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"Oath–Sword of Promised Victory: Ten Thousand Blades Unleashed!"
At the exact moment Morgoth's mind was struck by the counter-invasion and his body froze, the heavens above blazed open—ten thousand radiant Excaliburs materialized across the sky.
From the very instant George had drawn Morgoth into his small world, he had secretly been manipulating the laws of his realm, quietly duplicating the Sword of Promised Victory and hiding each copy.
Now, after all that preparation, he had amassed ten thousand of them.
Ordinarily, within the Unlimited Blade Works, only one copy of a Noble Phantasm could exist at a time—another could only be recreated after the first was destroyed.
But this was his own world. His laws ruled here.
By his design, under full exertion, he could manifest ten thousand copies simultaneously.
That was the privilege of owning one's own world.
And this world was still incomplete—once perfected, that number could multiply many times over.
"No…!"
Morgoth had barely expelled George's invading consciousness when a tidal wave of light descended upon him. Ten thousand divine blades struck at once, each one bursting with holy power, tearing his colossal form apart.
His body ruptured, the dark flesh dissolving beneath the searing brilliance. His strength, once limitless, began to bleed away like sand slipping through fingers.
Never in his darkest dreams had Morgoth imagined this end. He, who had plotted across countless ages, defied gods and light alike—now undone not by Valar or Maia, but by a human.
No—by a dragon wearing human form.
"I… I am not willing!"
"Six Paths of Devouring Thieves!"
Seeing Morgoth's body crumble, George soared forward, seizing the three Silmarils from Morgoth's crown. In the same breath, he unleashed the Six Paths technique, devouring Morgoth's physical form whole.
A torrent of raw power flooded into him—pure, ancient, and divine. His strength surged madly, rising higher and higher.
As the final remnants of Morgoth's body vanished, George could feel it—he was at the precipice. One last step, one final act—devour Morgoth's soul, and he would ascend beyond his limits.
But at that moment—
A gentle voice echoed in his mind.
"Child… for my sake, could you spare his soul?"
Before George could even react, a soft light appeared beside Morgoth's fading spirit. It was a figure—shapeless, radiant, its features obscured by divine brilliance.
George's pupils contracted sharply.
"To enter my world without a sound… could it be—?"
Even though his realm was unfinished, no ordinary being could breach it uninvited.
Even a coalition of Valar equal in power to Morgoth could not have forced entry. Yet this presence had entered without ripple, without trace.
There was only one existence in all of Arda capable of such a feat.
Eru Ilúvatar.
The All-Father. The Creator of Everything. The Source from which all life, law, and power flowed.
The Valar and Maiar were but fragments of His will—extensions of His thought.
George's expression grew solemn, and he quickly reverted to human form, bowing his head slightly.
"Since it is You who asks, then of course I will obey."
There was not a hint of hesitation in his answer.
Refusal was not an option.
Under another's roof, one must bow their head. Against a being such as this, pride was meaningless.
He wasn't some hot-blooded fool who mistook courage for recklessness.
By his own estimation, if Ilúvatar's mere thought could birth gods and craft Middle-earth, then His power must stand at least at the pinnacle of a singular universe, if not within the multiversal realm itself.
As for George—at his current peak, he was barely comparable to a Heaven-Father level being. Including his small world and abilities, perhaps he could challenge those who had just stepped into the universal tier.
But against Eru Ilúvatar? Not a chance.
The difference between them was not a step—it was an abyss.
He hadn't even sensed the Creator entering his own world—that alone made the gulf unmistakably clear.
Even if he devoured Morgoth's soul now and ascended to the level of a singular-universe entity, he still wouldn't compare.
Between entry-level and pinnacle of the same realm lay a divide wider than heaven and earth.
The higher the realm, the sharper the difference.
For example, the gap between a newly ascended Heaven-Father and one at its peak was vast—but it was nothing compared to that between the lower and upper ends of the universal tier.
And compared to the gulf between a fledgling multiversal being and one at its pinnacle? That difference was immeasurable.
The distinction grew even more drastic for those with worlds of their own.
Some worlds were no larger than a single planet—a landmass surrounded by stray meteorites, inhabited by mortal civilizations.
Others encompassed entire star systems, with countless intelligent worlds orbiting suns.
And above them still, worlds like the Marvel Universe—galaxies upon galaxies, uncountable stars, boundless life.
The first might represent an entry-level universal entity. The latter, a true pinnacle universal existence—a chasm no simple growth could bridge.
Of course, scale wasn't everything. A smaller world, if refined and densely developed—its life, laws, and structure elevated beyond common limits—could rival far greater realms.
Take Middle-earth, for instance: a continent whose sheer size exceeded most planets, rich in energy and life-force far beyond ordinary worlds.
And beyond that, there existed planes like the Primordial Desolation (Honghuang)—a cosmos of heavens and divine lands, home to thousands of great worlds, innumerable small realms, even flowers and stones birthing entire universes within.
Compared to that, even a multiverse might seem trivial.
George had built his current power system modeled loosely on the Marvel cosmology—but he knew it was only a framework. In truth, every world had its own hierarchy of power, its own truths.
What mattered was not classification—but substance.
And right now, his substance was leagues below Ilúvatar's.
The light-form turned its gaze toward him.
"I know this is not what you wish, my child. But as a human—one of my beloved creations—you have come far. I am proud."
"Melkor has indeed strayed from the path. I shall imprison him within the Eternal Hall, never again to set foot upon Arda."
"As for your loss… I shall offer recompense. You may come to the Eternal Hall at any time. I will personally guide you—teach you how to perfect your world."
The radiant figure nodded once, and both it and Morgoth's soul vanished from the small world.
George stood still for a moment, then broke into a wide grin.
Because he knew—he hadn't lost anything. In fact, he'd profited immensely.
For him, reaching the singular-universe level wasn't even the hard part.
Without Morgoth, he could still evolve—by devouring the Power of Chaos and Phoenix Force, his ascension was inevitable.
Even without those, there were other paths—hunting Celestials like Ego the Living Planet across universes, absorbing their essence.
The Marvel cosmos was full of Father-level beings—plenty of stepping stones if one had time.
He even had connections within the Time Variance Authority to assist his endeavors.
No, the real challenge was not ascending himself—it was perfecting his world.
To elevate it from a fragile construct into a true, complete universe.
(End of Chapter)