In the eye of a storm, floating silently above the chaos in Hell's Kitchen—
"Alex, are you really just going to let them go wild like this?"
The voice came from Strange, standing in the shimmering dimensional space. His brow furrowed as he peered through the translucent veil into the battlefield below. His gaze was sharp, laced with concern.
The dimensional space itself hovered like a ghost above the neighborhood—half a breath outside reality, half a step beyond imagination. An invisible sentry tower watching the madness unfold beneath it.
Hell's Kitchen resembled a living apocalyptic painting:
One quadrant drowned under sheets of relentless rain, each drop striking the pavement like divine punishment.
Another lay swallowed in a shroud of fog, thick as smoke and heavy with dread.
A third crackled with relentless lightning, thunder fracturing the sky in deafening bursts.
The final zone boiled in a hellish magma storm, flame and molten rock dancing in a fiery death spiral.
"Let them have their chaos," replied Alex Ray, also known as God Slayer, his voice low and unshaken. He stood with his hands behind his back at the edge of the dimensional platform, gaze fixed downward, tone laced with purpose.
"The Vongola rarely get a proper warm-up. If they're finally out of their cages, they may as well enjoy themselves. And besides…" he glanced sideways at Strange, "I'm here, aren't I?"
Strange frowned. Alex's confidence wasn't exactly misplaced—but even so…
Alex continued, "I've been watching closely. Casualties are still within manageable limits. Once it's over, I'll let the Hogwarts students clean up. They could use the exercise."
Alex Ray, leader of this multiversal branch of Vongola and unofficial governor of Hell's Kitchen, hadn't moved a muscle since the battle began. And yet, he knew every inch of the battlefield. He wasn't just commanding this war—he was studying it.
He had deliberately chosen not to fight. This was the first true test in a long while.
From the dimensional space, one could see it all:
Super Saiyan Bardock was unleashing planetary-level strikes on Captain Universe Spider-Man.
E-General was pummeling Tony Stark, who looked like a tin can under a hydraulic press.
Even the mutants, always so proud, were collapsing under the relentless force of high-tier reincarnators.
And still—Alex did not move.
Strange finally broke the silence. "With your strength, this battle would be over in seconds. Why not step in?"
Alex gave a rare smile, half-shadowed in the foglight.
"This is their proving ground. My job is to see who's worth keeping. If they can't handle this batch of reincarnators, they won't last when the real enemies show up."
His tone dipped darker.
"They're faster. Smarter. Stronger. We can't afford to carry dead weight when they arrive."
He didn't say who they were. He didn't have to.
Because even now—beyond the stars, past the boundary of this universe—Alex could feel it:
A vast and ancient force was stirring. Something that made even God Slayer uneasy.
"…Time's running out," he murmured, half to himself, eyes narrowing as the wind in Hell's Kitchen whipped into cyclones of smoke and flame.
But chaos wasn't just isolated to the elemental warzones.
There were two more battlefields, away from the explosive landscapes—ones wreathed in subtler violence:
One was the clash between Kikyo and Arnold, twin Cloud Guardians locked in a silent, merciless storm.
The other—
Was the Sun Guardian battlefield.
The air rang with the rapid-fire thud of fists and arrows. The battlefield was a collapsed city block. Rubble, rusted fire escapes, and shattered signs made it feel like a graveyard more than a warzone.
And right in the middle of it—
Daisy, the Six-Hanging Flowers' twisted Sun Guardian, shambled like a drunk and fought like a nightmare. His eyes were vacant, his grin crooked.
"You punch like a guy in tights from another universe. Real stiff. At least he had style," Daisy rasped mockingly, stumbling forward in that awkward, zombie-like gait. And yet—he never truly fell. Every time he was struck, he rose again. Pieces of flesh reknitted themselves like rewinding film.
Across from him stood the disbanded remnants of the Avengers, disheveled, outnumbered—and quickly realizing they were outmatched.
Hawkeye loosed arrow after arrow, each shot a masterstroke of lethal precision. And each time, the arrows found their mark: in eyes, throats, hearts—
But it didn't matter.
These enemies, these… things—they weren't alive in any way that made sense. Their wounds healed. Their limbs regrew. They didn't flinch. They didn't scream. They just kept coming.
"What the hell are these guys?" Hawkeye muttered, yanking another arrow from his depleted quiver. "Where the hell is Alex and his daycare of multiversal overachievers?!"
Captain America, one arm gone, his uniform shredded, fought with weary determination. He parried one of Daisy's swings with the edge of his shield, only to be knocked back by the sheer rawness of the Sun Guardian's force.
Even worse—he could feel another threat lurking. A hidden figure, watching from the shadows, controlling the battlefield like a puppeteer.
Cap's instincts screamed. Daisy wasn't the real problem.
But every time he thought he saw the controller—he missed. It was like trying to grab a shadow.
Even the fatal damage Cap dealt amounted to nothing. Each time Daisy's body was shattered, it repaired itself faster than Cap could blink.
"I don't get it," Cap thought bitterly, dodging a swipe, "Were all the enemies in this war this untouchable?"
Once, they'd stood toe to toe with Alex Ray himself.
Now?
They couldn't even stand up to his lieutenants.
"Cap! Look out!"
Too late. Daisy's fist crashed into him like a freight train, sending him through a crumbling wall. Dust and plaster rained from the ceiling.
Cap groaned, dragged himself up, and—
Felt a soft tap on his shoulder.
He whirled around, tensed for another blow—
But the man before him wasn't an enemy.
He looked… peaceful. Cloaked in flowing robes that rippled like silk. His face was gentle, eyes warm and glowing like twin suns.
He looked like a high priest who had stepped out of an ancient tapestry.
Until Steve saw his hands—taped like a boxer's, scarred from countless battles.
"Let me handle this," said the priest-like man. His voice was soft. But behind that softness was unshakable conviction. His eyes locked on Daisy, and they burned with the intensity of a dying star.
"Let him feel," he said calmly, "what true power looks like."
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Bonus Chapter - 150 Power Stones
2nd Bonus Chapter - 300 Power Stones
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