"I have a bad feeling about this," Anakin muttered as they followed the Father deeper into the monastery.
"We've got your back," Peter said, his voice carrying more confidence than he felt. "Whatever happens."
Vision nodded silently, the Mind Stone pulsing with cautious awareness.
They emerged into a vast chamber—not quite inside, not quite outside, existing in that liminal space Mortis seemed to favor. The floor was polished stone carved with an enormous symbol: black and white intertwined in perfect balance, like the yin-yang Peter recognized from Earth philosophy.
The Father ascended to a throne of carved rock that seemed to grow from the chamber's far wall, settling into it with the patience of someone who'd waited millennia and could wait millennia more.
"So what, you're going to throw a cosmic gladiator at us?" Peter quipped, his nervous energy manifesting as humor. "Lion with wings? Three-headed space dog? Because if you give us a thumbs up from that throne, I'm calling this whole thing unoriginal."
The Father's expression softened fractionally—almost a smile. "Your humor masks pain, young Peter Parker. Guilt you carry like stones in your pockets, weighing you down." His gaze shifted to include all three of them. "You will each face what you hide from. Only then can truth be revealed."
Anakin's jaw clenched, but he met the Father's eyes without flinching.
Then—the sound of massive wings displacing air.
Two creatures descended from impossible heights. The Son in his bat form, leathery wings spanning thirty feet, red eyes blazing with malevolent intelligence. And the Daughter, transformed into something between phoenix and griffin, her golden plumage radiating light that should have been beautiful but felt wrong—too bright, burning rather than warming.
Clutched in their talons: people.
"Obi-Wan!" Anakin's voice cracked. "Ahsoka!"
The Son held Ahsoka suspended in one massive claw, her lightsabers deactivated and useless. The Daughter carried Obi-Wan and T'Challa, both struggling against invisible bonds.
"No!" Peter launched webbing instinctively, but it dissolved before reaching them—burned away by the Daughter's radiance, torn apart by the Son's darkness.
Vision attempted to fly, his form lifting off the ground—
The Father raised one hand.
His eyes shifted from silver-blue to something else entirely: depths of space filled with stars and galaxies, the observable universe contained within twin orbs. The Mind Stone in Vision's forehead screamed—a sound only he could hear, agony transmitting directly into his synthetic consciousness.
Then Vision fell.
Not gently. Not with control. He plummeted like a stone—no, heavier than stone, denser than vibranium, as if gravity itself had been rewritten specifically to crush him. He slammed into the floor hard enough to crack the carved symbol beneath him, his body suddenly weighing more than a small vehicle.
He couldn't move. Couldn't even lift his head. The Mind Stone flickered erratically, trying to compensate for power that exceeded its parameters.
"Vision!" Peter started toward him—
The Father flicked his other hand.
Peter flew backward as if kicked by an invisible giant, his body ragdolling through the air before slamming into the stone wall hard enough to leave a spider-web of cracks. He crumpled to the floor, gasping, his ribs screaming protest.
"Peter!" Anakin and Ahsoka shouted simultaneously, horror evident in their voices.
"This is your test," the Father announced, his voice carrying across the chamber without him raising it. "A simple choice, Skywalker. My children will kill two of your companions. I have ordered it."
He vanished from his throne, reappearing on the arena's edge above them, moving through space like editing a holovid—one location, then another, with no transition between.
"The question is: which will you choose to save?" The Father's expression held something that might have been sympathy. "Your master, who trained you? Your apprentice, who trusts you? Your new friend, who's shown you understanding you've never known? Choose, Skywalker. Release your guilt through action. Prove you are—or are not—the Chosen One."
"How about option three?" a voice called out.
The Father turned, surprise flickering across his ancient features.
Peter had pulled himself upright, blood trickling from his nose but his stance defiant. "How about we reject your false choice and save everyone?"
His hand snapped out.
Thwip-thwip!
Two web-lines shot through the air with perfect accuracy, striking the Son's eyes. The adhesive compound—designed to hold bank vault doors—plastered across the creature's face like a mask.
The Son shrieked—that bone-rattling sound that transcended normal hearing—and his grip on Ahsoka loosened fractionally.
Peter was already moving.
He sprinted forward, leaped, and rolled directly under the Son's massive head as the creature thrashed. Then he drove both fists upward in a devastating uppercut that carried all his enhanced strength.
The impact sent the Son tumbling backward through the air, wings flailing for balance. His talons opened completely.
Ahsoka fell.
Peter launched himself skyward, firing two more web-lines that caught her mid-fall. He swung her trajectory toward him, catching her in both arms as they descended together in a controlled arc.
They landed hard but safely, Peter absorbing most of the impact. He set Ahsoka down immediately, keeping himself between her and the still-reeling Son.
"You okay?" he asked, not taking his eyes off the threat.
"Better now." Ahsoka ignited both her lightsabers, green blades humming to life. "Thanks for the save."
"Anytime."
The Son tore the webbing from his eyes, red gaze fixing on them with pure hatred. He landed heavily, the stone floor cracking under his weight, and began advancing with predatory intent.
T'Challa chose that moment to strike.
The Father had been watching Peter's rescue with something approaching approval, his attention divided for one critical second. T'Challa wrenched free from the Daughter's loosened grip, twisted in mid-air with feline grace, and launched himself directly at the Father.
His vibranium-enhanced claws extended, kinetic energy gathering in his suit from the impact of his initial capture. He swung with enough force to shatter reinforced durasteel—
The Father caught his fist.
Not blocking. Not deflecting. Simply caught it, palm meeting knuckles, and the kinetic energy T'Challa had stored discharged harmlessly into the air around them like heat shimmer.
"Fascinating," the Father murmured, examining T'Challa's suit with academic interest. "Vibranium from a distant world, empowered by a goddess whose influence shouldn't reach this galaxy. You are remarkable, King of Wakanda."
"I don't care what you think," T'Challa growled. "You threaten my friends."
"Do I?" The Father's fingertips pressed slightly against T'Challa's fist.
The Black Panther flew backward as if launched from a cannon, tumbling through the air. He twisted, landed on all fours with claws extended, skidding to a halt beside Peter and Ahsoka.
Above them, Vision finally managed to move, the Mind Stone adapting to whatever force held him. He rose slowly, every motion requiring immense effort, and flew toward where the Daughter still held Obi-Wan.
The Daughter's eyes blazed brighter—light that could blind, that could burn. But Vision phased, becoming intangible, passing through her radiance like a ghost. His hands closed around Obi-Wan, and he pulled the Jedi Master free before the Daughter could tighten her grip.
They descended together, Vision setting Obi-Wan down carefully before his density normalized and he could stand upright again.
"Are you injured?" Vision asked, his voice carrying strain.
"Winded," Obi-Wan admitted, "but functional. They're—they're stronger than anything I've encountered. The Force itself bends to their will."
"Indeed." Vision's gaze moved to where the Father stood observing them like pieces on a game board. "We cannot win this fight through conventional means."
The Son and Daughter had both returned to humanoid form now, flanking their father on either side. Three beings of impossible power, barely contained in flesh-like shapes, watching the Avengers and Jedi with expressions ranging from amusement to hunger.
"Impressive," the Father acknowledged. "You refuse the simple choice. Admirable. But futile." He gestured, and both his children moved—not attacking yet, simply positioning, herding the group into tighter formation.
Anakin stood at the arena's center, hands clenched into fists, lightsaber still deactivated at his belt. His friends had just risked everything to avoid the Father's test. They'd thrown themselves against impossible odds rather than make him choose.
And they were going to die for it unless he did something.
"STOP!" His voice rang across the chamber, carrying Force-enhanced authority. "Let them go. This is between you and me. I'm the one you want—the 'Chosen One' you're so desperate to test. So test me. But leave them out of it."
The Father regarded him with ancient eyes. "They are already involved, young Skywalker. Your choices affect them whether you acknowledge it or not. The question is: will you make those choices consciously, or let them be made for you?"
Anakin looked at the faces surrounding him.
Obi-Wan, who'd been more than a master—a brother, a father figure when Anakin had lost his own mother.
Ahsoka, his Padawan, bright and fierce and trusting him with a faith he wasn't sure he deserved.
Peter, who'd shared his own darkness, his own guilt, creating understanding between them.
Vision, who'd offered wisdom without judgment.
T'Challa, who'd stood beside them despite being so far from his own home.
How could he choose? How could anyone choose?
"This is the test," the Father said softly, reading Anakin's anguish like an open book. "Not the choice itself. But what choosing—or refusing to choose—reveals about who you are."
The Son and Daughter tensed, ready to strike at their father's command.
And Anakin Skywalker, standing at the center of a cosmic arena on a world that existed outside time, faced the impossible weight of being called the Chosen One.
"I..." He looked at Obi-Wan. At Ahsoka. At his friends. "I can't. I won't choose between them."
"Then they all suffer," the Father replied. "Is that truly better?"
Anakin's hands shook. His vision blurred.
What would you do? he wanted to scream. What would anyone do?
But the Father simply watched, patient as eternity, waiting to see what choice—what destiny—Anakin would forge in this moment.
The test had only just begun.