"Do you know the thing standing beside you?"
Bul-Kathos took a long, heavy breath, his eyes fixed on a point just past Craig Hollis.
From the Barbarian King's perspective, a figure shrouded in absolute black, draped in a stark white cape, emerged through a shimmering pale void. The entity stepped onto the sacred snow of Mount Arreat and slowly extended a hand toward Bul-Kathos.
"You're going to die," Craig whispered, his eyes wide with a mix of terror and awe. "He is the Messenger of Death. He always appears to take those whose time has come to the Realm of the Dead."
Craig stood up abruptly, reaching out toward the dark figure like a child seeking a mother's embrace. Yet, for him, that embrace was a sanctuary he was eternally denied. "He... he never takes me."
"Take me? A messenger of death?" Bul-Kathos's voice rumbled with low, dangerous amusement. "You've got to be joking."
In a blur of motion, Oathkeeper appeared in Bul-Kathos's hand. The massive blade sang through the air, shearing through the messenger's extended arm with a sickening crunch. The dark silhouette let out a shrill, piercing shriek.
"This thing doesn't have a shred of divine death-essence in it," Bul-Kathos growled. He lunged forward, his other hand seizing the entity by the throat and slamming it into the frozen earth. "If this is a messenger of death, then Frank Castle is the Grim Reaper himself."
Bul-Kathos ground his armored boot into the entity's back, his voice dripping with disdain. "This power smells like that bastard Baal. Is this the one who told you that you could never die?"
"How… how is this possible?" Craig stammered, his mind teetering on the edge of collapse. To him, the Messenger of Death—Deathurge—was both a relative and a nightmare. He had been a constant shadow throughout Craig's lonely childhood, always bringing news of tragedy. And now, his nightmare was being pinned to the dirt by Bul-Kathos like a common toad.
"This isn't a messenger of death. At best, he's a herald of destruction and ruin," Bul-Kathos said, a touch of weariness entering his tone. Seeing a herald of destruction confirmed his fears: Baal, the Lord of Destruction, was already exerting his influence here. It was good news for this world that Baal wasn't at his peak, but it was a grim omen nonetheless.
In this world, the fundamental concept of Oblivion already had a master. In terms of authority, the cosmic entities of this reality currently stood above the displaced Great Evils.
"Now, little bridge," Bul-Kathos said, looking down at the struggling herald. his expression went blank—the look he wore when his mind was working at a thousand miles an hour. "How did your master manage to send you to Harrogath?"
He was wondering what the local embodiment of destruction was planning. After the appearance of the Marvel entity Death, nothing in this world could truly surprise him anymore.
"I am merely a bridge," a hollow voice echoed from within the pitch-black form. In the blink of an eye, the entity's severed arm regrew, and it stood before Bul-Kathos once more, seemingly unharmed.
"And what shall I call you? Ruin? Destruction? Or… Oblivion?" Bul-Kathos asked. Faint ghostly outlines of ancient battle-armor began to manifest around his body. He knew exactly what kind of existence he was talking to, and he wasn't about to be caught off guard.
"Oblivion."
The voice was a void made manifest. It was a sound that didn't just vibrate in the air; it existed in the fabric of reality itself. The force of the name sent the snow of Arreat flying in every direction, exposing the gray ash of the Barbarians who had perished during Malthael's descent. Seeing that ash stirred a cold fire in Bul-Kathos's chest.
"Then, Oblivion… have you come to Arreat to provoke me?"
Bul-Kathos's voice thundered, and the Holy Mountain shook in response. Sensing the King's shift in mood, the spirits of the Ancestors flickered into existence. In less than a heartbeat, Madawc, Talic, and Korlic stood by his side. Further down the slopes, Thor and the others watched in horror as the mountain itself seemed to roar.
"I have come to deliver a message," Oblivion's voice echoed through the herald's body. "The lords of your Hells have begun to pry at the foundations of my authority."
Bul-Kathos knew it could only be Baal. The Lord of Destruction was a parasite by nature, and he was clearly trying to siphon power from this world's primordial source of ruin.
"Fine. So what do you want?"
Bul-Kathos was now fully clad in the Wrath of the Wastes set. Oathkeeper had been replaced by a pair of notched, legendary Barbarian blades. Though not the original artifacts of myth, they were more than enough to face a god who wasn't even physically present.
"I seek your permission. It will cost you nothing."
Bul-Kathos's face darkened. Cost nothing? In the language of cosmic beings, that usually meant the "permission" wouldn't grant any benefits either. He wasn't about to hand out favors to an entity that showed him no respect.
"I refuse to entertain a conversation so lacking in sincerity," Bul-Kathos stated. The golden wings of Courage erupted from his back, bathing the mountain in divine light. He crossed his blades, ready to unleash a Whirlwind that would shred the herald to atoms.
"I require your consent to harvest that creature's power," Oblivion said, his tone unchanging. He spoke as if he were issuing an order, his arrogance absolute.
"Die!"
Bul-Kathos let out a primal roar. His blades carved through the air with the sound of a hurricane, bisecting the herald's body.
"Ha!"
"Hmph!"
The gathered Ancestors joined in the war cry, their spectral weapons manifesting. Even if the herald couldn't carry much of Oblivion's true power, the entity's presence was a desecration of their home.
"It is but a simple vow!" Oblivion's voice cried out from the severed halves of the herald, sounding genuinely frustrated for the first time.
"A god who hides behind shadows has no right to demand anything from a Barbarian!" Bul-Kathos brought his armored boot down, crushing the herald's head into the dirt.
With a final crunch, the entity dissolved into gray ash. The Ancestors raised their voices in a victory chant. It was a small win, but the King had fulfilled his duty: he had struck down the insolent.
Oblivion, one of the five Great Cosms of this universe, possessed authority that theoretically eclipsed Baal's. Baal was the Lord of Destruction; Oblivion was the end of all things. Yet, here on Arreat, titles meant nothing. Only the strength of the arm that swung the blade mattered.
"Dammit!"
In a dimension far above the mortal plane, Oblivion's essence vibrated with rage. It wasn't that he was unwilling to face Bul-Kathos directly; it was that he couldn't.
Having recently attempted to consume another entity that held the authority of Creation, Oblivion's own power was in a state of violent imbalance. He held a double portion of Creation and only a single portion of Destruction. This paradox made it impossible for him to stabilize his form.
This was why he craved Baal's essence. If he could absorb the Lord of Destruction, his own nature would regain its equilibrium, making him the most powerful of the five Cosms. But for now, he was a prisoner of his own expansion.
Oblivion's frustration echoed through the void, reaching his siblings.
Eternity remained locked in a stalemate with the Living Tribunal. Despite hearing his brother's cries, Eternity didn't move. As the stage for all stories, he was the foundation of this reality, and he had been the first to undergo a "reinforcement" of his power. It was the only reason he could hold the Tribunal at bay.
Infinity was currently in a deep slumber, locked in a sub-molecular war with a powerful entity she had tried to absorb. If she lost, the Five Cosms would find themselves with a new, terrifying enemy.
Of the primordial gods of this world, the only one truly free to act was Death—and she was no warrior.
As for the "Hungry One," the remnant of the previous universe who represented both creation and destruction… he was too consumed by his own appetite to be a reliable player in their games. Galan would eat a thousand stars before he would ever care about the plans of gods.
"It seems your grand design has hit a snag, Eternity," the Living Tribunal's golden form rumbled, suppressed amusement in its voice. The Arbiter of the Multiverse saw an opening. He would not be without his own moves in this war.
"You... are fading," Eternity replied, his voice ethereal and distant. He spoke as if Oblivion's struggle was a minor annoyance.
"Even if you consume All-Knowledge and All-Power, that authority still ultimately belongs to me," the Tribunal countered.
"When I am finished, you will have no secrets left to hide."
The two supreme beings returned to their silence, waiting. They both knew the factor that would decide the war was drawing closer. They were all waiting for the moment everything changed.
"Who… who are you really?"
Craig Hollis looked at Bul-Kathos, who was still surrounded by the cheering spirits of ancient kings. The "Supreme Human" was shaking.
"He is the King of the Barbarians. A hero," Hawkeye answered, having just arrived on the scene. There was a clear note of pride in his voice.
"Alright, Barton. We have work to do," Natasha said, rolling her eyes and walking toward the temple.
"The messenger is dead… does that mean I'm never going to die now?" Craig shouted, snapping out of his daze.
Hawkeye looked at him as if he were an idiot. "That thing wasn't Death. It had no right to decide when a life ends."
"Then what is Death?" Craig whispered to himself, utterly lost.
"Death? No one actually likes the bitch," Bul-Kathos grunted. He reached into his pack and pulled out the gray, weathered bones of Madhuak. Without a word, he shoved them into Craig's arms.
As soon as Craig's skin touched the remains, a bone-chilling cold crawled up his spine. It felt like a second, then an eternity. His skin erupted in goosebumps.
"You wanted the feeling of death? If that isn't enough, I have more."
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