The process of entering a universe was not as simple as stepping through an invisible door.
First came the flood of dazzling, chaotic visions—an overwhelming cascade of colors and shapes that defied comprehension—followed by the sensation of immense pressure crushing in from all directions. A body not strong enough to withstand it would be instantly obliterated into dust.
Without the aid of technology or magic, this method of entry was brutally direct, perilous, and absolute.
It was a kind of test.
A test to determine whether the intruder was truly qualified to traverse between universes.
This was why Dimensional Demon Gods were so powerful. Any attempt at direct incursion through these cosmic layers meant passing through a filter—one that would erase anything unworthy.
Herman could easily endure the pressure. As he crossed the cosmic barrier and stepped into the universe that had been calling him, the warped, kaleidoscopic images faded. Slowly, color began to seep back into the space around him.
"Anyone want some dried fish?"
"Fresh water for sale! Essential supplies for adventurers!"
"Looking for treasure in the desert? I've got genuine ancestral treasure maps—cheap!"
...
The sound of vendors shouting filled his ears.
Herman opened his eyes and glanced around.
He had successfully entered a universe—but not the kind he expected. There was no vast wilderness, no modern cityscape bustling with traffic and neon lights.
"This place... is so primitive?"
He blinked in mild surprise. Judging from what he saw, he was still somewhere on Earth.
Vendors were everywhere, their heads wrapped in white cloth, dressed in coarse linen garments. They spoke English as they hawked their wares, though Herman also caught snippets of another tongue—Egyptian.
Yes.
The mix of languages, the golden sand covering the ground, and the endless desert stretching into the horizon left little doubt. He was in Egypt—an ancient land of sand and civilization.
The reason so many locals spoke English was obvious enough: most of the customers were Americans, dressed in suspenders and dusty shirts, likely explorers or soldiers buying provisions.
"Even for Egypt, this looks way too outdated."
Herman found himself standing in the middle of a small market town. Locals were trading supplies while the Americans bartered and stocked up on goods.
Something about the scene felt off. It wasn't just old-fashioned—it was anachronistic. The Americans and Egyptians alike were using horse-drawn carriages for transport.
That wasn't all.
A few vendors had radios—ancient, boxy models straight out of a museum. And strangely, none of the people around him, not even the Americans, carried cell phones or any modern tech.
Not even in their pockets.
Herman's enhanced vision confirmed it—no one possessed a single piece of advanced technology. At best, some of the Americans carried old revolvers on their belts.
"The time... it's wrong."
A sharp light flashed in his eyes.
A few Americans and locals nearby suddenly clutched their heads and collapsed, writhing in pain, as if something had invaded their minds.
"Just as I thought—wrong time period."
Ignoring their pained groans, Herman reached casually into their minds, skimming through layers of memory to confirm the date and place.
It was Egypt, all right.
But Egypt during World War II.
From the Americans' memories, he also caught glimpses of Red Skull and HYDRA.
In that era, HYDRA wasn't some secret shadow organization—it was the Nazi regime's right hand, a force so vast even those in the most remote corners of the world had heard of it.
However, he found no mention of Captain America. Judging by the timeline, it seemed Steve Rogers hadn't even been created yet.
As for whether this was truly his universe...
That, he couldn't say.
The time period he came from was several decades ahead, and he had no way of knowing whether the changes he'd made in the future had rippled this far back.
There was only one way to be sure—
To move forward in time.
If he was lucky, it meant he hadn't entered the wrong universe—just the wrong point in time.
Of course, there was also the possibility that this wasn't his Marvel Universe at all. Either way, he would need to travel into the future to find out.
For someone like Herman, who knew the Marvel Universe's secrets and relics intimately, there were plenty of ways to accelerate time or move through it.
Whether it meant finding the Ancient One of this era or hunting down an artifact capable of time travel, reaching the future wouldn't be difficult.
In fact, if Herman advanced just a bit further—
If he became a being on the level of a Single Universe Entity—he could traverse time on his own. At that stage, he would transcend the flow of time itself, able to exist at any point within a universe's history.
There were still limitations, of course. The further one leapt across time, the more energy it consumed.
But a few decades—or even a century—was nothing.
And given how close he was to breaking through to that level, a little patience in this era might be all he needed to reach it.
"The passage of time doesn't seem to affect my cheat."
Herman glanced at the [All-Seeing Eye] within his mind—the countdown continued, and each week in this world still granted him a new identity.
By accumulating these identities, he could eventually acquire a method to traverse time itself. The simplest way, of course, was just to find a quiet place and sleep through it.
Sleeping for decades wasn't an issue for him. Time's passage had little meaning to someone with a lifespan as vast and enduring as his.
There were plenty of options.
However—
"I can't just leave yet."
At the moment, Herman had no intention of doing so.
He could travel through time whenever he wished, but he had reasons to stay and verify something first. He wasn't sure that leaving this particular point in time wouldn't mean missing the very opportunity he'd been brought here for.
"My arrival in this era… is no coincidence."
His instincts told him as much. He needed to uncover what had called him here.
It might be something important—perhaps even crucial. The fact that he appeared in the World War II era likely meant that whatever was calling him only existed in this specific time period.
"Yet that sense of being called vanished the moment I entered this universe. Was it blocked? Or can it only be sensed from outside the universe itself?"
Herman tried to reestablish a connection with the mysterious "voice" that had summoned him.
But—
Nothing.
Ever since stepping into this universe, the feeling had completely disappeared. All he could tell was that the "call" originated somewhere on Earth during this period.
Whether it was from Egypt specifically, he couldn't be sure. But he knew finding the exact location wouldn't be easy.
"I'll have to be careful not to interfere too much with history. If this really is my home universe, the butterfly effect could rewrite half the future—and that would be… troublesome."
He walked into a narrow, empty alleyway. When he emerged from the other side, his black combat robes had already transformed into casual attire.
To avoid attracting attention, Herman had to minimize the chance of causing any sort of commotion. Who knew—if he changed clothes in public, the sudden transformation might send people screaming about ghosts or sorcery.
If that happened, it wouldn't be long before stories of "strange spirits in Egypt" spread across the region.
As for why his earlier arrival hadn't caused panic, Herman guessed it was because the process of entering a universe prevented him from being noticed by anyone within it.
...
At least, not by ordinary people. Otherwise, his sudden materialization in the middle of the street would have sparked chaos the moment he arrived.
"Fresh water! Only one pound a bottle—dollars accepted too!"
"Professional guide, thirty years of experience! I've lived in this desert for fifty! Just ten grams of gold a day!"
"Delicious apples! Get them before they're gone!"
...
The streets outside buzzed with noise and energy.
For a small desert town in World War II, the market was surprisingly lively.
Though primitive compared to the great cities of the time, it thrived as a supply hub for treasure hunters and explorers. The locals made a fortune catering to them, earning in pounds, dollars, and gold—all hard currency in this era.
Those venturing into the desert in search of treasure lacked for nothing except more riches to chase.
"No wonder they're all wearing suspenders—that's peak American fashion during WWII," Herman muttered, eyeing a few Americans dressed in identical outfits, like some sort of uniform. He could already guess why they were here.
They were outfitting themselves for expeditions—heading into the desert to dig for Egypt's ancient treasures.
In other words, they were gold hunters.
Even with the war raging across Europe, it hadn't stopped adventurers from scouring the world for fortune. If anything, the chaos of war had encouraged the gold rush to flourish.
After all, when nations were consumed by battle, who had the time—or authority—to protect ancient artifacts and cultural heritage?
Not just Egypt—all the great civilizations of antiquity suffered looting during this era.
It was a tragic time, one worsened by a lack of education and awareness. Many locals didn't even realize their heritage was being stolen piece by piece.
Just like the Egyptian vendors now, hawking goods in the marketplace—believing these foreign adventurers brought prosperity.
They had no idea that the true treasures of their homeland were being plundered under the noble-sounding banner of "exploration."
Decades from now...
Who knew if they'd look back and regret it?
...
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