"Do I have a choice?" Valeria asked, leaning back into Ciri's arms, completely at ease. Whether it was Doom or Deathstroke, she didn't want her brother dragged into this.
"There are options," Su Ming replied, lifting her into his arms and sitting her on the computer console, speaking casually about his plans for the multiversal collision. "For instance, you could send Franklin to the timeline's origin to destroy all other worlds from the start. Or sign a pact with Magik, letting Limbo turn you into an Elder God's servant, driving Franklin to a mental breakdown and triggering an infinite reconstruction of all dimensions—call it the Infinite Tsukuyomi Plan. How's that?"
But that wasn't his full strategy. Since arriving in the Marvel universe, Su Ming had prepared for every contingency. If the fourth Secret War erupted, he had dozens of plans. Franklin's role wasn't even high-priority—he wasn't Doom, nor did he aspire to godhood.
In the comics, Earth-616's Doom became God Emperor, not Su Ming's Warhammer 40K Doom. If their plans clashed, who'd win? Su Ming wouldn't bet on it, but 616-Doom had Molecule Man, while his Doom only had Loki—who'd just been ditched.
Su Ming didn't favor Doom's odds. If Doom pressed on, he'd lead Valeria and Franklin to their deaths, serving as an experience boost for 616-Doom. Su Ming wanted his universe intact, not a Battleworld free-for-all. His earlier talk of Franklin's plan was just to spook Valeria.
That said, stopping Doom from taking the siblings—didn't that indirectly save them?
Valeria turned, eyes wide with shock. Deathstroke's plan was crazier and darker than Doom's. Mercenaries were pitch-black.
"Do you know what my parents are doing now?" she asked.
"Reed's dodging S.H.I.E.L.D., probably hiding in Wakanda or Attilan. Susan's undercover at S.H.I.E.L.D. Reed likely killed a trillion people, maybe more," Su Ming said, smoothing Valeria's hair, which smelled faintly of milk. "But parallel world deaths don't count. If we don't kill them, they kill us."
"Is that why Captain America dragged them to international court? Why people call them murderers?" Valeria's eyes widened, unaware of this dark truth about her parents.
"Probably. But the Secret War's secret because outsiders barely know what happened. Regular folks think Reed just wiped out a sapient planet—a few million deaths, tops."
"But you know he did it to save our universe."
"There aren't many ways to stop a multiversal collision, but there are others. I've got them. Want to be the little hero who saves Earth?"
"Do I have a choice?" Valeria shot him a scornful look. Her parents were superheroes; she and Franklin were forced into tiny Fantastic Four uniforms—family hand-me-down tights. Other kids might dream of heroism, but to her, the title was meaningless.
"You did, but after hearing this, not anymore. Curiosity's a killer, huh?" Su Ming pinched her cheek. Doom had kept her well-fed and soft—nice to the touch.
Ciri cast an envious glance, itching to pinch too.
Valeria fell silent, accepting the reality but needing time to process.
"Game's over. Stranglehold, grab him," Su Ming ordered.
Valeria's stance was clear—she had no choice but to help. Now, it was time to deal with this timeline's Loki.
Loki, dodging Magik's relentless attacks, was suddenly pinned by black tendrils that morphed into promethium. But he'd heard Stranglehold's name and knew what it was—a symbiote that devoured to the bone if it latched on.
Stranglehold only trapped a water-magic illusion. The real Loki vanished.
Before anyone could react, the Cloak of Levitation stretched, snaring a transparent humanoid in midair and slamming it to the ground.
Su Ming sighed. Loki should've known about symbiotes, and that he and Stranglehold communicated silently. Calling out Stranglehold's name was an obvious distraction—a trap so blatant it lacked even a twig cover, yet Loki fell in.
Sloppy. Magik's pressure—her superior magic, martial prowess, demonic healing, and strength—left him no room to counter Su Ming's ploy.
Handing Valeria to Ciri to keep her occupied, Su Ming warned the scene might get grim. Transforming Godslayer into a scimitar, he approached Loki. "Last words?"
"It wasn't supposed to end like this," Loki said, cocooned tightly by the cloak, only his head exposed. The cloak absorbed any magic he tried to muster.
"You and Doom put too much faith in stories. Forgot who writes them? Your past self screwed you both," Su Ming said, raising the blade. Loki had sabotaged himself—classic.
Who knew which storybook version Doom and Loki saw, but it wasn't Su Ming's fate. Stories didn't matter.
"I'm such an idiot. I even fool myself," Loki chuckled bitterly.
"I'll rewrite the past. You shouldn't exist here. Clear why you're being erased?" Su Ming asked.
"Do it," Loki said.
The scimitar swung, but halted midair. The flaming skull Loki clutched flew up, clamping its jaws around the blade. Despite Su Ming's strength and Godslayer's edge, the skull lost teeth but hung on, floating like a half-cut watermelon, resisting.
"Give up, Thor. You're neither man nor ghost, reduced to Loki's toy, most of your mind erased. No need to take a blade for him," Su Ming said.
"He's my brother," the skull replied, voice inexplicable.
Su Ming sighed, easing his grip. As Thor's enchanted skull thought he'd spared Loki, a black shadow flashed—Night's Veil, also a god-killing blade, cleaved both Thor and Loki in two.
Thor's instinct to shield Loki was touching, but Su Ming wouldn't abandon his plan for sentiment.
A time-traveling trickster was too dangerous. To rewrite history, uncertainties had to go. This was the only choice.
By altering the past, Loki and Thor's skull wouldn't appear here, sparing them death. The timeline, battered by countless factors, would need extensive repairs.
Su Ming's new plan against Odin required pulling someone else from the storybook.
Loki's role in this timeline was done—time to collect his box lunch, maybe with a chicken leg, nothing more.
The cloak retracted, Loki's headless body rolling to the floor. Thor's skull, still biting Godslayer, shattered, its flames extinguished, bones scattering like dust.
"Hell magic—soul manipulation," Magik said, arms crossed, calmly watching the fading embers. Deathstroke was always right, especially when it was just two gods.
Su Ming ignored the bodies, dismantling Doom's time machine, carefully packing its parts into silk bags. The puzzle was complete: Kang's traverser, Doom's machine and algorithms, plus Su Ming's "adjutant." Soon, he'd master Marvel's timeline traversal—more reliable than DC's Comedian badge.
The only snag was missing Doom, the original creator, leaving just Valeria, the operator. Still, the plan was 80% successful—not perfect, but solid.
"Hm, not enough backpack slots. Gotta check if Arthas finished his filial duties in Lordaeron," Su Ming muttered.
Hamir, half-listening to Su Ming's cryptic words, handled the bodies. Loki's was manageable; Thor was just ash. Opening a portal, he tossed them into the cosmic void—an eternal abyss.
Though Hamir often seemed as cold as Kamar-Taj's peaks, he was moved, choosing to inter the brothers together.
"What's next, mentor?" Magik asked, sheathing her soul sword into her chest, its entry point a pale patch below her neck—her body the blade's vessel to preserve her clothes.
"Wait for Franklin, then head upstream to find another ally. After that, the final battle," Su Ming said, collecting the massive equipment from the floor and copying the computer's program data onto a portable drive.
"Stay for dinner? We could roast rabbit. My roommate's got some good stuff stashed under the floor," a voice called.
In a basement room, lit only by faint light from a street-level window, a figure resembling a dried avocado spoke to a cyborg-eyed companion. Staple marks scarred his face, a nightmare incarnate.
He darted to a storage closet, expertly lifting a floorboard to reveal travel bags stuffed with guns, ammo, fake IDs, and "lost" S.H.I.E.L.D. alien tech. His target? Plastic bags of white powder or crystals, like detergent or sugar, hidden beneath.
Crawling on all fours, butt raised, he waved the bags like an orchid, flashing a cheeky grin at the cyborg, like a talk-show host awaiting applause.
Cable, seeing Deadpool's sweat-soaked suit—red fabric darkened at the crotch, resembling a bloody accident—turned to the window, gagging.
Utterly disgusting.