Ajak didn't wait long at the gate. The guard who'd gone inside to communicate returned within three minutes, his expression professionally neutral.
"The director has agreed to your visit. Please follow me."
The reinforced gate swung open with a hydraulic hiss. Ajak stepped through, taking in the Fraternity's headquarters with the practiced observation of someone who'd witnessed the rise and fall of civilizations for seven thousand years.
A shuttle vehicle—sleek, electric, clearly custom-built—pulled up smoothly. The guard gestured for her to board. Ajak settled into the passenger seat, and the vehicle hummed to life, gliding along a paved pathway toward the main complex.
Her gaze swept across the sixteen-acre compound. Security patrols moved in coordinated patterns—werewolves, she realized, catching the distinctive metabolic signatures. Vampires as well, their undead physiology unmistakable to her enhanced senses. Regular humans carrying advanced weaponry. A supernatural army wrapped in corporate professionalism.
But what truly commanded attention was the tower.
Korin Tower dominated the skyline, rising three thousand meters into the sky like a ivory spear thrust toward the heavens. Construction was still ongoing—scaffolding wrapped around the upper sections, cranes suspended at dizzying heights—but even incomplete, the structure was breathtaking.
Ancient. That was the word that came to mind. The architectural style echoed designs from forgotten civilizations, the kind of aesthetic that predated modern humanity.
The shuttle stopped before a pristine white building that served as the administrative center. A receptionist—vampire, Ajak noted from the faint scent of preserved blood—guided her through security checkpoints with polite efficiency.
Three minutes later, Ajak stood in Smith Doyle's office.
The space was surprisingly modest for someone who commanded such power. Clean lines, functional furniture, floor-to-ceiling windows offering a panoramic view of New York. No ostentatious displays of wealth or ego. Just efficiency and control.
Smith Doyle sat behind a minimalist desk, fingers steepled, dark eyes tracking her with the focused attention of a predator evaluating potential threat. He was young but carried himself with the confidence of someone who'd killed gods and walked away.
"Ms. Ajak." Smith's voice was calm, measured. "Welcome. I assume your visit concerns the Dragon Balls, but given that you came alone, I'm curious about your specific purpose."
Ajak approached the desk, her movements unhurried and non-threatening. She'd lived long enough to recognize dangerous individuals. Smith Doyle radiated lethal capability the way the sun radiated heat—constant, undeniable, impossible to ignore.
"Mr. Smith, thank you for receiving me. I have a question that requires your expertise." She paused, choosing her words carefully. "The dragon Shenron is said to grant any wish. If Earth were to be destroyed—shattered completely—could Shenron restore the planet to its original state?"
Smith's expression didn't change, but Ajak saw the micro-reaction—a slight narrowing of his eyes, the faintest tension in his jaw. He knew something.
Oh, she's fishing, Smith thought, mind racing through implications. Testing whether Shenron can fix planetary destruction. That means Ajak know about Tiamut.
The Celestial gestating in Earth's core. A cosmic being using the planet itself as an incubation chamber, feeding on the life energy of billions of humans to fuel its development. When it emerged—sometime in the next ten to fifteen years, based on the timeline he remembered—Earth would shatter like an eggshell, killing everyone on the surface.
The Eternals had been created by the Celestials specifically to nurture emerging gods by protecting nascent civilizations from Deviant attacks. Once a planet reached sufficient population, the Celestial would emerge, the planet would die, and the Eternals would move on to their next assignment.
Ajak's question meant she was considering alternatives to the standard protocol.
Smith's transmigrator knowledge provided multiple timeline variations. In one version, the Eternals prevented Tiamut's emergence by combining their powers—Sersi using matter manipulation to transform the Celestial into marble, essentially killing it before birth. Ikaris, loyal to their original mission, had killed himself by flying into the sun out of guilt and conflicted loyalty.
In another timeline, the Eternals failed. Earth exploded. Only a handful of survivors escaped via spacecraft or portals.
In a third variation, the witch Agatha Harkness had somehow absorbed Tiamut's cosmic energy during the emergence process, gaining power that rivaled minor gods. That timeline had attracted Arishem's attention—the leader of the Celestials had arrived to investigate, bringing the full weight of cosmic judgment.
But if Agatha could absorb Tiamut's energy, Smith's mind continued calculating, what about the Tree of Might? Plant it in the Atlantic, let the roots penetrate to Tiamut's forming body, drain the Celestial directly instead of the planet's surface life. The fruit from that would be...
He forced the speculation aside. Too many variables. Too much risk of attracting Arishem's personal attention before he was ready to face a Celestial judge.
Besides, there was a simpler opportunity here.
Tiamut's body—after death—was composed entirely of original adamantium. Not the secondary alloy that Tony's armor used. Not the proto-adamantium bonded to Wolverine's skeleton in other timelines. Pure, primordial, nearly indestructible metal in quantities that would dwarf every vibranium deposit in Wakanda.
The economic value alone was incalculable. The strategic advantage of controlling that much original adamantium would reshape global power dynamics.
But acquiring it required the Eternals to kill Tiamut. And for them to do that, they needed motivation beyond just following orders.
Which meant Smith needed to be careful about what he revealed.
"The dragon's power exceeds your expectations," Smith said aloud, his tone carrying casual certainty. "Restoring a planet is trivial. Shenron could remake Earth from scattered debris, restore every ecosystem, resurrect every dead inhabitant if properly worded. Planetary reconstruction is well within his capabilities."
Ajak's shoulders relaxed fractionally—the first genuine emotional reaction she'd shown. Relief. "That's... very encouraging to hear."
"I assume you're considering contingency planning," Smith continued, watching her carefully.
"Besides competing in the Dragon Ball tournament, are there alternative methods to secure a wish?" Ajak asked.
"No official alternatives," Smith replied. "However, you could collect all seven Dragon Balls preemptively—before they're distributed to random holders. If you gather them quickly enough when the cycle activates, you can summon Shenron without participating in the tournament."
Ajak's mind was clearly calculating timelines. She had over a decade before Tiamut's emergence. Multiple Dragon Ball cycles. Plenty of opportunities.
"If someone wins the tournament championship," she asked, "can they delay using their wish? Save it for when it's needed?"
Smith shook his head. "No. If you win and don't make an immediate wish, it's considered a forfeit. The Dragon Balls scatter, and the cycle resets. Shenron doesn't allow wish banking."
Ajak absorbed that limitation. "How frequently do the Dragon Ball cycles occur?"
"Once per year. Twelve-month recharge period after each summoning."
"I see." Ajak nodded slowly, political calculation visible in her ancient eyes. "Thank you for the information, Mr. Smith. This knowledge is invaluable."
She reached into her jacket and produced a business card—simple, elegant, with contact information in multiple languages including some Smith didn't recognize. "My personal number. If you ever require assistance the Eternals can provide, please don't hesitate to reach out."
The offer wasn't altruistic. It was diplomatic positioning—establishing a relationship with someone who controlled access to reality-altering wishes.
"The upcoming Dragon Ball tournament," Ajak continued, "will see the Eternals participating with full commitment. My colleague Thena suffers from Mahd Wy'ry. The Dragon Ball wish is her only hope for a permanent cure."
Smith kept his expression sympathetic. "Then I look forward to the competition. May the best competitor win."
Ajak smiled—polite, professional, revealing nothing. "Indeed. Thank you again for your time, Mr. Smith."
She turned and departed, movements graceful and unhurried. The door closed behind her with a soft click.
As Ajak walked through the Fraternity's corridors toward the exit, her enhanced vision caught movement in a courtyard garden visible through floor-to-ceiling windows.
A family. Asian features—Chinese, specifically. The man carried himself with martial authority despite his casual clothing. Beside him, a woman with gentle eyes who seemed slightly overwhelmed by her surroundings. Two younger adults, clearly their children, speaking in animated Mandarin.
Xu Wenwu. The tournament champion from Cycle 3. And that woman had to be Ying Li—the wife he'd resurrected with his wish.
But why were they still here? Living in the Fraternity's headquarters instead of returning home?
Ajak filed that observation away. She needed to investigate whether other wish-winners had also remained with the Brotherhood. Helen Wick lived here too, according to intelligence reports.
Was it gratitude? Protection? Or something else? Some obligation or benefit that kept wish-recipients within Smith Doyle's sphere of influence?
The pattern was worth examining. Carefully.
Smith watched Ajak's departure through his office window, mind already shifting to strategic planning.
Tiamut. A Celestial growing inside Earth's core, feeding on humanity's collective life force. When it emerged, the planet would shatter.
The Eternals' standard mission was to ensure that emergence happened successfully. But Ajak's questions suggested she was considering alternatives—specifically, using Shenron to restore Earth after Tiamut's birth, allowing both the Celestial's emergence and humanity's survival.
That was the worst possible outcome from Smith's perspective.
If Tiamut was born successfully, Arishem would know Earth had produced a healthy Celestial. The planet would be marked as a successful nursery. The Celestials might seed another embryo here, starting the cycle again.
But if Tiamut died that created different opportunities.
The Celestial's corpse would remain in Earth's core. Composed entirely of original adamantium, according to the intelligence from that alternate timeline. Enough material to revolutionize metallurgy, weapons development, armor technology, construction.
Whoever controlled access to Tiamut's body would control the most valuable resource on the planet.
The catch: getting the Eternals to kill their own charge. They were programmed—literally, down to their artificial memories—to ensure Celestial emergence. Overriding that programming required either external intervention or internal moral conflict strong enough to break their conditioning.
Ajak was clearly experiencing that conflict. Her question about planetary restoration revealed she'd developed enough attachment to Earth's inhabitants that she was seeking alternatives to the standard "planet dies, Celestial is born" outcome.
That attachment could be leveraged.
But carefully. The Celestials would investigate any anomalous emergence. If they suspected interference, the consequences would be catastrophic.
Smith needed the Eternals to believe killing Tiamut was their idea. Their choice. Their rebellion.
And he needed to position himself to claim Tiamut's adamantium corpse before governments or other factions realized what was buried in Earth's core.
He pulled up files on his computer, reviewing everything he knew about the Eternals, the Celestials, and the emergence timeline.
Tiamut's body was composed of original adamantium—that much was confirmed from the alternate timeline where the U.S. government had investigated the marble Celestial corpse and discovered its composition.
The question was whether that was Tiamut's natural state, or whether Sersi's matter manipulation had transformed the Celestial's flesh into metal during the killing blow.