"Your Majesty, what is so special about Saitama? Why choose him as the core?"
"Because he is suitable."
"Suitable?"
"Just right. Strong enough, loyal enough, ordinary enough. His talent, the path he insists on—sufficiently 'correct.' Broadly speaking, personal heroism is the 'correctness' of that world."
"..." Inside the Imperial Capital's Grand Palace of the Honkai Dimension, the old gentleman Sebas, having just ended his vacation, neither affirmed nor denied.
Looking at the task core roster his young lady had chosen almost jokingly, the old butler fell into deep thought. Where had this Saitama sprung from? He had never even heard of him. Who was he?
Rank 63 B-Class hero of the Hero Association—Bald Cape? What kind of title was that? A game name? A joke? A lightbulb-like bald head, an utterly ordinary face, those somewhat punchable drooping eyes devoid of spirit—no matter how he looked at him, he seemed like an early-balding fool of a young man.
Judging purely by appearance, unreliability practically overflowed.
According to his young lady, this dispatch mission was very important.
It was not merely because a strike cruiser fleet under the Daemon Judge Chapter of the Imperial Inquisition had been trapped, nor because of the special nature of that powerful multiverse, requiring the Heroic Spirit–manifested Servant body of Esdeath to be sent over to anchor the field and join the other Heroic Spirits as support forces... all of that Sebas could understand.
But who was Saitama?
Why was he so special that he alone would enter in the flesh, with Selene spending an enormous price to project him outward?
There must be a reason. Unless her interest was suddenly piqued or she encountered something intriguing, his young lady was rarely one to act redundantly. When diligent, she was exceedingly diligent. When lazy, exceedingly lazy...
Sebas looked toward Selene, who was unfolding the curtain of Creation Authority within the room—fabricating a genuine micro-multiverse world bubble, carving it open, solidifying it, adjusting it, meticulously sculpting it, simulating and replicating one-to-one everything currently happening within the Marvel Universe.
More precisely, everything that was known to have happened—everything encountered, done, and known by Selene's apostles.
Under her fingertips, they traced divergent trajectories. Some intersected at certain points. Some tangled and coiled around one another.
The Empress, focused on the matter in her hands, slowly lifted her head and looked at the old steward standing elegantly three steps behind her. Contemplation was hidden within his deep wrinkles, and Sebas' sharp features formed a troubled expression.
"Don't look so gloomy, Sebas. Has this topic already become such a troublesome problem for you? If Alyssa sees you like that, she'll surely come tease and mock you again."
"No, Your Majesty." Sebas shook his head. "I am merely organizing and considering how this patchwork team might achieve what Your Majesty requires." He emphasized.
Selene lifted a teacup from the void and took a light sip. "You doubt Saitama's reliability?"
"Your Majesty, his homeworld has only just been incorporated into the Empire. Even the procedures for imperial citizenship have yet to be completed. World No. I—Provisional Conquest World 1781063 (One Punch Man)—is still in the process of establishing its administrative systems. Even the information we have is incomplete."
"It does not matter. If he is lost, he is lost."
"This old servant does not question Your Majesty's command. It is only that the core candidate... ah?" Sebas froze for a moment.
Selene smiled faintly.
"Esdeath is warlike. She enjoys stimulation and cannot sit still. If she wants to go, must you go as well? A Heroic Spirit body—a Servant. If it dies, it dies."
"John is rare talent indeed, but fate is fate. This is both his opportunity and his trial. If he endures, he will qualify for promotion to deputy within the Inquisition. The multiverse will no longer confine him. If he fails, as a soldier raised in the Spartan tradition, I will not have wronged him. Support, tactical guidance, assistance in transformation, the highest degree of independent field authority—I have granted him all. Even if he dies in battle, it would be unavoidable. The destination of a warrior..."
Though Selene herself did not believe in destinations.
"As for Saitama, you will see his shining point... I have great use for him." Selene ended the topic there.
The old steward's mindset was undoubtedly seasoned and state-minded. It was normal for him to be wary of outsiders. Selene understood.
After all, Saitama had indeed been specially approved by her. He had not undergone any testing. What Saitama's disciple Genos and his colleagues from the Hero Association were currently experiencing—that was the normal process. At most, they were benefiting from somewhat higher configurations.
Sebas himself had never met Saitama. He had only seen fragmented records and that utterly unreliable, spiritless registration photo.
She could hardly say that the one who appeared most unreliable was in fact the one with the most unyielding will, a man who possessed his own unwavering convictions and path.
One had to understand—when Selene became the ruler of Saitama's homeworld, when she became his Empress, every procedure had been lawful and legitimate. The cities of his homeland, the association to which he belonged, the planet of his birth—all authority and ownership had been transferred to the Sacred Selene Empire following the previous administration's approval and a universal vote.
Do not be fooled by Bald Cape's indifference to fame and fortune, by how lightly he seemed to take everything. In truth, his principles were exceedingly firm.
In the Marvel Universe, you could ask him for help. He could be a student, a security guard, even a convenient tool—because he was simply a helpful superman. But to have him fully join, to declare himself a local citizen of some world, acknowledge a new homeland and leader? Absolutely impossible.
He was now a citizen of Z-City, Planet III of the Solar System, Galactic Governor Sector, Conquest World No. I—Provisional 1781063, First Dark Angels Legion of the Astartes of the Sacred Selene Empire.
Unless Selene were to utterly abandon human decency, provoke universal outrage—or relinquish her claim and surrender unconditionally.
"Surprised?" Selene raised a brow lightly.
"Somewhat surprised..." Sebas smiled and shook his head softly. "Judging a man by appearance is indeed inadvisable. Perhaps I should meet this 'Bald Cape' in person."
"There will be a chance. Perhaps." Selene gave a faint smile, then turned serious. "I do not intend to dispatch regular troops as reinforcements. It would be meaningless. Saitama will be the only corporeal support."
"..."
Sebas fell silent, then nodded gently. Since Her Majesty did not care about loss or failure and was clearly adopting an experimental, exploratory stance, there was no need for his counsel or his suggestion to replace the core candidate with the finest commander drawn from the elite legions.
"Budo, Alex, and Leiva should have arrived in the capital by now, correct?"
As she spoke, Selene lowered her head again. With a casual wave of her hand, several more planets in a corner of the miniature universe within the room shattered and disintegrated.
Setting aside the Time Stone for now—the Mind Stone, embodiment of cosmic consciousness, could enhance the user's mental abilities and grant access to the minds of all other beings. It could read, manipulate, modify, create, and safeguard the spirits of living entities. It could also amplify the user's mental power and psychic capabilities.
Using her Beast Goddess Gorgon incarnation, Selene invoked the laws of the Mind Stone. In a single instant, she scanned and probed nearly all known cosmic domains of Marvel Earth-199999.
Excluding, of course, those grotesque and chaotic hidden realms—special dimensions born within the cracks of the multiverse.
This was also why Selene could, through the reception of her Eternity incarnation, remotely reconstruct the fundamental reality of Marvel Earth-199999's world one-to-one.
"Yes. By summoning decree, the various Astartes Legion commanders have already arrived in the capital. They are resting in the side halls of the palace city and will seek audience once all are present." Realizing Selene was about to make a major move, Sebas' smile vanished. His expression grew solemn.
"A—13 Central Direct Star Region High Governor Neoth (the Emperor of Mankind) and his gene-sons are likewise included within the scope of this summons."
Selene was very satisfied. The corners of her lips lifted, and a lively gleam flashed within her diamond-shaped crimson pupils.
"That fellow Emperor—I've been using him like Malcador lately. Consider this compensation. Give him and that whole big family of his a copy of the prepared 'Limiter.' Hopefully he'll come up with something new for me."
She was no longer afraid of the Emperor stirring up trouble. On the contrary, she feared he might truly reform and stop.
"Tell the Legion commanders and the High Governor there's no need to wait. Have them come to the Hall of Diligent Governance to see me. I have a big surprise for them."
"Yes, Your Majesty. As you will."
Placing a hand over his chest, Sebas performed a solemn salute.
Creak—
"Come now. Take on my colors. Go on—turn everything upside down!"
After Sebas respectfully withdrew from the hall, Selene refocused her gaze upon the 'sandbox' before her. As though struck by sudden inspiration, she reached out and made subtle adjustments. When her fingers brushed against the imprints left by the 'replica' upon the illusory multitude of living beings—
Just as Selene had expected.
Just as "OAA" and the supreme gods of Marvel had been quite willing to accept Selene as one of them, granting her authority and status approaching the highest tier—on one hand, Selene's raw power met the standard. On the other, her arrival and her actions benefited the current universe.
Those celestial bodies, nebulae, and luminous cosmic veins touched by the outer-domain Eternity were immediately dyed a dense crimson... variegated shadows submerged within the thick color, and occasionally, other hues appeared.
Inevitably, the total volume of the Marvel Universe was increasing because of Selene...
"You treat me as a blood bag—why can I not do the same? In the end, is it mutual benefit or mutual ruin? A 'trade war'... let's see who can endure longer."
...
Marvel Earth-199999.
Within the territory of the Skrull Empire, Andromeda Galaxy, somewhere.
A violent gale raged.
Scorching hurricanes tore through the sky, crushed mountains, devoured green forests.
"So intense right from the start? Don't these people have anything like low-intensity training for rookies? The Order—are they mercenaries or warlords?"
A new recruit of the Divine Empress Order, Tony Stark carefully climbed up from the trench where the teleport beacon had deposited him. He widened the eyes he had instinctively shut, the pupils beneath his half-nano steel armor reflecting a sea of flames like a living inferno.
Rolling smoke and the shrill thunder of orbital bombardment—this was far more stimulating than Afghanistan, New York, or Sokovia.
And wasn't he supposed to be assigned the job most suited to him? He hadn't even warmed a laboratory seat before being thrown into the ranks of interstellar space marines.
Under the glorious name of: experiencing the battlefield.
Rumble—!
Blasted off balance by the shockwave, Stark activated his forearm energy shield and looked out toward the dense rain of lasers that nearly covered the entire sky. Lightning flickered within the burning atmosphere, while distant chains of explosions and bombardments erupted one after another.
The fortress-grade energy shield rippled continuously. Ahead, a fortress district even larger than New York and Los Angeles combined stretched in a continuous line of bastions—like a boundless maw devouring flesh.
"...If I filmed this as the protagonist and sent the footage to Pepper for the film association to edit and distribute, it would definitely be a blockbuster." Stark poked his head out, steadying his nerves.
Those dazzling giants wore silver-gray composite heavy power armor. Upon their pauldrons was sprayed the striking emblem of the Scales of Judgment. Their voices roared like thunder, surging like a tidal sea. Under their leadership, tens of thousands of auxiliary troops and thralls vaulted over the outer ramparts and advanced toward the inner walls of the Skrull fortress.
If not for them, Stark had no idea how he and this rabble—relying solely on Avengers experience—could possibly capture such a stronghold. Fortunately, this was not the main force. The Divine Empress Order still had some conscience.
Whistle—whistle—
At that moment, a piercing signal sounded through the channel loaded into his armor. Stark knew—it was their turn to attack.
Behind him, the unlucky recruits were breathing hard from nerves. "I can't... I can't... breathe..." War was never beautiful. The only question was whether they had volunteered—or been volunteered.
"Hey, guys, relax. Iron Man's got—" Stark began, intending to crack a joke to ease the tension.
"For Selene—!"
A deafening battle cry erupted across the communication channel.
That was the horn for this band of ill-matched soldiers to charge.
Boom.
Thrusters ignited beneath his boots. In an instant, Stark's red-and-gold figure shot into the sky like a shell from a cannon.
"Idiot! This isn't Earth! This isn't asymmetrical warfare! Fly low—"
Bang! With the heavy detonation of an electromagnetic autocannon round, Stark's armor—barely a hundred meters up—was blasted from the sky in a streak of smoke.
"Cough... cough... this armor really needs an upgrade." His body felt half numb. Blood seeped from the corner of Stark's mouth. "Looks like Pepper won't be seeing my epic footage after all..."
Before he finished speaking—
Boom!
Another energy bolt exploded in the earth not far from him, flinging mud and sand upward before they rained back down.
First came the dull thud of a body hitting the ground. Then, amid labored, low groans, a somewhat ugly face coughed up blood mixed with fragments of shattered cervical bone. The sealed helmet had cracked open. Narrow pupils stared straight at Stark's faceplate. The mangled jaw twitched and worked—then stilled.
A mutant soldier.
"Foolish. Whelp. Although I am not your formal commander—merely temporarily promoted to lead you—and I have no casualty ratio quota to meet, so even if you all die it won't affect me, this is still far too unsightly."
A thrall sergeant crouched beside Stark, clicking his tongue. With a casual motion, he deployed an energy barrier, deflecting multiple incoming energy bolts.
"Watch and learn. The enemy's anti-air fire network hasn't been fully paralyzed yet. Skrull war science is not something you Earthlings can currently compare with. Charging mid-to-high altitude two hundred paces out under an intact fire net—are you courting death? Who do you think you are? A mortal."
This was the Andromeda Galaxy—the location of the Skrull Empire's home system, once one of the universe's three great powers.
The Skrulls had cultivated their civilization for tens of thousands of years. They were nothing like the refugees who had fled to Earth. Though the Skrull Empire had declined and nearly fallen out of the top three, its home system still bristled with fortress worlds, shipbuilding planets, and colossal military bastions.
A dying camel was still larger than a horse. The Skrull Empire's titanic struggle with the Kree Empire was not something interstellar pirates or smaller cosmic states could partake in. Not even the Chitauri.
Even sharing a portion of the spoils required utmost caution.
When the Skrull Empire eventually fell, its final struggle would be enough to overturn more than eighty percent of the forces in the universe.
"Medic!"
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