Ascalon was a legendary weapon from Ben 10's universe, originally invented by the Galvan genius Azmuth as the pinnacle of his technological achievements. Despite appearing to be nothing more than an elegantly crafted sword blade, the original Ascalon possessed power sufficient to destabilize entire universal structures if wielded without restraint.
The weapon's history was complicated and violent. It had once been stolen by Diagon, an extradimensional entity whose very existence predated most recorded civilizations. That cosmic horror had used even superficial understanding of Ascalon's principles to revolutionize his species' weapon technology, creating innovations that still inspired terror across multiple realities.
Even working from incomplete data, reverse-engineering fragments of Ascalon's design, Diagon's followers had managed to develop weapons as terrifying as the Death Ray Cannon—technology capable of annihilating entire solar systems with a single sustained blast.
Eventually, Azmuth had reclaimed his creation and entrusted it to Sir George, the Eternal Warrior. That immortal knight had wielded Ascalon to defeat Dagon himself during a cosmic-scale confrontation that reshaped dimensional boundaries and established new laws governing interdimensional travel.
The sword Eitri had forged wasn't a technological creation like the original Ascalon. Its power derived from divine authority and fundamental cosmic forces rather than advanced engineering. But in terms of raw destructive potential and reality-manipulating capabilities, it was fully worthy of bearing that legendary name.
Ben handled the divine blade with appropriate reverence, testing its weight and balance. The sword responded to his touch, energies awakening along its length like a predator opening its eyes after a long sleep. Lightning crackled, fire bloomed, darkness coiled, and death whispered promises of inevitability.
Perfect.
He carefully secured the weapon, then turned his attention to the next item on his recruitment list: Hela, Goddess of Death and Odin's firstborn daughter.
Hela wasn't imprisoned in the Null Void Realm alongside the various cosmic criminals and defeated enemies. Ben had recognized that sending her there would be counterproductive—she'd probably thrive in that harsh environment, establishing a city-state of the damned and recruiting an army from the desperate prisoners who populated that twisted dimension.
Instead, she'd been confined within the PLUMBERS detention level, sealed inside a dimensional cube prison that compressed space into an area barely larger than a storage closet. The cramped quarters had to be absolutely miserable for someone who'd spent millennia conquering worlds and commanding armies across galactic battlefields.
For Hela, who had only recently been freed from her original prison in Helheim after thousands of years, being immediately locked up again in an even smaller space must have felt like a cosmic joke at her expense.
"The power of immortality?" Hela's voice carried through the prison's energy barriers, her tone shifting from bored irritation to genuine interest. "How fascinating."
After Ben explained the situation in the Cancerverse—a reality where Death itself had been murdered, where resurrection was automatic and unavoidable, where beings composed entirely of cancer cells commanded corrupted cosmic entities—Hela's restlessness transformed into eager anticipation.
She had always enjoyed combat. The thrill of battle, the satisfaction of overwhelming enemies, the artistic expression of violence perfected through millennia of practice. These were the things that made her feel truly alive, paradoxically, given her nature as a death goddess.
Conquering another universe, one where her fundamental opposite had been eliminated, sounded infinitely more interesting than reclaiming the Nine Realms she'd already conquered once before. The challenge excited her in ways that simple domination never could.
"Let me out," she said without hesitation, her voice carrying none of the resentment Ben had expected. No complaints about her imprisonment, no demands for apologies or reparations. Just pure, distilled eagerness for the coming battle.
Whoever feeds me is my mother. Whoever fights me is my king. These were principles Hela understood in her bones.
She emerged from the blue cube prison with preternatural grace, her movements fluid despite months of confinement. Her black hair cascaded down her shoulders like liquid shadow, falling in waves that reminded Ben uncomfortably of spider legs spreading to seize prey.
Hela bowed deeply, the gesture somehow managing to convey both respect and barely contained violence. "I salute my king and offer my blade to your cause."
Then her expression shifted. The formal court mask fell away, replaced by something far more honest and infinitely more dangerous. Her eyes gleamed with murderous excitement, and she unconsciously licked her lips like a predator anticipating a feast.
The bloodthirsty anticipation radiating from her made even Charmcaster take an involuntary step backward. The witch had seen violence, had wielded deadly magic, had killed when necessary. But Hela's relationship with death operated on a completely different level—intimate, enthusiastic, almost romantic in its intensity.
"When do we depart?" Hela asked, the question emerging with barely suppressed urgency. "I'm eager to test myself against beings who've forgotten what death means. It will be educational for them."
"Now," Ben replied simply.
Meanwhile, in the Cancerverse, beneath stars that burned with sickly, wrong-colored light, a hundred giants stood sentinel in the void of space.
The Celestials had once been the most magnificent beings in creation, cosmic entities whose very presence reshaped reality and whose judgments determined the fate of entire species. They had stood as pillars of the universal order, maintaining balance and ensuring the proper evolution of life across countless worlds.
Now they were fallen monuments to corruption, their divine forms twisted into grotesque parodies of their former glory.
Each Celestial's armor, once gleaming with mathematical perfection, had become encrusted with tumorous growths that pulsed with diseased light. Their heads, traditionally designed with precise geometric elegance, had warped into shapes reminiscent of toilet bowls—organic corruption spreading across technological perfection until the distinction between flesh and metal became meaningless.
They radiated power still, cosmic energy leaking from every joint and seam. But mixed with that divine authority came an eerie wrongness, a fundamental corruption that made reality itself flinch away from their presence.
Since Death herself had been destroyed by the Many-Angled Ones and their mortal servants, even these god-machines had succumbed to the cancer plague. Immortality without the possibility of ending had transformed them from judges into victims, their perfect forms rotting while remaining eternally functional.
Inside a damaged spacecraft drifting nearby, the Revengers waited with expressions that ranged from eager anticipation to mindless hunger.
Their transformation had deepened considerably since their last appearance. The corruption that had begun with simple tumor growth had spread into something far more comprehensive and disturbing.
Skin that had once shown only scattered cancerous lesions now resembled diseased coral, hard calcium deposits forming external structures that bore no relationship to human anatomy. Sharp fangs had erupted through facial tissue, piercing from inside and creating the appearance of permanent, involuntary snarls.
They had been continuously subjected to the Many-Angled Ones' psychic whispers, their minds reshaped by cosmic horrors whose very existence defied comprehension. The beings who wore these heroes' faces and names bore increasingly little resemblance to the people they'd once been.
"Should we kill them?" Cancer Captain America's voice carried none of Steve Rogers's nobility or compassion. He'd clearly forgotten his former ideals entirely.
The sharp edge of his shield—still vibranium, still indestructible, now covered in organic growth like barnacles on a ship's hull—pressed against Tony Stark's throat hard enough to draw a thin line of blood.
Tony glared up at him defiantly, even with death literally at his neck. His eyes promised violence and retribution if he ever got free. Simultaneously, he shot a venomous look at his own universe's Steve Rogers, who'd been captured alongside him, as if this situation was somehow his counterpart's fault for existing.
"It doesn't matter," Lord Mar-Vell declared, his corrupted form radiating unnatural authority. "We've already captured the Coroner. These other specimens are irrelevant to the primary ritual. Once we complete the ceremony and murder Death in their universe, they'll become like us regardless. Immortality will be universal."
His voice carried absolute certainty, the confidence of someone who'd already performed this miracle once and knew exactly how to replicate the process.
"That's true enough," Anthony Stark agreed, his armor having fused with his body until the distinction became meaningless. Mechanical components grew through cancerous flesh, while organic tissue spread across metal plating in a hideous symbiosis.
The Revengers' goal had never been simple murder or conquest. They sought to spread their "blessing" of immortality across all realities, eliminating Death herself from existence and ensuring everyone would join them in eternal, unending life.
The Many-Angled Ones, those cosmic entities they now served, fed on immortal suffering. Dead beings were useless. But the eternally living, constantly aware, perpetually conscious—those made for an infinite feast.
Bad Ben, standing apart from the Revengers with barely concealed excitement, was too absorbed in his own triumph to participate in their conversation.
In the battle a few minutes earlier, during the chaotic escape from the Null Void Realm, he'd managed to acquire genetic samples from several of the corrupted Celestials. The Omnitrix had processed that information with terrifying efficiency, unlocking new transformations and dramatically enhancing existing ones.
His Upgrade form had improved exponentially, gaining insights into Celestial technology that made standard Mechamorph abilities look primitive by comparison. His physical transformations had all received boosts from understanding how cosmic-scale biology functioned.
But most importantly, he'd captured genetic data from beings infused with the Many-Angled Ones' power—entities that existed partially outside conventional reality. That information was priceless for his ultimate goal.
"Lock them up," Bad Ben said with a sneer, addressing the Revengers with the casual disdain of someone who viewed them as temporary allies at best. "Maybe someone will come to rescue them. We can use them as bait. Kill whoever shows up, harvest more genetic data."
His grin was ugly, cruel, bearing no resemblance to the heroic Ben Parker who led the Plumbers. "Bring the Coroner up here. Let's get this show moving."
Thanos, bound by layers of mystical restraints that prevented even minimal movement, was dragged forward like a sack of grain and forced to kneel on the deck plating.
The Mad Titan's pride clearly suffered from this treatment, but he couldn't muster even token resistance. The magic suppressing him was comprehensive and absolute.
"I'll take him to the sacrificial site," Lord Mar-Vell announced, his tumor-encrusted hand gripping Thanos's shoulder with possessive firmness. "The rest of you return and prepare for phase two. Don't forget we still have our primary mission: destroying that universe's Earth with the antimatter bomb."
Their original assignment had involved two simultaneous operations running in parallel. But their mission had gotten off to a catastrophically bad start when they'd been trapped in the Null Void Realm. Having finally escaped, they naturally needed to regroup and coordinate before attempting anything else.
"I'll accompany you," Bad Ben said quickly, his voice taking on tones of false reverence that wouldn't have fooled anyone paying attention. "I am filled with awe for the great being who granted you immortality. It would be an honor to witness His majesty firsthand."
The truth was simpler and infinitely more selfish. Bad Ben had no respect for anything except power.
He wanted to obtain the power of the five fundamental cosmic entities: Death, Eternity, Infinity, Oblivion, and Annihilation. If he got lucky, he might even harvest energy from the Many-Angled Ones themselves—those unknowable horrors from beyond conventional reality.
His greed swelled like a living thing, filling his thoughts with fantasies of ultimate power and absolute dominion.
"I can permit you to accompany me," Lord Mar-Vell said after a moment's consideration. His expression was unreadable beneath the layers of corruption. "But you must understand: great beings cannot be looked upon directly. Their true forms exist in dimensions our minds cannot comprehend. You'll need to avert your eyes and rely on other senses."
"Of course," Bad Ben agreed immediately, already planning how to circumvent that restriction using the Omnitrix's various sensory capabilities.
After Mar-Vell and Bad Ben departed with Thanos in tow, the remaining Revengers collected their prisoners and headed back toward their primary base.
The corrupted Celestials remained behind, standing eternal vigil over the cosmic fault line. Their presence would detect and eliminate any force attempting to use that route for invasion. Nothing could pass them without permission.
At least, that was the theory.
Not long after the Cancer forces dispersed, space itself twisted unnaturally.
Reality bent like heated plastic, dimensions folding in on themselves as something forced its way through barriers never meant to be crossed. The cosmic wall, that fundamental separation between parallel universes, developed a rupture.
A spacecraft shaped like an enormous metallic ring, its design suggesting both ancient mysticism and cutting-edge technology, broke through the barrier and materialized in Cancerverse space.
The Space-Time Wheel, Ben's personal interdimensional transport, had bypassed the cosmic fault line entirely by punching through reality's underlying structure.
Ben had anticipated potential ambushes at the conventional entry point. Rather than walk into an obvious trap, he'd used the dimensional breakthrough technology he'd developed during his return journey from the DC universe.
The approach was more dangerous—forcing holes in the cosmic wall could have catastrophic consequences if done carelessly—but it guaranteed surprise.
The moment the Space-Time Wheel fully manifested in Cancerverse space, Hela wrinkled her nose in disgust. "The air here is absolutely foul."
Her connection to death made her hypersensitive to the fundamental wrongness pervading this reality. The absence of Death's natural authority created a vacuum that seemed to actively offend her divine nature.
The atmosphere itself felt corrupted, as if immortality had become a toxin saturating every molecule.
Looma, despite lacking Hela's metaphysical sensitivity, also frowned deeply. "It smells like a corpse that's been rotting in formaldehyde for a thousand years. How do people live here?"
The Tetramand princess had experienced countless battlefields, had waded through gore and carnage without flinching. But this was different. This wasn't the honest smell of death and decay. This was preservation without peace, existence without ending, life that refused to stop despite having no reason to continue.
Charmcaster pinched her nose dramatically, fanning herself with exaggerated vigor. "Even properly preserved mummies don't smell this strong! This is revolting!"
For once, the three women reached perfect consensus. Their expressions of shared disgust would have been comical under different circumstances.
"It's genuinely hard to say which universe is worse," Ben admitted, his own face showing discomfort. "This one or the zombie reality we just finished dealing with."
He possessed portions of Death's authority himself, inherited through his control over the Nine Realms and his collection of all the Crown of Death fragments. That connection made the Cancerverse's fundamental wrongness physically uncomfortable in ways he couldn't fully articulate.
"In that case," Hela said decisively, "let's rescue Eunice and Wanda as quickly as possible so we can leave this charnel house behind."
"The Plumber badges indicate they're still moving," Looma reported, studying the holographic display showing transponder locations. "Wait—they've stopped. Not on Earth. Somewhere in deep space."
"Probably a space station or orbital facility," Ben said, already adjusting their trajectory. "The location is relatively close to what used to be Kree Empire territory."
He activated the Space-Time Wheel's propulsion systems, and the ship surged forward with smooth acceleration that created no internal sense of movement. Advanced inertial dampeners ensured the passengers felt nothing despite their spacecraft traveling at velocities that would have liquefied unprotected biology.
Meanwhile, at the Revengers' orbital base—a massive structure built from salvaged Kree technology and organic growth that fused the station's components into a single diseased organism—the captured heroes were being processed.
Energy shackles bound their wrists, ankles, and necks, the restraints calibrated to suppress powers and prevent resistance. The Revengers shoved their prisoners forward with casual brutality, treating them as cargo rather than people.
"You can all stay here and rot!" Cancer Captain Marvel snarled, her corrupted face twisted with vindictive satisfaction.
She grabbed her alternate-universe counterpart by the hair and literally threw her into the prison cell, Carol's body hitting the far wall with bone-rattling force before crumpling to the floor.
Carol Danvers pushed herself up slowly, every movement radiating pain. She stared at her corrupted double with genuine incomprehension. "You're me. We're the same person from different realities. How could you let yourself become this?! And that thing you follow, that perversion calling itself Mar-Vell—you can't possibly believe he's actually the man we knew!"
"Don't worry," Cancer Captain Marvel said, her voice carrying false compassion that made the words more disturbing than open threats would have been. "You'll be just like us soon enough. It's a blessing, really. You'll understand once the transformation completes."
Her body showcased the extent of that "blessing." Twisted chunks of corrupted flesh covered every visible surface, creating textures that would have made Deadpool's scarred appearance look pristine by comparison. Her hair had fallen out completely, as if she'd undergone countless rounds of chemotherapy without pause.
"I know you're hoping someone will come rescue you," she continued, reaching down to pick up the Plumber badge Carol had been using to transmit distress signals.
She held it up mockingly, then crushed it in her fist with contemptuous ease. The device sparked and died, its emergency beacon cutting off mid-transmission.
Cancer Captain Marvel tossed the broken badge to the floor like discarded trash. "But we're ready for them. We've prepared a reception committee that will wipe out anyone foolish enough to attempt a rescue operation."
Her smile was hideous, tumors pulling her lips into expressions no healthy face could manage. "Your friends are coming to die. And after we kill them, they'll join us in blessed immortality. Everyone wins."
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