The pizza was good—really good, actually—but as Marcus watched the newly formed Justice League laugh and argue over the last slices, his mind kept circling back to what Alfred had said.
Bruce and Selina. Two people clearly in love, clearly meant for each other, yet stubbornly refusing to take that final step. It wasn't just them, though. Marcus had noticed a pattern, something almost supernatural in its consistency.
None of them were married. None of them had kids.
Clark, Barry, Arthur, Victor, Diana when she visited, Oliver—the entire Justice League seemed to exist in this perpetual state of romantic limbo. They saved the world regularly, faced down gods and monsters, but commitment? That was apparently too scary.
Though to be fair, most of them had decent excuses. Barry and Clark were both in their early thirties, still figuring out their lives while juggling superhero duties. Arthur had the whole "king of Atlantis" thing complicating any surface relationships. Victor was still adjusting to being more machine than man, working through the trauma and identity crisis that came with it.
Oliver was younger than Bruce by a good margin, still had time to figure things out.
But Bruce? Bruce was pushing forty, had found the love of his life in Selina, and was still dancing around the obvious conclusion to their relationship. That's what made his situation stand out so starkly. He had no excuse—just fear wrapped in stubbornness and an unhealthy dose of emotional constipation.
Alfred had every right to be frustrated. As the Wayne family's butler and Bruce's closest thing to a father figure, he'd dedicated his life to ensuring the family's continuation. Watching Bruce waste years in an endless courtship must be agonizing.
Marcus chuckled softly, earning a curious glance from Barry, who was vibrating slightly despite his promise not to. The speedster opened his mouth to ask what was funny, but Marcus just shook his head with a smile, redirecting his attention to the conversation.
But yeah, Bruce and Selina needed to get their act together. They weren't getting any younger, and neither was Alfred, regardless of the life serum coursing through his veins.
"They'll figure it out eventually," Marcus had told Alfred during their flight back to Gotham. "Sometimes people need to trip over their own feet before they learn to walk properly."
"I fear Master Bruce will trip so thoroughly he'll need a map to find his feet again," Alfred had replied dryly, earning a genuine laugh from Marcus.
Now, standing outside Wayne Manor as the sun began its descent toward the horizon, Marcus made a decision. He'd give Bruce and Selina a little push—nothing overt, just some strategic advice delivered at the right moment. After all, what were mentors for if not meddling in their students' personal lives for their own good?
"I'm heading to the Manor," Marcus announced to the group. "You all have fun with your new headquarters."
"You're not coming with us?" Clark asked, looking slightly disappointed. The big guy had clearly been hoping for more time to catch up.
"You don't need me hovering over you," Marcus said with a reassuring smile. "This is your base, your team. Besides, Alfred and I have a lot of catching up to do, and I'm fairly certain he'd prefer that conversation happen in private."
Bruce nodded, understanding immediately. "The secondary manor is about twenty minutes from here. Former safe house I converted. It'll serve as our headquarters until we can build something more permanent."
"Or until Oliver buys us something flashier," Barry quipped. "No offense to your safe house, but I've seen your taste in 'temporary' bases. Lots of gray concrete and brooding atmosphere."
"It's practical," Bruce defended.
"It's depressing," Selina countered, earning laughs from the others. "But we'll make it work. Maybe add some color, some life. Turn it from a bunker into an actual workspace."
"I'm putting a kitchen in," Barry declared. "A real one, with a industrial-grade oven and everything. If I'm going to be spending time there, I need food readily available."
"And a laboratory," Victor added. "The Mother Box technology alone will take months to properly analyze and integrate."
They were already planning, already making the space theirs. Marcus felt a warm satisfaction at seeing it. This was what leadership looked like—not one person dictating terms, but a group of equals building something together.
"Have fun," Marcus said, and then reality rippled around him as he void-stepped directly into Wayne Manor, leaving the heroes to their excited planning.
The Manor was quiet when Marcus materialized in the main foyer. Afternoon light streamed through the tall windows, casting long shadows across the polished floors. The place always felt bigger when it was empty, like a museum preserving the memory of a family rather than housing a living one.
Marcus made his way through familiar halls, his footsteps echoing softly. He could hear Alfred moving around somewhere on the second floor—probably preparing one of the guest rooms for Marcus's stay. The butler had a sixth sense about these things, always knowing when someone would need accommodations before they'd even decided to stay.
But Marcus didn't head upstairs immediately. Instead, he walked to his old room—the one Bruce had kept exactly as Marcus had left it years ago. It was a mark of respect, a way of saying "you're always welcome here," and Marcus appreciated the gesture more than Bruce probably realized.
He settled into the chair by the window, looking out over the Manor's extensive grounds. The gardens were immaculate as always, Alfred's handiwork evident in every manicured hedge and perfectly arranged flower bed. Beyond that, Gotham City sprawled in the distance, a concrete jungle that bred as much darkness as it did heroism.
And beneath it all, carved into the Earth itself in patterns that stretched for thousands of miles, was something that had captured Marcus's attention the moment he'd arrived in this world.
The Anti-Life Equation.
Marcus had glimpsed it during his brief mental contact with Steppenwolf—seen it through the alien conqueror's memories, burning in Darkseid's mind like an obsession given form. The dark god of Apokolips had been searching for this equation across the multiverse, desperate to possess the one thing that could make every living being in existence submit to his will completely.
And it was right here. On Earth. Had been for millions of years, just waiting for someone powerful enough to claim it.
"Interesting how the most dangerous things are often hiding in plain sight," Marcus murmured to himself.
He'd been thinking about it during the entire pizza celebration, running calculations in his head, considering the implications. The Anti-Life Equation wasn't just some abstract mathematical formula—it was a fundamental truth about existence itself, a proof that free will was an illusion and that all life could be reduced to controllable variables.
In the wrong hands, it would be catastrophic. In Darkseid's hands specifically, it would mean the end of freedom for every sentient being in the universe.
But in Marcus's hands? With the void's power to purify and transform? That was a different story entirely.
"The Anti-Life Equation and the Life Equation," Marcus said softly, his eyes beginning to glow with faint traces of void energy. "Two sides of the same cosmic coin. Control and freedom. Subjugation and liberation."
He only knew where one of them was. The Life Equation remained hidden somewhere in the multiverse, its location a mystery even to beings as powerful as Darkseid or the New Gods of New Genesis. But the Anti-Life Equation? That was within reach right now.
And if he didn't take it, eventually someone else would. Darkseid would return, would search, and would eventually find what he sought. Better to remove the temptation entirely, to claim this power and prevent it from falling into the hands of a would-be universal tyrant.
Besides, Marcus had his own uses for it.
His Warframes—the various armored forms he could manifest, each with unique abilities and powers—had been strengthened by the Incinerator Ring's evolution, but most of them remained at their base level.
The Anti-Life Equation's power could potentially push other Warframes toward that same evolution. Not all the way—the equation wasn't quite potent enough for multiple complete ascensions—but it could enhance them significantly, add new dimensions to their abilities.
"Let's see what we're working with," Marcus said, and then he let the void power flow.
His eyes blazed white-gold, the pupils disappearing entirely as his perception shifted. The physical world dimmed, became translucent, while the underlying energies that shaped reality came into sharp focus. He could see the ley lines of magical power crisscrossing the earth, the faint radiation of Mother Boxes scattered across the planet, the residual dimensional tears from recent Boom Tube activity.
And there, beneath everything else, was a brilliant crimson light.
It stretched across the entire planet, a vast geometric pattern carved into the Earth's fundamental structure. Not physically—the equation existed on a deeper level than mere matter, imprinted on the quantum fabric that connected all living things. But its signature was unmistakable, a web of corrupting energy that touched every corner of the globe.
"Damn," Marcus breathed, genuinely impressed despite himself. "No wonder Darkseid wants this so badly. The scale alone is incredible."
The equation pulsed with dark potential, each node of the pattern representing a different aspect of control and domination. Despair, hopelessness, submission, the death of aspiration—all the things that crushed free will and reduced sapient beings to obedient puppets. Combined together in the right sequence, these concepts formed an equation that could override the fundamental desire for freedom encoded in all living creatures.
Marcus stood, his form beginning to shimmer as void energy surrounded him completely. He phased partially out of sync with normal reality, existing in that liminal space where the physical and metaphysical overlapped. From here, he could interact directly with the equation without triggering its defensive mechanisms.
He knelt and pressed his hand against the floor. To anyone watching, it would look like he was simply touching the polished wood. But in the reality Marcus now occupied, his hand passed through the physical matter and made contact with the crimson light beneath.
The Anti-Life Equation reacted immediately.
It was like touching a live wire made of malevolent consciousness. The equation fought, its energy surging up through Marcus's arm, trying to infect him, control him, add him to the pattern of subjugation it represented. Lesser beings would have been overwhelmed instantly, their minds crushed under the weight of absolute despair.
But Marcus wasn't a lesser being, and he didn't fight the equation's influence directly. Instead, he let the void flow through the contact point, meeting corruption with purification, domination with freedom.
The void was emptiness, but not the despairing emptiness the equation offered. It was the emptiness of potential, of infinite possibility untainted by predefined outcomes. Where the Anti-Life Equation sought to prove that choice was meaningless, the void offered proof that choice was the only meaning that mattered.
"You're powerful," Marcus acknowledged as he pushed more void energy into the equation, watching it spread like crystalline roots through the crimson pattern. "But power without adaptation is just waiting to be overcome."
The equation resisted. Of course it did. This was the obsession of Darkseid himself, refined over eons, carved into reality with the combined might of Apokolips's darkest sciences and magics. It had withstood the efforts of gods and cosmic entities to destroy or claim it.
But those attempts had tried to dominate the equation, to overpower it through brute force or counter it with opposing philosophies. Marcus was doing something different. He wasn't trying to destroy the Anti-Life Equation or oppose its fundamental nature.
He was assimilating it.
The void spread through the crimson pattern, each node of the equation becoming infected with white-gold energy. But infection implied corruption, and that wasn't quite accurate. Instead, Marcus was offering the equation a choice it had never had before—the option to become something more than a tool for enslavement.
"Imagine," Marcus whispered, his voice echoing across multiple dimensional frequencies as he worked, "what you could be if your power wasn't locked into one purpose. You prove that life can be reduced to equations, that behavior can be predicted and controlled. But what if you could also prove the opposite? That even predictable systems can choose to act unpredictably?"
The equation shuddered. For something that existed to deny free will, it was experiencing something dangerously close to indecision. The void energy offered it evolution, transformation into something greater than it currently was.
But accepting that transformation meant accepting that it had a choice.
The philosophical paradox would have destroyed lesser constructs. The Anti-Life Equation, however, was built from fundamental truths about existence. It couldn't be destroyed by paradox—it could only be changed by it.
Slowly, reluctantly, the resistance lessened. The crimson light began accepting the void's presence, allowing itself to be wrapped in that purifying energy. The transition accelerated, Marcus's power spreading from Gotham to cover North America, then South America, racing across oceans to Asia, Europe, Africa, Australia.
If any cosmic entity had been watching Earth at that moment, they would have seen something impossible—the planet's surface becoming wrapped in a geometric pattern of white-gold light, completely encasing the world in a net of transformed power.
Inside Wayne Manor, Marcus's physical body was completely still, but sweat beaded on his forehead from the concentration required to manage the assimilation. This wasn't like absorbing some random artifact or dimensional energy. He was claiming a fundamental concept of reality itself, refining it through the void's transformative properties.
The pattern around Earth pulsed once, twice, three times—and then contracted.
All that vast power, that miles-spanning equation carved into the planet's deepest structures, compressed rapidly. It flowed back toward the point of contact, toward Marcus's outstretched hand, pulling itself free from the Earth's foundation and condensing into something smaller, more manageable.
When it finished, Marcus held a palm-sized construct of pure energy—a circuit board made of light and mathematics, covered in symbols that hurt to look at directly. The Anti-Life Equation, complete and undiminished, but now transformed by the void into something that answered only to him.
"There we go," Marcus said, allowing himself a tired smile. He let the void vision fade, his eyes returning to normal as the physical world solidified around him again. "Not quite what Darkseid was looking for, I imagine."
The equation in his hand pulsed gently, almost contentedly. It was still dangerous—the power to control any living being remained at its core—but now that power was filtered through the void's influence. It couldn't be used carelessly or without Marcus's direct will. It had become a tool rather than a corrupting influence.
Now came the interesting part: deciding what to do with it.
Marcus turned the construct over in his hands, studying its structure. The equation was composed of multiple elements, different conceptual forces that combined to create its total effect. Despair, inevitability, submission, the futility of resistance—each was its own mini-equation, a building block that contributed to the whole.
"I could give this to a single Warframe," Marcus mused, "try to push one straight to Prime status. But the fit isn't perfect. The Anti-Life Equation's nature doesn't align perfectly with any single frame's concept."
Excalibur was about honorable combat and radiant power—the opposite of the equation's crushing despair. Volt dealt with speed and electricity, which had nothing to do with mental domination..
"But if I break it apart," Marcus continued, his mind racing through possibilities, "distribute the component equations across multiple frames... that could work. The despair aspect could enhance Nekros's death manipulation. The inevitability component fits with Atlas's unstoppable strength. Submission elements could amplify Nyx's mind control abilities."
It wouldn't result in any Prime evolutions—the power would be too diluted for that—but it would significantly upgrade every Warframe he possessed. They'd gain new capabilities, enhanced versions of existing abilities, and most importantly, each frame would get a piece of power that the void had already purified and made safe.
"More versatility over raw ascension," Marcus decided. "I can live with that."
He closed his eyes and let his awareness sink into the Warframe network—the interconnected system of armors that existed as both equipment and extensions of his own being. Each frame had its own chamber in the mental space Marcus maintained, its own identity and capabilities.
The Anti-Life Equation began fragmenting in his hands, each piece glowing with different colored light as it separated into component parts. Marcus guided each fragment to its appropriate destination, matching conceptual themes with Warframe abilities.
A piece of crushing despair merged with Nekros, the death-themed frame that could command corpses and drain life force. The fragment enhanced its necromantic abilities, made its death magic more absolute.
The concept of inevitable submission flowed into Nyx, the psychic frame, amplifying its mind control and confusion effects. Now when Nyx invaded someone's thoughts, they wouldn't just be confused—they'd feel the futility of resistance on a fundamental level.
Unstoppable force, the equation's element that crushed all opposition, bonded with Atlas, the stone-and-strength frame. Already capable of petrifying enemies and hitting with seismic force, Atlas gained an aspect of true inexorability.
On and on it went, each Warframe receiving a fragment suited to its nature. Volt's electricity became more devastating, carrying not just physical charge but the equation's ability to override biological functions. Gyre's electric dancer abilities gained an element of inescapable judgment, making its lightning attacks nearly impossible to dodge or defend against.
Even Vauban, the engineering-focused frame, received an upgrade—its deployed fortifications gained an aspect of the equation that made them psychologically imposing, causing enemies to instinctively avoid or falter before them.
Marcus's body glowed with cascading light as each fragment integrated, different colors rippling across his form as twenty-plus Warframes underwent simultaneous enhancement. The process took several minutes, each frame needing individual attention to ensure the power bonded correctly without causing adverse effects.
Finally, it was done. The Anti-Life Equation had been completely disassembled and distributed, its power no longer concentrated in one overwhelming tool of domination but spread across Marcus's arsenal as targeted enhancements.
The construct in his hand had transformed as well. What remained wasn't the equation itself—that had been absorbed into his frames—but rather a mark, a symbol of his mastery over the concept. It looked like a circuit board tattoo made of white-gold light, small enough to fit in his palm.
Marcus closed his fist, and the mark sank into his skin, vanishing from external view but remaining present at a deeper level. He could feel it there, proof of his achievement, and by concentrating on it, he could theoretically reconstitute the full Anti-Life Equation if necessary.
"Not that I'll need to," Marcus said, flexing his fingers experimentally. "But it's good to have options."
He took a deep breath and let it out slowly, feeling the new power settle into place. His Warframes hummed with enhanced strength, each one now noticeably more powerful than before. None had achieved Prime status, but they'd all taken a significant step in that direction.
And best of all, Darkseid's prize was no longer waiting for him on Earth. When the dark god eventually came looking—and he would, inevitably—he'd find nothing but an empty space where his precious equation should have been.
The thought made Marcus smile.
A knock at the door interrupted his satisfaction. "Master Marcus?" Alfred's cultured voice called. "I've prepared dinner. I trust you've finished with whatever metaphysical undertaking you were engaged in?"
Marcus had to laugh. Of course Alfred would notice something was happening, even without being able to perceive the dimensional effects directly. The butler had spent too many years around Bruce and his superhero associates to not recognize when reality was being bent nearby.
"Just finished, actually," Marcus called back, standing and stretching. His body felt fine—the Anti-Life Equation's assimilation had been entirely metaphysical—but he was definitely hungry. Restructuring fundamental cosmic concepts burned calories even when you were doing it with supernatural powers.
"Excellent timing. I've prepared several of your favorites, as I recall them."
Marcus opened the door to find Alfred waiting with his usual impeccable posture, not a hair out of place despite the late hour. The elderly butler's eyes were sharp though, studying Marcus with the assessment of someone who'd spent a lifetime reading people.
"Everything alright?" Alfred asked, his tone making it less a question and more a gentle probe.
"Everything's fine," Marcus assured him. "Better than fine, actually. Earth just became significantly safer, though no one will notice the difference except in what doesn't happen."
Alfred nodded, understanding without needing details. "The best kind of heroism—preventing disasters so thoroughly they never become stories. Master Bruce could learn something from that approach, rather than his insistence on dramatic last-second interventions."
"Bruce likes the drama," Marcus said with a grin. "Makes him feel like the hero from those old movies Thomas used to watch."
"Indeed. Now come, the food is getting cold, and I refuse to let my culinary efforts go to waste while you stand about congratulating yourself on saving the world in ways no one will ever know about."
They walked together toward the dining room, falling into comfortable companionship. Marcus could smell the food before they arrived—Alfred had gone all out, preparing a full spread that would have been appropriate for a state dinner rather than a casual meal for two.
"You didn't have to go to all this trouble," Marcus said, though he appreciated it immensely.
"Nonsense. You are a guest in this house and more importantly, you are family. The Wayne household has always treated family with appropriate hospitality, even when that family can apparently bend reality to their will and appropriate cosmic weapons of mass subjugation."
Marcus nearly choked on his first bite of the expertly prepared steak. "You—how did you—?"
"I didn't know the specifics," Alfred said primly, taking his own seat. "But you forget that I helped Master Bruce install dimensional sensors in the Manor after that incident with the demon possessed toaster. The readings were quite dramatic for approximately seven minutes and thirty-two seconds. I deduced you were doing something significant and reality-adjacent."
"Demon possessed toaster?" Marcus asked, desperately needing to hear that story.
"Long tale, best told over wine. The short version involves Constantine, a cursed artifact, and Master Bruce's stubborn insistence on making breakfast personally despite my repeated offers to handle it. The toaster developed homicidal tendencies and attempted to burn down the kitchen."
They ate and talked, the conversation flowing easily between casual gossip and deeper topics. Alfred filled Marcus in on the details of Bruce's life over the past few years—the battles, the victories, the struggles, and yes, the continuing saga of Bruce and Selina's relationship that refused to progress.
In return, Marcus shared edited versions of his travels across dimensions, the threats he'd dealt with, the people he'd helped. He left out the darkest parts, the battles that had nearly broken him, the costs he'd paid. Alfred didn't need those burdens, and besides, the butler had enough to worry about with Bruce.
"You've been away too long," Alfred said eventually, refilling their wine glasses. "The young master would never admit it, but he missed your guidance. He's become an excellent hero, a capable leader, but there are aspects of his development that... well, that could benefit from your influence."
"You mean his emotional constipation regarding Selina?"
Alfred's lips quirked in a small smile. "That is indeed one area of concern, yes. But there are others. He's become perhaps too focused on his mission, too willing to sacrifice personal happiness for the greater good. It's admirable, certainly, but..."
"But it's not sustainable," Marcus finished. "Heroes who deny themselves everything eventually burn out or break. I've seen it happen."
"Precisely. Master Bruce needs to understand that being a hero doesn't mean being miserable, that he's allowed to have a life beyond the cowl." Alfred sighed. "I've tried to communicate this, but as his butler and guardian, my words carry certain... baggage. He hears concern for his wellbeing and interprets it as doubt in his capabilities."
"You want me to talk to him."
"If you would. Not immediately, perhaps, but when the opportunity arises. He respects you, Master Marcus. You trained him, taught him that power without wisdom leads to tyranny. Perhaps you can also teach him that wisdom without happiness leads to emptiness."
Marcus nodded slowly, committing to the task. Bruce did need someone to shake him out of his self-imposed isolation, and Selina needed the same push from a different angle. Maybe a few strategic conversations, some well-placed observations...
"I'll see what I can do," Marcus promised. "Though I should warn you—my mentorship style involves a lot of letting people figure things out themselves while I make cryptic comments from the sidelines."
"Given Master Bruce's detective nature, cryptic comments may be exactly what's needed. Make him work for the revelation, and he'll value it more."
They finished dinner in comfortable silence, the kind that only exists between people who've known each other long enough that words become optional. Alfred began clearing dishes, waving off Marcus's attempts to help with a firm "Guests do not do dishes in Wayne Manor, no matter how reality-warping their capabilities might be."
Marcus returned to his room, settling into the familiar space with a contentment he hadn't felt in a while. Dimensional travel was exciting, exploring the multiverse provided endless challenges and discoveries, but there was something special about coming home—even when home was someone else's manor.
He had months of work ahead of him, testing the Anti-Life Equation's enhancements, making sure the power had integrated properly with each Warframe. And beyond that, he had an idea brewing, something inspired by Vauban's engineering capabilities and enhanced by the fragment of the equation he'd just absorbed.
Autonomous weapons. Defense systems. Technology that could operate independently while still responding to his will. With the right application of Vauban Prime's abilities and some creative engineering...
Yeah, he had a project to keep himself busy.
Three Months Later
Marcus stood in Wayne Manor's training room—actually a repurposed ballroom that Bruce had converted decades ago—surrounded by floating metal constructs that orbited him like miniature moons.
Two metallic spheres, each about the size of a basketball, circled at shoulder height. They had a sleek, organic quality to their design, smooth surfaces broken by subtle panel lines that glowed with soft blue light. Behind him, a ring of diamond-shaped metal blocks rose and fell in a gentle wave pattern, their movements synchronized with his breathing.
This was what three months of focused engineering produced when you combined Vauban Prime's technological mastery with fragments of the Anti-Life Equation and an unhealthy amount of perfectionism.
Marcus raised his hand slowly, and the two spheres drifted forward obediently, positioning themselves directly in front of him. At his mental command, they began transforming.
The smooth surfaces split along those panel lines, metal petals unfurling like mechanical flowers blooming in fast-forward. The spheres reorganized themselves into lotus-like structures, each with multiple layers of razor-sharp petals surrounding a central core that pulsed with contained energy.
"Phase one complete," Marcus murmured, watching the transformation with satisfaction. The lotus configuration was primarily for close-to-medium range combat. The petals could be launched independently as projectiles, manipulated telepathically to create complex attack patterns, or used defensively to intercept incoming fire.
But the real punch was in those central cores. High-energy pulse cannons, capable of outputting destructive force comparable to Victor's sonic weapons. Not quite planet-cracker level, but definitely sufficient to ruin someone's day.
The diamond-shaped blocks responded to his next thought, flowing forward and assembling themselves into long, elegant swords. Six of them total, each blade approximately four feet in length, forged from layered defensive plating that could withstand tremendous punishment.
Actually, "defensive plating" was underselling them significantly. Each individual diamond block was a miniaturized shield generator, capable of projecting energy barriers. When assembled into swords, they created weapons that were practically indestructible and could, in a pinch, be dispersed to form a massive defensive matrix around Marcus or whatever he was protecting.
"Combat mode: active," Marcus said, and the equipment responded instantly.
The lotus constructs spun rapidly, their petals creating a deadly perimeter around his upper body. The six swords arranged themselves in a hexagonal pattern behind him, points aimed outward, ready to launch at designated targets or intercept incoming threats.
All of it operated semi-autonomously through a combination of Vauban Prime's engineering subroutines and the strategic calculation fragments from the Anti-Life Equation. Marcus could control everything manually if he wanted, but the systems could also operate independently, reacting to threats and opportunities faster than conscious thought would allow.
It was beautiful, efficient, and deeply satisfying in a way that surprised him. He'd built weapons before, crafted tools and technologies across multiple dimensions, but something about these constructs felt right. Maybe it was the combination of so many different power sources—Warframe abilities, void energy, equation fragments, pure engineering skill. Or maybe he was just getting sentimental in his old age.
"What do you think, Alfred?" Marcus called out, knowing the butler was watching from the observation area. Alfred had made a habit of checking in on Marcus's project periodically, equal parts curious and concerned about what was being built in his ballroom.
"I think, Master Marcus, that you've created something quite remarkable," Alfred replied, his voice carrying through the room's intercom. "Though I must ask—is there a particular threat you're preparing for, or is this simply keeping yourself occupied?"
"Bit of both," Marcus admitted, dismissing the combat configuration. The lotus constructs folded back into spheres, and the swords disassembled into their component blocks. "These are for situations where I don't need full Warframe power but want more capability than just standing around looking mysterious."
"Ah yes, because standing around looking mysterious is such a limiting state for someone who can bend reality."
Marcus laughed. "You'd be surprised how often it comes up. But seriously, these should let me handle mid-tier threats without needing to transform. Efficient, scalable, and they look cool doing it."
"The 'looking cool' factor is indeed important," Alfred said dryly. "I shall have to inform Master Bruce that aesthetic considerations are now a valid justification for weapons development. It will save him considerable effort in explaining his vehicle designs."
The two spheres settled into a resting position on either side of Marcus, hovering at waist height. The diamond blocks formed a neat stack on a nearby workbench, their faint glow dimming to a barely perceptible pulse. Everything powered down to standby mode, ready to activate at a moment's notice but not drawing unnecessary energy.
"Are they going to be floating around the Manor now?" Alfred asked. "Should I prepare the staff for autonomous weapons systems sharing their workspace?"
"I can store them in pocket dimensions when they're not needed," Marcus assured him. "They'll only manifest when I actively call them. No risk of the maid accidentally bumping into a laser lotus while dusting."
"That is a relief. The current staff is quite competent, and I'd prefer not to have to replace them due to accidents involving experimental weaponry."
Marcus gathered the constructs with a gesture, and they vanished into ripples of void energy, stored in the same dimensional space where he kept his Warframe equipment. They'd remain there until needed, existing in that liminal state between reality and potential.
"Project complete," Marcus announced, stretching. Three months of intensive work condensed into technology that would make most fights trivial. Not bad for a side project.