Soon, a figure in a black cloak appeared before Thanos.
The newcomer stood about 1.8 meters tall, completely wrapped in layers of dark fabric. The hood swallowed all light, hiding their face and making it impossible to tell whether they were male or female. In their grasp was a massive sickle, over two meters long, its curved blade humming faintly with an ominous chill.
From beneath the cloak, bare arms were visible—pale, no, unnaturally pale. The skin was almost dazzlingly white, delicate and flawless, nothing like what any human could possess. The slender build of those arms suggested a woman's physique, graceful yet unsettling.
"Thanos," a calm voice said, smooth and unhurried, "you've done an excellent job over these past few years. I'm very satisfied."
As the words faded, the woman lifted her hood.
A breathtakingly beautiful face was revealed—so perfect it bordered on unreal. Her cherry-red lips were vivid and inviting, the kind that tempted even the strongest will to linger. Her small, refined nose was pale and elegant, like a white rosebud just beginning to bloom at dawn. Her eyes, however, were the most terrifying part—deep black, like twin singularities, devoid of light, yet capable of devouring the soul of anyone foolish enough to stare too long.
Her long black hair cascaded down to her waist, glossy and smooth, like flowing strands of silk.
Faced with such overwhelming beauty, Thanos simply lowered his eyes. He didn't spare her a second glance.
Because the being standing before him was not someone beauty could distract from—she was one of Marvel's five cosmic entities: the Goddess of Death.
Unlike Hela, who merely wielded death, this existence was death itself—the embodiment of its laws, the ruler of the underworld. Her authority transcended a single universe and brushed against the power of rules themselves. At the very least, she existed on a multiversal level, perhaps even beyond that. Such power couldn't be measured by numbers or attributes.
Besides, she could change her appearance at will. Even this flawless form was nothing more than a convenient illusion.
Thanos still remembered their first meeting clearly. Back then, she had appeared as nothing more than a floating skull.
"As agreed," Thanos said flatly, "you will give me the power."
Thanos was his true name, though ever since the destruction of Titan, he had gone by another title. Few in the universe still remembered who he had once been.
The Goddess of Death stepped closer, her delicate fingers brushing lightly over his solid frame. Her lips curved into a teasing smile. "Is that all? Don't you want… other rewards?"
"You should know," she added softly, "in other universes, you chose me."
A trace of disgust flickered through Thanos's eyes.
At the multiversal level, there was an unspoken truth: all things ultimately converge into one. No matter how many universes existed, there was only one God of Death.
Even if she could create countless avatars with a single thought, the idea that she had made the same deal with countless versions of himself across different universes filled Thanos with revulsion.
He shook his head without hesitation. "No. I only want power."
Seeing she couldn't tempt him, the Goddess of Death stepped back. The playful smile vanished, replaced by a cold, bored expression.
"How dull," she said.
The next instant, pure death energy surged forward and poured into Thanos's body.
Though Hela and Corvus Glaive both cultivated death-related power, what they wielded wasn't even remotely comparable to this. The difference was like lighting a fire with damp wood versus igniting a star through nuclear fusion. Both produced heat—but the gap between them was absolute.
Even the Goddess of Death felt a hint of reluctance.
After all, the power of death was far more valuable than indulging someone's desires.
Why was it that Thanos in other universes could be satisfied with obsession and longing, while this Thanos was so fixated on raw power alone? It was irritating, honestly.
If not for the fact that this version of Thanos was different—special enough to give her a chance to contend with the Celestials—she wouldn't have bothered making a deal with him at all.
Moments later, the transfer was complete.
Thanos suddenly spoke again. "By the way, I've recently had the urge to go to Earth and collect the Infinity Stones. But I know… that desire isn't truly mine."
The Goddess of Death's eyes narrowed.
In an instant, deathly energy wrapped around Thanos's entire body. She raised her sickle and swung it through the air. It looked like a casual motion, almost careless—as if she had cut through nothing at all.
And yet, something invisible was severed.
"The Celestials are annoyingly persistent," she said coolly. "They noticed your uniqueness far too quickly. Don't worry—no one will interfere with you now."
Thanos felt as though something had vanished from his mind. Or maybe it hadn't. The sensation was vague, elusive, like trying to recall a dream that slipped away the moment you woke up.
Strange. Mysterious. Unexplainable.
But he understood one thing clearly: with his current strength, the workings of multiversal power were far beyond his grasp.
So he said nothing—only nodded.
However, he caught the hidden meaning buried in the other party's words.
No one would trouble him now, but that came with no promises about the future.
Clearly, the struggle between the Five Great Gods and the Celestials was not as one-sided as it appeared. If anything, it sounded like the Five Great Gods themselves were under suppression.
The God of Death had no idea her casual remarks had sent Thanos spiraling into such deep thought. To her, it was simple. She merely said, "Your task now is to find the Soul Stone with all your strength, and then go to Earth."
"Remember—your mission is to wipe out half of all life in this universe and prevent the birth of the Celestials."
Once she finished speaking, her figure slowly dissolved into the surrounding darkness, as if she had never been there at all.
Thanos soon snapped back to reality.
The sound of rushing water filled his ears.
It felt as though only a brief moment had passed.
Yet when he sensed the astonishingly pure death energy circulating within his body, he knew without a doubt that what he had experienced was no illusion.
After a while, he shut off the shower and lay down on the bed. The mattress was soft, far more comfortable than most places he had rested before, but sleep stubbornly refused to come.
Time slipped by—how much, he couldn't say.
Finally, Thanos spoke silently in his mind.
"System, are you there?"
There was no response.
Still, he wasn't worried. The system was definitely present—it was simply avoiding exposure to unknown entities. Cautious to the point of paranoia, really. Annoying, but understandable.
Sure enough, more than ten minutes later, a cold, mechanical voice echoed in his mind.
"Host, I'm here."
"How many points do I have in total?"
His reason for seeking the power of death from the Goddess of Death had never been refinement.
Even if he tried, he couldn't truly refine her power into his own. The gap in level was far too vast. That was precisely why the Goddess of Death hadn't cared in the slightest—she knew he couldn't absorb it.
What she never imagined, however, was that Thanos had no intention of absorbing it at all.
He wanted to sell it.
To the system.
"A total of 135,827 points," the system replied. "Would you like to redeem them, Host?"
"Alright," Thanos said calmly. "Open the redemption list."
In the next instant, a densely packed exchange interface appeared before his eyes.
Tyrant's Power.God-King Bloodline.Gamma Rays.Source of Ice.
The options were overwhelming—some of them didn't even belong to the power systems of the Marvel Universe at all.
Because the system itself wasn't born from this universe.
It came from other, infinite universes beyond comprehension.
When the system first bound itself to Thanos, its presence had nearly been detected by certain terrifying entities within the Marvel Universe. Since then, both sides had agreed to minimize contact unless absolutely necessary.
Thanos only summoned the system when it truly mattered.
And the system only responded when it was certain the surroundings were safe.
Most of the time, it behaved like an ordinary system—checking attributes, issuing rewards, and staying very, very quiet.
Which, considering who might be listening, was probably the smartest thing it could do.
.....
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