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Chapter 83: Death and Resurrection
"I witnessed the Emperor's death with my own eyes."
Raven's words carried genuine shock as he spoke into the crossing recorder. His usual irreverence was gone, replaced by something close to awe.
The statement hung in the grey air of the Shadow Realm.
Valdor watched his companion with barely hidden frustration. Military discipline warred with his urge to voice his irritation. Since Raven had joined their dimensional journey, existential crises had become frustratingly common.
The Emperor stood nearby, examining His recently restored form with clinical detachment. He studied himself like a master geneticist, analysing a fascinating specimen.
Death had left no mark on His golden radiance.
"The Infinity Stones," He said, satisfaction clear in His voice. "Fascinating constructs."
Raven had explained the mechanism of His temporary destruction. No cosmic conspiracy had targeted Him specifically. Just the mad whim of a titan called Thanos, who had gathered six artifacts of immense power. With a single gesture, he had eliminated half of all life in the universe.
The reasoning was simple and flawed in equal measure: finite resources, infinite population growth, inevitable collapse. Random culling on a universal scale was supposedly the most logical solution.
"His reasoning is defective," the Emperor observed with the tone He might use for a malfunctioning servitor. "Countless methods exist to address population dynamics. He chose the most inefficient option."
"He could have imposed the economic structures of ancient Terra's industrial periods. Universal labour requirements of sixteen hours daily would reduce population far more efficiently than random elimination."
The casual brutality was delivered with the same tone He might use to discuss crop yields.
"My hope is that the Imperium will master the creation of such stones," He continued.
The true value wasn't raw power, but rule-enforcement capabilities. Six stones, properly combined, could impose the wielder's will on an entire universal framework. Reality manipulation that went beyond mere force.
Such constructs had limitations, functioning only within specific universal parameters. But for conquest, those limitations didn't matter.
If Infinity Stones could be manufactured for targeted universes and distributed among Imperial forces, entire realities would fall before the Legion's advance.
The Imperium would become truly invincible. Dominion over infinite realities would shift from aspiration to mathematical certainty.
"You're getting greedy, Big Guy," Raven said. His tone carried grudging admiration rather than criticism.
"But it's not impossible. The Infinity Stones were forged from six singularities containing infinite energy. Basically, the building blocks that existed before the Big Bang."
"If we could simulate the birth process of universes on demand, we might recreate the formation conditions. Reverse-engineer the manufacturing process."
"Intriguing," the Emperor acknowledged, "though impractical given current Imperial capabilities. Unless controlled universal genesis becomes standard protocol for our Mechanicum adepts."
"I had hoped this reality possessed the framework for Infinity Stone creation. Such knowledge could support the power requirements for temporal anchors across our dimensional network."
"If any universe had that level of mastery," Raven replied, "they'd already be unstoppable. The whole time-travel thing for getting multiple stones only works within Marvel's rules. Step outside this universe, and you're carrying pretty rocks."
"Rather than pursuing theoretical replication," the Emperor said practically, "our efforts would be better directed toward the Time Variance Authority. We need their temporal manipulation technologies."
The Time Loom was the TVA's core component. A device that converted raw temporal energy into stable timeline constructs while maintaining their "Sacred Timeline." Beyond the Loom, the TVA possessed numerous chronological technologies that would prove invaluable to Imperial expansion.
As they discussed infiltration strategies, the Shadow Realm around them suddenly erupted into violent motion.
The grey landscape writhed with malevolent purpose. Twisted shapes began forming from pools of living darkness. Shadow-constructs emerged one after another, grotesque combinations of spite and hunger that made sounds barely recognisable as voices.
They launched themselves at the Imperial party with mindless aggression.
"Go get 'em, Big Corn Cob Beast!" Raven shouted with renewed enthusiasm, flapping his wings like an excited trainer commanding a prized fighter.
"Eliminate those evil forces and protect our Raven's safety!"
Valdor moved with lethal efficiency. His enhanced muscles launched him forward with such force that the ground beneath cracked into a spider web of fractures. The war-halberd in his hands hummed to life, its blade wreathed in the faint glow of disruption fields.
Operating within the Marvel universe had clear advantages. Their full capabilities remained unrestricted by dimensional limitations. This reality possessed enough flexibility to accommodate their true potential.
The shadow creatures looked like living nightmares. Blood-red eyes, forms that defied anatomy, surfaces that absorbed light rather than reflecting it. Their appearance meant nothing against a Space Marine's war-halberd.
Valdor carved through their ranks with methodical precision. Each strike reduced another creature to dispersing mist. They had no staying power, no coordination, just blind aggression designed for intimidation rather than actual combat.
The real threat revealed itself when their hidden master abandoned subtlety.
A figure emerged from concealment. White robes, hood drawn to hide his face, and in his grip a blade that radiated absolute negation. The weapon struck Valdor's halberd with the sound of colliding starships.
Both combatants moved with superhuman speed. Their battle created cascading afterimages as they tested each other's limits. Residual energy from their conflict carved gouges in the landscape, sending fracture lines racing through local space-time.
Superior training and equipment decided the outcome. Valdor's final strike sent the black sword spinning through the air, landing far from its wielder, its metallic song fading to silence.
"Don't kill him!" Raven's voice carried genuine urgency.
The halberd's point stopped less than five centimetres from the fallen warrior's throat. Another heartbeat, and the fight would have ended with decapitation.
Raven descended to perch on Valdor's shoulder, studying their defeated opponent with curious intensity. The figure had a powerful build, eyes that burned with accumulated hatred, and facial markings that pulsed with dark energy.
"Gorr the God Butcher," Raven identified.
The fallen warrior offered no response, just raised his head to meet their gaze with pure loathing.
"We're not gods," Raven said gently. "You don't need to hate us."
The statement produced a visible change in Gorr's expression. The hatred receded slightly, though wariness remained.
"Why prevent his execution?" Valdor asked with professional curiosity rather than criticism.
"Because he's another victim," Raven replied with unusual somberness. "Broken by gods who treated mortals like expendable toys. Let him live."
The Emperor approached and claimed the fallen Necrosword for examination. His enhanced senses analysed its composition, resonance patterns, and energy signatures that marked it as far beyond conventional weapons.
Gorr's history was written in the blade's psychic resonance. A chronicle of faith destroyed and vengeance embraced.
Born to a barren world where survival itself was victory, he had been a devoted believer until disaster claimed his tribe. Only he and his daughter survived. Their journey to seek aid from Rapu, his patron deity, had been marked by constant prayer and desperate hope.
Rapu's response had been contempt. When Gorr's daughter died in his arms and he finally reached the god to ask why such suffering was allowed, Rapu had called him a dog. He declared that mortal suffering was the only meaning mortals could possess.
The confrontation that followed nearly ended with Gorr's execution, until the Necrosword, freed from its previous owner's corpse, chose a new wielder. Divine blood christened its blade, and a God Butcher was born from betrayed faith.
"This weapon has considerable merit," the Emperor observed, studying the blade with genuine appreciation.
The Necrosword's ability to enhance both itself and its wielder through the absorption of divine essence represented a fascinating application of psychic resonance technology.
In the right hands, properly understood and perhaps improved through Imperial knowledge, such a weapon could prove invaluable in their multiversal conquest.
After all, they would encounter many gods in the realities ahead. And gods, the Emperor had learned long ago, were just another category of enemy to be systematically eliminated.