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*****
Why is perfecting one's small world so difficult?
An individual can reach the singular-universe tier simply by George absorbing enough energy—there's no real shortcut to personal ascension.
But upgrading his pocket world into a bona fide singular universe is another matter entirely. There is no quick pass: he must research countless magics, learn the fundamental laws that govern worlds, and carefully apply them bit by bit inside his domain.
The basic elemental framework of a world—time, space, soul, creation, life, reincarnation, and so on—is staggeringly complex.
At first he planned to use Morgoth's head as a ticket to Valinor and petition the gods for instruction. But none of the Valar rivaled Ilúvatar in the art of world-creation. If Ilúvatar was willing to teach him the principles and experience of crafting a world, George trusted he would not take long to advance.
There was a more important reason, too: perhaps he could finally answer a question that had followed him since he first crossed into the Marvel setting.
Solving that riddle might allow him, someday, to fuse his many avatars with his core self.
"Not a bad haul, all things considered."
Coming back to himself, he extended his right hand—three dazzling diamonds rested in his palm.
Those three jewels were the Silmarils Morgoth had taken from the Noldor—the very cause of the Noldor's exile from Valinor.
"Absorbing the power in these three Silmarils should be almost enough to break into the singular-universe tier."
Although he'd only devoured Morgoth's physical form and not the crucial soul, he'd seized the three Silmarils. They were the crowning work of Fëanor, the greatest forging genius among the Noldor—vessels that stored the twin Trees' radiance. Even the gods marveled at them; they were among Middle-earth's most potent sacred artifacts.
"Wrap this up, then I'll go to the Eternal Hall."
Ilúvatar had left a mark before departing—coordinates George could use to instant-travel directly to the Eternal Hall. Once he activated that mark, he could appear there at any time.
Leaving his small world, George manifested back in the present and strode to the front of the Three-Race Allied Army.
"George—how did it go?" asked Fëanor's current High King of the Noldor, anxiously stepping forward when he saw George appear.
They had been unable to intervene during the fight. After finally forcing Morgoth out and preparing to swarm the dark lord, George and Morgoth had both vanished.
"Morgoth's body has been destroyed. Ilúvatar took his soul away to be imprisoned in the Eternal Hall. From now on, this land will be free of orcish invasion."
George gave a concise account of the events—omitting only that he had taken the Silmarils.
When the three-race army learned Morgoth was dead and that the threat of dark incursions had ended, they erupted into jubilant cheers. For countless ages Morgoth had been the mountain pressing down on all their hearts—now George had moved that burden. How could they not celebrate?
The most important thing: in what had looked to be a desperate, potentially fatal battle—one in which many had already prepared farewells to their families—no one had died.
"Don't know if things will stay this peaceful," George thought, watching the cheering, hugging throng.
The harmony between the Three Races had always been driven by a common enemy. With Morgoth gone, the future would probably bring conflicts among elves, men, and dwarves. That was natural—gods themselves had desires and fought wars; mortals were no different.
But that future wasn't his concern—he lacked the energy to manage the politics of three whole races. From the beginning his aim had been self-improvement: build a magic academy, unite the races, research alchemy, defeat Sauron, Glaurung, Gothmog, Ancalagon, and Morgoth. Everything else was incidental.
Now his objectives were mostly achieved; how the Three Races developed afterward—whether they'd follow the original tale—was no longer his problem.
After a massive victory there would inevitably be nights of revelry, and George did not spoil the fun—he joined in fully. No need to rush; there would be time enough later.
Although most of his actions had been motivated by self-advancement, the long time spent together had left him with some genuine attachment.
The next day, after a few words with Lucian, George activated the spatial coordinates Ilúvatar had given him and instant-traveled away from Middle-earth.
Middle-earth was not like Earth; it wasn't a perfect sphere but more like a conical shape. Beyond the continent there floated many meteor-like bodies that resembled small planets. At night one could still see the stars strewn across the sky.
The Eternal Hall sat among those stars—that solitary place where Ilúvatar resided. He often stood within it and watched Middle-earth unfold, making subtle adjustments as he saw fit. Usually he only intervened when something severe occurred.
Years ago Ilúvatar had noticed an odd motif — a strange note in the Great Theme that altered the preordained fate dramatically. His attention fixed on that note; he traced it and discovered it was a human — an exceptionally unique human.
This human was not weak and grew rapidly; more importantly, the power he used did not belong to the world Ilúvatar had made.
"When I first saw Ilúvatar's human form, I thought—wow, so beautiful!"
When George first beheld Ilúvatar's personified visage in the Eternal Hall, he couldn't help but exclaim. Before, Lucian had been the most beautiful being he'd seen across many worlds. But Ilúvatar's presence eclipsed even that—beauty beyond description, surpassing the limits of language. George couldn't even tell whether to name it beauty or handsomeness.
No wonder Ilúvatar's elves had turned out so exquisite—his Creator clearly had a taste for aesthetics.
"Is this guy male, female, neither, or both?" George wondered as he studied Ilúvatar closely; the deity's gender was indiscernible.
Composing himself, George bowed politely to Ilúvatar. He only got halfway through his salute before Ilúvatar gently interrupted.
"No need for so much formality. Your body is indeed one of my children, but your soul does not originate from this world. Just call me Ilúvatar."
"Had I been detected?" George asked, not especially surprised when Ilúvatar addressed him by name. He had known he'd been on Ilúvatar's radar since that moment when Ilúvatar appeared as Morgoth's soul was about to be devoured.
But he wasn't afraid. Ilúvatar had not struck him down; instead he had offered guidance on how to perfect his world. That was proof enough the Creator harbored no malice.
Besides, if Ilúvatar had intended harm, it would have been effortless.
(End of Chapter)