I used to be nobody.
Just another face in a world where heroes existed only in ink and animation. My nights were spent devouring comics, Fate timelines, obscure myth threads—hours poured into worlds that never knew my name. I lived quietly, died quietly, and expected nothing after the final breath.
But the universe had other plans.
When my consciousness returned, it wasn't to darkness or oblivion. It was to a cradle, to warmth, to a ceiling I'd never seen before. My lungs filled with new air, my heart beat with unfamiliar strength—and deep inside me, something ancient stirred.
Lightning.Endless, cold, mechanical lightning.
I was reborn not as a god, but with the template of Zeus from Lostbelt V a Machine God whose authority could shatter worlds. The power slept in me like a star beneath ice—silent, massive, waiting for time to melt the surface.
Childhood passed in quiet storms.Sparks danced at my fingertips when I cried.Thunder followed me like a heartbeat no one else could hear.
I learned early that power attracts attention, and attention in this world meant danger—Olympian eyes, cosmic judges, beings who erase anomalies to keep order. So I chose silence. I grew like a shadow in the corner of history, unnoticed, unthreatening.
Not weak.Just patient.
By sixteen, the storm beneath my skin felt like an engine warming up. Every breath hummed with voltage. Every heartbeat whispered of dominion. Yet I remained still, watching as gods and heroes played across news headlines like theater on a global stage.
Then I made my choice.
If the world demanded labels—Thor, Zeus, Osiris, Vishnu—then I would choose a name they had forgotten. A name shrouded in clay tablets and desert winds:
Marduk.
A mask, not a lie.A shield, not fear.
The Olympians would search for Zeus. The cosmic entities would monitor thunder. No one would look for a forgotten deity of Sumeria rising quietly beneath the sand.
And so I waited.
Years passed. My power matured with my body—steady, controlled, terrifying in its potential. I could burn cities with a thought, but I hid that thought behind the calm of an ordinary man walking through New York crowds.
Still, destiny has a taste, and I could feel it sharpening on my tongue.
Somewhere across the world—in Iraq, or Anatolia—there is a woman with Sumerian blood and eyes that carry dust of ages. She studies myths I once only read. She speaks names I now wear as armor. And one day, she will hear the thunder calling her.
She will become my avatar. My voice.My hand on Earth.
And when that happens, the storm I've held back for a lifetime will finally break open across the Marvel sky.
Not Zeus.Not Olympus.Not lightning born of myth—
But the Machine God who learned to sleep, and is done sleeping.