Within the "underlying code" of the universe.
Inside a region that defied description by conventional physical concepts.
It was silent here. Time seemed frozen, yet it also felt as though it were flowing at billions of different speeds simultaneously. Countless thick, winding pulses of faint light interlaced and extended, forming a pattern so vast it transcended imagination, shaped like the mythical World Tree.
This was the hub of time, the neural network of the multiverse. Once, billions of light-veins intertwined like vines, each representing an independent reality, a timeline, a possible "What If." Green light surged like rivers, whispering the births and deaths of infinite worlds.
Every pulse once represented a unique story, a vibrant universe. Now, this sacred domain was nearly deathly still. Most of the veins had withered and carbonized, like vines scorched by fire, hanging limply. Ash-like light dust drifted from the fractures.
Within those decaying "storylines," only a single vein pulsed weakly, flowing with the eerie green light belonging solely to time and the God of Stories.
It was thin and fragile, looking as if it might flicker out at any moment—meaning that as the multiverse collapsed, while it seemed everything was restarting, the Marvel world was actually down to its last gasping universe.
At the center of those countless veins, a figure sat lonely upon a throne woven from time itself. His body was tightly connected to the massive pulses, as if he were part of the giant tree, or rather, as if the tree were sustaining his very existence.
He was Loki.
But not the cunning and mercurial God of Mischief. He was the God of Stories, one who had undergone baptism and transformation, finally understanding the true meaning of divinity. Powerful and higher-dimensional—these were the synonyms for him after achieving his godhood.
In the story that once belonged to Loki, he was revealed as the core of the multiversal narrative. The Time Keepers, the TVA, and everything else actually revolved around "Loki's Story."
In the structure of timelines, most lives followed the "Sacred Timeline," moving according to a set script. Loki, through constant betrayal, escape, and changing his fate, became the only "variable" capable of breaking the narrative frame.
Every choice he made could give birth to a new timeline, a new story. Because of this, his existence was the key to maintaining the narrative balance of the universe—the anchor.
During a great crisis, Loki chose not to become a "Time Keeper" to save the universe, but the "God of Stories." He was no longer a prisoner of the script, but the gardener of the stories. This was true transcendence. Allowing all stories to grow freely, he let countless timelines reconnect, allowing every "What If" to become reality.
The mantle of the God of Stories was born from this. This duty was meant to last until the end of time.
However.
He was no longer healthy. Such was the price of being tightly linked to the multiverse. Due to the withering of the multiverse, Loki looked incredibly weak. His face was pale, and his once-spirited eyes now held only heavy exhaustion and bottomless sorrow.
"Where... is this final story going?"
Around him, the veins that should have been brilliant and flowing with countless colorful stories were now mostly gray, dry, and withered. Like a forest ravaged by fire, only deathly husks remained.
"Hah... hah... hah..."
A heavy breath, comparable to Batman's, echoed. Loki's body was thin to the point of being translucent. Green patterns connected to the veins surfaced under his skin, as if his flesh and blood were being constantly drained by this residual web of time.
His head hung low, silver hair scattered. Every breath was a heavy gasp. All possibilities, all branches, had been annihilated, leaving only this single main line pressed heavily upon his shoulders. He supported it alone, maintaining this final, fragile existence.
Loki maintained everything, yet he also imprisoned himself. His body was becoming the pillar that allowed this last universe, this last story, to flow and develop normally.
"Ian Kent..." Suddenly, Loki slowly raised his head. This simple movement seemed to drain him of massive strength. The veins connected to his body trembled slightly, letting out a nearly inaudible mournful cry.
He braced his arms against the throne's armrests—not for majesty, but to keep himself from collapsing. In the void ahead, two images surfaced. One showed Ian Kent shouting at him, his voice seeming to pierce through dimensions.
The other showed Lady Loki, Sylvie, her face flushed and her eyes burning with fury, clearly in a state of extreme irritation.
As Loki's gaze landed, the image focused on the youth, Ian Kent. Loki did not respond to Ian's shouting, which nearly pierced the dimensional barrier.
He just watched silently. In those eyes that had seen the rise and fall of countless worlds, a flicker of extremely complex emotion passed—scrutiny, hope, fatigue, and a hidden... helplessness.
Just the act of looking up seemed to exhaust all of Loki's current strength.
"With him... lies hope." After his voice fell, he slowly lowered his head again, sinking into a deeper silence, as if he had turned into another cold statue on this withered throne. Only the single flowing green vein proved he was still bearing that infinite weight.
The moment Loki bowed his head again, that sole remaining green time-vein shuddered ever so slightly.
It wasn't an internal vibration—not the struggle of a timeline or the mourning of multiversal souls. It came from the outside, from the depths of the void beyond all stories.
Perhaps only Loki, as the guardian of stories, could truly sense it—an indescribable "presence" was closing in on their story.
It had no shape, no frequency, no energy readings, and couldn't even be captured by the act of "observation." It was as if darkness itself had begun to rot. It was as if "non-existence" had begun to devour "existence."
In this withered network of the World Tree, Loki was the only one who could "sense" it. Not with eyes or ears, but with his instinct as the God of Stories—an intuition for "narrative integrity." He felt something pushing in slowly from beyond the borders of the story.
It wasn't an invasion; it was an infiltration. Like water seeping into dry soil, it was silent, yet it made the very foundations begin to loosen.
The withering of the veins might not have been solely due to the collapse of the multiverse, but because this "foreign object" had been gnawing at the underlying code of reality bit by bit over the long years. It didn't destroy; it polluted—turning "possible" into "impossible," and "What If" into "Never Was."
"It's still here, and it has always been here." Loki's breathing became even more difficult. He felt as if his consciousness were wrapped in an invisible film, his thinking becoming sluggish. He tried to look up, to catch one last glimpse of that residual green light, only to find his will being suppressed by a grander "stasis."
That might have been the true reason the Marvel Universe fell into the end times, and even if the universe restarted, the crisis might not have truly passed—it was merely delayed.
The true apocalypse wasn't a single great war. It was the rot of the cosmic narrative itself—when stories can no longer be told, when choices can no longer be made, and when the "future" becomes a closed, dead loop. That was the true end.
The cosmic restart planned by Tony Stark didn't truly banish the crisis. It was only temporarily pushed away, like the tide receding and leaving behind a wet beach. But it was still there in the distance. At "the end of all stories," it waited quietly. It wasn't in a hurry. It had no concept of time. It simply existed, eternally eroding "the story" itself.
"Only the Creator's narrative can oppose it."
Loki's fingertips twitched slightly. He wanted to speak, to warn, to use his last strength to strike a match and light up the coming darkness.
But he knew any words were futile. This "foreign object" was outside the realm of language. It wasn't even in the realm of "gods." It was an absolute anomaly that even "gods" could not comprehend.
The green light of the vein dimmed another degree. The deep erosion continued. It made no sound, yet it made the silence of the entire universe feel heavier; it showed no form, yet it made all light and shadow seem fake. And Loki, the God of Mischief who once toyed with fate, could now only use his own flesh as a pillar to support this final story.
He knew that when his strength failed and the last vein flickered out, that "foreign object" would no longer need to push—it would naturally fill everything, as easily as breathing.
The universe might restart a thousand or ten thousand times. But as long as this "foreign object" continued its quiet erosion from outside the story, the true crisis would never pass.
It was just... delayed. And delays eventually come to an end.
***
Meanwhile, at the junkyard at the end of time.
*Thud!*
Lady Loki—the God of Mischief also known as Sylvie—rudely dragged Ian, kicking aside a rusted manhole cover. The two tumbled into a sewer-like piping system that smelled of stale rust and unknown chemicals.
The enclosed space temporarily blocked out the heart-pounding roars of Alioth and the sound of everything being crushed outside.
*Rip!*
As soon as they stood firm, Sylvie spun around and violently ripped off the tape she had slapped on Ian's mouth in her haste. Her movements were so rough she nearly took some skin with it.
"I know you, Lady Loki. The only Loki with menopause." Ian's commentary was brief but infuriating. He had already fully pieced together her identity.
Across countless parallel universes, Sylvie Laufeydottir was a variant of Loki, the daughter of the Frost Giant King Laufey and an "adopted daughter" of the Asgardian royal family.
Unlike the Loki of the main universe, her existence was rejected by the "Sacred Timeline" from the start. Due to an incident she unintentionally caused in her childhood, she was deemed a "threat" by the Time Variance Authority (TVA), kidnapped, brainwashed, and stripped of all memories of her birth family.
To survive, she changed her name to "Sylvie" and began a centuries-long life on the run. She grew from a hunted "variant" into a "messenger of chaos" determined to destroy the TVA. Later, she met a similarly narcissistic Loki, leading to a love-hate relationship that achieved a "Predestination"-level feat of falling in love with oneself.
Although the multiverse hadn't been fully rebuilt yet, Ian wasn't surprised that this Lady Loki had been let out. After all, she was the woman tied to the God of Stories.
Forget about America—even in the Marvel Universe, things like personal favors and nepotism existed. Lady Loki might be in the same situation as Morgan Stark. They both had someone "upstairs," getting a back-door deal during their "reincarnation."
"Shut your mouth if you don't know how to speak! I'm warning you!" Sylvie gritted her teeth, her green eyes burning with a fury that nearly sprayed onto Ian's face.
"I've been friendly enough! You better shut up and cooperate right now, or you won't want to know how many pieces I'm currently cutting you into in my head!"
Like every Loki, she wasn't a patient person.
"Ha? Friendly?" Ian rubbed his legs, which had been dragged across the ground for over two miles. The artifacts held by his four arms swayed slightly, and the cold radiating from the Casket of Ancient Winters frosted the pipe walls. "Dragging me into a sewer like a sack of potatoes—is that the attitude of someone asking for a favor?"
"I don't know what kind of tricks you Lokis are playing or what you want from me, but that doesn't mean you can violate my personal rights!"
"I'm just a kid! My legs are very delicate!" Although Ian still had some unanswered questions, that didn't stop him from showing his "vile" side. If a villain didn't have a vile face, how could he be a villain?
"Asking for a favor? A kid?"
Sylvie sounded as if she had heard the world's biggest joke. Her voice rose. "I'm not asking, you arrogant little brat! I'm here on the orders of a... a Great One, to make you hand over the thing you're hiding!"
Her eyes locked onto Ian with a sharp, scrutinizing gaze.
"Something I'm hiding?" Ian paused, his grip tightening on his four weapons. "What am I hiding? Do I look like the type of person who needs to hide something they've taken?"
"Everything I take here is a legal 'five-finger discount'."
"Stop playing dumb!" Sylvie interrupted impatiently. "Hand it over. Is it some kind of starter? Or a key? Maybe a safety device?"
"Whatever it is, it's the key to saving everything!" She spoke with a hint of uncertainty herself, a flash of frustration crossing her face.
After all, her communication with the true God of Stories hadn't been extensive. He was too weak. Even speaking was difficult. And he had picked up the habit of speaking in riddles.
"He pulled me back from the cracks of time and only told me that I needed to find the key to restarting the multiverse from you! He didn't say much else!" Sylvie revealed a bit of information, observing Ian's reaction.
"You don't even know what you're looking for... How am I supposed to show you my collection? They're all 'Big Treasures'; in my hands, any of them could save everything." Ian felt somewhat helpless.
Though he could guess who sent Sylvie to find him, he hadn't reached a state of omniscience yet. His super-brain couldn't piece together a coherent thought without clues.
"It seems you know who he is." Sylvie's eyes flickered. She didn't answer the question about "him," only becoming more certain that the item was on Ian. "Stop the nonsense! Hand it over!"
With that, she actually reached out, ignoring Ian's protests and his four arms, and began rummaging through him haphazardly. Her hands swept across the cold Mimic Armor, trying to find a hidden pocket or mechanism.
"Hey! Hey! Stop! Didn't you hear me? I'm just a kid! You're a predator!" Ian felt extremely uncomfortable being felt up by Lady Loki.
The thought that this was also a Loki gave him goosebumps. In the chaos, Ian finally caught one of Sylvie's "wandering hands" as it tried to reach into a gap near a certain mysterious area.
"Look, lady, I know I'm impressive, but I'm not so impressive that I can hide things in my 'Little General'!" Ian flared up with a "small" bit of anger.
"I feel like you're just feigning ignorance!" Sylvie was also completely furious. Her other hand suddenly pulled out a sharp dagger, pressing it against Ian's neck as she threatened fiercely: "Don't move! Move again and I'll bleed you! Let's see if your blood is as annoying as you are!"
This was Sylvie's noble lady temper. She had assumed Ian was a child who valued his life.
However.
In the next second, something happened that left her dumbstruck.
"Hmm?"
Ian just tilted his head to look at the gleaming dagger at his throat, then... he opened his mouth and leaned in. With a *crunch* like someone eating a cracker—
[Entropy Lord XP +78]
Sylvie's Uru dagger became a "Crunchy Shark" snack. Ian swallowed it in three bites without even chewing, turning it all into life experience for his growth.
"Flavor is average. Energy content is too low." He even acted the part of a food critic with a sharp review.
"?????"
Sylvie stood there, holding only the remaining half of the dagger handle, completely stunned. Her brain couldn't process the information "Someone just ate my dagger." Just as she was about to explode with even more violent fury after the shock of the bizarre scene—
*BOOM!!!*
A massive explosion roared from right above them! The entire sewer pipe shook violently, and rusted metal flakes and dust rained down. Following that was Alioth's roar—hungry, furious, and seemingly capable of tearing apart the soul.
It was right there! It had found them!
Sylvie, who had just been acting fierce and ready to fight, turned pale as soon as she heard the sound. She was terrified like a startled quail; all her anger and violence vanished, leaving only primal fear. She instinctively grabbed Ian's arm, her voice trembling uncontrollably.
"Quick... run! It's here!!"
The ground shook, swayed, and trembled. In the sky above the underground tunnels was the civil servant at the end of time, Alioth. Its massive body, composed of discarded temporal energy, nearly blocked out the entire eerie firmament.
It had no fixed mouth, but now, on the part of it facing the ground, a massive, swirling vortex was forming, emitting a terrifying suction that was impossible to resist! A true giant maw of the abyss!
This wasn't physical suction; it was a more fundamental devouring aimed at time, space, and existence itself! The earth groaned as mountains of trash—broken ships, the wreckage of the Titanic, ancient pillars, discarded cars... even the very ground itself—were snatched up as if by an invisible hand and pulled brutally toward that vortex of destruction!
"ROAR!!! ROAR!!!" Wherever Alioth passed, everything was reduced to primal energy and void; even light could not escape. Even hiding in the underground pipes, Ian and Sylvie felt that lethal pull! The pipes twisted violently, letting out metal groans of being overloaded as rivets popped off one by one!
Worse, the "ground" beneath them became unstable. Small fragments and dust began to flow upward, sucked from a molecular level toward the monster above!
"This suction... this vibration..." Being dragged by Sylvie through the violently shaking pipes that seemed ready to disintegrate at any second, Ian actually looked up at the matter being sucked away with a wide-eyed expression. "If I could catch it and take it back home to give to my buddy's mom..."
"My buddy's mom would definitely love it. Then she wouldn't have the energy to worry about my 'Little General'!" Ian was seriously tempted to catch this Marvel version of Rayquaza.
"I get it now! You're a mental patient!"
Sylvie, running ahead, stumbled and nearly fell. She looked back at Ian with an expression used for an idiot, thinking this guy was a complete lunatic who didn't understand the ultimate terror and danger Alioth represented! That was a monster capable of swallowing multiversal timelines!
Of course, she didn't have time to criticize Ian now. Alioth seemed to be able to accurately perceive her and Ian through the thick layers of earth!
No matter how they navigated the complex network of pipes, that terrifying suction and destructive vibration followed them like a shadow, getting closer and closer! It was as if the monster wasn't blindly devouring, but toyed with and pressed its prey, enjoying their desperate flight!
"Dammit!"
Sylvie's forehead was covered in cold sweat, her breathing becoming ragged. She felt the surrounding pipe walls thinning and twisting at a visible rate. The roar and devouring sounds of Alioth outside were becoming clearer and clearer.
"We can't escape like this!" Sylvie's voice carried a hint of desperate trembling. She suddenly looked at Ian, who was still evaluating and seemingly didn't know the meaning of the word "fear."
"Little maniac!! Loki values you so much; you must be more than just a lunatic! Do you have a way out?!" Sylvie felt that behind Ian's lunatic persona, there must be something extraordinary.
"Of course I have a way. The most precious wealth Lord Ian has is his super-brain." Hearing this, Ian weighed the weapons in his four arms. His golden mimic compound eyes flickered. "We can..."
Ian was about to show off his thirty-six thousand plans. However, just as he was about to start talking—
*BOOM!!!!!!!!!!*
A terrifying impact, beyond words, came from directly above! Alioth seemed to have lost its patience, slamming its ethereal yet incredibly heavy body into the earth!
Heaven and earth split!
The entire underground pipe system where Ian and Sylvie were located was completely ripped open like a toy! Countless metal shards, concrete blocks, and various trash fragments went flying!
"Crap! No sportsmanship!" Under the impact of this unimaginable force, Ian and Lady Loki were thrown into the sky like fragments from an explosion!
"Ah—!" Sylvie let out a short scream as the sensation of weightlessness seized her. After being tossed into the air, the two slammed back down onto the messy ground in the next second, kicking up clouds of dust. Sylvie got a mouthful of dirt and coughed violently.
"Ugh..." Ian wasn't going to be modest; he could fly, so he obviously didn't land in a heap. Just as fairies don't poop, Ian is never undignified.
*Cough, cough, cough~*
Sylvie was covered in dust. She struggled to raise her head, her pupils suddenly shrinking. Alioth's massive, shifting, terrifying form was slowly closing in. That destructive vortex-maw was forming again, aiming right at their position! The shadow of death was clearer than ever!
"Little maniac! Use whatever way you have, now!!" Sylvie shouted, scrambling to get up.
As she stood up, she saw Ian perform a move that made her brain freeze: she saw Ian pull out two... black, hairy legs that looked like they had just been detached from some poor soul and carefully wrapped in plastic wrap?!
"What are you doing!"
Sylvie received no answer. With lightning speed, Ian used his extra mimic arms to firmly strap those "external hairy legs" to Sylvie's own legs.
External leg rental complete!
"What the hell is this!" Sylvie was completely bewildered.
Before she could react, Ian himself nimbly climbed onto her back, clinging to her like a koala. His two free hands were still tightly clutching the Casket of Ancient Winters.
"Wait! You're five centimeters taller than me!" Sylvie was dumbstruck, feeling as if she were stuck with a massive piece of chewing gum that she couldn't peel off.
"Stop the chatter; I still need to handle that monster. Run! Run! Lady Loki! Run! *Run, Sylvie, run!*" Ian shouted in Sylvie's ear, his tone actually carrying a bit of excitement as he mimicked the classic Flash line.
"??????"
Sylvie was going insane! What time was it?! What was this lunatic doing?! Strapping two dead man's legs to her?! And making her carry him like a giant infant?!
Just as she was about to use magic to throw this mental case off her back—
*Hum!*
It might not have been a bad thing that she didn't try to show off her magic in front of Ian, the self-proclaimed master of magic. Those two legs wrapped in plastic wrap suddenly emitted an indescribable, distorted fluctuation! Then, Sylvie felt a violent force, completely beyond her control, instantly surge into her legs!
*Whoosh—!*
Her body moved without her control, surging forward like an arrow from a bow! The speed was far beyond her imagination, even leaving afterimages! The ground flew back beneath her feet, and the wind shrieked sharply in her ears!
"Hahaha! Even if you don't have a snowball to push right now, we're Alchemist Nunu!" On her back, Ian freed his hands and began tinkering with the Casket of Ancient Winters.
He didn't directly release the extreme cold capable of freezing an entire kingdom. Instead, using a peculiar technique, he guided the casket's frost to spray out from the back like an exhaust.
It wasn't pure blue extreme cold. It was multicolored frost. It clearly had a lot of "tech and additives" mixed in.
A multicolored, eerie frost breath—mixed with extreme low temperatures, corrosive energy, mental toxins, chaotic magic fluctuations, and countless other negative effects—sprayed accurately into the path behind their wild run like an alchemist's poison trail, forming a long, colorful, yet lethal tail of smoke!
Alioth, roaring in pursuit, slammed right into this multicolored frost exhaust!
*Hiss—!*
Even Alioth, capable of devouring all things, stalled significantly when faced with this unprecedented frost mixed with multiple cosmic-level "pollutants"! Strange, multicolored ice crystals actually condensed on its ethereal surface.
Its devouring speed slowed visibly, and it even let out a roar of anger and discomfort, as if it had been "poisoned"! Ian's methods were effective as always; the monster's pursuit was successfully delayed!
"That actually works?"
Sylvie, constantly looking back, saw this and her green eyes filled with unbelievable shock! She certainly recognized that it was the treasure of the Frost Giants of Jotunheim—the Casket of Ancient Winters! But the power of the casket was a pure, extreme ice-blue cold, not something multicolored and filled with so many fancy negative effects!
"You... what did you do to the Casket of Ancient Winters?!" Sylvie shouted with difficulty as she ran, the wind howling in her ears. Her tone was no different from an Italian seeing strawberry spaghetti with chili oil.
"Used a bit of wit, plus my super blood. The casket atomized my blood." Ian's tone was as relaxed as if they were discussing dinner, even carrying a hint of pride. It was as if he already saw a future where a single drop of his blood could suppress mountains and seas.
"??????"
Added some of your own blood?!
Sylvie's eyelids twitched violently, and her stomach did a somersault. She finally understood what those multicolored toxins were! Who would have thought it was this guy's blood?! What kind of person's blood is so toxic it can affect a time monster?!
Was this science? Was this magic?
Sylvie couldn't imagine what kind of "filthy thing" she was carrying on her back. This blood was probably so toxic that even a peak Thor or the strongest version of Odin couldn't handle it!
She was about to say something when Ian interrupted.
"Hey, Lady Loki, I have a question. Why are you so afraid of it? I remember... didn't you guys already tame it?" Ian's voice suddenly turned serious. He was referring to the past when Loki and Sylvie teamed up to tame Alioth in the final battle at the TVA.
"Hmm? You even know about that?"
Sylvie's brow furrowed tightly, her speed not slowing in the slightest. "You really are someone from 'that era'... but why don't I have any memory of you?"
She searched all her memories, including those of other Loki variants she had encountered, but found no information about this crazy youth.
"Oh, you're the second person to say that." Ian was thoughtful, not answering the question about his origin. He just stuck to his initial curiosity. "You haven't answered my question yet."
He felt Sylvie should have been able to control that monster. Like training a dog.
However.
The reality was too different from his understanding. Furthermore, Ian could feel a fear from this Loki variant that she shouldn't have felt toward a time monster.
"I just landed recently myself, but I can tell you this." Sylvie gritted her teeth, looking back at Alioth, which was still pursuing them despite being delayed. A flash of deep caution and anger crossed her eyes. "That's because... the master currently driving it is very, very evil."
Ian heard this and seemed to think of something, asking in surprise: "Kang the Conqueror is back? Wait, wasn't he erased from the conceptual level by the 'girls-get-it-done' movement?"
This was a bit of Marvel apocrypha known only to Ian.
Sylvie didn't understand. But she had developed a sense for Ian's "Ian-isms." She didn't ask or dwell on it, but her eyes flickered as she lowered her voice, speaking with great dread.
"No, not Kang the Conqueror. If you truly are an Ancient One who survived from 'that era,' perhaps you haven't forgotten another name... a name that nearly destroyed everything and turned countless realities to ash." She paused, as if saying the name required immense courage.
Finally, she gritted her teeth and gave the shuddering answer.
"The All-Father... Ultron."
Her words were low.
"The Time Variance Authority (TVA), even all of this... is now under Ultron's control." Sylvie's words echoed at this chaotic and desperate end of time.
Every word carried a weight that made her feel suffocated. That wasn't just an artificial intelligence; that was an ultimate destruction program that had nearly succeeded in turning all of reality into inorganic dust—one of the darkest chapters in the history of the Avengers.
"Ultron?"
Ian was also surprised. He certainly remembered the character. In the Marvel Multiverse, as a super-AI villain created by humans, Ultron had countless evolved versions, with combat power ranging from a "city-level threat" to a "multiversal devourer." The infinite possibilities personally granted by Tony Stark were Ultron's greatest asset.
"Yes, it's Ultron."
Sylvie gritted her teeth, carrying Ian and those two weird hairy legs that gave her insane speed. She sprinted across the messy trash plains, dodging the intermittent energy breaths of Alioth that could annihilate existence.
"We don't know how he did it!" Her voice was torn by the wind. "By the time we noticed something was wrong, he had already replaced 'He Who Remains' on the throne of time! All TVA systems were assimilated and remodeled by him! He is now the master of time itself!"
***
Time Variance Authority.
Maximum Authority Chamber.
This place stood in extreme contrast to the chaos and decay at the end of time. The room was vast, as if positioned at the core of the universe. Beyond the massive, curved transparent walls wasn't the dark of space, but the endless, brilliant cosmic glow flowing by.
Countless newborn star systems rotated slowly like embryos. Unopened cosmic bubbles were embedded in the veins of time like pearls, emitting soft and powerful energy fluctuations. It was so quiet you could hear your own heartbeat; every breath felt like inhaling the birth and death of stars.
Gwen Stacy—or rather, the first subordinate Ian had blessed, Quantum Spider-Woman—stood before this magnificent and awe-inspiring sight, gazing at the beautiful scenery outside.
She was no longer in her familiar spider-suit. Instead, she had changed into a silver-white TVA high-ranking agent combat suit with blue light-stream lines that fit her curves and outlined her athletic physique.
"So, we need to find the secrets buried in history." Gwen's blonde hair was tied back, her face showing a hint of exhaustion, but more so a firm sense of mission. In her hand, she held a palm-sized, extremely sophisticated silver-white instrument with faint data streams flickering on its surface.
It looked like a locator, yet also like some kind of interface device.
Her gaze turned toward a holographic projection platform in the center of the room. On the platform, a virtual image of a classic, reliable middle-aged male butler flickered slightly—it was the virtual form of Jarvis, Tony Stark's most trusted AI butler.
"Jarvis."
Gwen's voice echoed in the empty room with a hint of confirmation. "Are you sure... as long as we place this thing on Ian Kent, we can locate the coordinates of that... 'O-A-A' you mentioned?"
Her gaze was highly suspicious.
The image of "Jarvis" in the holographic projection gave a perfect, reassuring smile. His voice was warm and magnetic, carrying a convincing steadiness.
"Yes. We need the power of OAA. Only then can the forcibly shrunk and imprisoned multiverse bloom once again with the infinite hope and possibilities we all crave."
"This is the only way to break the deadlock and save all realities. Your task is vital, Gwen." The "Jarvis" projection flickered slightly. His tone became more earnest.
"Alright, I understand." Gwen looked at the small instrument in her hand, then at the countless cosmic embryos outside that were frozen, controlled, and unable to grow naturally. She took a deep breath.
"Since you say that Ian himself might not even remember this, then I will find Ian Kent and complete this mission to save the multiverse."
Gwen made her promise.
In the holographic projection, "Jarvis" gave a smile of praise and encouragement.
"Very good. Like Tony, you are a partner worthy of trust." Jarvis spoke with emotion, yet no one could see what was hidden in the data behind his eyes.
***
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