The sleek, modern opulence of the Atlas Biotech penthouse felt like a distant dream. Sam stood in the center of the expansive, empty floor he had designated as his personal secure laboratory. It was a sterile, white space, devoid of furniture, its only features reinforced conduits in the walls and a floor that could handle immense weight.
Arrayed before him on the polished concrete floor were the fruits of the invasion, both literal and technological.
To one side lay the Executioner's axe, its runes still faintly smoldering with a captive, malevolent energy. Next to it was a collection of scavenged Chitauri technology: a blaster rifle with its organic-looking, blue-glowing components, a power core ripped from a downed hover sled, and a chunk of the Leviathan's silvery armor plating.
On the other side, separated as if by an invisible line, was a small basket. In it were fruits like black grapes and pomegranate.
He started with the axe.
He knelt, placing his hands on the cold Uru metal. The weapon seemed to vibrate with a hunger, a history of violence that was palpable even to his transcendent senses.
"System," he commanded, his voice echoing softly in the vast room. "Analyze composition and enchantment. Then, strengthen this axe one hundred times. Focus the multiplier on its core properties: sharpness, durability, and its bond to the wielder. Amplify its existing nature."
A wave of invisible energy flowed from him into the weapon. The runes along the blade flared from a dull glow to a searing, fiery white. The air hummed with power, thick and ozone-scented. The axe didn't just get stronger; it seemed to wake up. The metal darkened, drinking in the light around it, while the edge took on a shimmer so sharp it looked like a slit in reality itself.
[Ding! Strengthening complete.]
> [Uru Executioner's Axe strengthened 100x.] [New designation: Worldbreaker's Decree.]
· Properties Enhanced:
· Edge of Reality: Can cut through spatial dimensions, molecular bonds, and enchanted barriers. Wounds inflicted resist all known forms of healing.
· Absolute Durability: Completely unbreakable and immune to entropy, temperature, or energy corruption.
· Soul-Lock: Permanently bound to the host's will. Cannot be lifted, wielded, or even touched by another being without the host's express permission. It will return to the host's hand across any distance or dimension if called.
· Rune Amplification: The native Asgardian enchantments are magnified to a cosmic scale. It can now store and release energy on the level of a supernova.
Sam picked it up. It felt like an extension of his own arm, weightless yet containing infinite density. A thought was all it took for it to dissolve into motes of black light and settle as a faint, tattoo-like pattern on his forearm. He could feel its dormant power, a sleeping star against his skin.
"Good," he murmured. "Now for the leftovers
On the table was a 3D industrial scanner.
It was the kind of tool Atlas engineers used every day. A sleek, rectangular device with twin lenses and a sensor array, built to scan prototypes and render precise 3D models for testing. Ordinary. Practical. Harmless.
Sam turned it over in his hands. He remembered watching one of his engineers use it to scan the HyperCell casing. It wasn't cutting-edge, not by his new standards—but it was a start.
He set it down in front of him, resting his fingertips lightly against its frame.
"System," he said quietly, almost testing the words. "Strengthen the 3D scanner by one hundred times."
The office seemed to draw in on itself for a heartbeat.
> [Ding! Strengthening process initiated…]
[Material: Standard industrial 3D scanner.]
[Enhancement Factor: ×100.]
[Result: OmniCodex Scanner.]
The change was instant. The scanner's dull black casing rippled like liquid, seams vanishing until the surface was flawless and smooth. Thin silver glyphs etched themselves across the body, glowing faintly before sinking back into the material. The twin lenses elongated, shifting into a crystalline surface that seemed to hum with depth.
Sam leaned back, watching. It didn't look like a tool anymore. It looked alive.
The system's overlay scrolled across his vision:
> [Properties Unlocked:]
– Dimensional Precision: Can scan objects down to subatomic lattice structures.
– Cross-System Compatibility: Deciphers and translates foreign or alien technology into functional blueprints.
– Replication Protocol: Sync with fabrication nodes to reproduce scanned items.
– Energy Adaptation: Can scan not just matter, but energy constructs.
– Concealed Archive: Data encrypted to host consciousness only.
"Alright," he muttered. "Let's see what you can really do."
Sam set the scanner on a low stand, the polished crystal lenses now humming faintly. The Leviathan plating, the Chitauri blaster core, the ripped hover-sled power unit—each piece sat on a separate pad, like specimens in a lab.
He took a breath. This was the moment the company stopped being a builder of batteries and started being a vault for whatever the universe decided to throw at it.
"System," he said, voice steady. "OmniCodex — scan sequence. Priority: Chitauri tech. Deep codification. Preserve energy signatures. Translate into Earth-compatible blueprints. Encrypt to host only."
> [Acknowledged. Initiating scan matrix.]
[Target list loaded: Chitauri blaster (Unit C-3), Leviathan armor fragment (Plate L-7), hover-sled core (Core H-2).]
[Scan depth: molecular → energetic → pattern logic.]
The scanner's lenses inhaled. Light bent into them and came out in a lattice of color that only Sam could see. Thin filaments of blue-white probed the surface of the blaster, tasting its skin. The room filled with the soft whirr of active computation.
Lines of data scrolled across Sam's retinas — not text so much as motion: field gradients collapsing into readable maps, exotic alloys folding into unfamiliar crystalline schemas, energy signatures singing like a choir of machines. The OmniCodex did not merely copy shape; it reached into how the thing worked, how fields flowed through it, and what kind of logic governed its discharge cycles.
Piece by piece, the system translated alien essence into human terms. Where the Chitauri tech relied on bio-organic resonance, the OmniCodex suggested electromagnetic analogues, lattice substitutes, and stabilizing feedback loops that Atlas fabricators could produce.
A warning popped, small and polite:
> [Note: Cross-physics translation may introduce approximation error for purely bio-energetic systems. Recommend sandbox replication only.]
Sam flipped the warning off with a thought. He didn't plan to mass-produce the living bits — not yet. He wanted the engineering backbone: how to make a power core sing, how pulse frequencies were gated, where field harmonics could be exploited.
The first blueprint finished. On his screen, a ghostly schematic of the Chitauri blaster unfolded — external shell, internal coil matrix, a map of its energy conduit. Beside it, the OmniCodex offered a humanized variant: material substitutes, safe operating thresholds, and a list of components Atlas could fabricate without summoning Hydra's legal team.
> [Scan complete: Unit C-3.]
[Codex saved: /vault/omnicodex/chitauri/blaster_C3.enc.]
[Encryption: Host-key bind (SAM_JAXSON_SIG).]
[Replication potential: 87% under Hyperforge conditions. Energy draw: High.]
Sam nodded. He hit 'archive'. The file folded into AetherLink's secured vault and blinked out of sight, accessible only when he thought the right sequence. It felt good — controlling the knowledge felt better than having guns.
Next, the Leviathan armor. This was a different creature: living plates fused with conductive veins, an architecture that shrugged off ordinary impacts. The OmniCodex traced the microstructure: layered metallic-silk composites paired with a crystalline energy lattice. It proposed a composite recipe, a staged tempering process, and a feedback coating that would mimic the alien self-heal in a mechanical way.
That one took longer. The scanner heated by a degree; AetherLink throttled its processes and siphoned juice from the HyperCell bank to keep the matrix stable. Sam watched lines of numbers blur, watched the system propose mitigations for entropy, for field bleed, for dimensional leakage — the last came up as a tiny, almost embarrassed flag the software didn't quite know how to present.
> [Attention: Leviathan Plate L-7 exhibits trans-spatial resonance. Translation yields structural analogue but cannot replicate conceptual weave. Use caution.]
He saved it anyway, wrapping extra layers of encryption around the file and stashing redundant copies behind false keys. If anyone tried to take Atlas's vault by force, they would get paperwork and a lot of time — but Sam didn't trust paperwork to stop anyone determined enough. The cognitive lock would.
The hover-sled core was last. It fed the OmniCodex a compact storm of rotational physics and field containment tricks. The translated blueprint suggested a way to make a stable containment ring using Atlas's HyperCell architecture as a field anchor. That one was promising — practical and immediately useful for rebuilding collapsed transit systems.
When the last scan finished the room was quiet except for the scanner's low pulse. Three new codices sat encrypted in Atlas's vault, each a small, powerful secret.
Sam let himself smile, small and sharp. He liked having these things in his control. He liked being the one to choose how knowledge moved through the world.
He unplugged the OmniCodex, set the machine back into its case
Good," he murmured. "Now for the leftovers."
He turned to the Chitauri tech. He had no interest in their ugly, insectoid design. He was interested in the principles. He placed a hand on the blaster rifle.
"System. Strengthen this weapon one hundred times. Isolate and maximize the energy conversion efficiency and output. Strip away the useless housing."
The rifle glowed, then dissolved in a cascade of blue light. What remained was a palm-sized, obsidian-black cube, pulsing with a soft, internal light.
[Ding! Chitauri Blaster strengthened 100x.]
> [New designation: Entropy Cube.]
· Properties:
· Converts any matter directly into programmable energy.
· Output can be shaped into beams, shields, or structural force fields.
· Self-replenishing by drawing zero-point energy.
Next, the Leviathan armor. He placed his hand on the silvery plate. "Strengthen one hundred times. Maximize molecular density and adaptive integrity."
The plate shimmered and compressed, folding in on itself until it became a small, mirror-like ingot, impossibly heavy for its size.
[Ding! Chitauri Bio-Armor strengthened 100x.]
> [New designation: Aegis Shard.]
· Properties:
· Absolute Defense: Can generate a personal shield that negates all known forms of attack (physical, energy, psychic, mystical).
· Adaptive Mimicry: Can be willed to form any article of clothing or armor, with properties adjusting to need (invisibility, environmental protection, strength enhancement).
Finally, he picked up the power core from the hover sled. "Strengthen one hundred times. Maximize energy storage and stabilization."
The core brightened until it was a miniature sun in his hand, then cooled into a perfectly smooth, white sphere that emitted a gentle warmth.
[Ding! Chitauri Power Core strengthened 100x.]
> [New designation: Singularity Core.]
· Properties:
· Contains a stabilized micro-singularity.
· Provides near-infinite energy for any system it is integrated into.
· Can be used as a power source or, if deliberately destabilized, a universe-ending bomb.
Lastly, he turned to the basket of fruit. This was less about necessity and more about curiosity. He picked up black grapes
"System," he commanded. "Strengthen this fruit one hundred times.
The world seemed to hold its breath.
> [Ding! Strengthening process initiated…]
[Material: Black grape.]
[Enhancement factor: ×100.]
[Result: Eternal Shadow Grapes.]
The grape in his hand pulsed. The skin darkened, not just black, but beyond black — an abyss that bent light inward, drinking the room's glow until even the shadows seemed to flinch. One by one, the rest of the grapes in the bowl transformed, their surfaces rippling with faint, violet glimmers, as if galaxies swam beneath their skins.
The air grew heavy. A chill spread, though no vent had opened. Sam inhaled, and it was like breathing a winter night sky.
He ate all the grapes.
The taste was strange: sweet at first, then fading into nothing, as though the flavor had been erased. For a heartbeat, he thought nothing had happened. Then his vision darkened.
The room was gone.
He stood in an endless void, stretching in all directions. Shadows swelled, moving like tides. From them, he felt eyes — countless, endless, violet eyes — watching. Not hostile, not friendly, simply… acknowledging.
Words didn't form, but comprehension did.
Absolute Shadow Dominion.
Every shade, every flicker of darkness around him bent, swayed, and then knelt. The shadow under his hand stretched, curling like a serpent, wrapping itself around his wrist as though pledging loyalty.
Sam reached out with a thought, and the shadows responded. They rippled, surged — and rose. From the void itself, a humanoid shape formed, faceless and black as ink, yet solid and alive. It stood, bowed, and dissolved back into the ground at his will.
Living Shadow Constructs.
It wasn't bound by corpses, by bodies, or by limits. He shaped a soldier from nothing but the darkness at his feet, then a sword, then an entire gate of jagged spires — all dissolving back into smoke when he willed it.
Shadow Assimilation.
A whisper tugged at the edges of his thoughts. Anything that dies here… belongs here. His domain would eat, grow, and expand with every fallen enemy.
Infinite Shadow Army.
He reached deeper. The shadow beneath the imagined horizon swelled — not a soldier, but something greater. A colossal hand of pure shadow lifted from the void, large enough to crush skyscrapers. He dismissed it before it broke the balance of the space.
And then the laws came. Clearer than instinct, heavier than language:
Law of Depth: Shadows became dimensions. He could hide an army, a city, a world within them.
Law of Reflection: He touched the void, and instantly, his perspective shifted. He stood where his own shadow had been a moment ago, as if space itself was just a mirror to be stepped through.
Law of Oblivion: He raised his hand, and the shadows surged forward, consuming light itself. The void dimmed, the essence of creation erased. A shiver ran through him at the weight of that power.
Sam opened his eyes.
The lab returned, but it wasn't the same. Shadows bent differently now. They didn't fall — they obeyed.
Sam's lips curved into a thin smile.
"…Now this is getting interesting."
On the corner of the table sat another fruit,
Sam reached in and pulled out a pomegranate. The skin was dark red, smooth, its weight heavy in his palm. When he tilted it under the lab light, it almost looked like a miniature planet, a whole world sealed in a shell.
Sam turned it slowly in his hand, and a smile touched his lips.
He set the fruit on the table and placed both palms on it.
"System," he said, voice steady. "Strengthen this pomegranate by one hundred times.
The room trembled.
> [Ding! Strengthening process initiated…]
[Material: Common pomegranate.]
[Enhancement factor: ×100.]
[Result: Celestial Pomegranate.]
The fruit transformed instantly. Its skin darkened to pure black, speckled with glowing silver motes, as though the night sky itself had been sealed inside. Tiny cracks glimmered like constellations. The air warped faintly around it — bending, folding, as if the space in the lab couldn't decide what shape it should be.
Sam picked it up. The moment his fingers touched the new surface, the world disappeared.
—
He stood in a place with no ground, no ceiling. Only infinity. Stars stretched out in every direction, yet they weren't still — they breathed, expanded, collapsed, and reshaped. Galaxies swirled like eddies of dust, each one connected by threads of unseen force.
The fruit dissolved in his hand, and something poured into him.
Law of Distance. The illusion of far and near unraveled. He willed it, and what had been light-years away appeared at arm's reach. He willed again, and what was beside him now hung across eternity.
Law of Expansion. Space itself could stretch endlessly, folded and unfolded like silk. With a gesture, Sam pulled, and the void before him bloomed, birthing new horizons where none existed.
Law of Compression. He pressed his hands together, and space collapsed. Stars bent, galaxies cracked, entire spans of void folded into nothing smaller than a fist.
Law of Passage. He stepped forward. It wasn't movement. It was rewriting distance. In one step, he crossed galaxies. In another, he stood beyond the edge of creation itself.
Law of Dominion. The greatest of them all. He reached out, and the entire void stilled. Space was no longer a stage. It was his canvas, his foundation. Within this domain, there was no distance, no barrier, no escape. Everything was within his reach.
The abyss trembled. A single soundless heartbeat echoed — as though the universe itself acknowledged him.
—
Sam's eyes snapped open.
The lab returned, but warped. His desk seemed both near and infinitely far. The reinforced walls of the chamber bent subtly toward him, not because they moved, but because space itself obeyed.
On the table, the Celestial Pomegranate pulsed once more before dissolving into motes of light, absorbed into his body.
Sam exhaled slowly. His voice was calm, but there was weight behind it now, something different.
"…Space is mine."
—
Sam's breathing was still heavy. The aftertaste of the Celestial Pomegranate lingered on his tongue, sweet but vast, like swallowing starlight. His body hummed with new power, the air around him bending to his will without effort.
Then the system's voice cut through the silence.
> [Ding!]
[Notice: Strengthening protocol has reached its limit.]
Sam frowned, straightening up. "What do you mean, limit?"
> [All strengthening functions have exhausted their energy source.]
[The host has already strengthened beyond the capacity of this universe's natural laws.]
The words echoed in his mind like a verdict. He clenched his fists. "So what—you're saying I can't strengthen anything else? Not even once?"
Silence followed for a moment before the system responded, cold and final:
> [Affirmative.]
[Further strengthening requires a higher-grade fuel: Universal Origin Essence.]
Sam's brow furrowed. "Universal Origin…? What the hell is that supposed to mean?"
> [Definition: The primal source energy that birthed the universe. It exists only in fragments, scattered across realities, hidden in the hearts of dying stars, collapsed realms, or sealed within cosmic beings.]
[Without absorption of Universal Origin, all strengthening is locked.]
Sam sat back in his chair, staring at the desk. The axe, the scanner, the fruits—all of it had been powered by the system. But now the system itself was telling him the well was dry.
He let out a humorless laugh. "So I hit the ceiling already. Figures.