Soft white light seeped into his limbs, launching an efficient and thorough "purification" of his rapidly mutating genome.
Every inferior reptilian trait—those responsible for genetic collapse and physical distortion—was ruthlessly erased.
Meanwhile, the beneficial traits were perfectly preserved: the Herculean strength, the regenerative factor, the explosive speed and leaping ability, the microscopic setae allowing him to cling to walls, and sensory organs far beyond human limits.
The fine scales that had just begun to sprout receded faster than they had grown, revealing skin as smooth as new.
The razor-sharp talons retracted, returning to neatly trimmed fingernails. His warped, expanding frame reshaped itself with a series of wet cracks and bone-deep pops, settling into a physique defined by the golden ratio.
Finally, the agonizing pain receded like a low tide, replaced by an unprecedented sense of absolute control.
Peter slowly stood up.
His loose clothes, once torn into rags by his expansion, had been partially mended by the Horse Talisman's restorative aura, but now they clung to his body like a second skin, a size too small. He looked down at his hands.
His arms were no longer scrawny; the muscle lines were as distinct and fluid as a Greek sculpture, vibrating with explosive power.
He moved his body, feeling the inexhaustible well of energy flowing through his muscles. A grin of pure ecstasy spread across his face.
Success!
He was no longer the weakling who gasped for air after a light jog. Peter reached down to touch his stomach; those eight distinct, rock-hard abs were something he hadn't possessed in two lifetimes.
It wasn't just the aesthetics. He could feel the fundamental shift. Power. Speed. Endurance. Everything had increased by an order of magnitude.
Gazing at the thick metal workbench in front of him, he took a deep breath and gripped the edge. With a light squeeze, his fingers sank nearly half a centimeter into the solid steel.
This was a heavy-duty industrial lab table! In the past, Peter could have swung a sledgehammer at it and barely left a dent—likely breaking his own wrists in the process
Now? He left finger marks with a casual pinch. He had officially transcended the limits of the human species.
If I did that to a guy's skull... yikes. Better not think about it.
His five senses were equally sharp. Peter used to have a mild case of nearsightedness. Now? Forget glasses—he could see a grain-sized spider meticulously weaving a web a hundred meters away through the window in total darkness.
His hearing picked up the faint scuttling of insects and rodents outside. Setting aside combat experience, he was essentially a "Pro Max" version of Captain America.
Confirming he was stronger (and thankfully not bald), Peter didn't linger. Using the Horse Talisman to quickly restore the lab to its original state, he slipped out of the school like a ghost.
With his new wall-crawling abilities and enhanced senses, the security guard didn't stand a chance of spotting him.
Racing home, Peter's footsteps were so light he felt he might float away. The world looked different now. The hurried pace of pedestrians looked like a slow-motion film.
The roar of passing cars no longer felt intimidating; he felt he could outrun them on foot, or stop them with a single hand.
Wait... is that Gwen?
Through the darkness, Peter's night-vision-like sight caught a figure in a white hood leaping across the rooftops in the distance. He smirked as he watched her silhouette fade.
Guess we'll be fighting side-by-side soon. But let's keep my identity a secret for now. I don't want her turning into a 'clumsy little spider' who relies on me for everything. She needs to grow into a hero first.
He turned his gaze away, deciding to head home to reassure Uncle Ben and Aunt May. But just then, a woman's scream pierced the night from an alleyway further down the block.
Peter paused. His enhanced hearing caught the heavy breathing of a man, a woman's sobbing pleas, and the arrogant cursing of a mugger.
In the past, he would have hurried away and called the police. Now?
Peter blurred, disappearing from his spot and leaving only a faint breeze. A second later, he was in the alley.
A mugger holding a "piece" had a shivering woman pinned against the brick wall, his other hand roughly clawing at her handbag.
"Let her go."
A cold voice rang out behind the criminal. The man stiffened and whipped around, seeing only a teenager in tight casual clothes.
"Beat it, you little fruitcake! Or I'll take you out too—"
The rap-like threat was cut short as Peter moved. Before the man could even twitch his trigger finger, a heavy blow landed in his gut, folding him like a lawn chair. Truth be told, Peter had used less than a thousandth of his strength.
"You're the fruitcake!" Peter's expression darkened.
The local gangs were so impolite! Just because his clothes were a bit tight, he was a "fruitcake"? Truly a quintessential American stereotype.
"F*** you! You're dead!"
The mugger, his brain no larger than a chimpanzee's, didn't hesitate to pull the trigger in his rage.
BANG!
The mugger sneered, already imagining Peter lying in a pool of blood. The "truth" in his hand wasn't a toy!
But a second later... CRACK!
The sound of snapping bone echoed sharply in the quiet alley. "AAAAAGH!"
The mugger let out a pig-like squeal. His arm was twisted at a grotesque angle, dangling uselessly. He looked at Peter as if he had seen a demon.
What had he just seen? This kid had... he had dodged a bullet at point-blank range?! Was he even human?
On the other side, Peter felt a slight chill. Thank God the Lizard Serum's reflexes were legit.
If he'd been half a second slower, he would've been headshotted. Even if his new body could survive it, he didn't exactly want to find out what a bullet felt like.
With that thought, Peter's gaze toward the man turned cold and dangerous.
You just earned yourself a one-way ticket to the hospital.