"Come to think of it... why haven't the Dark Elves made a move yet? They used to be one of the dominant forces of the last universe cycle," Martin muttered, slouched in his seat.
It hit him suddenly, he hadn't heard a single whisper about the Dark Elves since all this began. That wasn't just strange. It was suspicious.
What happened to those chaos-driven maniacs? Since when were the Dark Elves quiet?
Martin frowned deeply.
He was still waiting on the Reality Stone.
After all, he'd repositioned Cybertron atop the ruins of Asgard, slotting it into the cosmic lattice as one of the Nine Realms. All of it... all of it, was part of a grand plan to intercept the Reality Stone when the Nine Realms aligned.
And yet… nothing. Not a trace. Not even a hint.
Had destroying Asgard ahead of schedule disrupted the prophecy? Broken the convergence mechanism?
"Whatever," Martin sighed, shaking his head. "It's just the Reality Stone. If I really wanted it, I'd get it. Might shake a few things up, but it's not impossible."
After all, the stone was still embedded within Yggdrasil, the World Tree itself. Sooner or later, it would surface.
What Martin didn't know was this: the reason the Dark Elves hadn't appeared wasn't because they were hiding for strategy, they were hiding out of sheer terror.
Martin hadn't just destroyed Asgard. What truly terrified the surviving pantheons was his campaign; a brutal, relentless slaughter of god after god, pantheon after pantheon, that left the heavens awash in blood.
Every divine race known to human mythology had been purged in fire and steel. Names once whispered with reverence now lay cold in forgotten tombs. It was no longer war. It was extermination.
And the Dark Elves? They weren't stupid. Only a lunatic would walk into that kind of meat grinder. Facing Martin now would be suicide.
The universe kept turning.
Especially Earth.
With Ultron rising into a genuine threat-level event, factions across the globe were scrambling to unite. The sudden arrival of Logan, battle-worn and time-scarred from a dystopian future, had rocked everyone to the core.
"So... where is this Logan from the future now?" Magneto asked, his voice like steel under pressure.
If anyone was in a foul mood, it was Erik. Sure, he wanted to remake the world and elevate mutantkind, but if Ultron wiped out everyone, what was there left to rule?
Even HYDRA was joining the resistance.
"He's gone back," said Professor X, his tone calm as ever, wheeling himself forward.
Captain Marvel folded her arms. "He tried to stop Pym from creating Ultron. But something's wrong with the timeline. He told me the history he remembered keeps getting overwritten. The windows where he could even exist, let alone operate, are closing fast."
"Yes," Charles nodded. "That's what he said."
"So where is he?" someone else asked.
"He returned to face his future."
Silence fell across the room, thick with dread and uncertainty. But it didn't last long.
Orders flew. Communications launched. Even knowing Ultron was listening, they pushed forward.
...
S.P.E.A.R. Headquarters.
Even Earth's top enforcer wasn't spared from cosmic headaches.
Sun Wukong, now one of S.P.E.A.R.'s elite operatives, stood stiffly before a towering, golden-eyed primate that had just materialized before him.
"This is... not good," Wukong muttered, rubbing his temples. "You just showed up on Earth like that? Do you have any idea how hard this is to explain?"
The giant monkey raised an eyebrow, divine energy swirling around him. "Back when you trained under my hairsplit forms, you didn't complain half this much."
Wukong winced.
"The Sorcerer Supreme has already descended into the world. If the masters of Kamar-Taj find you, it won't end well. You know as well as I do, our past with humanity isn't exactly... rosy."
The monkey chuckled and brought down a massive palm in jest. "Don't sweat the small stuff."
Wukong coughed up blood from the casual slap. He wasn't divine, just a mortal gifted with a single enchanted hair of power. And that slap hurt.
"I didn't have a choice," the giant monkey admitted, scratching his head. "All of Heaven has gone into hiding. I piggybacked on your divine resonance to slip through and scout things out."
"Scout?" Wukong's eyes narrowed.
"That maniac Martin... he's killing everyone. He's tearing through the divine branches of Yggdrasil, slaughtering gods from one end of the cosmos to the other. Pantheons that ruled for eons are dust now. If we hadn't sealed off Great Luo Heaven entirely, we'd be extinct."
"He's... slaughtering the gods?"
Wukong froze.
That was insane. Martin, the so-called Conqueror, was now hunting the gods themselves across the galaxy?
But it made sense. The man had the Space Stone now. No place in the universe was beyond his reach.
"What do you want, then?" Wukong asked quietly.
"Nothing," the monkey said. "Just staying put and observing. My real body's still in Heaven. If this avatar dies, no big deal. But the info will reach my true self."
Wukong said nothing.
He really didn't want to harbor this divine fugitive. But he had no choice.
If Martin could force Heaven into lockdown… what chance did they have?
Back on Earth, alliances were forming. Ultron was still gestating into something beyond control.
Far across the stars, on Xandar, the trail of the Orb had brought Quill and Lockdown to a new dead end.
"Damn it," Quill muttered, steering his ship in. "Someone beat us to it."
Lockdown snarled. "Had I led the hunt, that woman, Gamora, wouldn't have escaped."
"Hey!" Quill shot him a glare. "I'm the captain. You follow my lead. That's an order!"
Lockdown's optics flickered. He gave a derisive grunt but held his tongue. He was a hunter, results were all that mattered.
Gamora. Deadliest assassin in the galaxy. Adopted daughter of Thanos.
Didn't matter.
No one, not even the Black Quadrant, was stronger than Cybertron.
The mission was simple: find Gamora. Kill Gamora. Retrieve the Orb.
Anyone who stood in their way?
Eliminated.
Their arrival on Xandar didn't go unnoticed. Two figures walked side-by-side through the bustling city, one human, one machine.
But it was Lockdown who turned heads.
Midnight-black plating. Towering presence. A living weapon of death and precision. His very existence radiated menace.
A certain genetically-modified raccoon, perched high in a tree, narrowed his eyes.
"Whoa... that big guy," Rocket murmured, stroking his chin. "Why does he look exactly like one of his creations?"
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