Space is cold.
An absolute cold—one that feels capable of freezing the soul itself.
Levi drifted in the darkness, surrounded by the metallic wreckage left behind by the mothership's destruction, like a silent graveyard. He had been floating here for who knew how long. Time had lost all meaning.
He wasn't dead.
The moment the wormhole closed, [Adaptive Armor] had automatically shifted into life-support mode, clinging to him like a second skin, sealing out the vacuum and lethal cosmic radiation. The energy from [Binary Form] burned within him like an eternal furnace, his only source of warmth, sustaining his body temperature.
He was simply trapped.
He tried to sense Earth's direction—but it was too far. On the scale of the universe, Earth was just a speck of dust among countless stars. No matter how far his [Spatial Awareness] extended, it couldn't reach that distance.
Fly back directly?
Impossible. Even at light speed, reaching the nearest star system would take years—let alone finding the Milky Way, then the Solar System, and finally Earth. By the time he arrived, generations would have passed.
"Damn it."
For the first time since transmigrating, Levi felt genuine helplessness. It wasn't about being unable to win a fight—it was about having nowhere to fight.
He wasn't an omnipotent god. He was just an ordinary man who had obtained extraordinary power.
And now he had been thrown into a place without even a map.
He forced himself to calm down. Panic solved nothing.
Closing his eyes, he submerged his consciousness into the fabric of space itself. If he couldn't fly back, then he would take a shortcut.
[Spatial Manipulation]
His awareness spread like an invisible net, extending endlessly outward, feeling the "texture" of space.
Most of it was smooth and taut—like stretched canvas.
Tearing open a passage there and returning to Earth would require astronomical energy. It would drain him dry instantly.
But he knew the cosmic "canvas" wasn't uniform everywhere.
In certain regions, warped by massive gravitational forces or scarred by ancient wars, space became fragile—creased like paper that had once been crumpled.
Those creases were natural shortcuts.
Highways of the universe.
All he had to do was find the nearest one and jump in.
As for where it led…
That would be a gamble.
He withdrew all external energy, letting himself drift like an ordinary asteroid, devoting every ounce of focus to sensing space—like a patient fisherman waiting for an invisible catch.
---
New York
Top floor, Stark Tower.
Tony Stark hovered in his armor where the wormhole had vanished, like a statue suspended in midair.
Energy warnings blared in his helmet, but he didn't hear them.
His eyes were fixed on the empty sky, as if expecting that golden figure to burst through at any second and grin—
"Hey, Shellhead. I'm back."
Nothing came.
"…He's not coming back?" Natasha's voice was uncertain over the comms.
No one answered.
Everyone stared at the sky.
Silence.
"No." Tony's voice was raw. "He'll come back."
Suddenly, he cut his thrusters and dropped like a meteor, slamming into the ruined street below hard enough to shake the ground.
The faceplate opened.
His face was pale, eyes filled with anger, regret, and something dangerously close to panic.
Steve Rogers approached, uniform torn, face smeared with ash.
"Tony, we—"
"Don't." Tony cut him off sharply. He stumbled out of the armor, nearly falling.
He stared at the alien corpses and burning wreckage.
That bastard.
That smug idiot who called him "Shellhead."
That arrogant, reckless powerhouse.
Gone.
For a world he claimed not to care about.
"It's not your fault," Steve said steadily.
"My fault?" Tony barked a humorless laugh. "Of course it's not my fault! I was ready to go in! Who closed the damn door? S.H.I.E.L.D.? The Council? You?"
His voice rose into a shout.
"He could've made it back!"
Steve said nothing. Tactically, closing the portal had been the correct call. But he couldn't say that now.
"He was a hero," Steve finally said.
"Don't use that word." Tony's voice was cold. "You don't deserve it. I don't deserve it. And he definitely doesn't. He was a maniac. A walking nuclear weapon with no idea how to use it. He never understood teamwork."
"He saved all of us."
"Yeah. By sacrificing himself!" Tony snapped. "And what then? We just lost our strongest card. What if next time it's not something that can be solved by blowing up one ship? What if next time we need him here? Who answers for that? You, Captain?"
"He was a soldier," Steve replied firmly. "Soldiers die on the battlefield."
"Bullshit." Tony pointed at the sky. "He wasn't one of us. He was an observer. An outsider. He didn't belong here. He treated this like a game—and now he paid for it."
"You're wrong," Steve said quietly. "If he didn't care, he wouldn't have gone. He chose to trust us."
"Trust?" Tony laughed bitterly. "He trusted we'd hold the line? Or trusted we'd come get him? Instead, we locked him out."
The tension thickened.
Natasha and Clint exchanged weary glances.
Then several black Quinjet aircraft descended nearby.
Men in black suits and sunglasses disembarked, led by a stern-faced Council representative.
"Mr. Stark. Captain Rogers." His tone was clinical. "This area is now under the authority of the World Security Council. The Avengers' mission is concluded."
They began setting up barriers, clearing civilians—as if this had merely been an incident site.
Tony stared at them with open contempt.
Without another word, he climbed back into his armor and blasted off into the sky.
Steve watched him go. Then he looked at the ruins. At the civilians weeping in the streets.
They had won.
And yet it didn't feel like victory.
---
Asgard
The Bifrost's light faded.
Thor stepped forward, Loki bound in glowing runic chains, the Tesseract secured in a metal container.
"Welcome home, Prince," Heimdall said calmly.
"Where is Father?" Thor asked urgently.
He delivered Loki and the Tesseract to the guards, then strode into the golden palace.
Odin sat upon the throne, already aware.
Thor knelt and recounted everything—from Loki's invasion to the Avengers' stand, and finally Levi's sacrifice.
"…He destroyed the mothership alone," Thor finished solemnly. "But he did not return. He was a true warrior."
Odin remained silent for a long time.
"A mortal wielding power even the gods do not comprehend," he said at last. "His sacrifice has bought Midgard peace. Yet he does not belong to this realm. His fate lies beyond the weave of the Nine Realms."
Thor lifted his head.
"Then we must find him. We cannot abandon one who saved us."
Odin studied his son, seeing growth in his eyes.
"Ask Heimdall. If he yet exists in this universe, Heimdall's sight will find him."
Thor hurried back to the Bifrost.
"Heimdall! Find him! The man called Levi!"
Heimdall's golden eyes scanned the cosmos—across burning stars and sleeping nebulae. He saw the Nine Realms. Frost Giants rebuilding. Dark Elves stirring. Humans clearing rubble.
He saw past and present.
He searched long and hard.
Then slowly, he shook his head.
"I cannot see him, Prince."
Thor's heart sank. "Impossible. You see all."
"I see every soul within the Nine Realms," Heimdall replied, puzzled. "But his soul… does not belong to them. I cannot lock onto it."
"There must be another way."
Heimdall considered.
"Unless he calls my name. Only then may I find him—and bring him to Asgard."
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