Everything in the room was exactly as he'd left it.
The furniture hadn't shifted an inch, and the darkness pressing against the walls felt familiar in a way no battlefield ever could. Locke appeared on the bed without warning, his body settling into the quiet of his own room as if the last stretch of war, blood, and collapsing blue light had all happened in some distant dream.
He exhaled slowly and stared into the dark.
At last, he was home.
Even so, the moment the relief settled in, a trace of regret came with it. His original plan in the Marvel universe hadn't been limited to touching the Space Stone. He'd wanted to take it with him, bring it back to the DC world, and turn one more impossible weapon into part of his own growing arsenal.
Unfortunately, that hadn't happened.
After thinking it through, though, he knew the failure might have saved him from something even worse. The Space Stone wasn't just some glowing rock with a few neat tricks. It was tied to forces far beyond what it showed on the surface, part of the power structure surrounding beings on the level of gods in that universe. If he had really tried to take it outright, there was a good chance he would've been targeted the second he touched the wrong thread.
Still, he'd had no real choice.
Captain America had only been the opening act, and Locke understood better than ever that the Marvel universe wasn't a place he could stay tied to forever. Once he thought about Thanos collecting all the Stones and wiping out half of existence with a snap, the risk became obvious. If he ever dropped back into that timeline at the wrong moment and turned to ash before he'd even gotten his footing, that would've been a pathetic joke.
There was one more thing that still bothered him.
He hadn't managed to strip Red Skull's power. When the violent energy of the Space Stone wrapped around both of them, Red Skull had already lost the ability to resist, so Locke had tried to take everything in that instant. But there had been no response at all. That failure told him something important, and he didn't like the implication much—he apparently couldn't seize the exact same kind of ability twice.
A flicker passed through his eyes.
A transparent status panel appeared in front of him, hanging in the darkness like a sheet of pale glass.
Locke
Dimension Points: 1880
Plot Changes: Became the first true combat legend of the American military in the Marvel universe, became Steve's field mentor, became one of the founding figures behind S.H.I.E.L.D., and altered the super soldier line by adding a new enhanced existence.
Abilities: Immortality, Progenitor Body (Archangel Remnant), Blood God (non-concept), Super Soldier.
Locke's gaze paused on the Dimension Points first.
That number was no joke.
A major universe really did pay differently. The reward for changing the story in Marvel was far higher than anything he'd gotten from the previous worlds, especially once he started affecting core characters and major turning points in the timeline.
Then his eyes shifted downward and settled on the newly acquired ability.
Super Soldier.
A stream of information slid into his mind as the ability was parsed and understood. Enhanced strength, speed, senses, and physical durability far beyond normal human limits. On top of that, improved metabolism, full breakdown of lactic acid and other fatigue-generating substances, and a slowed aging process.
He activated it directly.
His hands clenched into fists, and the change was immediate. Power surged through his arms in a way that felt clean, stable, and brutally direct. It wasn't mystical like blood power or strange like dimensional interference. It was simple, reliable strength, the kind that made the body itself feel like a weapon built for war.
A satisfied smile tugged at his mouth.
He didn't close the panel. Instead, with a thought, he opened the Dimension Mall, something he hadn't seriously checked in a long time.
Rows of items spilled out before him.
Weapons, tools, vehicles, materials, and battlefield junk from multiple worlds lined the interface in a long, dizzying cascade. Locke felt a flicker of excitement rise in his chest as he scanned the list.
Sure enough, a man who'd just gotten back from war wasn't thinking the same way as before.
His eyes passed over a pile of World War II firearms from both American and German arsenals. Rifles, machine guns, sidearms, ammo belts, grenades—enough gear to arm a whole damn unit. For a moment, his gaze lingered on a revolver, but he quickly moved past it.
Forget it.
In Gotham, there'd never be a shortage of guns.
He kept scrolling until something more interesting caught his eye, and when he saw the price, his expression twitched.
Vibranium Shield: Forged from the rare and famous vibranium of a certain multidimensional world. Possesses extraordinary toughness and energy absorption. Highly effective at dispersing sudden and overwhelming impact.
Redemption Value: 800
Locke stared at it for a second.
Then another.
"Seriously?"
The price hit him like a personal insult, but after a short hesitation, he bought it anyway. The moment the exchange completed, a shield appeared before him, hovering in the air with the unmistakable outline of a classic vibranium design and that familiar star pattern stamped across the front.
He frowned slightly.
That look wasn't going to work for him.
"Can you change the appearance?" he muttered.
The shield responded instantly.
Its shape blurred and shifted, the circular frame stretching and reforming into the broader, sharper profile of a medieval knight's shield. The bright surface darkened into layered black metal, and the clean heroic lines were replaced by something colder and more savage. At the center, a pale skull insignia emerged, stark against the dark surface like a death mark burned into steel.
Locke's eyes widened.
The previous annoyance vanished on the spot.
Now that was worth the price.
The thing looked vicious, heavy, and exactly right for him. No patriotic symbol, no clean-cut soldier aesthetic—just a weapon that looked like it belonged in the hand of someone monsters should fear.
He grabbed it as it hung in the air.
The moment his fingers closed around it, the shield solidified completely. Its weight settled into his arm, dense and reassuring, and he couldn't help lifting it instinctively in front of himself before swinging it lightly from side to side.
Smooth. Balanced. Brutal.
A grin spread across his face.
"Yeah," he murmured. "That's more like it."
He set the shield on the bed and returned to the exchange list, his attention sharpening again. The Dimension Mall was still loaded with all kinds of battlefield prizes from his latest trip, and his mind started spinning faster the deeper he went.
Because he'd entered that world through an American warfront, the catalog was full of military hardware. American tanks. German tanks. Supply trucks. Aircraft. Then, a little farther down, a vehicle appeared that looked suspiciously familiar.
A heavily armored combat car. Sleek. Aggressive. Ridiculously cool.
"Damn."
For a moment, Locke genuinely considered buying it and rolling it straight into Gotham just to see Batman's face. The thought alone almost made him do it. In the end, though, he forced himself to hold back. With his current balance, spending that much on a toy would be stupid.
Even if it was an extremely cool toy.
He kept scrolling.
Soon, he passed a large transport plane and moved into the equipment section, where one familiar item made him stop.
Mithril Sword: A special long blade once wielded by Abraham in the vampire world. Extremely high silver density, reinforced with additional rare metals to preserve toughness.
Redemption Value: 30
That price was practically nothing.
Without hesitating, Locke made the exchange. A simple, understated cane appeared in his hand, its design plain enough to avoid attention but elegant enough to feel dangerous. He tested the weight once or twice and gave a small nod.
Not bad.
"If a sneak attack will do the job," he said under his breath, "there's no point in eating hits head-on."
The image formed immediately in his mind. An old man with a cane, slow steps, harmless posture, closing the gap while the target relaxed for half a second. Then the cane splitting open and a blade punching straight through the bastard before he even understood what had happened.
That had style.
His mood improved another notch, but when he looked back at the total cost of his shopping spree, his face twitched again. Without really noticing, he'd already burned through the savings of nearly three worlds' worth of work.
He opened one hand.
A familiar silver blade appeared in it, summoned from a previous exchange rather than purchased again. Calling it out still cost time and effort, but at least the sword itself didn't need another redemption.
He studied the blade, then pressed both thumbs lightly against its body.
The silver bent.
The smooth surface dented under almost no force at all.
Locke stared at it in silence for a second, and a vein nearly jumped at his temple. Seeing that ugly depression on the otherwise clean blade instantly offended every perfectionist instinct in his body.
"Damn fragile…"
He let out a slow breath and forced himself to calm down. It was going to need modification sooner or later anyway. If he wanted the weapon to remain useful against stronger enemies, plain silver wasn't going to cut it forever.
His gaze moved through the materials section until he found what he wanted.
Raw vibranium.
The price was insulting.
Ten points per gram.
He still bought some.
After the exchange finished, the point counter dropped again.
Points Remaining: 1020
Locke stared at the new total and let out a long exhale. There was a special kind of satisfaction in spending points like this. Dangerous, irresponsible, probably inefficient—but satisfying all the same.
Shopping once was fun.
Shopping without stopping was even better.
Now armed with a custom vibranium shield, a concealed sword cane, and the first pieces of material for future weapon upgrades, Locke leaned back slightly and let his eyes drift over the remaining listings. A few of the guns lower in the catalog looked especially good, the kind with enough presence to make murder feel cinematic.
His eyes narrowed as the idea started turning over in his head.
"In the past, going barehanded felt great," he murmured, half to himself, half to the dark room. "But if I can cut a guy open first and then pull the blade back out…"
....
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