With Nekros Prime successfully upgraded and the Ophidian's greed integrated into his arsenal, Marcus turned his attention to the remaining four emotional spectrum entities. Each one pulsed in its void-pocket storage, waiting to be paired with an appropriate Warframe.
This was the delicate part. He had seven entities total, but dozens of Warframes. The choice of which armor received which entity would determine his combat capabilities for the foreseeable future. A poor match would waste the entity's potential. The right combination could create something extraordinary.
Marcus pulled out the four remaining spheres and laid them out in front of him, studying each one carefully.
The Ion—green light of willpower, embodied as a shark-like entity. Pure determination given form, the absolute conviction to persist against any obstacle. This was the power that let Green Lanterns overcome impossible odds through sheer force of will.
The Adara—blue light of hope, manifested as a three-faced bird. Optimism incarnate, the belief that tomorrow could be better than today. This entity amplified other positive emotions, made allies stronger, turned desperate situations into opportunities.
The Proselyte—indigo light of compassion, taking the form of a tentacled creature. Empathy weaponized, the ability to understand suffering and respond appropriately. It could teleport, manipulate space, force beings to feel what others felt.
The Predator—violet light of love, appearing as a crystalline entity of pure beauty. Not the gentle love of friendship, but the obsessive, all-consuming passion that drove beings to extreme actions. It could crystallize targets, convert enemies through overwhelming affection, create unbreakable bonds.
Four entities. Four very different aspects of the emotional spectrum. And Marcus needed to choose which of his Warframes would receive each one.
"The Ion," Marcus said, picking up the green sphere, "represents willpower. Determination. The refusal to yield."
He considered his options. Several frames could work—Rhino's unstoppable charges, Atlas's immovable defense, even Inaros's survival capabilities. But there was one frame that embodied will more perfectly than any other.
Harrow
The armor manifested around Marcus, and it was immediately clear why this was the right choice. Harrow was designed around themes of sacrifice, penance, and absolute devotion. The frame looked like a warrior priest, complete with a thurible that swung from chains and a design aesthetic that evoked medieval flagellants.
Harrow's entire kit was built on trading personal suffering for power. His abilities damaged himself to buff allies, reduced his own defenses to increase offensive capability, turned pain into strength. It was willpower personified—the determination to endure any hardship for a greater cause.
"Perfect," Marcus said, pressing the Ion's sphere against Harrow's chest.
The green light flooded into the armor, and Marcus immediately felt the shift. Harrow's inherent masochism merged with the Ion's absolute determination, creating a synthesis that was more than the sum of its parts. The willpower to endure anything combined with abilities that rewarded self-sacrifice.
Chains burst from Harrow's body—not physical chains, but manifestations of pure willpower. They wrapped around the frame, constraining it, binding it, creating limitations that paradoxically increased power. Each chain represented a vow, a commitment, an unbreakable promise to persist no matter the cost.
The thurible that hung from Harrow's hand began glowing with green light, and golden decorations traced across the armor's surface. Where base Harrow looked like a penitent warrior, the upgraded form was evolving into something more—a high priest, a pope, someone who didn't just endure suffering but sanctified it.
Harrow Prime.
When the transformation completed, Marcus stood in armor that radiated sacred authority. Harrow Prime looked like religious nobility, combining the aesthetics of both warrior and clergy. The chains that had bound him now floated freely, each link glowing with green light, ready to bind enemies instead of self.
"Impressive," Marcus said, testing the new capabilities. The chains responded to his will, lashing out and wrapping around imaginary targets. But these weren't just physical restraints—they were willpower made manifest. Anything caught in these chains would find their own will suppressed, their determination to resist crushed by the absolute conviction of Harrow Prime.
The Ion's power had transformed Harrow's suffering-based abilities into something more refined. Now, instead of just trading personal harm for power, Marcus could force that trade onto enemies. Make them suffer to fuel his allies' strength. Turn their pain into his power.
It was brutal. Effective. And perfectly in line with Harrow's theme of penance and sacrifice.
Marcus dismissed Harrow Prime and picked up the next sphere—the Adara's blue light.
"Hope," he mused. "The ability to amplify others, to make them believe they can exceed their limits."
This one was easier to match. Marcus had a Warframe specifically designed for support, for making allies stronger rather than fighting directly.
Trinity.
The armor that manifested was slender, almost fragile-looking compared to most of Marcus's frames. Trinity was built entirely around support abilities—healing allies, restoring energy, redirecting damage, creating links that shared power between teammates.
In solo combat, Trinity was relatively weak. But in a team? Trinity made everyone else shine, turning a good squad into an unstoppable force through constant support and amplification.
And the Adara's hope energy was made for amplification.
Marcus pressed the blue sphere against Trinity's chest, and the transformation was immediately different from the others. Where previous upgrades had been violent, explosive affairs, this one was gentle. The blue light spread through Trinity like water soaking into cloth, permeating every aspect of the frame without resistance.
Trinity's body filled out slightly, becoming less thin and more balanced. The armor's skirt extended, flowing dramatically even in the absence of wind. And around the frame, a aura of blue light began forming—a field of hope that would touch everyone nearby.
Trinity Prime.
The name took on new meaning once the transformation completed. Where base Trinity could support a team, Trinity Prime could support an army. The hope energy radiating from the frame was so potent that even beings without any power of their own would feel themselves capable of greatness.
Marcus tested the aura, letting it extend outward. Even in empty space, with no allies to buff, he could feel the effect. The blue light wanted to find people, wanted to enhance them, wanted to give them the strength to exceed their perceived limits.
"This will be useful for large-scale operations," Marcus noted. "When I need to support multiple people simultaneously, Trinity Prime will make them all function at their peak."
The healing abilities had been enhanced too. Where Trinity could restore health and energy, Trinity Prime could push people beyond their normal maximums, temporarily grant them capabilities they didn't naturally possess, all fueled by the conviction that they could do more.
Two down, two to go.
Marcus picked up the Predator's violet sphere, studying the crystalline light of love. This one was tricky. Love as an emotion was complex, and the violet light's manifestation of it was obsessive, possessive, all-consuming.
He needed a frame that dealt with minds, with perception, with the subjective nature of reality.
Nyx
The armor materialized, and it was immediately clear this would be an interesting combination. Nyx was Marcus's psychic specialist, built around confusion, mind control, and perception manipulation. The frame could make enemies attack each other, absorb incoming damage and reflect it back, create fields of mental chaos.
Nyx was unsettling even in base form—the helmet design suggested a face that was wrong somehow, proportions that didn't quite match human norms, an overall aesthetic that made people instinctively uncomfortable.
Adding the Predator's obsessive love to that? This was either going to be brilliant or disturbing. Possibly both.
Marcus pressed the violet sphere to Nyx's chest, and the reaction was immediate and intense. The love energy didn't just merge with Nyx—it infected it, spreading through the armor like a virus and changing everything it touched.
Nyx Prime
The result was magnificent and terrible. Nyx Prime looked more ornate than the base version, with golden decorations and elegant design elements that suggested nobility. But those improvements made it worse somehow—like putting a beautiful mask on something monstrous.
The frame radiated an aura that made reality itself seem uncertain. Just standing near Nyx Prime would make beings question their perceptions, doubt their senses, wonder if what they were seeing was real.
And if they looked directly at the frame? Their minds would simply break.
Not dramatically, not violently. They would just stop thinking clearly. Their willpower would erode, their sense of self would blur, and gradually—inevitably—they would become susceptible to Nyx Prime's mental manipulations.
"Terrifying," Marcus said with satisfaction. "Base Nyx could control minds through active effort. Nyx Prime controls them just by being present. The Predator's obsessive love has been transformed into obsessive attention—anyone who focuses on this frame becomes psychologically compromised."
The combination of love's all-consuming nature and Nyx's mind manipulation had created something that operated on a more fundamental level than either alone. This wasn't just mental control—it was reality manipulation through perception, making targets believe whatever Nyx Prime wanted them to believe.
Three entities integrated. One remained.
Marcus picked up the final sphere—the Proselyte's indigo light. Compassion, empathy, the ability to understand and respond to suffering.
This one was different because Marcus had a specific plan for it.
"I'm not upgrading an existing frame with this one," Marcus said, rolling the indigo sphere between his fingers. "I'm creating something new."
He'd been considering this for a while now—the possibility of creating a Warframe at Prime level from the beginning, skipping the base version entirely. It required more energy, more precise control, more careful shaping of the power structure.
Marcus reached into his void storage and pulled out the fundamental template he'd been developing—a support-oriented frame similar to Trinity but with a different mechanical focus. Where Trinity healed and buffed, this new frame would manipulate the battlefield itself, create zones of power, transform the environment.
Citrine - The Crystal Sovereign.
The name came to Marcus as he began the manifestation. The frame would be built around crystalline energy, geometric perfection, the beauty of ordered structure. And with the Proselyte's compassion woven into it from the start...
He began the creation process, pouring void energy into the template while simultaneously integrating the indigo light and Royal Aya. The four elements—void, compassion, refinement, and design template—spiraled together, fighting for balance, seeking the right configuration.
Slowly, an armor took shape in front of Marcus. It didn't manifest on his body like the others—instead, it formed in the space before him, building itself piece by piece from pure energy.
The result was breathtaking.
Citrine Prime looked like a work of art, a sculpture made from living crystal. The entire frame was composed of geometric shapes that caught and refracted light in impossible ways, creating rainbow effects that should have required physical materials but instead were just properties of the energy itself.
Where other Warframes looked like armor, Citrine Prime looked like a crown jewel—something so beautiful it transcended mere utility and became precious simply for existing.
Indigo light pulsed through the crystalline structure, visible through the transparent sections, creating patterns that resembled circulatory systems or neural networks. And around the frame, smaller crystals orbited like satellites, each one blooming like a flower opening to the sun.
"Perfect," Marcus breathed, reaching out to touch Citrine Prime. The armor was warm despite being made of crystal, responsive despite having no obvious control mechanisms.
This was the most gorgeous armor he'd ever created. If Nekros Prime was death made elegant and Nyx Prime was beauty hiding horror, then Citrine Prime was pure aesthetic perfection. A queen among frames, wearing geometry and light like royal regalia.
Marcus manifested the armor on himself, and immediately felt the difference. Citrine Prime's abilities were all area-based—creating fields of crystalline energy that granted different effects. Healing zones. Damage amplification zones. Defense buffs. Resource generation. All manifested as beautiful geometric patterns that transformed the battlefield into a work of art.
The Proselyte's compassion energy enhanced this dramatically. Now, the zones didn't just provide benefits—they understood what was needed. If allies were wounded, healing increased. If they needed energy, generation spiked. If they were overwhelmed, defenses strengthened.
The armor responded to suffering with appropriate aid, exactly as the compassion entity had done in its original form.
"Four upgrades complete," Marcus said with deep satisfaction.
"Which means," Marcus said, beginning to search through the void for suitable worlds, "I need to find places with power that I can harvest."
Marcus floated in the space between dimensions, his consciousness extended through the void to touch countless reality streams. Each one represented a different universe, a different set of physical laws, a different potential for power.
Some were weak—universes where the strongest beings could barely crack planets. Useful for relaxation, maybe, but not for growth.
Some were too strong—universes where casual conflicts reshaped galaxies and casual beings wielded power that would make Darkseid look like a child. Dangerous to enter without more preparation.
What Marcus needed was a universe with variety—a place where power levels ranged from manageable to challenging, giving him opportunities to grow without immediately facing extinction-level threats.
He sensed one world that fit those criteria. The power signature was interesting—genetic in nature, built into the biology of beings rather than external like the emotional spectrum. And there was range. Weak mortals, enhanced soldiers, god-level entities.
Perfect.
But more than that, there was something familiar about this universe. Marcus couldn't quite place it, but he felt like he'd encountered similar energies before, perhaps in other dimensions or other contexts.
"Let's investigate," Marcus decided, and opened a void rift toward that universe.
The transition was smooth—no dimensional turbulence, no reality rejection. Marcus stepped through the rift and immediately felt the difference.
This universe's energy was structured differently. Instead of external power sources that beings tapped into, the power here was intrinsic—written into their genetic code, activated through biological processes. Super genes, they called them. Divine bodies that could be upgraded to withstand increasingly powerful attacks.
"Fascinating," Marcus murmured. "Power as an evolutionary trait rather than a learned skill. That has applications."
He was standing in space above a planet that was clearly Earth—same continental arrangements, same atmospheric composition. But this wasn't the DC Earth he'd just left. This was a different version, shaped by different rules.
And on this Earth, something major was happening.
Marcus felt the energy signatures immediately—two massive power sources in direct confrontation. One radiated authority and judgment, the other reeked of chaos and rebellion. Both were immensely strong by this universe's standards, operating at what the locals probably called "fourth generation divine body" levels.
Angels and demons, Marcus realized. This universe had its own version of that eternal conflict.
And one of them had just noticed his arrival.
Earth Orbit - Above an Aircraft Carrier [ Super Gene ]
Holy Kesha, King of Angels, sat upon her throne and looked down at the primitive planet below with mild interest. Earth was a backwater, really—barely into space travel, still fighting among themselves, technologically inferior to even her youngest angels.
But it was Morgana's hiding place, which made it strategically important.
"War, war, war everywhere," Kesha said with aristocratic disdain. "No wonder the God of Death karl is interested in you."
She was about to continue her monologue—angels did love their dramatic speeches—when she felt something that made her pause.
Power. Massive power. Approaching rapidly from deep space.
Her enhanced senses, built through thirty thousand years of life and countless upgrades to her divine body, screamed danger. Whatever was coming wasn't a known entity. It wasn't registered in any database. It existed outside the normal power hierarchies of this universe.
Kesha's God-killing Silver Wings deployed instantly, dozens of bladed weapons spreading out in defensive formation. Each wing was made from exotic materials that could cut through virtually anything, and they responded to her thoughts faster than conscious control.
The humans on the aircraft carrier below shouted something—probably objecting to her suddenly pointing weapons at their planet. Kesha ignored them. Humans were always complaining about something.
All her attention was focused on the approaching power signature.
And then the sky turned gold.
Lightning—vast quantities of it, more than any natural phenomenon could produce—crackled across the atmosphere. The bolts were golden rather than blue-white, and they moved with purpose rather than random discharge.
The doomsday-like display made even Kesha's angels nervous. They were warriors who'd fought in countless battles, faced down demons and worse, but this? This was power on a scale they hadn't encountered before.
"What... what is this?" One angel whispered.
The lightning converged into a single point in the sky, and a figure stepped out of the golden storm like he was walking down stairs.
The man—and he appeared male, at least—looked young, with an easy confidence that came from never having met an opponent he couldn't handle. His clothing was strange, not matching any fashion Kesha had in her databases, and he radiated power that made her divine body's sensors struggle to categorize it.
"Ah, I'm here!" The man said cheerfully, his voice carrying clearly despite the distance. He looked around, took in the aircraft carrier, the angels, the tension in the air, and smiled. "How interesting."
The golden lightning gathered beneath his feet, forming a road of solidified energy. He walked on it casually, approaching Kesha's position without apparent concern for the God-killing Silver Wings still pointed at him.
Kesha studied him carefully, running every scan her divine body could manage. The results were... confusing.
"I didn't find any trace of you in the scan just now," Kesha said coldly, trying to maintain her composure despite the growing realization that this being existed outside her understanding. "Are you a fourth-generation divine body?"
The man just smiled and didn't answer her question. Instead, he tilted his head and asked his own: "Two generations? No, wait..." His eyes focused on her more intently, and Kesha felt like she was being dissected by his gaze. "You're fourth generation now. Interesting progression."
How did he know that? How could he tell with just a look what had taken her millennia to achieve?
Before Kesha could demand answers, another presence made itself known.
A massive holographic projection appeared in the sky—a woman with dramatic dark makeup, dressed in what could only be described as "demonic goth chic." Her entire aesthetic screamed rebellion and chaos.
"Ha! Kesha, you bitch!" Morgana's voice boomed across the area. "You came to Earth to hunt me down, and now look—there's someone here you can't even scan! Karma's a bitch, ain't it?"
The demon queen looked absolutely delighted by Kesha's discomfort. The two sisters had been feuding for thirty thousand years, and any opportunity to see the other off-balance was treasured.
But then Morgana's attention shifted to the new arrival, and her expression changed from glee to confusion.
"Wait, who the hell are you?" She asked. "Why can't I scan you either? What are you?"
The man turned toward Morgana's projection and laughed—actually laughed, like this entire situation was hilarious.
"Hahaha! You've lived for tens of thousands of years, and your aesthetic is still worse than Kesha's, Morgana!" He shook his head in mock disappointment. "Tragic, really. All that time, and you went with 'edgy hot topic demon queen' as your look."
The familiarity in his tone made both sisters pause. He talked like he knew them, like he'd been following their conflict for years. But neither of them had any record of ever meeting this being.
"Who are you?" Kesha demanded, her voice sharp. "How do you know us?"
"Oh, I don't know you specifically," the man said, waving one hand dismissively. His attention shifted down to the aircraft carrier, where the humans were watching this exchange with mounting confusion and terror.
The man's gaze swept across the assembled soldiers, and his smile widened. "But I know people like you. Similar powers, different faces. The multiverse is vast, and patterns repeat."
Then, without warning, he gestured, and the people on the aircraft carrier started floating upward against their will.
Kesha immediately moved to intervene—whatever this being wanted with the humans, it couldn't be good. But before she could act, the man spoke again.
"Although you're not the same person, your powers are somewhat similar." His eyes fixed on someone toward the back of the floating group. "Especially you, Wei Lan."
A young woman spoke up immediately, her voice steady despite obviously being terrified.
"I am not Wei Lan," she said firmly. "My name is He Weilan, and I'm a police officer with the Juxia City Bureau!"
She knew she was outmatched. Everyone present knew that this being could probably kill them all with a thought. But she refused to be mistaken for someone else, refused to let her identity be erased.
The man's smile softened slightly, becoming genuinely approving.
"Hahahaha! You have a bad temper, same as Wei," he said, and then did something completely unexpected.
He waved his hand, and a pair of gauntlets materialized in the air before flying gently toward He Weilan. They were oversized, clearly designed for punching, with a design that suggested both brutality and precision.
"Take these," the man said. "Wei liked them very much. I believe they can help you too."
The gauntlets settled into He Weilan's hands, and she felt power flow through them immediately. They were far superior to any weapon she'd been issued, resonating with her genetic abilities in ways that standard Earth technology couldn't match.
"Who... who is Wei?" He Weilan asked, confused but grateful.
"Someone from another world who you remind me of," the man said. "Consider it a gift for having the courage to correct me."
Then his attention shifted back to Kesha and Morgana, and his entire demeanor changed. The friendly, almost playful attitude vanished, replaced by something more serious.
"Now then," he said, his voice taking on an edge. "Demon? Angel? I don't care what you want to do with Earth. But I need you both to stop for now. This planet has my interest, and I'd prefer you didn't break it before I'm done here."
Both Morgana and Kesha spoke simultaneously:
"Why should we listen to you?"
The man just smiled—a different smile this time, one that didn't reach his eyes.
"Is this reason enough?"
And then he unleashed it.
Void energy exploded from his position, flooding the space around Earth with white-gold light that made reality itself scream. The power was so overwhelming, so fundamentally wrong compared to the genetic-based systems of this universe, that every super soldier in range felt their divine bodies recoil in horror.
The void touched everything, saturated everything, made it absolutely clear that the being before them operated on principles they couldn't comprehend or resist.
In the swirling void energy, shapes became visible. Figures. Entities.
Two of them manifested fully—angelic forms made from void rather than biomass, metal wings spreading wide, expressionless faces watching everything with cold assessment.
These weren't angels in the sense Kesha understood. They were something else, something that wore the shape of angels while being fundamentally different.
Void Angels.
Kesha and Morgana both felt those entities studying them, measuring them, evaluating them as potential threats or resources. It was deeply uncomfortable—being analyzed by something that existed outside their conceptual framework.
"Void," Kesha whispered, her face pale. "It's actually void. The Void exists."
Morgana's projection flickered as she processed the same realization. "Oh shit. Oh shit. Ultimate fear. He's—this is—"
Both sisters had been preparing for the theoretical concept of void for thousands of years. Kesha rejected it as impossible. Morgana prepared contingencies. Their mentor, the God of Death karl, insisted it was real and coming.
And now here it was, embodied in a man who could apparently throw void angels around like toys.
The man—Marcus, though he hadn't introduced himself—glanced at his void angels and made a dismissive gesture.
"You have nothing to do here. Will, send them back."
The void angels bowed in unison and then simply vanished, pulled back into whatever dimension they normally inhabited. The void energy receded as well, though everyone present could still feel its echo—a reminder that it could return at any moment.
Marcus looked at Kesha and Morgana again, his friendly demeanor returning as if the display of power had never happened.
"You two," he said pleasantly. "Can you listen to me now? Or do I need to make my point more dramatically?"
There was no mistaking the threat underlying the polite words. This being had just proven he could deploy void—the thing they'd been theorizing about and fearing for millennia—as casually as someone opening a door.
Morgana was the first to respond, her projection showing her pacing in her ship.
"The void has actually appeared," she muttered. "So the ultimate fear is about to come. This is bad. This is really, really bad. karl was right, that smug bastard was actually right"