Deep in the uncharted reaches of space, on a barren planetoid whose surface bore the scars of ancient cosmic bombardment, reality tore open with a flash of orange light.
The dimensional gateway pulsed with unstable energy, its edges crackling and sparking as the fabric of space-time protested the violent intrusion. Through that wound in reality came sounds that made the void itself seem to recoil: bestial roaring mixed with the high-pitched whine of machinery spinning at impossible velocities.
CRASH!
A massive creature exploded backward through the portal, its rock-like body tumbling end over end across the desolate landscape. The impact cratered the ground, sending up clouds of ancient dust that hadn't been disturbed in millennia.
The monster was a Crabdozer, one of the predatory species specifically evolved to hunt Pyronites. Its stone-like carapace had evolved to withstand temperatures that would vaporize steel, making it the perfect natural counter to Heatblast's flame-based attacks.
But that evolutionary advantage meant nothing against different forms of assault.
The Crabdozer's rocky hide was riddled with deep gouges and puncture wounds, its armored shell cracked like broken pottery. Dark ichor oozed from dozens of drill-holes that penetrated straight through to vital organs. The creature twitched once, twice, then went still as its alien biology finally surrendered to catastrophic damage.
Before its death spasms finished, another shape burst from the orange gateway.
"Armodrillo!"
The armored alien form spun like a living drill bit, its entire body becoming a weapon of devastating rotational force. Sharp crystalline spikes covered every surface, turning the transformation into a whirling death machine that existed purely to destroy.
The Talpaedan warrior's spinning arm-drill slammed directly into the Crabdozer's exposed cranium with the force of a meteorite strike.
CRUNCH!
Rocky brain matter exploded outward in a grotesque spray as the drill punched completely through the creature's skull. The Crabdozer died instantly, its nervous system obliterated before it could even register pain.
But Armodrillo didn't pause to confirm the kill or celebrate victory. The instant the Crabdozer fell, the armored form was already pivoting, already transforming, already preparing for the next wave of threats.
In the split second it took to complete the rotation, yellow-orange light flashed and Armodrillo became something else entirely.
Diamondhead stood where the drilling alien had been, and the Petrosapien's crystalline form gleamed with deadly beauty under the distant starlight. The alien's body was composed entirely of ultra-dense crystal that could cut through virtually anything while remaining nearly indestructible itself.
A horde of predatory creatures had been following close behind the Crabdozer, desperate to escape the prison dimension they'd been trapped within. Now they burst through the portal in a chaotic mass of claws, teeth, fangs, and alien hunger.
They never had a chance.
Diamondhead's arms blurred into motion, generating hundreds of razor-sharp crystal projectiles with each gesture. The shards erupted from his body in a devastating storm, each one spinning with enough velocity to punch through armor plating.
The pursuing monsters were shredded before they could fully emerge, their bodies punctured by crystal spears that continued accelerating even after the initial impact. Alien blood painted the portal's orange glow a darker crimson as creature after creature fell.
But the barrage didn't stop with the monsters.
A small metallic device had been knocked loose during the chaos, tumbling through the air in slow arcs as it fell toward the ground. It looked almost insignificant compared to the carnage surrounding it, just another piece of debris in a battlefield littered with corpses.
Diamondhead's enhanced senses tracked the falling object with predatory focus. A crystal spike shot out with surgical precision, piercing the device's casing and detonating its internal mechanisms.
CRACK!
The Null Void Projector shattered into sparking fragments, its quantum-entangled components losing cohesion. Without the device maintaining the dimensional bridge, the orange portal began collapsing in on itself, shrinking rapidly as reality reasserted its natural boundaries.
Within seconds, the gateway had sealed completely, leaving only a faint spatial distortion that would fade within hours.
Diamondhead reverted to human form in another flash of green light. Mad Ben stood alone on the barren planetoid, surrounded by alien corpses and the lingering ozone smell of dimensional travel.
"Finally free," he muttered, rolling his shoulders to work out the tension that came from endless combat.
His voice carried none of the relief one might expect from someone who'd just escaped imprisonment. Instead, there was only tired annoyance, the tone of someone who'd been forced to endure a particularly tedious obligation.
God only knew how long he'd been trapped in the Null Void Realm, fighting constantly against predators specifically designed to counter Omnitrix transformations. Battle after battle, transformation after transformation, never getting a moment's rest as creatures evolved to hunt Ben Tennyson variants kept coming.
Even someone who genuinely enjoyed combat would eventually grow exhausted by such relentless assault. The predators in the Null Void possessed abilities that directly countered his alien forms, forcing him to constantly adapt and switch tactics just to survive. Every fight had been a struggle against enemies holding biological advantages.
But Mad Ben's greatest asset wasn't raw power or combat prowess. It was his intelligence, that Galvan-enhanced mind that could solve problems other Ben variants might not even recognize.
He'd found wreckage from a Cancerverse warship, salvaged components that shouldn't have been compatible with dimensional technology, and jury-rigged them into a functional Null Void Projector through pure technical genius and desperate necessity.
The escape had been anything but clean or safe. But it had worked, and that was all that mattered.
"Those ship components showed signs of modification and recent battle damage," Mad Ben mused aloud, his tactical mind already analyzing the implications. "That means the annoying one didn't die after all. He must have escaped through a similar method."
His expression soured at the thought. Mad Ben and Bad Ben had been assigned to the infiltration mission together, but their partnership had been one of mutual convenience rather than genuine cooperation. Bad Ben's betrayal at the first sign of opportunity hadn't exactly shocked anyone.
"I despise working with treacherous bastards," Mad Ben spat, the words carrying genuine venom.
But then his features twisted into something approximating a smile, though it held no warmth. "Still, his association with those Revengers creatures will definitely attract attention from this universe's defenders. That makes him excellent bait."
He pulled a small handheld device from his pocket, its design incorporating Galvan principles modified for multiversal navigation. The screen flickered to life, displaying a three-dimensional star map with a single glowing point of light pulsing at its center.
"The Device that Lord Maltruant wants is somewhere in this universe," Mad Ben confirmed, studying the coordinates with narrowed eyes. "And according to this tracker, it's moving. Someone already has it."
The device resembled the Dragon Ball radar from old Earth entertainment, using similar principles of quantum signature tracking to locate unique objects across vast distances.
Mad Ben's grin widened as he began plotting an intercept course. This mission would be so much simpler now that he wasn't constantly fighting for survival in a prison dimension.
Meanwhile, dozens of light-years away in an entirely different region of space, a battered cargo truck somehow maintained structural integrity despite traveling through the hard vacuum between stars.
The vehicle defied every law of physics and common sense, its wheels spinning uselessly against nothing while momentum carried it forward at speeds that would have made NASA engineers weep with envy. Cosmic radiation washed over its exterior, bathing the truck in lethal doses of gamma rays and exotic particles that should have sterilized everything inside.
Rhomboid "Boid" Vreedle and Ottogan Vreedle, the twin brothers who somehow embodied stupidity made manifest, were thoroughly enjoying their illegal joyride. They'd rolled down the windows to better experience the "fresh cosmic air," completely unaware that the vacuum should have explosively decompressed their cab and turned their internal organs into frozen mush.
Being Vreedles apparently granted immunity to minor inconveniences like physics and survival instincts.
Ottogan, who was currently driving despite having the spatial awareness of a concussed goldfish, kept one eye on the space debris field ahead while nervously fidgeting with the steering wheel. His driving style could generously be described as "controlled panic" as he swerved to avoid asteroid fragments at the last possible second.
"Boid," he said, his voice quavering with worry, "we stole Ma's Annihilarrgenesistoriathimiorgost (Annihilarrgh). When she finds out, she's gonna kill us dead. Like, really dead. Maybe even permanently dead."
The prospect of maternal wrath clearly terrified him far more than the possibility of crashing into a comet at relativistic speeds.
"You're overthinking this, Ottogan." Boid lounged in the passenger seat with the confidence of someone who'd never experienced a serious consequence in his entire life. One arm rested casually on the window frame, letting radiation wash over his bare skin without concern.
"Ma only cares about her handsome favorite son. She's got no idea we even took it." His tone suggested he genuinely believed this obvious delusion.
"Besides..." Boid reached into a battered metal toolbox wedged between their seats, rummaging through an assortment of stolen goods, broken tools, and items he'd probably forgotten stealing months ago.
His hand emerged clutching a small black container roughly the size and shape of a fast-food hamburger box. The device looked underwhelming for something allegedly capable of destroying entire universes.
"Do you really think this thing is actually the Annihilarrgh?" Boid asked, his tone suggesting the answer should be obvious.
"Well... isn't it?" Ottogan's eyes went wide with dawning horror. "Did we... did we steal the wrong thing?"
His hands tightened on the wheel, and the truck swerved dangerously close to a spinning fragment of destroyed spaceship.
"What I mean is," Boid said with the patient tone of someone explaining simple concepts to a particularly slow child, "there's no such thing as an Annihilarrgh! The whole thing is a legend! A myth! A story Ma tells people to scare them into paying protection money!"
He flicked his thumb casually, and the black container separated into two halves with a soft click.
The interior was disappointingly mundane. No complex machinery, no ominous glowing crystals, no warning labels in multiple alien languages. Just a simple red button mounted on a basic circuit board that looked like it came from a children's toy.
"See? This is obviously fake. Ma just uses it to run scams on suckers who believe in fairy tales." Boid positioned his thumb directly over the red button, applying just enough pressure to make it depress slightly without actually clicking.
"Believe it or not, even if I press this button right now, absolutely nothing would happen!"
"Boid! What if it's real though?!" Ottogan's voice shot up several octaves, genuine terror flooding his features.
He took both hands off the wheel entirely to gesture in panic, and the truck immediately began drifting toward a particularly large asteroid. Neither brother noticed or cared.
"How could something this tiny possibly destroy an entire universe?" Boid scoffed at the very idea, though he did reluctantly close the container's lid and lower his hand. "That's just stupid! You're too gullible, brother!"
"Of course I'm not gonna press it," he added, tucking the device back into his pocket with exaggerated casualness. "While it's probably not an annihilation device, it might still be some other kind of bomb. Could be a regular explosive or poison gas or something. I don't wanna die either, even if we got spare bodies back home."
His expression shifted into something approximating cunning, though on a Vreedle face it looked more like severe indigestion. "Anyway, if we tell people it's the Annihilarrgh, then that's what it is! Perception is reality, baby! We take this to some rich marks, threaten to blow up their universe, and they'll pay whatever we want!"
"I got a bad feeling about this," Ottogan muttered, finally returning his attention to driving and jerking the wheel hard to avoid the asteroid he'd been drifting toward. "Something tells me Ben Parker's gonna beat us up real bad."
Despite his general stupidity, Ottogan possessed an almost supernatural ability to predict when his schemes would result in physical violence. This particular survival instinct had been honed by years of getting his teeth knocked in by everyone from Plumbers to angry shopkeepers.
"What's there to be afraid of?" Boid waved dismissively, his confidence utterly unshaken by things like logic or pattern recognition. "If he kills one of me, there's still thousands more back home! That's the whole point of being clones! We're expendable!"
They'd been mass-produced factory seconds to begin with. Death was more of a minor inconvenience than a genuine threat, especially when Ma could just grow more of them in the vat-chambers.
On the other side of the cosmic fault line, in orbit around the doomed Cancerverse Earth, Tony Stark's strike team faced a moral crisis that threatened to tear them apart.
The antimatter annihilation bomb sat armed and ready on the control console, its activation sequence loaded and waiting for a single button press. Red warning lights bathed the command deck in hellish illumination, casting dramatic shadows across faces twisted with conflict.
"We can't just destroy the entire planet, Tony!" Steve Rogers's hand clamped around Tony's wrist with super-soldier strength, physically preventing him from reaching the detonation trigger. "There are still people down there fighting against those Revengers! They're resisting, they're trying to survive! They're our friends, not our enemies!"
The moral certainty in Steve's voice rang clear as a bell, that unshakeable conviction that had defined him since he'd first volunteered for the super-soldier program back in 1943.
Tony's jaw clenched with barely restrained fury. "Let go of my hand, Steve."
The command came out flat and cold, stripped of any pretense of friendship or collegiality. This was the voice Tony used when patience had been exhausted and tolerance had reached its breaking point.
Two other figures stood nearby, their presence a constant reminder of how utterly wrong this universe had gone.
Vision, the synthezoid from the Cancerverse, possessed the same vibranium body and Mind Stone that his counterpart in their home reality wore. But this Vision had fought alone for years against an endless tide of immortal, corrupted heroes. His vibranium construction made him immune to cancer cell infection, but it also meant he'd watched helplessly as everyone he loved transformed into monsters.
The experience had left marks that went deeper than any physical damage.
Beside him stood Scarlet Witch, though calling her by that name felt wrong when looking at her current state. Her face had taken on a disturbing bluish-purple hue, like meat left too long without proper blood circulation. The cancer cells had invaded every tissue, transforming her from the inside out while somehow keeping her consciousness intact and aware of her own corruption.
She wore what could only be described as a stripper's outfit, a high-cut red bodysuit that left very little to imagination. The costume choice seemed bizarre until you remembered that in the Cancerverse, everyone worshipped the Many-Angled Ones. Traditional morality had died along with Death itself.
Wanda Maximoff stared at her alternate-reality counterpart with an expression caught somewhere between horror and offended disbelief. "You fell in love with a robot," she said, her tone suggesting this was perhaps the most incomprehensible decision in a universe full of incomprehensible decisions.
Her eyes kept darting between the corrupted Scarlet Witch and Vision, trying to understand what could possibly drive someone to that choice.
"Even if he is a robot, the problem is that Vision isn't even attractive!" Wanda gestured helplessly at the synthezoid's multicolored plating and chrome finish. "He's got all those colors that don't match, he's not handsome by any definition, and he's completely bald! What were you thinking? What could you possibly see in him?"
She paused, a truly disturbing thought occurring to her. "Unless... surely you're not with him just because he's physically durable?"
The implication hung in the air for a moment before Wanda shook her head violently, trying to banish the mental images. "Even if durability is your priority, Ben's tougher! And he can transform! Into different forms! With variations!"
"That's not the point here!" Tony's voice cut through the increasingly bizarre conversation like a knife. "The actual point, which everyone seems to have forgotten, is that we have a mission! Those people resisting the Revengers do exist, yes. I'm not denying that."
He pointed at the planet below, visible through the viewport as a blue-green marble that looked deceptively peaceful from orbit. "But their bodies have already been completely transformed by cancer cells! This isn't regular cancer that can be treated or cured! These people are fundamentally corrupted at the cellular level! They're beyond any help we can provide!"
Tony's finger stabbed toward Steve's chest, each word enunciated with brutal clarity. "Even if I don't destroy this planet, even if we somehow evacuate the resistors and bring them to our universe, their will to fight will eventually die out! The cancer cells will finish consuming their minds, and they'll become just like all the others! Mindless worshippers of cosmic horrors!"
His expression twisted with frustration and barely suppressed grief. "What you're suggesting isn't mercy, Steve! It's just compassion that will get people killed! It's weakness dressed up as morality!"
Steve's eyes hardened, his jaw setting in that stubborn line that Tony had learned to dread over years of disagreements. "Maybe you're right about the practicality," Steve admitted, his voice dropping lower but losing none of its conviction. "But if Ben were here, he'd agree with me! Because he always tries his best to save everyone he possibly can! That's who he is!"
Tony almost laughed at that statement. The sound that escaped his throat was somewhere between a bark of genuine amusement and a bitter expression of accumulated frustration.
"Save everyone?" Tony's tone dripped with sarcasm. "Him? Are we talking about the same Ben Parker here?"
The man who'd casually killed Dr. Animo? The one who'd personally executed the Inheritor family without hesitation? Who'd genocided the Highbreed race by forcibly rewriting their DNA against their explicit wishes? That paragon of mercy and compassion?
"You don't need to be sarcastic about this," Steve shot back, his confidence unshaken. "I know Ben better than you do! He told me himself that I'm his best friend! That he likes me more than anyone else! That he'll always support my decisions and stand by my side!"
Something in those words made Tony's blood run cold. His frown deepened as fragments of conversation and half-remembered exchanges began connecting in his mind like puzzle pieces finding their proper positions.
"Wait," Tony said slowly, his analytical mind suddenly operating at full capacity. "What did you just say?"
Steve's expression showed confusion at the interruption. "I said Ben's my best friend and he'll support me."
"No, the specific wording." Tony's eyes narrowed, his genius-level intellect catching implications that most people would miss. "You said he told you that he likes you more. More than what? More than who?"
"When exactly did he say that?"
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