The basement suddenly felt too small.
Too fragile.
Like reality itself had become thinner the moment the monocled man spoke.
Elias stared at him silently while thunder rolled across Brooklyn above them.
Something beneath the ocean has started dreaming.
Those words carried weight.
Not metaphorical weight.
Mystical weight.
The kind that made spirituality recoil instinctively.
Steve, despite understanding almost nothing happening around him, visibly shivered.
"…Why did it suddenly get colder?"
Because some truths infected the air when spoken aloud.
The stranger noticed Steve's reaction and smiled faintly.
"Interesting."
Elias immediately interrupted.
"Don't."
The monocled man raised both hands innocently. "Relax. I'm not stealing the child."
"That sentence somehow made things worse."
"Usually does."
Celeste looked deeply irritated now.
"Stop playing around."
The stranger sighed.
"You people never appreciate atmosphere."
Elias' patience was thinning rapidly.
"What exactly is beneath the Atlantic?"
The man rolled the monocle between his fingers thoughtfully before answering.
"A corpse."
Silence.
Then—
"…Explain," Elias said flatly.
"A divine corpse, more specifically." The stranger's tone became almost conversational. "Very old. Very large. Very asleep."
Steve looked horrified.
"There's a giant dead god in the ocean?"
The stranger considered that.
"Technically yes."
"That's technically insane!"
"Also correct."
Celeste pinched the bridge of her nose.
"You see why I didn't want him involved?"
The monocled man ignored her completely.
"It should have remained dormant for another century at least," he continued. "Unfortunately, pathway convergence accelerated after someone"—his eyes shifted meaningfully toward Elias—"began stirring symbolic authorities prematurely."
Elias' expression darkened.
"So this is my fault."
"Partially." The man smiled again. "Though existence collapsing was always statistically probable eventually."
Steve looked genuinely offended.
"You say things like a serial killer."
The stranger actually laughed at that.
A real laugh.
Warm.
Friendly.
Which somehow made him infinitely more unsettling.
"You know," he said to Steve, "I like you."
"No offense," Steve replied immediately, "but I think that's a bad sign."
Correct again.
Very correct.
Elias crossed his arms.
"You still haven't explained who you are."
The man tilted his head.
"And yet you already suspect."
Elias absolutely did suspect.
Too much.
The monocle.
The mannerisms.
The distortion around his existence.
The way reality subtly bent around casual conversation.
There was one being in Lord of the Mysteries that fit disturbingly well.
But that was impossible.
It had to be impossible.
"…Amon?" Elias asked carefully.
The basement became silent.
Even the rain outside seemed quieter.
Then the man smiled slowly.
"Oh dear," he murmured. "You really do know too much."
Steve looked between them.
"…Was that supposed to mean something?"
Celeste answered before Elias could.
"Yes."
Steve waited.
Neither elaborated.
"That is incredibly annoying," he muttered.
Amon—or whatever version of him existed in this universe—placed the monocle back onto his eye.
Instantly, the atmosphere distorted slightly again.
"Don't worry," he said pleasantly. "I'm significantly less apocalyptic than the original."
That sentence provided absolutely zero comfort.
Elias' mind worked rapidly.
If this truly was Amon—or a Marvel-adapted equivalent—then the situation had escalated beyond catastrophic.
Because Amon was not merely powerful.
He was conceptual danger wearing human skin.
A thief of fate.
Identity.
Destiny.
Even time in some circumstances.
And this version had somehow survived—or emerged within—Marvel's cosmology.
Celeste clearly shared similar concerns.
"You shouldn't interfere directly," she warned.
"But it's becoming entertaining."
"That's not a valid reason."
"It absolutely is."
Steve whispered toward Elias:
"Why do I feel like he's the worst person here?"
Elias answered honestly.
"Because your instincts are functioning properly."
Amon pretended to look wounded.
"Harsh."
Then suddenly—
His expression vanished.
Not faded.
Vanished.
All amusement disappeared instantly.
The change was so abrupt that Steve physically stepped backward.
Amon looked upward slightly, toward something impossibly distant.
"…It noticed."
Every spiritual instinct Elias possessed screamed danger.
"What noticed?"
Amon slowly lowered his gaze.
"The dream."
The lights upstairs exploded.
Glass shattered somewhere in the bookstore.
Steve flinched violently.
Celeste immediately moved, silver symbols igniting briefly across her fingertips.
And then—
Elias heard it.
Not physically.
Inside his mind.
A sound like whales singing through drowned cathedrals.
Ancient.
Massive.
Hungry.
The basement walls trembled softly.
Steve grabbed his head suddenly.
"What the hell is that?!"
Blood trickled from his nose.
Elias' eyes widened instantly.
Ordinary humans should not perceive high-level spiritual echoes this clearly.
Unless—
Amon noticed too.
His gaze locked onto Steve with sudden sharpness.
"Well now," he murmured quietly.
Elias stepped forward immediately.
"Don't."
But Amon's expression had already changed again.
Interest.
Deep interest.
Not toward Steve Rogers the future hero.
Toward Steve Rogers the anomaly.
The sound deepened inside their minds.
For one horrifying instant—
Elias saw an image.
An endless black ocean beneath moonless skies.
Something enormous moving beneath the water.
Too large to comprehend fully.
Covered in eyes.
And chained.
Massive silver chains stretching endlessly into darkness.
Then the vision vanished.
Steve collapsed to one knee coughing violently.
Elias moved instantly, grabbing him before he hit the floor.
"Steve!"
"I-I'm fine…" the boy lied weakly.
No.
He absolutely was not fine.
His pupils were slightly dilated.
Spiritual contamination symptoms.
Not severe yet.
But alarming.
Celeste knelt beside them immediately.
"He heard the call directly."
"That shouldn't happen," Elias snapped.
"No," Amon agreed softly. "It really shouldn't."
The monocled man crouched nearby, studying Steve with disturbing fascination.
Then:
"Ah."
A single syllable.
But Elias hated it immediately.
"What?"
Amon smiled faintly.
"That explains why destiny keeps gathering around him."
Elias' grip tightened protectively around Steve's shoulder.
"Speak clearly."
"Oh, I could." Amon adjusted the monocle slightly. "But spoilers ruin the fun."
Celeste looked furious now.
"You're enjoying this too much."
"Of course I am. Reality is becoming unpredictable again."
That sentence confirmed something Elias feared.
Even beings like Amon expected timelines and fate to behave somewhat consistently before now.
Meaning Marvel's universe merging with pathway authority had destabilized larger cosmic structures than he realized.
Steve wiped blood from his nose angrily.
"Can someone stop talking like cult psychopaths for five minutes?"
Amon pointed at him immediately.
"There it is again."
"…What?"
"That defiance."
Steve frowned. "What about it?"
The monocled man smiled strangely.
"It survives things it shouldn't."
Elias did not like where this conversation was heading.
At all.
Celeste stood slowly.
"We're leaving."
Amon looked mildly disappointed.
"But the evening just became interesting."
"You're the reason evenings become dangerous."
"Flattering."
Elias helped Steve stand carefully.
The boy's breathing remained uneven.
His spirituality… no, not spirituality exactly…
Something inside him had reacted to the dream.
Not pathway corruption.
Something older.
Something tied to fate itself.
And suddenly Elias remembered something terrifying:
In Marvel lore, Steve Rogers was never extraordinary because of power.
The serum amplified what already existed.
Meaning something within Steve had always been exceptional.
What if pathway convergence recognized that too?
Amon suddenly spoke again.
"Oh, one final thing."
Nobody liked those words.
The monocled man smiled pleasantly.
"The corpse beneath the Atlantic?"
"…What about it?"
"It's beginning to wake up because someone removed one of the nails."
Silence.
Cold silence.
Elias stared at him.
"Nails."
"Yes." Amon's smile widened slightly. "The things pinning it in place."
Steve whispered weakly:
"…There were nails holding down a dead ocean god?"
Amon nodded cheerfully.
"There were." His expression darkened slightly. "Now there are fewer."
Thunder exploded overhead.
And somewhere far beneath the Atlantic Ocean—
One massive silver chain snapped.