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From all available intelligence, this universe had not yet reached the point where Kryptonite could be picked up off the street.
As far as the public knew, a Kryptonian's only open weakness was a green sun.
A red sun merely stripped away their powers, rendering them ordinary. That fact, however, did not seem widely understood.
Still—since the Skrulls had already revealed the "green sun" weakness in front of Nick Fury, Henry couldn't rule out the possibility of S.H.I.E.L.D. attempting something creative. A green-sun radiation device, perhaps.
In the DC universe, only two and a half individuals could reliably manufacture artificial Kryptonite:
Brainiac, the techno-tyrant; Lex Luthor, with his twelfth-level intellect; and "half" credit to Batman—who never confirmed it, yet everyone assumed he could.
Those figures might not exist here.
But this universe had Reed Richards.
It had Tony Stark.
Was engineering a synthetic green-spectrum radiation source truly that difficult?
Henry refused to gamble on their limitations.
Better to prepare a radiation-resistant suit now than regret it later.
---
Unfortunately—
High expectations often led to disappointment.
Kingo shook his head helplessly.
"I would like to agree. But Eternal battle armor can only be donned aboard our mothership.
"After we defeated the Deviants and separated, the ship was sealed. I cannot access my armor, nor could I provide it for your research."
"I see…" Henry tried to mask his disappointment.
"But," Kingo continued, "if what you want is the technology behind the armor, I can tell you this—it originates from the same source as this."
He formed a finger-gun gesture with his right hand.
Immediately, luminous geometric lines manifested a few centimeters above his skin—intricate patterns of light suspended in midair.
At the tip of his index finger, energy condensed into a brilliant orb.
A second later—
Thud.
The energy projectile shot forward, punching a small hole into a sofa across the tent.
"The source of this," Kingo said, lowering his hand slightly, "is the same as our armor. It draws from the cosmic energy within us.
"This ability is innate—but each Eternal manifests it differently.
"The armor is woven by the mothership's system, channeling that internal energy into structured form. If you understand that principle, you could theoretically create something similar."
Henry stared intently at the glowing patterns still flickering along Kingo's forearm.
When Kingo relaxed his finger-gun pose, the lines faded.
When he formed it again, they reappeared.
"May I?" Henry asked.
Kingo didn't respond verbally—he simply extended his hand.
Henry reached forward.
To his surprise, the luminous constructs were not intangible projections. They had substance. Even the empty spaces between the lines felt resistant, as though a barrier prevented direct contact with Kingo's skin.
This was mass–energy equivalence treated like a chew toy.
Einstein's coffin lid must have been rattling.
But Henry's senses had already been fully engaged from the moment Kingo activated the construct. He was cataloging everything.
Kingo was correct—the energy was drawn internally.
The "gun" structure wasn't external machinery. The glowing lines defined the boundaries of structured energy—an organized containment lattice.
Like a magical circle.
Or, in more scientific terms—
Like a circuit board.
The lines acted as pathways. Nodes behaved like resistors or capacitors. The configuration shaped output.
Henry withdrew his hand and fell silent in thought.
Kingo waited a moment before asking, "Well? Any insights?"
Henry countered with a question.
"Is this configuration fixed?"
"No. Given time to charge, I can produce more powerful projectiles. The lattice becomes more complex."
"And without forming this structure?"
"I can still fire—but at minimal strength. Even then, it surpasses a human handgun. Ironically, reducing output to non-lethal levels requires more focus. Usually I just punch instead."
Henry nodded slowly.
"I haven't seen other Eternals. But I do have a hypothesis."
Kingo leaned forward eagerly. "Let's hear it."
Henry spoke carefully.
"The source of your ability isn't your hand. It's your brain.
"Think of irrigation channels in farmland. When dry, they lie dormant. Once water is released—even before fully filled—the channels activate and guide flow.
"The pathways are determined entirely by your brain. There is no physical device in your hand acting as a mediator.
"However… it appears each Eternal brain is limited to constructing one primary 'irrigation system.' What you call your 'innate talent.'
"That would explain why your armor requires the mothership's assistance—it falls outside the fixed neurological template of your personal talent.
"But once energy is shaped, it becomes remarkably stable—and capable of functions beyond raw output.
"It behaves almost like… programmable clay."
Henry paused.
"If that's accurate, then theoretically the mothership could guide you to access other Eternals' abilities—by constructing alternate pathways externally."
Kingo's eyes widened.
"…We've never considered that."
He laughed softly.
"Unfortunately, with the mothership sealed, experimentation isn't possible."
Henry shrugged lightly.
"Which reinforces my conclusion—the key lies in your neural waveform. That anomalous mental signature is what regulates the energy."
Kingo studied him carefully.
"That's a fascinating conclusion. And you arrived at it without instruments? Simply by observation and touch?"
Henry nodded.
"My sensory capacity exceeds normal parameters. I only use instruments for validation or computational modeling. For preliminary analysis, they aren't necessary."
Kingo regarded him with renewed respect.
"You surpass my expectations, Kryptonian."
He turned toward his steward.
"Karan. Dismiss the crew for the day. Filming ends here.
"And inform the chef—we're hosting a dinner."
He faced Henry again, smiling warmly.
"Henry. May I call you Henry? I am considerably older, after all.
"You've come to India. You cannot leave without sampling our cuisine."
Henry's expression froze.
It was the face of a man contemplating whether immediate death might be preferable.
Kingo laughed.
"Relax. Not the kind you saw on the streets."
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