The Null Void RealmMain Battle Zone
Dozens of massive warships were pierced clean through by black-armored figures moving at supersonic speeds.
The Kryptonian assault was devastating in its efficiency. Each soldier represented an upgraded version of Captain Marvel's power ceiling—beings who could casually survive nuclear detonations and bench-press planets given sufficient solar radiation.
They tore through the Cancer fleet like bullets through wet paper.
Individual Kryptonians easily disabled entire warships. Some simply flew straight through the vessels from bow to stern, their invulnerable bodies punching holes that explosive decompression widened into catastrophic structural failures. Others hovered outside effective weapons range, using heat vision to systematically vaporize critical systems—engines, life support, command centers.
Even the tentacle monsters larger than planets—creatures that should have been immune to conventional attacks—couldn't withstand sustained Kryptonian assault.
Heat vision beams, each carrying temperatures approaching stellar cores, pierced through regenerating flesh. The immortal cancer creatures tried to heal, but the Kryptonians simply attacked faster than biological repair could compensate. Tentacles the size of mountain ranges were severed, cauterized, and severed again before regeneration could complete.
Hundreds of Kryptonians, all having absorbed yellow solar radiation for years within the Null Void's artificial sun, operating in a universe completely devoid of Kryptonite—who would dare provoke such an overwhelming force?
But the invaders from the Cancerverse weren't surrendering easily.
The corrupted heroes' bodies twisted in ways that defied their original anatomies. Even their thoughts seemed infected by some external will, driving them to commit actions that contradicted everything their heroic counterparts had once stood for.
Cancer Captain America charged forward wielding his adamantium shield, advancing directly into concentrated heat vision fire.
His eyes blazed with manic fury rather than tactical awareness. Two thin purple tongues shot from his mouth—biological weapons that the original Steve Rogers would have found abhorrent—attempting to strike the nearest Kryptonian.
They were instantly frozen solid by ice breath, then shattered like crystalline glass when the Kryptonian casually backhanded them.
This was absolute domination.
An utterly one-sided massacre.
In less than thirty minutes, the tactical situation had devolved into a cleanup operation. The Cancer forces weren't fighting—they were being systematically exterminated.
Mad Ben and Bad Ben participated in the battle, but neither was putting in genuine effort.
Normally, Mad Ben would have transformed into Way Big immediately, using cosmic storm rays to directly challenge the Kryptonian heat vision. He'd want to test whether stellar energy or cosmic radiation would prove superior in direct confrontation.
But that wasn't his mission here.
Rather than wasting energy fighting these overwhelmingly powerful enemies in a battle that didn't advance Maltruant's objectives, he needed to find an opportunity to escape.
After all, unlike Bad Ben, he wasn't immortal.
A single Kryptonian could kill him if he made a tactical error. The risk-reward ratio was completely unacceptable.
"Nanomech," Mad Ben muttered, seizing an opportunity during a particularly chaotic moment.
The transformation shrunk him to microscopic size in an instant. The tiny insectoid alien—barely larger than a virus—disappeared into the swirling dust clouds kicked up by ongoing battles.
At that scale, even Kryptonian super-vision would struggle to locate him. Too many particles, too much interference, too small a target.
Mad Ben vanished into the chaos, already plotting his escape route.
Bad Ben hadn't expected his counterpart to flee the battlefield entirely, but he understood the logic. He simply didn't want to exert himself fighting enemies this powerful when the outcome was already predetermined.
Although he was effectively immortal now thanks to the integrated cancer cells, he could still feel pain when his body was shattered. The sensation of being vaporized by heat vision, then slowly regenerating from scattered molecules over the course of hours—that particular agony held no appeal.
Better to conserve energy and wait for opportunities.
The Null Void RealmDeepest Level - Eternal Torment Zone
Meanwhile, in the most remote depths of the Null Void, far from the current battle, Thanos's disembodied soul endured systematic torture.
Layers of fire and ice tormented him in endless cycles.
Flames hot enough to melt vibranium engulfed his spiritual form, causing agony that physical pain could never match. Then came ice—cold approaching absolute zero, freezing the very concept of motion. The temperature extremes alternated without warning or pattern, each transition bringing fresh torture.
Like his counterparts across infinite universes, this Thanos had once plan to use the Infinity Stones' power to erase half of all life. His motivation had been twofold: restoring cosmic balance, and earning the favor of Lady Death—the abstract entity he'd worshipped since childhood.
But Ben Parker had thwarted his plan before he'd even obtained the Power Stone.
Later, Gamora had traded Thanos's corpse to claim the Soul Stone for herself. But Thanos's consciousness had survived within the Stone, eventually possessing his adopted daughter's body. After several confrontations and twists of fate, Ben had helped Gamora break free from her father's spiritual parasitism.
Then he'd imprisoned Thanos's soul here, in the deepest level of the Null Void, for eternal punishment.
For years, Thanos had suffered without respite.
But at this moment, something changed.
The pain slowly... disappeared.
His exposed soul—vulnerable, naked, without the protection of physical form—suddenly felt encased in something protective. A shell materializing around his consciousness like armor.
His spiritual body was inexplicably regenerating, gaining substance and form where there should be none.
But this development brought Thanos no joy whatsoever.
Instead, it caused him greater anguish than all the torture combined.
"NO!"
The devoted worshipper of Death let out a mournful howl that echoed through the deepest chambers of the Void.
Because regeneration, healing, the return of life—all of it meant one terrible thing:
He had been rejected by Death once again.
In the invisible shadows surrounding Thanos's torment chamber, a curvaceous figure wrapped in flowing black robes observed the purple-skinned soul with cold calculation.
This pathetic creature.
If someone could see beneath the concealing cloak—if mortal eyes could perceive what hid in those shadows—they would find not a beautiful face, but a skull. Bone white and pristine, grinning with eternal patience.
It was Death itself.
The abstract entity. The fundamental cosmic force. The ending of all things made manifest.
For millennia, Death had kept Thanos as a devoted servant, using his obsessive love like a leash. Driving him to bring slaughter and sacrifice across countless worlds. Making him believe his genocides served a higher purpose, that each mass murder brought him closer to her embrace.
But several years ago, Death had completely abandoned him.
With someone like Ben Parker now operating in this universe—someone whose actions naturally generated death on cosmic scales through his wars against the Beyonders, his prison dimensions, his multiversal conflicts—Thanos had lost his value.
Death already had a far more effective agent in mind.
Someone who didn't even realize he was serving Death's purposes.
But now, with the Cancerverse's forces constantly attempting invasion, Death had remembered this discarded pawn's potential utility.
Those corrupted beings from the cancer-infected reality were searching for what they called the "Coroner"—a representative of Death in this universe. Someone whose connection to mortality made them a bridge through which the abstract entity could be summoned and destroyed.
Death had no intention of allowing her carefully cultivated new champion—Ben Parker, who'd already delivered countless souls through his various campaigns—to be targeted by dangerous elements from alternate realities.
All those warriors from the Black Order, souls from the Nine Realms, the three great empires' populations, even prized servants like Corvus Glaive and Proxima Midnight—all gifts Ben had unknowingly provided.
So Death planned to use Thanos as misdirection. A false Coroner. Bait to distract the Cancer forces while protecting her true investment.
"Thanos," Death called out, her voice carrying tones of seduction, promise, and absolute authority.
This was the first time Thanos had heard her voice directly since he'd killed his mother as a child—the moment his obsession had truly begun.
The familiar sensation returned like a drug.
The purple-skinned soul immediately straightened, spiritual form solidifying with renewed purpose.
Like a desperate suitor, he attempted to smooth his regenerating form, trying to make himself presentable. His hands ran across his bald head as though arranging hair that didn't exist.
"Death!" Thanos's voice cracked with emotion. "My love! My eternal beloved!"
His soul prostrated itself before the shadowed figure.
"Why have you rejected me again and again? What must I do to prove my devotion? I am willing to return to your embrace—please, take my humble soul with you!"
His words poured out in a torrent of desperate affection and barely restrained anguish.
"I will," Death said softly, her tone carrying false warmth. "But you must complete one final task for me. Prove your sincerity through action rather than words."
"I would die for you!" Thanos declared, his eyes burning with fanatic intensity.
His expression carried the fervor of religious conversion, absolute commitment without reservation.
"No matter what you ask, I will do it without hesitation! Even if you command me to completely extinguish all life in the universe and offer every soul to you as tribute, I will not falter!"
He looked at Death expectantly, his entire being radiating eagerness.
Tell me, my beloved. Who do you want eliminated? What worlds should I destroy? How many must die to earn your favor?
"No," Death said, and there was almost amusement in her skeletal smile. "This task is different."
She paused, letting anticipation build.
"I want you to save someone's life."
Thanos: ???
The purple soul froze completely, confusion written across his regenerating features.
"Did I... did I hear that correctly?" he asked slowly. "Are you Death, the ending of all things? Or have you become the Goddess of Life?"
Thanos wondered if his spiritual ears were malfunctioning, or if millennia of torture had finally driven him to hallucinations.
"You heard correctly, Thanos," Death confirmed, her voice carrying patient explanation as though speaking to a particularly slow child.
"You must ensure Ben Parker survives. He is the one I have chosen. My true agent. My champion."
She paused deliberately.
"My lover."
Thanos: ???
His mind ground to a halt, trying to process words that made no sense.
Wait.
Is this... is this right?
The cosmic equivalent of being cuckolded crashed over Thanos like a tidal wave.
"But..." Thanos stammered, his voice small and broken. "I thought I was your agent. I was your chosen..."
He couldn't even force himself to say the word "lover."
The pathetic truth settled over him like a shroud.
He'd never been Death's lover. Never been anything more than a useful tool.
A devoted servant who'd committed genocide after genocide, believing each mass murder brought him closer to her affection. When in reality, Death had simply used him—charming him with occasional attention when she needed work done, then discarding him the moment his utility expired.
Like a patron goddess and her most deluded follower.
The worshipper should just obediently worship, make his sacrifices, and never expect anything in return.
He'd never even gotten close to intimacy. Never touched her. Never earned more than hollow words of encouragement before the next genocide.
If he truly cared about Death, he should be understanding enough to accept this new reality. Protect his rival. Support both of them with his own suffering.
"Okay," Thanos whispered, his voice hollow with resignation. "I understand..."
He was like a pathetic husband watching his wife willingly fall into another man's arms. Worse—being forced to spend his own resources supporting both of them while receiving nothing but contempt in return.
And somehow, finding strange contentment in the arrangement.
"I'll do it," Thanos said, his tone gaining strength through the delusion he constructed for himself. "I'll do anything to return to you! To earn one moment of your genuine attention!"
What's protecting my greatest enemy compared to true death?
The logic twisted in his mind, finding comfort in the madness.
If he succeeded, Death would finally grant him what he'd sought for millennia—actual death. His soul could return to the woman he loved, existing in her presence for eternity.
And Ben Parker?
That pretender would only receive pathetic, eternal life. Endless existence without Death's embrace. Just like Thanos's former torment—living forever but never truly loved.
I've won! Thanos thought, conviction building. I've won everything that matters!
But Death didn't tell him the complete truth.
His soul could never return to her embrace.
Because those invaders from the Cancerverse, once they found him and used him for their ritual, would offer his consciousness to their twisted Many-Angled Ones—the corrupt gods who ruled their reality.
Thanos would suffer eternally in dimensions where even Death herself refused to tread.
But he didn't need to know that.
Death smiled beneath her hood, satisfied with her pawn's blind devotion.
Everything was proceeding exactly as planned.