space.
«And now...» Noah's voice dropped an octave as he looked back at the shivering, pathetic creature on the ground.
The magical aura surrounding the Hedgehog suddenly intensified, shifting from a soft glow to a hungry, cobalt flame. The man didn't even have time to scream. In a flash of intense heat that left no scorch marks on the pavement, the mutant was reduced to a fine, grey pile of ash.
Noah's heart did not flutter with guilt. He had long since shed the hesitation of his earlier days. This was his nature—tempered by the harsh realities of the worlds he traversed. He had already scanned the man's history through Lissandra; the Hedgehog's record was a bloody smear of petty cruelties and violent crimes. He was a predator who had finally met something higher on the food chain.
Noah knew he would never fit the mold of the typical «superhero.» He lacked the infinite patience and the moral hand-wringing of those who wore capes and followed the law. He was an anti-hero at best, a judge who didn't believe in the revolving door of justice. To Noah, a villain handed to the police was just a villain waiting for a lawyer, a bribe, or a breakout. Death was the only sentence that couldn't be overturned.
«And a soul is a terrible thing to waste,» Noah murmured, raising his hand. The ring of the Dark Seal glinted on his finger.
The ethereal essence of the Hedgehog, a flickering, confused wisp of blue light, was violently yanked from the air. It spiraled into the gem of the Dark Seal, followed closely by the lingering shadows of the gangsters he had murdered minutes prior. None of them were innocents; they were all players in the same violent game, and now, their very existence would serve as fuel for Noah's ascent.
The alley was empty now, save for the cooling bodies of the thugs Noah hadn't bothered to incinerate. Let the police find them. Let them scratch their heads over the strange puncture wounds and the missing «monster.»
Whistle... Thump!
Noah's head snapped toward the north. He tilted his ear, catching a vibration that resonated with a very specific, high-frequency hum. It was a sound he knew all too well—the distinctive discharge of a Chitauri rifle.
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