Under normal circumstances, the Xenomorphs' ceiling wasn't as lofty as people imagined.
True, Xenomorphs could seize a host's finest genes, emerging from chestbursting with greater potential, surpassing the original host, a hallmark of their species.
But the universe brimmed with formidable beings wielding diverse powers.
Take Ikaris or Hyperion: they could crush invading Xenomorph larvae by flexing muscles or organs post-parasitism.
Someone like Magneto could manipulate life's magnetic fields, obliterating Xenomorph larvae with magnetism before they formed.
Professor X, a telepathic maestro, could reverse the tables, shattering a Xenomorph's mind, reducing the larva to a mindless human organ.
For high-IQ geniuses, surgical removal was an option. Missing organs? No issue, Marvel's world abounded with mechanical or lab-grown biological replacements, a routine solution.
It was Adam who elevated Xenomorphs to heights they could never have reached alone. Single-handedly, he raised their racial ceiling from mundane to Skyfather Level, a mere step from single-universe-level, though that step seemed vaster than the leap from mortal to Celestial.
As their leader, Adam's baseline ability was commanding all Xenomorph consciousnesses to shield his own, forging a clan consciousness cluster. With enough Xenomorphs, he could shrug off even Professor X's psychic assaults.
Without Adam, Xenomorphs would've been mere tools for supervillains, hunted by superheroes, repeatedly culled until extinction.
Under his machinations, the Xenomorph clan expanded at a staggering pace, shocking all. It wasn't just numbers, the quality was terrifying.
Adam already commanded several Skyfather Level Xenomorphs or Xenomorph-enhanced heroes.
In other cosmic races, even elite divine beings, how many Celestials could they muster? Climbing tech trees was feasible, but breaking through life's strata to reach Skyfather Level was near impossible.
A single Celestial could dismantle a tech race billions of years in the making, rendering their advancements to ash.
Take the Yggdrasil's Nine Realms: typically, two Celestials presiding over one realm was remarkable.
Producing an Odin-level Celestial was a clan's cosmic jackpot.
Yet Adam wielded three Skyfather Level combatants, with more on the way.
This was a deranged display, instilling dread in every planet, realm, and civilization.
Everyone knew this was far from Adam's limit.
As leader of this thriving, boundless race, Adam always had a clear vision for the Xenomorphs.
Under his guidance, their ceiling was sky-high. Compared to Earth humans, Kree, or Skrulls, Xenomorphs' baseline physicality and combat prowess were notably superior.
But viewed long-term, by cosmic racial standards, their floor was somewhat low.
Adam's solution: a unified gene bank. Every clan the Xenomorphs vanquished would have their finest genes cataloged, stored as reserve genetic material.
Any enduring race had unique genetic traits, none were truly worthless. These genes were priceless assets.
Other races dabbling in foreign genes risked fracturing their species and culture, a recipe for chaos.
But for Adam, no such concern existed. Xenomorphs were born to harness diverse biological genes for growth.
In the hall, some faces lit with realization and joy, while others stared blankly, clueless about Mr. Blue's words.
Since joining Adam, Mr. Blue rarely appeared, pouring time into research, often overlooked. When noticed, he was pegged as a mad scientist, likely tasked with breeding monstrous hosts for Adam.
"Selectively breeding specialized Queens? So, we'll have Facehuggers born with superpowers?" The martial arts master said hesitantly. He'd joined Adam's ranks to protect his sister, Elektra, and while he admired Adam and the Xenomorphs, this news stunned him.
Was it possible? Necessary? Xenomorphs relied on hosts for premium genes. If they innately had superpowers and parasitized varied hosts, what would the chestbursted Xenomorph be? Wouldn't gene conflicts cause collapse?
Druid sensed his doubt, snapping, "What's with the hesitation? I feel your mind's chaos. Don't forget, no matter the host, a Xenomorph's form and appearance are consistent, a unified expression post-gene integration. Even if Facehuggers start with special genes, it's just another expression, not clashing with host gene assimilation."
The martial arts master stayed silent, casting a cold glance at Druid, dismissing the incurable fanatic.
Everyone in the room grasped the implications, their faces lighting up with excitement.
"This means our clan's newborns will leap forward at the starting line, taking a crucial step toward becoming a cosmic race." Adam said, a smile spreading across his face. He looked approvingly at Mr. Blue, whose intellect, amplified 500-fold, hadn't squandered the time and resources invested.
"However, since Queens of different genetic systems require varying energy and time to reproduce, don't expect a sudden flood of Hyperions or Laufeys." Mr. Blue said, displaying a dizzyingly complex virtual hologram, its vast data overwhelming.
"But cultivating weaker versions of Hyperion or Laufey is feasible, right? By converting Hyperion and Laufey Xenomorphs into Queens." Someone interjected.
"Correct, theoretically. Facehuggers birthed by these Queens would innately carry traces of Hyperion and Laufey's genes, granting newborns an extraordinary starting point, born with flight or magical aptitude." Mr. Blue explained. "But transforming them into Queens is challenging, requiring precise gene modulation. Their fertility will also vary based on the super-genes their offspring carry."
Pursuing superior second-generation Xenomorphs would drastically reduce the initial Queens' fertility. They couldn't churn out eggs like standard Queens.
Even if select second-generation Xenomorphs became Queens, further gene tweaking for third-generation targeted breeding would face trade-offs. Prioritizing quantity would yield third-generation super-Facehuggers inferior to the second; prioritizing quality would limit their numbers. And so on.
Unless Adam found a way to achieve rapid reproduction and maintain gene quality, a near-impossible feat defying natural laws. He had inklings of a solution, but now wasn't the time to pursue it.
"This is merely the first-generation gene bank, a rough integration of all genes our clan possesses, artificially modulated. It's far from my ideal." Adam said, setting the tone for Mr. Blue's achievement.
The result was remarkable. Only a genius like Mr. Blue could handle such a colossal workload in limited time, especially incorporating divine and superhuman gene systems.
But, as always, it wasn't enough. It could be better.
What would a gene bank truly satisfy Adam? Simple: like the Kryptonians next door.
When Kryptonian society needed specific roles, they'd pluck relevant genes from their bank to craft tailored infants, assigning them to needed posts upon adulthood.
This system had flaws, rigidly stratifying Kryptonians. Some were born leaders, others laborers, locked in their roles for life.
Low-tier, mid-tier, high-tier, super-tier genes, Krypton's meticulous gene hierarchy was brutal. Beyond job and class divisions, gene ranks alone were a masterclass in stratification.
Low-tier genes were crushed by high-tier ones in every way: intellect, physical potential, even solar empowerment efficiency varied wildly.
Low-tier Kryptonians couldn't challenge high-tier ones. Only someone like Superman, bearing the Codex of Life, transcending high-tier genes, could face General Zod.
By Earth-human standards, Krypton was a dystopian hell, stripping individuals of agency, reducing them to cogs in a machine.
For the Xenomorph clan, though, this structure was flawless, perfection incarnate.
Freedom? Individuality? Sorry, Xenomorphs had none. Obedience and host-seeking were their core instincts.
If possible, Adam dreamed of every subject born with super-genes, wielding the clan's highest potential, like DC's H'el, a super-gene individual with tenfold high-tier potential, outclassing even Superman, bearer of his race's full genetic legacy.
But cultivating super-gene individuals demanded exorbitant time, resources, and low success rates. Obsessing over rare elites could hinder clan expansion, indirectly harming the collective.
Otherwise, Krypton would've been teeming with super-gene citizens, any random one capable of trouncing Superman, rendering Zod's high-tier genes worthless.
Or, crazier still, imagine surpassing super-genes, achieving universal Doomsdays, each with the infinite potential of ancient Kryptonian scientist Bertron's primordial Doomsday from DC's early multiverse. All beating Darkseid, exiling and losing themselves in relentless perfectionism, spiraling into madness, causing ancient Krypton's fall.
Per capita divinity? Impossible. Achieving it would transcend single-multiverse boundaries, entering uncharted realms.
"For now, screen the gene bank, cultivate the first batch of native super-Xenomorphs, and adjust based on actual costs. I trust you'll handle it. For field testing… send them against S.H.I.E.L.D. until we get useful data or dismantle them entirely." Adam instructed Mr. Blue.
He knew Mr. Blue was cunning, occasionally scheming. But he should know when to act.
Even if Mr. Blue amassed enough power to rebel, Adam wouldn't be shocked.
What Adam couldn't tolerate was Mr. Blue slacking on critical tasks.
Betrayal versus laziness, distinct sins, the latter far graver.
As a Xenomorph, failing to meet Adam's demands was an unforgivable offense.
Other Xenomorph heroes could pursue personal whims in downtime, but not Mr. Blue. His 24/7 duty was perfecting the gene bank.
The meeting ended, and those leaving the room glimpsed a radiant future, not confined to Earth's narrow scope, but spanning the boundless cosmos.
Without Adam, they'd never witness such vistas.
Leaving the meeting, Adam didn't linger at the Weyland Building. He issued an order to Kamar-Taj's Xenomorphs to negotiate with its mages.
A portal snapped open before him. Expression unchanged, Adam stepped through, entering Kamar-Taj.
"This must be our first meeting in the flesh." The Ancient One said, pouring tea from a prepared pot.
Wisps of steam traced elegant arcs, dissipating slowly.
"Don't worry, it won't be the last. You'll have plenty of time and chances before you die." Adam replied, sitting casually across from her.
Mages passed by, their scholar-like faces flickering with awe and respect at Adam's presence.
"To the unaware, your words sound like a declaration of war." The Ancient One said, shaking her head.
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