Mark Skywalker had always believed that the universe was fundamentally unfair. He wasn't delusional—he didn't imagine conspiracies against him or resent the people who were born luckier than he was. If anything, he resented himself. He resented how ordinary he was.
In his world, he was the kind of guy who blended into every crowd. Not out of stealth, but insignificance.
At 22 years old, Mark lived in a small rented room, ate cheap instant food, and spent most of his time reading fictional stories about gods, mutants, immortals, and reality warpers. He devoured every webnovel, fanfic, comic, and anime he could find. The idea of transcendence—of becoming more than your flesh—was the only thing that kept him going.
Because deep inside, behind the lazy posture and tired eyes, a fire burned in him.
A hunger.
Mark wanted perfection.
He wanted power.
He wanted immortality no matter what.
But wanting something didn't make you special. And Mark knew that painfully well. In his world, wanting meant nothing unless you were lucky, rich, or born with talent. He had none.
He couldn't even finish a single goal he set. Working out? Quit after four days. Learning to code? Gave up after two weeks. Socializing? He barely managed greetings without stuttering.
He wasn't a bad guy—just a loser with grand dreams.
A dreamer without a path.
But fate, as always, had a twisted sense of humor.
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It was raining that night, a soft drizzle that painted the streets silver under the streetlights. Mark had left his apartment only because he ran out of noodles. He walked with headphones on, lost in a power fantasy audiobook where the main character fought cosmic beings with a flick of his fingers.
"Must be nice," Mark mumbled, stepping off the sidewalk. "Just rewrite reality. Easy."
He didn't even hear the truck.
It wasn't speeding. It wasn't reckless. It wasn't dramatic. It simply turned the corner while Mark crossed the road, and they met in the middle by pure chance.
BEEP—
He looked up.
CRASH.
The world turned black.
Mark expected pain, fire, eternal darkness—something dramatic.
Instead, he opened his eyes to… nothing. A blank white void, warm and silent, as if sound itself had been erased.
A man stood in front of him.
Or something shaped like a man.
He wore no expression, no clothing, no features. He was a silhouette filled with shifting galaxies, stars flickering across his form like a living cosmos.
Mark blinked.
"…Oh shit. Am I dead?"
The cosmic figure nodded politely. "Correct."
Mark swallowed. "Is this… the afterlife?"
"No," the being replied. "This is a lobby. A waiting room between realities. And you, Mark Skywalker… have caught my attention."
Mark froze. "Wait, you know my name?"
"I know all names. I know all desires. Yours burned brighter than most."
"My desire…?" Mark whispered.
"For power."
"For perfection."
"For immortality."
Mark's heart thumped.
The cosmic being tilted his head. "You wished for greatness, yet you lived a life of insignificance. Fascinating contrast. And then you died by pure chance—a statistical miracle of misfortune."
Mark grimaced. "I guess I really was unlucky."
"On the contrary." The being raised a hand. "Today, your luck is absolute."
A throne of starlight formed behind the entity as he sat gracefully.
"As compensation for your meaningless death," the being announced, "and because your will intrigued me, you are granted three wishes."
Mark stared at him.
"…Are you serious?"
"Completely."
Mark felt his pulse quickening. Three wishes. The ultimate cheat. The ultimate chance. This was exactly the kind of scenario he used to fantasize about before sleeping.
But now it was real.
The god-like being continued:
"Take your time. Thirty minutes. Choose wisely."
Mark's mind exploded with possibilities.
Super strength? Too weak.
Magic? Too limited.
Immortality? Good, but vulnerable.
Omnipotence? Probably not allowed.
Harem creation? Tempting but useless in the long run.
He paced back and forth in the empty void. His thoughts spiraled, but very slowly, a shape took form.
Reality warping.
Infinite potential.
A system.
Those… those were the keys. The foundation of an absolute being.
Twenty minutes passed.
Twenty-five.
Twenty-nine.
Finally Mark looked up.
"I'm ready."
The god leaned forward, galaxies rippling across his form.
"State your wishes."
Mark raised a finger.
"First wish: I want the mutation of reality warping. Like a mutant power—my personal ability. Something tied to my existence."
The being's eyes glimmered. "A mutation, not omnipotence. Wise choice. Limited, but expandable."
Mark nodded.
"Second wish: I want infinite potential. Meaning no ceiling. I can always grow, evolve, improve—forever."
The being smiled with genuine amusement. "Ambitious. Very well."
Mark inhaled deeply.
"And third wish… I want a system. A simple one. No AI, no voice, no manipulation. Just a screen that shows my stats, progress, abilities, and goals. A clean interface."
The being tapped his fingers. "Self-managed, growth-based, and adaptable. Reasonable."
"You can do that, right?" Mark asked carefully.
The cosmic figure stood again. "I can."
Mark felt a weight lift from his chest.
"But," the being added, "I will give you one additional gift."
A ring of shimmering light formed around Mark.
"You may customize your appearance."
Mark's jaw dropped. "Really?"
"You are starting a new life. Your form should match your ambition."
Mark didn't hesitate.
He imagined the perfect build—tall, powerful, flawless.
Height: 6'6".
Dick: 10 inches
Body: Lean, athletic, balanced like a demigod.
Skin: Pale white with a faint celestial glow.
Hair: Golden blond, silky, shoulder-length.
Eyes: Brilliant blue, sharp and luminous.
Face: Sculpted like an immortal aristocrat—sharp jawline, imperial cheekbones, symmetrical, commanding.
As the image formed, a holographic system screen appeared before him, displaying a 3D model of his chosen look.
Mark stared, speechless.
It was beautiful.
Terrifyingly beautiful.
A face that didn't belong to mortals.
He whispered, "I look like an immortal…"
The cosmic god chuckled. "You look like someone who wants to become one."
Mark smiled for the first time in a long time.
The being raised a hand, and the void trembled.
"Mark Skywalker."
Mark straightened instinctively.
"You now possess:
• Reality Warping Mutation
• Infinite Potential
• A Growth System
• A perfected appearance of your choosing"
Mark felt energy coil around him like a cocoon.
"But you must also have a world worthy of your ambitions. So I shall send you not simply to Marvel…"
Light flashed around them as the void cracked open like glass.
"…but to a merged universe containing the Avengers, the X-Men, the Fantastic Four, the Inhumans, the Eternals, the Defenders, the Guardians, and every major heroic and villainous faction."
Mark's breath caught.
A world of cosmic threats, mutant conflicts, magic, science, and gods.
The perfect playground.
The perfect battlefield.
The perfect forge for an immortal.
The being's voice shook the cosmos:
"Your new life begins—now."
The floor beneath Mark dissolved into pure radiant light. Reality folded around him, swirling like a dimensional vortex hungry for a new soul.
Mark felt his consciousness fading as the world swallowed him whole.
He didn't resist.
His last thought before everything went black was simple: This time… I will not be a loser.
And then—
He was gone.
End of Chapter 1.