Although the young version of Tony was deeply dissatisfied with how his older counterpart had performed on the battlefield, he hadn't expected that Alex Ray would make the Chitauri look so helpless. Alex was cutting through enemies across Manhattan like a storm, full of energy and fire.
"The Tony of this universe really couldn't fight the effects of time after all," Young Tony thought to himself, smacking his lips. "Is this really what I'll be like in ten years? No way—I need to take better care of myself. I can't end up like that!"
He shuddered at the idea of becoming old, frail, and irrelevant.
"No. I need to invest in medical tech—research anti-aging solutions. Burn all the money we need if we have to!"
What Young Tony didn't know was that even ten years later, he wouldn't necessarily be so physically worn out. The Tony of this timeline had endured too many hardships. His burdens and responsibilities had aged him beyond his years.
But Young Tony didn't carry that same weight. In his universe, people like Alex Ray stood at the frontlines, shouldering cosmic responsibilities and shielding others from catastrophe. Tony didn't have to fight Thanos by himself, didn't face civil war with Captain America, or lose everything in one snap.
His life was simpler. His only real concern was surpassing Alex Ray and pushing technological boundaries. The existential dread that haunted his older self was far removed from his own path.
"You should really rest, old man," Young Tony said, his voice calm as he looked at the worn figure of his older self. "Leave the rest to us." He turned and walked toward the battlefield without hesitation, ready to meet the next wave of enemies.
Old Tony, naturally, wasn't ready to accept being benched. Sure, the younger Tony might come from a stronger, more advanced universe—but he was still ten years younger. That meant something.
A lot could change in a decade. Ten years ago, he had been confident, brilliant, unstoppable. He doubted that his younger self could match who he used to be at that age.
He knew himself too well. The younger version of himself was just talking tough, trying to look good in front of the others. He probably couldn't wait to see Old Tony screw up.
. . . . .
Tony wasn't the only Avenger disappointed by his future self. Thor, too, was stunned by the man he would become.
He simply couldn't believe it. The man standing before him—massive belly, shaggy unkempt beard, clearly out of shape—was… himself?
Thor's eyes widened in disbelief as he stared at the bloated shadow of his former glory. The God of Thunder? More like the God of Beer and Despair.
"This... this can't be real!" he stammered. His voice shook as he tried to rationalize what he was seeing. "Are you... one of my uncles? Or maybe a distant relative? No—are you my long-lost uncle?"
He chuckled awkwardly, trying to mask the unease rising inside him.
Fat Thor offered a bitter smile. "As embarrassing as this is… I am Thor. Just... a little older. And some things happened. But don't count me out—I'm still strong!"
To prove it, he summoned Mjolnir with ease and flipped it around in his hand.
Thor took a deep breath. He wanted to dismiss it—wanted to say this was a joke—but watching that familiar hammer spin effortlessly in the air made it impossible. He had no choice but to accept it.
The fat man before him was another universe's version of himself.
He stepped forward and gave Fat Thor a warm hug. Despite the shock, the connection between them was undeniable. Then he pulled back and looked around.
"Where's Loki?" Thor asked. "Didn't he join the battle?"
At the mention of Loki, Fat Thor's face darkened. He gripped Mjolnir more tightly, his knuckles turning white.
But Thor didn't notice the change. With a bright grin, he continued, "I bet that guy's hiding somewhere, isn't he? No way he'd jump into this kind of chaos unless he had something to gain. Hopefully he's not causing any trouble…"
Then he asked, more excitedly, "How's Mother? And the people of Asgard? You must be king now, right?"
He had come to this universe partly out of curiosity—to see what lay ahead, to discover the fate of those he loved.
But his questions hit Fat Thor like hammer blows. He stood frozen, unable to answer.
How could he say it? How could he tell his younger self that their mother was dead? That Loki was dead? That Asgard itself was gone—reduced to memory—and most of its people had been lost?
He stared into his own bright, hopeful eyes and felt only guilt.
It was his failure—his weakness—that had led to such ruin.
After a moment of silence, he finally spoke. "Thor… I'm sorry. I can't answer that right now."
His voice cracked, like something was caught in his throat.
Before his other self could react, Fat Thor added quickly, "This isn't the time. Let's finish this battle first. Then we'll talk."
Without another word, he turned and stormed toward the battlefield.
He raised Stormbreaker high, its massive blade gleaming in the chaotic light, and hurled himself into the fray with raw fury.
Every swing of the axe carried the weight of his sorrow and shame. The battlefield became his confession, every strike against the Chitauri an apology for the past.
Thor watched in stunned silence. He had seen the pain in the other Thor's eyes. But he didn't press for answers. His nature was straightforward and kind, and he accepted Fat Thor's words at face value.
Now was not the time for questions.
Now was the time to fight.
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Bonus Chapter - 150 Power Stones
2nd Bonus Chapter - 300 Power Stones
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