Alright, so it wasn't exactly equal treatment.
The value of each individual, their abilities, their level of equipment—all differed. How could that possibly be called equality?
After exhausting yourselves with Earth's internal strife and street-level scuffles, it's time for you undisciplined, unorganized "heroes" to properly experience the hospitality of aliens—the Skrulls—Selene's gaze rested on the screen inside her private chamber, where the ground war was being broadcast in real time.
To be precise, it lingered on certain individuals.
"Unexpectedly, the quality of these Earth conscripts is quite good," commented Esdeath, appearing via holographic projection while out on field duty.
How so?
It was only natural.
They wanted cannon fodder, not worthless trash.
There was still a threshold to meet.
Mutants aside—with their strange and varied superpowers, regardless of grotesque appearance or deformity—so long as one ignored congenital weaknesses, even the most basic Epsilon-level bestial mutation gene offered a significant boost in physical performance.
Not to mention Delta-level and above—hardening, additional limbs, regeneration, phasing through solid matter, temperature control—these all provided excellent tactical functionality and fault tolerance. Of course, there was no helping those who were simply unlucky.
As for the rabble… in a sense, prisons truly were filled with talent—talent specialized in getting imprisoned.
Combined with the national conditions of America, Europe, Africa, and the Middle East, those who passed initial screening were all killers, gunmen, knife fighters, robbers, thieves—desperadoes with their own particular skills. As for elderly sexual offenders and the like with compounded charges? Eliminated early on.
Lastly, there were the volunteers.
Iron Man was provisionally categorized as one of them. The Punisher, Taskmaster, White Widow—those anti-heroes were also placed in that group. At least, that was how the American authorities framed it. They had accepted their draft notices themselves—and signed.
Beyond them, there were those who truly volunteered. Not a small number.
For example, John F. Walker, still serving at a U.S. Army base in Afghanistan (from The Falcon and the Winter Soldier, the second Captain America, U.S. Agent), along with numerous civilians—restless military enthusiasts, discharged veterans unable to find work, hardcore war hobbyists, and so on.
The recruiting officers didn't care about your reasons.
Looking for death—ahem—volunteering? Yes?
Excellent. You pass the physical. Congratulations, you are now an outstanding Earth conscript of the Divine Empress Order.
After that, regret was useless. Whether you could endure it or not, you would be dragged across the galaxy and thrown straight into it! Refuse orders, disobey command, attempt to flee—and there was always something suited for you, ranging from a slap to flogging, confinement, or execution. It depended on the regulation violated and its severity.
"Units composed of ordinary humans seem more prone to stress reactions and fear-induced retreat," Esdeath observed thoughtfully.
Because mutants could be considered a kind of genetic defect. While granting uncontrollable power, it also dramatically increased the probability of psychological disorders—nearly above ninety percent. Extremes were common. In short, they were prone to losing control.
"When humans encounter crisis, they divide into two types. One runs. The other draws their blade."
With her arms folded across her chest, leaning back into the chair, adjusting her wings slightly where they pressed uncomfortably, Selene shifted her gaze from the screen to Esdeath's holographic projection.
"I will not despise the former. It is human nature."
"And this baptism is to make them understand that they should offer respect to the latter. Then, without mercy, crush the enemy's drawn blade."
With that, Selene gave Esdeath a slight nod and rose, stepping out through the alloy door of her private chamber.
"Such greed, as always…" Esdeath shook her head. "Isn't that calling Earth the former? And then making them personally crush the alien latter who are protecting their homeland…"
"But I like it." The Ice General let out a soft laugh before cutting the connection.
...
Fleet Commander's Office.
Master Chief John—117 struggled to suppress the tide of emotional turbulence surging through him. It nearly drowned him.
That overwhelming power made his heart tremble.
Ever since returning from Kamar-Taj, the chaotic riot of power within him had been sorted and disciplined. Through multiple metamorphic dormancies, John had successively obtained photon energy from Captain Marvel, as well as the inexhaustible cosmic energy supply leaked from the Infinity Stones.
Endless power flooded into his body. Even with prior psychological preparation, John still felt unbearably swollen.
He stood before the viewing window. The fierce flashes of fire erupting across the planet's surface pierced the atmosphere and gently illuminated his face, outlining his exquisitely crafted Arbiter-pattern power armor now saturated with violet-gold photon energy.
An indescribable force was quietly awakening within him.
John felt as though he could see the war-torn surface with a single glance. His glowing eyes focused continuously, unnaturally clear. Even the optical lenses of his visor seemed to drag streaks of light. His eyes throbbed with a needle-like sting and tingling sensation—burning, tearing—as though something would erupt from them at any moment.
In a hazy blur, he saw the scarred surface—
It was covered with thousands upon thousands of insignificant "pits." His gaze pierced through the thick smoke. Within charred, blazing trenches were countless roaring armored figures and armored vehicles. Beyond that, even fortress walls dozens of meters thick could not obstruct his sight. In the labyrinthine tunnels beyond, green-skinned humanoid aliens relied upon layered defensive checkpoints, roaring as they poured lethal, vicious firepower upon the advancing Imperial soldiers...
Close-quarters combat. Shrapnel bursting. Flesh exploding...
Blood—and in the next instant, the red blood cells and countless microorganisms composing that flesh appeared before John's eyes one by one. And then, deeper still, an entirely different world unveiled itself before him.
Is this power a gift from Her Majesty Selene?
John's fingers unconsciously brushed against his master-crafted armor, feeling its cold surface and the faint vibration of energy flowing within.
He felt as though his physical body had fused with the composite masterwork power armor enveloping him.
Ascending to the heavens in a single step was never my wish, yet…
"Haa…"
Taking a deep breath, he closed his eyes. His outward-reaching consciousness began to retract inward, turning upon himself, contemplating his own being. He seemed to see that magnificent power like a surging waterfall flowing down along his spine, passing through his two hearts and triple lungs, streaming into his meridians and blood vessels.
Inhale. Exhale. Inhale again...
He could feel it coursing through his muscles and bones like a warm current, filling every cell with vitality—nourishing, tempering, swelling, expanding, tearing, and nourishing once more... repeating again and again.
"..."
A third party silently observed it all.
Selene did not speak. Her crimson vertical pupils flickered occasionally as she watched the transformation before her with evident interest—or rather, the birth of an infant god of the Marvel universe.
John's current state gave her a strong sense of déjà vu. His power armor would no longer be limited to energy feedback, neural linkage, and thought synchronization—the Astartes' second skin—but would become true flesh.
The Celestials.
Bathed in the essence of Selene's newborn subordinate omnipotent multiverse—how fortunate. In theory, every member of the Demon Arbiter Chapter who entered the Marvel universe possessed the potential to become a cosmic god.
Provided that [Eternal Selene] · [First Firmament]—the true origin of the Celestials—did not intervene, once the Arbiters ascended on their own and their cosmic level reached a certain threshold, the essence "seed" they carried would take root and sprout.
Reshaped by the inherent cosmic laws of the Marvel universe—or rather, by the already existing universal order—and such beings had precedent.
Within the Marvel universe, the Demon Arbiter Chapter was to Selene what the Celestials were to the [First Firmament].
Though still merely an infant... it is enough.
Stepping forward, Selene pressed her hand against John's arm-guard, now swollen several times its normal size with flowing energy particles and refracted halos of light.
"Awaken, Master Chief."
John's perception ignited instantly.
"Lady Gorgon..."
"As you are now, you may begin the second round of Heroic Spirit summoning entrusted to you by Her Majesty. In your current state, you can already bear their manifestation."
The descending ritual connected seamlessly from Selene's palm to the blazing crimson Command Seals on the back of John's right hand.
Hum—
Splurt.
Decisive and swift, Selene brought her five claws together and sliced open the scaled flesh of her left wrist. Bright crimson blood flowed into the air, pouring into the descending magic circle formed by layered ancient runes.
It formed a vortex of scarlet magical radiance.
"In the name of Selene, I decree—Guardians of the Counter Force—descend."
Selene had no interest in performing an elaborate chant. It was more like reading out a military order, commanding Heroic Spirits to receive their decree.
One line was already generous.
Plainly put: Get down from the Throne of Heroes and report for duty.
Hum—
Vast magical power surged endlessly. The magic circle flashed with eerie brilliance. Condensed light from the Swirl of the Root scattered across the ground like fragments of stardust. One after another, presences—ancient, refined, mysterious—began to emerge.
The first was a towering man over 2.5 meters tall, muscles and bones powerfully defined.
A handsome man with flowing pale hair—and golden armor that seemed less worn upon the body and more fused with it, radiating sacred sunlight.
A proud warrior with a red scarf snapping in the wind, clad in silver armor, a cross-shaped spear resting upon his shoulder.
And a blue lancer with crimson eyes, spear spinning as he lunged forward.
...
Within the current star system, on a planet under conquest.
"Gáe Bolg Alternative—Soaring Spear of Piercing Death!"
A crimson shockwave erupted across the Skrull defensive lines. The razor-sharp impact shock filled a radius of more than ten kilometers with shrieking debris and fragmented wreckage.
Hundreds of Skrull starfighters, ground vehicles, armored units, and even Super Skrull warriors were hurled into the air alongside shattered bodies. Severed limbs rained everywhere.
"Hm?"
Cold light shimmered along the spear's tip as it spun to a halt. From the void, the Queen of the Land of Shadows descended lightly upon the shattered streets of the alien city. Her delicate features were adorned by a pair of crimson eyes as clear as a tranquil lake. Sensing something, she looked toward the heavens—toward the fleet flagship's position.
"Interesting... it seems it is time once more to discipline my disappointing disciple."
A faint curve of anticipation touched Scáthach's enticing lips.
Whoosh, whoosh, whoosh—
High upon his golden ark stood the King of Gold. Behind him, the smoke-choked sky itself was dyed in radiant gold—thousands upon thousands of Noble Phantasms poised and ready.
"Hahaha... As expected, he will answer this king. He has come! Now this is interesting!"
"Oh? It seems new allies have joined our ranks."
A crimson thorned spear blade, streaked with violet-black flesh, pierced through several Skrull vehicles as easily as cutting butter. Its momentum unabated, it swept across multiple squads of Skrull soldiers. Those struck burst like bubbles with a soft pop, or exploded like overripe fruit.
The foremost warrior of the Fianna Knights stood proudly, spear in one hand and sword in the other.
"A pity. Captain Finn should still be out on deployment. He may miss this grand gathering," he sighed.
"Advance, soldiers! Blood for the Divine Empress! Skulls for the Golden Throne!"
Sensing no familiar aura among the newcomers, Diarmuid turned his attention back to the Skrull city under his responsibility and shouted.
As a knight from a classical era of warfare, offering sacrifice banners, beheading foes, presenting skulls—these were entirely normal customs. He adapted quickly, even adopting a particularly imposing battle cry from the Imperial military.
"More blood offerings... more skull tributes... what kind of cult is this? This Order isn't some dark god cult, is it?"
Advancing under the guidance and supervision of veterans from the 117th Strike Cruiser Fleet, Wolverine—Logan—muttered under his breath.
Clang!
With a swift upward slash, his elongated adamantium claws neatly sliced through a Skrull warrior's thick neck and grotesque head. Brain matter and purple blood splattered across him.
"Logan!"
Phoenix—Jean Grey—immediately smacked him hard across the shoulder, channeling a trace of Phoenix Force into the blow. Even the burly mutant staggered.
"Do we have to shout it too?"
Phoenix glanced urgently at Cyclops—the former X-Men's new leader after Professor X's death.
"Shout it!" Cyclops gritted his teeth. "As long as we earn merits and decorations, the Divine Empress Order will grant us mutants a fertile new homeland."
That was the promise offered to all mutant soldiers.
They had swallowed it. Whether willingly or not. And the temptation was real.
If Earth's governance by ordinary humans could not be changed—and now that their horizons had broadened alongside the Divine Empress Order—why must mutants continue competing over an overcrowded Earth?
Finding another path was not a bad strategy.
It couldn't be helped.
The Skrulls would bear the suffering. After all, they were not human.
"Blood for the Divine Empress! Skulls for the Golden Throne!" ×N
...
Meanwhile, somewhere beyond the Andromeda Galaxy, within the domain of the Black Order.
The land was carved with ravines. Floating stones crisscrossed the sky, riddled with web-like fractures. Silence reigned, yet violent winds howled—telling of the profound heaviness of this place.
"My lord... it seems there have been certain developments on Earth's side."
—
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