The first thing Jacob Lawrence remembered about his new life was pain.
Not the fleeting sting of a scrape or the dull ache of a bruise. No — this pain was deeper. It was the kind of hurt that pressed into every cell, every thought, every whisper of his soul. A drowning ache. A suffocating weight that crushed the very idea of freedom.
He'd died once. He knew that much. His last life had ended suddenly — some cruel twist of fate, a random crime, blood in the air, then nothing. He remembered the regret, the bitter irony. He didn't get the glorious ending of a hero or the peaceful departure of an old man. No, his life was stolen.
When his eyes opened again, after that night, he thought maybe this was a third reincarnation. A new start. A chance to build again. But instead of sunlight or the cry of parents, he found himself in water. A tube. Glass walls. Needles in his arms. The sterile hum of machines. And men in white coats.
What the hell kind of start is this?
It was then he learned the cruel truth: his DNA wasn't ordinary.
The scientists told him — no, they boasted to him, though he was only a child — that his cells carried a property unlike any they had ever seen. He was a living key, a universal patchwork. His genetic code could replace missing fragments in others. It could graft onto humans, mutants, even metahumans. He could fix what was broken. A donor pie. A farm.
At first, Jacob didn't understand. He was five. All he knew was the sting of needles, the way his body weakened after every extraction, and how the men in white coats scribbled excited notes as though he were an invention, not a boy.
He grew up inside that prison. Not with toys, not with hugs, not with warmth. His lullabies were the hum of machines. His playmates were shadows on the other side of glass. And every single day, they took pieces of him.
His DNA repaired test subjects. Soldiers injected with his blood healed wounds that should've killed them. Mutants missing limbs grew them back with his tissue grafts. Even alien carcasses stabilized under his contribution. They called him the "Universal Donor." The perfect battery.
But Jacob knew what he really was.
Their slave.
It wasn't all meaningless, though.
Because after a few years, when his mind was sharp enough to notice, he began to see.
Every time they drew from him, every time they tampered with his body, every time they changed something in the world with his unwilling gift… his System whispered.
[Omni Template System – Online]
Karmic Value (KV) increased.
Current Total: 2,115 KV.
The first time he saw it, Jacob thought it was a hallucination. But the numbers kept climbing. When a soldier injected with his blood survived what should've been a fatal explosion? His value rose. When a crippled mutant walked again thanks to Jacob's marrow? His value ticked upward. When LexCorp paraded another miracle soldier as a triumph of science? Jacob's Karmic balance swelled.
He realized the truth: his suffering created ripples. Ripples that bent history, shifted futures. And those ripples fed him.
Karma. Value. A currency born from change.
So he endured.
For fifteen years, he stayed in that watery coffin. Sometimes he raged, but most of the time, he was quiet. He learned. He listened. He planned. Because the System explained more: with Karma, he could open "chests," unlock "templates," bind his soul to legends and monsters across creation. Power waited. He just needed to stockpile it.
By the time Jacob turned twenty, his Karma read:
Karmic Value: 100,018
A hundred thousand. Enough for the first true step.
It was a quiet night in the lab when Jacob finally acted. He sat suspended in the chamber, body scarred and thin, his eyes closed like always. The scientists outside argued about the next extraction, about cloning trials, about selling him. Jacob didn't even flinch.
Instead, he whispered in his mind:
System. Gold Chest.
[Gold Chest – 100,000 KV Deducted]
First Chest Bonus Active: Rarest Rarity Guaranteed
[Congratulations! You have obtained the Template: Prometheus – Titan in God's Skin]
Rarity: A (Ascendant)
Cooldown: 30 Days
The world erupted.
His body convulsed, bones stretching, tendons snapping, muscles swelling. Golden fire poured from his veins, filling every pore, every scream. His frail body cracked like a chrysalis.
Then he stood.
The chamber exploded outward as he rose, no longer human but Titan. His skin bronze and unyielding, his chest broad as a mountain, his hair flowing like molten rivers. A beard like iron. Wings of flame erupted from his back, and in his grip manifested a spear crowned with burning coils. His eyes glowed with a sun's fury.
Jacob was gone. In his place stood Prometheus.
The soldiers rushed in. They shouted orders, raised weapons. To Prometheus, they looked like ants. To Jacob, still buried beneath the Titan's calm, they looked like tormentors.
He pitied them.
And he slaughtered them.
Their bullets flattened against his skin. Their screams vanished beneath his roar. He crushed steel with his hands, turned walls to molten slag with a glance. His spear pierced armored vehicles like parchment.
And all the while, he was calm.
That was Prometheus's gift — not just strength, not just fire, but serenity. The calm of a god who had seen ages pass, who pitied man even as he punished their cruelty. Jacob's rage dulled to focus, to something cold, surgical.
When it was done, only fire remained.
Jacob strode barefoot from the wreckage. The night air hit his skin like freedom itself. For the first time in twenty years, he saw the stars unfiltered through glass.
He inhaled. Exhaled. Lifted his gaze skyward.
A tree lay at the edge of the forest. He tore it from the earth, its roots dangling like veins. Lightning answered his call, storm clouds twisting overhead. Divine fire wrapped the trunk, and with one mighty breath, Jacob hurled it like a javelin.
The burning spear screamed upward, cutting through cloud, through sky, through atmosphere. He watched until it vanished into the abyss of space.
For the first time, he smiled.
"I'm free."
The Titan's form shimmered, fading as exhaustion slammed into him. The flames guttered, the wings dissolved, and the immortal flesh peeled back into the scarred, weakened body of Jacob Lawrence.
[Prometheus Template Deactivated – Cooldown: 30 Days]
He collapsed into the forest, crawling until he found a cave. The adrenaline drained from his veins, leaving only the fragile shell of a boy who had survived two decades of torment.
His head hit the cold stone. His chest ached. His eyes drooped.
"Shitty way to start my freedom," he muttered, voice hoarse.
A shadow blocked the moonlight. Jacob's tired eyes cracked open just enough to see the silhouette at the cave entrance. A man, broad shouldered, red cape flowing. His presence was immense, his gaze sharp yet filled with something alien to Jacob's life so far — concern.
Blue eyes met broken brown.
Jacob tried to speak, tried to whisper his name. But his body gave in. His world collapsed into blackness.
The last thing he saw before unconsciousness claimed him was the unmistakable figure of the Man of Steel.
Superman.