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Ethan exhaled, sat up straighter, and rolled his shoulders.
"Alright… let's see what else I've got."
He raised both hands and focused.
A faint pulse spread from his palms—barely visible, like ripples of greenish energy.
"…That must be the basic soul manipulation," he muttered. "Weak, but it's there."
He tried something else—forming a small sphere of necrotic energy.
For a second, a dim, sickly-green orb flickered between his palms… then sputtered out like a dying lightbulb.
"Okay. Not great. Next."
He stood up and took a stance, channeling the eerie martial energy Quan Chi used.
A thin layer of spectral energy coated his arms for half a second before breaking apart like smoke.
"Damn… so everything works, but only for a moment," Ethan said, rubbing his forehead. "Makes sense with a one-percent template."
He tried summoning a phantom chain—the iconic Quan Chi move.
A faint outline of a chain materialized in his hand…
…and disintegrated instantly.
"…Yep. Battery size of a peanut."
Still, he couldn't help a grin.
"But it works. All of it works. Just weak."
He flexed his fingers, watching a ghostly flicker dance between them.
"All I gotta do… is train. And then I get the real stuff. The clones, full necromancy, soul steal, portals… everything."
His grin widened.
"And then? I won't need any chamber, any serum, any machine. I'll be a one-man cheat code."
A month passed.
And Ethan learned something very important about Template Fusion:
It was painfully, insultingly slow.
Every morning he woke up, checked the percentage…
…and every morning it mocked him.
[ Template Fusion Progress: 6% ]
"Six," Ethan groaned, dragging a hand down his face. "Six. After a whole month. I've seen slugs with better work ethic."
But then he clenched his fist—because even 6% was ridiculous.
"Even at just six percent, I'm already very powerful… not to mention I'm also getting Quan Chi's experience with every percentage." Ethan muttered as he let out a long breath. "I mean—now I know how to fight even though I've never trained a day in my life. That's crazy."
He shook his head, still a bit stunned by it all.
"Good. Now let's use this month's gacha."
[ Spinning… ]
The holographic wheel slowed… clicked… and stopped.
A sharp chime echoed in Ethan's ears.
[ Congratulations. Reward obtained: Slaughter Spine (Horizon Universe). ]
Ethan blinked.
"Oh that's good. Now I get the plasma weapons too… and I can probably turn the Slaughter Spine into some kind of miniature version. But honestly? It looks cool enough on its own."
He grinned, imagining it.
"I wonder if I should just place it at my home as decoration—and when someone invades it, it springs to life and tries to kill them." He paused, considering. "Hmm… and I can add other machine tech too. Though right now I only have two attack types—this one and Stalkers."
Ethan nodded to himself, already planning out upgrades.
"Right. Now it's time to give the Super Soldier Serum to Storm," Ethan muttered, looking at the machine he'd prepared. One pod for the serum, the rest for the nutrient mix. Everything was ready.
"After a month of training, he should be prepared," Ethan nodded to himself, then called Storm.
Soon, Storm appeared in the workshop.
"How are the others doing?" Ethan asked as Storm entered, clearly knowing why Ethan had summoned him.
"Good. Both are doing great… and I can see lot of progress in them, after half a year," Storm answered. He was standing there in only his underwear, ready for the procedure.
"Go in," Ethan ordered.
Storm stepped into the Super Soldier Chamber.
"Once it begins, it will hurt—just bear with it," Ethan reminded him as he lay down. The bed closed around him as the chamber sealed.
"Okay… 3, 2, 1—go." Ethan pressed the button, and the entire serum vial was injected into Storm.
Soon, muffled groans began leaking out from inside the machine. Ethan watched the readouts carefully.
"Everything's holding steady… he's enduring fine," he muttered.
"How much will Storm improve?" Ethan asked, eyes fixed on the chamber.
[ Host, he should improve by 5 to 8 times depending on his aptitude. ]
Ethan nodded slowly.
"Five to eight times… that's a huge gap," he muttered. "Hope he ends up on the higher side."
He kept watching the chamber as the machines pumped nutrients, stabilizers, and enhancement compounds through Storm's body. The readings spiked a few times, but always settled back down.
Ten minutes passed.
Then twenty.
Then almost forty.
Finally, the chamber beeped.
[ Procedure Complete. Subject Stabilized. ]
Ethan stepped forward as the capsule hissed open, releasing a wave of cold mist.
Storm lay inside—breathing heavily, sweating, but very much alive.
"Storm," Ethan called. "You good?"
Storm blinked, eyes unfocused at first… then sharp.
He sat up slowly.
"…I feel… different," he said, voice deeper and steadier. He flexed his hands, watching the muscles shift under his skin. "Stronger. A lot stronger."
Ethan pulled up the scanner.
Storm's vitals were perfect. Heart rate, bone density, muscle fibers—everything had jumped to superhuman levels.
"Congratulations," Ethan said with a smirk. "You're officially upgraded."
Storm exhaled, amazed.
"So this is… what Captain America felt like?"
"Pretty much," Ethan shrugged. "Except you might be a bit tougher. You already had a solid base."
Storm looked at his hands again, then at Ethan.
"What's next?"
Ethan crossed his arms. "Next, we test your performance."
Storm nodded.
"First, let's check your speed and stamina," Ethan said as he attached several monitoring wires and sensors to Storm's chest, arms, and back. Once everything was in place, he pointed at the treadmill.
"Get on. Start with a jog."
Storm stepped onto the treadmill. Ethan tapped a few commands on the console, and the machine hummed to life.
"Alright," Ethan said. "Begin."
Storm began jogging, then running, then outright sprinting as Ethan steadily increased the speed.
Five minutes passed.
Ten.
Fifteen.
Storm didn't even look winded.
Ethan raised an eyebrow. "Okay… stamina test is done. You're a freak now."
Next came strength tests—bench press, deadlift, weighted holds.
Storm crushed every number Ethan expected.