Beyond the boundaries of conventional universe structure, in a space that existed simultaneously everywhere and nowhere, the Ancient Temple stood eternal.
The architecture defied geometric logic—walls curved in dimensions mortal eyes couldn't perceive, corridors extended through compressed time rather than physical distance, and the very stones from which it was constructed predated matter itself.
Within this impossible structure, Eternity resided.
As the aggregate consciousness of all thinking beings throughout the cosmos, and the embodiment of all temporal progression within universal bounds, Eternity existed here permanently. Not trapped or confined, but rather anchored by choice to this nexus point where observation became meaningful.
Simultaneously, Eternity was the multiverse itself in a very literal sense—not merely inhabiting it or ruling over it, but constituting its fundamental structure at the deepest conceptual level.
In the ancient past, at the precise instant of the Big Bang when everything exploded into existence from compressed singularity, four cosmic entities were born from that primordial chaos.
Shortly after that initial creation event, Eternity merged with the shattered fragments of the First Firmament—the original, now-destroyed cosmic structure that had preceded the current multiverse. This fusion created what could be described as a "cosmic egg," a gestating reality waiting to be born.
This was Eternity's original form, the primary manifestation before subdivision and specialization.
It was only after this cosmic egg underwent a second Big Bang—a rebirth and restructuring of fundamental principles—that the four distinct abstract entities known today came into being as separate-yet-connected consciousnesses.
In other words, Eternity gave birth to itself through temporal paradox, and simultaneously generated Death, Infinity, and Annihilation as extensions of its own nature.
In a very real sense, Eternity and Infinity were one being split into complementary halves—Infinity representing the feminine aspect of Eternity's consciousness, the spatial expansion to balance Eternity's temporal progression.
Such tremendously powerful entities should have been beyond any threat Bad Ben could pose, even after stealing Death's authority through the Omnitrix scan.
But Bad Ben didn't need to face the true Eternity—the original, unified consciousness that transcended individual universal boundaries.
In every universe throughout the infinite multiverse, there existed an Eternity-clone: a localized manifestation of the greater whole, essentially a single cell from Eternity's cosmic body given independent function and limited awareness.
These clones varied enormously in power and capability, their strength proportional to the vitality and complexity of the universe they represented. Some were mighty beyond comprehension; others were comparatively weak, overseeing dying or simplified realities.
But for Bad Ben's purposes, what he needed was precisely that—cells. Genetic samples. DNA templates from beings that shouldn't technically possess such things but did anyway, because the Omnitrix's scanning function operated on principles that transcended conventional biology.
"First Eternity and Infinity," Bad Ben muttered to himself, his skeletal form moving through dimensional spaces with practiced efficiency. "Those two together since they're essentially one being. Then Annihilation as a counterbalance. And finally, complete the set with Galactus as the devouring principle."
His fleshless jaw moved in approximation of a smile. "Five cosmic abstracts. Five fundamental forces. Combined into one wielder who can manipulate them all simultaneously."
"Then I'll truly become the Pentad Lord. Then even Beyonders will seem like children playing with toys they don't understand."
Back in the Cancerverse proper, the space surrounding the battle had been transformed into a cosmic graveyard of unprecedented scale.
The original Revengers orbital base was long gone, vaporized in the opening exchanges. All surrounding planets within several light-years had been reduced to expanding clouds of dust and debris—former worlds that had housed billions of corrupted lives, now nothing but slowly dispersing matter.
The Kree Empire, which had maintained a significant military presence in this sector, existed now only as a series of tiny fireworks scattered across the cosmic void. Their warships, their installations, their conquered territories—all gone in the collateral damage of gods fighting gods.
But that devastation was, in a strange way, acceptable. Casualties of war on scales that mortals could barely comprehend.
What made the battlefield truly remarkable was the bodies.
The fallen Cancer Celestials didn't decay immediately like ordinary corrupted beings. Their corpses retained structural integrity even after death's return, their cosmic nature resisting rapid decomposition.
Even in death, their bodies underwent slow transformation processes that would take millennia to complete.
Some of the fallen gods appeared only a few hundred meters tall when viewed from external perspective, but their true forms existed partially in other dimensions, making their actual mass far greater than planets. When those extra-dimensional components fully collapsed into normal space-time, the corpses would become truly gargantuan.
Perhaps tens of thousands of years in the future, their remains would be buried by cosmic dust and debris, transforming this region into something resembling Knowhere—a lawless zone filled with scavengers and criminals, all seeking to profit from the unique materials.
Because Celestial corpses, given sufficient time, transformed into special minerals and rare elements that existed nowhere else in creation.
Vibranium, for instance, was theorized by some scientists to originate from Celestial remains that had crashed on Earth millions of years ago.
Though it remained unknown whether metals harvested from cancer-corrupted Celestial bodies would possess the same properties or develop entirely new characteristics. The corruption might have fundamentally altered their cellular structure and energy composition.
Ben found himself genuinely curious about the question as he continued his systematic slaughter of the remaining Cancer gods.
As he fought, moving with mechanical efficiency through groups of corrupted Celestials, part of his mind was already planning logistics. I should definitely pack up some of these corpses to take back home, he thought pragmatically. These are top-quality crafting materials! Raw resources that can't be replicated or synthesized through any normal means!
The metals and exotic matter that could be refined from Celestial bodies would revolutionize Plumber technology, would allow creation of weapons and armor operating on entirely new principles.
Process them immediately while they're fresh, his tactical mind continued. Before the corruption fully sets in or the remains start breaking down into unusable compounds.
At that moment, the enormous Galactus Engine suspended overhead began emitting a sound that defied conventional physics.
A roar—impossibly deep, transmitted not through vibration of atmospheric molecules but through direct manipulation of space-time itself—carried across the void.
The energy wave propagating from the Engine caused every celestial body within tens of light-years to vibrate sympathetically. Planets trembled in their orbits. Smaller asteroids and moons tore themselves apart under the strain. Stars flickered as their fusion reactions stuttered.
The destruction spread in expanding spheres, a tidal wave of annihilation that consumed everything in its path.
"With the Galactus Engine's full power unleashed," one of the surviving Cancer Celestials proclaimed, his voice mixing relief with satisfaction, "even these invaders will find resistance difficult! Impossible, even!"
In an absurdly short time span—mere minutes of sustained combat—Ben and his team had eliminated almost all the Cancer Celestials. The survivors could be counted on one hand, their numbers reduced from dozens to a handful.
Those few remaining gods felt profound relief seeing the Galactus Engine activate, believing salvation had finally arrived in the form of their ultimate weapon.
"Ben!" Eunice's voice cut through the chaos, her tone carrying unusual urgency as she materialized beside him in a flash of golden light. "This energy fluctuation reads as sufficient to destroy several universes simultaneously!"
Her computational systems strained to calculate the sheer magnitude of power being accumulated. "I can barely process the numbers. It's exponentially beyond anything we've faced. The output exceeds theoretical limits for stable energy containment!"
"I know," Ben acknowledged grimly, his Ultimate Way Big form already beginning to shift. "I'll need to become Alien X."
He abandoned his original plan of using the To'kustar's signature Cosmic Ray attack to counter the Galactus Engine's assault. The math simply didn't work in his favor.
Even the most powerful To'kustar operated at single-universe levels—beings capable of threatening or destroying one reality but not multiple simultaneously. The sheer scope of the Engine's attack made conventional combat approaches suicidal.
Alien X, while currently incomplete without Enara and Ouyana's consciousnesses providing their usual power, still represented Ben's best option for survival and counterattack.
"Alien—" Ben's hand moved toward the Omnitrix dial, preparing to activate the transformation.
The massive Galactus Engine suddenly stopped.
The building energy release cut off instantly, accumulated power dissipating harmlessly. Light that had been growing to star-consuming brilliance simply vanished, extinguished as if someone had flipped a switch.
A wisp of smoke—energetic enough to snuff out hundreds of suns—spewed from the Engine's skull-like mouth and nasal cavities in comic parody of mechanical failure.
It was as if the ultimate weapon had suddenly jammed, as if cosmic forces that could unmake realities had become nothing more than a dud firecracker that failed to ignite.
Everyone froze, combat pausing as minds struggled to process the impossible development.
Especially Ben.
The Cancer Celestials were merely confused, trying to understand why their ultimate weapon had malfunctioned at such a critical moment.
But Ben—who could clearly perceive what had happened to the Galactus Engine through his enhanced senses—felt his spider-sense screaming louder than ever. The warning that had been building throughout the battle intensified to painful levels, making his skull throb with urgency.
Something's not right!
Something's fundamentally, catastrophically wrong!
"Finally," a voice spoke from above the Engine, thin and distant but somehow perfectly audible. "I've collected them all."
A tiny figure—barely larger than an ant when compared to the Engine's cosmic scale—stood atop the weapon's skull-like structure.
His voice defied physical laws and space-time conventions, reaching every ear regardless of distance or intervening matter. The sound propagated through dimensional shortcuts rather than conventional acoustic transmission.
Even the two Captain Marvels, who had fought their way several light-years distant during their personal battle, heard the announcement with perfect clarity.
"Benjamin!" Cancer Carol's voice mixed shock with desperate hope.
She wanted desperately to contact Lord Mar-Vell, to ask what had gone wrong with the ritual, to understand why their immortality had flickered and failed. But communication with the cosmic ceremony was impossible—mortal technology couldn't bridge that dimensional gap.
"He appears to possess the same watch as you, my dear Father of Gods," Hela observed from her perch on Ben's shoulder. Her tone was light, almost joking, but her expression betrayed genuine displeasure.
She could sense immediately that the power of death—which should have been hers to wield exclusively as Ben's designated death goddess—had been partially usurped by the skeletal figure above them.
"It's not just the watch..." Ben's voice trailed off as the full implications hit him like a physical blow.
Bad Ben had obtained the power of all five cosmic abstracts: Death, Eternity, Infinity, Annihilation, and Galactus as the devouring principle.
Damn it, Ben thought with grim recognition. He's become like the Spirit King from Bleach—multiple fundamental forces combined into one wielder who can manipulate them all.
With authority over five cosmic entities, Bad Ben's power had transcended multiversal limitations. Even the complete Alien X would struggle against such overwhelming combined might, let alone Ben's current incomplete version without Enara and Ouyana contributing their portions of Celestialsapien authority.
By this point, Bad Ben's Omnitrix had fully processed the Galactus genetic template, integrating it with the other four abstract samples he'd collected.
He didn't even gesture or speak a command.
The decaying Galactus Engine simply began falling apart, as if experiencing the entire lifespan of the universe in compressed seconds. From fresh construction through eons of wear to final heat-death collapse, all happening instantaneously.
Metal groaned and shattered. Energy conduits ruptured. The skull that had once inspired terror across galaxies crumbled into expanding debris.
This development infuriated the remaining Cancer Celestials beyond all rational thought.
"It's YOU!" one roared, his voice carrying planet-shaking fury.
"Mortal! Do you have ANY comprehension of what you've done?!" another demanded, cosmic power building for a devastating assault.
They hadn't realized how powerful Bad Ben had become. In their rage and confusion, they foolishly mistook him for merely the saboteur who'd destroyed their weapon rather than recognizing him as an existential threat to reality itself.
They prepared to vent their accumulated frustration, to launch attacks that would vaporize the tiny figure who'd dared interfere with divine instruments.
Bad Ben simply waved his skeletal hand in a gesture of casual dismissal.
The Cancer Celestials vanished instantly. Not destroyed or teleported—simply erased from existence with less effort than someone might blow away dust from a shelf.
After accomplishing this impossible feat, Bad Ben turned his attention downward, his empty eye sockets somehow conveying smug satisfaction despite lacking actual eyes.
"Ben Parker," he said, his voice carrying dark amusement. "It's finally time for us to meet properly. I was so warmly received by you in the Null Void Realm when your Kryptonian forces tried to kill me."
His skeletal jaw moved in approximation of a smile. "Consider what I just gave you—eliminating those annoying gods—as a return gift. A professional courtesy between Omnitrix wielders. There's no need to thank me."
"So now that you've obtained power from five cosmic abstracts," Ben asked, his voice steady despite the tactical nightmare unfolding, "do you actually believe you can defeat me? That combining their authorities makes you invincible?"
"Who knows?" Bad Ben shrugged, the gesture eerie coming from a skeleton. "Perhaps your Celestialsapien transformation is even stronger than I anticipate. Power scaling becomes difficult to predict at these levels."
His tone shifted to obvious provocation. "What's wrong? Aren't you going to transform into Alien X? Surely you're not thinking you can beat me as a mere Way Big, are you? That would be embarrassingly optimistic."
I shouldn't have let Enara and Ouyana leave to get physical bodies, Ben thought with profound frustration. Having them here would give me access to Alien X's full power. Without them, I'm operating at maybe one-third capacity.
But he had no other viable options at the moment. Fighting Bad Ben in any other form would be suicide.
Ben pressed the Omnitrix dial, and his body instantly transformed.
His physical form dissolved into patterns resembling the starry cosmos—black void studded with points of light, nebulae swirling in fractal patterns, galaxies rotating in miniature across his surface.
If Bad Ben, having obtained powers from five cosmic abstracts, now possessed fundamental forces that sustained universal existence—death, eternity, infinity, annihilation, and consumption—then Alien X was the universe itself given consciousness and agency.
But at this moment, with Enara and Ouyana absent, Ben existed as merely an incomplete universe. A reality missing critical components of its own structure.
Alien X stood motionless, frozen like a statue. The transformation had completed, but no motion followed.
Inside Alien X's consciousness space—that infinite void where negotiations normally occurred between three distinct personalities—Ben looked around in confusion.
The space appeared different somehow. Altered. Wrong.
And then he spotted a figure standing beside him who absolutely should not have been present.
"Huh?" Ben's mental projection blinked in complete disbelief. "Hope?"
The young woman stood in the cosmic void, her expression mixing guilt with determination.
"What are you doing here?" Ben demanded, his thoughts racing through possibilities. "Is this Alien X's consciousness space? How did you even access this?"
Ben was completely dumbfounded, his tactical planning derailed by sheer impossibility of the situation.
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