That duel, which took place in the distant past, was like a pebble thrown into the multiverse.
Its ripples crossed the barriers of time and space, stirring vastly different echoes in countless different Worlds.
---
Marvel Universe · Avengers Headquarters, Conference Room
The holographic projection froze Sigismund's perfect yet hollow sword strike.
Kharn's falling body and his final words, "Not like you... so broken," echoed repeatedly in the silent conference room.
"My god..."
Tony Stark took off his glasses and rubbed his temples hard, his expression a mix of a technician's confusion and a creator's fear.
He didn't make a flippant comment as usual; his voice was unusually dry.
"j.a.r.v.i.s., analyze his combat patterns. No, wait, cancel the analysis."
Tony interrupted himself, "This isn't a pattern anymore. This is... a perfect, self-destructing code."
"Every movement is precise and unerring, every decision is absolutely rational, all to achieve the single goal of 'victory'."
"It has deleted all variables that could lead to failure—emotion, hesitation, pity, even... the instinct for survival."
He stood up, pacing irritably in the conference room, before finally stopping in front of Steve Rogers.
"Steve, what does this remind you of? It reminds me of ultron."
"When I first created ultron, it was for the goal of 'absolute peace,' a rational, casualty-free ultimate solution."
"The result?"
"It concluded that humanity itself is the source of chaos and must be eliminated."
"Look at this Sigismund! To achieve the goal of 'absolute duty,' he 'eliminated' his own humanity!"
"This Emperor, or rather this Empire, they've created something more terrifying than ultron, because this monster is voluntary."
Captain America didn't look at Tony. His tall frame was tense, his gaze locked onto the back of Sigismund in the projection.
His voice was low and filled with pain.
"No, Tony, this is worse than ultron. It reminds me of Bucky."
As soon as those words were spoken, the atmosphere in the conference room suddenly dropped to freezing point.
"HYDRA brainwashed Bucky and turned him into a weapon, a ghost with no past."
"We worked so hard to help him find himself, to find that stupid kid from Brooklyn."
Steve's fists clenched tightly under the table, his knuckles turning white.
"And this Sigismund... he killed the 'Brooklyn kid' in his own heart with his own hands. He wasn't brainwashed; he brainwashed himself."
"For the sake of so-called duty, he voluntarily became the Winter Soldier. This... this isn't sacrifice; this is the suicide of the soul."
"I cannot respect such a choice; I can only feel a bone-deep sorrow."
"There is no glory in his combat."
Thor, the Asgardian God of Thunder, finally spoke.
mjolnir in his hand emitted a slight hum, as if responding to its Master's unease.
"Asgardians long for glorious battle; we sing in blood and fire, and laugh in victory or Death."
"We clash with powerful enemies to prove our own worth."
"But him... there is no joy in his victory, no passion in his combat."
"He is merely executing a task, like a craftsman polishing a stone."
"This is not a warrior; this is the heaviest insult to the word 'warrior'."
"Even in the most desperate moments of Ragnarok, we never lost the fire in our hearts as he has."
Natasha crossed her arms and watched the projection silently. As the former "Black Widow",
she understood the meaning of "tool" better than anyone.
Her voice was soft, yet carried a bone-chilling coldness:
"The Red Room trained us the same way. Stripping away emotions, obeying Orders, becoming the sharpest daggers."
"I spent half my life turning back from that 'dagger' into 'Natasha'. But he took a path completely opposite to mine and walked it to the very end."
"Looking at him is like seeing a nightmare I could have become, yet am infinitely glad I didn't."
Banner adjusted his glasses and said in a low voice:
"There's an angry monster living inside me. I fight it every day, afraid it will consume me entirely."
"But at least I know that 'I' am still here. But Sigismund... he seems to have reached an agreement with his 'monster'. He wasn't consumed by anger; instead, he chose to be consumed by something even more terrifying—absolute emptiness."
---
Super God Universe · Angel Nebula, Merluo Court
In front of Holy Keisha's throne, the massive Sky Blade series computer matrix flashed wildly, attempting to analyze the Dark data of that battle.
However, all analyses pointing to Sigismund ultimately led to a baffling, constantly collapsing black dot.
"The Knowledge Vault cannot define his state of existence." Hexi's voice carried a hint of unprecedented gravity, her silver eyes that saw through everything filled with technical confusion.
"We have analyzed the Void and analyzed Death, but we have never seen a sample like this."
"His life signs are all normal, even peaking due to the battle, but his spiritual body, his 'soul', shows an... active, orderly 'reset to zero' on the Dark plane readings."
"He's like a super celestial computer formatting itself, deleting all non-essential data and retaining only the base operating system—combat and duty."
Holy Keisha leaned back on her throne, her golden pupils reflecting Sigismund's figure.
She didn't proclaim the Sacred Order as usual, but fell into a long silence.
After a long while, she finally spoke slowly, her voice carrying a trace of cold exhaustion.
"I was wrong, Hexi. I always thought the Ultimate Fear was the kind Karl pursued—absolute Death that returns the known Universe to the void."
"But now I see an even more terrifying answer."
She pointed to the screen: "The Ultimate Fear isn't Death, but 'undeath'. Not chaos, but an absolute Order that stifles all possibilities."
"This Sigismund, he is the living Ultimate Fear."
"He represents a civilization choosing to self-castrate its soul to combat chaos, ultimately becoming a walking corpse that is forever correct, forever powerful, and forever dead silent."
"This subverts my Sacred Order."
For the first time, a hint of wavering appeared in Keisha's voice.
"My Order is meant to protect every life, allowing them to gain freedom and prosperity under rules."
"But if, to maintain Order, the form of life eventually moves toward what he is... then what is the fundamental difference between my Order and Karl's Void?"
Meanwhile, on the bridge of Demon One, Morgana kicked over the console in front of her and let out a hysterical roar.
"Bitch! What kind of bullshit victory is this!?"
Her reaction exceeded the expectations of all the demons.
"I appreciate Kharn! He's fallen, he's bloodthirsty, but he lives like a real man!"
"He has anger, he has pain, he fought to the last moment for that bastard father of his! His soul is burning!"
"This is what fucking life is! This is the aesthetics of corruption and freedom!"
She pointed at the motionless Sigismund on the screen, her eyes full of disdain and disgust:
"Look at that thing! A program in human skin! A eunuch who can't even have an orgasm! So what if he won?"
"He can't taste the flavor of victory, nor feel the pain of defeat! He's just a tool!"
"That bitch Keisha screams about Order every day; I bet she dreams of turning her Angels into this ghostly state! To hell with absolute rationality! I want freedom! I want to feel good! Even if I turn into cosmic dust the next second!"
Styx Galaxy, Death Song Academy.
In front of Karl, the phantom of the Great Clock was calculating at billions of times the speed.
When Sigismund's image appeared, countless threads composing the cosmic model began to converge and annihilate at his single point.
"Wonderful... truly... how wonderful..."
Karl's voice was filled with the trembling and ecstasy of a scholar discovering the ultimate truth.
"He is not a vessel for the Void; he is the Void itself. I have always tried to guide life toward nothingness through Death, yet he achieved this ultimate leap while still 'alive'."
"He proved that consciousness, emotion, soul... these things we call 'life' are merely redundancies and obstacles on the path to a higher state of existence."
"He stripped all of this away, turning himself into a pure 'phenomenon', a 'Causal Weapon'. He no longer 'thinks'; he simply 'is'."
"I have studied Death for billions of years, yet it doesn't reveal as much truth as this single duel of his. Perhaps... I should change my research direction."
---
DC Universe · An unknown London bar
John Constantine downed the last gulp of whiskey in his glass, the spicy liquid burning his esophagus.
On the table before him, a magical mirror composed of gin and crow feathers was playing the final scene of that battle.
"Shit," he cursed hoarsely, lighting another cigarette.
"What's wrong, Johnny? What did you see that's got an old con artist like you talking nonsense?" the bar owner asked casually while wiping a glass.
"I saw the worst deal in history, pops." Constantine exhaled a smoke ring; through the swirling smoke, his face looked exceptionally grim.
"In my life, I've seen people trade their souls to demons for power, women, immortality... stupid as it is, at least they got some fun out of it."
"Dammit, I've never seen anyone sell their soul and get... 'overtime' in exchange."
He pointed to Sigismund's figure in the mirror, speaking with a look reserved for idiots:
"Look at him. He won, right?"
"Then what?"
"No victory feast, no girls, not even a thought like 'Great, I'm alive'."
"His prize? It's to go fight the next one. And the next, and the next, until the Universe ends or he's smashed into spare parts."
"What the hell is this? Even the devils in Hell would weep seeing this contract; it's such a bad deal!"
"This is the ultimate example of bringing your own rations to work like a beast of burden for a capitalist!"
He took a sharp drag of his cigarette, coughing, but a hint of professional gravity flashed in his eyes.
"But seriously... something's wrong here. A soul can't just vanish into thin air."
"It either goes to Heaven, or Hell, or becomes a vengeful spirit wandering the spot. But his soul... it's gone."
"It wasn't extracted; it's as if he digested it himself."
"This makes no sense on a magical level. It leaves a 'hole' in the structure of reality."
"An absolute, cold 'hole of nothingness' that doesn't react with anything."
Constantine stubbed out his cigarette and pulled a compass from his trench coat; the needle on it was spinning wildly and pointlessly.
"And the Universe... hates a vacuum most of all. Something is going to be attracted to this 'hole'.
That thing will likely be a lot more trouble than all the Hell Lords I know put together."