"We've got a little time, Wade. I need you to do something."
Su Ming lowered his voice, the wind from the flying cloak nearly drowning out his words, as if they never existed.
The black plains and the dense army of living dead zipped by below, seemingly aware of their own warped bodies.
Not everyone could be like Deadpool, embracing a tattered, broken form. Some of these living corpses lacked organs, others bones, like incomplete toy dolls.
Yet their master had regained consciousness, peering into the hollows of their chests or touching their half-missing skulls.
Just looking at them felt eerie.
Wade's ears twitched. He realized for the first time he had super hearing—guess he was a super soldier after all.
So he lowered his voice too, sneaking a glance at Magik and Ciri, whispering conspiratorially.
"I get it. Magneto's daughters, right? Jealous of my game, so you want some fun too? Should've said so! I got you. Wanda's got a killer bod, I swear I won't tell Cable you're into her. Lorna's a bit less, but that green hair's kinda—"
Whoosh.
"Why's your dagger in my gut? Kinda hurts. Why's it glowing black? Poisoned? Alright then…"
Wade looked down at his stomach, questioning Su Ming with genuine confusion before turning to an imaginary audience at a 45-degree angle in the sky.
"Folks, you saw it. He can kill with a giant sword, and he still poisons his weapons? DC's way too dark. My cousin loves watching people foam at the mouth, writhing like butchered livestock, then steps on the corpse and cracks a Batman joke."
"Just a slip of the hand."
Su Ming turned away, smirking under his mask. Was the Tear of Extinction ineffective in Marvel too?
"Can I stab you back then?"
Wade's earnest gaze chased Deathstroke, seeking some nonexistent "fairness" he knew didn't exist.
"That sounds way too creepy. End of topic. Think about movie ratings."
"Damn it, Brokeback Mountain's R-rated too. Even that's part of your plan, huh? Fine, you win. What do I need to do?"
Facing Deathstroke's unreadable mask, Wade punched his thigh in frustration, stuffing his spilling intestines back into his gut.
"I need you to get an Infinity Stone to deal with Loki," Su Ming whispered.
"In 1945? The Presence above, I'm your devout follower, a lost rooster—please, tell me where to find an Infinity Stone!" Wade clasped his hands at his chest, praying to The Presence.
He didn't actually believe in The Presence. Any faith was just a ploy to charm pretty choir nuns. If The Presence existed, He wouldn't bother with a guy like Wade.
Wade knew that too. This was just his way of saying it was impossible.
If The Presence didn't answer, it was His fault, not Wade's. Deadpool was still the unstoppable merc.
Su Ming wasn't surprised, watching Wade sneakily flick boogers during his "prayer."
Infinity Stones did exist in this era, but even Su Ming didn't know where. This world was too strange to rely on past experience.
But among the many Infinity Stones, one belonged to Deadpool—maybe unique to him, maybe shared across all Deadpools.
"I'm guessing you know where one stone is, at least its future location."
"Yeah, all six marbles are on the Infinity Gauntlet, probably in some Hollywood studio, guarded by a middle-aged, potbellied prop guy who lives on junk food. He's got a whole crate of Infinity Stones, like a kid's candy jar at Halloween. Speaking of Halloween, can we go trick-or-treating next time? We could chop off our limbs, let 'em regrow all tender and small, so we'd pass as kids."
Wade looked at his cousin eagerly. He'd pitched a similar idea to Wolverine, who shot it down, accusing him of eyeing his adamantium claws.
Sure, Wade wanted to play with those claws, but he never said he wouldn't give them back!
"No, not movie-level. Lower. Think traditional."
Su Ming guided patiently, thankful he was an outsider too, or Wade's ramblings would be incomprehensible.
Wade pinched his chin, then pulled a treasure map from his belt pouch.
The map's route looked like someone strapped coal to a shrunken Ant-Man and let him run across paper for a year—utter chaos.
The black lines' meaning was unclear, with the X marking the treasure disconnected from any path, no landmarks in sight.
But Wade's eyes locked on the black X. That was where he'd buried his prize. He'd spread copies of the map everywhere, telling everyone he met:
"Want my treasure? It's yours if you can find it! I left everything in the world right there!"
Thus, comic editors set sail for the Grand Line, chasing dreams, ushering in the Great Comic Era!
Yet no one found it. Deadpool's treasure hunt fizzled out.
But now his cousin brought it up, and Wade remembered—this was an off-the-books Infinity Stone.
"You mean the 'Do-Whoever-You-Want, Make-It-Happen, No-Consequences, Slip-Away-After-The-Thrill' Stone?"
Wade whispered, guarding a massive secret.
"Ugh, it's a gag stone, but your name for it is too much." Su Ming had Stranglehold scratch his face under the mask; his eyelid kept twitching. "Officially, it's the 'Continuity Stone.'"
Yes, a gag stone with the power to rewrite Marvel's plotlines, making readers find it perfectly reasonable.
Thanos dying from holding in pee, Odin turning into a magical girl, Hulk becoming a flamboyant diva—readers wouldn't bat an eye. Under this stone's influence, the plot felt seamless, natural, like it was meant to be.
No "what the hell" or "bullshit" reactions—just a sense that this was the only way the story could go.
This stone had near-limitless power, surpassing other Infinity Stones. It was the only one that worked in the real world, effective across the Marvel multiverse.
Other stones turned useless outside their home universe.
…
Wade had once held this stone. Marvel editors begged him for it, knowing their stories and comics would always make sense with it.
The bigger the holder's imagination and the lower their morals, the stronger the stone. In Wade's hands, he towered over editors, even telling Stan Lee to shut up.
A black gem glowing red, like wine under moonlight—an editor-given cheat for Deadpool that backfired when they forgot he could reach the real world.
But Wade only played with it a few days. Too invincible, too boring. So he buried it, turning it into a game for the editors.
His chaotic maps, all different, led nowhere. No one found the stone.
Only he knew its location.
Loki didn't require such a heavy hitter; just tossing Wade at him would've sufficed.
But Loki's abilities were too numerous. Su Ming kept raising his estimation of Loki's power. Now, he suspected Loki wasn't just the God of Stories—he likely had an Infinity Stone.
The Reality Stone.
Since returning to the underworld, Loki's feats exceeded a story god's scope.
A story could shape someone's or something's past, creating a butterfly effect to alter their future.
But turning undead into half-human hybrids, raising a sun in the underworld, and crafting a World Tree? These were immediate, reality-altering changes.
People call certain ideas "real," but the Reality Stone could literally, without exaggeration, make them real.
With it, any dream could come true. Science and natural laws meant nothing—it could rewrite them. The Reality Stone didn't just create flawless illusions; if the user willed it, they became reality.
Su Ming deduced Loki used the Reality Stone, powered by the Fate Stone (a.k.a. the Aether), to turn ideas into reality.
It could be worse—Loki might've allied with the future Molecule Man, tricked the Beyonder, or acquired a Cosmic Cube or even the Heart of the Universe.
The Skrull's Cosmic Cube, the "World Shaper," could mimic the Reality Stone's effects.
With this in mind, Su Ming had his cousin pull out the big guns: the utterly unreasonable Continuity Stone.
Sure, it was Wade's cheat, but what's the difference between his cheat and Deathstroke's?
Would Wade hesitate, worried about consequences?
Nah. The crazier the world, the better. As long as there's cash, his moral line could be adjusted with dollar bills.
Wade swung between riches and poverty. A mission might net millions, but he'd blow it in a night.
A few hundred grand for this lady, a few for that one—by morning, he'd be job-hunting again.
But he was happy.
Being an influencer was tough, and he sucked at business. Killing and blowing up Earth was how he got by.
There was a deeper reason Wade stayed a merc. He was smarter than anyone could imagine, with a theory others saw as lunacy.
His "Popularity Equals Lifespan" theory.
Being a merc gave him screen time with heroes and villains alike, boosting his chances of gaining fans.
Could Iron Man pop up in an X-Men daily issue? No. But Deadpool could, seamlessly, even if he wasn't quite a mutant.
Could Black Panther appear in a WWII Hydra story? Nope. But Deadpool could, joking with any Hydra leader.
No matter what solo comic or team readers bought, Deadpool always showed up, always got face time.
He wormed into Spider-Man's solo run, the Avengers, the Guardians of the Galaxy, all sorts of teams—seen and loved.
Wade was a bit crazy now, knowing in Marvel, a character's survival hinged on fan popularity, not strength.
But he wasn't as mad as Universe 12101's Deadpool, who slaughtered the world to escape being watched.
A merc could moonlight as an actor. Surviving was the biggest perk—what's wrong with being seen?
Even the audience watching Marvel, living in their "real" universe, were just actors manipulated by invisible hands of fate, performing for higher beings.
Layer upon layer, there's always a higher level. Everyone's watched, and no one escapes.
So being a paper-thin character in Marvel wasn't so bad. Wade was happy—money, women, thrilling stories. Why chase higher levels? To work in Marvel's editorial office?
Let brooding types like Thanos ponder that. A merc should seize the day, even if he can't die!
Plenty of powerful beings ended up as background props, fleshing out the universe's lore.
Take the cosmic concept "Eternity." He showed up often, so everyone remembered him, earning more appearances.
But Eternity had seven kids, all powerful conceptual beings. Who remembers their names?
Being forgotten is true death.
So when his cousin "jumped ship" from DC, would Wade miss a chance to shine?
No way. That's why he dove into Loki's storybook, picked up by Su Ming at Monarch's doorstep during London's great storm.
It wasn't his choice. His "immortality" was the result, but the cause was missing.
Thanos' curse didn't make him truly immortal—plenty in the universe could kill Deadpool for good.
The world itself kept him alive, shoving him into nearly every story to boost his popularity, ensuring his immortality.