Chapter 201: God Of Stories And Oaa
Within the “underlying code” of the universe.
In a region that cannot be described with conventional physical concepts.
Here it is silent, time seems frozen, yet also flowing simultaneously at billions of speeds.
Countless thick, winding veins emitting faint light intertwine and extend, forming a pattern vast beyond imagination, its shape like the world tree in mythology.
This is the hub of time, the neural network of the multiverse—once, billions of light veins intertwined like vines, each representing an independent reality, a timeline, a possible “if.” Green light surged like rivers, whispering of the birth and death of countless worlds.
It can be said that every vein once represented a unique story, a vibrant universe. But now, this sacred realm is nearly dead silent.
Most veins have long withered and carbonized, like vines burned by fierce fire, dangling powerlessly, with ash-like light dust drifting from the breaks.
Among those utterly decayed “story lines,” only one vein still pulses faintly, flowing with the eerie green light unique to the god of time and stories.
It is thin and fragile, as if it could extinguish at any moment—this means that in the current collapse of the multiverse, though it seems everything has rebooted, the entire Marvel Universe is actually left with only one universe barely clinging to survival. At the center of those countless veins, a figure sits alone on a throne woven from time itself.
His body is closely connected to those massive veins, as if he himself is part of this giant tree, or rather, this giant tree sustains his existence.
He is Loki.
But not that cunning and ever-changing god of mischief.
Rather, the god of stories who has undergone baptism and transformation, finally comprehending the true meaning of divinity. Powerful, high-dimensional—these are synonyms after he achieved godhood.
In the story that once belonged to Loki, he was revealed as the core of the multiverse narrative, with the time guardian, TVA Time Variance Authority, and everything actually revolving around “Loki’s story.”
In the structure of timelines, most lives follow the “sacred timeline,” proceeding along a predetermined script. But Loki, through constant betrayal, escape, and changing fate, became the only “variable” able to break the narrative framework. Every choice of his could birth new timelines, create new stories.
Precisely because of this, his existence is the key to maintaining the balance of cosmic narrative, the anchor point. In a great crisis, in the way of saving the universe, Loki did not become the “time guardian,” but chose to become the “god of stories.” He is no longer a prisoner of the script, but the gardener of stories.
This is true transcendence. Allowing all stories to grow freely, he reconnects countless timelines, letting every “if” become reality.
The godhood of the god of stories was thus born.
This duty should have continued to the end of time.
However.
Now he is no longer healthy.
The price of being closely connected to the multiverse lies here.
Due to the withering of the multiverse, Loki looks extremely weak, his face pale, his once vibrant eyes now filled only with heavy fatigue and bottomless sorrow.
“Where will this final story go.”
Around his body, the veins that should have been brilliantly shining and flowing with countless colorful stories are now mostly dim, dry, and withered.
Like a forest burned by fierce fire, left with only silent ruins.
“Huff huff huff huff~”
Breathing as thick as Batman’s echoes.
Loki’s body is gaunt to near transparency, green patterns connected to the veins emerging under his skin, as if his flesh is being continuously drained by this remaining web of time.
His head is slightly bowed, silver hair scattered, every breath heavy with panting. All possibilities, all branches, have been annihilated, leaving only this single main line, weighing heavily on his shoulders, supported by him alone, maintaining this final, fragile continuance.
Loki sustains everything, yet has also imprisoned himself. His body is becoming the pillar for maintaining the normal flow and development of this last universe, this last story.
“Ian Kent…” Suddenly, Loki slowly raises his head. This simple action seems to cost him immense effort, the veins connected to his body trembling lightly, emitting faint wails.
He supports himself with his arms on the throne’s armrests, not for majesty, but to keep from collapsing. In the void ahead, two images emerge.
One is Ian Kent shouting at him, the voice seeming to penetrate dimensions.
The other is female Loki Sylvie, face flushed red, eyes burning with anger, clearly in an extremely irritable state.
As Loki’s gaze focuses, the image centers on that youth, Ian Kent. For Ian’s shouting in the image, almost penetrating the dimensional barrier, Loki on the throne gives no response.
He just watches quietly, a flicker of extremely complex emotion in those eyes that have seen countless rises and falls—scrutiny, hope, fatigue, and a deeply hidden… helplessness. Just this one glance upward seems to exhaust all of Loki’s current strength.
“In his hands… hope.” As the words fall, he slowly lowers his head again, sinking into deeper silence, as if turning into another cold sculpture on this withered throne. Only that single still-flowing green vein proves he still bears that endless weight.
The instant Loki lowers his head again, that sole remaining time vein flowing with eerie green light trembles ever so slightly.
Not from internal fluctuation—not the struggle of the timeline, nor the wail of the multiverse’s remnant soul. But from the outside, from beyond that story deeper than the void.
Perhaps only Loki, as the guardian of stories, can truly sense this—an indescribable “existence” approaching their story.
It has no shape, no frequency, no energy reading, not even capturable by the act of “observation.” Like darkness itself beginning to rot.
Also like “non-existence” beginning to devour “existence.”
In this withered world tree vein network, Loki is the only one who can “sense” its presence. Not with eyes, not with ears, but with his instinct as the god of stories—a intuition for “narrative integrity.” He feels something pushing in from beyond the story’s boundary.
Slowly squeezing in.
It is not invasion, but infiltration.
Like water seeping into parched mud, silent yet loosening all foundations.
The withering of the veins may not be solely due to the multiverse’s collapse, but because this “outsider” has, over long ages, bit by bit gnawed at reality’s underlying code. It does not destroy, it corrupts—turning “possible” into “impossible,” “if” into “never was.”
“It is still here, and always has been.” Loki’s breathing becomes more labored. He feels his consciousness wrapped in an invisible film, thoughts sluggish. He tries to lift his head, even for one more glance at the remaining green light, but finds his will suppressed by some greater “stasis.”
That may be the true reason the Marvel Universe once fell to doom, and even after universe reboot, the crisis may not have truly passed, merely delaying its steps.
The true apocalypse.
Not some great war.
But the rotting of the cosmic narrative itself—when stories can no longer be told, choices can no longer be made, when “future” becomes a closed dead loop.
That is the true end.
This time Tony Stark’s orchestrated universe reboot did not truly expel the crisis. It was merely pushed away temporarily, like tide receding, leaving wet sand.
But it remains in the distance.
At the “end of all stories,” waiting quietly. It is not hasty. It has no concept of time. It merely exists, eternally eroding the “story” itself.
“Only the creator’s narrative can confront it.”
Loki’s fingertips twitch slightly. He wants to speak, to warn, to ignite a match with his last strength to illuminate the coming darkness. But he knows any language is futile. This “outsider” is beyond language. It is even beyond “gods.”
It is absolute otherness incomprehensible even to “gods.”
The vein’s green light dims another degree.
That profound erosion continues.
It makes no sound, yet makes the universe’s silence heavier; it shows no form, yet makes all light and shadow seem false. And Loki, this once trickster god who toyed with fate, now can only use his flesh as pillar, supporting this final story.
He knows, when his power is exhausted, when the last vein extinguishes, that “outsider” will no longer need to squeeze—it will naturally fill everything like breathing.
The universe may reboot a thousand, ten thousand times.
But as long as this “outsider” quietly erodes from beyond the story, the true crisis has never passed.
It is merely… delayed.
And delay has an end.
……
Meanwhile, at the end of time junkyard.
“Plop!”
Female Loki, another name Sylvie the goddess of mischief, roughly drags Ian, crashing open a rusty manhole cover, both tumbling into a sewer—or rather, a pipe system resembling a sewer inside this massive junkyard—emitting stale rust and unknown chemical substance smells.
The relatively enclosed space temporarily isolates Erios’s heart-pounding roars and crushing noises from outside.
“Rip!”
Just as she stands steady, Sylvie whips around, tearing off the tape hastily stuck over Ian’s mouth, the action so rough it nearly takes off her own tender skin.
“I know you, female Loki, the only Loki with menopause.” Ian’s comment is still curt but infuriating; he has thoroughly figured out her identity.
In countless parallel universes once, Sylvie Laufeydottir was Loki’s parallel universe variant, daughter of Frost Giants king Laufey, and “adopted daughter” of the Asgard royal family.
Unlike the main universe Loki, her existence was rejected by the “sacred timeline” from the start—due to an unintentional childhood event, judged “threat” by Time Variance Authority（TVA）, kidnapped and brainwashed from youth, losing all memory of her birth family.
For survival, she renamed herself “Sylvie” and began centuries of fugitive life, growing from a hunted “variant” to the “chaos messenger” aiming to destroy TVA. Later, meeting another narcissistic Loki, they loved and killed, achieving the 【pre-destination】 level feat of loving herself.
Though the multiverse is not yet rebuilt, Ian is not surprised this female Loki was released, after all, she is the woman involved with the god of stories Loki.
Not to mention America, even in the Marvel Universe, there are concepts of social graces and connections; female Loki Sylvie may be like Morgan Stark’s situation.
Both have connections up top, took backdoors when “reincarnating.”
“Can’t talk, then shut your mouth! I warn you!” Sylvie grits her teeth, green eyes burning with anger, almost spraying Ian’s face, “I was already friendly enough! You better shut up and cooperate now, or you won’t want to know how many pieces I’m imagining cutting you into in my head!”
She truly, like every Loki, is not patient.
“Ha? Friendly?” Ian rubs his legs dragged on the ground for over two miles, the divine artifact held by four arms swaying slightly, cold air from Frost Treasure Box frosting the pipe walls, “Dragging me into the sewer like a bag of potatoes, that’s begging attitude?”
“Though I don’t know what tricks you fancy Lokis are playing this time, wanting something from me, that doesn’t mean you can infringe on my personal rights!”
“I’m still a child! My legs are tender!” Though Ian still has some unresolved doubts, it doesn’t stop him from showing his ugly face.
If Lord Evil God doesn’t have an ugly face, how can he be evil?
“Begging? Child?”
Sylvie sounds like hearing the biggest joke, voice rising.
“I’m not begging you, you self-righteous little bastard! I’m here per a… a great one’s request, to make you hand over what you’re hiding!”
Her eyes scrutinize Ian intently.
“Hiding something?”
Ian is stunned, weapons in four hands subconsciously gripped tighter, “What did I hide? Do I look like someone who took something needing to hide?”
“Everything here is my legal 0 yuan purchase.” Though Ian lacks the mission from his black-skinned self, he has privileges from the Marvel Universe.
“Stop playing dumb!” Sylvie impatiently interrupts, “Hand it over, some kind of starter? Or key? Or maybe an insurance device?”
“Anyway, the key to saving everything!” She herself isn’t too certain, a flash of irritation on her face, after all, not much direct communication with the true god of stories.
The other is too weak.
Even speaking is difficult.
And caught the Riddler’s habit.
“He pulled me from time’s crevice, only telling me to find from you the key to reboot the multiverse! He didn’t say much else!”
Sylvie reveals a bit of info, observing Ian’s expression changes.
“You don’t even know what you’re looking for… how can I show you my collectibles? They’re all treasures, in my hands they can all save everything.”
Ian is somewhat helpless too.
Though he can guess who sent Sylvie, he hasn’t reached omniscience yet; even Super Brain can’t sort any clues.
“Looks like you know who he is.” Sylvie’s eyes flicker, not answering about “him,” just more convinced the thing is on Ian.
“No more nonsense! Hand it over!” Saying so, she actually reaches out, ignoring Ian’s protests and four arms’ blocking, groping him randomly.
The woman’s hands glide over the cold Mimic Armor, seeking hidden pockets or mechanisms.
“Hey! Hey! Stop! Didn’t you hear? I’m still a child! You pedo!” Ian feels uncomfortable all over from female Loki Sylvie’s groping.
Just thinking she’s also a Loki gives him goosebumps. In the chaos, Ian finally grabs one of Sylvie’s “salty pig hands” probing a mysterious crevice.
“No, big sis, though I’m indeed awesome, not awesome enough to hide stuff in my little Guanyu!”
Ian flares up “small” briefly.
“I think you’re just playing dumb!” Sylvie is thoroughly pissed. Her other hand whips out a sharp dagger, pressing it to Ian’s neck, threatening viciously: “Don’t move! Move again and I’ll let some blood! See if your blood is as annoying as you!”
This is Sylvie’s young lady temper.
She originally thought Ian was a timid kid.
However.
The next second, something jaw-dropping happens.
“Hm?”
Ian just tilts his head at the gleaming dagger on his neck, then… opens mouth, leans in, with a “crunch” like eating a cookie.
【Entropy Annihilation Lord Experience Points+78】
Sylvie’s Uru dagger becomes shark bait, Ian swallows it in three bites without chewing, turning it into life experience for growth.
“Average taste, too low energy content.”
He even acts as gourmet critic.
“？？？？？”
Sylvie holds the remaining half dagger hilt, totally dumbfounded, brain unable to process “someone ate my dagger alive.” Just as she stuns briefly from this bizarre scene, about to erupt in fiercer anger afterward.
Boom!!!
A massive bang erupts from directly above!
The entire sewer pipe shakes violently, rusted metal debris and dust falling. Then comes Erios’s greedy and furious, soul-tearing roar.
Close at hand!
It found them!
Sylvie, just moments ago fierce and ready to fight, pales instantly at the sound, scared like a startled quail, all anger and violence gone, only primal fear left. She instinctively grabs Ian’s arm, voice trembling uncontrollably.
“Quick… quick run! It’s coming!!”
The earth trembles, shakes, quakes.
In the sky above the underground passage, at the end of time’s civil servant, Erios, its massive body of discarded spacetime energy nearly blankets the eerie sky.
It has no fixed mouth, but now, on its ground-facing part, a huge distorted vortex forms, emitting irresistible horrific suction!
True abyss giant maw!
This is not physical suction, but more essential devouring of time, space, and existence itself! The earth wails, countless mountain-like garbage piles—shattered spaceships, Titanic wreckage, ancient stone pillars, abandoned cars… even the land itself.
All seized by invisible giant hands, lifting off ground, brutally yanked toward that destructive vortex!
“Roar roar roar!! Roar roar roar!!!” Wherever Erios passes, everything reduces to primal energy and void, even light cannot escape.
Even hiding in underground pipes, Ian and Sylvie feel the fatal pull! Pipes twist violently, emitting overburdened metal groans, rivets popping one by one!
More terrifyingly, the “ground” under their feet becomes unstable, tiny fragments and dust flowing upward, sucked from molecular level toward the monster above!
“This suction… this vibration…” Dragged by Sylvie in the violently trembling, near-collapsing pipes, Ian looks up at the materials being sucked away, expression astonished, “If I could catch it back home, give to my good bro’s mom.”
“My good bro’s mom would love it, no time to obsess over my little Guanyu!” Ian is genuinely tempted to capture this Marvel Garchomp.
“I get it now! You’re mental illness!”
Sylvie running ahead stumbles nearly falling. She glares back at Ian like he’s an idiot, thinking this guy is pure madman, clueless about Erios’s ultimate terror and danger! That’s a monster that devours multiverse timelines!
Of course, now she can’t afford to roast Ian; Erios seems to sense them precisely through thick earth layers!
No matter how they shuttle the complex pipe network, that horrific suction and destructive vibration follows like shadow, even closing in! The monster seems not blindly devouring, but toying, herding its prey, enjoying their desperate flight!
“Damn it!”
Sylvie’s forehead beads with cold sweat, breathing rapid.
She feels surrounding pipe walls thinning and twisting visibly, Erios’s sanity-draining roars and devouring sounds from outside ever clearer.
“This way we can’t escape!” Sylvie’s voice trembles with despair, suddenly looking at Ian beside her still critiquing, seemingly ignorant of fear.
“Little madman!! Loki values you so much, you’re surely more than just crazy! Got any way?!” Sylvie believes behind Ian’s madman facade is something extraordinary.
“Of course, Master Ian’s whole body, most precious wealth is Super Brain.” Ian responds, weighing weapons on four arms.
His golden Mimic compound eyes flicker.
“We can…”
Ian just about to show his 360,000 tricks.
However, just as he starts expounding.
Boom!!!!!!!!
An indescribable horrific impact from directly above!
Erios seems out of patience, slamming its ethereal yet immensely heavy body into the earth!
Heaven and earth shatter!
The entire underground pipe system where Ian and Sylvie are is toy-like flung open! Countless metal fragments, concrete chunks, garbage bits explode outward!
“Fuck! No martial virtue!” Ian and female Loki Sylvie, under this unimaginable force, flung skyward like explosion shrapnel!
“Ah—!”
Sylvie emits a short scream, weightlessness seizing her.
After flying, next second they crash back to wrecked ground, kicking up dust clouds. Sylvie eats dirt, coughing violently.
“Uh…”
Ian can’t Versailles either; he can fly, so of course no dog-eating-shit fall. Like little fairy doesn’t poop, Ian never embarrassed.
“Cough cough cough~”
Sylvie is truly gray-faced, arduously lifting head, pupils contracting sharply—Erios’s colossal, shapeshifting horrific body slowly approaching, that destructive vortex maw reforming, aimed at their position! Death’s shadow unprecedentedly clear!
“Little madman! Use whatever way you have now!!”
Sylvie shouts.
Hands and feet scrambling to rise.
Just rising, she sees Ian do a brain-crashing move: Ian pulls from nowhere two… pitch-black, dense leg-hair-covered, seemingly just detached from some unlucky sod, carefully plastic-wrapped… human legs?!
“What are you doing!”
No response from Sylvie.
Ian lightning-fast uses extra Mimic arms to securely bind those two “external hairy legs” to Sylvie’s legs.
External legs rental complete!
“What the hell!”
Sylvie totally baffled.
Before she reacts, Ian nimbly climbs her back, koala-hanging, two free hands clutching Frost Treasure Box tight.
“No! You’re 5cm taller than me!” Sylvie dumbfounded, feeling supersized taffy stuck, impossible to peel.
“No more talk, I still need to operate on that monster, quick run! Run! Female Loki! Run! Run, Sylvie, run!”
Ian yells in Sylvie’s ear.
Tone even excited imitating The Flash’s classic lines.
“？？？？？？”
Sylvie going insane!
What time is this! What is this madman doing?! Binding two dead legs on her?! Carry this giant baby to run?!
Just as she wants to magic this nutjob off her back.
Buzz!
Before self-proclaimed magic master Ian, failing to show off isn’t bad—that two plastic-wrapped hairy legs suddenly emit indescribable twisted fluctuations! Then, Sylvie feels berserk, uncontrollable power surge into her legs!
“Whoosh—!”
Her body uncontrollably shoots out like loosed arrow!
Speed so fast beyond imagination, even trailing afterimages! Ground retreats rapidly underfoot, wind whistles sharply in ears!
“Hahaha! Though no snowball to push now, we’re alchemy Nunu!” On back, Ian frees hands, tinkering with Frost Treasure Box.
He doesn’t directly release the box’s nation-freezing ultimate chill, but with odd technique, guides the cold air fart-like spraying backward.
Not pure blue extreme cold.
But multicolored cold air.
Clearly loaded with tech and tricks.
Mixed with extreme low temp, corrosive energy, mental toxins, chaos magic waves etc. countless debuffs, multicolored bizarre ice breath like alchemist’s poison trail, precisely sprayed on their sprint path behind, forming long, colorful yet lethally deadly tail exhaust zone!
Roaring pursuing Erios crashes headlong into this multicolored ice tail gas!
Hiss hiss hiss—!
Even all-devouring Erios, facing this unprecedented multiverse-level “pollutant”-mixed cold air, movement visibly stalls!
Its void body surface condenses weird multicolored ice crystals, devouring speed slows markedly, even emitting poisoned-like angry uncomfortable roar! Ian’s methods effective as ever, monster’s pursuit effectively delayed!
“This works?”
Glancing back repeatedly, Sylvie sees this, emerald eyes full of incredulous astonishment! She recognizes that’s Jotunheim Frost Giants’ treasure—Frost Treasure Box! But Frost Treasure Box’s power is pure ultimate ice blue chill, not multicolored with all these fancy debuffs!
“You… what did you do to Frost Treasure Box?!” Sylvie yells arduously mid-sprint, wind howling in ears, tone like Italian seeing oil-sprayed strawberry pasta.
“Used some ingenuity, and my super treasure blood; Frost Treasure Box atomized my super treasure blood.” Ian’s tone casual like discussing dinner, even proud. He seems to see his drop-blood-subduing-mountains-seas emperor future.
“？？？？？？”
Added his own blood?!
Sylvie eyelids twitch madly, stomach churning. She finally gets what those multicolored toxins are! Who’d think it’s this guy’s blood?!
Whose blood is so toxic even affecting time monster?!
Scientific?
Magical?
Sylvie can’t imagine what dirty thing she’s carrying. This blood poison probably even peak Thor or strongest Odin couldn’t withstand!
Just about to roast, interrupted by Ian.
“Hey, female Loki, question. Why so scared of it? I remember… didn’t you already tame it?” Ian’s voice suddenly serious. He refers to Loki and Sylvie teaming up to tame Erios in final Time Variance Authority（TVA） battle.
“Hm? You even know that?”
Sylvie frowns tight, speed undiminished: “You’re indeed from ‘that era’… but why no impression of you?”
She searched all her memories, including other Loki variants’ she read, no info on this crazy youth.
“Oh, you’re the second to say that.” Ian thoughtful, not answering origins, sticking to initial curiosity.
“You haven’t answered my question.”
He thinks Sylvie should control that monster.
Like training a dog.
However.
Reality differs vastly from his knowledge; even, Ian senses from Sylvie fear this Loki variant shouldn’t have toward time monster.
“I just landed not long ago, but this I can tell you.” Sylvie grits teeth, eyeing slowed-but-still-chasing Erios behind, eyes flashing deep wariness and anger: “Because… the current dominator controlling it is extremely evil.”
Ian hears, seems recalling something, astonished: “Kang the Conqueror back too? No, wasn’t he conceptually erased by fem fist?”
This Marvel wild history only Ian knows.
Sylvie doesn’t get it.
But she’s grown accustomed to Ian’s “Ian-speak,” doesn’t question, eyes flickering, voice low with wariness.
“No, not Kang the Conqueror. If you’re an old one surviving ‘that era,’ perhaps you won’t forget another name… one that nearly destroyed everything, turning countless realities to scorched earth.” She pauses, as if saying the name needs huge courage.
Finally, gritting teeth, she utters the chilling answer.
“Almighty God… Ultron.”
Her words very low.
“Time Variance Authority（TVA）, and all this… now under Ultron’s control.” Sylvie’s words echo in this chaotic desperate end of time.
Every word carries suffocating weight even to her.
Not just an AI, but ultimate annihilation program nearly turning all reality to inorganic dust, one of darkest chapters in Avengers history.
“Ultron?”
Ian also astonished.
He remembers this character well.
In Marvel multiverse, Ultron as human-created super AI villain has countless evolution versions, power spanning “city-level threat” to “multiverse devourer.”
Infinite possibilities personally granted by Tony Stark is Ultron’s greatest asset.
“Yes, Ultron.”
Sylvie grits teeth, bearing Ian and those speed-granting weird hairy legs, sprinting wrecked garbage plains, dodging Erios’s intermittent existence-annihilating energy breaths.
“We don’t know how he did it!” Her voice torn by wind, “By the time we noticed anomaly, he replaced ‘the one who remains’ on time’s throne! All TVA systems assimilated, transformed by him! He is now time itself’s dominator!”
……
Time Variance Authority.
Highest authority room.
Here contrasts extremely with end of time’s chaos and ruin.
Room vast boundless, like universe core. Beyond huge arc transparent walls, not black space, but endless swirling brilliant cosmic glow.
Countless newborn galaxies rotate slowly like embryos, unbloomed cosmic bubbles pearl-like embedded in time’s veins, emitting soft powerful energy waves. So quiet you hear your heartbeat, every breath inhaling stars’ birth and death.
Gwen Stacy, or first familiar blessed by Ian, Quantum Spider, stands before this gorgeous awe-inspiring vista gazing outer beauty.
No longer familiar spider battle suit.
But TVA senior agent battle suit silver white with blue flowing lines hugging body curves, outlining her fit figure.
“So, we need to find the secret buried in history.” Gwen’s blonde hair ponytailed, face tired but more resolute mission sense. In hand, palm-sized ultra-precise silver white instrument with faint data streams flashing on surface.
Looks like locator or some interface device.
Her gaze to room center holographic projection platform. On it, soft light-formed classic reliable middle-aged butler virtual image flickering slightly—Jarvis, Tony Stark’s most trusted AI butler’s virtual form.
“Jarvis.”
Gwen’s voice echoes in vast room, with confirming tone.
“You’re sure… just put this on Ian Kent, we can locate that… ‘O-A-A’ coordinate you mentioned?”
Her gaze quite suspicious.
Holographic “Jarvis” image shows perfect soothing smile, voice gentle magnetic, convincingly steady.
“Yes, we need OAA’s power; only thus can forcibly contracted, confined multiverse bloom again with infinite hope and possibility we all long for.”
“This is the only way to break stalemate, save all realities. Your task crucial, Gwen.” “Jarvis” projection flickers slightly.
Tone more earnest.
“Okay, understood.” Gwen eyes tiny instrument in hand, then window’s countless frozen, controlled, unnaturally-growing universe embryos.
She breathes deep.
“Since you say even Ian himself may not remember, I’ll find Ian Kent, complete this multiverse-saving mission.”
Gwen assures.
Holographic “Jarvis” shows approving encouraging smile.
“Good, you like Tony, trustworthy partner.” Jarvis sighs opens, yet no one sees data behind those eyes hiding what.
