As an Immortal in the Multiverse

Ethan groaned as he slowly regained consciousness. His body ached, his head pounded, and the damp, metallic scent in the air made his stomach churn. As he opened his eyes, he found himself in a dimly lit, shabby cell.

The cracked concrete walls were lined with deep scratches, and the rusty metal bars on the door told him everything he needed to know—he was a prisoner.

He sat up with difficulty, his limbs trembling from weakness. His clothes were in tatters, barely hanging onto his thin, malnourished frame.

He lifted his arms, examining them with growing dread. His body was pathetic. He felt weak, fragile—like a stiff breeze could break him in half. A kid could kill him in this state.

"What the hell is this?" he muttered, frustration rising.

Just as he was trying to piece together his situation, a warm, soothing sensation suddenly washed over him. It started in his chest, radiating outward like golden sunlight piercing through storm clouds. His veins burned—not painfully, but with a comforting heat that spread through his limbs.

Then, it happened.

His body began to change. His frail arms thickened with muscle, his chest broadened, and his once visible ribs vanished beneath sculpted abs. His legs grew stronger, filling with power, and in mere seconds, his body had transformed.

He wasn't just fit—he was in peak human condition. No, beyond that. His physique resembled that of a Greek god, chiseled and flawless. Strength coursed through his veins like never before.

Ethan clenched his fists and felt the raw power within them. This… This was insane.

Then, memories flooded his mind.

His name was still Ethan Carter. His parents were dead. He had been alone for years. And worst of all…

"Oh, you have got to be shitting me."

He was in the Marvel Universe.

Everything clicked. Mutants existed. Tony Stark, Oscorp, the X-Men—all real. And according to his memories, he was one of the unlucky bastards born as a mutant. Not even a strong one. Before his transformation, he had only mild regeneration—nothing special. And that weakness had made him a target.

Experimented on. Tortured. Locked away like an animal.

And judging by the guards' previous conversations, he knew the year. 2000.

"This damn ROB…" Ethan gritted his teeth.

He didn't want a new life because life sucked. He had accepted death. And now this asshole sent him straight into a hellhole instead?!

"Fuck you, you son of a—"

His angry rant was cut short when he noticed something unusual resting near him. A pocket watch.

A silver, ornate timepiece with intricate engravings covering its surface.

The second hand didn't move, as if time itself had stopped within it.

The back had strange symbols, glowing faintly with a deep blue light.

The moment Ethan touched it, a voice echoed in his mind.

"For my amusement, I sent you here. Consider it a challenge! Oh, and that watch? It can let you travel to other worlds—but you'll need an enormous amount of energy to use it. Right now? It's empty. Good luck! Hahaha!"

The message ended, leaving Ethan gripping the watch with a death glare.

"That bastard…"

A slow, deep breath left his lips. He looked down at his now god-tier body. Looked at the shabby, rusted cell around him. Then at the watch in his hand.

Life had screwed him over once again.

But this time?

He wasn't going to take it lying down.

Ethan exhaled sharply as he stepped toward the iron door of his cell. He clenched his fist and slammed it against the cold metal.

Nothing.

The door didn't even budge.

He stared at his hand, then at the solid metal in front of him. A normal person would give up. But Ethan? He wasn't normal anymore.

With a grim smile, he pulled back his fist and punched again. And again. And again. The impacts echoed through the empty room as his knuckles met unyielding steel.

There was no pain. His body was already adapting.

Each punch refined his movements—his stance shifted, his strikes became more precise. The dents in the door grew larger. His muscles moved faster, stronger, more efficiently with every attack.

Then, a voice crackled through a speaker in the corner, near a camera blinking red.

"Cease immediately. Continued resistance will result in severe consequences."

Ethan didn't even pause. "Consequences?" He let out a dry chuckle, throwing another powerful punch. "Yeah? Bring it."

BOOM.

The door shattered.

The reinforced iron buckled under his final strike, flying off its hinges and crashing into the hallway beyond. A dozen guards stood waiting, armed with batons, tasers, and knives.

Overhead, a different voice spoke through the intercom. "Subject 18 has undergone a secondary mutation. Restrain him immediately."

The guards rushed forward with their weapons raised.

Ethan exhaled, stepping out of his ruined cell. The dim hallway lights reflected off his bare, muscular form. If this had been the old Ethan, he would've been terrified. He wouldn't have fought back.

But that water… That goddamn water changed something in him.

Fear? He couldn't even feel it anymore.

One of the guards lunged at him with a knife.

The fight began.

Ethan sidestepped the attack, his body moving on pure instinct. The guard's knife sliced across his ribs, a thin trail of blood marking the wound.

Ethan didn't flinch.

His body healed instantly, sealing the cut in seconds.

"Oh… that's interesting." He smirked.

Another guard swung a baton at his head. Ethan ducked, but he wasn't fast enough—THWACK! The impact rattled his skull, staggering him slightly.

"Shit… I'm still not used to fighting."

They didn't give him time to recover. Two more closed in, one aiming a punch at his gut while the other tried to grab his arms.

Ethan twisted his body, letting the first attack slide past his stomach. But the second guy got a grip on his wrist.

Big mistake.

Ethan's adaptation kicked in. His body reacted, his movements suddenly more fluid, more refined. He spun, wrenching the guard's arm at an unnatural angle.

CRACK.

A scream tore through the hall as the man collapsed, clutching his broken arm.

Ethan felt nothing. No hesitation. No guilt.

He barely had time to process it before the next guard stabbed a knife straight into his shoulder.

Blood dripped down his chest.

Ethan didn't stop.

He grabbed the guy's wrist, pulled the knife deeper into his own flesh—shocking the man—before twisting the weapon out of his grip.

Then, with a brutal motion, Ethan plunged the knife into the man's throat.

The guard gurgled, collapsing to the floor.

Ethan stared at the first life he had ever taken.

He expected to feel something. Regret. Horror. Doubt.

Instead, there was nothing.

He looked up at the remaining guards, blood dripping from his fingers. His lips curled into a smirk. "Next?"

The remaining guards hesitated for half a second—long enough for Ethan to strike.

He darted forward, faster than before. His body was still adapting. Every movement was smoother, every attack more efficient.

One guard tried to block with his baton—Ethan caught it mid-swing.

He yanked it forward, pulling the man into a brutal knee to the ribs. Bones snapped. The guard screamed, collapsing to the ground, wheezing for air.

Another came from behind—Ethan felt the attack before it landed. His reflexes had already adjusted.

He twisted, grabbed the man's head, and slammed it into the nearest wall. Blood splattered across the concrete.

The last two guards panicked. One pulled out a taser.

Ethan tilted his head. They really think that'll work?

BZZZT!

The electricity surged through him—for a second. Then? His body absorbed it. Adapted. The tingling sensation vanished.

He smiled. "Thanks for the charge."

With a single step, he closed the distance.

One punch to the chest. The guard's ribs caved in.

The last one tried to run. Ethan grabbed him by the neck.

The man struggled, gasping, eyes filled with terror.

"So this is what it feels like to have power," Ethan thought.

His grip tightened. CRACK.

The body went limp.

Ethan let go, watching as the corpse crumpled to the floor. He looked at his blood-stained hands. "I just killed them all."

And yet… He felt nothing.

Ethan inhaled deeply, rolling his shoulders. His wounds were already healed. His body? Stronger than before.

He stepped over the corpses, grabbing one of their jackets and pulling it over his torn clothes.

The intercom crackled again. "Subject 18 has exceeded expectations… deploy reinforcements."

Ethan smirked, stretching his fingers. "Good. Let's see how much stronger I can get."