The lost (false) demigod

[AN: I was going to elaborate more on the survival part and such, but I decided I'll advance faster because I was getting bored of writing that, next chap we will have some encounters]

The frozen forest stretched endlessly before me, its silence broken only by the occasional crack of ice or the distant howl of wolves, wolves that I will still going to kill. My breath misted in the cold air as I knelt by a small clearing, the trident leaning against a nearby tree and the staff strapped firmly in my hand. It had been a few days since I applied the first serum, and while its effects were undeniable, I could feel my body still adjusting—almost humming with potential energy waiting to be unlocked.

The serum had already altered me in profound ways. Even so, I was painfully aware that I inhabited the body of a child. My small frame made every action feel like a contradiction; the immense power coursing through me clashed with the awkward limitations of my tiny, untrained muscles. It was both humbling and infuriating, a constant reminder of the oddity of my situation. My strength, reflexes, and endurance were leagues beyond anything I could have imagined. I could move faster, hit harder, and think more clearly. My body felt alive in a way that was hard to describe. Every time I pushed myself to the limit, my veins and eyes glowed a vivid neon green—the same color as the serum. I didn't know what it was or why it happened, but I decided to call it "venom". It felt like a part of me, surging to the surface when I needed it most, reminding me of the power now flowing through my body. It also reminded me of a character from the comics but I didn't have enough evidence. Even my memories that would have once been hazy were now vivid, as if my mind had become a perfectly tuned machine. Yet, I wasn't satisfied. I could sense there was more—my body needed to be pushed to adapt fully, to reach its true potential. Only then would I feel ready to apply the second serum.

I tightened the scavenged winter coat around me and began my routine. Survival was always the priority, but now it came with a purpose: training. Every exercise I attempted felt like a battle between the capabilities of my enhanced body and the constraints of its youthful form. Training in this body was an absurd balancing act: powerful enough to lift heavy weights yet clumsy in ways that reminded me of a child learning to write. It forced me to be resourceful, patient, and, more often than not, to laugh at myself when things went wrong. Every action, from gathering resources to fighting the cold, became part of a regiment designed to strengthen me further and prepare my body for the next step.

I didn't have to worry about hurting myself because of the staff, and I need to say, Even though it drains me of energy after use, my two weapons were a blessing in every sense of the word, these days I went through after making my bed in the pine, by the way, now it's much more comfortable with animal skins and even a small roof, but that's beside the point.

while my thoughts buzzed in my head, I started with sprints through the snow. At first, the thick drifts slowed me down, but as I pushed harder, my movements became more fluid. My legs burned as I forced myself to move faster, to leap over fallen logs and dodge between trees. Each step drove me forward, my breath coming in sharp gasps as I tested the limits of my enhanced endurance. The snow no longer felt like a barrier; it was a tool, a weight to train against.

On one particularly inspired sprint, I leaped over a log with perfect form, only to land squarely on a patch of ice. Gravity immediately betrayed me, and I hit the ground with all the grace of a dropped bag of potatoes. "Well," I muttered, brushing snow off my face, "even enhanced reflexes can't save me from stupidity"

Next came strength exercises. I found a massive, frozen log and began lifting it repeatedly, my muscles straining with each repetition. The weight, combined with the cold, made every movement a challenge, but I embraced it. I even fashioned crude weights from rocks and branches, using them to further push myself. My body responded eagerly, the serum's effects growing more pronounced with every effort.

As I heaved one particularly heavy stone, I muttered, "If anyone's watching me right now, I hope they're impressed." The forest didn't reply, but I swore the trident's eye stared at me in judgment.

Agility was my next focus. I set up a makeshift obstacle course in the clearing, using low-hanging branches and icy boulders to simulate the unpredictable terrain of this world. I practiced leaping from one spot to another, my reflexes sharpening with each attempt. Sometimes I stumbled, crashing into the snow, but even those moments became lessons. Every fall taught me how to recover faster, and how to adapt.

During one particularly ambitious leap, I narrowly avoided smacking face-first into a tree. "This is fine," I muttered, panting as I sprawled in the snow. "Totally fine."

The forest was more than just a backdrop—it was a living, breathing adversary. The biting cold, the unpredictable terrain, and the constant threat of predators forced me to think critically about my surroundings. Each day brought new challenges. The sun, pale and distant, barely provided warmth and offered little sense of time. Nights were long and unforgiving, with only the glow of the staff to keep the darkness at bay.

I began mapping the area, carving rough sketches into the snow with a stick. I marked key locations: the frozen brook, the towering pine where I'd spent my first night, and a small cave I'd discovered during one of my excursions. The act of mapping gave me a sense of control, a way to make this vast, alien wilderness feel just a little smaller.

Of course, my map looked more like a child's doodle than a professional survival guide. "That squiggly line is definitely the brook," I assured myself. "Or... a snake. Either way, good to know, also I will remember anyway."

Hunting became another part of my adaptation. At first, I considered using the staff, but it quickly became clear that it wasn't suited for the task. It had two significant drawbacks: the primary fire didn't travel far enough to be practical, and the secondary fire—while powerful—was noisy, emitted light, and required charging. Even if I managed to hit prey with the secondary fire, there wouldn't be much left. It was like trying to crack an egg with a sledgehammer—too much power, too little precision.

[AN: hear me out when I say that Adam needs a fight and mobility buffs in high ranks]

After thinking about it for a while, I realized the staff wasn't designed to harm but to heal and assist. Considering the personality of its original owner—Adam Warlock—it made perfect sense. Its limitations in combat reflected its true purpose: to help, not to hurt.

The Trident, on the other hand, didn't have these limitations. Unlike the staff, it was made entirely for battle. Its versatility was unmatched. Strong attacks were an option, but everything depended on my intention. It made even more sense when I remembered that the trident could summon octopus minions to fight for Namor, and now me. This added another layer of functionality that emphasized its combat design.

With careful aim and controlled strikes, the trident proved to be the ideal hunting tool. Every successful hunt was a small victory, a reminder that I was no longer just surviving—I was learning to thrive.

but it doesn't mean that just because my weapon is super powerful I always do well. During one hunt, I hurled the trident with all the grace of a warrior... only to miss entirely and embed it in a snowbank. The rabbit darted away, and I sighed. "Not exactly an epic moment." summoning the trident back to my hand, I muttered, "You're supposed to help me, not embarrass me." The eye stared again. Judging me. As usual.

As my body adapted, I began to experiment with the trident and staff, testing their limits and mine. I had known for some time that I could summon and unsummon both the trident and the staff at will. The ability felt as natural as breathing, and it added a layer of convenience and security to my movements. The trident's power seemed tied to my intent. When I willed it, the weapon responded—melting ice, summoning bursts of water, or striking with a precision that felt almost supernatural. Its eye, alive and watchful, seemed to guide me, almost as if it were aware of my thoughts.

The staff, by contrast, was a tool of balance. On one particularly grueling day, after hours of sprinting and climbing, I sat by the staff, clutching it tightly. Its warmth seeped into my body, soothing my aching muscles and knitting the microtears in my tissue. It wasn't instant, Because a quicker cure would leave me even more exhausted, but it was enough to keep me going.

One night, as the cold bit deep and the wind howled through the trees, out of curiosity I decided to test the staff's offensive capabilities. Holding it aloft, I concentrated all I had, channeling energy into its core. The carvings along its length glowed brightly, and a hum filled the air. When I released the energy, a rapid burst of golden light streaked through the forest, striking a distant tree and splitting it in half. The recoil sent a jolt through my arm, but the rush of power was exhilarating.

"Note to self: Don't aim this at anything I like," I muttered, shaking out my arm and feeling the exhaustion coming I decided to just go to sleep.

Not every moment was a triumph. There were days when the cold seemed unbearable, when my body felt sluggish despite the serum's enhancements, and the nights were the hardest. Alone in the dark, with only the faint glow of the staff for comfort, my thoughts often turned inward. The serum had made me more than human, but it hadn't erased my doubts. What was I becoming? Was this transformation a gift, or was it turning me into something unrecognizable? The weight of these questions pressed heavily on me, but I pushed them aside. There would be time for reflection later.

As the days passed, I could sense the second serum calling to me. The vial's cool, electric blue glow seemed to pulse in rhythm with my heartbeat, a constant reminder of its power. I didn't know exactly what the serum was or what it would do, but I had a strong feeling that it would make me far, far stronger.

That's why I had to be sure. My current body, though far beyond human, needed to be fully prepared. Applying the serum too early could overwhelm me, disrupting the delicate balance between all of what is happening to me. For now, I would continue to train, to push every limit until the day I could confidently take the next step.

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One evening, as I rested by the faint glow of the staff, I stared out at the darkened forest. The world around me was brutal and unforgiving, but I was learning to master it. The frozen terrain that had once felt hostile now felt like a testing ground—a place where I could hone my skills and shape myself into something more.

The biting cold of the forest had been one of the first adversaries I faced in this world. Its unrelenting presence had gnawed at my skin and sapped my strength, a constant reminder that even nature here was hostile. But lately, I'd noticed something peculiar: the cold didn't bite as sharply as it once had. My breath still misted in the air, and frost still clung to every surface, yet the chill no longer seeped into my bones the way it used to. It was subtle at first, a faint warmth in my chest that I assumed was from the serum. But over time, the change grew impossible to ignore.

It wasn't just me acclimating to the harsh climates or the serum. The warmth was something deeper, something that seemed to come alive whenever I held the trident and staff.

I gripped the weapon now, its surface humming faintly under my touch. The living eye embedded in the trident stared back at me, unblinking and inscrutable. Each time I used it, whether to melt ice, summon water, or defend myself, the warmth inside me intensified. It was as if the trident was sharing a part of its essence, its power, with me. At first, I welcomed it. Anything that made survival easier was a gift in this unforgiving world. But the more I thought about it, the more uneasy I became.

"What are you doing to me?" I muttered, staring at the trident. Of course, it didn't answer. But in that moment, I felt something—a whisper, not in sound but in understanding. One word surfaced in my mind, clear and undeniable: "BETTER."

The staff, too, had its own presence. It radiated a steady, comforting energy that healed and protected, a stark contrast to the trident's wild and dynamic power. When I held it, I felt a similar but gentler whisper—a word that wasn't spoken but understood: "BETTER." Both weapons were tied to me, their energy flowing through my soul like a second heartbeat. That connection felt natural now, almost like breathing.

I couldn't shake the thought that having two immensely powerful weapons linked to my soul might be changing me in ways I didn't fully understand. Physically, I was already a paradox: a toddler's body with superhuman strength, reflexes, and endurance. But what about mentally? Could the trident's raw, untamed energy or the staff's calming influence alter the way I thought? The way I felt?