The next day.
Stars and Stripes ran a photograph on its front page, devoting an unprecedented amount of space to it.
In the background, flames soared into the sky and a mountain collapsed.
Soldier Boy stood alone atop the ruins.
He held his shield at an angle beside him, stained with the enemy's blood.
He gazed impassively at the camera.
That was not the bearing of a mortal.
It was a god surveying his own creation.
The headline was just as sensational-
[Ragnarok: The god of war descends, holy light purifies Hydra's den of evil!]
The report was no longer a short article tinged with mystery like the previous ones.
It was an impassioned epic, overflowing with religious fervor!
Tom had perfectly carried out every one of Lynn's instructions.
He had transformed the edited footage into a miracle in words.
"...Bullets curved before him, and artillery fire offered him a celebratory display. He walked amid explosions and death, and mortal weapons could not harm him in the slightest..."
"...When he raised his shield, that eagle brought an end to despair. He tore steel apart with his fists and trampled a fortress flat with brute force. Before him, Hydra's army was as fragile as a child's toys..."
"...Faced with that monstrous mountain harboring evil and madness, our god of war unleashed the light of divine punishment stored within his chest!"
"A holy light beyond words pierced heaven and earth!"
"That light purified all sin, melted steel, and vaporized rock. When it faded, the mountain, along with all the evil inside it, had been reduced to nothing!"
"He is no hero, for heroes still belong among mortals."
"He is the god of war walking among us!"
Soldier Boy's prestige reached an unprecedented peak that day.
He even surpassed Captain America.
He became an object of faith.
The ultimate faith, one that could bring victory directly!
People were no longer content to buy war bonds.
They began flocking to churches.
They went to thank God for sending his messenger.
The most fervent believers even began making statues of Soldier Boy of their own accord.
Washington, the Pentagon.
A military meeting was underway.
The atmosphere was oppressive in the extreme.
"We won."
A five-star general looked at the battle report without a trace of joy.
"But we've also created a monster we can't control."
Another general slammed a copy of Stars and Stripes onto the table.
"God of war? Holy light? Look at what these damned reporters have written! What are they trying to do? Make him a god?"
"The problem is, the public believes it."
"How do we command him now? Do we use our ranks to give a god orders? Who do we send? The president himself, to ask him to go into battle?"
"What exactly is that thing in his chest? Why do we know nothing about him?"
Bone-deep fear spread through the hearts of these powerful figures who decided the course of the war.
They could command vast armies and mobilize countless resources.
But they had discovered that they had lost all power to restrain Soldier Boy, whom they had personally placed on a pedestal.
He had become an ultimate strategic weapon with a mind of his own, worshipped by hundreds of millions.
Lynn Morris.
The man who had written the instruction manual for this weapon was lying at ease in a hospital bed at headquarters, enjoying an apple a nurse had peeled for him.
A soldier knocked respectfully and entered, handing him a telegram that had just arrived.
Lynn took the telegram.
It contained only one short line.
[Phineas Horton has been found.]
Phineas Horton!
A genius scientist devoted to research on artificial humans, the madman who created the "original Human Torch."
He had found another piece of rough jade to carve!
Lynn suddenly thought of his system, which had not appeared in a long time.
That thing was like a silent devil.
It only tempted him, never explaining the rules.
It had handed him Soldier Boy.
But what about Steve?
He had been involved from start to finish, even taking the lead in Captain America's creation. Did that count as his own work?
The system gave no indication.
Lynn disliked the ambiguity.
He needed to test it and find the pattern.
Phineas Horton was the perfect test case.
This time, he would create a "hero" from nothing, one who belonged to him alone.
Someone knocked softly at the door.
Peggy Carter walked in, holding a new casualty report.
Her gaze fell on Lynn's already packed luggage.
"You're leaving."
It was not a question.
"Yes, my work in Europe is finished."
Lynn folded the telegram and put it in an inside pocket.
"What about you? Going back to London on leave?"
Peggy shook her head.
She walked over to the map and looked at the land scorched by war.
"No."
"Hydra hasn't been eradicated yet. My work has only just begun."
She turned around.
"Lynn, I apologize for misunderstanding you before."
"But I also have to remind you that Soldier Boy and Steve are both people, not pieces in your plans."
Lynn smiled and did not argue.
"Take care, Peggy."
He got up, preparing to go see Phillips.
"You too."
Phillips's office.
The battle-hardened colonel was fretting over a pile of reports.
Soldier Boy's combat record was nothing short of glorious.
But his requisition forms looked more like a list of extortionate demands.
"A hundred cases of Scotch whisky? Six female masseuses from Paris? Does he think this is a five-star hotel?!"
Phillips saw Lynn walk in and slammed the document in his hand onto the desk.
"I can't manage a god! Lynn! You turned him into a god, and now you're just going to up and leave?"
Lynn pulled out a chair and sat down calmly.
"Colonel, why are you always thinking about managing him?"
"You don't need to command him, or even talk to him."
Lynn ran a finger over the map and pointed to an industrial district behind German lines.
"Put the information on this place next to his favorite whisky."
He pointed to another location, a secret Hydra supply depot.
"Send him the defensive deployment map for this place along with tomorrow's newspaper."
Phillips was stunned.
"What... do you mean by that?"
Lynn leaned back in his chair.
"All you need to do is tell him where the next stage is, then sit back and enjoy his performance."
"That's against regulations! War isn't a performance!"
Phillips roared.
"But to him, it is."
Lynn stood up and looked down at him.
"You have no choice."
Those words extinguished all of Phillips's anger.
Yes, he had no choice.
Lynn boarded a plane back to the United States.
Through the window, he looked down at the scarred continent.
A tamed god was here, harvesting prestige and fear for him.
A future business empire was waiting across the ocean for him to inject vast amounts of capital and technology into it.
And now he was going to find his next creation.
Lynn closed his eyes.
Phineas Horton.