The screams of agony still echoed through the ship's metallic halls.
"Arghhhhhh!"
Sylar's voice tore through the air like a dying animal, reverberating from behind the sealed walls of the chamber where he endured the Omega Compound transformation. Each cry was raw, the sound of his body and mind being ripped apart and rebuilt molecule by molecule.
Outside, Benjamin and the other super soldiers remained silent. They sat with their eyes closed as the ship drifted through the endless expanse of stars, their faces unreadable.
For hours, they had listened to those screams, but then, on the seventh hour, they opened their eyes and glanced at the room with small smiles on their faces. The critical threshold had been surpassed.
If the subject survived seven hours of the Omega infusion without losing consciousness, the transformation would stabilize. The risk of death would fade.
Even if Sylar blacked out now, his genetic limiters would have already been shattered—his body and mind freed from the natural constraints of humanity. His strength, speed, and endurance would soon rise beyond human limits. His brain's capacity would expand as well, sharpening his intellect to superhuman levels.
But the process did not end at survival.
The longer a candidate endured the transformation while conscious, the greater their potential would be. Every additional minute meant more refined adaptation, deeper integration, stronger results. Among Shooting Stars, endurance during the Omega process was a mark of one's future greatness.
Eight hours passed. Then nine, before finally, no scream no longer emerged from the room.
"Not bad," murmured a golden-haired soldier, his eyes radiating a blue glow.
Another soldier—this one with a scarred and burned face— shook his head. "Nine hours is not bad, but honestly, I expected more from someone personally chosen by Captain Benjamin."
Benjamin said nothing. His expression was calm, unreadable. He rose from his seat, intent on checking the boy's condition himself. But before he could take a single step, a deep boom resonated from behind the chamber's door. Then another.
"Boom. Boom."
The sound repeated—sharp, rhythmic, desperate.
The soldiers glanced at each other. Confusion flickered across their faces before they all closed their eyes, activating their echolocation senses to visualize the scene within.
And what they saw stunned even them.
Sylar was standing before the metal wall, his body drenched in sweat and blood trickling from the corner of his mouth. His muscles trembled violently. And yet, he was punching the wall with everything he had, over and over again.
"Boom. Boom. Boom."
His fists slammed into the reinforced alloy. His eyes burned with feral intensity, but beneath that savage exterior, they could sense his focus, his determination. He had stopped screaming—not because the pain was gone, but because he no longer could. His throat was raw, his vocal cords likely torn.
Instead, he used the pain from his shattered hands to keep himself awake, to distract from the unbearable torment that flooded the rest of his body.
It wasn't very smart—but it was working.
Every time the darkness threatened to pull him under, he remembered the abomination that had taken his family. That memory reignited his will, pushing him to keep striking the wall no matter how broken his body became.
He would not faint. He would not give up.
Benjamin watched the scene, his stoic face betraying only the faintest smile, before sitting back. The boy was suffering beyond imagination—yet he was still fighting.
The banging continued into the tenth hour. Then the eleventh.
The golden-haired super soldier chuckled softly. "What about now, Astro?" he said, glancing toward the scarred veteran beside him with a smirk.
Astro opened his eyes briefly, his gaze calm but his tone filled with respect. "Outstanding."
That was all he said. Yet those simple words sent a ripple through the group. Praise from Astro was rare—almost unheard of.
Eleven hours of endurance. That was a mark achieved only by the most exceptional candidates in Shooting Star history.
Ten minutes later, the rhythmic pounding finally stopped. Through their senses, they saw Sylar collapse to the floor. His hands were mangled, bones splintered, and muscles torn. He sat slumped against the wall, chest heaving, his eyes glazed with exhaustion.
Benjamin nodded approvingly. "He's done more than enough," he murmured. "Even if he sleeps now, he's already surpassed expectations."
But before he could stand and enter the chamber, Sylar moved again.
The soldiers froze as they saw the boy lift his head, then slam it into the metal floor.
"Thud."
Blood splattered.
"Thud."
He did it again.
A flicker of alarm shot through the soldiers' minds. It wasn't uncommon for promising recruits to cripple themselves in desperation during the Omega process. Broken bones were easily repaired, but brain damage was irreversible, even for them.
However, as they continued to watch, the tension eased.
The strikes were weak. His head hit the floor with force, yes, but not enough to cause true harm. After eleven hours of unrelenting agony and two hours of punching, Sylar's strength was nearly gone. The headbutts were not an act of madness; they were a final, calculated attempt to stay conscious. The shock, the jolt of pain—it kept his fading mind awake.
The largest of the soldiers, a mountain of a man with a neck thicker than most men's torsos, finally spoke. His deep voice rumbled like distant thunder.
"If he planned it like this," he said slowly, "saving the head strikes for the end—after his body was spent—then he's smarter than he looks."
He then turned toward Benjamin with a large smile. "Your bet paid off, Captain."
Benjamin glanced toward the bear-like super soldier who had spoken. He said nothing, but the smile on his face widened. The truth was, he had been in serious trouble for bringing Sylar aboard the ship—far more than he had let the boy believe.
The only way he could justify it was if Sylar not only survived the Omega Compound but emerged as an exceptional Shooting Star.
And from the looks of it, he was well on his way.
From that point on, Benjamin and the other super soldiers began to count every minute that passed. The ship was silent except for the faint hum of its engines, each man waiting for the outcome. Then, finally, it happened—the twelfth hour.
The moment the threshold was crossed, Benjamin and the others exchanged glances, their eyes glowing faintly with approval, respect, and even admiration. To endure twelve full hours of transformation without losing consciousness was extraordinary—something only the most resilient candidates in the history of the Shooting Stars had ever achieved.
Inside the containment chamber, Sylar felt the agony fade at last. For the first time in what felt like eternity, there was no pain—only a deep, almost surreal sense of calm. He had done it. He had won.
[Quest #004: Endure the complete transformation of the Omega Compound without losing consciousness
Mission Grade: –2
Status: COMPLETED
Reward: +1 Mutation Slot / 15,000 XP]
[You have reached Level 18 – 10 Free Points Available]
[You have reached Level 19 – 10 Free Points Available]
[You have reached Level 20 – 10 Free Points Available]
Sylar heard the familiar, melodic voice of the system confirming his success. Relief washed over him as his body collapsed back against the cold floor. His mind drifted toward darkness, a well-deserved rest pulling him down.
But just before unconsciousness claimed him, something strange happened. His eyes began to burn—an unbearable heat rising within them, like fire trying to escape.
At that moment, the chamber door slid open. Benjamin stepped inside, a proud smile still on his face.
Sylar instinctively turned toward the sound. The moment his gaze met the captain, his eyes ignited—literally. A beam of golden energy erupted from them, searing through the air and slamming directly into Benjamin's chest. The force of the blast hurled the super soldier backward, throwing him clear out of the room.
The other Shooting Stars reacted instantly. In less than a heartbeat, their demeanor shifted—emotion vanished, replaced by machine-like precision. They blurred forward in perfect synchronization, sealing the chamber shut and forming a defensive perimeter.
Benjamin coughed once, brushing the smoke from his chest. A faint scorch mark marred his uniform, but he was far from seriously hurt.
Inside the chamber, Sylar's body convulsed as more golden beams burst from his eyes, carving molten trails across the metallic walls. Each blast left glowing scars, the metal hissing under the sheer intensity of the heat. The pain on his face returned—raw and desperate—but the soldiers could also see something else: power.
Even Benjamin found himself momentarily awed, ignoring the burn on his chest as he studied the aftermath. The energy had sliced through reinforced alloys.
It didn't last long. After a final surge of golden light, Sylar's body went still. The beams faded, and he collapsed, unconscious but alive.
The chamber was silent once more.
The super soldiers exchanged stunned looks. For several seconds, no one spoke—then the bear-like super soldier let out a low whistle, a grin spreading across his face.
"That boy," he said, almost laughing in disbelief, "just awakened a Genetic Ability."
Benjamin stared at the scorched door, a slow, knowing smile spreading across his face.
"Yes," he murmured. "And a powerful one."