Why be a hero… when you can be a god?

X-Men Universe — 1962, New York City.

Outside a dim, grimy alleyway.

A rough, gravelly voice broke the silence.

"Come closer, girls. Careful—wouldn't want some thug jumping out of the shadows and scaring you, now."

A man strolled past the alley entrance, arms draped around two scantily clad, provocatively dressed women. He took a swig from a half-empty bottle of liquor, his sharp fangs catching the faint light. His teasing words earned a wave of flirtatious laughter from the women clinging to him.

He sauntered down the street and disappeared into the night.

Only then did Ron step slowly out from the shadows of the alley, his expression cold and unreadable. His eyes drifted down toward the ground.

Next to a battered green trash bin, beneath a flickering yellow streetlamp, lay a soggy newspaper, soaked through with dirty water and sewage. Its headline was half-obscured, but the black-and-white photograph remained visible—a well-known image of a smiling President delivering a grave, impassioned speech.

Even in death, the man's charisma lingered in the ink.

The date printed on the paper was clear: 1962.

"1962... Sabretooth, Victor Creed," Ron muttered.

The man who had just walked by wasn't ordinary.

He was tall, with a mane-like beard and animalistic features. Two jagged fangs protruded from his mouth, his entire presence radiating danger. He looked more like a savage predator than a man—uncivilized, brutal.

Sabretooth.

A beast in human skin.

He, his younger brother Logan, and the other members of the X-Squad had just finished a mission assigned by Stryker.

They were enjoying a rare break—each indulging himself in his own way: drinking heavily, picking up streetwalkers, and bringing them back to the hotel for some fun.

Unfortunately for Sabretooth, he happened to cross paths with Ron, who had just arrived in the X-Men universe.

Ron stepped out onto the street.

America in the 1960s wasn't as modern or developed as it would become, but major cities were still lively and thriving, with occasional high-rise buildings and a nightlife full of extravagance and noise.

Up ahead, Sabretooth was walking with a woman on each arm, cracking crude jokes and laughing as he made his way into a hotel glowing under a neon sign.

Ron's gaze settled on the hotel's entrance, where people were constantly coming and going. A faint smile tugged at his lips.

"His healing factor and long lifespan are on par with Wolverine's. In terms of raw strength and speed, he's even slightly stronger than Wolverine was before receiving the Adamantium injection."

"I'll start with you."

He recalled that 1962 marked the beginning of a major event in the X-Men world.

To legitimately take part in that event, he needed an admission ticket—a mutant identity.

He wasn't one yet.

But soon, he would be.

...

Knock, knock!

"Who is it?"

Inside the room, there was the faint rustling of clothes being removed and the sound of low, uneven panting.

"Sir, pardon the interruption—might you be interested in learning about our benevolent savious Jesus Christ...?"Two polite coughs accompanied the voice, smooth and magnetic, carrying a strangely gentle tone.

"Get lost!"

The response from inside was a furious roar, cutting the speaker off mid-sentence.

Knock, knock, knock.

"Sir? He died for our sins. How can you not have 2 minutes..."

The knocking persisted. The voice outside remained courteous, but it was clearly grating on the nerves.

"I hope when I slam you into the ground and beat the crap out of you, you still have faith in your so-called saviour..."

Bang!

The door was flung open violently.

Half-drunk and fully enraged, Sabretooth grabbed the man outside and slammed him against the wall. His face twisted with fury, looking more beast than human, and he raised his fist—large as a sandbag—ready to teach the fool a brutal lesson for interrupting him at such a moment.

Fuu—

Ron smiled calmly.

Without flinching, he lifted a small, delicate vial and sprayed a fine white mist directly into Sabretooth's face.

"What the hell is this… damn it…"

Sabretooth inhaled a mouthful of the white mist and staggered backward.

The next second, a wave of dizziness hit him hard.

"You... No matter who you are... when I open my eyes again, I swear I'll send you straight to your Jesus Christ!"

Though under attack, Sabretooth showed no panic. Instead, he grinned viciously at Ron.

Thanks to his powerful healing factor, he possessed an extraordinary resistance to toxins and drugs.What could knock out an ordinary man for a full day would only keep him down for about ten minutes.

"Heh…"

Ron, calmly covering his nose and mouth with a handkerchief, scoffed at the threat with obvious disdain.

Sabretooth's vision began to warp. The world in front of him swayed and blurred. The sounds in his ears grew muffled and distant.

Then—thud—his tall frame collapsed heavily to the floor.

"Ah! Please.. we didn't do any—"

Inside the room, the two barely dressed women screamed, convinced they were about to be robbed or worse.

"Shh. Security Bureau," Ron said casually, placing a finger to his lips and flashing them a light smile.

...

A few minutes later…

Ron effortlessly slung the nearly two-hundred-pound Sabretooth over his shoulder and walked down the hotel corridor.

"Ugh, buddy, I know she dumped you last week, but you shouldn't just waste your life inside a bar.. " Ron muttered, showing embarrassment on his face.

Anyone who approached immediately caught a strong whiff of alcohol coming off Sabretooth's body. They wrinkled their noses and backed away, assuming the man was just dead drunk. No one suspected that Ron was, in fact, abducting a hotel guest in plain sight.

A few women even came up to flirt with him. His striking face and strong, muscular frame—especially with the ease he carried such a large man—made their imaginations run wild. Just the thought made their legs go weak.

"Sorry, ladies. I need to get my dear friend sobered up—no time for fun right now."

He smiled brightly, gentlemanly and polite as he turned them down.

Humans were visual creatures. A good-looking face and a well-built body could open doors and silence suspicion. And his face looked like the face you'd imagine if someone described a caring, baseball-loving, proud, and sunny American.

Earlier, in the hotel room, he had casually flashed his wallet, and the momentary glimpse of an official-looking badge had been enough to convince everyone he was from some government agency—maybe the Security Bureau—there to apprehend a foreign spy plotting terrorist activity on American soil.

Given Sabretooth's savage, wild appearance and hostile demeanor, no one would believe he was anything but trouble.

Swish!

Outside the hotel, slipping into the shadows, Ron glanced down at his right hand.

Tiger-like claws extended silently from his fingertips.

He frowned, clearly displeased.

"Ugly... but it'll do for now."

Upon making contact with Sabretooth's body, the system deducted 3,000 Ability Points—and in an instant, Ron inherited all of Sabretooth's powers: rapid regeneration, enhanced speed and strength, heightened senses like vision and smell, and razor-sharp claws that could be extended at will, sharp enough to tear a person apart.

Carrying Sabretooth over his shoulder, Ron walked down the street, his entire body brimming with power. It felt as if he had tapped into an endless reservoir of energy.

After walking for a while, he stopped in front of a construction site and paused in thought.

"I was planning to find a factory," he murmured, "but a construction site works just as well."

The system could record a target's ability template through direct or indirect contact, allowing Ron to purchase and enhance their powers. While he had already acquired Sabretooth's abilities, there was still value left in the man—value that could be squeezed out.

Thud!

Ron tossed Sabretooth to the ground like a sack of garbage. The man's back slammed against a stone, the sharp pain snapping him out of unconsciousness.

"Ugh.. where.." He groaned and blinked, looking around in a daze.

"Oh?"

"You're awake," Ron said calmly, squatting beside him with a hint of surprise.

"Congratulations. You won't be leaving this world in a coma. You'll get to witness your own death."

"Urg.. Remember what I said earlier, kid?"

Sabretooth, now awake, grinned viciously. The moment he opened his eyes, he instinctively tried to lunge forward and shred the arrogant brat in front of him with his claws—teach him a lesson he'd never forget.

But the next moment, his expression changed.

His entire body was limp. His limbs wouldn't respond. He couldn't even lift his arms.

"Don't bother struggling," Ron said coolly. "That was a sedative spray developed specifically for enhanced superhumans."

He gave Sabretooth a disdainful pat on the cheek before rising to his feet and turning away.

"The minimum test subject it's calibrated for can punch through walls and tank rifle rounds with their body."

"An adult Asian elephant—several tons of muscle—would be out cold for a whole day with a single spray. You—still don't measure up."

"You think you can kill me? You little bastard?" Sabretooth snarled through clenched teeth.

After several failed attempts to get up, he responded to Ron's threat with cold contempt, his voice dripping with murderous pride as he recalled his past—before Stryker, before the X-Squad.

"Back in Vietnam, I disobeyed orders. Raped some women. Killed a few civilians."

"They tried to execute me. Shot me for an hour straight. Spent so much ammo the shell casings made a small mountain."

"And in the end?" His smile widened into something feral."They pissed themselves… 'cause I still wasn't dead."

"I was so bored back then I nearly fell asleep. Kid, what've you got to offer?"

Over the years, he and his younger brother, Logan, had fought in countless meat-grinder wars. Battles soaked in blood. Death on all sides. Pain and injury were everyday occurrences. It wasn't until they committed a crime and were shot that their regenerative abilities were exposed to others—and they were immediately recruited into Stryker's X-Squad.

"The army couldn't kill him, and they sure as hell couldn't deal with me!"

"When this anesthetic wears off, I'll show you real cruelty. I'll show you what hell looks like!"

"Oh? Is that so?"

The next second—WHOOSH—a blinding pair of lights flared to life in the distance, cutting through the darkness like knives.

Sabretooth instinctively squinted, momentarily blinded by the sudden glare.

Hum… hum… hum…

A deep mechanical rumble echoed through the night.

Ron was driving a massive road roller toward him, the giant steel drum grinding over the gravel with slow, deliberate menace.

Its weight alone was enough to crush bone—and the devilish rumble it made only added to the tension.

"I wonder," Ron said coldly, "can you survive the trial of a civilian-grade road roller?"

"…Dio?!"