Boom!
Thor's body was hurled backward with brutal force, a human cannonball fired by Gamora's vicious kick. He crashed through an ancient stone pillar, the impact shattering rock and jarring every bone in his body before he collapsed to his knees on the unforgiving ground.
"So strong…" he gasped, spitting dust and blood. "And that sword… it's no simple weapon."
He watched her approach, a silhouette of deadly grace against the swirling crimson energy of the ruins. The massive blade she carried dragged behind her, its edge effortlessly carving a deep trench in the stone floor. A cold bead of sweat traced a path down his temple.
Even with his Asgardian physiology, even with the Plumber enhancements coursing through him, Thor, stripped of his divine power, was completely outmatched. In that moment of searing pain and helplessness, he missed Mjolnir with an ache that was physical. He missed the crackle of lightning at his command, the feel of the storm bending to his will. He missed being the God of Thunder.
Gamora's steps were slow, deliberate. He could see the conflict in her eyes, a flicker of something other than ruthless efficiency. A faint, dark energy seemed to cling to her, an aura of torment.
"I told you," she said, her voice strained, "I have no quarrel with the Plumbers. Leave now. I won't kill you."
"I will not run!" Thor roared, forcing himself to his feet. He swayed, his vision swimming, but his pride held him upright. This was more than a mission; it was a matter of honor. He had compromised his principles before, using cunning and deceit when strength failed him, but he would not flee from a direct challenge. To turn tail now would be to admit he was truly unworthy, and he would never be able to face himself, let alone dream of wielding Mjolnir again.
He braced himself, his mind racing. "Azmuth," he whispered, a desperate plea to the artificial intelligence integrated into his suit.
In the physical world, he was talking to himself. In the digital one, he was issuing a command. After Eunice. had gained her own sentient body, Ben had commissioned a new, streamlined AI based on her core programming to serve the vast network of Plumber agents. He had named it Azmuth, a tribute to the Galvan who had inspired it.
Acknowledged, the AI's voice echoed in his ear. A section of his uniform shimmered, nanotechnology flowing like liquid metal down his arm and solidifying in his hand. In seconds, he was holding a small warhammer, a perfect, mundane replica of Mjolnir.
Gamora paused, an expression of disdain crossing her features. "And what good will that toy do?" she scoffed. "Your friend tried the same trick with a shield. My sword cut through it as if it were paper."
"It's the only weapon I need," Thor declared, his voice filled with a self-deceptive bravado. He raised the hammer, holding it before his eyes and pressing his cheek against the cool, inert metal. He closed his eyes, his whisper a desperate prayer to a god he no longer was. "Whosoever holds this hammer, if he be worthy, shall possess the power of Thor…"
He was drowning in nostalgia, but what he craved more than the hammer itself was the feeling of being worthy. Powerless and disgraced, this pathetic imitation was all the solace he could afford.
He was wrong. The loss of his power was never about the hammer. Odin's enchantment had bestowed the power of the storm upon Mjolnir, but it had never stripped it from Thor himself. His true prison was the doubt festering in his own heart, a self-imposed weakness that shackled his innate strength.
The proof was in the charm Ben had given him. As Thor, in his desperation, invoked the memory of his power, he unconsciously activated the rune-etched Plumber badge on his chest. He channeled his despair, his will, his very essence into it, and in response, the Mana Ben had gifted him roared to life.
And across dimensions, something answered.
In a realm of swirling, incandescent creation, Ben Parker, the Ancient One, and Odin stood together upon a floating crystalline platform, watching the birth of a universe. Ben had felt the summons, the sudden resonance of his power being used, and had abandoned his other work to come here, to the dimension he was slowly shaping—the Celestial Forge.
The Ancient One, having left the Sanctum's daily affairs in the capable hands of Baron Mordo, stood beside him. Mordo, who in another life might have fallen to Dormammu's whispers, was now a loyal disciple.
Why seek the tainted power of the Dark Dimension when the pure, boundless energy of the Celestial Forge was within reach? He, like all the Masters of the Mystic Arts, now revered the Ancient One and saw Ben, the master of this new dimension, as a patron deity.
Dormammu could call all he wanted; Mordo was afraid Ben might misunderstand.
Odin, meanwhile, had arrived after successfully faking his death. He had orchestrated his grand exit, evacuated the true Asgard, and left the empty husk of the old city as a battlefield for Malekith and Hela. The Dark Elf, it seemed, had been clever, choosing to harness the Bifrost's energy to escape and trap Hela there rather than engage in a costly war. Odin knew, however, that his firstborn would not be contained for long. Her rage would fuel her, and she would find a way to seek her revenge.
"It seems Thor has activated the charm," Ben observed, his eyes fixed on a massive, embryonic form coalescing within a vast pink nebula. "Your Mana, amplified by his own latent power, has sparked creation. The first naturally born being of this dimension is about to emerge."
He wondered what kind of trouble Thor had stumbled into. To require such a desperate surge of power just to retrieve an Infinity Stone seemed excessive.
The Ancient One and Odin immediately moved to act, their hands weaving intricate spells to shield and stabilize the nascent life form.
"It will be the progenitor of a new race," the Ancient One said, her voice calm but resonant with power. "But this first one, the Prime, must be bound to you. You must become a part of it, as it becomes a part of you. That is the duty of a Dimensional Lord."
Ben knew she was right. He activated the Omnitrix, its faceplate glowing with a brilliant yellow light. "Initiating Capture Mode. Target: Prime Anodite."
This time, the Omnitrix wasn't just sampling DNA. It was capturing an entire being, a creature of pure, raw, Mana.
[Target acquired. Capture successful. Prime Anodite DNA loaded.]
In a flash, the newborn life vanished from the nebula and was absorbed into the watch. Yet, in its wake, countless smaller embryos began to glow within the cosmic dust, the genesis of a new population. They were imperfect copies, echoes of the first, which had been the beginning.
"Time to meet the new me," Ben said. "Transform!"
He slammed his hand down on the Omnitrix. In a blinding flash of green light, his human form dissolved, replaced by a towering figure of pure energy, its body a swirling mix of pink and white light that pulsed with unimaginable power. He was an Anodite—but more. He was the first Anodite of this new reality.
"Now," Odin's voice boomed, his one remaining eye flashing with the power of the runes, a primal magic drawn from the World Tree itself, "we anchor the dimension to you." The runes flowed from his gaze, a language older than the cosmos, capable of elevating him to Odin, the Rune King, a being of multiversal scale.
The Ancient One joined him, her own power flowing in concert. As one of the first to wield this Mana, she was perhaps even more attuned to its rhythms than Ben himself.
Together, the three of them—the Progenitor, the Sage, and the All-Father—began to channel the very essence of the Celestial Forge into Ben's new form, forging him into its living heart. This wasn't like unconsciously bonding with Sakaar or actively absorbing the Eternal Flame. This was a deliberate ascension.
Now, he thought, his consciousness expanding to fill the entire dimension, I become the Master of Mana!
I AM ASCENDANT
"Now, I am King of Muspelheim! Ruler of the Realm of Fire!"
Vilgax's triumphant roar echoed across the blackened, desolate landscape. He stood upon a throne not of metal or stone, but of the charred corpses of fire demons and giants, their twisted forms a testament to his conquest. In his right hand, he held high the horned helmet of his vanquished foe, Surtur. Beneath his skin, the stolen power of the fire realm pulsed, and his very blood seemed to burn like magma.
Psyphon, his grotesque form hunched over, rubbed his hands together like an eager fly. "My lord Vilgax! Muspelheim is only the beginning! That fool Malekith will be crushed beneath your heel! You shall conquer all Ten Realms! Then, with your infinite might, you will destroy the Plumber filth, claim the Omnitrix, and begin your conquest of the universe itself!"
His flattery was sincere, and Vilgax allowed a cruel, satisfied smile to spread across his face.
A discordant voice cut through the air. "Psyphon! You dare betray Lord Malekith?!"
They turned to see one of Malekith's Cursed Warriors, his body broken and pinned to the ground by crude weapons. Near him lay the trembling form of a woman and the whimpering bulk of a massive fire dragon.
At the sight of Vilgax's gaze, the woman, Sindr, fell to her knees. "Lord Vilgax, I surrender! I will serve you!" she begged. She was Surtur's daughter, a princess of this dead realm. But her father was now nothing more than ash, his power drained by Vilgax. Revenge was a luxury she could not afford; survival was all that mattered.
"My lord," Psyphon asked eagerly, "shall we absorb their power as well?" The Cursed Warrior was a dead man walking, and Sindr still commanded what little remained of Muspelheim's legions.
"Keep the woman," Vilgax said lightly. He needed Psyphon to maintain his cover with Malekith for now, and Sindr would serve as proof of Muspelheim's "submission." As for the Cursed Warrior and the fire dragon…
"I believe a friend of ours might have a use for them. Isn't that right… Khyber?"
A new figure stepped from the shadows. He was a tall, imposing warrior, wearing the skull of some great horned beast as a breastplate. It was Khyber the Huntsman, a predator of galactic renown and one of Ben 10's most persistent enemies.
"I just need a hound," Khyber said, his voice a low growl. His gaze was fixed on the fire dragon, Jörmungandr. His own hunting dog had not survived the journey to this universe.
"You need more than a hound. You need more power," Vilgax corrected. He saw Khyber's potential. He was a capable hunter, but not yet strong enough for the threats this universe held. The dying Cursed Warrior was the perfect solution. As for the dragon, Vilgax had no use for it.
"You are not afraid I will turn on you once I have this power?" Khyber challenged. "Remember, this is a contract, not submission."
"I do not care," Vilgax sneered. He had crushed a Cursed Warrior; he had no fear of one empowered by its scraps. "Besides," he added, a predatory gleam in his eye, "there are so many new specimens for you to collect in this universe. I can help you hunt them. After, of course, you help me acquire the Omnitrix."
Khyber's silence was his consent. He turned to the fire dragon, the gill-like organs on his cheeks flaring as he began the process of taming his new pet.
Back in the ruined factory, Thor collapsed, the last of his strength gone. The surge of Mana had been a final, desperate flare, but it had not been enough.
Gamora stood over him. The voice of Thanos still echoed in her mind, a psychic scar from her time as his daughter, a constant whisper urging her toward cruelty. It was a torment, but also a source of dark strength.
She ignored the unconscious Coulson nearby. Bending down, she plucked the blue containment cube from Thor's limp hand. Recalling the incantations Thanos had forced into her memory, she focused her will. The swirling red particles of the Aether were drawn from the ruins, coalescing within the cube until they solidified into a single, blood-red, liquid jewel. The Reality Stone.
"You should kill them, my dear daughter," the phantom voice whispered. "Just as you should have killed the Red Skull. Loose ends only bring trouble."
Gamora clutched the cube, the stone pulsing with power in her grasp. She straightened up, turned her back on the two fallen Plumbers, and walked away into the shadows.
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