"Dr. Connors… I've got some documents here. Take a look."
Locke spoke casually, as if he were handing over something as ordinary as a lab report, but the moment the data appeared in his hands, the atmosphere subtly shifted. He retrieved the file directly from the system inventory—[Umbrella Corporation: Progenitor Virus Research Data]—and placed it in front of Dr. Connors without hesitation.
To anyone else, it might have looked like a simple exchange of research material, but the weight behind it was something else entirely. This wasn't just data. This was the blueprint of a world-ending catastrophe.
In that ruined zombie world, the Umbrella Corporation stood at the absolute center of all destruction. Everything traced back to them, every corpse, every ruined city, every last scream swallowed by silence.
The T-virus they developed didn't just cause chaos—it wiped out more than ninety-nine percent of humanity. Entire continents were reduced to lifeless wastelands, blanketed in ash and decay, leaving behind only a pale, dead world.
The survivors, if they could even be called that, clung desperately to existence. They hid in ruins, scavenged scraps, and prayed they wouldn't be the next to fall. Outside, the world belonged to monsters—countless, bloodthirsty, mindless creatures that hunted anything still breathing.
And yet, for all its horror, the virus itself wasn't useless. It wasn't meaningless garbage born purely for destruction.
On the contrary, at its core, it was something far more fascinating.
The original progenitor virus had been extracted from a rare plant known as the "Stairway to the Sun," a flower discovered in the ruins of an ancient tribe deep in West Africa. Inside that plant was a unique RNA-based viral compound, something capable of enhancing human physiology and extending lifespan far beyond natural limits.
It was, in essence, a shortcut to evolution.
But evolution always demanded a price.
The same substance that could elevate a human being into something greater was also violently toxic. The vast majority of people couldn't withstand it. Their bodies collapsed under the strain, leading inevitably to death.
Which raised an uncomfortable truth.
Was the virus flawed?
Or was the human body simply too weak?
Even if the progenitor virus offered power—strength, immortality, transcendence—it didn't matter. If the host couldn't endure it, all that promise meant nothing.
Under this foundation, Umbrella's scientists pushed forward relentlessly. Even as personnel changed and internal power struggles reshaped the organization, the research always traced back to that original virus. From it, countless derivatives were born.
Dr. Marcus fused the progenitor virus with leech DNA, creating the T-virus. His work turned the virus into a weapon, something that could be deployed and controlled—at least in theory. In practice, most subjects suffered catastrophic side effects, including severe brain damage and the loss of higher intelligence.
Still, a small fraction survived.
Those rare individuals became the foundation for the Tyrant series, weapons disguised as living beings.
Then came Dr. William Birkin, who took things even further. He developed the G-virus, a mutation far more unstable and terrifying than its predecessor. Infection didn't just alter the body—it reshaped it continuously, forcing the host through uncontrolled evolutionary stages.
Some might ascend, becoming something akin to gods.
Others would fall, degenerating into mindless horrors.
Beyond that, the branches continued to spread—T-Veronica, Las Plagas parasites, Uroboros, the C-virus—each one a different interpretation of the same terrifying concept.
If the progenitor virus was the raw ingredient…
Then everything else was just a different dish prepared from it.
"Let's see what you can do with it, Doctor."
Connors accepted the data with stiff fingers, his expression tightening as he began to read. At first, it was just curiosity. Then confusion. Then—
Shock.
His eyes widened, scanning line after line, and within seconds, his breathing grew uneven. The scientific depth, the implications, the sheer audacity of the research—it was beyond anything he had ever encountered.
This wasn't just advanced.
It was dangerous.
No… it was terrifying.
And yet, at the same time, it was brilliant.
Connors' hands trembled slightly. He swallowed hard, instinctively wanting to hand the data back, as if simply holding it made him complicit in something unforgivable.
But when he looked up and met Locke's gaze, something stopped him.
Shame.
A quiet, uncomfortable realization crept in.
Compared to the man in front of him, he felt… small. Like a creature crawling through mud, bound by limitations, while Locke stood far above, something closer to a higher lifeform than a human being.
Locke noticed the hesitation and gave a small, reassuring smile.
"Relax. I'm not asking you to build a doomsday weapon," he said evenly. "I just want you to use it to push your self-healing research forward. Nothing illegal."
Connors let out a breath he hadn't realized he was holding. The tension in his shoulders eased slightly, though the weight of the data remained.
He had no interest in destroying humanity.
But evolution?
That was different.
This… this was exactly what he had been searching for.
Within those files lay the blueprint of forced evolution, of breaking past biological limits. If properly controlled, it could revolutionize regenerative medicine, unlock self-healing on a level never seen before.
Take the progenitor virus fusion process as an example. For ordinary people, it was a gamble with death. Failure meant instant collapse. But for individuals with sufficiently strong genetic structures, the result could be extraordinary.
They could skip millions of years of evolution.
All at once.
"Something like this actually exists…" Connors muttered, almost to himself.
Behind him, Doctor Octopus leaned in, curiosity getting the better of him. He scanned a few sections of the data, and even he couldn't hide his reaction.
His mechanical arms shifted slightly as he let out a low whistle.
"This is priceless," he said, patting Connors on the shoulder. "You'd better make sure you repay him properly."
Connors didn't respond immediately, but the look in his eyes had changed. The hesitation was gone, replaced by something firm, almost resolute.
"We will," he said quietly. "No matter what."
There was conviction there, the kind that bordered on devotion.
Who said anyone opposing superheroes had to be villains?
At least in this moment, Connors looked far more sincere than most so-called heroes.
Unlike Tony Stark.
Arrogant. Self-absorbed. Always convinced he was the smartest man in the room, even when his own mistakes came back to bite him.
If anything, the so-called Illuminati—led by Stark, alongside figures like Mister Fantastic, Black Panther, and Doctor Strange—had proven time and time again that intelligence didn't always mean wisdom. Their decisions had nearly torn apart entire realities.
Not exactly a glowing endorsement.
Soon enough, Connors and Octavius moved to the lab, already deep in discussion about how to adapt the data for their own research. The project had begun before the equipment was even powered on.
That left Locke alone beneath the towering divine tree.
He reached into the system again and pulled out a glowing orb—the Wood Spirit Orb. It shimmered with a faint blue light, almost serene at first glance.
The moment it appeared—
Everything changed.
A ripple spread outward, subtle but undeniable. The surrounding vegetation reacted instantly, as if responding to an unseen call. Grass, vines, and trees began to grow at an accelerated rate, their vitality surging unnaturally.
It was as if the land itself had been stimulated.
"Not bad," Locke murmured.
This was a true wood-element treasure.
At the same time, something deep within his body stirred. The divine tree bloodline he carried reacted violently, a primal instinct awakening from within his genes.
It wanted the orb.
No—more than that.
It needed it.
The urge wasn't something he could ignore. It wasn't emotional. It wasn't rational. It was instinct, written into the very structure of his existence.
If he absorbed it…
Would it compensate for the deficiencies in his bloodline?
Without hesitation, Locke raised the orb and swallowed it.
The moment it entered his body, a surge of energy exploded outward. The power wasn't violent, but it was overwhelming—spreading through his limbs, seeping into every cell, merging seamlessly with his flesh and blood.
Warmth followed.
Then transformation.
The divine tree, the origin of extraordinary power in the Naruto world, pulsed within him. His bloodline had always been incomplete, diluted, lacking true purity.
But now—
That was changing.
The energy of the Wood Spirit Orb flowed into his bloodstream, refining it, strengthening it, amplifying it. It was like flipping a switch that had been dormant for far too long.
Everything accelerated.
What should have taken decades—centuries, even—was happening in moments.
Locke closed his eyes briefly, feeling the shift as his body adapted, evolved, surpassed its previous limits.
"This…" he murmured, almost in disbelief. "So this is what it feels like."
Inside the sealed inner space, Kurama stirred violently. Even from confinement, the change was impossible to ignore.
"That power… the Mother Tree…" Kurama's voice carried a rare hint of shock. "It's radiating life energy on this level?"
For a moment, even the Nine-Tails fell silent.
Then, slowly—
A realization formed.
Is he some kind of god?
.....
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