Ben's destination was obvious the moment the distress signal came through: the Cancerverse, that twisted reality where death itself had been murdered and immortality had become a curse rather than a blessing.
He'd received the emergency transmission only minutes earlier, the quantum-encrypted message bursting through dimensional barriers with the urgency of someone drowning and screaming for help. The desperation in Tony's voice, even filtered through layers of static and cosmic interference, had been impossible to miss.
"I never expected those creatures would actually escape from the Null Void Realm," Ben muttered, studying the holographic readouts that painted a grim tactical picture.
The revelation genuinely surprised him. Faora's after-action report had been absolutely clear, her confidence unshakeable as she'd described the complete annihilation of all hostile forces. Every Revenger destroyed, every corrupted entity reduced to scattered atoms, every threat eliminated with Kryptonian efficiency.
The New Kryptonian forces were perhaps the most powerful military asset Ben commanded. Each individual soldier possessed strength comparable to Captain Marvel at her peak, and Faora herself could extinguish stars given sufficient solar radiation. They represented overwhelming force made manifest.
For them to miss survivors seemed impossible.
But after reviewing the combat footage Faora had transmitted, after watching the frame-by-frame breakdown of what had actually happened in the Null Void, Ben understood exactly where the miscalculation had occurred.
"Faora underestimated their regenerative capabilities," he said aloud, his voice carrying the flat tone of someone stating obvious facts in hindsight. "She assumed complete molecular destruction would be permanent."
His fingers danced across the holographic interface, isolating specific moments in the footage where Cancer Mar-Vell's remains had begun reassembling themselves from atmospheric carbon and hydrogen. The process was grotesque, biological impossibility made real through cosmic perversion.
"That's not regeneration anymore," Ben continued, his analytical mind categorizing the threat with clinical precision. "That's something approaching true immortality. Physical destruction becomes meaningless when the target can resurrect from literally nothing."
Ben possessed the combined authority of all Nine Realms, and with that came a portion of Death's fundamental power. His enhanced perception could see the threads of mortality that bound all living things, the invisible chains linking every soul to its inevitable end.
But when he examined the Cancer beings through that lens, those threads simply didn't exist. Death had been killed in their universe, murdered by Lord Mar-Vell and his corrupted pantheon. Without Death to claim them, they'd become locked in eternal existence whether they wanted it or not.
The Kryptonians had destroyed their bodies completely, vaporizing every cell through sustained thermal assault that approached stellar core temperatures. By any reasonable standard, that should have been sufficient.
But "reasonable standards" didn't apply to beings who existed outside mortality's jurisdiction.
The Null Void Realm was larger than most planetary systems, its twisted geography spanning distances that made casual surveillance impossible even for enhanced hearing that could cover continents. The Kryptonian guards had patrolled their assigned sectors with diligence, but they'd never thought to check if defeated enemies might spontaneously resurrect hours or days after being destroyed.
Why would they? Nothing in their experience suggested such a thing was possible.
As for how the Cancer forces had escaped their prison dimension, that mystery solved itself with minimal investigation.
"Obviously the work of those two Ben variants," Ben said, pulling up intelligence files on the infiltration team that had entered the Null Void.
Among the Omnitrix's vast catalog of transformations, becoming a highly intelligent alien capable of understanding and replicating dimensional technology was trivially easy. Grey Matter alone could accomplish it given sufficient time and materials. Add in aliens like Brainstorm or Jury Rigg, and constructing a Null Void Projector from salvaged wreckage became a matter of hours rather than impossibility.
"This has to be Mad Ben's work," Ben continued his analysis, cross-referencing behavioral profiles with known capabilities. "He escaped by transforming into a microscopic form. Nanomech, probably, or something similar. Small enough to slip through quantum barriers."
His expression darkened slightly. "He might still be in the Null Void, hiding and biding his time. Or he could have already escaped and be causing problems elsewhere in the universe."
Ben turned to address Caiera, who stood nearby monitoring multiple tactical displays with the focused intensity that had made her one of Sakaar's greatest warriors. "Caiera, issue an alert to all Plumber forces across known space. They need to watch for any sightings of an orange Omnitrix symbol. If anyone spots him, they are not to engage directly. Have Faora respond instead."
He paused, considering the tactical implications. "Faora's combat effectiveness is optimal. The problem wasn't her abilities, just incomplete intelligence about enemy capabilities. She won't make the same mistake twice."
Caiera nodded sharply, her silver skin catching the light as she moved. "Understood. I'll dispatch the alerts immediately."
But before Ben could continue his mission planning, Caiera asked the obvious question: "Who are you planning to bring with you for the rescue operation?"
"I'll go alone," Ben stated flatly, his tone suggesting this wasn't up for debate.
The response clearly surprised her. Caiera's tactical mind immediately began calculating force projections, running scenarios, evaluating threats.
"Lord Parker," she began carefully, knowing his pride could make him stubborn about such decisions, "the team currently trapped in the Cancerverse is exceptionally powerful. Captain Marvel possesses cosmic-scale energy manipulation. Beta Ray Bill wields the Universal Weapon and can channel Mana. The Nova Corps Centurions represent military precision at its finest. Wanda Maximoff can literally rewrite reality. Eunice holds the Mind Stone and commands vibranium-enhanced synthezoid abilities."
She gestured at the tactical display showing force estimates. "This lineup could challenge Thanos himself and have reasonable odds of victory. The fact that they're calling for emergency extraction suggests the threat level in the Cancerverse exceeds even their combined capabilities."
Her concern was obvious and justified. "Bringing reinforcements would seem prudent given the circumstances."
"The current Plumbers organization doesn't lack powerful warriors," Ben acknowledged, his voice carrying frustration born from strategic limitations rather than personnel shortcomings. "What we lack are beings with genuine cosmic-level power. Individual strength at planetary scale versus universal scale."
His mind briefly entertained an absurd thought: recruiting the Ancient One and Odin as front-line combatants. At six hundred and five thousand years old respectively, they were at the perfect age to make their mark in galactic conflicts!
The mental image of those two ancient beings suiting up for a standard Plumber mission almost made him smile. Almost.
But before he could finalize his solo deployment, a voice cut through his planning with the force of a thrown brick.
"I'm going too!" Charmcaster announced, her tone brooking no argument as she materialized in the command center with the confidence of someone who'd already decided this was happening regardless of permission.
Ben turned slowly, one eyebrow raised in skeptical inquiry. "And what exactly do you intend to accomplish there?"
His gaze was analytical, assessing her current capabilities with brutal honesty. "I severed your connection to Mana, remember? You're operating with minimal magical reserves. Your combat effectiveness is compromised at best. What can you possibly contribute in your current state?"
"That's precisely why this is perfect!" Charmcaster's response carried triumphant logic, as if she'd been waiting for exactly this objection. "The weaker my regular magical reserves, the faster we can force the residual Phoenix Force to manifest! It's basic magical theory: when conventional power sources are exhausted, dormant energies automatically activate to prevent total collapse!"
Her expression suggested she was quite proud of this reasoning.
But Ben could read the truth beneath her stated motivations. She wanted to prove herself, wanted to demonstrate value, wanted to show up Felicia by accomplishing something dramatic and impossible.
The competitive fire burning in her eyes had nothing to do with Phoenix research and everything to do with wounded pride and romantic rivalry.
One part of Charmcaster genuinely wanted to help analyze Phoenix energy and prepare countermeasures for its eventual arrival. But a much larger part simply wanted to use this opportunity to gain power, deliver a decisive blow to "that scumbag Ben who had a girlfriend he never mentioned," and most importantly, establish dominance over Felicia Hardy in their newly declared competition.
"Fine," Ben agreed after a moment's consideration, surprising both Charmcaster and Caiera. "Then I'll bring you along. And Looma. And Hela as well."
Caiera's confusion was immediate and obvious. "Miss Looma? While she certainly possesses the Old Power from Sakaar and can channel divine energy through the God Hammer, I'm uncertain if that grants her the cosmic-scale capability necessary for this mission."
Her tactical assessment was sound. Looma was powerful, certainly. Princess of the Tetramand Empire, champion of Sakaar's Grand Arena, wielder of a reforged divine weapon infused with fire demon essence. But "powerful" and "cosmic threat" existed on different scales entirely.
"Not currently," Ben acknowledged, his mind already several steps ahead in the planning process. "But there's one piece of equipment that will elevate her to the necessary level."
The answer crystallized in his thoughts with perfect clarity. "The Destroyer Armor."
That legendary construct, originally forged by Odin specifically to combat Celestials, represented the pinnacle of Asgardian war-craft. Loki had once wielded it in New Mexico, but the God of Mischief's relatively weak physiology and limited experience with genuine warfare had prevented him from accessing even a fraction of its true potential.
Looma, by contrast, was a born warrior with the physical strength to properly channel the armor's devastating power. She could make it sing.
"As for Hela," Ben continued, his reasoning shifting to the Goddess of Death, "I'm interested in her unique authority over mortality. In a universe where Death itself has been murdered, having someone who embodies death's fundamental principles might prove invaluable."
The logic was sound, even if unconventional. Sometimes the solution to impossible problems required impossible tools.
After finalizing the mission roster, Ben departed for Sakaar. The dimensional journey took only moments, reality folding around him like origami as he crossed the vast distances between Earth's orbital station and the junkyard planet at the universe's edge.
Charmcaster, experiencing interdimensional teleportation for the first time, arrived looking slightly green around the edges. The sensation of being simultaneously everywhere and nowhere tended to upset first-timers' stomachs.
But her nausea vanished the instant she got her first proper look at Sakaar.
"Wow!" The exclamation burst from her lips before she could stop it, genuine awe overwhelming her usual cynicism.
Everywhere she looked, monuments to Ben Parker dominated the landscape. Massive sculptures carved from indigenous stone depicted him in various alien forms: Four Arms flexing all four limbs in poses of strength, Diamondhead with crystal spikes catching the light, Heatblast wreathed in eternally burning flames maintained by Pyronite craftsmen.
But it wasn't just grand monuments in public squares. Smaller statues, icons, and artistic representations appeared everywhere. In shop windows, on street corners, adorning the facades of residential buildings, painted on the hulls of spacecraft.
The people themselves wore Omnitrix symbols on clothing and jewelry. Children played with action figures depicting Ben's various transformations. Street performers reenacted famous battles from Sakaar's liberation.
This wasn't simple respect or gratitude. This was worship, pure and undiluted. Ben Parker had achieved something approaching divine status in the eyes of Sakaar's people.
"I didn't expect you to be so..." Charmcaster began, searching for the right word as she took in the overwhelming display.
"Respected?" Ben supplied, a hint of smugness creeping into his tone despite his efforts to sound modest.
The witch had indeed been planning to say something along those lines. But hearing Ben's self-satisfied response immediately activated her contrary nature. She couldn't possibly agree with him now, not when he was obviously fishing for compliments.
"No," she said with exaggerated sweetness, "I was going to say narcissistic."
Her grin turned wicked. "You forced them to carve all these statues, didn't you? Threatened them unless they built monuments to your ego? This whole planet is basically a shrine to your vanity!"
"You can't get ivory from a dog's mouth," Ben muttered, an old idiom that translated roughly to "you can't expect anything good from someone determined to be contrary."
He didn't want to continue this conversation, didn't want to explain the complicated history of why Sakaarians viewed him as their savior. The explanations would take hours and involve recounting the entire rebellion against the Red King, the prophecy of the Son of Sakaar, the establishment of the Plumbers, and countless other details that the witch would probably just use to mock him further.
His pace quickened, leaving her behind as he strode toward the rebuilt palace complex.
"Hehehehe!" Charmcaster's delighted laughter followed him like a persistent echo.
She made faces at his back, sticking out her tongue and pulling down one eyelid in an incredibly mature display of disdain. Then she jogged to catch up, her shorter legs requiring actual effort to match his longer stride.
By the time they reached the palace's inner sanctum, Caiera had already prepared everything as requested. The Destroyer Armor stood on a reinforced display platform, its presence dominating the chamber like a caged predator waiting to be unleashed.
The armor had been shattered during Loki's defeat in New Mexico, broken apart by the Rainbow Bridge's focused assault. Ben had salvaged the fragments and stored them carefully, recognizing their value even in pieces.
After the dwarven smiths had taken up residence in Sakaar's planetary core, working their forges in the heart of the world itself, Ben had commissioned them to rebuild the Destroyer. They'd reforged it using the Eternal Flame he'd provided, the same primordial fire that had birthed Ultimate Heatblast.
The result was armor that surpassed its original specifications in every measurable category.
"It's not just the Destroyer Armor," Caiera explained, her voice carrying notes of pride. "There's also a new weapon."
She gestured to a cloth-covered form resting on an adjacent pedestal. "A divine artifact crafted specifically for you by the dwarven smiths."
Ben's interest sharpened. The dwarves had been working on something for months now, continuously delaying completion even as they finished reforging Mjolnir and the various Sky Hammers. Whatever this project was, they'd deemed it important enough to take precedence over everything else.
"To them, you're not merely the new ruler of the Nine Realms," Caiera continued, understanding the significance. "You're the benefactor who saved their entire race from extinction at Malekith's hands. They needed to forge a weapon worthy of that debt. Something powerful enough to slay gods, powerful enough to prove the new king's greatness to all who would challenge him."
"Dwarves?" Charmcaster's voice carried childlike curiosity as she peeked around Ben's shoulder.
Her imagination immediately conjured images of Snow White's seven companions: small, bearded men with pointed hats and jolly dispositions. She pictured tiny craftsmen hammering tiny weapons with tiny tools, creating miniature swords suitable for action figures.
Then the ground shook.
The tremor started as a distant rumble, growing steadily stronger as something massive approached. Dust fell from the ceiling. Small objects rattled on shelves. The vibrations traveled up through Charmcaster's feet and into her bones, making her teeth chatter.
A figure squeezed through the chamber's entrance, which had clearly been designed for normal-sized beings rather than whatever was attempting to enter. The doorway was perhaps three meters wide, adequate for most species. But this arrival required significant effort to navigate the space.
Eitri, King of the Dwarven Smiths, finally emerged into full view.
Charmcaster's jaw dropped.
The creature before her stood at least two to three times her height, a mountain of muscle and fur that made "dwarf" seem like a cosmic joke. Massive shoulders, arms like tree trunks, a barrel chest that could probably withstand artillery fire. He looked less like a dwarf and more like someone had taken the concept of "giant" and decided it needed to be bigger.
Calling them dwarves made about as much sense as calling Galactus "slightly peckish."
In Eitri's massive hands, the sword he carried looked almost comically small, like a toothpick held by a gorilla. But the contradiction was only relative to his scale. The weapon itself was actually quite substantial, a longsword that would have been perfectly sized for a human warrior.
The dwarven king knelt with surprising grace despite his bulk, bowing his head in a gesture of profound respect.
"Great King of Sakaar, Lord of the Nine Realms, and eternal benefactor of the dwarven race," Eitri intoned, his voice carrying the resonance of a master craftsman who understood the weight of words and oaths, "I pay you my highest respects and present the culmination of our greatest work."
He extended the sword, holding it reverently in both hands like an offering at a sacred altar.
"This blade is forged from fragments of all the Sky Hammers, combined with materials harvested from the most powerful beings of the Nine Realms. I tempered it in the Eternal Flame that burns at your command, then quenched it in spring water drawn directly from the World Tree's roots, that it might carry the eternal glory and infinite power of all reality under your dominion."
The sword itself seemed to pulse with barely contained energy. Lightning, fire, light, darkness, ice, fear, death... every fundamental force of the Nine Realms had been woven into its construction, their authorities bound together in a weapon that transcended simple metal and magic.
"Thank you for your dedication, Eitri," Ben said, genuine gratitude coloring his voice. "I know how much effort this required."
He didn't actually need another weapon. The Omnitrix gave him access to beings who could rewrite reality or manipulate cosmic forces. What use was a sword, even a legendary one, compared to that?
But the gesture mattered. The meaning behind the gift carried weight beyond its tactical applications.
"This is merely my duty," Eitri replied, his massive head remaining bowed in humility. "The blade does not yet possess a name of its own. I leave that honor to you, that you might grant it life and soul through your naming."
Ben lifted the sword carefully, examining its construction with the appreciation of someone who understood craftsmanship even if he wasn't a practitioner himself.
The blade's design was elegant rather than ornate, functional beauty rather than decorative excess. The hilt appeared to be constructed from twisted vines harvested from the World Tree itself, preserved through some alchemical process that maintained their flexibility while making them harder than steel.
Energy coiled along the blade's length like serpents, visible as faint distortions in the air around the metal. The authorities of the Nine Realms waited patiently, ready to be unleashed at their wielder's command.
Ben's thoughts turned to Azmuth, the creator of the Omnitrix. That genius Galvan had once possessed a legendary sword of his own, a weapon called Ascalon that could cut through anything and absorb virtually unlimited power.
"Let's call it Ascalon," Ben declared, the name feeling right on his tongue.