[Host: Luke Yale
System Level: 6 (the highest level of the system. After reaching this level, it can no longer be upgraded. Mutations can affect space and time, objects and creatures. In front of the host, no matter what, it may mutate.)
Plot Points: 0 remaining
Negative Mutation Ability: Any life form or object that the host does not like can be affected by negative mutations. The range of negative mutations and the probability of occurrence of each level are related to the system level.
Probability of Each Mutation Level:
First-order: 0%
Second-order: 10%
Third-order: 20%
Fourth-order: 30%
Fifth-order: 30%
Sixth-order: 10%
Seventh-order: 1% (only triggered in extreme cases)]
The blue light curtain shimmered faintly in front of Luke, its glyphs rearranging as the new system attributes revealed themselves.
Luke's gaze lingered, his expression unreadable. The revelation that Level 6 was the absolute limit surprised him, not because he longed for more upgrades, but because it confirmed something crucial. He no longer needed to chase plot points to evolve the system. His focus could now be placed entirely on wielding what he had.
And what he had was honestly quite terrifying.
He glanced at the probability chart, a slow smile tugging at his lips. At Level 6, the odds were stacked in his favor. Nearly any target he disliked could be twisted by negative mutations, warped into something weaker, unstable, or outright broken.
Invincible? That word whispered in the back of his mind. It wasn't arrogance; it was calculation.
The so-called strongest mutants he had seen so far, Gul'dan, Hela, Doggo, even Bumblebee fused with the Reality Stone, were all still capped at Level 5. And now the system stood one level above them, with a small probability of creating a level 7 mutation, how strong would that be?
"Level 6," he thought, eyes narrowing with satisfaction. 'Then let's see who dares stand in my way.'
On the horizon, Thanos' warship shifted again. Familiar devices unfolded from its underbelly, opening like iron flowers blooming across the night sky. Luke's eyes glinted. He remembered this scene, in his past life, in movies, but it was happening way earlier than expected.
"It doesn't matter," he said softly, almost amused. "Early or late, I'm ready."
With that, he closed his eyes. Space rippled in front of him like water struck by a stone. The fabric of reality twisted, and a doorway shimmered into being. Luke stepped through first without hesitation.
Behind him, Hela moved gracefully like a shadow bound to his will. Wanda followed, crimson energy flickering faintly at her fingertips, her face set with determination. Sharon came last, Mjölnir spinning lazily in her hand as if it weighed nothing.
The ripple collapsed. And then…
On the battlefield below, just behind the Avengers, space cracked open again.
Ripples shimmered in midair, and Luke walked out as though stepping through nothing more dangerous than a doorway. Hela, Wanda, and Sharon emerged one by one behind him, their arrival carrying a quiet, unsettling weight.
Thanos' eyes narrowed slightly, his massive chin lifting in faint surprise. That method of entry, silent, completely seamless, unlike any teleportation he had seen, intrigued him. For the first time in a long while, the Mad Titan felt the faintest ripple of curiosity.
The Avengers were equally stunned. Weapons were raised instinctively, shields tightened in defense, but then recognition set in. They knew that figure.
Tony muttered under his breath, "Of course he shows up now…" but didn't lower his guard.
Thor, however, reacted far more dramatically. His single eye widened, his breath catching in his throat as his gaze locked on Hela. Memories surged, her cold smile, her merciless hand plucking his eye out, the humiliation of being cast out. His grip on Stormbreaker faltered as raw fear crept across his face.
"You…!" Thor stammered, his booming voice unusually small. "Why are you here? Why did you come to Midgard?!" He instinctively stumbled back two steps, eyes darting between Hela and Luke.
But Hela didn't spare him even a glance. Her expression was calm, her movements measured, her role clear. She walked a half-step behind Luke, posture sharp, her very presence radiating the aura of a loyal executioner awaiting her master's word.
Luke didn't acknowledge Thor either. His eyes were already fixed on Thanos. That was the only opponent worthy of even a fraction of his caution.
The Mad Titan. The early Marvel universe's final boss.
Luke's lips curved faintly. He wasn't afraid, but prudence never hurt.
Then it began.
Dozens of massive triangular pods streaked from the belly of Thanos' ship, crashing down into the heart of New York with deafening roars. The earth trembled, windows shattered for miles, and shockwaves tore through the city.
One by one, the pods opened and out they came.
Monsters.
They were nightmarish creatures, four arms bulging with muscles as hard as steel, two massive legs stomping forward with thunderous force. Their faces were dominated by grotesque mouths that stretched wide, filled with fangs sharp enough to tear steel apart. Their eyes gleamed with primal bloodlust. Born for war, bred for nothing but killing.
As the hatches clanged open, the vanguard poured out like a living flood. Their howls tore through the air, guttural roars that rattled the spines of every human who heard them. Pavement cracked under their weight as they sprinted toward S.H.I.E.L.D. Headquarters.
The defenders were hopelessly outnumbered.
S.H.I.E.L.D. agents lined the perimeter, rifles raised, but their hands shook uncontrollably. Sweat dripped from their brows. Some clenched their jaws so tightly their teeth ground audibly; others could not even keep their weapons steady. One or two had already lost control of their bladders, the stench of urine mixing with gun oil.
They were trained agents, but not all of them were hardened by years of missions, there were also those who only worked in logistics. But even for the veterans, nothing in their lives had prepared them for this tide of monsters.
And behind them, the soldiers of the New York Military District crouched behind fortifications hastily thrown together. Sandbags, barbed wire, armored vehicles, against the endless sea of alien warriors, it all looked pitifully small.
The truth was obvious: when the vanguard hit, those barricades would be shredded like paper.
A distance away, at the very top of S.H.I.E.L.D. Headquarters, Nick Fury stood silently at the wide window, his vision locked on the battlefield below.
Behind him, his most trusted lieutenants gathered, Maria Hill's face was pale but stern, Phil Coulson's hands clenched tightly behind his back, trying to keep them from shaking.
The three of them could see everything from their vantage point. The scale of the invasion, the sheer number of enemies, and the hopelessness of humanity's defenses.
Coulson finally broke the silence, his voice low and trembling. "Boss… do you think the Avengers can win this time?"
For a long moment, Fury said nothing. His brow furrowed, his jaw set hard. He didn't want to lie, not to them, and not to himself.
Finally, he exhaled through his nose, slow and heavy, and said the truth: "If they can't win… then this world is finished."
The words landed like a hammer. Maria Hill swallowed hard, Coulson's throat bobbed nervously. They all knew it was true.
But just as despair began to creep into the room, Fury's tone changed. He glanced down once more, his gaze locking on the lone figure who had stepped out behind the Avengers: Luke Yale, standing calm and unshaken while the entire world quaked.
Luke's silhouette was thin compared to the soldiers around him, but to Fury, it radiated something unexplainable. A power he couldn't measure. A presence that made the impossible feel… possible.
Fury's lips pressed into a thin line, and then he spoke with quiet conviction.
"…But I think that if someone has a way, it is Luke. He always does."
Hope flickered in the room, fragile but stubborn.
…