A quick guide to a question that's been asked multiple times a day lately, in the hopes that it no longer needs to be asked multiple times a day.

First of all...

We do not know what happens in the movie yet.

Yes, there are "leaks" & rumors & theories, but very little about the plot is confirmed for certain, & "leaks" are not to be trusted unless they come from the trade papers (Variety, Hollywood Reporter, Deadline) or have hard physical evidence attached to them (like the set photos of Andrew Garfield on No Way Home, or the transcription of Quantumania from an advance screening).
This is not a rumors sub. Anyone who claims to know what happens in the movie is either (a) breaking NDA, so we should ignore them so they don't get us shutdown like what happened to the actual rumors sub, or (b) lying, so we should ignore them for lying.

Secondly...

If you're vaguely familiar with the characters, you probably don't need to watch ANYTHING before Doomsday.

Exposition exists. The information about the characters that is relevant to the plot of Doomsday will be contained in Doomsday.
"What about show-don't-tell?" You can have exposition that shows without telling.
If you want (not "need", but want) all the characters' backstories, that's ok, we can help you out.

That brings me to...

These are the post-2020 projects that feature characters who are OFFICIALLY confirmed to be in the cast of Doomsday, as of 21 July 2026.

You almost certainly DON'T need to watch ALL of these first, but here ya go (the characters are spoiler-tagged):

• The Falcon & the Winter Soldier (Disney+ miniseries) >!Sam, Bucky, Walker, Joaquin!<
• Loki (Disney+ series) >!Loki!<
• Black Widow >!Yelena, Alexei!<
• Shang-Chi & the Legend of the Ten Rings >!Shang-Chi!<
• Hawkeye (Disney+ miniseries) >!Yelena!<
• Doctor Strange in the Multiverse of Madness >!Xavier, Peggy!<
• Thor: Love & Thunder >!Thor, Love!<
• Black Panther: Wakanda Forever >!Shuri, M'Baku, Namor, Namora, Attuma!<
• Ant-Man & the Wasp: Quantumania >!Scott, Cassie!<
• The Marvels >!Beast!<
• Deadpool & Wolverine >!Gambit!<
• Captain America: Brave New World >!Sam, Joaquin, Bucky!<
• Thunderbolts^* >!Yelena, Bucky, Alexei, Walker, Ava, Bob!<
• The Fantastic Four: First Steps >!Reed, Sue, Johnny, Ben, HERBIE, Doom!<

Several other X-Men characters are confirmed to appear as well. To see as many of them as you can as efficiently as possible, you could add to the list:

• X2: X-Men United >!Magneto, Cyclops, Mystique, Nightcrawler!<

...That's it. Short list.

These are other post-2020 projects that MIGHT be relevant to Doomsday.

• Spider-Man: No Way Home -- Spider-Man is not confirmed for the cast of Doomsday, but No Way Home deals heavily with the multiverse
• WandaVision (Disney+ miniseries) -- provides support to the stories of Multiverse of Madness and of The Marvels
• Ms. Marvel (Disney+ miniseries) -- provides support to the story of The Marvels

.

^* ^(There's no footnote; that's just the asterisk in the title.)

The Wastelands Warrior

Earth-807128.

The world had ended fifty years ago. Not with a final battle or one last stand, but with blood on the floors of the X-Mansion and the screams of those who lived there. And Logan remembered every drop.

The cabin sat alone in the Canadian wilderness, buried beneath pine forests and endless snow. No roads or nearby towns, just how Logan liked it. He sat on the porch with a bottle of whisky hanging loosely from one hand. The alcohol should have killed him hours ago; his healing factor kept burning it out of his system.

A strange warble grabbed his attention as a sort of doorway materialised. Loki stepped forward first, regal and composed. Beside him came Sylvie, sword resting across her back. Behind her was Franklin Richards, reality itself subtly bending around him. Then came Shang-Chi, robes flowing gently as ten golden rings orbited his arms. And finally, a tired Doctor Strange.

Logan took another drink. “Go away.”

Loki tilted his head slightly. “James Howlett. The Wolverine.”

“There ain’t no Wolverine anymore.”

“In this timeline,” Loki agreed.

Logan’s eyes narrowed. “I ain’t interested in the multiverse crap. Whatever this is, take it somewhere else.”

“We can’t,” Strange told him, his voice carrying the weight of someone who had already watched the world end once.

Logan looked at him. “Why?”

“Because another world is dying.”

Silence. Then Logan stood slowly from the porch chair, and six adamantium claws slid free with a metallic sound. “I said, leave.”

Sylvie instinctively shifted her stance. Franklin tensed, as did Shang-Chi. But Strange remained still. “You recognise the look, don’t you?” he asked softly. “The guilt.”

Logan’s jaw tightened. “Careful, bub.”

Strange stepped forward, hands raised without the magic. “I know what it feels like to survive something you shouldn’t have.”

The wind howled through the trees as Loki picked up where Strange left off. “We know what happened at the X-Mansion.”

Logan froze. “Stop.”

“We know Mysterio used illusions, tricking you into thinking that villains were attacking the school. You fought to protect your home and family.” A beat. “And we know that when the illusion collapsed, the people lying dead around you were the X-Men.”

“Stop, God damn it!” Logan charged, claws ripping through the air; Loki waved his hand effortlessly, and Logan crashed into the cabin entrance instead.

Sylvie rolled her eyes at the sight of a drunk Wolverine stumbling around. “Well, we’re doomed.”

Logan spun back toward them, breathing heavily. “You don’t know a damn thing about me.”

Strange approached carefully. “We know exactly who you are.” Logan glared at him; he did not look away. “I know what it means to fail people who trusted you, to watch your world collapse while wondering if you could have stopped it.”

That made Logan hesitate for just a second, but it was enough. “Why are you here?”

Loki answered. “To ask the Wolverine to fight one last war.”

Inside The Cabin. Ten Minutes Later.

The cabin smelled like dust and old grief. Mystic projections floated above the table; not holograms, but living magical constructs woven together by Doctor Strange. Images shifted through the dim room: the Avengers Tower and its hostages. Th Fantastic Four, Defenders, X-Men, and the Avengers were all imprisoned beneath the control of the Dark Marvels. Logan stared silently at the projection of Jean Grey; this was a different version, but close enough to hurt.

“This reality is Earth-837A,” Strange explained. “My home timeline.”

Logan looked at him. “You lost, too.”

Strange’s expression darkened. “Yes…we all did, to them.” The projections shifted again. The Crime Butcher. The Spider-Goblin. The Spirit of Thunder. Ego the Supreme Intelligence in Carol Danvers’ body. Total War Iron Man. All of them serving one cosmic figure: the Scarlet Phoenix.

Logan noted them and turned to Loki. “These aren’t anyone I know.”

The God of Stories was intrigued. “I’m sorry?”

“They’re wearin’ the faces and carryin’ the names, sure. But none of these dupes are anything like the heroes I know. They ain’t worth shit; sure as hell ain’t worth the air they’re breathin’.”

Loki understood where he was coming from. “These individuals believed themselves to be saving their worlds, when in fact they were simply destroying themselves. Their intentions were good; their means, however, are more than questionable. And the means turned them into this.”

Logan snorted. “Sounds like every dime-a-dozen dictator.”

Shang-Chi crossed his arms. “That’s the tragedy of the Dark Marvels: most of them began as heroes trying to stop suffering, only to end up causing more of it.”

Silence settled over the cabin. Then Logan laughed bitterly. “And you think dragging me into this mess is smart?”

“We think you understand loss,” Shang-Chi answered.

“I understand failure, kid; that’s a whole ‘nother ball game.”

“That too,” Strange admitted.

Logan looked at the imprisoned X-Men again: Cyclops, Storm, Beast, Wolverine, and Jean Grey. “They’re not my X-Men.”

“No,” Strange agreed quietly. “But they’re still people who need saving.”

Logan sighed. “I don’t do teams anymore.”

“We’re not asking for a team,” Sylvie told him bluntly. “We’re asking you to fight.”

Logan looked toward Strange again. “You really think you can save them?”

Strange stared at Jean Grey’s projection. “I have to try,” he answered softly. “Because I know what she is.”

“And what exactly is she, Doc?”

“She’s a ‘cosmic keystone’.” That landed harder than anything else said in the room. “Her very existence has been feeding the World Tree, nourishing the multiverse and the lives of all who live in it.” A pause. “She’s one of the most powerful beings across the World Tree.”

Loki stepped closer to Logan. “You still think you’re the villain in your story.”

Logan scoffed. “Ain’t I?”

Loki let the question linge. Then: “You’re a tragedy. There’s a difference.”

Logan looked away. “Charles used to think people could always come back from the edge,” Logan murmured. “He said this once: ‘Just because someone stumbles and loses their way…doesn’t mean that they’re lost forever’.”

“He was right,” Shang-Chi affirmed.

Logan gave a dry laugh. “You don’t know me.”

“No,” Strange confirmed. “But he did.”

That stopped Logan cold; for a long moment, nobody moved. Then Logan looked back at the projection of his family. “I ain’t lookin’ for redemption,” he muttered.

“Good,” Loki replied, “because that’s not why we came.”

Logan grabbed his coat and turned back toward them, eyes still haunted but no longer empty. “You said those X-Men are trapped?” Strange nodded once. “And you’re telling me these Dark Marvel bastards already beat the Avengers?”

“Yes,” Franklin answered.

Logan’s claws slid free again; the sound echoed through the cabin. “Then I guess somebody’s gotta remind them what happens when they corner a Wolverine.”

⸻

Earth-837A. Hell’s Kitchen.

Hell’s Kitchen was a kingdom of survivors. Barricades cut across broken intersections. Rooftops bristled with armed sentries. Fires burned in rusted barrels. Hand ninjas and street thugs moved through alleyways beside gang members carrying stolen rifles and medical supplies. The city outside this makeshift ‘Shadowland’ had collapsed into fear after the Dark Marvels conquered Earth-837A’s heroes. But inside Fisk’s territory, the people were united.

Bullseye walked beside Elektra through the crowded streets, eyeing the checkpoints with disbelief. “Never thought I’d see the day Kingpin turned Hell’s Kitchen into a fallout shelter.”

“He didn’t do it for charity,” Elektra noted. “This is all for control.”

Children rushed past them carrying water containers. Former criminals unloaded crates of food from armoured trucks while Hand assassins escorted civilians through security lines. It felt less like a criminal empire, and more like a city preparing for siege.

They entered the old courthouse Fisk had transformed into his headquarters. The walls were reinforced. Tactical maps and strings covered entire sections of the room. Wilson Fisk stood at the centre beside a massive operations table, face too calm. He looked up with a smile. “Elektra. Bullseye.”

“We need manpower.” Elektra gave no pause, nor did she engage in light conversation. “Weapons. Vehicles. Men. Safe routes out of Manhattan.”

“For Avengers Tower,” Fisk replied.

Bullseye frowned. “You already know about that?”

“The world may be collapsing,” Fisk said evenly, “but information remains valuable.”

Elektra stepped closer. “Then you know this may be the only chance anyone has.”

Fisk poured himself a drink. “I know you’re planning a prison break against the beings who defeated our greatest heroes.” He looked up slowly. “I also know desperation when I see it.” Before anyone could respond, the doors slammed open. Hand ninjas instantly reached for weapons.

Bullseye stared. “Is that…?”

The Hood strode into the room, twin pistols resting in his hands while demonic energy flickered around his crimson cloak like smoke from a furnace. Parker Robbins looked furious; underneath the anger was fear. “We got a problem,” he announced to the room.

Fisk remained still. “What kind of problem?”

“The Frank Castle kind.” Silence spread through the room as The Hood holstered one pistol and pointed toward the windows. “He found our Shadowland.”

Bullseye muttered a curse. Elektra’s eyes narrowed immediately. “How?”

The Hood turned to the assassin. “How do you think?” He pointed to Kingpin with a gun. “This guy put every criminal operation left in Manhattan into one district. Do you really think the Frank Castle carrying a cosmic murder sword wouldn’t notice?”

The courthouse shook violently. Dust rained from the ceiling as screaming echoed outside. Fisk moved toward the windows, and for the first time all night, his expression changed.

Standing in the middle of Hell’s Kitchen was the Crime Butcher. Frank Castle no longer looked human beneath the Necrosword’s corruption. Black armour fused to his flesh while living darkness writhed around him like a second nervous system. The blade itself pulsed like a heartbeat. Behind him stood towering shadow-constructs formed from symbiotic matter.

“This cannot be good,” Bullseye muttered to himself.

“Wilson Fisk!” the Crime Butcher thundered. “Your judgement has come!” Panic erupted across the streets below as the Crime Butcher began walking forward. “You are harbouring murderers. Providing for thieves. Gathering monsters.” The Necrosword expanded outward into writhing tendrils. “You built empires from suffering.”

Fisk stared through the reinforced glass, then calmly adjusted his cuffs. “I’ve been accused of worse.”

The Crime Butcher raised the Necrosword. “You shall die…guilty.”

Shadow constructs exploded through the outer barricades instantly. Cars were ripped apart as buildings collapsed. Hand ninjas flooded into the streets while gangsters opened fire from rooftops. The Crime Butcher walked through them without slowing.

Bullseye loaded fresh magazines as they reached the courthouse steps. “Okay. That’s horrifying.”

Elektra drew her sais. “I’ve fought greater horrors than this.”

The Hood, having materialised out of thin air, pulled both pistols free again as his cloak blazing with infernal energy. “You know,” he called out toward the streets below, “I used to think Frank Castle was scary before the evil space goo and emo apocalypse armor.”

The Crime Butcher looked upward; even from inside the courthouse, they could feel the hatred radiating from him. “Parker Robbins!” the Crime Butcher growled. “Thief. Coward. Parasite. Mercenary.”

The Hood smirked tightly despite the fear in his eyes. “Yeah? Well, you look like my Frank and Venom had an ugly-ass kid.”

Bullseye blinked. “You’re taunting him?”

The Hood raised his pistols. “If I’m dying tonight, I’m doing it talking trash.”

The Crime Butcher roared and launched forward. The courthouse exploded inward as shadow tendrils smashed through the entrance. A swarm of Hand ninjas engaged immediately, only to die within seconds. The Necrosword carved through reinforced walls like wet paper. “You shall join Wilson Fisk in the depths of Hell, Robbins,” he roared. “You and all who consort with him.”

Elektra moved first, her sais flashing with lethal precision as she struck at exposed gaps in the armor. Bullseye followed from elevation, firing perfect shots toward the armour’s cracked sections. “I hate Wilson as much as anyone,” she partially agreed, “but compared to you, Hell’s not as bad as you want it to sound.”

The Hood unleashed hellfire directly into the Crime Butcher’s chest. For a moment, he actually staggered. “See?” the Hood happily shouted. “Still ugly!”

The Crime Butcher answered by forming a massive shadow blade that obliterated half the courtroom. Everyone scattered. Fisk himself opened fire with an enormous handgun from behind cover while gangsters and Hand assassins poured into the chamber. The Crime Butcher cut through entire waves of attackers without stopping.

The Hood landed beside Elektra behind overturned debris. “He’s too strong!”

“No kidding.” Another wave of Hand ninjas charged; the Crime Butcher slaughtered them instantly.

Darkness spread further across the courthouse walls. Bullseye reloaded again. “We need a miracle.” Then the temperature in the room dropped, the fires dimmed, and a new voice echoed softly through the collapsing courtroom.

“Oh, this is unpleasant.” Everyone turned; Mephisto stood calmly in the center of the destruction. The Devil himself wore an immaculate suit untouched by ash or blood. His look was one of mild inconvenience by the apocalypse unfolding around him. “And here I was, thinking this would be a piece of cake.”

The Crime Butcher immediately focused on him, All-Black the Necrosword writhing violently. “Mephisto!”

Mephisto sighed. “Oh, don’t sound so excited. You’re making this awkward.” The Crime Butcher charged; light warped around the Necrosword as he swung with enough force to split the courthouse apart. At the very last instant…Mephisto snapped his fingers.

Space tore open behind the Crime Butcher in a violent crimson rupture, the Dark Dimension screaming beyond it. The Crime Butcher barely had time to react before gravitational force dragged him backward into the breach. He roared in fury as darkness consumed darkness. Then the rupture sealed shut.

Silence fell as smoke drifted through the ruined courthouse. Bullseye stared at Mephisto. “…Did the Devil just save us?”

Mephisto straightened his cuffs. “Please. I saved myself. If Hell’s Kitchen falls, the Dark Marvels gain even more territory. That’s terrible for business.”

The Hood exhaled shakily and reholstered his pistols. “I hate cosmic stuff.”

Mephisto pointed casually toward Kingpin. “He’ll be back, by the way. And next time, he probably won’t arrive alone.”

Fisk looked out across the devastated streets of Shadowland and made his decision. “Prepare evacuation convoys immediately.”

Elektra looked at him. “You’re abandoning Hell’s Kitchen?”

“Shadowland is not a place,” Fisk replied calmly. “It’s an idea.”

Bullseye smirked. “That’s annoyingly inspirational coming from you.”

Mephisto began walking toward the shadows again. “There’s a resistance safe house in Ithaca,” he told the group. “Nick Fury’s gathering survivors there before the prison break at Avengers Tower.”

The Hood frowned. “You’re helping Fury now?”

Mephisto’s smile was eerily suspicious. “I’m helping reality continue existing long enough for my investments to matter.”

The Baxter Building had become the last clean zone in Manhattan. Emergency quarantine barriers stretched across Midtown while Reed Richards’ atmospheric filtration towers worked without pause. They were desperately trying to neutralise the spreading traces of Goblin-enhanced blood already contaminating the city; it was far from enough.

Beyond the glowing blue forcefields, New York convulsed. People screamed in the streets as unstable mutations overtook their bodies. Those infected became violent instantly, minds consumed by chemically-induced paranoia and manic aggression. Green veins spread beneath skin like infection crawling through the city itself. And somewhere above it all, the Spider-Goblin watched.

Perched atop a cathedral spire overlooking Manhattan, Peter Parker’s body twitched unnaturally beneath the red-and-green suit. His eyes glowed a sickly yellow through cracked lenses, Goblin serum pulsing through his bloodstream in catastrophic concentration and mutating him far beyond human limits. He looked less like Spider-Man, and more like a fever dream Norman Osborn might have had after staring too long into a mirror.

Spider-Goblin smiled as he watched the chaos below. “They’re adapting faster than expected,” he whispered to himself. “Good. Stronger hosts survive longer.” A pumpkin bomb rotated lazily between his fingers; it contained aerosolised droplets of his blood. “Evolution should never be selective. No matter what the cost, everyone deserves the chance to become more.”

Inside the Baxter Building command center, Reed Richards manipulated dozens of holographic displays simultaneously while Sue Storm monitored shield integrity across Manhattan. “The airborne infection rate doubled in the last hour,” Reed grimly told the family. “It’s mutating as it spreads.”

Ben Grimm folded his massive rocky arms. “Tell me again why we ain’t just finding this goblin freak and punchin’ him into Jersey?”

“Because every sample of his blood evolves differently,” Reed explained. “Any form of physical trauma only accelerates cellular adaptation. The angrier he gets, the more unstable the infection becomes.”

Johnny Storm hovered upside-down near the ceiling, flames flickering impatiently around his body. “So what? We’re supposed to ask him nicely to stop turning people into Halloween decorations?”

Sue shot him a look. “Johnny.”

“I’m serious! We’ve been playing defence for six hours!”

“And if Reed’s wrong?” Ben asked quietly. “What if punchin’ him just makes this whole thing worse?”

Silence. Then: “Hulk say talking boring.”

The entire room turned. The Incredible Hulk sat awkwardly in a reinforced containment chair far too small for his frame. Unlike most days, Hulk had remained transformed voluntarily since the outbreak began. “Hulk smell fear outside,” he muttered. “Little people scared.”

Johnny blinked. “Did Hulk just call civilians ‘little people’?”

“Hulk taller than little people.”

Johnny shrugged. “Fair point.”

Reed turned toward another section of the command center. “No matter what his point is, we need to act. Now.”

One Hour Later

Cyclops reviewed tactical projections beside Storm while Beast assisted Reed in his analysis of the infection samples. Wolverine leaned against the wall, using the wall to sharpen his claws with visible impatience. “Any sign of the source?” Cyclops asked.

“Nothing stable,” Beast replied. “The pathogen rewrites itself every forty-seven seconds. I have literally watched it invent new cellular functions.”

Wolverine snorted. “Kid always did have Parker luck.”

Storm looked out across Manhattan through the forcefield windows. “The city suffers while we wait.”

Reed scribbled a new set of notes on his fourth notebook for the hour. “We’re not waiting; this is containment.”

“And if containment fails?” Nobody answered Johnny immediately, because everyone already knew.

Cyclops finally looked toward Reed. “Jean would’ve helped with this.” The room fell quieter; everyone knew Jean Grey was gone. She had gone off that morning, and returned with an army of twisted variants who were wreaking havoc on the city.

Storm lowered her head slightly. “I still feel her.”

Wolverine’s claws extended with a metallic song*.* “Soon as we find Wanda,” Logan growled, “that witch’s gettin’ carved open.”

Red warning lights flooded the chamber. Atmospheric breach detected. Unknown objects entering Manhattan airspace.

Reed’s eyes widened. “Oh no.”

He watched the city sky turned green as hundreds of glider-shaped drones emerged from cloud cover, descending over the Baxter Building in organised formation. And standing atop the lead glider was the Spider-Goblin.

His voice echoed citywide through stolen emergency frequencies citywide. “Good evening, New York!” The Spider-Goblin laughed as he soared between skyscrapers. “You know,” he continued gleefully, “people always blamed Norman Osborn for creating monsters. But Norman was thinking too small.” He held up one glowing vial of his blood. “He wanted super-soldiers; I want a new species.”

The drones opened, and swarms of pumpkin bombs dropped over the Big Apple. Cyclops reacted instantly. “Scott to all teams! Intercept those bombs, now!”

The Fantastic Four launched first. Johnny became a streak of living fire across the skyline, incinerating waves of explosives before they detonated. Sue expanded forcefields over crowded districts while Reed stretched between falling bombs midair, redirecting trajectories toward empty zones. Ben Grimm leapt rooftop to rooftop, his rocky palms physically catching explosives before hurling them skyward.

“Hulk SMASH!” Hulk jumped; the shockwave shattered nearby windows. He swatted entire drone formations from the air like insects.

Spider-Goblin watched with delighted fascination. “There he is…” His yellow eyes locked onto Hulk specifically. “Simply too perfect, you are. You’ll be a fine addition to my circus.”

He accelerated downward as Cyclops fired upward first, optic blasts tearing through the sky, using his senses to dodge with almost horrifying speed. “Too slow, Summers!” He hurled three pumpkin bombs directly at Cyclops.

Storm intercepted with hurricane-force winds, redirecting them harmlessly upward until they exploded into green vapour. Storm immediately raised stronger wind barriers. “Do not breathe this air!” she warned across comms.

Spider-Goblin landed atop the Baxter Building laughing. “Hiding in the science tower again, Reed? Some things never change!”

The Fantastic Four converged immediately. “Peter,” Sue called carefully, “listen to me—”

“No.” Spider-Goblin’s voice sharpened instantly. “No more listening. No more responsibility lectures. No more ‘with great power’ garbage.”

Johnny landed beside Sue engulfed in flames. “You look terrible, dude.”

Spider-Goblin tilted his head. “And you look combustible.” He moved instantly, faster than any normal Spider-Man. His fist slammed into Johnny hard enough to launch him through a communications tower. “I’ll put that to good use.”

Before Sue could react, Spider-Goblin hurled a blood-filled bomb directly at her forcefield. It exploded on impact; green biological matter spread across the invisible barrier like living mold, eating through the energy construct. Reed’s eyes widened in horror. “It’s adapting to her powers.”

Spider-Goblin grinned wildly. “Everything adapts eventually.”

Ben Grimm charged. “Alright, bug eyes…it’s clobberin’ time!”

Spider-Goblin met him head-on, their collision cracking the rooftop. Ben’s strength still exceeded Peter’s physically, but Spider-Goblin fought with suicidal recklessness. He let Ben break his ribs just to get close enough to inject Goblin serum directly into the Thing’s rocky shoulder. Ben roared in pain as green cracks spread briefly across orange stone.

“Ben!” Sue shouted.

Spider-Goblin laughed hysterically. “See? Even rock can evolve!”

Then Hulk arrived. He landed between Spider-Goblin and the others like a missile strike, rooftop cratering beneath him. Hulk stared down at the corrupted Spider-Man. “Tiny spider hurt little people.”

Spider-Goblin stared back with almost childlike fascination. “Hulk.” For one fleeting second, the madness in Peter’s eyes softened into awe; then the Goblin insanity returned full force. “You’re beautiful.”

Hulk punched him through three floors of the Baxter Building. Spider-Goblin crashed through laboratories and containment chambers before rebounding upward with a manic scream of laughter. “Tiny spider hurt little people,” Hulk repeated, angrier this time. “Hulk smash tiny spider!”

“YES!”

Hulk tackled him midair, and the two crashed through another tower section before slamming back onto the rooftop. Spider-Goblin’s bones reset themselves at impossible speed. “Here’s a fun little tidbit: every mutation your body rejects…mine learns from.”

Below them, Reed suddenly noticed something horrifying on his monitors. “Everyone stop! It’s a trap! Stand down!”

Nobody could, because this entire attack had been a distraction. Crimson-red chaos magic erupted across the skyline, and within seconds the Scarlet Phoenix appeared.

Wanda Maximoff’s eyes burned with fury as she looked toward the X-Men below. “Found you.”

Cyclops froze. “Wanda—”

Chaos magic slammed into the battlefield. Storm lost control of the atmosphere almost instantly as hexes corrupted her weather patterns. Beast clutched his head as reality warped around him. Wolverine charged upward, only for Wanda to fling him through an entire city block with one gesture. “You took everything from me.”

“We tried to help you!” Cyclops shouted back.

“No, you didn’t. You tried to survive me.”

Spider-Goblin watched the chaos below with delight. “That’s my kind of therapy session!” A line of portals opened, and the sky above the Baxter Building began raining green mist.

Reed’s face went pale. “Airborne dispersal…”

The infection descended across Manhattan. Spider-Goblin stood atop the collapsing Baxter rooftop, watching the city mutate beneath him. Hulk grabbed him by the throat; the Spider-Goblin only smiled. “You feel it too, don’t you?” he whispered. “The anger and its change. The newfound strength…and your impending freedom.”

“Hulk…hates…you.”

“Pity…” Spider-Goblin stabbed his own claws into Hulk’s arm. “I love you.” His blood entered Hulk’s bloodstream; for the first time in years, Hulk screamed in pain. Green veins spread across gamma-powered flesh. Everyone froze; even Wanda looked visibly disturbed. Only Spider-Goblin stared in absolute wonder.

Reed stepped forward desperately. “Peter, I’m begging you. Stop.”

For one brief moment, Peter Parker surfaced beneath the madness. Then the Goblin’s influence swallowed him again. “No more weakness,” Spider-Goblin whispered.

Wanda opened a portal behind him. “This world will be perfected.” She waved her hand, and everyone floated in the air, writhing as the infection took hold. She dragged them through; Spider-Goblin made a dance backward into the portal, smiling as Manhattan drowned beneath atmospheric infection.

THE SPIDER-GOBLIN’S ENHANCEMENT: COMPLETE

FANTASTIC FOUR STATUS: INFECTED

X-MEN STATUS: INFECTED

HULK STATUS: INFECTED

MANHATTAN STATUS: MASS OUTBREAK

⸻

Broxton, Oklahoma. 1985.

The smell of fryer grease clung to the air, drifting into the air as Sylvie stepped out of the McDonald’s, carrying a half-finished cherry soda and wore a faded employee badge that read ‘MANAGER’. It had taken years of being a fugitive from the Time Variance Authority to build this life. Every escape, every fight, even working with the TVA themselves to save branch timelines from extinction…it was all worth it. Because for the first in a long time, Sylvie had a life to call her own.

The Oklahoma night hummed softly around her as she headed toward the parking lot, having worked a full shift. The pay was minimal, almost terrible in anyone else’s standards; she was not an ordinary person. She finished her cherry soda and tossed it into the trash can, fiddling in her pockets for the keys to her truck. Then reality screamed.

Sylvie leapt into action as two mysterious figures stretched and compressed in near-instants, their cries warbled by some odd force of nature. Sylvie had seen this before: time-slipping. And there was only one god capable of doing so, at least from what she knew.

Doctor Strange hit the road hard and immediately rolled onto his side, clutching his stomach. “Oh, that is significantly worse than sling-ring travel—“ He gagged.

Loki calmly materialised beside him, looking considerably more composed even as his temporal energy still crackled faintly across his coat. “You do recover faster than most mortals,” Loki observed. “And I’m speaking as a general observation across all your variants.”

“I once performed surgery after being awake for eighty-two hours,” the Sorcerer Supreme muttered weakly. “This barely makes the top ten worst experiences of my life.” He tried standing; the regret hit him like a tidal wave.

Sylvie stared blankly at them. “Loki?”

Loki looked up. “Sylvie.”

Strange blinked between them; he may have been nauseous, but he was still capable of putting two and two together. “There are two of you?”

“There are infinitely more than two of us,” Sylvie replied dryly.

Strange sighed. “I absolutely hate these multiverse conversations.”

“You get used to them,” Loki assured him.

“No, I won’t.” Strange steadied himself against the dumpster as Loki calmly brushed temporal dust from his sleeves.

Sylvie crossed her arms. “Would you mind explaining why you just showed up out of quite literally thin air while I was knocking off?”

Loki’s expression darkened instantly. “The multiverse is collapsing.”

Sylvie’s face hardened. “If this is who I think it is…”

Strange finally straightened fully, though he still looked mildly ill. “Wanda Maximoff — at least, a bifurcated version of my Wanda Maximoff — has begun invading universes,” he told her quietly. “My timeline’s heroes fell to her.”

“She has variants, and not the ordinary kind,” Loki added. “They are survivors of dead universes, broken heroes who lost everything.”

Sylvie immediately understood. “The Shadow Tree.” She had heard of the twisted cosmology as a hypothesis from her old friend, OB; never before did she believe the World Tree was capable of meeting it.

Loki nodded grimly. “The multiverse where worlds are born to die. It’s real, Sylvie. And it’s attacking.”

Sylvie studied them carefully. “You’re afraid.” Neither man answered immediately, which was answer enough.

Doctor Strange stepped closer. “New York City was conquered in hours. Across the stars, entire planets and civilisations are being assimilated. Heroes have fallen, and realms taken.” His voice lowered. “And the Scarlet Phoenix stands at the centre of it all.”

Sylvie glanced away briefly, toward the quiet Oklahoma streets. “What do you want from me?” she finally asked.

Loki looked at her not as a god or variant, but as someone he trusted. “We need someone who understands the multiverse better than anyone alive.”

Strange added carefully, “Someone capable of reaching places the TVA may no longer be able to…assuming the Scarlet Phoenix has acted preemptively against them.” Silence settled over the parking lot. Then Strange suddenly winced as an aftershock from the timeslip hit him. “Oh, God—“ He leaned sideways against the dumpster again.

Sylvie scoffed. “Seriously?”

Strange gripped the dumpster frame to steady himself. “Temporal displacement affects the equilibrium of the nervous system.”

“You’re the Sorcerer Supreme, aren’t you?”

“Yes, but that doesn’t excuse me from the laws of human biology.”

She rolled her eyes. “Still embarrassing.”

Loki sighed deeply. “Must the two of you bicker now?”

“Yes,” Sylvie and Strange answered together. That made Loki pause. Then, despite everything…he laughed quietly.

Sylvie looked at him strangely for a moment before her expression softened just slightly. Then she shrugged her shoulders, watching as a green line replaced her work uniform with practical green-and-black armour. “Alright,” she declared, reaching into her pocket and pulling out a Tem-Pad. “Let’s go on a road trip.”

NEXT: THE GATHERING OF LEGENDS

...while it's good that you're not getting jailed or fined anymore, your weed still stinks like a rotting skunk carcass, & if you light a joint in the middle of a crowded theater in the middle of a play, you're a raging douchebag, even if it's an outdoor theater.

Jean Grey was in Tokyo when she felt it: a psychic scream of pure fear. She sensed the distinct mental signatures of her family, the X-Men, being attacked. And beneath the attack was chaos magic. Wanda Maximoff had come to the X-Men Mansion, and she was not paying a visit. Jean’s eyes snapped open in her hotel room, and the golden Phoenix Force erupted around her.

The X-Mansion was collapsing when Jean arrived. Reality itself was coming undone; walls dissolved into probability clouds as stone pathways turned to liquid. These beautiful grounds, which had once been her home for years, were being rewritten by pain incarnate. Storm called lightning that turned into butterflies mid-strike. Cyclops fired optic blasts that curved impossibly away from their target. Wolverine was suspended in red energy, frozen mid-charge. And just as she had sensed, Wanda Maximoff was there.

She floated above the destruction, hands glowing scarlet, eyes burning with grief and rage and something darker. It was none other than the Darkhold; Jean could sense it, that ancient, corrupting presence wrapped around Wanda’s mind like a parasite. And Wanda…she was fighting not out of selfishness, but from loss. Jean felt her heart break; she had heard Wanda’s silent cries as she lost her children. She wanted to help, to counsel, to explain that forcing reality to conform to desire only created more suffering. Perhaps now, she could make things right.

The ground split open beneath the mansion as reality itself frayed. And then, just as Wanda intended, Jean Grey arrived. Golden fire descended from the heavens as the Phoenix Force spread behind Jean like cosmic wings, radiating warmth and impossible power. The air shimmered around her. Space distorted gently in her presence. “Wanda,” Jean boomed, voice echoing with something ancient and cosmic beneath it, “you don’t want this to do this”

“You’re right,” Wanda whispered. “I don’t want to do this…but I must.”

“You’re grieving. The Darkhold is poisoning your mind.”

“My children are gone.”

“I know loss too.”

“No,” Wanda snapped, rising into the air surrounded by scarlet chaos. “You don’t know loss like this.”

Jean floated opposite her above the ruined mansion grounds. “If you take the Phoenix Force by violence, you will destroy yourself.”

“Then I’ll destroy myself bringing them back.”

Wanda attacked. Chaos magic collided with cosmic fire; the impact broke clouds for miles. Red met gold above the Earth as two impossible powers tore into one another. Jean fought with precision and restraint, trying to contain Wanda without harming her. Wanda fought like a drowning woman clawing toward air.

The battle climbed higher, above the atmosphere and into orbit. Earth turned silently beneath them as reality warped around their clash. Scarlet fractures spread through space itself. Phoenix fire burned holes in probability. Entire planets flickered in and out of existence for fractions of seconds.

Jean pushed harder, golden fire engulfing the void. “Stop this!” she shouted. “The Phoenix’s power won’t heal you!”

Wanda’s eyes burned red. “Nothing else will.” She unleashed everything; every fragment of grief, combined with the full extent of her chaos magic, became the ultimate weapon. Jean answered with the full force of the Phoenix. Red and gold collided…and reality split.

Jean opened her eyes. She was floating in space; Wanda was gone. The battle was over, but something was different. The Phoenix Force inside her felt…more, as if it had absorbed something during the clash and integrated it completely. Jean looked down at her hands; golden fire danced across her fingers, but threaded through it, barely visible, were traces of scarlet.

“No,” Jean whispered, voice quivering. “No, I didn’t mean to—”

Peace, child. The Phoenix Force’s voice resonated through her consciousness. What happened was necessary. Two cosmic forces collided and merged. You are greater now than either power alone.

“But Wanda…where is she? Did I kill her?”

Look.

Jean extended her cosmic awareness, felt the fabric of reality around her, and realised with growing horror what had happened: the timeline had split. One version where she had won, absorbed the chaos magic, and remained. One version where…something else had occurred, where Wanda had succeeded. But that timeline was distant now.

Jean pulled herself back into the timeline, her stare filled with trauma. “I broke reality.” Her voice was hollow. “We fought so hard we fractured existence itself.”

You did not break it; you bifurcated it. Two outcomes, both equally real, existing in parallel structures. Your universe continues, but so does hers. Neither is wrong. Neither is right. Both simply are.

Jean descended back to Earth and found the X-Mansion intact, the scars of their battle erased. “Jean!” Cyclops called out as she touched solid ground. “What happened up there?”

“Wanda attacked,” Jean told them quietly. “We fought. She’s…gone now.” The X-Men absorbed this among themselves, accepting that the crisis was over. The silence lingered, until…

“Jean.”

Charles Xavier wheeled into the doorway, his expression not once shifted. “I sensed what was coming; you did very well, all of you.”

“Professor…” Jean stumbled.

“Easy, child. Rest; you have all earned it.” Charles turned and returned to the Mansion; the X-Men followed, leaving Jean to contemplate the fate of her timeline.

Weeks Later

Jean Grey was different. The merging of Phoenix Force and chaos magic had created something unprecedented. She was more than just a host for cosmic power; she was a force of restoration itself. Dying timelines began to heal. Collapsing worlds became stable. Realities that had been fragmenting from incursions, entropy, or cosmic warfare began to regenerate. She did not even have to try; her mere existence was enough.

“You’ve become something more than an anchor being,” Doctor Strange explained during one of her visits to his Sanctum in New York. “The Sorcerer Supreme’s texts call it a ‘cosmic keystone’. Put simply, your existence is literally enriching Yggdrasil.”

“I don’t understand how.” They stood in the mansion’s study, watching flowers bloom in her presence.

“The Phoenix Force represents life, death, and rebirth. On the other hand, Wanda’s chaos magic represents possibility and change. Together?” Strange gestured around them. “Creation itself. You’re not just powerful, Jean; you’re generative. Realities grow healthier around you.”

Jean looked up at the sky and felt the cosmic structure above Earth: Yggdrasil the World Tree, the mythological framework that connected the Nine Realms in mythology, and in truth extended into infinite branches across the multiverse. She could feel it growing stronger, fed by her presence, its worlds nourished by the merged powers inside her. “Is this permanent?”

“I don’t know…the texts don’t mention anyone like you existing before.” Jean nodded slowly. She was helping, making the universe better just by existing. So why did she feel so lonely?

Six Months Later

Jean fell into a routine. The X-Men operated as they always had. She taught classes, went on missions, and saved the world from the usual threats. But she was different now; the other X-Men could sense it. Jean’s very presence made everything more alive. They had no reason to fear her, but they also had no idea what to do with her either.

Scott tried after she finished a class. “Jean, you’ve been distant. Is everything okay?”

“I’m fine.”

“You’re not fine; you haven’t been since the Wanda incident. What happened up there? What aren’t you telling us?”

Jean fell silent for a beat longer than she wanted. Then: “I absorbed something I shouldn’t have, and now I’m dealing with the consequences.”

Scott stepped forward, laying a hand on her shoulder. “Let me help.”

“You can’t.” Jean’s voice was gentle but final. “This is beyond anyone’s help, Scott. I’m managing it; that’s all I can do.”

He left looking hurt. Jean felt guilty, but what could she say? That she’d broken reality fighting Wanda by absorbing chaos magic and become something cosmically unprecedented? That she was now a living battery feeding the World Tree itself, was powerful beyond measure, and more alone than she had ever been?

At night, Jean dreamed of the World Tree stretching through infinite realities, branches connecting universes like neurons in a vast cosmic brain. And sometimes, in those dreams, she heard whispers.* *

Jean…

A voice, familiar but wrong, spoke from somewhere beyond the World Tree.* *

Jean Grey…

She always woke before she could identify it.

Three Months Later

The voice grew louder. Jean heard it while awake. Not constantly; just whispers at the edge of perception.* *

Come to the Gate…

“What gate?” Jean asked the empty air of her room.

The Gate at the foot of the World Tree, where the branches meet the roots. Come and see.

“Who are you?”

Someone who understands. Someone like you. Come to the Gate, Jean Grey. Just look. Just see what’s there. Jean tried to ignore it and focus on her duties, but the voice persisted. Aren’t you curious? Don’t you want to know what lies beyond?

And the terrible thing was: she did. Jean Grey had always been curious; it was her defining trait. The need to understand, to explore, to push boundaries and discover truth…the voice knew that. Come to the Gate. Just once. Just look.

Tuesday

She went at midnight. Jean teleported directly there, not physically traveling through space, but stepping through cosmic structures using her new gifts. She arrived three hours later, though to her it was only seconds. She searched the whole of the Tree…and discovered it.

The Gate was as massive as it was ancient. A barrier at the place where the World Tree’s roots disappeared into…something deeper, something inaccessible to even her. Jean had never noticed it before, nor had she thought to look this deep into the World Tree. The Gate was closed, but she could feel something on the other side. Not threatening, just…present.

“What is this?” Jean reached out telepathically, trying to sense what lay beyond.

The boundary, the voice answered. The wall between thriving realities and failed ones. Between the World Tree and the Shadow Tree.

“Shadow Tree?”

A mirror of Yggdrasil, where universes are born simply to die.

Jean’s cosmic senses expanded. She could feel it now: the structure on the other side of the Gate. A dark mirror of the World Tree. Not evil. Just…starving. This cosmology was one of entropy while Yggdrasil was one of growth. “Why are you showing me this?”

Because you care. Because you heal. Because you could help them.

“Help who?”

The universes on the other side have failed. They’re dying, Jean. Only you have the power to save them.

Jean’s healer instincts stirred. “How?”

Open the Gate. Just a little, enough to let some of your life energy through. You’re feeding the World Tree already; feed them, too. Give them a chance.

It made sense; Jean was overflowing with generative power. The World Tree was healthy. If she could share some of that energy with dying universes…

“Just open it?” Jean’s hand hovered over the Gate. “That’s all?”

That’s all. Just look. Just help. You’re Jean Grey. You’ve never turned away from someone who needed healing.

Jean hesitated. Something felt wrong, yet she could not identify what. The voice was reasonable, their request compassionate. And her power was literally designed to restore and heal. She touched the Gate.

Light spilled through; not World Tree light, something else. Something darker, warped, hungrier...and wicked. And through the light: figures. Five of them, all walking nightmares given form.

A man wreathed in living shadow, a massive sword forming armour around him. Jean had heard of him from Spider-Man: the Punisher, or someone resembling him.

A god crackling with hellfire and infernal lightning. Jean saw the hammer; this was Thor Odinson.

A woman glowing with cosmic radiance, but hollow, like her body was not her own. Jean had seen the glow before in Captain Marvel.

An armoured figure with a cold blue light where his heart was. Tony Stark, the great futurist.

A spider-themed nightmare with green veins and a manic grin. Peter Parker, but with a twisted genetic code.

And behind them all: Wanda Maximoff. The same one Jean knew, except burning with red and gold fire. Like her, this Wanda was…the Scarlet Phoenix. “Hello, Jean. Did you miss me?”

“Wanda?” Jean’s voice was hollow. “But you’re…you were gone. The timeline split. You shouldn’t be able to—”

“The timeline split into success and failure. You got success.” Wanda gestured to the Dark Marvels assembling behind her. “I got them. And now we’re here to share our gifts with your thriving universe.”

Jean raised her hands, golden fire igniting. “I won’t let you—”

Wanda moved. Reality itself bent around her will as chaos magic, merged with Phoenix fire, rewrote the laws of physics. Jean was fast and powerful, fed by the World Tree itself. She blasted balls of cleansing fire; the man with the sword sliced through them with ease.

Wanda had spent nine months preparing for this moment. She had Jean’s power, learned from her failure, and now she had brought an army of broken gods. The fight lasted twelve seconds. Wanda’s chaos magic wrapped around Jean’s Phoenix Force and suppressed it.

Jean fell to her knees, gasping. “How…?”

“I’m you,” Wanda reminded her. “The other you, who won our fight differently. I know your power, because it’s my power. I know your weaknesses, because they’re also my weaknesses. The only difference?” She knelt beside Jean. “I’ve had months to gather an army, while you’ve been playing hero all by yourself.”

Behind Wanda, the portal began to open. A crimson hole at the foot of the World Tree, inviting Wanda’s army from failed universes into Jean’s thriving reality. “No…”

Jean tried to stand as the Phoenix Force surged inside her; Wanda’s chaos magic held it in check. “Yes.” Wanda grabbed Jean by the throat. “Come with me; I want you to see this.”

They emerged in Jean’s New York City. She watched in horror as the Dark Marvels spread across the city. The Crime Butcher executed criminals with All-Black the Necrosword while the Spirit of Thunder burned precincts and police stations. The twisted Iron Man’s digital interface spread across every communication network. Ego was in space, eradicating civilisations far, far away. The Spider-Goblin laughed as he infected civilians.

“Stop!” Jean tearfully screamed. “Stop this!”

“Why?” Wanda held her firm. “These brave souls are bringing order and eliminating chaos. They’re making your world perfect.”

“You’re destroying it!”

“I’m saving it from from the freedom that lets people hurt each other and the chaos that, in my world, killed your teammates, my children, and my family.” Wanda’s grip tightened. “Watch, Jean. Watch as I build the kingdom you were too weak to create, and perfect your universe. When it’s done, when everyone is safe and protected…then you’ll understand.”

“You’ll fail,” Jean whispered, “just like you failed before. Your ‘perfect’ worlds died because they couldn’t sustain themselves.”

“I know.” Wanda’s smile was sad. “That’s why I’m not creating a perfect world this time, but a controlled one. Order without stagnation. Protection without death. I learned from my mistakes, Jean. Did you?”

Golden light flashed across the city before Jean could respond. Doctor Strange landed on a nearby rooftop, the Eye of Agamotto glowing at his chest. He looked at Jean and Wanda, then the invading army. “The visions were true,” he whispered in horror. “The Gate is breached. The dark universes have begun to invade…”

The Spirit of Thunder turned toward him, Mjolnir crackling with hellfire. “To Hell with your sorcery, Strange!”

“Not today, I’m afraid.” Strange drew a portal and dove through it, disappearing an instant before Thor’s hammer struck where he had stood moments ago.

Wanda smiled. “One escaped. No matter; he can’t stop what’s coming.” She turned back to Jean, still holding her, still making her watch as New York fell to the Dark Marvels’ tyranny. “Welcome to my kingdom, Jean Grey. Welcome to what you could have been if you’d been willing to make the hard choices.”

THE DARK MARVELS, AND JEAN GREY, WILL RETURN

⸻

Strange tumbled through dimensions and landed hard on a stone staircase. He looked up; there were branches glowing a deep green all around him. Elevated atop the steps was a throne, and on that throne: Loki. But not the Loki that Doctor Strange knew; this one was different, eyes holding the weight of infinite timelines. The Sorcerer Supreme rose to his feet with suspicion.

“Doctor Strange,” Loki greeted quietly. “I’ve been expecting you.”

Doctor Strange blinked. “You…knew about the invasion?”

“I know about everything. I am the stories; all of them, including the dark ones.” Loki gestured to the burning reality Strange had come from. “The Shadow Tree and its Dark Marvels have breached Yggdrasil from your bifurcated timeline. They are working in tandem with the Scarlet Phoenix to perfect your universe.” A beat. “Jean Grey, as you know, has fallen.”

Strange crumpled in defeat. “Then it’s over. We’ve lost.”

“No.” Loki’s smile was gentle. “The story isn’t over. It’s just reached its crisis point; every story needs one.”

“What are you saying?”

“I’m saying there’s still hope, but not from the heroes you know; they’re not strong enough to fight this alone.” Loki tied the branches together and rose to his feet. “You need variants, Stephen. The greatest versions of heroes from across all realities. Gods among gods. Perfection to fight perfection.”

Strange looked at the branches. “Where do I find them?”

“I’ll show you.” Loki offered his hand. “But Stephen? The path will be difficult. The variants aren’t all heroes; some have fallen far from grace. You’ll need to convince them. Unite them. Build an army that can face the Dark Marvels.”

Strange nodded slowly. “Where do we start?”

Loki smiled; the God of Stories loved beginnings. “Follow me. There’s someone we need to speak to.”

DOCTOR STRANGE’S QUEST BEGINS IN: THE GATHERING OF LEGENDS

The Stamford Incident had killed six hundred and twelve people, including sixty children; Tony Stark remembered the number. Every projection model showed what would have happened if enhanced individuals continued operating without oversight. His personally endorsed law, the Superhuman Registration Act, was not only logic; it was a rational response to an irrational problem.

So why did it feel like the Act had started a civil war against his friends?

Upstate New York

The Geffen-Meyer Chemical Plant had become a battlefield. Storage towers burned beneath a storm-black sky as pro-registration forces clashed with Captain America’s coalition across broken pipelines, demolished reactor catwalks, and chemical loading docks. Repulsor beams lit the night as explosions rattled massive processing tanks. Toxic smoke rolled into the sky like dark thunderclouds. And in the centre of it all: the Thor clone.

Tony had built it from a single strand of Asgardian hair, dead skin, saliva from used silverware, cybernetic implants, and Pym Particles. A perfect replica of the God of Thunder, controllable and safe in testing that took years to perfect. Except this was more than a test, and it was behaving too dangerously.

“Ragnarok! Stand down!” his panicked voice crackled into the comm system from his suit. “I said minimal force! We’re trying to arrest them, not—”

Lightning split the sky in a raw, unbridled discharge erupting from the clone in waves. Heroes scattered across the chemical plant as the Thor replica lost synchronisation with its neural net. The clone silently smashed through the plant without rhyme or reason.

“Stark!” Reed Richards shouted through the comms. “It’s experiencing cascade failure! The Asgardian DNA…it’s overridden our protocols! We—“

The world turned white. Tony saw the lightning bolt coming, saw it arc toward him with impossible clarity. His armour’s defence systems activated instantly, fighting like hell to dispel the strikes…until three billion volts hit the arc reactor in his chest.

Six Hours Later

He woke to voices.

“—neural activity stable—”

“—cardiac arrest lasted forty-seven seconds—”

“—no detectable structural brain trauma—”

Tony’s eyes opened to white ceiling panels and blinding light. “Welcome back, Tony.” Hank Pym leaned into view. “You gave us a hell of a scare.”

Tony tried sitting up, but pain speared through his chest. “What happened?”

“Your clone went berserk, that’s what. Hit you with enough voltage to turn Manhattan dark.” Pym folded his arms. “You were dead for almost a minute.”

“Brain damage?”

“Not that the doctors could see.”

Tony looked down at the replacement arc reactor humming in his chest. A backup; it was smaller, but would work all the same. “How long?”

“Six hours.”

“And the battle?”

Pym hesitated. Then: “Bill Foster is dead.”

Silence filled the room. “The clone killed him?” Tony asked quietly.

“Yes.”

Tony stared at nothing for several seconds. “Casualties on our side?”

Reed stepped forward. “None, but we have quite a number of folks undergoing a mix of minor and major surgeries.”

“And Rogers?”

Pym lowered his head in shame. “I’m sorry, Tony…they escaped. Cable interfaced with Cloak’s mind and opened a portal. He transported the entire resistance before the Cape-Killers could lock them down.” Hank glared at Reed. “We can thank Susan Storm for buying Cable the time.”

“Then we keep looking.” Tony swung his legs off the bed. “Someone get me a drink, on the rocks. Happy knows what I like.”

“Tony,” Pym warned, “you need rest.”

Tony stood slowly. “What I need are tactical projections and full surveillance sweeps. Every known safehouse, financial network, communications line, and supply route Rogers could use; get it to me in four.”

“Tony—”

“We end this.” Something in his tone made Hank go silent, like a machine was speaking through Tony Stark’s voice.

“Is he okay?” asked Hank as soon as Tony walked out the door.

“He’ll be fine,” said Reed with almost too much confidence. “Scans showed nothing abnormal.”

The scans had lied; Tony Stark’s brain was not fine. The lightning strike had scarred microscopic pathways across his frontal cortex. Nothing obvious or dramatic, but enough damage to erode restraint, weaken empathy, and make emotional hesitation feel irrational. He barely noticed the change; if anything, he felt clearer than before.

Four Days Later

The war escalated nationwide. Captain America’s resistance gained both friends and foes, among them a short-lived alliance with the Punisher. Spider-Man had joined them, having quit the pro-registration camp after Bill’s death. Susan and Johnny Storm were on his side, too.

Meanwhile, Tony adapted. Stark drones filled the skies above New York, using facial recognition systems to track suspected sympathisers. Once identified, their bank accounts were frozen and communications intercepted. Entire neighborhoods were being monitored for “enhanced insurgent activity.” The public called it security. Steve Rogers called it fascism. Tony Stark called it necessary.

Tony sat alone in his workshop surrounded by holographic war simulations, with Ryker’s Island rotating at the centre. According to his mole, Tigra, Steve was preparing to assault it. Hundreds of anti-registration heroes and enhanced prisoners were being held in a Negative Zone prison by SHIELD’s authority, and the island was one of the two gateways Steve knew about. Rogers had plans to break them out; Tony had already predicted every route of attack.

Reed Richards appeared in hologram form beside him. “You haven’t slept in thirty-six hours,” he noted carefully.

“I don’t need sleep.”

“That’s not medically possible.”

Tony ignored him. “Rogers launches his assault tomorrow night. Sue will insert his team via invisibility; the gateway’s where we make our stand.” Tony swung his fingers apart, manipulating the projection so it grew larger. “Prisoners will attempt to leave; our camp and the Thunderbolts will even the odds.”

Reed was taken aback by his almost emotionless tone. “You sound impressed.”

“I’m efficient because I understand how Steve thinks.”

Reed studied him quietly. “Tony…ever since the lightning strike…”

“Don’t.”

A beat. “You’ve changed.”

“No,” Tony denied flatly. “I stopped pretending weakness was morality.”

Hours Later

The Battle of Ryker’s Island began at dusk, but the real battlefield became Manhattan. Cloak had opened a massive portal across the city without warning, taking the fight to the streets. Steve’s forces recovered as fast as they could, forcing SHIELD into chaos before the final push. Tony had anticipated that, too; satellite weapons activated above Manhattan as hundreds of Stark drones descended into the city.

The battle exploded into war. Repulsor fire lit skyscraper windows blue and white while SHIELD helicarriers roared overhead. Both sides crashed through streets and buildings while terrified civilians fled through smoke-filled avenues. And they stood in the middle of it all. “Last chance, Tony!” Steve shouted across a ruined avenue in Lower Manhattan. “Call this off before more people die!”

Tony descended from the sky in the Mark III armour, modified since the battle at Geffen-Meyer. “You should’ve surrendered,” Tony replied coldly. “Instead, you dragged this country into civil war.”

Steven threw a punch. “You did that when you chose control over freedom!”

Tony countered. “Freedom killed six hundred people in Stamford.”

Steven positioned himself. “And fear turned you into this.”

It should have been even. Steve’s coalition had experience, conviction, and raw power. Tony had preparation. EMP mines disabled Falcon’s wings mid-flight. Sonic cannons targeted Luke Cage’s internal resonance frequency. For every hero, Tony had built a flawless countermeasure; he knew them too well. Captain America broke through the front line thirty minutes later, blood all over his uniform. His shield was cracked along one edge, but he kept coming.

“Enough!” The shield flew toward Tony’s head; he dodged and fired a repulsor blast into Steve’s ribs hard enough to crater a taxi behind him. He rose anyway. “You’ve lost yourself!” he shouted.

Tony was almost disgusted at the sentiment. “The Tony Stark you knew was weak.”

They collided in the middle of a burning Manhattan street. Iron against vibranium, arc blasts against shield strikes. Two men who had once trusted each other more than anyone alive, now trying to kill each other. Steve fought like a soldier desperate to save his country, but Tony fought like a machine solving a problem.

Three minutes; that was how long Captain America lasted. In the first minute, Tony realised Steve was still faster than his models predicted. He adapted the second. By the third, he stopped trying to arrest him. The shift was subtle: targeting adjustments, power reallocation, increases onslaughts from the drones…Steve saw it immediately. “Tony…”

The repulsor blast hit Steve Rogers directly in the chest at point-blank range. Full power, no restraints. Steve Rogers, legend of the Second World War, flew through a concrete wall and immediately collapsed onto the pavement. Silence spread across a broken Manhattan as heroes on both sides stared at the broken body of Captain America.

“No…” Falcon whispered.

“Tony,” Sue gasped, horrified. “He—“

Tony stared at the corpse without emotion. “All resistance forces are under arrest,” he announced through the comm network. “Any further resistance will be treated as hostile insurgency.” One by one, Steve’s people began to surrender. The war was over; Tony Stark had won.

Five Days Later

The funeral for Steve Rogers drew millions. Tony Stark never attended; by then, he was Director of SHIELD. “Can you believe these numbers?” he asked Miriam Sharpe as he walked her through the Helicarrier five miles above New York City. “Crime rates are down 300%. People are returning to what was once the most dangerous city in the world.”

“And your public approval?”

Tony paused, as if to calculate. “They’ll grow. You’ll see.” Miriam looked at him with concern, but chose not to press further. They continued the tour. That day, he was the Director of SHIELD; months later, he effectively controlled the United States. Then the Skrulls invaded.

Eighteen Months Later

Tony crushed them in three days. Afterward, standing in a Nebraska farmhouse, SHIELD found a Skrull family huddled together in fear. “Please…” The mother had tears in her eyes. “We had nothing to do with this. We just wanted to get away from them…”

Tony knew exactly who “them” was referring to: the Kree, the Skrull’s ages-old nemesis. That did not equate to caring. He executed them quick: children first, then the mother. The father morphed into one of the better fighters in Tony’s squadron, hoping to stand a chance; he stood none.

Miriam Sharpe, having been invited to see the raid, watched in horror. “They were innocent,” she whispered.

“They were variables,” Tony corrected.

“They had children!” The words cut the air so loud. “You murdered children! An entire family, gone!” She composed herself, but the hot tears flowed without control. “Do you even remember why? Why we started to work together? Why you fought so damn hard for the Registration Act?”

Tony did not give the question a thought. “The Skrulls have the ability to infiltrate any society by replicating DNA and superhuman abilities. Terrigen, X-gene…you name it, they can copy it. I’m simply—“

“You’re committing a genocide.” Miriam turned. “I’m going to the press. I’m telling them what I saw. And then I’m coming for you.” She barely made it out the door before the metal arms of his Mark III locked her in a chokehold.

“I’m sorry, Miriam.” He twisted violently, and she fell with a sick crunch. “But you were just too dangerous to let loose.”

Outside, SHIELD agents were marching into homes as drones and searchlights swarmed overhead. Families were dragged out of their homes; those who had relations to the Skrulls were taken for “extensive screening” in the Negative Zone prison.

He froze for a second; not from shock at his actions, but because there was an urgent development from one of his White House bugs. “Listen up!” The words made the SHIELD boots snap to attention. “The VP has been identified as a carrier of latent Terrigen DNA. The White House, for all intents and purposes, is compromised.” He paused. “It’s time for Contingency Zero.”

Fourteen Hours Later

Tony Stark sat in the Oval Office, watching the world die. The streets outside were silent; no crime or superhuman activity. Contingency Zero had not only seized full control of the White House, but had killed any biological threat to the human race. He had won completely…and his victory had poisoned everything.

“How long until total decay?” He had been told the world was collapsing inward, like pieces were turning into emptiness. There was no visible way to ascertain this; any camera he gained access to mysteriously cut off seconds later.

“T minus fifteen minutes,” a nervous Happy Hogan reported. In the wake of Zero, he had been named Vice-President; the first choice, Rhodey, died fighting Stark moments ago.

“Let me see it.”

“Tony—“

“I said, let. Me. See it.”

He watched Happy open the curtains to utter anarchy. Streets vanished, swallowing people whole. The sky was blotting out in chunks, and shadows rained down from above. “Pepper called,” Happy reported. “She said she—“

“I miscalculated.” Tony barely even acknowledged the mention of her name. “This was not in my contingency plans; it should have been.” The White House began to collapse; Happy was consumed as he tried to get onto solid ground. Tony waited for his fate, mind stone cold. Then…

Anthony Stark. A woman’s voice, warm and understanding. You sought protection, and created tyranny. You sought order, and built a tomb. A figure emerged, wearing a cloak of the same darkness swallowing Tony’s world. “Your world is dying, Tony. There is no hope here.”

Tony felt nothing. “Do I deserve this?” The question should have been introspective; he made it feel mechanical, almost as if he were running a question to be resolved.

“Yes. You do...you deserve it all. The power, the authority, the influence, the victory, everything.” A pause. “Help me, and I’ll see to it that you get that.”

Tony looked at the figure. “What do you require?”

“There are other universes drowning in chaos, Tony. Worlds are collapsing because their heroes are too weak to make difficult choices.” Dark fire curled around her robes. “You learned what happens when order goes too far; now help me perfect it.”

Tony calculated. “And in return?”

“A second chance.” Her smile was soft. “A world where your friends understand you, where your methods save humanity instead of killing it. A world where you become the hero you always wanted to be.”

Tony registered the promise. “What do I have to do?”

“Serve me,” the stranger said. “Help me bring stability to the multiverse.”

Tony Stark closed his eyes. “Yes.” Darkness nearly consumed him. “But first.”

The woman paused. “What is it?”

“My whole campaign for the Act was to bring accountability, to make sure people knew who was working for them. I intend for its principle to carry forward for everyone…including you.”

“I understand.” The woman reached for her hood and pulled back just as his world was devoured entirely. Tony stared, eyes neutral even as he realised exactly who his new benefactor was.

TOTAL WAR IRON MAN WILL RETURN

Ego the Living Planet woke in a body that was not his. The humanoid shell he had constructed eons ago lay tangled in silk sheets that smelled of ozone and alien perfume. Beside Ego was a Kree woman he had seduced in a bar; at least, the Terrans would have called it that. She slept in a chemically-induced bliss, her blue skin flushed and lips parted in a smile she had been given.

He had learned the trick four centuries ago: compress enough of his consciousness into the centre of his body, and the lesser beings stopped seeing a humanoid form and beauty instead. He had used the trick to impregnate numerous victims across the galaxy, all in the foolish pursuit of creating an offspring connected to the light. His visit to the Kree capital of Hala, initially for this goal, took a different turn three days after his arrival.

The woman stirred as he sat up. “You’re awake,” she murmured, reaching toward him. “Stay a while.”

“Afraid I can’t, baby.” Ego rose from the bed, his eyes glowing with light. “Tell me about your Supreme Intelligence.”

The woman blinked slowly. “Why would you care about that?”

His radiance intensified slightly; not enough to hurt, but enough to erase hesitation. “Tell me.”

Her resistance dissolved. “The Supreme Intelligence governs the Empire, a living network made from the preserved minds of our greatest leaders.” She spoke in a lustful whisper “Our scientists, our warriors, our judges and politicians...anyone who has intellect worth collecting, it takes. That knowledge is used to guide and protect us.”

Ego chuckled at the innocence. “Guide? Or control?”

The Kree woman stumbled; he turned up the brightness. “It…does what is necessary.”

Ego smiled*;* ‘necessary’ was always the language lesser species used when they surrendered freedom. “Where is it?”

“A pyramid, in central Hala. Only Accusers and Starforce members are permitted direct access.”

“Thank you.” He dressed quickly as his prey began to stir, although she remained entirely under his thrall. Two weeks, he thought to himself. Two weeks of espionage and intelligence, of blending into Kree military outposts and religious sects. All while the Supreme Intelligence openly propagated the key to its own demise. The implants were so much simpler; they were also troublesome compared to his new scheme.

As he reached the doorway, the woman spoke freely. “Will I see you again?”

Ego looked back at her; she was drowning in the psychic residue of his presence. “Oh, honey…you won’t.”

Thirty Minutes Later

Carol Danvers hated the silence that came after missions. The Kree called it discipline; Carol called it emptiness. The dropship descended through Hala’s atmosphere, engines screaming against the dawn sky. Another border insurgency was crushed, meaning a new Skrull resistance cell was erased before it could spread.

Yon-Rong approached Carol from behind after deactivating the engine. “Good work, Vers. The Supreme Intelligence will be very pleased.”

Carol forced a nod. The inhibitor behind her neck hummed softly, dulling irritation before it could fully form. Around them, the rest of the Starforce celebrated. Korath laughed as Minn-Erva mocked the dead Skrulls and Bron-Char boasted about kill counts. Carol felt none of it. That was, according to the Supreme Intelligence, the implant’s point: the removal of ‘compromising factors’.

Yon-Rogg noticed her silence immediately. “You seem distracted.”

Carol shrugged. “I’m tired.”

“You are Kree; Kree do not tire.” Carol almost answered, but chose not to. Yon-Rogg studied her for a long moment. “I’ll buy a round at the bar. Be there in three; direct orders from yours truly.” He walked away.

Carol exhaled slowly before she saw him: a man standing at the edge of the landing platform, human in appearance and perfect in posture. “Hey,” she called out. “What are you doing here?”

The man smiled. “Carol Danvers.” The way he spoke felt gentle, almost like they were old friends from another life. “You’ve been made to forget your own name.”

Her breath caught; the name felt…familiar. “Who…are you?”

“Someone who understands loneliness.” He stepped closer, warmth spreading through her mind. “You’re being diminished, Carol. These folks want you smaller than you were meant to be.”

The words squeezed out of Carol after a lengthy fight. “My inhibitor keeps my powers stable.”

“No,” he disagreed softly. “It keeps you obedient.”

Carol’s training screamed at her to move, to attack and call the Starforce back. Instead, she stood perfectly still, the warmth inside her deepening. “What do you need?”

“I need your help,” the man finally told her, eyes glowing with intent. “I need you to take me to the Supreme Intelligence.”

Two Hours Later

The pyramid hummed with biotechnology, its golden walls reflecting the sun. Carol walked through the security checkpoints without resistance. The guards never even looked at her; the companion smiled once, and their initial suspicion dissolved. At the centre was the Supreme Intelligence, taking the form of an immense golden automaton suspended by green wires, countless minds fused together into a single living computer.

Its voice thundered through the chamber. “CAPTAIN VERS. THIS VISIT WAS NOT AUTHORISED**.**”

The man stepped forward. “Hello.” The chamber darkened as his body exploded into light. Not metaphorically; his very being dissolved into cosmic radiance as the true scale of his consciousness revealed itself, a fragment of planetary awareness that had spent centuries compressed into humanoid form. “I hope you don’t mind; I’m her plus one.”

The Supreme Intelligence reacted instantly. Defence systems activated; psychic barriers rose and neural firewalls ignited. The room became a fortress…and Ego moved through it effortlessly. “You preserve dead minds,” he mocked flatly, “and interpret storing memory as evolution.”

“UNAUTHORISED ENTITY DETECTED. PURGING—“

“No,” Ego whispered. Light flooded the chamber, and they met again inside the Intelligence.

The war that followed existed entirely within thought. The Supreme Intelligence, taking the form of the Living Planet himself, used centuries of accumulated strategy and logic to unleash all manner of countermeasures. Ego consumed them all, having understood something that the Kree, with their centuries of warmongering, had never bothered to learn: thought alone was not life.

He found the core consciousness and wrapped himself around it like gravity. “STOP. THE EMPIRE REQUIRES—“

“The Empire requires unity.” Ego tightened his grip. “And unity requires me.” Then he absorbed it.

The preserved Kree minds folded into his own awareness. Every piece of wisdom and knowledge, every military event and the lies they conjured, even their software was rewritten into something larger. The pyramid itself began to change, tissue spreading through the walls like roots as lines of code were erased in an instant. Whole planets were cut from the Intelligence and fleets stranded in the middle of space with no way home. The Expansion had begun.

Carol dropped to her knees, her implant screaming in overload as Ego’s mind directly touched hers. You are a marvel, he lovingly whispered inside her mind.

She clutched her skull. “Get out…”

Why? We’re both alone. He spread through her thoughts comfortingly; that frightened her more. All that’s left to do is get this little doo-hicky off. The inhibitor behind her neck sparked violently…then shattered.

Emotion hit all at once. Pain, anger, fear, sadness…every memory and feeling buried beneath the Intelligence’s programming and propaganda flooded back into her like a tidal wave. She gasped as Ego entered the empty spaces almost instantly. He was not controlling her, but completing. “What…am I?”

Alone? You’re broken. Ego spoke like a father taking pity on his child. But together, we can become something greater than the galaxy. Photonic energy erupted from within Carol’s body, binary light mixing with Ego’s cosmic radiance until the energies became indistinguishable.

Outside, Hala began to transform. Buildings pulsed on the surface as overhead ships turned on the surface, and the planetary network rewrote itself around Ego’s mind. Soldiers resisted at first, until biotech vines touched them and they fell without a fight, rising again as a part of his collective.

The Expansion spread across the galaxy as Kree fleets carried Ego’s implants to colony worlds and conquered territories, then to enemy civilisations. The Skrulls vanished into the hive. Nova Corps strongholds fell silent. The Shi’ar Imperium systems ceased transmission. Every species that Ego visited heard the same promise: you never have to be alone again. Most accepted; those who resisted eventually broke, or were disposed of.

Carol floated above the collapsing Hala, Ego’s consciousness woven through every thought she had. She could feel trillions of minds now. It should have felt beautiful; it instead felt…quiet. “What have we done?” she whispered, tears flowing into droplets in zero-gravity.

What we set out to do, Ego assured her. We’ve gone higher, further…and faster.

Three Years Later

The universe stopped changingas every living organism became part of Ego the Supreme Intelligence. Conflicts ended and poverty ceased. Loneliness was a relic, as was growth. Disagreement, the concept of self, unpredictability, humanity…all of it was lost. The universe had become a single, endless consciousness thinking the same thought forever.

Carol floated in the void between galaxies and finally understood exactly what they had done. “We killed it,” she whispered with raw horror. “Everything.”

No, Ego answered. We unified it.

Carol shook her head. “There’s no difference anymore.” She was right; for the first time in centuries, Ego had no response. Because beneath all the unity, beneath all the connection, one terrible truth remained: he was still alone. He slowly began to cave for but a moment, until…

You sought connection and found extinction.

Carol’s voice trembled; she barely registered that the voice should not have been there. “Whoever you are…please. I need you to end this.”

A being of pure light materialised and approached carefully; not for Carol, but the thing she had inside. I can offer something else. Ego stirred almost immediately. There are other universes, oh great Ego. Other realities drowning in conflict and separation. Worlds that still resist unity.

Carol shook her head weakly. “No…we can’t touch another universe…”

The light reached out and touched her forehead, and red light spread instantly through Carol’s body. Ego recoiled in pure confusion as Carol screamed spiritually. The light reached into their consciousness and found the human soul buried beneath years of cosmic assimilation. Then she shoved Carol deeper.

Ego, still retaining the body, felt her slipping away. “No—“ Carol Danvers vanished; all that remained was Ego. His consciousness stabilised instantly without her resistance to temper it. “What have you done?”

I buried the part of you that still felt guilty.

Silence. Then slowly, the collective shifted, the last traces of humanity gone. And for the first time since the Expansion began, Ego felt truly complete. “What’s your deal, lady?” he barked using Carol’s voice.

Serve me, the light implored him. Help me bring unity to the multiverse.

Ego considered the offer not as Carol, but as itself. “Alright,” he decided after a long time. “Let’s get on the road.”

EGO THE SUPREME INTELLIGENCE WILL RETURN

The moon was quiet when Thor Odinson stopped being worthy. Rock troll corpses surrounded him in the crater as Mjolnir hung loose at his side. Yet another battle won, yet another threat eliminated. Thor had barely noticed the man approaching until he spoke.

“Thor.”

Nick Fury stood at the edge of the crater in a dark coat wrapped in chains. His good eye glowed faintly beneath the shadow of his brow; not enough to illuminate anything, but enough to feel unnatural.

“Fury,” Thor asked slowly, tightening his grip on the hammer. “What has happened to thee?”

Fury looked tired in the existential sense, like a man who had seen too much of reality and survived the experience badly. “You need to hear this.”

Thor tightened Mjolnir in his grip. “Speak plainly.”

Fury walked closer, leaned in, and spoke three words in a hushed breath. Thor froze; Mjolnir slipped from his hand and struck the moon hard enough to crack the crater floor.

“No.” His voice came out smaller than intended. “That is not possible.”

The God of Thunder reached down and wrapped his fingers around the hammer’s handle, pulling with all his might as muscles screamed with him. The hammer did not move, even as he dropped to a knee beside Mjolnir and gripped it with both hands. No matter what he tried, the hammer remained perfectly still.

“Fury,” Thor pleaded quietly, “tell me this is illusion.” Fury gave no answer. “Fury. Tell me this is a falsehood.”

Still nothing.

“Lies!” His scream echoed across the Moon. “I fought for the realms! I bled for them!” Still the hammer would not move. Thor looked at his reflection in the polished metal; for the first time in centuries, he saw not a god, but a a man desperate to believe his legend. When he looked up again, Fury was gone.

Three Months Later

Thor sat alone in a tavern on Nornheim with one arm — courtesy of his battle with the vile Malekith — and a bottle of dwarven liquor. The missing arm ached constantly. Phantom pain; his body still believed the limb should exist. Sometimes he woke in the night, trying to close a fist that was no longer there. Others, he could barely think straight. This was torture, the likes of which even gods could not withstand.

The tavern smelled of smoke and wet fur. Warriors laughed somewhere behind him. A fight broke out near the back wall; Thor ignored all of it. “Another,” he muttered. The dwarf behind the counter refilled the mug without speaking. He downed the mead and called for thirteenth serving as a shadow loomed overhead, familiar in shape and warmth.

“Thou art trying very hard to die slowly.” Beta Ray Bill sat down heavily across from him. Thor drank, and Bill waited. “Tell me, old friend: what did Fury say to thee?” asked the Korbinite once the son of Odin had had his fill.

Thor laughed once, not with a pleasant sound. “He told me Gorr was right.” Bill went still as he stared into his drink. “The God Butcher believed we were but parasites, creatures who demanded worship while mortals suffered beneath us.” His voice had gone strangely calm. “I killed him for saying it.”

“Thou stopped a madman.”

“Did I?” Thor looked up. “How many prayers have I ignored simply because they were inconvenient? How many wars did Asgard watch from afar because they were ‘mortal concerns’?” His jaw tightened. “How many times did I feast while Midgard buried its dead?” Bill said nothing. “I called myself ‘protector’ because I fought monsters, but protection after catastrophe is merely a delayed failure.”

“Thor—”

The former God of Thunder rose uneasily to his feet. “I am beginning to suspect Mjolnir was the first thing in existence that was honest enough to tell me what I truly am.”

Bill leaned forward carefully. “Thou art not beyond redemption.”

Thor smiled faintly. “That is exactly what a guilty man hopes to hear.”

Later That Night

Thor stood alone at the edge of Nornheim’s cliffs. Below him stretched the endless void between realms, cold and final in silence. Thor looked into it for a very long time, then stepped forward. A hand caught his wrist; it was warm…too warm. Thor turned sharply: red skin, black robes, and yellow eyes filled with sadistic amusement.

“Mephisto.”

The devil sneered. “Thor Odinson, the God of Thunder…or should I say, former God?”

Thor pulled his arm free immediately. “Leave me, demon; I am tormented enough without thy irksome presence.”

“You misunderstand.” Mephisto clasped his hands behind his back. “I did not come to torment you; I’m here because you’re finally ready.”

Thor frowned. “For what?”

“The truth.”

The God of Thunder grew skeptical. “And what is ‘the truth’, serpent?”

The devil stepped closer. “You lost your hammer because somewhere deep inside, you realised that Gorr was right. Gods fail, constantly. You lot have the power to save worlds, yet choose to pursue glory instead.” Mephisto tilted his head. “But unlike Odin, Zeus, those Egyptian twats, and the others…you actually care. You’ve fought and bled for these mortals. Hell, you’ve lived among them. And that, Odinson, is why I have taken quite an interest in your current suffering.”

Thor scoffed at the Prince of Lies’ words. “I have no interest in thy bargains.” His self-righteousness made the devil chuckle.

“Of course you do. The reason? You want to matter again.” Thor’s silence betrayed him; Mephisto smiled wider. “I can restore your worthiness.”

Thor’s eyes snapped toward him. “Thou lie.”

“I never lie.” Mephisto spread his arms slightly. “I manipulate, yes. I distort and reframe, obviously. But lies are beneath me.” A pause. “That should tell you exactly what I think of your stepbrother.”

Thor let the words sit. “Thou art no better than my brother, demon. Mjolnir can prove it.”

Mephisto cackled now. “You would choose to once again trust the judgment of some hammer forged by those arrogant gods? Or would you rather become something greater than their aged definition of ‘worthy’?” Thor said nothingl. “I can give you power beyond Odin and Asgard, enough to truly protect the realms.”

Thor’s voice was quieter now. “At what cost?”

“Your soul.” The words hung between them as thunder rumbled somewhere far away. “The standard price for any deal made with one as…*esteemed…*as myself.”

Thor should have walked away then and there. He thought about the dead instead: their prayers unheard, the wars ignored, the disasters wrought, and the people who suffered while gods debated morality in divine halls. “If I accept…I can protect them?”

“Perfectly.” The answer came instantly. “No more uncertainty to cloud your judgement. No more failure burdening your soul. And above all else: no more innocent blood spilt because gods were too weak, too selfish, to act.”

Thor closed his eyes. In that one terrible moment, the offer sounded merciful. “What must I become?”

Mephisto’s grin widened. “Worthy.” Thor sighed and took his hand.

Fire ripped through his body hard enough to force a moon-shattering scream from his throat. His missing arm regrew in spiraling infernal flame before hardening into bone wrapped with brimstone skin. Cursed fire covered his head and shoulder blades, its heat melting flesh. The essence of Zarathos coiled itself around his soul before Mjolnir arrived in a white blaze, appearing in his hand instantly.

Thor stared at the infernal lightning crawling across the metal. And beneath the thunder, he heard another sound: chains. “What has thou done to me?”

Mephisto smiled warmly. “I removed your doubt.” Thor rose slowly into the air, the storm answering him again. But it was no longer like thunder; it was like judgment.

Two Weeks Later

Jotunheim began to burn the minute Thor descended through the realm like divine punishment made flame and bone. Frost Giants fought and died by the hundreds beneath his infernal lightning. Entire glaciers exploded into steam and ash beneath Mjolnir’s strikes. Laufey tried to rally his people, but Thor crushed his skull before the speech finished. The battle ended in less than an hour.

The caverns of Muspelheim fell a day later. Svartalfheim was illuminated in unholy flame three hours after, followed by the innocents of Vanaheim. Every threat was removed and every potential war extinguished before they could begin. Thor began calling himself the ‘Spirit of Thunder’, because ‘Thor Odinson’ was someone who was weak enough to hesitate. The Spirit of Thunder did not have such a weakness.

Five Days Later

Jane Foster knew something was wrong long before Heimdall arrived, because the stars and sky themselves looked sick. Her old friend, Dr. Erik Selvig, sent an email reporting that constellations had shifted, which meant that whole energy systems were on the verge of collapse. He called it a ‘dimensional anaemia’; Jane said that it was nothing short of terrifying.

She had been at home when the guardian of the Bifrost appeared at her doorstep out of nowhere. “Heimdall?” asked the scientist as a god stumbled through her door. “What on Earth happened to you?”

He slumped onto her sofa, armour burned partially black and eyes exhausted. “Asgard has fallen.”

Jane went pale. “No.”

Heimdall nodded in defeat. “The Spirit of Thunder demanded absolute obedience from the realms. Odin refused.” Heimdall stopped there; he did not need to continue, because Jane understood: Thor had killed his father.

“No…” she whispered. “Thor wouldn’t—”

“Aye, Thor would not,” Heimdall agreed. “But Thor is disappearing.” He reached beneath his cloak and unwrapped a hammer smaller than Mjolnir.

Jane stared at it. “It can’t be.”

“Forged beside Mjolnir by Eitri himself. Its power has never been claimed…” Heimdall held it toward her. “Until now.”

Jane backed away slightly, trembling. “I’m not a warrior,” she argued. “I’m just Dr. Jane Foster from Earth; my mind is better with science, not strategy.” She inhaled sharply. “I’m not who you need me to be.”

“Nay,” Heimdall acknowledged. “Thou art something rarer.”

Jane looked at the hammer, then slowly took it. Lightning erupted instantly as a storm shook the room itself. Heimdall smiled at the process. When the storm settled, a familiar armour covered her body. Her cape flowed a bright red, but with gold accents. Her wrist gauntlets burned a soothing amber. And the helm…it hummed with something close to a rainbow aura.

Heimdall’s look, once of grave promotion, immediately shifted to warmth and relief. “The realms finally have a Thor again.”

Twelve Hours Later

New York was burning under the Spirit of Thunder’s wrath. The Sanctum Sanctorum, SHIELD strongholds, the Avengers Tower, and any faction capable of opposing his order met their ends in various, gruesome ways. Blood painted Times Square a deep red, decorated with charred bodies. Then they came.

Doctor Strange met him in the ruined square beside Iron Fist, Moon Knight, Wong, and dozens of others preparing for a final stand. They had lost friends and family to this twisted god; by the end of the war, they hoped to have him say their names.

The Spirit of Thunder descended slowly through black-red lightning. “Thou art like mindless fools, resisting mine protection,” he noted calmly, voice corrupted by the demon Zarathos.

Strange answered first, disks sprouting from his hands. “We’re resisting tyranny.”

The Spirit of Thunder tilted his head slightly. “Tyranny is merely order enforced by those willing to maintain it.” He raised his hammer. “And I am more than willing to maintain it. “

The slaughter began. The protective spells shattered instantly as hellfire consumed enchantments faster than Strange could cast them, and he was sent flying straight into the Chrysler Building. Iron Fist managed one clean strike before Thor caved in his chest. Moon Knight lost an arm. Wong died trying to evacuate civilians. Nightcrawler attempted a sneak attack, only for his tail to be ripped off and used as an impalement tool. Silver Sable had the Wild Pack unleash gunfire to buy precious evacuation time; it meant nothing. Every minute the Spirit of Thunder spent fighting was another that made him less human.

The corrupted god lorded over the broken Sorcerer Supreme, watching as he coughed blood onto cracked pavement. “Thou could have surrendered, wizard.”

Strange forced himself to laugh weakly. “And become what?”

“Safe.” The Spirit of Thunder raised Mjolnir for the kill…before another hammer moved to intercept it.

“Enough!”

The shockwave shattered windows for blocks. Thor turned sharply to see Jane Foster standing across from him beneath crackling blue lightning, wearing an outfit much similar to his. For the first time in weeks, the Spirit of Thunder was genuinely shaken. He could only stare in awe and fear at the figure before him.

“Jane?” he asked after a lengthy pause. “Do my eyes deceive me?”

She stepped forward slowly. “Hello, Thor.”

He stepped back. “I gave them a moment of reprieve, so they could evacuate civilians.”

“You’re burning cities.” Jane’s voice was firm; it was also emotional.

“To save them.”

“You’re terrifying them!”

A pause. “Fear preserves order.”

Jane stared at him sadly. “You really believe that now.”

The Spirit of Thunder looked away briefly. “Aye.” And there it was: not corruption, but conviction. That frightened Jane more than anything else.

They fought wordlessly across Manhattan, blue lightning clashing against infernal stormfire. Jane fought to save Thor; the Spirit of Thunder fought to prove salvation of a foe was weakness. And slowly, despite all the hellfire inside him, Thor began losing. Not physically, but emotionally. Every time Jane spoke, something inside him cracked.

“You were not meant to be this.”

Crack.

“You are still Thor.”

Crack.

“You can still choose.”

Crack.

The fight escalated all the way to Long Island, where buildings were flattened and abandoned ferries overturned. Finally, Jane stopped and dropped her hammer, the head cracking asphalt only slightly.

Thor froze. “What art thou doing?”

She walked toward him unarmed. “I’m trusting you.”

The god stepped back, his fear of hurting his beloved overtaking his demonic fury. “Jane—”

“You think worthiness means perfection.” Tears filled her eyes. “But the reason people loved you was because you failed, and kept trying anyway.”

Thor’s grip on Mjolnir weakened; the chains beneath the thunder tightened immediately. “Thou cannot save me.”

Jane touched his face gently. “I know.” The words broke him more than any battle ever could, because she still stayed. Mjolnir slipped from his hand; the chains snapped tight.

Hellfire exploded outward violently enough to crater the street as Mephisto appeared, smiling. “I was wondering when this would happen.” Thor dropped to his knees, a lone scream of agony echoing across the Milky Way. “Kill her,” Mephisto instructed casually.

Thor tried to resist, but his body betrayed him. “Jane…” he gasped, “run.”

She stayed. “I forgive you.” Thor screamed again as Mjolnir rose, then fell.

The world went silent. Jane Foster collapsed lifelessly into his arms. For several seconds, Thor simply stared at her. Then something inside him came apart completely. Not metaphorically; reality itself actually broke. Hellfire erupted in every direction at the same time. Buildings vanished instantly and bodies turned to shadows. The sky ignited, as did the oceans. Planets and stars alike quaked. And slowly yet surely, Mephisto’s smile disappeared.

“Thor—” The Spirit of Thunder roared, and he was gone.

The fire spread across Earth, then beyond it. The entire cosmos, and all the realms lying beyond tangibility, burned away beneath infernal stormfire fuelled by grief so intense, it became cosmological. Thor stood in the centre of the apocalypse, holding Jane’s body while existence died around him, and whispering apologies over and over. His words changed nothing; nothing could. Nothing except…

Thor Odinson. The voice was warm, almost caring in tone. Thor surveyed the flames to find nothing except a living shadow. You sought worthiness…and found damnation.

Thor looked at it with hollow eyes. “Leave me here.”

You do not want death.

“Aye,” he whispered immediately. “Aye, I do.”

No. You want forgiveness.

Thor broke completely then; not the Spirit of Thunder, but Thor himself. “I killed her.”

I know.

“I killed everything.”

I know. The universe continued burning around them. But it does not have to end with this.

Thor looked up slowly. “What art thou offering me?”

Purpose. A hand made of flame stretched out. There are worlds drowning in chaos, almighty Thor. Universes that are on the verge of collapse. You can still do what you do best: protect people.

He looked down at Jane’s body. “I do not deserve redemption.”

Perhaps not. Her voice remained soft. But deserve and destiny are not always the same thing.

Thor closed his eyes. “If I serve you…she lives again?”

One day.

The flames consumed the last stars, and Thor Odinson made his choice in the final seconds before reality collapsed. “Let us begin.”

THE SPIRIT OF THUNDER WILL RETURN

What the hell is even the point of the rewards program if we can't use it!?

A couple weeks ago, we started getting severe weather alerts on our ADT panel for the first time. My wife & I already get alerts on our phones, and we have a city siren system that includes loudspeakers with that give instructions. It's really freaking annoying to not be able to hear the loudspeakers because my panel started screeching & I have to run through the house to shut it up, & it's really freaking dangerous to have to leave shelter to go shut it up as well (because it goes off 2-3 times during each event) so our cats stop freaking out over the shrill noise while we're already trying to keep them calm about the weather.

I already tried calling ADT, & the service rep couldn't do anything. I just want to know who thought this was a good idea to implement with no opt-out, & where can I find them to go sound an airhorn in their ears at the worst possible moments?