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Chapter Text

Prologue

The plasma bolt just barely misses Kang's head, blasting off a chunk of concrete behind him instead.

In an uncharacteristic burst of frustration, he let loose a string of expletives, begrudgingly ducking behind his only remaining and meager protection: a large piece of rubble. Grateful for the reprieve it offered he knows this hiding spot wouldn't last much longer.

"Kang variant TL-771, self titled, Scarlet Centurion, this is your final warning. Surrender now or be dealt with with extreme prejudice" bellowed out an irritated voice some distance away. The speaker was currently obscured from Kang's view due to the swirling cloud of dust and smoke their earlier fighting had kicked up.

In response to the threat, Kang merely gave an exaggerated chuckle. Feigning unfazed bravado in the face of his very real and swiftly approaching demise. Internally though he felt anything but confident. He knew on an objective level it was over for him. His hidden base of operation, a place usually a veritable impregnable stronghold was currently in shambles and ransacked. His elite fighting force and honor guard, his Squadron, had been quickly and completely annihilated with rather embarrassing levels of ease. And his last measure of defense, his cybernetic implants had began to inexplicably go on the fritz and become nonfunctioning sometime during the opening volley's of attack during the raid on his hideout.

Right now, in this moment, Kang was the weakest he had ever been in his entire life. He was no more a physical threat to his enemies than an ant was to a mountain. Thoroughly lacking in any other real bit of leverage. But he was determined to get out of this somehow. Even if it meant bluffing his way through it all.

"Since when did the TVA start taking prisoner's?" Kang asked in an obvious attempt at a delay tactic.

"I thought you lot's whole schtick was to prune anything that didn't fit your 'sacred' timeline" Kang continued, all the while still fiddling desperately away with his nanotech amor. Trying in vain to activate any of it's suddenly non-responsive defensive features.

For whatever reason, the TVA hunter who had issued the initial ultimatum decided to take Kang's obvious bait. Rightfully figuring he held the clear advantage here, so humoring his cornered prey was only slightly prolonging the inevitable.

"Are you telling me you haven't figured it out already? I thought you Kang types where all supposed to be clever." He begun mockingly

"The TVA's under new management you see. We don't prune timelines unless we have to. These days, most of what we do now is to make sure scum like you don't mess with the multiverse and start an all out war" the hunter continued haughtily.

Only half listening, Kang merely gave a disinterested "uh huh" in response, still keenly obsessing with his suit's holographic interface, trying to get any kind of response out from it.

"Give it up will ya. I know you are back there tinkering away with your fancy little suit, trying to maybe time slip out of here. But it's not going to work. We are jamming all your tech here. The only way you are getting out of here is in cuffs, pruned or in a body bag. Either three works for me regardless"

The brash minute man said, secure in his apparent victory. Frowning, Kang ceased his futile tapping and began to try and think of another way out of here.

Desperate for more time to scheme, Kang decided to goad the rather chatty TVA hunter into talking some more.

"You guy's have thought of everything, haven't you?"

Still falling for the obvious bait for some reason the TVA hunter replied "Pretty much. You Kang's aren't nearly as hard to deal with as you think. Without your fancy gadgets and mighty armies, you are all just regular mortals at the end of the day. Maybe a bit smarter than most. But that's about it" the cocky hunter mocked.

Kang felt a brief flash of anger coil through him at the belittling words, but he managed to tamp it down just as quickly. He wouldn't allow himself to lose his cool now. That would only serve to make thing's even easier for the TVA. He needed to remain calm and collected.

Figure out a way out of this mess. By his estimation there was at least twenty or so heavily armed minute men against his lone defenseless self. There used to be dozens more but most had been taken down during the earlier skirmish. But that still meant they held the glaring numbers and weapon advantage over him. His only remaining advantage was that they thought they had him cornered. But often times a Kang is at their dangerous when they've been pushed to the brink.

"You are right" he suddenly admitted. Shocking the TVA hunter into stunned silence by his abrupt concession.

"My variants and I are mere mortals. Nothing without our toy's for the most part. However..."

His once dejected and submissive tone shifting dramatically to that off a more confident and self assured individual.

"It's because we are mere mortals that we are able to do what we do. We weren't handed power on a silver platter like the gods and other empowered entities. We worked for it. Fought for it. Clawed for it. That's what makes a Kang a Kang. Our drive. Our passion. Our zeal. Try all you like but you fools aren't stopping the upcoming war. It's already here. You just don't know it. And when it's all said and done I'll be the one standing atop it all " Kang intoned sagely and with great conviction. Like a man stating absolute facts, not hypotheticals.

Sensing something was off, Brad silently signaled to the rest of his remaining minute men squad to quickly converge on the dangerous Kang variant. No longer wishing to entertain the man.

All the agents quickly rushed over to the fallen slab of concrete and flanked it. Slowly rounding the edges to find the Crimson Centurion, casually propped up in a seated position behind the large piece of debris. Seemingly serene and at peace despite his current predicament.

Wary but ultimately pleased to see the man looked as good as finished, Brad couldn't help but mockingly opine "So you think you'll be the last Kang standing huh? Please pray tell how you'll achieve that considering I'm about to arrest your ass and have you thrown in jail for who knows how long"

Grinning knowingly, Kang levelled an unsettlingly sinister look at Brad. "It's quite simple really. I'll just beat them all to the finish line."

With that the Scarlet Centurion lunged forward with a sudden and great burst of speed to grab on to Brad's prune stick. For a split second, it looked like he planned to wrestle it free and use it as a weapon against them all. But that wasn't the case. To the shock of everyone present, instead of turning the prune stick upon his foes, Centurion instead proceeded to willingly impale himself upon it.

Stunned, all the minute men could do was watch in awe as the Scarlet Centurion began to dissolve and flake into colored sparks. All the while maintaining a happy and smug look of self satisfaction across his face. As if he had ultimately gotten exactly what he wanted. He soon disappeared completely. Leaving behind the carnage off his last stand off, and a group of deeply unsettled Minute men, undoubtedly beginning to suspect they had played right into his plans somehow. And they would be right

Chapter Text

Outside of all Time and Space. Outside of the very limits of known Reality, lives a mortal man. A human whose deeds were so great, gods and abstract entities alike cower in equal parts fear and awe. It is this man who finds three strange marooned individuals unconscious and alone out in the vast wasteland of realities, known as the Void.

He does not personally know these trio, but he can instinctively tell they are powerful. And this great man thinks that makes them useful to him. Because for as great the thing's this man has accomplished, he is still just a mortal man at the end of day.

He stands over their unconscious forms, scrutinizing and analyzing them with cold calculating indifference.

"Hmm...yes these three will do quite nicely" the great man muttered to himself.

He rudely kicks all three awake, jolting them back into consciousness. Groggily the strange trio look around themselves perplexed by the saturated green skies above them and the dilapidated apocalyptic setting they now inexplicably found themselves in.

The trio finally returned their gaze back onto the great man who roused them awake in the first place.

"Greetings" the dark skinned man began. "How would you like the honor of working for me?"

Confused they stared up at the great man before them quizzically. "What is going on here? And who are you?" the only woman among the trio asked succinctly. Perfectly voicing all three's bewildered queries.

The great man gave an exasperated sigh of annoyance and tried again. "We are in the Void. Where all thing's exorcised from time end up. Just like you, I have been evicted from time itself and brought into this accursed place full of miscreants and lowlifes. A place if we have any hope of escaping and surviving, we must do so together, with you all working faithfully under me of course."

"Serve you?" one of the men in the trio sneered. "Who do you think you are?" the last among them chimed in.

The Great man smile smugly. "I have gone by many names and titles. Kang. The Scarlet Centurion, Nathaniel Richard's and many more. But you may call me Master. As that is what I am to you now. You have the distinct pleasure of serving as the first members of my new and improved Squadron....a Squadron Supreme if you will. Join me, and together we will subjugate all of reality."

***

Olympia. A habitable planet located somewhere in the Andromeda Galaxy, several million light years away from Earth. As a planet, it is nothing really remarkable.

In terms of make up, geography and atmosphere, it was no different from the several thousand other Earth-like planets that hosted sentient life on them.

However, two things truly set Olympia apart. One was it's native species. For Olympia was the Eternal home world and thus was populated by said race of extremely long lived and uniquely powered beings. A race in many ways similar to the famous Asgardians of the Milky Way Galaxy.

The second thing that set them apart, was the unique relationship these Eternals of Olympia had with the architect's of the universe, the Celestials.

For most species, the Celestials were more myth than reality, with very few recorded encounters. But to the Eternals these gargantuan space Titan's weren't just common knowledge, but part of their daily lives.

Communicating through designated Eternals known as Prime Eternals, the two species worked together, hand in hand. Partners in the mutual quest to rid the universe of the deviant scourge and protect the lives of the sentient but vulnerable denizen's of other planets.

This is the reality most Eternals know off. This is the noble mission that drives and gives most Eternals purpose.

Yet most of this is a lie.

There is no planet called Olympia despite what abundant false memories implanted in the mind's of Eternals would suggest. Their mission isn't to stop deviants just because they are a threats to innocents and it's the right thing to do. They aren't even equal partners working hand in hand with Celestials. Even the notion that Eternals are long lived empowered beings akin to Asgardians is a complete fabrication.

The truth was, they are nothing more than glorified pest control androids. Created by Arishem the Celestial Judge, to act not as his partners but as his disposable tools. Only preprogrammed with these false memories to keep them compliant and allow them to better integrate better with actual living beings. But once their culling duty is completed they had their mind's wiped and rebooted, before being shipped off to their next planet to tend. With this cycle continuing over and over again.

This is the true nature of Eternals. Not as noble and selfless intergalactic heroes, but mere cog's in the apathetic machinations of Celestial.

And it was this sobering revelation the Eternal known as Hyperion was now making, as the depths of his mind were probed by the Crimson Centurion.

Hyperion, like many eternals was completely unaware of his true purpose and nature. Having had his memories continually sealed or wiped repeatedly. it was only now as he currently lay strapped atop a repurposed Skrull fracking pod, that these memories were unlocked and flooding back to him in horrifying waves.

Hyperion wasn't born. At least not in the conventional sense. He was made in the world forge, a cosmic factory by which Arishem the Judge made all his eternals. He wasn't even unique as an individual, as he was part of a specific line of Eternals, all possessing near identical physical features and abilities.

As more and more memories flooded in, slowly overwhelming him, Hyperion began to reflexively strain harder against the Skrull fracking pod's restraints. Like most fracking pod's the device fired a series of thin strands of light onto the sides of the victims temple, in order to plunge deep into their neural network and grant access to the victims mind and memories. The Skrull's normally used it to gather information about those they wished to impersonate.

And for this reason the Skrull's generally greatly coveted this particular piece of technology. Never allowing it to fall into the hands of others if they could help it. But this particular pod had been pruned from a timeline and like most pruned thing's wound it's way into the Void. There, unguarded and slightly damaged, Crimson Centurion, had come across the device and taken it with him. Repairing and even upgrading it so it now not only viewed and transfered memories, but allowed for the complete and utter purging of memories.

It was this new feature to purge memories, the Centurion was about to exploit. For Hyperion had a problem. He had lived so long and accrued so many memories that his very mind was starting to crack under the weight of it. It was a somewhat common phenomenon in Eternals called Madh Wary. Similar in many ways to human Alzheimer's or Dementia. Madh Wary made the sufferer liable to enter fugue states where all they wanted to do was to attack anything in their vicinity.

And for an Eternal as powerful as Hyperion, going into blind fits of rage was a huge liability. Hence why upon finding this out Kang had graciously offered to purge some of Hyperion's centuries worth of memories. To temporarily alleviate the problem .

And it was whiles sifting through Hyperion's memories in order to choose what to purge and what to keep, that they had both discovered the existence of sealed pre-existing memories, and from there the whole truth about Eternals.

Leading us back to the present where Hyperion was having a melt down.

"Stop...I need...I need time to process this" Hyperion demanded, straining against the inbuilt restraints of the fracking pod which kept him securely in place.

"Calm down, I haven't even began to purge any of your memories yet. If we stop now you could still suffer another Madh Wary episode " Kang countered, calmly typing away at the monitor before him. Completely indifferent to the clearly distressed Eternal in front of him.

"I don't care. I said stop. Release me now!" Hyperion bellowed in outrage, his eyes' flashing a threatening shade of gold.

Kang stopped and levelled an unimpressive look at Hyperion before begrudgingly releasing the Eternal from his restraint.

"I'll give you a few minutes to gather yourself. After that we'll try this again" Kang said coldly, folding his hands behind his back and exiting the room.

The second the restraint hissed open, Hyperion collapsed onto the ground on his knees and began to dry heave and pant, feeling lightheaded and woozy. He couldn't tell whether this was because of aborting the mind fracking abruptly or from the shock of the discovery he made. Either way, he knew wasn't in a good state of mind right now.

"Everything I knew was I lie. Everything... I've been complacent in the deaths of billions " Hyperion whispered to himself in horror. Beginning to grasp the true scale and severity of the atrocities he participated in.

"It's okay. It'll be alright" a woman said out of the blue, laying a comforting hand on his shoulder.

Blinking back tears, Hyperion looked up at the newcomer to see Zarda, one of his fellow exiles.

At least... he thought this woman was Zarda. She looked much different to how he was normally used to seeing her.

Zarda had once been a regular human who had ingested a strange underwater herb. This herb, spawned from the mutated soil surrounding a vibranium meteorite that landed in her native Yucatan river had changed her forever. After having consumed this plant she had acquired several unique and otherworldly traits. From a superhuman physique adapted to life underwater such as blue skin, gills and webbed fingers. Her mutated form initially required she wear a small bubble mask of water on land to survive but now she apparently no longer needed one any more.

Gone were her aquatic features. She was now back to her natural tan Hispanic complexion and completely ordinary human features. She was still as beautiful and enchanting as she once was as a Siren, but in a distinctly more mundane and less ethereal way.

"What... happened to you?" Hyperion muttered quizzically temporarily forgetting his turmoil for the time being.

"You mean my appearance? It was that dark skinned man, I forget his name. Kang or Nathaniel or whatever his name is." She said staring off slightly as she struggled to remember his right name, before continuing on.

" Just like you he said I needed to be purged off my...'inadequacies' if I am to be a member of his Squadron. He then gave me a strange concoction that caused me to no longer need my water mask to breathe on land. It also returned my skin color back to normal. I still turn blue to be fair, but only when I completely submerge under water. Aside from that nothing else has change about me. All my other power's are still in tact and I'm still myself for the most part" she said shrugging nonchalantly at the end.

"Oh, I'm happy for you I suppose." Hyperion offered, not really sure what to say after all that.

"Thanks. But enough about me, what happened to you. Why are you upset?" She said in a voice laced with genuine concern.

Sighing tiredly, Hyperion recounted the situation explaining how everything he thought he knew was a lie. After he finished Zarda could only gape at him in awe and sympathy. "God's above, you poor thing. I'm so sorry you had learn all of this like that. It cannot be easy".

"It wasn't, but I suppose it's better I found this out sooner rather than later..."

"Still, I'm sorry"

"Thank you. But at this point it's just one more problem to add to our mountain of issues" Hyperion said dejectedly.

Causing both of them to both fall silent upon being reminded of their plethora of problems.

The two off them, plus another , had found themselves accidentally banished to the Void after a rogue time spell sent them there about two day's ago. Since then, they had barely had anytime to reorient themselves to their new environment, when almost immediately the Scarlet Centurion has shown up.

He had apparently been down here much longer and he certainly seemed more knowledgeable about the Void than the trio. Positioning himself as their savior and best way out of this wild and chaotic place. Having no other choice they had to begrudgingly agreed to work with him but they still didn't quite trust Centurion.

He was a cold and calculating man, who clearly only viewed and treated them like his personal foot soldiers instead of actual equals or even allies. Even the enhancements he was granting all of them, was ultimately a self serving act.

But for the time being they settled on complying till he did as he promised and got them all out of the Void. After that, they would go their separate ways.

Their silent musing on their sodden predicament was interrupted by Centurion returning back into the room in great haste.

"We have a situation. Hurry and get into battle stations." He ordered.

Confused Hyperion asked "Why what's going on?"

Annoyed that they weren't immediately complying to his orders, Centurion turned and reluctantly answered.
"They are here"

Obviously not satisfied with this answer Zarda demanded "They, who?"

"The Loki's"

Chapter Text

There were hundreds of them. Maybe even thousands. Loki's of all shapes and sizes, all clustered together in one haphazard circle around the building. Despite their incredibly varied and diverse appearance, they all each held two consistent traits. They all wore their own versions of a curved horn adornment on their heads, and they were all wielding some sort of crude weapon or tool which they brandished with clear malevolent intent.

They also made their presence known by hollering and hooting, making quite the ruckus in an obvious attempt to get the attention of those inside the building.

From a viewing bay several stories high, Nathaniel watched this all unfold, quietly assessing the whole situation.

He already knew with a sizeable degree of certainty, what they were all after. The building itself, Qeng Tower. In an alternate timeline, the company Qeng Industry was owned by a Kang Variant known as Mister Gryphon. This Kang bought that reality's Avengers Tower from Tony Stark, and remodelled and turned it into a state of the art self sustaining fortress nicknamed Qeng Tower. When that timeline was pruned by the Time Variance Authority, it alongside it's entire New York city, had predictably landed in the Void, where it remained unused but mostly intact. Gathering dust and slowly degrading, until Centurion had come along.

He had been the one to see the potential of the building and sought to make it into his new stronghold. Going as far as to painstakingly clear out the multi story structure and make it hospitable once more. Nathaniel had even managed to restart the tower's arc reactor so that it became one of the few standing structures in the entirety of the Void, that had consistent power. And it was for this reason all these Loki's understandably wanted the place for themselves. Not caring that it was already occupied.

Nathaniel had so far already successfully fended off several off their attempted hostile take overs before. But this one was by far their most ambitious attempt yet. A few dozen Loki's Nathaniel could more than handle by himself. But the thousands on display here? That was too much for even him to handle by his lonesome.

Thus it was a good thing he no longer had to do so, as he now had his newly recruited Squadron members to call upon.

"If these Loki's want a fight, we'll give them one" Nathaniel snarled to himself as he marched over to a control panel near by and began to rapidly tap away at it. Qeng tower used to have multiple robust security systems that could more than handle the current threat being faced, but most had fallen into disrepair and Nathaniel hadn't found enough time as of yet to fix them all. The only one he had managed to fix so far was he building's energy barrier that clung onto the entire exterior structure like a second coat of paint.

At full power it could keep out most man made weapons even including a small nuke. So in theory Centurion could simply turn it on and ignore the army at his door step. But the Loki's needed to dealt with eventually. Especially since their continued ruckus risked attracting more unwanted attention .

So as a cautionary measure, Nathaniel activated the tower's force field but left an opening for his Squadron to leave and enter through, in order to face the Loki's below.

Shortly after doing so, he was joined by Zarda and Hyperion, armed and ready for battle.
Zarda was now clad in a dark purple form fitting attire, with stylish metallic gold trims and accents. Her long lustrous black hair was tied up in a tight pony tail so that her newly grown out hair no longer obstructed her view. She also now carried in each hand a pair of twin gold colored scimitars, which she casually spun in her palms with practiced ease.

Beside her, Hyperion was also clad in a form fitting jumpsuit this time a sleeveless black uniform, with a shiny gold cape, belt and boots. On full display due to the sleeveless nature of his get up was the sharp contrast between the natural tan white skin of his left arm and the cold unnatural shiny silver, of his prosthetic right arm.

He had lost his original arm during a battle with an extremely powerful deviant but since the loss of that appendage, he had had it replaced with a prostheses made from uru part of the destroyer armor. The new prostheses functioned just as well as any real hand, meaning overall it had been a net gain rather than a loss.

Together the duo, waited patiently for permission to be deployed into battle and deal with the Loki's. All though seeing all three of them standing together in anticipation finally made Zarda realize something.

"Where's Amon?" She suddenly asked referring to the third and final member of their exiled trio turned Squadron.

As if in answer, there was an abrupt blur of motion visible on the Tower's external security camera as something dark and fast, rushed through the swarm of assembled Loki's.

The fast moving blur stopped in the midst of the unsuspecting and unresponsive crowd of Loki's revealing themselves to be the aforementioned Amon. Amon, like Hyperion and Zarda, had been accidentally banished from their shared timeline by the same rogue time spell, sending all three of them to the void.

Back in their timeline, Amon had been the Avatar of their version of the Egyptian god Khonshu. Becoming the god's fist of vengeance or as they are more colloquially refered to, the Moon Knight. Thus he possessed all the divine empowerment and gifts associated with an avatar of Khonshu from enhanced physical characteristics to a robust healing factor.

However, his banishment to the void had irreparably damaged and strained the link between god and avatar. This combined with the miniscule and twisted amount of moonlight present in the Void, had greatly warped the ceremonial power armor innate to all Moon Knights.

Gone was the trademark white and gray mummy wrappings and in it's place was a strange new get up. This one was a form fitting all black piece, with an equally dark full head covering mask. The mask was mostly featureless with the exception of a distinct gold colored hawk-shaped set of eye pieces. His finger tips where also distinctly claw shaped and tipped with gold.

Amon stood right in the middle of the crowd of Loki's, ignoring most of them in favor of focusing on one. Cocking his head slightly to side whiles staring intently at that particular Loki. The Loki that was being singled out didn't get the chance to react as Amon shot forward to grab them, hoisting them up by their neck .

For a moment nothing happened until all of a sudden the hundreds if not thousands of Loki's from before slowly began to fade away leaving behind a brief telltale flashes of gold and green.

"They were all illusions" Nathaniel mused aloud shaking in his head in disbelief. On one hand he was embarrassed that he had fallen for what was in hindsight, such an obvious Loki trick. Loki's barely get along so a thousand of them joining forces to achieve one goal, even if mutually beneficial to them all was out of the question. But on the other hand Nathaniel was impressed by the scale of this Loki's projection ability as well as the sheer gall it took to try and bluff an army like that.

Amon continued to hold the petite Loki who made the illusion up in the air in a rough chokehold. He then carried the Loki like that back to Qeng tower and eventually back into control room. All the while the Loki squirmed and kicked, desperately trying to break free from Amon's strong hold to no avail.

Captor and prisoner soon arrived back in the control room, where Loki was unceremoniously tossed to the ground in front of Nathaniel.

The Loki collapsed on the ground in a crumpled heap, panting and gasping for air after spending so long in Amon's chokehold.

"Well done" Nathaniel said in praise to Amon, who merely nodded in thanks. Hyperion and Zarda for their part shared an uncomfortable look among themselves. They were painfully aware that in the short time here, already, Amon had began to quickly gain favor with Nathaniel due to his efficiency and effectiveness.

The others had once asked him in private how he could stand to work for an obviously evil and cruel tyrant like Centurion, Amon had simply said. 'Standing at the right hand of a tyrant is much more preferable to being under their foot. Besides he's no more worse than Khonshu'.

"How did you know they were illusions" Zarda abruptly asked genuinely intrigued.

Amon shrugged nonchalantly and answered "The boy made some fine visual and auditory projections. But he ultimately forgot to give them shadow's and foot prints. I also noticed they seemed to be repeating a fixed set of actions over and over again "

With that question satisfied all eyes returned to the teen still laying on the ground. The boy looked up and give them all dirty looks, but wisely refrained from trying to attack or escape.

"Judging by the uninspired naming conventions of the Loki variants I've come across in the past, I take it you are Kid Loki or maybe Boy Loki perhaps?" Kang asked mockingly.

"It's just Loki to you" Kid Loki sneered defiantly.

"Well Loki, what made you think you could steal my abode so easily " Nathaniel asked coldly

The boy paused for a few seconds as if contemplating lying, before finally his posture deflated in defeat and he began to talk.

"I was desperate okay...I just...I just needed somewhere safe to lay low" Kid Loki admitted.

Frowning, Nathaniel asked "You don't strike me as a newcomer to this place. Infact I would wager you've been here even longer than I have. So that begs the question. What's got you so scared that you would rather try to bluff me than face it?" Nathaniel demanded.

The boy didn't answer, instead keeping his eyes' firmly on the ground. Unable to meet Nathaniel's intense gaze head on.

"Talk boy" Nathaniel said in chilling tone. With the unsaid but still apparent "or else.." threat ominously hanging in the air. .

"I stole something from someone okay?" Kid Loki finally admitted
"Someone one bad" he muttered nervously.

"What?" Nathaniel growled impatiently causing Kid Loki to flinch. The boy hesitated for a few more seconds, before reluctantly reaching into the folds of his green coat to produce something small and innocuous.

Nathaniel's eye's widened upon seeing it, immediately recognizing what it was. He almost couldn't believe what he was looking at though. The TVA specifically made sure to confiscate such items before pruning the wielders. Instead keeping it in their offices where the powerful artifacts were rendered as useless as a paper weight. Yet down here in the Void it still held power.

Down here in the Void the wielder could be king. Down here in the Void, the Time stone was definitely something worth fighting for.

Chapter Text

"Where did you get this?" Nathaniel asked softly, his gaze never leaving the infinity stone proffered to him by Kid Loki. For the first time in a long while, the great Crimson Centurion was dumbstruck by something.

"I told you, I stole it from someone. But you can have it if you want, I just demand protection in return" Kid Loki said eagerly, noting how entranced Nathaniel was by the green gem and not wanting to pass up the opportunity to bargain for sanctuary.

Amon chuckled sardonically behind Kid Loki, resting a firm talon-like hand on the god of mischief's frail shoulder's.

"You are in no position to make demands boy" he said smoothly.

Kid Loki flinched at the physical contact and darted his eyes' around the room. Desperately searching for a single friendly or sympathetic face among his captors. Only to find none, with everyone present either looking indifferent, distracted or out right bored.

Realizing thing's weren't going his way and where infact spiralling dangerously towards his possible demise if they saw him as useless, Kid Loki scrambled to find another strategy.
"Okay, fine you can take this .Think of it as down payment for the rest. Just protect me till I can get you the rest" he pleaded desperately.

Frowning upon hearing this Zarda stepped forward and asked what was on the mind's of her fellow Squadron exiles "What is this gem? And why do you think helping us find more of it's kind will save you from our wrath?"

Stunned, Kid Loki looked at the people surrounding him. With the exception of Nathaniel who was still transfixed on the stone and had completely zoned out of the ongoing conversation, the other's truly did not appear to be impressed by his incredible artifact. Evidently never having seen an infinity stone before and therefore seemingly unaware of it's stupendous value. They likely assumed the green infinity stone was nothing more than some trivial rare earth gem that they boy was trying to pawn off us valuable.

"It's an infinity stone" he begun looking at the trio expectantly waiting for some flash of recognition to pass over their faces but none came.

Amazed by their ignorance on the subject, Kid Loki helpfully supplied them it's history.
"You really have no idea what an infinity stone is do you? Huh...most empowered variants I've come across know of it... How do I explain this..so erm.. an infinity stone is basically one of six multi colored gems that control and embody some aspect of our world. From soul, space, reality, power etc. This green one in particular controls time."

Now intrigued the trio stared at the gem in Kid Loki's palm curiously.
"This small stone controls and embody's time?" Zarda asked dubiously peering down at the item in question.

Kid Loki nodded his head vigorously. Before the squadron trio could ask further questions, Nathaniel snapped out of his reverie and swiftly swiped the stone of out of the boy's hand faster than he could react.

He hoisted up the gem into the air and pinched it between his fingers. Allowing some overhead light to shine upon it, so he could analyze it properly.
"It's real" he cooed in awe after awhile, thrilling at the sensation of unbridled power that he could feel humming through the rock.

Turning back to boy he inquired "You said there was more. So presumably there whole set of stones. Maybe even all them inside an infinity gauntlet, no?"

"Aye, I found this alongside a fully complete infinity gauntlet ... " Kid Loki began enthusiastically before deflating as he remembered something.

"Atleast there were. Some warlords got to it." He amended ". But I can show you where they are if you promise to grant me asylum here in return "

Kid Loki surmised once again looking beseechingly at his captors.

Nathaniel hummed in annoyance, not liking the burgeoning tit for tat relationship brewing between them. He began to fidget with the stone as he weighed his options.

On one hand, there was a lot of unexplained variables when it came to the alleged existence of an infinity gauntlet. Chief among them being how did it get to the void in the first. The TVA wouldn't accidentally prune and if they did, they would surely come down to find it.

But on the other hand having the time stone alone would make his conquest of the Void much easier. Gaining a full infinity gauntlet would be fantastic. Additionally, it would be better for him in the long run to deal with whomever else was wielding the other infinity stones soon, before they became a problem for him later on down the line. After all, Nathaniel couldn't abide the notion of someone having equal to or greater power to his own.

"Alright boy, I give you my word that I shall grant you sanctuary in my abode in exchange for the location of the rest of the stones. So tell me where can I find the rest of the infinity stones in the Void?"

Equal part delighted and relieved, Kid Loki relaxed considerably. Pleased that he had ultimately succeeded in his mission. He then got a devious gleam in his eyes and haughtily said
"Not that I don't trust you or anything, but you can't honestly think I would naively tell you the location for all the stone's at once, do you?"

Nathaniel eye's narrowed in mild annoyance but overall managed to maintain a neutral expression. The kid was smart, he would give him that. But not that smart.

"You do know there's nothing preventing me from torturing the information out of you? Or having Zarda here use her Siren song to compel the information out as well ? Heck I even have a Skrull fracking pod so I could just use that to mine your memories for details I need. I have a plethora of options at my disposal, so do not tempt me" Nathaniel said coldly.

Kid Loki's confident look faltered for a bit but quickly came back.
"And you do know I'm a pretty decent sorcerer, right? You fell for one of my illusions not too long ago after all. So what's to prevent me from feeding you false information which would lead to your deaths if you tried any of those rather gnarly sounding persuasion techniques?" He countered smugly, causing Nathaniel to smile slight despite himself.

The boy was quickly growing on Nathaniel. He was confident, conniving and clever. In many ways, exact qualities that reminded Nathaniel of a younger version of himself. He might be bluffing but at the same time was it worth the risk?

"Well played" he murmured to himself before saying louder "Alright fine. We won't hurt, but we do need to start the search for the entire gauntlet as soon as possible. So do you mind at least giving as one of the locations"

Kid Loki feigned an exaggerated look of contemplation, but everyone knew he would acquiesce eventually.

"All right sure. Last I saw the soul stone was in the company of one of the largest and unsavory variant gangs in the Void"

"Variant gangs?" Hyperion asked.

"Aye, lot's of variants who end up here and don't get immediately eaten by Alioth tend to eventually team up and form roving packs of scavengers and grifters. Birds of the feather flock together and all that you know?" Kid Loki explained.

"The gang with the soul stone is lead by this particular nasty piece of work called Frank Castle. He's been using the stone to amplify his powers to stupid levels. He and his crew of Ghost Riders, pretty much rule one of worst parts of the void. The Zombie lands".

"Zombies?" Amon questioned.

"Undead. The soul stone likely resides in an area populated with million's if not billions of the undead"

Chapter Text

No matter how different variants maybe in terms of looks and personality, there will always be at least one thing that unites them all.

A fundamental attribute that they all share making it clear that for all their differences they all are still cut from the same cloth.

For Kang’s it’s their ambition. For Loki’s it’s their cunning. And for Ghost Rider’s …it’s their regret.

Every single one of them, regardless of the world from which they came from, has some form of regret that haunts them. Sometimes the regret is warranted, other times it’s not. But more often than not it’s that very regret that made them the perfect host for the Spirit of Vengeance.

For who better than the people who can’t let thing’s go, to become the unrelenting bounty hunters of hell itself?

It is this shared camaraderie in regret that makes the Ghost rider variant gang , much larger and more formidable than most others in the Void.

Where as other Variant gangs like the Kang’s and Loki’s are barely functional ticking time bombs, full of narcissistic individuals only working together to ensure their personal gain or survival, the Ghost rider’s on the other hand thrived on their unity.

Like the biker gangs of Earth, they take great pride in the notion of being a confederation of misfits and outlaws. Independent for the most part, but ready to lay down their own lives in service for their brother or sister variant.

All this to say, picking a fight with one of them, necessitated waging war with all of them.

Something Crimson Centurion wasn’t so sure he was ready to do.

It had been a few hours since Kid Loki’s arrival and detainment. In which time Nathaniel’s earlier excitement about discovering the existence of infinity stones in the Void had all but evaporated. Usurped by the growing realization that it wouldn’t be a cakewalk for him to acquire all five remaining stones.

Even with the time stone he now possessed and with aid from his royal guard, the Squadron Supreme, there was no logical way he would be able to take on the full might of the Ghost Rider legion.

There were hundreds if not thousands of them. And unlike the false army that Kid Loki had tried to use to dupe him previously, this army was very real and far more dangerous.

He had checked just to be sure. Utilizing an old but serviceable satellite relay, to scan for the Gang’s current location. Not finding it very difficult to locate them.

A collection of that many flaming skulled individuals congregated together more than registered on even the most cursory of infrared scans.

Then there was the fact that their Leader Frank Castle, self titled, Cosmic Ghost Rider wielded an infinity stone of his own. The soul stone to be exact. Using it’s power, he had caroled the once mindless swarms of zombies that roved the lands of the Void, to instead blindly serve under his beck and call. Following his every frivolous or suicidal instruction without question.

A swarm of devoted undead who individually posed no great threat but in their vast numbers were a very real problem.

In all, a full fledged assault was simply out of the question for Centurion, leaving stealth and other underhand tactics as his only recourse.

But that too posed an issue. One couldn't simply sneak into the Ghost Rider encampment regardless of how skilled they normally were at masking their presence.

For no matter how good you are at infiltration and covet operations, at the end of the day if you had a soul of some kind, the wielder of the soul stone can and will inevitably detect your presence once you enter their range.

From there it would simply be a matter of how merciful the soul stone wielder was feeling at that moment and whether they would grant you a quick death or a slow agonizing one.

One might thing that armed with an infinity stone of his own, Kang should be able to overcome this particular hurdle but that was not the case.

Among the stone’s they each had one they paired well with or contradicted against. The mind stone paired well with soul stone. The power stone with space stone etc. But on that same note the power stone was poor match for reality stone and the mind to space stone and so on and so forth.

A complex series of interconnecting buffing and de-buffing relationship all meant that in a clash, Nathaniel’s time stone was ill equipped to deal with the soul. What good was the power to manipulate time against the chronically everlasting might of the soul?

Thus it would seem, Nathaniel’s ambitions for collecting all the infinity stones would be halted even before it even truly began.

But Crimson Centurion did not become the great man he was today by giving up in the face of adversity. Where there was a will, there was a way. And Nathaniel Richards had an abundance of will power to spare.

So after much quiet deliberation in private through out the night, he came up with a sound though risky plan.
By the morning of the next day he felt comfortable enough to gather all three of his Squadron Supreme to prepare them for battle.

He debriefed them on his plan, undeterred by the looks of skepticism that flashed across their faces and managed to get them to comply nonetheless by reminding them this wasn’t a democracy.

Together they all trooped out via the towers' Quin jets. Leaving Kid Loki behind, locked up within one of the holding cells.

The aircraft like everything else in the void had seen better days but had been slowly reassembled back together to the best of Nathaniel’s ability and was at the very least still capable of cloaking it’s self.
A feature Kang used to carry his party safely and discreetly all the way to the desolate wasteland of Nevada desert. Right smack in the middle of nowhere but a place the Ghost Rider gang inexplicably chose to set up shop in.

Upon arrival, they took a moment to assess their enemies better, hovered as they were in skies above, undetected for the time being by those below.
Down on the ground the Ghost Rider gang were in a festive mood, celebrating a successful raid on some unfortunate survival settlement that had offended them. So their camp was rowdier and livelier than usual with music, shouting and talking.

The entire collection of beings who made up the gang, occupied a good hundred or so acres of land. With notably the uncountable horde of undead encircling the variants protectively. Trudging and ambling about listlessly as they were being used as a literal meat shields against possible attacks

The variants themselves were safely in the heart of protective circle, clustered around a great huge blue colored bon fire. The variants came in all manner of shapes and sizes but most were humanoid. Nathaniel even recognized a few of them as heroes he had slain in his reality. Such as a towering Scott Lang Ghost Rider and several dozen Steve Roger Ghost Riders.

All of them replete with the standard flaming skull and chain motif of their kind.

Easily distinguishable among the crowd of lookalikes however was one whose visage practically scream Cosmic Ghost Rider.

He was seated comfortably in a place honor inside the great bonfire itself. Unfazed by the heat of it all as it was his own uniquely colored blue hellish flames stoking the overall inferno that surrounded him.

Like a great king presiding over his court he spectated in dignified silence as his underlings engaged in thrills.

The other variants drank, danced, fought and engaged in all manner of carnal acts with each other. Reveling in their merriment and completely secure in their safety.

“Like a medieval painting of the dance macabre brought to life” Nathaniel couldn’t help but think to himself as he watched the skeletal host of beings frolic about.

Having seen enough, Nathaniel prepared to act moving to prime his secret weapon.

He lodged the time stone into the center piece of his suit, allowing it take over as the new power hub for the overall system.

The crimson red hues of his power suit, swiftly morphed to match the time’s stone lime green instead. He sighed in contentment, briefly enthralled by the feeling of unbridled power now at his very finger tips.
Slowly easing himself out of his power intoxicated trance, he opened up the bay doors of the quin jet and sauntered out to the very edge.

Then with no warning or prelude he unleashed a stream of pure green temporal energy from his hands, arching it down to unsuspecting masses below.
It took the distracted variants quite sometime to realize what was happening but by the time they did it was too late.

Their prized undead horde was hit by the full brunt of the wave. Letting out sickeningly loud and guttural cries as their bodies were forced to undergo an unnatural time lapse rapidly. Running through entire days, months and years in mere seconds.

When it finally ended thousands upon thousands of the once decomposing corpses were replaced with their revitalized and youthful selves.

Instead of aging the undead masses to dust, Nathaniel had wisely opted to rewind them back to their prime.

Back to when they were once normal living breathing humans and not afflicted by whatever disease or curse that made them undead in the first place.

His reasoning for this was simple. If he had tried to kill them, Frank could simply resurrect them via use of the soul stone. But by rejuvenating the army instead, he had robbed the horde of it’s greatest asset: it’s undead status.

Gone was the unfeeling and uncaring army of the damned, all mindless compliant even to the point of self harm and arise a sea of deeply confused scared men and women. All of whom had no idea what was going on but with their lives alongside their sanity returned to them were deeply reluctant to fight so blindly.

In short, Nathaniel had turned the once mighty force of the walking dead into an immitigable liability.

And he was about to capitalize on this fact thoroughly.

“Attack” he howled, personally leading the charge of his meager but astounding force for their first major skirmish.

The outcome of which would set the tone and decide Nathaniel’s hopefully campaign for complete universal dominance.

Chapter Text

Matthew Murdock drinks hard and fast, single-handedly working his way through several bottles of bitter Asgardian ale.

The thousand-year-old beverage, which once graced the halls of Asgard itself, leaves a satisfying burning trail as it snakes its way down his throat and to his gut.

The liquor of the gods, however, only induces a mild buzz in him, a far cry from the complete and total intoxication it usually elicits from lesser beings after a mere sip.

So Matthew resolves to drink even harder and even faster, hoping to expedite the nonexistent inebriation process and attain the status of blackout drunk he so desperately desires.

But alas, his accursed body filters the drink as smoothly as it does all other poisons, burning it out of his system swiftly before it can deal any lasting damage.

This saves him from a potentially nasty hangover but leaves him open to the pain he is trying to drown out and repress in the first place.

Despondent, he looks about himself in search of another distraction. His unique radial sense shows him a world on fire with fiery figures and structures, ablaze and washed in orange flames and dark hues.

Through this somewhat muddled perspective, he is still able to perfectly make out his variant compatriots having the time of their lives.

Dressed in leather-studded biker apparel, they look every bit the part of rowdy hooligans they are, dancing, drinking, and laughing about in front of the large blue bonfire at the center of it all, where within the silhouette of their all-powerful leader could just be made out, sat in quiet stillness and solitude.

A sad bolt of realization and camaraderie worms its way into Matthew’s being at this. As he notes, just like their leader, he too isn’t really having fun at this party.

They are both mere spectators to the revelry going around them, tucked away by their lonesome in a relatively quiet corner of the camp while the others have fun.

Soon, bitter jealousy stabs Matthew’s chest at the sight of the continued merriment his brethren enjoy while he is left wallowing.

He used to be capable of that level of happiness, he thinks miserably to himself. Now? He couldn’t even be bothered.

Shaking his head at his failed attempt to take his mind off his bad mood, he returns his focus back onto his ale, staring with unseeing eyes at the empty mug in front of him, not making any moves to refill it or pick up a new one.

Soon, Matthew’s mind begins to wander, and memories he wished would stay buried begin to float to the surface, assaulting him in agonizingly rich detail, with the root cause of his moodiness: the loss of her.

Matthew had been headed towards priesthood with the Jesuits when he first met Elektra Nachos. And just like that, all hopes of a happy monastic life flew out the window.

She was like a temptress sent in by the devil himself to seduce him back to secular life. Wild, funny, and playful, she was a breath of life like no other into his rather stuffy and mundane existence, easily wooing and entrancing him without even truly trying.

They were incredibly dissimilar, but somehow they made it work. He, the blind former priest turned bleeding heart attorney for the downtrodden of Hell’s Kitchen. Her, the mysterious socialite with unbridled edge but a heart of gold beneath her teasing exterior.

In just two months, it was clear they were madly in love with each other. A month after that, they were engaged and making serious strides towards getting married, even though by all accounts Elektra was not the kind of gal to settle down so easily.

That was just how good and perfect they were together.

But all good things must come to an end. It was the day of their wedding, inside the Saint Anthony Cathedral in New York.

All their friends and family were present, and the place was practically packed to the point of bursting.

Matthew had been a nervous wreck standing at the front at the altar in his stuffy all-white tuxedo, waiting for his wife-to-be to finally make her grand entrance down the aisle.

When she arrived, he swore for a moment his vision returned completely, like the chemical accident from his youth that blinded him never happened, allowing him to take in the full but brief gander at Elektra in all her grandeur and splendor.

She glided down the aisle like an angel in human form, accompanied by their mutual geriatric mentor Stick.

The vow exchange was a blur as all Matthew could see, smell, hear, and taste was Elektra and Elektra alone. By the time the officiant declared them husband and wife, the two could barely keep their hands off each other.

As they moved in for a kiss, a loud series of pops broke the tranquil moment. Later on, Matthew would discover they were sounds from a drive-by shooting going on just outside the church, the target of which had not even been Elektra, but the bullets in a cruelly miraculous bit of luck meandered over to her innocent and unprotected body.

Before Matthew knew it, he was cradling his now dead wife in his arms, trying to stem the flow of her own blood but only drenching himself in it for his effort.

She was dead.

Just like that.

The strongest, most wonderful woman he ever knew was snuffed out like nothing.

Immediately after the drive-by, Matthew was understandably inconsolable and upset to the point of delirium. But shortly afterward, a strange calm came over him akin to shock.

Witnesses to both reactions would later recount how unnerving the pivot was, like a flip had been switched and the grieving husband from one moment was usurped by a bloodthirsty man in another.

That very night, still dressed in his wedding suit which was now drenched completely crimson from the blood of Elektra, Matthew did the unthinkable.

During his time to become a Catholic priest, the young man had heard whispers of unholy powers-that-be which could grant your wildest wishes. He had brushed those rumors off at the time. But now in his darkest need, he went to it.

Not completely sure it would work, Matthew went about the ritual to summon the demon Zarathos, a ritual that worked flawlessly. The demon had manifested in all his unholy might and offered the Faustian deal he had been giving out for centuries.

“In return for your soul, I shall grant you whatever you desire,” the demon leered. And without hesitation, Matthew agreed, wishing for the return of his beloved Elektra. True to his word on that account, Zarathos brought back Elektra but with the caveat that she had no memory of Matt.

And in return, Matthew Murdock became the host of the spirit of vengeance. Whereas in most realities he became Daredevil, in that reality he became the ultimate psychopomp of hell, the Ghost Rider. A position he took to swimmingly due to a number of factors.

His pre-existing blindness and heightened senses meant that the dreaded Penance Stare which all Ghost Riders possessed was especially more lethal for him as his was always active, turning him into a Medusa-like figure who could fell souls with just an errant glance, but necessitating he constantly wear a pair of dark-tinted circular rim glasses at all times.

Then there was the martial art training from the legendary hand assassin Stick, which granted him almost unparalleled skill in terms of close combat.

And finally, unlike most Ghost Riders who channeled their vast hellish powers through the use of a mighty steed be it a mechanical car or an undead horse, Matthew let the power flow directly into himself, granting him immense and innate speed to rival the fastest mutants and beings there were like Quicksilver and Northstar. In fact, it was for this reason that among all other Ghost Riders, Matthew held the title of Speed Demon.

So when Matthew and his entire world were pruned down to the Void, it should come as no surprise he quickly became a member of the Ghost Rider Variant Gang, rising quickly through the ranks to become the third in command of the entire organization.

Second only to the ruthless and sadistic Ghost Skull, the Ghost Rider-Red Skull fusion variant who held the rank of second-in-command, a position the Nazi leader got not for being any better than Matt, but solely due to the indispensable knowledge he had acquired during his time as an unwilling soul stone keeper for his reality’s Vormir.

Forced to shepherd others to treasures he wanted but could never have, only to do so again here down in the Void by having to coach Frank Castle, the Cosmic Ghost Rider, on how the soul stone worked and could be used.

Despite this lack of overt power though, Ghost Skull’s nefarious influence over Frank was beginning to show, like a literal spectral evil whispering heinous ideas into the susceptible and power-corrupted mind of Frank Castle.

He had been the one to convince Frank to amass the zombie horde to cruelly use as a suicidal fighting force. He had been the one to pressure Frank into committing the chilling act of personal sacrifice to gain full access to Frank. And he was the one who continued to egg Frank on to commit more raids and attempt to conquer more lands, much to the chagrin of Matthew whose warnings against this fell on deaf ears.

Sighing tiredly, Matt softly wished for a way out of this life. He wanted his wife back. He wanted his freedom. And most importantly, he just wanted peace. And in a way, his wish would come through, but in the most unlikely way possible.

“Attack,” a powerful booming voice bellowed from above, and with that, all hell broke loose.

Chapter Text

Kang's stomach lurched with sudden weightlessness as he plunged out of the open bay doors of the quinjet.

Behind him, he could hear the other members of his Squadron follow suit, fearlessly leaping from the safety and anonymity of the invisible aircraft down to the throng of enemies surging some few thousand feet below them.

Dry desert winds and dust lashed and whipped across their bodies as they all shot forth at increasingly higher speeds. But it barely registered as even an inconvenience with how intensely they were focused on the quickly approaching ground.

Regardless of their personal opinions and positions on this mission as a whole, they were all in agreement on one thing: failure was not an option.

Beneath them, their landing site was alive with activity in more ways than one, as the Ghost Rider legion scrambled to make sense of what was happening.

From their point of view, they had gone from enjoying a night of unabashed festiveness under the constant protective embrace of their undead armada to, all-out chaos.

Seemingly out of nowhere, a pair of green beams from the sky had razed down their prized meat shields, transforming them fully back to members of the land of the living. And with that change came a new lease on life upon the once-willfully sacrificial fodder swarm: the desire to continue living.

Meaning panic, fear, and general routing of the forces swept across them like plague, creating widespread confusion that Kang and his allies were all too keen to exploit.

As the ground rushed to meet him, Kang summoned forth a green energy platform using the power of his suit. Instantly, another lurch of his stomach swept over him as his fall halted abruptly, cushioned by the platform. He was now only a few dozen feet from the ground but still distinctly above the immediate attacking range of his enemies below. He took a moment to savor this brief respite before the ruckus to follow, as he tended to do when approaching most of his fights.

The thousands upon thousands of scared and fleeing humans, the hundreds of bewildered Ghost Rider variants attempting to corral said fleeing troops, and a few more quick-witted variants attempting to man battle stations themselves were a truly pathetic sight to behold and ripe for the picking.

"It’s almost too easy," Kang thought cruelly to himself before he began to gleefully rain attacks down on the unprepared variants below. He fired degradation beams at some, instantly aging those hit by it to dust or bones. For others, he unleashed stasis bombs upon them, trapping them indefinitely in pocket spheres of still time, unable to move or act at all but fully conscious of their perpetual paralysis nonetheless. By the time his three allies landed on the ground, he had already slain dozens of Ghost Riders.

Not to be outshined, however, the three members of Kang’s Squadron got to work to serve their master. The earth screamed and shook like a meteor had hit it as Zarda plowed into the compact ground, crushing several variants in the process.

A pair of golden lines of light arced across the battlefield as Hyperion sliced through unfortunate variants caught in the path of his optic beams.

Nighthawk's arms were but blinding blurs of movement as he rapidly flung out crescent-shaped darts and projectiles with enough force to crush bone and accuracy to net only headshots.

For a time, it was a bloodbath in favor of the sieging forces, until suddenly it wasn’t. The initial confusion was quickly wearing off as the battle-experienced Ghost Riders fought tooth and nail for their lives.

One of the Ghost Riders, empowered by Pym particles to gigantic size, swatted down Hyperion like a gnat, bringing an end to his spotlight of death.

Zarda’s one-woman rendition of a wrecking ball was suddenly halted by a deluge of flaming chains lassoing around her all at once. Twenty different Ghost Rider variants had joined forces to subdue her stupendous strength with their own, an attempt that ordinarily would not have worked considering Zarda’s ability to phase through physical matter.

But being as Ghost Riders specialized in dealing with intangible ghosts on the regular, their chains held strong and firm despite her thrashing.

Nighthawk’s gatling gun-like assault of projectiles was stemmed by a being of incredible (and frankly much greater) speed moving around to intercept his sure-hit attacks.

With the intervener eventually turning his attention to Nighthawk directly, not just his projectiles. In a flash Nighthawk was being hogtied into submission by none other than Matt Murdock himself, the Speed Demon, who ensnared Nighthawk in his long rosary bead-like chains. But the true sign of the tides turning squarely in favor of the Ghost Riders was the stepping in of Johann Schmidt. The former Hydra leader turned Red Skull and then later Ghost Skull entered the fray in heinous fashion.

Throughout all the fighting thus far, Kang and his Squadron had quarantined their attacks to exclusively target just the Ghost Rider variants, leaving the now defenseless once-zombies to run about unimpeded. But Johann would not have any of that. In his mind, if these poor innocent men and women could not be useful while alive, they would be made useful once dead.

So, in a hellish display of power, the dark-cloaked specter unleashed a massive torrent of hellfire upon them. The inferno chased after the retreating humans and instantly scalded them to death, leaving only their charred corpses. The smell of burnt flesh was pungent, and their brief cries of anguish were horrifying to behold.

This act happened so fast and was so unexpectedly gruesome it stunned everyone on both sides and made all present freeze in place. But the macabre act was not over yet. Now that most of the freshly revived humans were made dead once more, Johann's cried out loudly to his leader Frank Castle, the Cosmic Ghost Rider. “They are dead once more, my liege. You may reanimate them once more to Unlife,” the sniveling sadist said calmly.

Frank Castle, who had been sitting stoically and unflinchingly inside of a large blue-flamed bonfire at the center of the camp, remarkably complied. He had not raised a finger or made a move to flee or act throughout the beginning of this entire ordeal. But at the prompting of his darkest ally, he would. In a slow, deliberate gesture, he could be made out slowly casting a hand over the battlefield where the smoldering corpses now lay.

Instantly, the blue flames of Frank’s bonfire throne changed to a vibrant and intense amber orange as the power of the soul stone came into effect. The power swelled outward, and freshly killed jerked and groaned back to Unlife, returning back to shambling and obedient death puppets to be used as he pleased.

Appalled by what he had just borne witness to, Hyperion roared in anger and flew up from the crater he had been smacked into by the Giant Ghost Rider. He then charged headlong at breakneck speeds at the hovering Hand. “You monster,” Hyperion howled as he lunged at the man who had just so callously slaughtered thousands.

But before Hyperion could lay hands on the villain, their eyes briefly met, which when dealing with a Ghost Rider is never a good thing. Jumping on the opportunity presented by their eyes locking, Johann activated his penance stare upon him, afflicting the unsuspecting eternal with the torturous and unbridled mental anguish he deserved for the millions of souls he had had a part in slaying during his time serving the eternals.

Immediately the effect was felt by Hyperion, who was still coming to terms with having these memories unlocked fairly recently but now had to undergo reliving them over and over again in morbid detail. He collapsed in a fit of pain, his eyes going blank as he seized up from the mental onslaught.

Kang looked on in horror as what had once been a sure victory was quickly unraveling. His strongest asset was well and truly out of commission, his other allies weren’t faring any better, and the army he had thought he had sidestepped was back in play once more. This was a disaster. And an unmitigated one at that. They hadn’t even gotten anywhere close to the soul stone. And Kang rightly deduced, by the indifferent demeanor of Frank, they weren’t even seen as a threat by him.

There was only really one thing Kang knew he could do now, as humiliating as that was. And that was to retreat. He briefly considered abandoning his Squadron and fleeing by himself. Most were captured after all. And extracting them from their captors opened his own self to being taken in.

But the decision was suddenly made for him. In one moment, Kang was surrounded by enemies on all sides and felled allies, but the next he was somewhere else entirely, almost as if he was teleported. The sudden shift in location was incredibly disorienting, and Kang had to fight the urge to gag.

Confused and bewildered, he looked around the dilapidated cityscape that now replaced the desert encampment he was just at a second ago. He vaguely noted that this city, though run-down and barren, bore the hallmarks of Las Vegas Earth with its opulent signs and casinos.

Before Kang could truly investigate that further, his attention was drawn elsewhere. One by one, a blur of movement would drop off one of the members of his captured Squadron before disappearing for a second before returning shortly after with another member. It quickly dawned on Kang how he had got here. He hadn’t been teleported. He had instead been carried and dropped here at such amazing speed it might as well have been teleportation, too fast for even his suit's sensors to register the movement.

His suspicion was confirmed when the Blur came back for its last trip, dropping the still catatonic Hyperion onto the ground. “You?” Kang asked accusatorily at the strange man who was clearly responsible for carrying them to safety at super speed. “Where are we? And why did you bring us here?”

Matt Murdock, winded from having to make so many trips, took a moment to gather himself. Finally, he stared at Kang with unseeing eyes through his dark-tinted shades and answered.

“We are in a city a hundred miles away from the Ghost Rider variants. We should be safe here for a while,” Matt explained with an out-of-breath huff.

“That only answers one of my questions, why did you save us?”

“Because…I think we can help each other.”

Chapter Text

Kang stared at the man graciously offering him a lifeline and felt only contempt. The logical part of his mind knew he should be grateful or, at the very least, appreciative, but his bruised ego would have none of that. Kang’s were never the recipients of others' sympathy under any circumstances. They were the givers, not the takers. The sheer recentness of his humiliating defeat only served to exacerbate Kang’s defiant behavior.

“Who said I am in need of your help?” Kang spat out, rudely brushing past Matt in order to better examine his disoriented forces and survey his new environment. Casting his eyes about, he quickly concluded his initial assessment of the place was correct, and this was no doubt some version of the Las Vegas Strip of Earth, circa 2020, to be more exact. Like all things in the Void, the elements and scavengers had gotten to the place, reducing it to a lackluster version of what it once was. Luxurious buildings and signs were worn down and in disrepair, cars and other metal structures lay rusting and unused, and in general, the place was devoid of all life, human or otherwise.

Turning his gaze away from the area itself, he turned his focus over to his motley crew. Cringing at how they looked hardly any better than their dilapidated surroundings, Zarda looked the best off out of the trio, being able to stand on her own and move about. However, she was repeatedly prodding her sides in a mixture of pain and fascination, dabbing at the deep and ugly lacerations that marred her flesh, lasting remnants from where the flaming chains of several ghost riders had ensnared her and kept her from phasing. Beside her, lying in an unresponsive fetal position, was Hyperion. The mountain of a man was shamelessly rocking himself like a baby, his eyes still glazed over white as he was forced to endure the mental anguish of the Ghost Rider’s penance stare on loop. Lastly was the slumped-over form of Nighthawk, Amon, dead to all the goings-on around him, seemingly because he truly was dead. As his neck was arced at a hideous and unnatural angle no normal human could survive, likely rendered that way by the cruel twist of the neck by some variant or another.

To confirm his mortality, Kang scanned Amon just to be sure, and indeed from all the readings he got back, the body showed no signs of life. But this in itself did not concern Kang too much. Death was not a lasting state for a Moon Knight. All the corpse would need is some suitable amount of moonlight to be resuscitated back to full health. But it would still be a chore to find in the Void, where moonlight and sunlight were equally tepid and weak. Sighing in frustration, Kang rubbed his temple and tried to take stock of the situation and think of the next course of action.

The ambush had been an unmitigated disaster, no two ways about it. Not only had they suffered heavy losses, but they had used up their only real advantage: the element of surprise. Now it was back to the drawing board to come up with some other means of salvaging this situation. ‘Should I abandon these miscreants?’ he briefly contemplated, seeing as how they were now nothing more than dead weight to him. But he quickly decided against it, as they still posed a potential asset to him in the future if they could be recuperated. ‘Maybe I should rewind time?’ he contemplated. It would be well within his scope of capabilities with the Time Stone and could double as a means of bringing his defeated forces back to full health, but he quickly decided against that. Rewinding time always came with consequences, and additionally, the outcome would likely remain the same if the Time Stone's opposite, the Soul Stone, remained in play. So that left one option.

Begrudgingly, Kang turned back around to face Matt. The blind ghost rider had politely remained silent as he allowed Kang to mull over the issue. He glared at the man for a second before beginning haughtily, “Assuming I was in the market to enter into a partnership with you, what would you want in turn? And how could I even trust you in the first place? After all, not two minutes ago, we were literally on opposite sides of the battle with each other.”

Matt took a moment to answer as if choosing his next words carefully. “Like I said initially, I think we can help each other. That in itself should guarantee my loyalty to you, unlike with the Ghost Rider Legion.”

Cocking his head to the side in mild intrigue, Kang coaxed, “Explain.”

“I was never truly loyal to the Riders. They were merely a means to an end.”

“And what end might that be?” Kang inquired.

“My wife, Elektra. The Cosmic Ghost Rider promised me he could bring her back,” Matt explained solemnly.

“Ugh,” Kang couldn’t help but mutter aloud in disgust. He hated how cliché that was. A strong, noble figure cowed into submission by dangling the prospect of returning a dead love back to them. It was a trick he himself had used plenty of times to get others to do his bidding. And it would seem that would be the same case here.

Ignoring Kang’s rude outburst, Matt continued, “You have the power of the Time Stone. I saw how you brought back the undead, fully this time, not merely as a reanimated corpse as they are now. You could do that again for my Elektra. She’s among the horde back there, enslaved for all eternity by that bastard Johann and Frank. They always said they would one day release them, but seeing how callously they killed them just to revive them as undead…it made me realize that would never happen. So I’m throwing in my lot with you. You give me back my Elektra, and I help you take them down.”

“Hmm…and how do you know I’ll keep my promise unlike your former compatriot?”

“I don’t, but I have faith you were brought into my life for a reason,” Matt said with conviction as he gently caressed the rosary bead dangling off his side. Kang rolled his eyes at this and internally added ‘delusional’ to his private assessment of Matt. Despite this, though, Kang was desperate and low on options. It was either this or nothing.

“Fine. I’m willing to bring back your lover after we take down that biker legion. But before we cement that deal, how about a show of good faith? Set my friend here free from that accursed Penance Stare you kind likes to inflict,” Kang said, gesturing to still unresponsive Hyperion.

“I can’t. Only the rider who cast the penance stare can lift it. And I believe that was Johann Schmidt.”

“Great, just great,” Kang said with a scoff of frustration. He needed Hyperion back to full health, as he was now, he was useless and more of a liability.

“There is another way,” Matthew quickly chimed in.

“There’s another warlord with great mastery of the mind. Enough to even usurp the curse of a penance stare, perhaps.”

“Who?” Kang asked eagerly.

“A mutant by the name of Cassandra Nova. She leads the Genosha gang of mutants to the south

of here. They say she’s a mighty telepath, though incredibly ruthless and possibly even insane.”

“Great…just great,” Kang said.

Chapter Text

"You look just like him, you know," Cassandra Nova mused aloud as she calmly began to circle the trembling man before her, slowly scrutinizing him and taking in his every feature, relishing in all the familiar traits she noticed.

"Same face. Same eye color, same hair... or rather I should say, same lack thereof," she said with a chuckle, tapping her fingers across the man's pale, bald head.

The man flinched at her touch, trying to shy away from her as much as possible. Ignoring his unease, Cassandra carried on with her monologue unperturbed.

"It's actually quite rare down here... finding an Xavier variant who truly resembles Xavier," she said, halting her leisurely pacing to stand still and stare the trembling man square in the eye.

"They are all either too fat or too slim, or in a few cases, some of them can even walk," she said with an exaggerated shudder, as if the very idea of a walking Charles Xavier was repulsive.

"Though I suppose it was inevitable that the Void would eventually run out of perfect doppelgangers of my dear old brother... I have been killing quite a few of them," she admitted with a chuckle, making the Xavier variant tremble harder and whimper in despair.

"Please don't do this," he began weakly, finally finding his voice.

"Whoever wronged you, it wasn't me. I don't even have a sister in my reality. I was an only child. Please, you have the wrong man," he begged desperately, practically spilling out of his wheelchair as if to kneel before her for mercy.

"You see, that's kind of the problem. In almost all realities, we are twins in our mother's womb, but I am never allowed to be born because you absorb me. Thus, the mere fact you are here now suggests some poor unfortunate version of myself was deprived of life," Cassandra explained coldly.

"I don’t know what to say… if what you are saying is true, I apologize. For myself and on behalf of all my variants. We meant you no conscious harm. We were only fetuses for Christ's sake. Acting on cruel naturalistic instinct," Xavier beseeched, desperate to have Cassandra see some semblance of reason.

"True, none of you were fully cognizant of your actions... but it still hurt. A lot. So I’m afraid a sorry won’t cut it here unfortunately, only retribution," she said with finality, as she reached over to touch the other man's temples.

"No, please…" The Xavier variant wailed instinctively sensing his impending doom.

"Shhh," Cassandra gently shushed. "I’m just going to psychically share a fraction of the pain I endured when my Xavier tried to subsume me. Do you feel it? The pain of all your cells exploding and being reabsorbed into another. Your bones snapping. Your organs twisting. Your very being becoming mere fuel for another," Cassandra asked softly in a trance-like state, mesmerized by the sight of her twin's variant thrashing and convulsing violently under the deluge of psychic pain. So much pain he couldn’t even cry out or scream. Just let out soft pitiful gasps and meaningless blubbering.

The Xavier variant tried desperately to fend off her psychic assault with his own substantial telepathic power, but it was a futile attempt. Just like many other Xavier variants before, he quickly came to one horrifying conclusion: his mental might was like a pond compared to her ocean; he simply never stood a chance.

"How are you so strong?" The variant managed to grunt out weakly in awe.

Cassandra simply grinned knowingly at first before deciding to humor his curiosity by briefly dispelling the psychic illusion hiding the yellow mind stone embedded in her bald forehead.

The Xavier variant gasped out loud in shock and pain as blood began to ooze from his nose like a broken pipe.

"I’m just that good," she said cruelly.

With one final gurgling and splutter, the Xavier variant slumped over dead, overwhelmed by the psychic feedback. The vestiges of the great telepathic power still within him slowly flowed over to the eagerly awaiting Cassandra, who greedily inhaled it like it was a perfume aroma.

“Aahh,” she exhaled in contentment.

“They just don’t make telepaths like they do you brother,” she said wistfully to the unresponsive corpse.

Humming an upbeat little tune, Cassandra set to work. She casually walked behind the recently deceased paraplegic and callously pushed his body out of his wheelchair and onto the grimy floor of her personal chamber.

Then she wheeled the chair over to an adjacent corner of the room where several dozen similar chairs were arranged.

She neatly slotted in her new trophy and took a step back to appreciate her updated collection.

The new chair fit right in alongside several traditional and futuristic wheelchairs she had amassed over the years. All acquired from some unfortunate variant who had crossed her path. She began to reminisce on the memories associated with killing some of the previous chair’s owners when she was suddenly interrupted.

“Ms. Nova?” a nervous voice asked from the now-open door of her chambers, prompting Cassandra to turn to see who dared to barge in like that.

“What?” Cassandra barked out irritably, glaring at the familiar sight of her right-hand woman.

“I’m sorry to disturb you…but it would seem we have guests.”

“Guests?” Cassandra asked quizzically.

“Yes, a strange group has arrived demanding your aid in lifting a penance stare curse.”

Thoroughly bewildered now, Cassandra looked at her compatriot in utter disbelief.

“Demanding?”

“Yes… they erm promise to make it worth your while,” the henchwoman reported, fidgeting and avoiding eye contact by staring nervously at the dead body in the center of the room.

“Hah... I have got to see this myself,” Cassandra said in bemusement as she began to step out of the room to meet her ‘guests'.

Pausing briefly at the door, she turned to her still skittish subordinate.

“Oh, and Boudicca, if you are going to keep staring at that corpse, you might as well clean it up for me,” she declared before sauntering out of the room, leaving the terrified sorcerer supreme to hastily conjure a sling ring portal to get rid of the offending body.

Chapter Text

Cassandra Nova’s domain loomed before them in a grotesque display of opulence—a staggering monument to her power and cruelty.
The Ant Hill, as it was known, was carved from the colossal, decaying remains of a fallen Ant-Man variant. His chitinous exoskeleton, once strong and gleaming, was now a cracked, jagged landscape forming the foundation of her stronghold. Segments of his abdomen had been hollowed out into echoing tunnels, while his lifeless arms jutted forward, fingers folding in place to form interlocking gates.

The entire place reeked of death and decay, yet it lived, vibrant with Cassandra’s psychic power pervading every circuit and bolt of the structure—an extension of her omniscient presence, further accentuating the graveyard-turned-fortress.

Zarda, Matt Murdock, and the mentally fractured Hyperion trudged silently toward the entrance by themselves, their cruel leader, Scarlett Centurion, nowhere to be seen. He had opted to delegate the task of seeking assistance from Cassandra to his underlings, while he himself returned to Qeng Tower to check up on their captive, Kid Loki, and find a way to resuscitate Nighthawk.

No guards stood watch at the compound’s entrance, nor did sentries challenge their approach. There was no need. The mutants who served in Cassandra’s Genosha Gang—twisted, broken reflections of what they once were—simply watched from the shadows, their glowing eyes filled with hunger and wariness.

Zarda tightened her grip on Hyperion, who staggered beside her, his towering frame wracked by invisible torments. He was still locked in the grip of the Penance Stare, his mind unraveling under the weight of sins relived in an endless cycle. His lips moved, whispering words too quiet to hear, his eyes vacant and distant. Matt walked slightly ahead, his hands flexing and curling into fists as they crossed into Cassandra’s domain.

They sought no permission or guidance as they sauntered deeper into the suffocating walls of The Ant Hill. The walls surrounding them throbbed as if still alive, slick with unknown fluids. Dim bioluminescent veins ran through the structure, their glow fluctuating like a heartbeat. The deeper they ventured, the heavier the air became, charged with psychic pressure—her presence.

Zarda, especially, was sensitive to this sensation, her own pseudo-psionic power chafing against the hostile might of another.

At last, they entered what appeared to be a throne chamber, carved from the sternum of the giant corpse. A tall, thin woman with a mane of red hair stood in the open, catching Zarda off guard with her familiarity.

“Ancient One?” she questioned in disbelief, taking in the striking, bald-headed sorceress before her.

“Yes… but not the one you are familiar with, I imagine,” the witch said in her ever-airy and cryptic tone.

But she was nonetheless right. This wasn’t the Ancient One Zarda had fought side by side with to stop the Deviant Invasion. Merely a variant. Still, her familiarity unnerved Zarda in many ways—the least of which being that her Ancient One had indirectly led to Zarda’s exile into the void.

“You may call me Boudicca for simplicity’s sake. What brings you here?” the woman inquired, striding closer to inspect the newcomers.

“We demand an audience with the one they call Cassandra Nova in order to lift a Penance Stare curse. We promise to make it worth her while,” Zarda declared pompously.

Arching her eyebrows at the audacity on display, Boudicca calmly nodded and went off to retrieve her mistress.

“‘Demand’ is a bit of a strong word, no? We are beggars here, after all,” Matt gently chastised, adjusting Hyperion’s swaying weight slightly.

“Speak for yourself, Priest. I am no beggar, no matter the circumstances.”

“Hmm… Regardless, we do need to decide on a plan of action for dealing with Cassandra when she arrives. Like I said earlier, she isn’t someone to be trifled with—nor is she the most… mentally stable individual,” he said, subtly gesturing to their macabre surroundings for emphasis.

“I noticed. Don’t fret, though. I have a plan… which reminds me,” Zarda said abruptly, leaning over to Matt and humming a melodic tune into his ear, startling him.

“What was that?” he demanded, slightly shaken and ruffled by the bewildering effect the enchanting note had on him.

“A precaution,” she said simply, not getting the chance to elaborate further as Cassandra herself finally entered.

Cassandra Nova cruised into the room, reclined in her twisted mockery of Charles Xavier’s wheelchair, assembled from the remains of dozens of his variants. Some were metal, some wood—all still bore dried bloodstains. Her skeletal frame was draped in a brown trench coat, her expression caught between amusement and contempt. The Mind Stone embedded in her forehead was obscured to all except herself under a psychic illusion.

“Well, well,” she murmured, her voice carrying through the chamber like a knife through silk. “Look what the Void has dragged in.”

Her pale eyes flicked over each of them, lingering on Hyperion’s trembling form before settling on Matt.

“You,” she said with a cruel smile. “You’re one of Frank’s boys from the Ghost Rider Legion, aren’t you? You’re a bit far from home, aren’t you?”

Matt said nothing, his jaw tightening.

Zarda stepped forward. “We need you to sever the Penance Stare’s hold on our compatriot.”

Cassandra tilted her head, her fingers drumming against the armrest of her throne. “And why would I do that?”

Her gaze sharpened as she sought to reach into the depths of their minds to glean this information for herself—not interested in waiting for whatever lie they would try to spin with their words.

A wave of psychic force crashed into their minds, as subtle as a scalpel and as forceful as a hammer, seeking to burrow into their thoughts—to peel back their defenses like fragile layers of parchment. She wanted to see them—to unravel their secrets, to taste their fears.

Yet her telepathic assault met resistance—not a shield, not a fortress of mental will, but sound.

A song.

A siren’s song, woven into the duo of Matt and Zarda’s very consciousness, looping endlessly in their minds, drowning out her intrusion like an impenetrable fog.

Cassandra’s expression twisted in irritation. “Clever. You’ve had a siren fortify your mind against intrusion.”

Zarda smirked, though subconsciously she was deeply relieved that her plan had actually worked—and that, due to Centurion’s enhancement, Cassandra hadn’t discerned that Zarda herself was a siren.

Cassandra exhaled slowly, regaining her composure. “Impressive. Annoying, but impressive. To be clear, I couldbrute force my way through it, but you’ve earned my intrigue enough to hear you out naturally.” She reclined lazily. “So… what do you want?”

Zarda’s voice was steady. “We need Hyperion restored. Name your price.”

Cassandra’s grin returned, predatory and knowing. “Oh, I love when people say that.”

She leaned forward, fingers laced together. “Money means nothing here, obviously, so you must understand that when you say price, you effectively mean a favor. Any one of my choosing, to be exact.”

Matt’s expression darkened. “We do.”

Cassandra’s grin widened. “Great! You lot seem competent enough, so I’m sure you’ll be up to whatever task I give you… but we can discuss all that later.”

A tense silence stretched between them.

Zarda, without hesitation, said, “Fine.”

Matt turned sharply to her. “Zarda—it’s best we hash out the details now and—”

“We don’t have time to argue,” she cut him off.

Cassandra let out a delighted laugh. “Marvelous.”

She extended a hand toward Hyperion and telekinetically dragged him closer. Once within reach, she delved her fingers into his skull as smoothly as one would dip them into water, eliciting shocked gasps from Matt and Zarda.

Her fingers elongated and stretched to inhuman lengths, becoming talon-like as she literally picked through the Eternal’s brain.

Hyperion convulsed violently. His mouth opened in silent agony, his entire form trembling.

Slowly, though, the white fog clouding his eyes shattered.

He gasped, his lungs sucking in air as if he had been drowning. His gaze darted around, wild and unfocused, before settling on Zarda and Matt.

Cassandra withdrew her hand, wiping imaginary dust from her robe. “There. Good as new. If you want, I could also work on his Mahd Warry as well. But that would cost extra.”

Hyperion staggered but remained upright. His fists clenched, his breathing ragged.

Cassandra smirked. “Now, back to the matter of payment. I couldn’t help but notice, while rooting through your friend here’s mind, that he didn’t have the same bothersome siren song looping through his thoughts.”

Zarda stiffened, internally kicking herself for not accounting for that.

“…And being the nosy lass that I am, I couldn’t help but take a peek inside. Don’t worry, nothing too invasive, just enough to gather that you folks have history with a blonde-haired Asgardian, correct?”

“Thor?” Hyperion asked, still reeling and trying to catch up.

“Aye, I suppose in your reality he still goes by that, but the variant I want you to deal with goes by another name… Donald Blake.”

“What do you want us to do with this… Donald Blake?” Zarda asked suspiciously.

“Well, I’ve been having a bit of a row with him, and at this point, I wouldn’t mind it at all if he were to… shall I say, dealt with”

“You mean kill him?” Matt said, putting it bluntly, to which Cassandra shrugged nonchalantly.

“He and his Wild Hunt have been a real pest to me and my operations, I must say, and I’ve tried various ways to deal with him myself, to no avail.”

“What makes him so difficult to deal with?”

“Well, for one thing, he has in his possession the Aether, also known as the Reality Stone. And for another… well, I’ll let you figure that one out on your own.”

“Consider it done,” Zarda said, not really needing time to mull it over. Their primary mission under Kang was to amass all the Infinity Stones, after all. Doing this would thus be killing two birds with one stone.
“We’re leaving,” Zarda declared, eager to make a quick exit.

Cassandra leaned back in her throne, watching them turn and walk away. “Wait, take Boudicca with you, so she can protect my interests in all this,” she explained, beckoning for her right-hand woman to tag along.
Reluctantly, the group allowed this, leaving Cassandra’s house of horrors with a new addition in tow.

Boudicca walked alongside them, her expression unreadable. She moved with a graceful ease, her orange robes flowing behind her like a specter’s trail. Zarda eyed her warily but said nothing—for now.

Hyperion, still recovering from his ordeal, rolled his shoulders and took a deep breath. “I remember everything,” he muttered, his voice hoarse.

Matt glanced at him. “And?”

Hyperion’s gaze hardened. “And we have work to do.”

Zarda smirked. “That’s the spirit.”

Cassandra Nova had played her hand well, tying them to her cause with a debt they could not ignore.

Matt, ever the cautious one, broke the silence. “I don’t trust her.” staring pointedly at Boudicca.

“You’re not supposed to,” Zarda responded coolly. “But a deal is a deal.”

Boudicca spoke, her voice soft yet firm. “If we’re going up against a wielder of the Reality Stone, we’ll need a strategy.”

Matt nodded. “And we’ll need to know exactly what we’re dealing with. Cassandra left out details on purpose.”

“Of course she did,” Zarda said. “We’ll adapt.”

Hyperion’s fists clenched. “We always do.”

With their goal set and an uneasy alliance in place, the group pressed forward.

Chapter Text

Dusk came to the Void at a lethargic pace much to the chagrin of Nathaniel Richards.

Standing on the rooftop of Qeng Tower, arms crossed, he feels his patience thinning as he waits for the meager vestiges of the Void’s broken moon to make an appearance.

The night sky above was an unsteady expanse of darkness, shifting clouds obscuring the weak lunar glow.

He knew simply glaring at the heavens wouldn’t make them part any faster but he felt inclined to try anyway.
Beside him lay the still corpse of Amon, the North African stripped down to his loin cloth to better expose as much of his being as possible to tepid moonlight.

His snapped neck had been carefully reset back in place and his body cleaned of dirt and filth as if in preparation for embalming.

Next to the corpse, a hastily assembled contraption vaguely resembling a giant magnifying glass was trained over him. Designed to focus what little moonlight there was directly onto the body.

It was not one of Nathaniel’s finest works—assembled under short notice with whatever scraps he could find—but it would have to suffice.

Awkwardly seated nearby was Kid Loki, brought out of his cell to act as an unpaid laborer in the absence of the rest of Nathaniel’s squadron.

The young trickster fidgeted slightly, running a hand along the smooth edge of a dagger he had been allowed to keep, watching as Nathaniel adjusted the device once more, frustration evident in his stiff movements.

Bored and with nothing else to do, he peered down at the several stories drop below, down to street level for any signs of activity. The overgrown streets were desolate and quiet. And as far his eyes could see, there’s was the only building lit up.

After a long silence, Loki spoke, his tone light but probing. “You’re uncharacteristically desperate, Kang.”
Nathaniel didn’t turn to face him, his focus still on the sky but he none the less replied. “ You do not know me well enough to say what is or what is not out of character for me”

“True, but you didn’t seem nearly as concerned with the welfare of your other injured minions Zarda and Hyperion “ Loki countered with a shrug.

“A good strategist knows when to invest in the board. Amon is more than just another piece—he’s a variable worth securing.” Kang admitted beginning to pace the roof impatiently.

Loki smirked, shifting in his seat. “Sounds almost sentimental.”

“No. Pragmatic. He’s loyal…at least he pretends to be loyal. That’s a great deal more than the others give me”
They did not talk for a beat after that, each instead occupying the silence with internally musings. Loki’s gaze slid over to linger briefly on Amon corpse, an unreadable expression passing over his face.

“Do you believe in fate?” he asked abruptly, breaking the silence with a question that had haunted him ever since he was pruned.

Kang sighed, his sharp eyes narrowing as he finally glanced over at Loki. “Fate is an illusion for those too weak to seize their own destiny.”

Kid Loki huffed out a breath, lips curling in something that wasn’t quite a smile. “You sound like my brother…always going on and on, about beating the Norns who thread our fates and deciding it ourselves” His voice was steady, but there was something underneath it—a grief well-worn but never quite dulled.

“Your brother is a smart boy.” Kang opined.

“Was” Loki corrected without emotion. He tilted his dagger, watching the way the light glinted off its edge.The fact he had been allowed to keep it only served to remind him of how little of a threat Kang viewed him.

“I had a brother once. Thor. I imagine you’ve faced some alternate version of him before” Loki’s gaze drifted into the distance, lost in memory. “We were… close, in our own way. I was always the clever one, he the strong one. We played many games and I tended to lose all of them. I thought I could outdo him, one-upping his every victory with tricks and schemes. And then one day, I went too far.”

Nathaniel remained silent, simply allow Loki to speak.

“It was supposed to be a prank,” Loki murmured.

“Something to humble him. But it spiraled out of control. He fell into the abyss, and no one—not Odin, not Frigga—could bring him back. And just like that, my whole world changed.” He let out a bitter laugh. “ The TVA came for me shortly after that. I was never supposed to win. I was the foil, the shadow to his light. The perpetual loser as decreed by fate”

Nathaniel studied him for a moment before speaking.

“I used to have a similar mind set.”

Kang admitted, rolling his shoulders, as if shaking off the memory. “Till I met a woman named Ravonna Renslayer who made me see otherwise. And now, here I am.” gesturing proudly.

Looking around in amusement, Loki arched his eyebrows and cheekily asked “Stuck in the trash bin of reality?”

Kang let out a quiet chuckle, his eyes flickering.

“For now yes. But even at my lowest I am still free from the shackles of fate. All that I am today I can boldly say was by my power”

The two shared a brief, knowing look—two egotists recognizing something of themselves in the other. Whatever mutual annoyance existed between them had softened, replaced by a flicker of respect. They might have played different games, but their ambitions, their drive, were not so dissimilar.

“What happened to your Ravonna?” Loki asked innocently without much thought.

Kang’s jaw tightened. Loki’s quest striking a chord. He looked intently into the dark, as if searching for an answer in the shifting shadows. Then, begrudgingly, he spoke.

“I lost her,” Kang admitted, his voice quieter than usual.
Loki’s interest was piqued but he did not push, but his expectant gaze invited Kang to continue. And for some reason, the Conqueror did.

“She was… everything. Strong, intelligent, unwavering in her convictions. She saw something in me that no one else did. ” His fingers curled into a fist. “But love is not always enough.”

Loki tilted his head slightly, sensing the undercurrent of bitterness laced in Kang’s words. “What happened to her?”

He didn’t get the chance to answer for at last, the broken moon peeked through the shrouded sky, casting a thin, pale glow upon the rooftop.

Nathaniel wasted no time, activating the contraption with a flick of his wrist. The refracted light poured over Amon’s corpse, igniting an immediate and violent reaction.

Amon’s body convulsed, his limbs jerking as if some unseen force had seized hold of him. His chest heaved, his head snapped back at an unnatural angle, and a guttural, inhuman gasp tore from his throat. Loki took an instinctive step back, but Nathaniel remained firm, placing a steadying hand on Amon’s shoulder.

“Hold him down,” Nathaniel ordered.

Loki hesitated for only a moment before moving to help, gripping Amon’s thrashing limbs as best he could. The body shook violently, fingers curling like claws, his mouth opening in a silent scream. The process was raw, brutal, but Nathaniel had anticipated this.
Resurrections were rarely gentle affairs.

The roof seemed to darken further, the power of Khonshu rippling through the air like an unfinished spell. Kid Loki’s grip tightened reflexively.

After what felt like an eternity, Amon’s movements slowed. His breathing evened out, the white glow in his eyes fading to something more human. He lay still for a moment, chest rising and falling with steady breaths, before his eyes finally opened.

His gaze landed on Kang, and something like recognition flared in his newly awakened eyes.

“You,” Amon rasped, his voice raw with the weight of death.

Nathaniel let out a quiet breath of relief. “Welcome back.”

Amon’s gaze flickered between the two men standing over him. “How long?”

Loki smirked, shaking his head. “Not long enough to miss you.”

Nathaniel straightened, his sharp gaze already turning toward the horizon.

“We’ve got work to do.”

As Amon slowly reoriented himself, Loki turned back to Kang one thought still weighing on his mind.

“You never answered my question.”

Kang barely spared Loki a glance. “What question?”
“What happened to Ravonna Renslayer?”

Kang was silent. Darkness flickered across his face, making the sharp lines of his expression all the more unreadable. When he finally spoke, his voice was devoid of emotion, cold and final.

“I killed her.”

Loki stared at him, searching for some sign of regret, some fracture in the cold mask. But there was nothing.

Just the unwavering certainty of a man who had rewritten history to suit his own needs.

Chapter Text

Parked outside the warehouse in a neat set of rows sat dozens of souped-up motorcycles, painted in the striking colors of the Ghost Rider Legion.

Cassandra Nova stopped to admire a couple of them, patting the contoured leather seat and skull-shaped ornament of a particularly striking vehicle before continuing on to the aluminum door of the repurposed building, which vibrated with the pounding bass of loud music.

The attack the gang had endured only a few hours prior had done little to dampen their festive spirit, as after a brief, futile search for their assailants, they eventually resumed partying like nothing had happened.

Only now, they had moved to a slightly more insular venue, with notably no reanimated undead ambling around the perimeter.

Sauntering toward the unmanned gate, Cassandra flung it open with a casual telekinetic swipe of her fingers, announcing her arrival with a raucous bang as the metal gate whined open.

Inside, bikers were evenly spaced out in the large room, sprawled out on battered old sofas, drinking, smoking, or shooting pool. Three men were openly counting a pile of pillaged loot in one corner—things like canned food, bottled water, and other such trinkets that held more value than money down here.

Cassandra looked around with interest. As far as gangs in the Void went, the Ghost Rider Legion maintained one of the better-equipped and maintained abodes, with relatively less filth, vermin, and drugged indolence.

All eyes turned to the intruder. A second later, every member of the Legion was on their feet, hands going for weapons strapped to their hips, most of which were chains of some kind. The trio counting loot amusingly tried to hide their take despite it being too late.

Their open hostility didn’t surprise Cassandra. As the self-appointed warden of this trash heap they all called home, she often clashed with the various variant gangs that sought some kind of independence and freedom.

The Legion was no exception. She did have a tentative truce with them, allowing them to share territorial borders, but both sides barely abided by it.

“Hello, neighbors,” Cassandra greeted cheerily, folding her arms behind her back in a show of non-aggression.

“I come in peace. I simply wish to talk to your head,” she explained quickly, zeroing in on the only person in the room still seated and unfazed.

“What do you want, Cassandra?” Frank Castle gruffly asked, making no attempt to rise and properly acknowledge her presence.

Even seated and in his human form, though, the Cosmic Ghost Rider passively radiated power. He was heavily built and, typical for his gang, wore a leather jacket with the sleeves sliced into tatters. His thick hair was graying, but the orange soul stone hanging around his neck by a plain piece of rope would put to rest any doubt about him aging.

“Can’t a neighbor drop by once in a while for a spot of tea?” Cassandra asked innocently, taking a few steps closer and prompting the onlookers to take a few nervous steps back.

“I’m not in the mood for your games. State your business and leave.”

“Hmm, let it never be said I don’t try to be nice. But fine, I’ll get to the point. I couldn’t help but notice you’re missing someone. A handsome bloke. Blind as a bat. Bit of a stick in the mud, though, and thinks he’s holier than thou.”

Anxious shifting by the crowd of spectators confirmed her suspicion, but Castle himself didn’t confirm or deny it—simply watching Cassandra more intently.

“I don’t know the exact details, but your little priest seems to have made himself some strange new friends. Newcomers to the Void, by the looks of it. One of them had a Penance Stare curse on him. So I helped them out, of course. I hope you don’t mind?” Cassandra continued, finally getting a rise out of Castle, but it wasn’t him that lashed out—it was a member of his posse.

“Why the hell would you do something so stupid?” a Red Skull variant snapped, the fire-eyed specter bristling with rage that his Penance Stare on Hyperion had been lifted. .

“Because I can. Also, know your place. The adults are talking,” Cassandra retorted, mildly irritated.

The Nazi literally fumed at the rebuke but didn’t get the chance to crack back, with Castle jumping back in.

“Speed Demon…” Castle started, drawing Cassandra’s attention back to himself.

“…is our business. So was that Eternal you helped. You have no right to do that.”

“Again. I do what I want, because I can. I do not need a ‘right’ to do as I please… However, I do recognize what I did could be interpreted as insensitive. Hence why I’m informing you of the situation personally.”

“After the fact,” Castle pointed out.

“It’s better than nothing, no?” Cassandra said with a wide grin.

Chuckling humorlessly, Castle finally rose to his feet and slowly crossed the distance to meet Cassandra head-on.

“You seem to have everything figured out, don’t you? But tell me—did you know that among Speed Demon’s new friends, one of them possesses an Infinity Stone?”

Cassandra’s self-satisfied smile shattered and wilted away. She had come here to gloat, not to be exposed for being out of the loop on key details.

Deciding the next part of the conversation was too sensitive to be spoken openly, she swiftly established a telepathic link between herself and Castle, allowing the two of them to talk privately.

“What do you mean one of them had an Infinity Stone? I sensed no such power from any of them when we met,” she demanded.

“Then whoever held the stone wasn’t there at the moment. But I can assure you one of them held the Time Stone. In fact, I think the person in question was a Kang variant, but I can’t be too certain,” Castle replied calmly.

“A Kang? Those bastards are always trouble. But that’s beside the point. I thought you, myself, and Odinson were the only ones in the Void with an Infinity Stone. There’s more? Maybe even the full set?”

“Maybe. But clearly, we aren’t the only ones anymore.”

“Fuck! And I sent them on what I hoped was a suicide mission to retrieve Odinson’s Aether. If they somehow managed to succeed, that would put two in their hands—enough to take either one of us out,” Cassandra bemoaned internally, audibly cussing under her breath and kicking herself for not proactively scanning the minds of the newcomers when she had her chance.

Beginning to pace back and forth anxiously, she slowed down as she began to think things through.

“Actually… this could be a boon for us. Have the newcomers do all the hard work finding and retrieving the stones while we swoop in at the last second to claim it all for ourselves. I even have an agent on the inside already, so I can count on her for constant updates on their whereabouts and the like.”

Mulling it over, Castle nodded in agreement.

“And even though the traitorous bastard left, I’m sure with the threat to his wife’s safety, Matt can also be brought to heel should the time come.”

Smirking, Cassandra licked her lips in anticipation.

“Then it’s settled. Let’s make it official, shall we?”

Severing the psychic connection, she turned back to the crowd, who for all this time had been left in the dark, watching their boss and the intruder engage in wordless conversation.

“Good news, curs! Castle and I have come to a mutually beneficial alliance. From henceforth, the Genosha Gang and the Ghost Rider Legion are in a coalition. Equals, united in one common goal,” Cassandra said aloud, throwing up her hands in a flourish.

“What?! You can’t be serious. Surely we can’t join forces with this madwoman,” the Red Skull Ghost Rider variant implored, looking to Frank for backup.

Instantly, Cassandra, having had enough, struck him with a telekinetic blast, fracturing his skull instantly. The man fell back, eyes streaming, stunned with pain; he hadn’t even had time to raise his hands in defense.

A few of the younger Demons, who were less wise to the world, made sudden moves to unload their pistols, but before a single shot could be fired, Castle ignited his flames, hurling every member of the gang back against the walls and causing the sofas and heavy pool table to skid out of place.

As the bikers staggered back to their feet, Castle said evenly, “Last I checked, this isn’t a democracy. What I say goes. No ifs or buts about it. And I say we are now aligned with Cassandra, and that’s final. Understood?”

One did not need to be psychic to sense the resentment and rage rolling off the room, especially from the cowed Red Skull. But at the same time, their fear was greater.

Still seething, the sniveling spectral aide begrudgingly knelt in front of Cassandra on the cold hard concrete floor of the warehouse and raised his hands in a salute.

Around him, the other riders slowly followed suit, all reluctantly accepting the shotgun marriage between Cassandra and Castle, knowing that regardless of their opinion, this was happening.

And from this unholy union was birthed the largest and arguably the most powerful variant gang on Earth.

Chapter Text

Back at Qeng Tower, the squadron stood before Kang, recounting every detail of their unsettling visit to Cassandra Nova’s realm.

Kang, as ever, was inscrutable—his expression carved from stone as he listened to their tale, fingers tented beneath his chin.

The report Itself did not surprise or vex him—but the interloper standing silently at the chamber’s edge certainly did.

Boudicca.

A mystic no one had invited, yet here she was, shadowing his every move under the guise of “liaison". Kang knew well enough that she wasn’t just here to fight. She was the eyes and ears of another—a spy. A reminder that Kang’s authority in this fractured hellhole wasn’t as absolute as he would prefer.

His gaze cut toward her, sharp as a blade beneath the calm exterior. She stood stiffly, draped in the burnt orange and umber of her travel-worn robes, hands clenched at her sides. And there it was—the faintest twitch of nerves. The way her eyes darted toward him and then away, like prey feigning boldness.

Kang noted the subtle signs, cataloging them. He said nothing. He would tolerate her presence… for now.
When the report concluded, Kang’s voice broke the tension. “Go. Regroup. The next move will be decisive.”
Once the debriefing concluded, Kang dismissed them with a wave of his hand. “Go. Rebuild yourselves. We have work yet to do,” he said, before disappearing into the shadows of the war room.

The squadron splintered, each member peeling off to attend to their own wounds, both physical and otherwise.

Zarda wandered through the skeletal remains of Qeng Tower, her booted feet gliding across rust-stained tiles and through shafts of dust-choked light filtering in through cracked windows. The building, once a shining citadel power, now felt more like a haunted tomb. Exposed piping wound across the walls like veins, and somewhere distant, a metal door creaked on its hinges. The ruins and patchwork repairs lending the place a haunting atmosphere.

It was then that a faint trickle of water teased at her ears. Instinctively, Zarda followed it, deeper into the forgotten wings of the tower, past collapsed support beams and shattered holographic projectors.

She pushed open a pair of warped steel doors and found herself standing before what remained of the tower’s Olympic-sized pool. The ceiling stretched high above her, arched like a cathedral, but cracked and webbed with fissures, letting in thin shafts of dim twilight. The pool itself was a ruin of shattered tiles and broken ladders, but the space still exhaled a ghost of its former luxury.

A crooked smile tugged at her lips. Crossing the chamber, Zarda moved toward the rust-caked pump system lining the far wall. After fiddling with brittle wires and stubborn valves, the machines whirred to life with a coughing roar. Ancient turbines groaned as water gushed through hidden pipes, rushing back into the pool as if waking from a long, bitter sleep. Steam began to curl from the surface as the fractured heating units sputtered, but they held.

The water darkened, reflecting the decay above, but it was warm, inviting.

Without ceremony, Zarda slipped out of her battle suit, feeling the textured material peel away from her like a husk. The chill of the air met her bare blue-scaled form, and for a heartbeat, she reveled in the sensation of vulnerability—an intimacy with herself she hadn’t allowed in far too long.

She stepped into the pool, sighing as the heat enveloped her like an old lover’s embrace. With each stride, her body surrendered to the water, her scales deepening into a rich indigo hue as the unnatural enhancements Kang imposed on her faded away.
When she finally submerged, letting herself drift just beneath the surface, the world dulled to a tranquil hush. The warmth seeped into her muscles, washing away months of tension like silt from stone.

For the first time in what felt like ages, she felt like Zarda again—not a soldier, not an emissary of Kang, not a siren dulled by metal and circuitry. Just herself. Allowing herself to breathe in a way she hadn’t since the upgrades. The water cradled her like an old friend, its warmth mingling with her own aura, and she closed her eyes, luxuriating in the feeling of being whole again.

It had been so long since she’d felt this free, this herself. She understood Kang’s reasoning—his enhancements made her stronger, more durable on land, more efficient in battle. But it had also dulled the very essence of what made her Zarda. The rivers and lakes of her own world, the shimmering seas she once called home—they felt like dreams now. And with that realization came a pang of longing.

As she waded in the water, her mind went back to her first experience with proper plumbing.
Wakanda.

A place where indoor plumbing in the year 1000 AD wasn’t a luxury but a common marvel of its technological prowess. She could still recall the awe she felt seeing those sleek obsidian structures, the way the streams of clean water danced through the city like veins of life.
Her mind flickered to her river near North America, where she spent years alone before the Ancient One found her—before everything fractured.

A pang of sorrow cut through her chest.

Floating there, eyes half-lidded, she remembered the crystalline rivers of her homeland, the way the waters of Yucatan gleamed under night sky on clear nights.

She chuckled bitterly under her breath, ripples distorting the dim reflection of her face above. Life had shifted so violently. From guardian of her secluded domain to prisoner of the Ancient One, to warrior conscripted by Kang and flung into this mad spiral of fractured realms. Each step dragging her further from the currents of her origin.

The weight of exile pressed on her like the water itself. Bashenga’s face flashed unbidden in her mind—the steady eyes, the warm, calloused hands. A bond once budding beneath Wakandan stars, now severed by cosmic cruelty.

Did he even remember her? Or was she just a phantom lost to the Void, a ripple fading from his memory?For a moment, she simply floated on the surface, staring up at the broken ceiling high above,
The Ancient One. Bashenga. Gone. Or at least locked away, unreachable.

Her exile into the Void alongside Hyperion and Nighthawk still felt like a cruel trick, one she was perpetually trying to outpace. Now, all that remained of that life was memories, as if they were the sole surviving pages of a book no one else would ever read.

But what truly ached was Bashenga. Their bond had been growing into something tender and profound, yet now it remained suspended in limbo. Did he even remember her anymore? Or had she been erased from the annals of his mind like a forgotten dream?

The water rippled as a new presence disturbed the air.
Zarda’s sharp gaze turned toward the entrance just in time to see Boudicca stepping into the chamber, her orange robes and sandals betraying the faintest hesitation. Her head tilted slightly as she took in the scene.

“I—apologies,” Boudicca said, raising a hand. “I got turned around. This building is… more labyrinth than fortress.”

Zarda considered her, water dripping from her scaled brow. For a heartbeat, the siren weighed the idea of dismissing her.

Eventually though instead of her usual biting sarcasm, offered a rare softness. ““Stay,” Zarda said at last, her voice distorted by the warmth of the water. “You don’t have to leave.”

Boudicca’s posture tensed, but curiosity flickered in her eyes. She approached with cautious grace, sitting at the crumbling edge of the pool and slipping off her sandals. When her bare feet dipped into the heated water, a rare sigh escaped her lips.

For a long while, silence blanketed them. Only the occasional drip of water from a cracked ceiling pipe broke the stillness.

“You look different here,” Boudicca remarked eventually, her gaze traveling along Zarda’s natural form.

Zarda smiled faintly. “This is who I am beneath the armor. The upgrades… they make me stronger, but they aren’t me.”

Boudicca nodded, tracing a finger along the pool’s rim.

“It’s strange, isn’t it? How easily we become strangers to ourselves.”

Zarda’s eyes softened as she sank deeper beneath the water. “Do you feel that way too?”

Boudicca’s lips twitched into something caught between a smirk and a grimace. “Constantly. Cassandra calls it duty. I call it forgetting.”

Zarda saw something unguarded in Boudicca—an echo of her own exile reflected back at her.

“We’re both bound,” Zarda murmured. “Wearing masks carved by others.”

Boudicca stared into the water, watching the distortion of her reflection ripple outward. “Perhaps. But some masks… they fit too well after a while.”

Zarda leaned her head back, letting her raven hair fan out like tendrils beneath the surface. “Maybe it’s time we both remembered how to take them off.”

The chamber lapsed into quiet once more, but this time, it felt like a pact unspoken.

“Does Kang know you still shift?”

Zarda’s eyes narrowed slightly, though there was no hostility behind them. “He knows. He simply prefers me in the upgraded form. Stronger, more adaptable. Less… me.”

Boudicca dipped a toe beneath the surface, swirling the water in thought. “I know what it’s like to serve someone who wants you to be something you’re not.”
Zarda arched a brow. “Cassandra?”

Boudicca gave a vague nod. “In part. But also the mantle of the Ancient One. You inherit the burdens of countless lives and are expected to uphold them—even when they don’t suit you.”

Zarda leaned back, staring up at the ceiling again.

For a while, the only sound was the quiet lap of water against the tile. Then Zarda asked, voice low, “Do you ever wonder if there’s still a way back? Back to your true self?”
Boudicca was silent for a long moment before replying, “Some days. Other days… I’m not sure who that even is anymore.”
Zarda nodded, understanding the sentiment far too well. “Yeah… same.”

The two women sat in shared contemplation, the broken tower around them momentarily forgotten.
The two women lingered by the pool, steam rising like phantom tendrils as silence settled over them. Zarda studied Boudicca with a sideways glance, taking in every detail—the way the orange robes clung to her lean frame, the faint flicker of energy beneath her placid exterior.

“You’re nothing like the Ancient One I knew,” Zarda said, voice low and even, though her words carried weight. Her eyes briefly narrowed. “She was colder, austere. You… you’re something else entirely.”

Boudicca smirked faintly, her gaze drifting to the rippling water. “I suspect I’m unlike most Ancient Ones out there,” she murmured cryptically, voice barely above a whisper.

Before Zarda could press further, Boudicca swiftly changed the subject. “But enough about me. I’m curious… how did you wind up running with Kang’s little warband? You don’t seem the type to fall in line.”

Zarda sighed, sinking deeper into the heated pool, allowing the warmth to seep into muscles still tense from their latest ordeal. “it wasn’t exactly by choice,” she replied, letting her tone grow conversational. “But I make do.”

Her fingers trailed lazily across the water’s surface. “Hyperion’s strong. Arguably stronger than all of us combined… but that strength comes with baggage. He’s haunted by things he never speaks of. Nighthawk… hard to read. The brooding type, sure, but loyal. Almost to a fault. Then there’s Kid Loki—conniving little rat, always plotting, always weighing options. But under all that trickster bravado? Just a scared kid pretending to be untouchable.”

Zarda’s smirk faded, voice darkening with a hint of venom. “And Kang? An unmitigated asshole. No hidden nobility there. Whatever you’ve heard about him, trust me, it’s worse.”

Boudicca burst into laughter, the sound warm and surprisingly genuine. “I know, right?” she said reflexively.

Zarda arched a brow, caught off-guard. “You’ve met him before?”

Boudicca’s laughter faltered, eyes widening for a split second before she caught herself. “Ah—no, not really. Just… the one meeting was enough to get that read. The man’s reputation precedes him.”

Zarda let the answer hang in the air, studying Boudicca a second longer than necessary before shrugging. “Yeah. Reputation’s earned, I guess.”

The conversation mellowed after that, the two exchanging idle remarks about their strange teammates, and the oddity of the crumbling Tower itself. Eventually, Boudicca stood, drying her feet on the hem of her robe.

“Well,” she said softly, “I should go find some quarters before I get hopelessly lost. Kang’s taste in architecture leaves much to be desired.”

Zarda chuckled. “Good luck with that.”

Boudicca gave a knowing nod. “It was nice chatting with you, Zarda. Truly.”

With that, she glided out of the pool chamber, leaving Zarda alone with the rising steam and her drifting thoughts.

Boudicca wandered the winding corridors of Qeng Tower, footsteps echoing softly. She eventually stumbled upon a relatively untouched room tucked behind a dented bulkhead. The door sealed behind her with a dull hiss as she keyed the locking mechanism.

Inside, the space was spartan, yet intact. A battered cot, a sink, and a cracked mirror. Enough.

Boudicca—no, Ravonna—allowed the illusion to falter. Alone, away from prying eyes, she reached up and gently touched the slim, TVA-forged choker at her throat, fingers tracing its etched runes with reverence and disdain.

Moving to the small bathroom, she splashed water on her face, relishing the chill as it cut through the warmth of the earlier bath. Raising her gaze to the fractured mirror, her real reflection stared back.

Gone was the pale, mystic guise of Boudicca.

Instead, her mocha-brown skin glowed softly under the flickering light. Her natural curls framed sharp, intelligent features—no longer the stoic calm of an Ancient One, but the fierce, calculating eyes of Ravonna Renslayer. A woman long thought lost.

Ravonna inhaled shakily, gripping the sink to steady herself. “Of all places,” she whispered to the ghost in the mirror. “He’s here.”

The weight of Kang’s presence pressed heavy on her chest. “How?” Her voice was a breath.

Her thoughts swirled—strategies, contingencies, long-buried fears clawing their way to the surface. Ravonna’s knuckles whitened.

“I just have to make sure you don’t recognize me,” she murmured.

She adjusted the choker, the hum of its mechanism settling back into place as the illusion flickered to life once more.

But the worry lingered behind her eyes.

Chapter Text

Sleep eluded Amon, as it had many times before.

As the Fist of Khonshu, he was naturally prone to bouts of insomnia, feeling most active in the dead of night when all others slumbered. Most nights, he would patrol his given territory for hours, itching for Khonshu to whisper in his ear about whom to smite for transgressing against the moon god.

Tonight, however, there was only silence—just as it had been since arriving in the Void.

It was just him and his thoughts. True solitude for the first time in years.

Unsettled by this, Amon listlessly searched Qeng Tower for a distraction, soon finding himself in the tower’s weight room.

Being a product of the year 1000 AD, the concept of a dedicated room for exercise was alien and strange to him. But he took it in stride, as he had all the other oddities he’d encountered thus far.

The training facility was a graveyard of rusted equipment, cracked mirrors, and dust-choked air. The smell of oxidized metal and old sweat clung to the walls like a bottled aroma. After intuitively testing a few of the setups, he figured out the general gist of things.

Soon, he stood in the center of the room, shirtless, tan skin gleaming with sweat beneath the weak glow of a flickering overhead light. His breathing was heavy, his enhanced muscles taut as he hoisted a rusted barbell above his head, veins pulsing with the strain. The weights on either end were far greater than any team of humans should have been able to lift, groaning with every repetition.

He welcomed the burn. Craved it, even.

Amon knew he had been resurrected in full, but knowing wasn’t enough.

He needed proof—proof that his body still belonged to him, that he wasn’t just back, but better than ever.

Another lift. Another ragged breath. The barbell trembled, but he didn’t let it fall.

Then, without announcement, the door creaked open.

Amon didn’t pause, though his eyes flicked to the entrance, irritation already curling in his chest.

Hyperion.

The other man entered with the slow, measured steps of someone who had never needed to hurry. He barely spared Amon a glance, nodding once before striding toward the opposite side of the room. His golden boots glided over the dusty floor—a stark contrast to the wreckage around them.

He wasn’t in his full battle attire. Just a loose pair of pants and a sleeveless compression shirt, likely scavenged from one of the rooms. Even in his casual wear, Hyperion looked like something sculpted from marble—broad, towering, and every bit as indomitable as the myths that inspired him.

Amon set the weight down with a dull clang, watching as Hyperion moved to the nearby squat rack.

The same one Amon had been struggling with just minutes before.

Without hesitation, Hyperion stepped under the bar, adjusting it across his traps. Amon didn’t miss the way he did it—casual, effortless, like he was lifting a twig rather than hundreds of pounds of cold, unyielding steel.

And then he squatted.

Smooth. Controlled. Power humming beneath the surface, but barely exerted.

Amon’s jaw tightened.

Hyperion wasn’t showing off—not intentionally, at least. But that somehow made it worse. There was no struggle, no strain—just an effortless display of superiority.

Amon clenched his fists, his pride still tender from being the only one who had needed resurrection.

Seeking to shake it off, he moved to the bench press. He threw on more weight. He gritted his teeth, pushing his body further, muscles screaming as he pressed the bar upward.

Hyperion, still silent, finished his set and moved on—to something heavier, something harder—and made that look easy as well.

The air in the weight room grew thick with unspoken tension.

Neither man acknowledged the competition, but it escalated all the same.

Pull-ups. Amon forced out reps until his arms shook, his breaths turning ragged. Hyperion followed, gripping the bar with a single hand and pulling himself up as if gravity were an inconvenience rather than a law.

Deadlifts. Amon loaded the bar until the metal bent, veins bulging in his forearms as he ripped it from the floor.

Hyperion? He lifted more—with one arm—yawning between reps.

Next, Hyperion moved on to the punching bag.

The rhythmic sound of fists meeting leather filled the training hall. He struck the heavy bag again, the chain rattling above. The exertion meant little to him—his eternal body did not tire, did not sweat, did not break. Still, he persisted, testing the movement, the force, the reaction.

The sound of Amon’s teeth grinding was almost audible.

It wasn’t overt mockery. Hyperion wasn’t smirking. He wasn’t taunting. He was simply existing in a way that made Amon feel like a lesser thing.

And that was unacceptable.

“Alright, enough.”

The words snapped through the weight room, sharp as a blade.

Hyperion slowed his strikes but didn’t stop. “What?”

“You’re mocking me.”

Amon folded his arms, stepping closer. “I’ve seen what you’re capable of. This is beneath you.”

Hyperion smirked, finally stilling the bag. “True. But I was curious.”

Amon’s brow furrowed. “Curious?”

“I wanted to see what it felt like.” Hyperion flexed his fingers, testing the residual sensation. “How the body responds, how the muscles strain.”

Amon let out a dry huff, shaking his head. “You’re showing off.”

Hyperion actually laughed at that. “Me? If anyone here is a showoff, it’s you.”

Amon’s expression hardened. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Hyperion tilted his head, studying him. “Do not play dumb. You’ve been shamelessly going above and beyond in service to Kang. And your groveling hasn’t gone unnoticed—he clearly favors you.”

Amon scoffed. “And? Are you jealous?”

Hyperion’s teasing smirk faded. He exhaled, almost disappointed. “No. Just disappointed.”

Amon frowned. “Disappointed?”

Hyperion nodded. “You once told Zarda and me that working for Kang mattered little to you because you had once served Khonshu. I thought you were exaggerating, but I see the truth now. You’re comfortable being a tool. Dare I say, you even enjoy it.”

He paused, searching Amon’s gaze.

“I, for one, don’t… Not anymore.”

The words hit like a blow Amon wasn’t expecting. The usual fire behind his retorts dimmed as confusion took hold.

“What are you saying?”

Hyperion exhaled, running a hand through his hair. “I’ve seen what it means to be complicit. What it means to take orders without question. The Penance Stare showed me that.” His voice was quieter now, more resolute. “I won’t be a tool for mayhem anymore.”

Amon took a step closer, his tone unreadable. “Does that mean you’re planning to betray Kang?”

Hyperion met his gaze evenly. “No. Sadly, he’s my only hope of getting out of here. Of getting back to…” He trailed off, then pivoted.

“I just mean that if the time comes, I’ll do what’s right. Even if it’s not what Kang wants.”

He lingered for a moment before turning away. “I hope you’ll do the same.”

With that, he walked off, leaving Amon standing alone in the dim training hall. The silence stretched between the heavy bags, the weight of the conversation settling in.

Amon’s fingers twitched at his sides. Report Hyperion’s wavering loyalty? It would be the smart thing. The right thing.

For a while, he just sat there. Alone with his thoughts once again.

Chapter Text

Morning in the Void was a strange affair.

There was no proper sunrise to usher in a new day, nor inviting warmth to crawl across the land and rejuvenate sleepy bones. Only the slightest shift in the haunting green gloom that stretched across most of thr sky heralded the concept of a new dawn.

Still, within the reinforced husk of Qeng Tower, the air was brisk with tension—akin to morning nerves before battle.

Kang stood at the head of the war table—a jagged hunk of repurposed alien alloy—his fingers steepled, his expression unreadable.

He hadn’t slept a wink the night before, too busy scheming and plotting his next move. His next course of action absolutely needed to be a success, if for nothing else than to boost morale among his growing squadron.

Even if most members of the Squadron didn’t serve him gleefully, they still needed to believe their individual goals were achievable under his leadership.

So far, things hadn’t gone quite as planned. But Nathaniel Richards was nothing if not adaptive.
If life insisted on giving him lemons, he would reforge them into something far more valuable.

And today was to be the day he did just that.

The others gathered slowly, each one bearing the weary posture of soldiers still licking their wounds, apprehensive of what was to come next.

Zarda entered first and quickly took a seat to Kang’s right, arms folded, her golden scimitars crossed at her side. She was dressed for battle, just like all those who came in after her.

Amon followed, moving to sit on her left. He offered no greeting, too focused on playing the role of ever-watchful sentinel.

His jaw ticked slightly as Hyperion entered the room, their discussion from the night before still fresh in his mind. He tracked the Eternal as he took his seat, noting how Hyperion’s face was mostly neutral, but his eyes held a subtle defiance when they met Kang’s.

If Kang noticed, he chose not to react—but the moment had already put Amon on edge.

On the opposite side of the table, Speed Demon—Matt—took a seat with arms crossed and jaw tight, slightly isolated from the others.

Beside him, Kid Loki twirled a glowing green coin between his fingers, eyes flicking from face to face with practiced boredom.

Boudicca, serene on the surface, entered last. She was forced to sit beside Kang—on his right—the only seat remaining.

Once they were all present, Kang’s voice broke the silence.

“Our last expedition was a failure. An embarrassment, even,” he said coolly, eyes sharp.

“But we’ve grown since then. Some welcomed…” He cast a pointed look at Matt.

“…And others, not so much,” he added, turning to Boudicca.

She squirmed slightly under his gaze, absentmindedly stroking the mirage generator around her neck to ensure it was still active—and that no one, especially Kang, deduced her true identity.

“With all this in mind,” Kang continued, “I believe it’s time we start acting like the force we’re meant to be.”

He let the words hang for a moment before going on.
“We’re going to split up. Two missions. Parallel execution. Success on both fronts will shift the balance of power in the Void—for good.”

Zarda raised an eyebrow. “Splitting up right after a loss? Doesn’t sound like the most cautious idea.”

Kang met her gaze without flinching. “It’s not caution that will win us the Void. It’s initiative.”

“Neither will desperation,” Hyperion muttered, not quite under his breath.

Kang ignored him. “Cassandra Nova upheld her end of the bargain. Now it’s our turn. She wants Donald Blake—the Thor variant—neutralized. We send a team to do just that. With any luck, we acquire his Infinity Stone in the process.”

Hyperion tensed at this but said nothing.

“And the second team?” Amon asked quietly.

“The Infinity Gauntlet,” Kang said simply. “All these stones the warlords hoard—Ghost Rider’s Soul Stone, Donald Blake’s Aether, my Time Stone—they all originate from the same source: the Gauntlet. The one young Loki claims to know the whereabouts of.”

“To be clear, I have an idea where it last was. I can’t guarantee it’s still there,” Kid Loki said, ceasing his fidgeting with the illusory coin.

Since helping with Amon’s resurrection and his rooftop chat with Kang, the young trickster had grown noticeably more comfortable around the group. He no longer saw himself as prisoner but an honorary member and thus far no one had challenged that assumption.

“Regardless, it warrants searching,” Kang replied curtly.

“As I was saying, in the heartlands of the Void, there should be an Infinity Gauntlet. One containing, at the very least, the Space and Power Stones.”

“Should you be speaking so openly about such things with her around?” Matt interjected, gesturing toward Boudicca.

“She works for Cassandra Nova, after all. What’s to stop her from reporting the Gauntlet’s location back to her mistress?”

“Good question,” Kang said, locking eyes with Boudicca. “Tell me, witch—why shouldn’t I kill you now and spare myself the trouble?”

Thinking fast, Boudicca sat straighter and cleared her throat.

“For one, you’ll find killing a fully realized Sorcerer Supreme… rather difficult,” she said smoothly, bluffing. She knew full well her “magic” was nothing more than repurposed tech: salvaged TVA gear and modified illusions cobbled together with an alternate-reality Mysterio’s schematics.

Should push come to shove, she had no real power to back the stolen title.

“For another,” she continued, “I hold no love for my employer. I serve Cassandra because I must—not because I want to. I’ll report only what pertains to Donald Blake. Nothing more.”

“Hmm… I still don’t trust you,” Kang said, openly appraising her.

“Well, I do,” Zarda said suddenly—surprising everyone, including herself. She hadn’t realized how deeply their conversation in the pool had resonated with her until now. But having spoken it aloud, she doubled down.

“I’ve fought alongside a Sorcerer Supreme before. They can be… useful,” she said with an exaggerated shrug.
“Plus, the lack of another woman on this team would be sorely missed,” she added with a smirk.

After a beat, Kang sighed. “Fine. So long as you stick to reporting only flattering things about us, I suppose you’re ultimately harmless.”

With that matter resolved, Kang turned back to the plan. Boudicca gave Zarda a discreet, grateful look.

She knew just how precarious her position was here. There was good reason she had to hide her true identity as Ravonna Renslayer. As a former TVA Hunter—and later, Judge—she had personally sentenced many of the Variants now trapped in the Void.

If they discovered who she truly was, the consequences would be immediate—and fatal.

So for now, the charade had to hold. Especially around this Kang variant.

“I expect nothing less than perfection from both parties,” Kang continued. “Which is why I’m choosing the teams carefully.”

He gestured toward Amon, Zarda, and Hyperion. “You three will go after Donald Blake. With Zarda’s combat prowess, Amon’s stealth, and Hyperion’s… power, it should be doable.”

Hyperion gave a dry, humorless laugh. “You’re trusting me again?”

“I’m trusting you to do the right thing,” Kang replied cryptically, causing both Hyperion and Amon to stiffen at the familiar phrasing.

“The rest of us,” he said, nodding to Loki, Boudicca, and Matt, “will locate the Gauntlet. Speed and sorcery will be crucial.”

“Shouldn’t I go with them?” Boudicca asked, gesturing toward Zarda and the others.

“No. Your skills will be needed elsewhere,” Kang said, his tone too casual. Immediately setting off alarm bells in her mind.

Zarda leaned forward, frowning.

Silence followed. No one liked the plan, but no one had a better one. And for all his arrogance, Kang’s logic was cruelly sound.

Finally, Boudicca—Ravonna—broke the silence. “We depart in an hour.”

Zarda nodded grimly. “Guess we’d better pack.”

As the group dispersed, Kang lingered a moment longer. His eyes flicked briefly to Ravonna, suspicion barely veiled.

Something about her still felt off. Familiar. Unsettling.

But for now, he said nothing.

He had more pressing matters.

His Squadron Supreme was about to march down two diverging paths both off critical importance.