The Null Void RealmMain Battlefield
THUD!
The impact crater stretched for kilometers.
Faora had grabbed the corrupted Thor—cancer-infected version of the God of Thunder—and slammed him into the barren red earth with enough force to shatter continental plates.
The Asgardian's body had cratered through five or six massive landmasses before finally stopping, each impact creating shockwaves that registered on seismic sensors across the dimension.
What remained looked less like a person and more like abstract art created by a blender. Flesh reduced to pulp, bones shattered into fragments, armor fused with meat in ways that would have killed any normal being instantly.
Enough biological material for a particularly grotesque theatrical performance.
But then, impossibly, the shredded tissue began moving.
Individual cells crawled across the scorched ground like insects, drawn to each other by some inexplicable force. The pulverized mess slowly coalesced, tumors forming first, then muscle tissue wrapping around them, skin growing over the grotesque framework.
Within minutes, Cancer Thor stood upright again, his body fully restored.
"He can't be killed?" Faora muttered, her expression shifting to slight annoyance.
The Kryptonians were extraordinarily powerful—especially after absorbing yellow solar radiation for years. Their strength had increased exponentially beyond their baseline capabilities. Under optimal conditions, they could move planets, survive inside stellar cores, and operate at speeds approaching light.
But ultimately, they remained physical beings.
Raw strength, invulnerability, heat vision, frost breath—all incredibly potent abilities, but fundamentally material in nature.
They were somewhat helpless against purely mystical phenomena or conceptual threats that couldn't be punched into submission.
At this moment, Jax spoke up from his position coordinating the battle.
"Those regenerating tissues appear to be cancer cells," he observed, his enhanced vision penetrating through the corrupted flesh to analyze its structure at the molecular level.
He didn't require any instruments beyond his natural Kryptonian abilities. X-ray vision alone was sufficient to determine the biological composition.
"More specifically, these are cancer cells from an extraordinarily aggressive strain. Capable of exponential proliferation rates that exceed anything found in natural biology. These individuals are completely consumed—inside and out, from epidermis to skeleton, from brain tissue to nervous system."
His analytical tone carried disturbing implications.
"It's difficult to conceptualize how a brain composed entirely of cancer cells can maintain coherent thought. The neural pathways should be completely non-functional."
The observation was accurate. The corrupted heroes' original consciousness had been overwritten by something else. Their minds had been replaced by whatever intelligence cancer cells could sustain—which was why they'd strayed so completely from the justice their original counterparts had championed.
Cancer Mar-Vell's body finished reassembling, his purple-tinged flesh knitting together seamlessly.
Upon hearing the Kryptonians' clinical analysis, he immediately laughed with smug satisfaction.
"Excellent that you comprehend the situation!" he crowed, his restored form radiating confidence despite having just been molecularly disassembled.
His purple tongues writhed with pleasure.
"I acknowledge your strength—you're genuinely powerful adversaries. But regardless of what efforts you make, all resistance is ultimately futile. Because we are immortal!"
The declaration rang with absolute certainty.
Anyone would feel despair when confronting an enemy that literally could not die, no matter how thoroughly destroyed.
But to Mar-Vell's surprise, he saw no fear or astonishment on the Kryptonians' faces.
On the contrary, Faora and her soldiers wore expressions of mocking amusement, as though observing a particularly foolish clown performing bad comedy.
"Immortal?" A massive Kryptonian warrior named Apollo stepped forward, his voice carrying contempt.
Apollo stood nearly seven feet tall even in human form, his armor straining against muscles that had been enhanced by years of yellow sun exposure. His presence radiated barely restrained violence.
"Are you perhaps mistaken about basic biology?" he asked, his tone suggesting he was addressing particularly stupid children.
"Cancer cells aren't indestructible. Your so-called immortality is merely an illusion created by excessively rapid regenerative capabilities coupled with the inability to recognize cellular death signals."
He tilted his head, considering the Revengers the way a scientist might examine interesting bacteria cultures.
"The solution is remarkably simple: we merely need to pulverize you so thoroughly that no viable cells remain. Complete molecular disintegration should suffice."
At this declaration, Apollo's eyes began glowing with building energy.
His heat vision ignited—but not the relatively restrained beams Faora and the others had been using.
This was heat vision approaching its theoretical maximum output.
The scorching gaze blazed thousands of times hotter than the surface of Earth's sun, slowly approaching the temperature found in stellar cores. The air itself ignited, creating secondary plasma reactions that spread outward like wildfire.
The blazing white beams swept across the battlefield in a controlled arc.
Space itself distorted under the thermal stress, reality warping as though the fundamental laws of physics were being overwritten. The red earth of the Null Void melted instantly into magma, bubbling and boiling like molten metal in a forge. Rivers of liquid stone spread outward from the impact zone.
Before the heat vision even made direct contact with the Revengers, the radiant temperature had begun vaporizing their bodies.
Flesh boiled away. Bones sublimated directly from solid to gas. The supposedly indestructible adamantium that comprised Cancer Captain America's shield—renowned as one of the most durable materials in existence—melted into a sticky pool of metallic liquid, looking like chocolate left too long in intense heat.
In that brief instant lasting perhaps three seconds, the cellular structure of five or six Revengers was completely annihilated.
Not damaged. Not destroyed.
Annihilated. Reduced to component atoms and scattered across the superheated atmosphere.
Not even a single viable cell remained.
Mar-Vell's consciousness—whatever passed for thought in his cancer-corrupted mind—ground to a confused halt.
What?
Is this a mistake?
Aren't we supposed to be immortal?
His regenerating form stared at Faora and the assembled Kryptonians, and for the first time since killing Death itself, Mar-Vell felt genuine terror.
"Who... who are you people?!" he demanded, his voice cracking with fear.
There was no answer.
To Faora and every other Kryptonian present, the Revengers represented nothing more than ambulatory tumors—biological aberrations unworthy of communication or consideration.
They were cancer given mobility and delusions of grandeur. Nothing more.
Too tedious to engage in dialogue.
Eat my heat vision!
Apollo's eyes blazed brighter, and the systematic extermination continued.
Several minutes later, the battlefield had been sterilized.
The Kryptonians methodically used their X-ray vision to scan every square meter of the combat zone, searching for any remaining cellular material. Simultaneously, they deployed heat vision to eliminate every fragment of biological debris, no matter how small.
The corrupted creatures, when exposed to heat vision of sufficient intensity, behaved like vampires caught in sunlight—complete and instantaneous obliteration.
No regeneration. No resurrection. Just erasure.
Faora activated her communication headset, the quantum-encrypted channel connecting directly to Plumber Command.
"Headquarters, this is New Krypton Force Commander Faora," she reported professionally. "All intruders have been completely eliminated. The Null Void Realm is secure. Awaiting further orders."
But her assessment was incorrect.
At least two individuals had survived the purge: Mad Ben and Bad Ben.
Their methods for survival had been far too sophisticated for simple heat vision sweeps to detect.
Mad Ben, having transformed into Nanomech at the battle's onset, had escaped entirely—fleeing the combat zone while shrunk to microscopic scale, invisible to even Kryptonian enhanced senses amid all the chaos and particle interference.
Bad Ben, sensing mortal danger when Apollo had begun powering up his maximum-output heat vision, had immediately transformed into Big Chill and hide.
Faora assumed both Omnitrix-wielding individuals had been eliminated in the orbital bombardment's aftermath, their unique technology destroyed along with their bodies.
Not only did the Kryptonians believe this, but Mad Ben and Bad Ben each independently concluded that the other had perished.
The Null Void RealmThe Dark Lands
A figure slowly materialized from nothing, Necrofriggian intangibility fading as Mad Ben resumed solid form.
"That brainless idiot is probably already dead," he muttered, thinking of Bad Ben.
Remembering the Kryptonians' overwhelming combat capabilities sent chills down Mad Ben's spine. He'd never encountered enemies so powerful, so numerous, and so methodical in their extermination efforts.
Fear and regret warred in his thoughts.
Fear because even as Nanomech—literally microscopic—he'd almost been caught in the residual heat from Apollo's attack. Only his transformation into Big Chill's intangible form had allowed survival, and that had been pure instinct rather than tactical planning.
Regret because he hadn't obtained even a single Kryptonian cell sample. If he'd managed to scan their DNA, he could have accessed that same overwhelming power for himself.
Imagine transforming into a Kryptonian, he thought with longing. That strength, that invulnerability, that heat vision...
"Forget it," Mad Ben said aloud, forcing himself to focus. "The Device is more important. Need to find a method to escape the Null Void Realm first. Then I can report back to Maltruant about these Kryptonian forces."
His mind was already working through possibilities—spatial weaknesses, dimensional tears, anything that might provide an exit from this prison dimension.
The Null Void RealmScorched Battlefield - Several Kilometers from Impact Zone
On the opposite side of the devastated landscape, Bad Ben was similarly cursing his luck.
He'd remained in Big Chill's phase-shifted state until the Kryptonians had completely departed, afraid to materialize while even a single one of those monsters remained in the vicinity.
Only after confirming through careful observation that the New Krypton forces had withdrawn did he dare resume normal form.
Looking at the scorching magma still bubbling across the ground, Bad Ben couldn't suppress his resentment toward the Revengers.
"Useless pieces of trash!" he spat, kicking at a chunk of cooling volcanic rock. "All that talk about immortality, about being unkillable, and in the end you got beaten into molecular paste by glorified flying bricks!"
At this moment, he deeply regretted transforming himself into a cancer-infected monster. The supposed immortality had proven completely worthless against enemies capable of generating stellar-core temperatures.
What good is regeneration if you're vaporized so thoroughly there's nothing left to regenerate from?
"Who are you calling useless?" A familiar voice spoke directly beside Bad Ben's ear.
He spun around in shock, hands instinctively reaching for his Omnitrix.
In the scorching air above the still-molten landscape, water vapor and atmospheric gases were condensing. Slowly, impossibly, individual cells were forming from the recombined molecules. These cells began multiplying with exponential speed, gradually constructing a humanoid framework covered in pulsing tumors.
Within seconds, the figure had solidified into recognizable form.
It was Mar-Vell.
"You... you're still alive?!" Bad Ben stammered, his analytical mind struggling to process what he was witnessing.
Complete molecular destruction should have been permanent. There weren't any viable cells to regenerate from. The heat had exceeded levels that should have broken atomic bonds.
And yet...
"I told you," Mar-Vell said, his voice carrying smug satisfaction as purple tongues emerged from his reforming mouth. "I killed Death itself. I am genuinely, truly immortal. How could I possibly die from something as trivial as extreme heat?"
His body continued reconstructing, tumors forming the framework first, then muscle and skin growing over them.
"Those Kryptonian primitives are underestimating us, treating us like ordinary cancer cells that can be killed through conventional biological destruction."
As Mar-Vell gradually regained complete human form, the other Revengers were similarly being reborn across the battlefield.
Individual cells materialized from atmospheric components—carbon from carbon dioxide, hydrogen from water vapor, trace elements from the mineral-rich air. The cancer cells assembled themselves like organic machines, following some cosmic blueprint that transcended normal biology.
Even their equipment was being restored. Captain America's adamantium shield reformed from the metallic puddle it had become. Thor's armor reconstructed itself atom by atom.
The process took several minutes, but eventually, the entire Revenger force stood restored to full strength, looking exactly as they had before Apollo's devastating attack.
"Excellent!" Bad Ben clenched his fist, excitement replacing his earlier despair. "Since that's the case, there's nothing to fear from those Kryptonian bastards!"
His mind immediately began formulating aggressive plans.
"Let's organize a counterattack! Hunt them down! With our genuine immortality, we can afford to lose a thousand times as long as we win once. All we need is a single cell from those creatures, and we can add Kryptonian DNA to our arsenal!"
The strategic possibilities made his tumors pulse faster with anticipation.
How wonderful it would be—Kryptonian strength combined with cancer immortality! We'd be unstoppable!
But Mar-Vell's expression darkened considerably.
He wanted to curse at Bad Ben's staggering stupidity.
Damn it, is this idiot rushing toward death on purpose?
"Are you completely brain-dead?" Mar-Vell asked flatly. "Or did the cancer cells replace your capacity for thinking?"
Bad Ben: "What?"
"The enemy's combat power is overwhelming," Mar-Vell explained with forced patience, as though speaking to a particularly stupid child. "Even if they can't kill us permanently, they can certainly imprison us indefinitely. Do you understand the difference?"
He gestured at the scorched battlefield.
"What if they're camping our respawn locations? What if they've set up a perimeter and they're just waiting for us to reform so they can capture us?"
Mar-Vell's purple tongues writhed with agitation.
"There are hundreds of those Kryptonians. They could establish rotating guard shifts indefinitely. The moment we finish regenerating, they could encase us in solid vibranium or drop us into a stellar core or seal us in separate dimensional pockets."
He shook his head.
"Immortality means nothing if you're spending eternity trapped in a box, conscious but helpless, regenerating endlessly in isolation."