**Chapter 1: Aberration**
The transition was… incorrect. Not the familiar, gentle severance of a logout, nor the jarring dimensional shift that had first torn me from the dying embers of Yggdrasil. One moment, the phantom scent of decaying plastic and ozone lingered in my memory – the server room, the final countdown. The next, a pressure. It wasn't physical in the way a living being might experience it, more a pervasive, omnipresent weight against the very essence of my skeletal form. Simultaneously, an alien tang assaulted olfactory senses I no longer possessed, yet perceived nonetheless – sharp and chemical, like burnt circuits mixed with something organic and decaying. Pollutants.
Instinct, honed over countless hours of roleplay and solidified by the reality of the New World, drew my phalanges together behind my back, the bony joints clicking softly. The posture of command. The posture of Momonga, now Ainz Ooal Gown. It felt more intrinsic than the memory of lungs drawing air. Deep within my empty sockets, the ruby pinpoints of magical light flared, sweeping across the vista laid bare before me. Their crimson glow intensified as my awareness struggled to assimilate the impossible.
Below stretched a metropolis unlike any I had known. Not E-Rantel, not Arwintar, certainly not the neon-drenched arcologies of my former Earth. This was… familiar, yet dissonant. A tapestry woven from threads of flickering artificial light and the ceaseless thrum of mechanical motion, spread beneath a sky bruised with shades of purple and dying orange. My vantage point, a windswept plateau of crumbling concrete and twisted rebar, offered a temporary sanctuary. The wind, a tangible force despite my lack of flesh, whistled a mournful dirge through my exposed ribs.
Where…? The question echoed in the void where my mind resided. Not Yggdrasil; its digital scent was absent. Not the New World I had painstakingly begun to map and understand. Another Earth? Possible. The architecture echoed designs I recalled, yet twisted into unfamiliar configurations – taller, denser, somehow more… aggressive.
But it was the *feel* of the place that truly set alarms screaming within my consciousness. Mana. Raw, potent, and utterly chaotic. It saturated the air like an invisible, crackling storm, distinct from the structured flows of Yggdrasil's Tier Magic or the gentler, more natural currents of the New World. It felt untamed, primal. Beneath this arcane static, something else pulsed: life force. An overwhelming, deafening tide of it, a constant hum against my enhanced senses that threatened sensory overload. Billions, perhaps? Each individual spark insignificant, yet collectively forming an inferno that dwarfed any concentration of life I had previously encountered.
Caution, cold and sharp as glacial ice, solidified within my core. Unknowns were infinite. Infinite unknowns were infinite threats. Variables in an equation whose solution could easily be annihilation. My grip tightened behind my back.
Nazarick. The thought was less a conscious command, more a desperate pulse of will reaching across dimensions. I sought the faint, resonant thrum of the Great Tomb, the anchor of my existence, the repository of my guild's legacy. Seconds stretched into an eternity of chilling uncertainty. Then… contact. Faint, distant, but undeniably there. Intact. The Treasury, secure. Relief, absolute and devoid of any comforting warmth, settled deep within my being. The immediate, gnawing fear of being utterly adrift, stripped of my ultimate resources, receded. With the accumulated treasures of Ainz Ooal Gown – the countless artifacts, scrolls, and hoarded gold – accessible, the raw edge of panic was blunted, replaced by the familiar, meticulous process of calculation. Caution remained paramount, etched into my very soul, but the knowledge that overwhelming reprisal was merely a thought away provided a stabilizing weight.
First, invisibility. Not mere camouflage, but true conceptual erasure. "[Perfect Unknowable]." The world didn't blur or fade. Instead, reality seemed to… slide around my presence, leaving a void where I stood, undetectable by mundane or magical means short of World-Item tier senses. Simultaneously, my mind reached into the dimensional pocket linked to Nazarick's armory. The Shadow-Walker's Boots, silencing my movement even on ethereal planes. The Ring of Whispering Shadows, further dampening any residual aura. The Eyes of the Night Hunter, sharpening my arcane sight, allowing me to pierce mundane illusions and perceive energy signatures with crystalline clarity.
Thus equipped, I descended from the plateau, drifting like a mote of forgotten dust through the towering canyons of steel and glass. The sheer volume of life below remained staggering, each soul a flickering candle flame caught in a blizzard of existence, their collective vital energy a roaring bonfire against my senses. My augmented perception scanned relentlessly, sorting signal from noise, pattern from chaos.
Then, a flicker. Not the wild, untamed background radiation, but something structured. A knot of deliberate magical energy, woven with intent and maintained with purpose. Order amidst the entropy. My gaze focused. A building, seemingly mundane yet radiating subtle power. Faint psychic residue clung to the address marker, decipherable even through the ambient noise: 177A Bleecker Street. And a name, imbued with protective wards: "Sanctum Sanctorum."
A concentration of significant power. Defended. Purposeful. Rivals? Potential sources of information? Or the first major threat in this alien landscape? Prudence dictated observation. Direct contact, especially from a position of ignorance, was foolhardy. Locating the shadowed maw of an abandoned subway tunnel nearby – its entrance choked with refuse and neglect – I descended into the earth's embrace. Within minutes, unseen by any surface observer, layers of potent wards shimmered into existence, sealing the tunnel entrance. [Greater Ward], [Anti-Divination Field], [Alarm], [Sense Enemy]. Invisible, silent, layered defenses. A temporary observation post, heavily fortified. My vigil began, ruby eyes fixed on the energetic signature of the Sanctum.
**Chapter 2: Whispers of Infinity**
While my attention remained focused, deciphering the complex magical signatures weaving through the Sanctum – identifying individual patterns, assessing power levels, comparing them fruitlessly to Yggdrasil metrics – events were unfolding elsewhere in this universe, unseen ripples spreading across a cosmic pond I was only just beginning to perceive. The violent destruction of an Asgardian refugee vessel, the summary execution of a trickster god named Loki by a being of immense power, the desperate final act of a guardian called Heimdall flinging a powerful entity across the vastness of space using a rainbow bridge of energy – these were chaotic bursts on the periphery of my awareness, cosmic screams lost in the background static of this reality, their significance utterly unknown to me. My focus remained local, micro-analyzing the flows of power within the designated "Sanctum."
The magic here felt… scholarly, yet fiercely protective. Ancient wards intertwined with more recent, dynamic spells, creating a layered defense that spoke of long tradition and constant vigilance. Was it a library? A fortress disguised as a residence? An academy for practitioners of this world's peculiar arcane arts? The energy felt different from the wild mana saturating the city; it was channeled, refined, albeit through methods alien to my understanding.
My self-imposed vigil, however, was shattered not by a subtle shift from within the building, but by a violent, tearing sensation directly above it. It wasn't the clean, controlled severance of spatial boundaries characteristic of a [Gate] spell, nor did it possess the resonant, world-tree hum I dimly associated with Yggdrasil's Bifrost system. This was raw, uncontrolled power ripping through the fabric of reality itself, a desperate, ragged wound bleeding chaotic energy into the atmosphere. Even within my shielded tunnel, I felt the pressure wave, a psychic jolt that momentarily disrupted my scrying focus.
Re-establishing the ethereal viewpoint, enhanced by artifacts mentally drawn from the Treasury – specifically, the Lens of Temporal Distortion keyed to observe spatial anomalies – I witnessed the immediate aftermath. A colossal figure, bruised and radiating an overwhelming aura of pure, incandescent rage intertwined with gamma energy – a signature unlike any magic or life force I had previously cataloged – plummeted through the Sanctum's structurally compromised roof. It landed with a thunderous crash that sent dust, debris, and splintered wood billowing upwards, momentarily obscuring my view. Convenient, a detached part of my mind noted. The target of my observation, now conveniently breached.
My internal threat assessment protocols flared, analyzing the gamma signature – immense physical power, potentially catastrophic destructive capability, seemingly uncontrolled. Before I could fully quantify it, the creature underwent a startling metamorphosis. The green, muscle-bound form rapidly shrank, collapsing inward, the overwhelming energy signature contracting violently until it stabilized into that of a much smaller, profoundly agitated human male. He landed amidst the settling dust, directly in front of the two individuals whose energy signatures I had identified as the primary anchors of the Sanctum's power.
"Thanos is coming. He's coming..." the newcomer stammered, his voice thick with a primal terror that resonated even through my scrying link, a palpable wave of dread washing over the room.
The name – Thanos – struck no chord within my Yggdrasil-derived knowledge base. No legendary NPC, no Raid Boss, no Player name of note. Yet, as the word was spoken, several passive divination artifacts I kept perpetually active – the Orb of Cosmic Threats, the Amulet of Impending Doom – emitted a faint, almost subliminal hum. Not recognition, but… resonance. An alert triggered by a threat profile matching certain pre-set, catastrophic parameters. A local warlord? Unlikely, given the sheer, paralyzing terror radiating from this 'Banner' individual. This suggested something far greater, something operating on a scale that could potentially rival… Players. Or worse.
The robed sorcerer, whose energy signature felt remarkably stable, grounded, like ancient bedrock beneath shifting sands – an individual I would later identify as Wong – remained impassive, arms folded within the voluminous sleeves of his garb. A posture of practiced calm in the face of the extraordinary. The other figure, taller, radiating a more strained authority, intricate geometric constructs of pure light flickering around his hands like captured, unstable stars – Strange – tilted his head slightly. His crimson cloak, possessed of a faint, distinct sentience that I noted with keen interest (a sentient artifact of considerable mobility? Valuable!), seemed to ripple and adjust itself, as if sensing the tension.
"Who?" Strange asked, his tone admirably calm, yet carrying an undeniable undercurrent of command.
Interesting. This newcomer, Banner, possessed knowledge of an imminent, significant threat. Significant enough to induce such debilitating fear in someone who clearly possessed, or contained, immense power himself. The sorcerers, practitioners of considerable skill within this world's paradigm, were apparently unaware. The information disparity was notable. My divination artifacts continued their low hum, confirming the scale – Banner's panic wasn't unfounded hyperbole; it was a reaction to a genuine, high-level danger.
I watched, motionless within my subterranean hideout, as Strange executed a fluid, intricate gesture. Sparks flew, not from friction, but coalescing from the air itself, forming a swirling portal rimmed with incandescent energy. The spatial manipulation was different from [Gate] – less tearing, more… folding. He stepped through, disappearing for mere moments before returning, accompanied by a man encased in sophisticated red-and-gold armor. Stark. The technology was exquisite, leagues beyond anything Satoru Suzuki had known. Integrated weapon systems, flight capability, an onboard power source radiating considerable energy. It bordered on Artifact-class equipment, potentially Epic or even Legendary tier by Yggdrasil standards, though achieved through science, not enchantment. The fusion of advanced technology and combat prowess was a variable I hadn't anticipated in this magic-saturated world. A potential asset, or a complicated, unpredictable threat.
The exposition began, and I absorbed every word through my scrying focus, cross-referencing, analyzing, categorizing. "From the dawn of the universe, there was nothing. Then, boom!" Wong explained, his hands conjuring shimmering, illusory images of six colored gems that pulsed with inner light. The conjuration was simple, yet the underlying energy felt… fundamental. "The Big Bang sent six elemental crystals, hurdling across the virgin universe. These Infinity Stones each control an essential aspect of existence."
Six artifacts born from the universe's creation? Controlling essential aspects? The concept resonated deeply, disturbingly. World Items. Objects capable of fundamentally altering the laws of reality. Were these this world's equivalent?
Strange opened the intricate, eye-shaped amulet hanging around his neck. Nestled within was a pulsing green gem, radiating an energy signature that resonated with forces I understood on an intrinsic level – the manipulation of causality, the flow of moments. "Space. Reality. Power. Soul. Mind," he listed, gesturing to the conjured images representing the other Stones, then indicating the green gem he held, "And Time."
Infinity Stones. The term itself felt heavy, significant. My focus intensified, locking onto the energy signature radiating from the "Time Stone." Potent. Overwhelmingly so. Fundamental. The power to command temporality itself… the strategic and tactical implications were staggering, almost inconceivable. The ability to rewind mistakes, foresee attacks, lock enemies in temporal loops… My undead heart, a mere receptacle for negative energy, seemed to beat with a cold, acquisitive pulse.
Banner, unable to contain his agitation, paced like a caged beast, his internal struggle almost palpable. "Tell me his name again," Stark demanded, his armored faceplate retracted, revealing a human face etched with skepticism but possessing sharp, intelligent eyes. He was processing, analyzing, doubting.
"Thanos," Banner repeated, the name a lead weight in the air. "He's a plague, Tony. He invades planets. He takes what he wants, he wipes out half the population. He sent Loki! The attack on New York, that's him!"
Stark absorbed this, his skepticism clearly warring with the raw fear radiating from Banner and the solemn gravity of the sorcerers. "This Thanos guy... He just showing up? We don't have...'Avengers'?" he asked. The name meant nothing to me, but the context suggested a local defense force. A fractured one, apparently. "He can't be stopped?"
"He has the Power and Space Stones already," Banner stressed, his voice rising, tinged with desperation. "That already makes him the strongest creature in the whole universe! If he gets his hands on all six Stones, Tony…" He trailed off, the implication hanging heavy, then finished with chilling conviction, "He could destroy life on a scale hitherto undreamt of."
Hitherto undreamt of? A bold claim, even by the standards of Yggdrasil's most ambitious Players or the lore surrounding its most devastating World Items. Yet, the combined reactions – Banner's terror, the sorcerers' grim acceptance – suggested this wasn't mere hyperbole. This "Thanos," equipped with two of these "Infinity Stones," sounded like a genuine Player-level threat, perhaps even exceeding the capabilities of a single high-level Player who lacked World Items. Possessing all six… the potential was alarming. Neutralization or acquisition of these Stones suddenly became a high-priority strategic consideration.
Stark, ever the pragmatist, his mind clearly racing through tactical options, turned his attention to the immediate vulnerability. "Why don't we just stick this Time Stone down the garbage disposal?" he suggested, gesturing towards Strange's amulet with a flippant, yet logical, query.
"No way to destroy it," Strange countered immediately, his tone absolute, unwavering. The conviction in his voice was profound, reminding me instantly of the oaths sworn by the Floor Guardians of Nazarick to protect its most sacred treasures, its World Items.
"Our oath to protect the Time Stone is more important than our lives," Wong added, his gaze steady, reinforcing the sacred duty.
"And it may be the best chance we have against Thanos," Strange continued, adding a strategic layer to the oath.
"So, conversely," Stark retorted, his logic sharp, cutting through the mysticism, "it may also be his best chance against us."
Cannot be destroyed. Protected by oath-bound guardians. Considered essential for defense against a cosmic-level threat. My internal assessment solidified. The cold fire of acquisitiveness, always simmering beneath the surface of Ainz Ooal Gown's persona, flickered brighter. Such power, fundamental and seemingly indestructible by the means available to these practitioners, should not be left to the whims of mortals locked in a potentially doomed defense. It belonged under the secure, controlled protection of Nazarick. Where its power could be studied, understood, and perhaps, eventually, wielded. Acquisition was no longer just desirable; it was becoming strategically imperative.
My deliberations were cut short by a sudden, oppressive weight falling over the city. A shadow, vast and unnatural, blotted out the already bruised twilight sky. My scrying focus instantly shifted, zooming outwards from the Sanctum's interior. A colossal ring-shaped vessel, impossibly large by any conventional aeronautical standards, tore through the atmosphere, its passage generating a pressure wave that buffeted even my shielded tunnel sanctuary, rattling the loose earth around my wards. Alien technology, far exceeding Stark's armor in scale and likely capability.
Two figures descended from an opening in the alien craft, landing with deliberate, shattering force on the street directly below the Sanctum. One was immense, vaguely reptilian or insectoid in build, radiating brute physical power and mindless aggression – Cull Obsidian. The other was slender, almost ascetic in appearance, moving with an unnerving, predatory grace. His presence radiated a precise, devastatingly controlled telekinetic force – Ebony Maw. Aliens. Heralds of Thanos. The invasion had begun.
**Chapter 3: First Contact, Fractured Steel**
"Hear me, and rejoice!" Ebony Maw proclaimed, his voice amplified by unseen means, dripping with a condescending piety that grated on my sensibilities. False reverence masking genocidal intent – a tiresome trope, yet effective in projecting power. "You are about to die at the hands of the Children of Thanos. Be thankful, that your meaningless lives are now contributing to…"
"I'm sorry, Earth is closed today," Stark interrupted brusquely. His armor, shimmering red and gold, flowed over him like liquid metal, helmet snapping shut with a decisive click. Impressive deployment speed. "You better pack it up and get outta here."
Maw paused, a sneer touching his thin, grey lips. He ignored Stark completely, his unnervingly calm gaze fixing on Strange. "Stonekeeper…" he addressed him directly. Recognition. They knew who held the Time Stone. "Does this chattering animal speak for you?"
"Certainly not. I speak for myself," Strange interjected, stepping forward, his stance shifting into one of readiness. Intricate magical shields, complex geometric patterns of light like fractal blossoms, formed around his forearms. "You're trespassing in this city and on this planet." His crimson cloak billowed slightly behind him, seeming to emphasize the challenge.
The battle erupted without further preamble, a sudden explosion of mismatched powers. Stark immediately engaged Maw, a dazzling display of technological prowess – repulsor rays, micro-missiles, evasive maneuvers – against overwhelming, effortless telekinetic might. Cars, streetlights, chunks of pavement were ripped free and hurled like projectiles with contemptuous ease. Nearby, Banner pounded futilely on his own chest, a desperate, frantic rhythm. "Come on, Hulk! What are you doing to me? Come out! Come out! Come out!" A deep, guttural voice, seemingly emanating from within Banner himself, a raw negation filled with defiant fear, roared back, audible even over the din of battle, "NOOOO!" Fascinating. A psychological schism, a split consciousness preventing the transformation under duress. A critical weakness, rendering immense potential power utterly useless at the moment it was most needed. Banner was forced to scramble back, a non-combatant.
Stark, momentarily overwhelmed by a telekinetically manipulated wave of debris, was flung back towards Strange. "Help him, Wong!" Stark yelled, indicating the retreating Banner as he immediately launched himself back towards Maw.
"Got it!" Wong replied, already in motion. He and Strange engaged Maw in tandem, their combined magic creating a whirlwind of spatial distortion. Portals opened and closed like impossible wounds in reality, swallowing hurled debris only to spit it back out at Maw or redirecting energy blasts. Practiced coordination, impressive defensive synergy.
Then, a sudden, acrobatic arrival – a blur of red and blue, swinging on some sort of adhesive filament projected from his wrists. A youth, landing lightly amidst the chaos. Spider-Man.
"Hey man! What's up, Mr. Stark?" the youth called out with an unnerving, almost inappropriate cheerfulness given the circumstances.
"Kid, where'd you come from?" Stark grunted, dodging a hurled minivan.
"Field trip to MoMA..." the boy explained rapidly, effortlessly flipping over a skidding car. "...left the bus 'cause this looked more interesting. What is this guy's problem, Mr. Stark?" His agility was remarkable, bordering on superhuman.
"He's from space," Stark replied tersely, firing another repulsor burst that Maw deflected with a flick of his wrist. "He came here to steal a necklace from a wizard."
I cataloged their abilities dispassionately, my internal threat matrix constantly updating. Stark: Versatile, adaptive technology; high mobility; significant firepower but reliant on suit integrity. Spider-Man: Superhuman agility, reflexes, strength; unique binding/mobility ability (webbing); surprisingly resilient; potentially naive/inexperienced. Sorcerers (Strange & Wong): Reality manipulation (portals, shields); spatial control; formidable defense; potential for higher-tier unknown spells. Invaders: Obsidian – brute force, predictable tactics, potential vulnerability to spatial manipulation. Maw – Precise, extremely powerful telekinesis; arrogant demeanor potentially exploitable; primary immediate threat due to focus on Strange/Time Stone.
A clash of diverse powers, certainly. Visually impressive. But fundamentally reactive. They were responding to the invaders' initiative, defending on their home ground. Against a truly prepared opponent, one utilizing layered strategies, exploiting psychological weaknesses (like Banner's), deploying overwhelming force combined with subtle infiltration and misdirection – like the combined might of Nazarick's Floor Guardians executing a coordinated plan – they seemed… dangerously vulnerable. My assessment remained unchanged: formidable individuals, perhaps, but lacking the ruthless efficiency and strategic depth required to guarantee victory against a truly determined, high-level threat. Especially one wielding the fundamental powers of the universe itself.
Wong, demonstrating an impressive tactical application of spatial magic, momentarily removed the brute, Cull Obsidian, from the equation. A perfectly placed portal opened beneath the charging behemoth, swallowing him whole before snapping shut, severing his arm in the process and presumably depositing him in some distant, hostile environment – effective, if temporary, elimination. Stark continued his relentless assault against Ebony Maw, his red-and-gold armor a flickering comet against the backdrop of shattered concrete. He adapted constantly, deploying countermeasures – energy shields, targeted sonic bursts, miniature explosives – but the sheer scale of Maw's telekinetic power seemed inexhaustible. Maw reshaped the urban landscape with dismissive flicks of his wrist, turning cars into crushing projectiles, asphalt into grasping tendrils. Stark was holding his own, a testament to his technology, but he was clearly being taxed, forced onto the defensive more often than not. Banner remained frustratingly inert near the periphery, a beacon of immense, unusable power.
My focus, however, remained primarily drawn to two elements: Maw's terrifyingly precise telekinesis – lifting and reshaping tons of matter as if it were soft clay, a display of raw power rarely seen outside of high-tier Yggdrasil magic – and Strange's clever, unpredictable tactics. Unlike Stark's direct technological assault, Strange fought like a seasoned Yggdrasil strategist. He prioritized misdirection, battlefield control, and exploiting openings over displays of raw destructive force. His use of portals wasn't just defensive; he used them offensively, redirecting Maw's own attacks, creating brief environmental hazards, forcing the alien telekinetic to constantly readjust. Intriguing. Efficient.
Eventually, through a combination of overwhelming power and subtle maneuvering, Maw created an opening. He bypassed Stark with a contemptuous wave that sent the armored Avenger tumbling through the air, and cornered Strange against the shattered remnants of a storefront. With elegant, horrifying precision, tendrils of warped metal – streetlights, girders, shattered vehicles – snaked out from the surrounding debris, pinning Strange's arms and legs, crushing him against the wall.
"Your powers are quaint," Maw sneered, hovering closer, his voice soft but laced with a chilling contempt that reminded me of certain overly proud denizens of Nazarick, though lacking their loyalty. "You must be popular with children." He reached out a slender, grey hand, dismissively, towards the Eye of Agamotto, the amulet hanging prominently on Strange's chest. The vessel containing the Time Stone.
The amulet flared – violently. Not a passive ward, but an active, hostile discharge. Incandescent green energy erupted outwards, bathing the immediate area in its emerald light, searing Maw's outstretched hand. He recoiled with a sharp hiss of pain and surprise, snatching his hand back. Smoke curled from his burned fingers.
"It's a simple spell, but quite unbreakable," Strange grunted through clenched teeth. He was clearly straining against the crushing metal bonds, yet a grim satisfaction flickered in his eyes at the effectiveness of the defensive ward.
"Then I'll take it off your corpse," Maw hissed, his arrogance momentarily replaced by focused irritation. He recovered quickly, the pain seemingly insignificant. He intensified his telekinetic grip, not directly on the amulet, but on Strange himself, pulling the pinned sorcerer bodily towards him, intending to bypass the localized ward through brute force extraction.
Even through my scrying link, filtered through layers of wards and distance, I felt that surge. Raw temporal power, lashing out defensively, reacting to direct hostile intent. Confirmation. The Stone itself possessed intrinsic defensive capabilities, not merely passive enchantments placed upon its container. It wasn't just a tool; it was a power source with a degree of agency, capable of protecting itself. Comparable to the core essence of a Divine Class artifact? Perhaps even higher, bordering on World Item characteristics in its fundamental nature. My covetous intent, already strong, solidified into unwavering resolve. Such an artifact, self-aware and potent, belonged in the Treasury of Nazarick. It would be secured. The risks of leaving it in the hands of these besieged mortals, however capable, were unacceptable.
Before Maw could fully restrain Strange again or apply further methods of extraction, the crimson Cloak of Levitation acted independently. With a whip-like crack of fabric, it surged forward, a flash of sentient textile wrapping around Strange's torso and pulling him sharply away from Maw's telekinetic grasp, tearing him free from the less tightly secured metal tendrils. Remarkable. A sentient item capable of independent action and significant physical force. Another valuable prize, though secondary to the Stone.
"No!" Maw roared, a flicker of genuine frustration crossing his usually composed features. His telekinetic focus shifted instantly, abandoning the attempt to crush Strange and instead snagging him mid-air like an invisible lasso. He began dragging the struggling sorcerer relentlessly skyward, towards the gaping iris of the Q-Ship, now hovering high above the city, a silent, malevolent eye in the sky.
**Chapter 4: Pursuit Through the Void**
My internal calculus finalized in an instant, probabilities and potential outcomes flickering through my mind with the speed of a high-level computation spell:
* **Asset:** Time Stone – Confirmed potent, fundamental power source with defensive capabilities. Acquisition designated High Priority.
* **Threat:** Maw – Powerful telekinetic, primary antagonist in immediate vicinity. Currently focused on securing Strange. Demonstrably vulnerable to the Stone's defensive energy. Assessed as Manageable with appropriate countermeasures.
* **Risk:** Covert pursuit onto unknown alien vessel. Potential direct encounter with "Thanos" before full strategic preparation. Entering unsecured enemy territory far from established sanctuary. High degree of unknown variables.
* **Mitigation:** Instantaneous access to Nazarick Treasury for any required artifact, weapon, or consumable scroll. Multiple escape options available ([Gate], [Greater Teleportation], specialized teleportation rings). Overwhelming defensive measures deployable ([Body of Effulgent Beryl], [Wall of Skeleton], various damage immunities). Overwhelming offensive force available if necessary ([The Goal of All Life is Death], Super-Tier Magic reserves, summoning).
* **Conclusion:** The potential reward – securing an artifact of seemingly unparalleled, fundamental power – significantly outweighed the calculated risk. Direct confrontation was suboptimal, but securing the Stone was paramount. Stealth and opportunism were the preferred methods. I would follow.
While Wong, presumably, dealt with the inevitable return of the maimed Cull Obsidian and focused on securing the breached Sanctum below, my focus became singular. Maw ascended, dragging the ensnared Strange towards the Q-Ship's tractor beam, a shimmering column of light now extending downwards. Stark, recovering quickly, rocketed upwards in pursuit, a streak of red and gold against the bruised sky. A voice crackled over Stark's comms, audible even to my enhanced senses through ambient bleed – presumably Banner, left grounded amidst the street-level chaos. "Tony, you lost the kid?"
"Lost? He's going up there!" Stark yelled back, his voice tight with alarm.
Indeed. My scrying focus, adjusted for altitude, confirmed it. The young Spider-Man, driven by youthful recklessness or perhaps a misguided sense of duty instilled by Stark, was clinging desperately to Doctor Strange's leg as both were pulled inexorably towards the alien vessel's opening maw. A foolish, impulsive act. Yet, undeniably brave. His tenacity was noteworthy.
"Mr. Stark, I'm being beamed up!" the youth's strained voice echoed faintly.
"Pete, you gotta let go," Stark ordered, flying parallel to the ascending figures, his armored form buffeted by the tractor beam's energy currents. "I'm gonna catch you."
"But you said save the wizard!" Spider-Man protested, his grip clearly failing as the atmosphere thinned. His voice took on a choked quality. "I can't breathe!"
"You're too high up. You're running out of air," Stark stated the obvious, urgency colouring his tone.
"Yeah! That makes sense," came the slightly delirious reply.
Then, Stark demonstrated another facet of his impressive technological arsenal. A sleek, aerodynamic pod launched from his back armor, homing in on Spider-Man with remarkable speed and precision. It unfolded mid-flight, rapidly encasing the youth in a more advanced, metallic suit – predominantly red with gold highlights, visually echoing Stark's own design. Nanotechnology? Modular deployment? Fascinating adaptability.
"Mr. Stark, it smells like a new car in here!" the boy exclaimed, wonder momentarily eclipsing his panic and hypoxia. The suit must provide life support, among other enhancements.
"Happy trails, kid," Stark said grimly. "F.R.I.D.A.Y," – an activation command for an onboard intelligence? – "send him home." A large parachute abruptly deployed from the back of the new 'Iron Spider' suit, designed to pull Peter Parker safely back to Earth.
"Oh, come on!" Peter yelled, his voice betraying pure frustration. Possessing a stubborn streak bordering on insubordination, the youth fired a strand of his ubiquitous webbing upwards, attaching it firmly to the hull of the ascending Q-Ship before activating some mechanism on his suit to detach the now-unwanted parachute. He then began to climb, hand over hand, along the web-line, pulling himself towards the alien vessel. Ingenuity born of desperation, or perhaps simple recklessness. His determination to remain involved was noted.
My cue. The opportunity to follow undetected was optimal. Maintaining the absolute perceptual void of [Perfect Unknowable], my mind reached again into the infinite depths of Nazarick's Treasury. The Greaves of Hermes, granting silent, swift flight independent of atmospheric conditions, materialized onto my skeletal legs. Simultaneously, I activated several layers of passive magical detection and counter-detection wards, mentally flagging contingency items: Rings of Negation primed against hostile magic, Scrolls of [Mass Hold Species] readily accessible should stealth fail catastrophically, mental shortcuts established to World Item countermeasures. My skeletal hand instinctively rested on the empty air where the golden luminescence of the Staff of Ainz Ooal Gown would instantly materialize if combat became unavoidable.
Thus prepared, I ascended. An invisible, silent specter trailing Stark's repulsor wake, rising effortlessly towards the dark, ringed silhouette of the Q-Ship disappearing into the upper atmosphere. The concerns of the world below were irrelevant footnotes to my current objective. My journey into the unknown had begun.
The transition aboard the accelerating vessel was seamless, my intangible form phasing through the metallic hull without resistance. Inside, the ship pulsed with alien energies. The design was minimalist, functional, clearly prioritizing efficiency over aesthetics. Dim, utilitarian lighting illuminated corridors of dark, unfamiliar metal alloys. I remained a phantom, observing the primary chamber through divination artifacts meticulously shielded from detection – a Scrying Mirror attuned to the specific energy signatures within.
Ebony Maw hovered near the center of the room, his attention fixed on the restrained figure of Doctor Strange, who now appeared conscious, though weakened and held immobile by crackling energy bonds. Maw studied the Eye of Agamotto with avaricious intensity, his earlier frustration replaced by cold focus. Shimmering, needle-like probes of pure energy manifested near Strange's temples, eliciting a pained grunt from the sorcerer. Crude torture methods, aimed at breaking his will or bypassing the amulet's defenses. The wards on the Stone, combined with Strange's own formidable mystical resilience, were proving impressively robust.
"In all the time I served Thanos," Maw muttered, more to himself than to his captive, the words laced with a chilling fanaticism, "I have never failed him. If I were to reach our rendezvous on Titan with the Time Stone still attached to your vaguely irritating person, there would be… judgment." The energy probes intensified their invasive pulse. "Give me… the stone."
Strange remained defiant, his jaw clenched. While Maw focused his efforts, I took the opportunity to study the ship's propulsion systems. Fascinating. Not based on simple thrust, but on a complex manipulation of spatial coordinates, folding spacetime itself. Elegant in its brutal efficiency.
As the ship prepared for its interstellar jump, the energies involved warped the very fabric of reality around us. A sensation not unlike activating [Gate], but sustained, controlled on a vastly larger scale. Then, a lurch, a disorienting sense of non-space, and the stars visible through the viewports became streaks of impossible light. FTL travel. We were en route to Titan.
*(Author's Note: During this transit, events unfolded across the galaxy unknown to Ainz. The Guardians of the Galaxy encountered Thor, split their forces, and pursued Thanos. Vision and Wanda were attacked on Earth and sought refuge in Wakanda. Thanos obtained the Soul Stone on Vormir at great cost and claimed the Reality Stone on Knowhere. Ainz remained unaware, his focus solely on the Q-Ship and the Time Stone.)*
**Chapter 5: Dead World, Broken Alliance**
Arrival on Titan was jarring. The Q-Ship, clearly damaged during Stark and Spider-Man's earlier, frantic rescue of Strange within its confines (an event I had observed with detached interest, noting Stark's improvisational genius and the young Parker's surprising tenacity), did not so much land as crash. It tore through the thin, sickly orange atmosphere, shedding debris, before slamming onto the desolate surface with bone-jarring force. Even my ethereal form felt the resonant impact shudder through the deck plates. Through the viewports, a dead world stretched out – a landscape of colossal, shattered ruins silhouetted against a sky choked with dust. Twisted megastructures, remnants of a civilization far grander than Earth's, lay like the bones of fallen gods. The lingering energy signatures were faint, ancient, speaking of a cataclysmic event long ago.
Soon after Stark, Strange (now free from his bonds, wary but composed), and the young Parker cautiously exited the wreckage, surveying the alien desolation, another vessel arrived. Smaller, more utilitarian, it touched down nearby, kicking up clouds of orange dust. From its ramp emerged three figures I did not recognize: a human male radiating misplaced confidence and wielding twin energy pistols (Quill); a large, heavily muscled, grey-skinned warrior covered in intricate red tattoos (Drax); and an alien female with large, black eyes and sensitive antennae (Mantis). Chaos erupted instantly.
"Thanos!" Drax roared, charging blindly towards Strange. The sentient Cloak intercepted him, wrapping around his face. Simultaneously, Quill used disc-like devices to pin Stark against debris.
"Whoa, whoa, whoa! Please don't put your eggs in me!" Spider-Man yelped as Mantis leaped towards him. Parker webbed her harmlessly to the ground before Quill kicked him down. A tense standoff ensued.
"Alright, everybody stay where you are... chill the F out!" Quill demanded, aiming his sidearm at Spider-Man. "I'm gonna ask you this one time. Where's Gamora?"
"Yeah, I'll do you one better:" Stark retorted, aiming a repulsor at Drax. "WHO'S Gamora?"
"I'll do YOU one better:" Drax growled from beneath the cloak. "WHY is Gamora?"
"Tell me where the girl is, or I swear to you, I'm gonna french fry this little freak," Quill threatened Peter.
"Let's do it! You shoot my guy, I blast him. Let's go!" Stark bluffed.
"Do it, Quill! I can take it," Drax urged foolishly.
"No, he can't take it!" Mantis cried out.
"She's right. You can't," Strange confirmed calmly, stepping forward.
"Oh yeah? You don't wanna tell me where she is? That's fine. I'll kill all three of you and beat it out of Thanos myself. Starting with you," Quill declared, finger tightening.
"Wait, what? Thanos?" Strange interjected, seizing the keyword. "Alright, let me ask you this one time. What master do you serve?"
"What master do I serve? What am I supposed to say, 'Jesus'?" Quill scoffed.
"You're from Earth?" Stark realized.
"I'm not from Earth. I'm from Missouri."
"Yeah, that's on Earth, dipshit," Stark retorted. "What are you hassling us for?"
"So you're not with Thanos?" Peter asked, relieved.
"With Thanos?!" Quill exclaimed, grasping the situation. "No, I'm here to kill Thanos! He took my girl- Wait, who are you?"
"We're the Avengers, man," Peter replied.
"You're the ones Thor told us about!" Mantis recognized.
"You know Thor?!" Stark asked, surprised.
"Yeah. Tall guy, not that good-looking, needed saving," Quill summarized dismissively.
Fragmented resistance indeed. Prone to infighting, easily provoked, yet possessing diverse abilities. A fragile alliance forged from mutual antagonism. Adequate fighters, perhaps, but lacking cohesion. My initial assessment held firm.
Concealed behind colossal debris, maintaining [Perfect Unknowable], I observed the next development. Doctor Strange, having brokered the truce, sat cross-legged amidst the ruins. The Eye of Agamotto opened, bathing him in emerald light. He trembled violently, lost in visions, observing countless possible futures ripple outwards. Even from hiding, I felt the power, a subtle warping of causality. Time-viewing. Control over a fundamental aspect of existence. My covetous awe deepened. This Stone was sublime. Its place in Nazarick was non-negotiable.
Strange gasped, snapping back to the present, profoundly shaken. "Okay, you're back. You alright?" Stark asked, approaching.
"I went forward in time..." Strange said, his voice strained, "...to see all the possible outcomes of the coming conflict."
"How many did you see?" Quill inquired.
"Fourteen million, six hundred and five."
"How many did we win?" Stark asked, cutting to the core.
Strange paused, his gaze sweeping over them before meeting Stark's eyes directly. "...One."
One path to victory. Their strategy must be precise, flawless. While they began formulating this high-stakes ambush plan – pooling their abilities to subdue Thanos and remove the Infinity Gauntlet he presumably now wore (likely augmented with Reality and Soul since Banner's last report) – I finalized my own preparations. Their one path was irrelevant. My path: acquisition. Their chaotic assault would provide the necessary distraction. My skeletal hand closed around the mentally summoned Staff of Ainz Ooal Gown. The Gloves of Nabû, designed to handle unstable artifacts, materialized silently onto my phalanges. The Ring of Spatial Stability settled onto a bony finger. Scrolls of [Gate] and [Greater Teleportation] were primed. The internal chronometer for [Time Stop] pulsed steadily, ready. Their desperate plan was adequate… and predictable. My own preparations were finalized. The stage was set.
**Chapter 6: The Calculus of Titans**
The air shifted. Not wind or pressure, but a fundamental distortion, a ripple in spacetime centered near the assembled group. The energy signature was immense, complex – predominantly spatial manipulation, empowered by the Space Stone. Then, coalescing from the shimmering distortion, he materialized.
Thanos.
Massive, thick with muscle beneath purple, rugged skin. His presence radiated ancient weariness mixed with terrible resolve. Upon his left hand, the Infinity Gauntlet gleamed dully, crafted likely from Uru metal. Nestled within, four points of incandescent light pulsed: Purple (Power), Blue (Space), Red (Reality), and the ominous Orange (Soul). The combined energy signature was staggering, akin to holding multiple World Items. My passive threat analysis artifacts screamed warnings – Raid Boss level or higher. Caution remained paramount, yet the sheer concentration of power was fascinating.
"Oh yeah, you're much more of a Thanos," Stark quipped thinly, helmet snapping shut.
"I take it Maw is dead?" Thanos noted calmly, gaze sweeping over them, lingering on Strange. "This day extracts a heavy toll." A flicker of regret? "Still, he accomplished his mission." He believed Maw had delivered the Time Stone.
"You may regret that," Strange warned, arcane energy gathering. "He brought you face-to-face with the Master of the Mystic Arts."
"And where do you think he brought you?" Thanos countered, gesturing at the devastation.
"Let me guess. Your home?" Strange surmised.
"It was." Thanos raised the Gauntlet. The Reality Stone flared crimson. The ruins dissolved. Blue sky, lush vegetation, majestic cities appeared. An illusion? No, a localized rewriting of reality. Breathtaking. "And it was beautiful," Thanos said sadly. "Titan was like most planets. Too many mouths, not enough to go around. When we faced extinction, I offered a solution."
"Genocide," Strange stated flatly.
"But random," Thanos corrected, chillingly reasonable. "Dispassionate, fair. They called me a madman." The illusory paradise wavered. "And what I predicted came to pass." The vision dissolved, returning them to the desolate ruin. Potent demonstration of power and conviction. Reminiscent of certain Yggdrasil Player factions valuing ruthless efficiency.
"Congratulations. You're a prophet," Stark's sarcasm was thick.
"I'm a survivor," Thanos stated simply.
"Who wants to murder trillions," Stark shot back.
"With all six stones," Thanos mused, flexing the Gauntlet, "I could simply snap my fingers," – a small, casual snap – "and they would all cease to exist. I call that… mercy."
"And then what?" Strange pressed.
"I finally rest… and watch the sun rise on a grateful universe. The hardest choices require the strongest wills." A belief built on cosmic-scale sacrifice of others.
"I think…" Strange began, arcane energy swirling, "you'll find our will… equal to yours."
"Our?" Thanos looked around, curious, just as Stark enacted their ambush. A hidden charge detonated, causing a colossal ruin section above Thanos to plummet.
"Piece of cake, Quill," Stark quipped.
"Yeah, if your goal was to piss him off!" Quill retorted as Thanos erupted from the wreckage, roaring, unharmed. The Power Stone flared violet, sending Stark tumbling. The ambush was on.
From concealment, I observed the frantic, multi-stage assault focused on restraint and disarmament:
* Spider-Man webbed Thanos's face.
* Quill attached an anchor device to his back.
* Drax charged low, attempting to buckle his knees.
* Stark deployed nanotech restraints on the Gauntlet arm.
* Strange manipulated reality, created illusions, redirected blasts, opened platforms.
* Finally, Mantis dropped through a portal onto Thanos's shoulders, hands slapping his temples.
"Hold him!" Stark yelled, straining against the Gauntlet arm.
"Be quick..." Mantis strained, antennae glowing. Waves of enforced calm washed over Thanos. "He is very strong..."
"Parker, help! Get over here!" Stark grunted. "She can't hold him much longer." Peter scrambled over, pulling desperately at the Gauntlet alongside Stark. It started to slide off. The crucial moment approached.
"For the record, this was my plan," Quill boasted, approaching the subdued Titan. Tactical discipline abandoned for ego. Predictable. "Where's Gamora?"
Under Mantis's influence, Thanos stirred. Deep, agonizing sorrow crossed his face. "My Gamora…?" he murmured, confused, grief radiating outwards.
"No, bullshit!" Quill demanded, stepping closer. "Where is she?"
"He is in anguish!" Mantis cried, feeling the Titan's grief. "He… mourns!"
"Good," Quill spat.
"What does this monster have to mourn?!" Drax scoffed.
Just then, Nebula arrived, Gamora's cybernetic sister, having survived her own encounter and crash-landed nearby. "Gamora…" she stated flatly. "He took her to Vormir. He came back with the Soul Stone… but she didn't."
The fragile coalition fractured. Stark saw Quill's dawning fury. "Okay, Quill," he warned urgently, "you gotta cool it right now, understand? Don't-!"
Too late. Quill stared at Thanos, horror warring with rage. "Tell me she's lying. Asshole! Tell me you didn't do it!!!"
"I… had to," Thanos admitted, words torn from him, the Soul Stone pulsing faintly.
"No, you didn't…" Quill whispered, before raising his blaster, bringing the butt down hard against Thanos's temple. "NO, YOU DIDN'T!!!" He struck again, shattering Mantis's hold.
"Quill!" Drax shouted.
"Hey, stop!" Stark lunged, grabbing Quill's arm. "Man, stop! Stop!"
The blows, Quill's rage – it was enough. Mantis screamed, thrown clear as Thanos's eyes snapped open, enforced calm shattered, replaced by focused, cosmic fury. The Gauntlet, almost off, snagged on his knuckles as his hand clenched. Peter gave one last desperate pull, fingers slipping. Their one chance evaporated in an instant of uncontrolled emotion. Failure.
**Chapter 7: An Unforeseen Variable**
In that infinitesimal fragment of a second – the precise moment their plan collapsed, the instant before Thanos unleashed retribution, the nanosecond the Gauntlet hung loose – I acted.
My will imposed itself upon time.
"[Time Stop]."
The universe froze. Sound died. Motion halted. Dust hung suspended. A horrifyingly static tableau: Thanos mid-roar, Stark mid-lunge, Peter falling back, Quill locked in fury, Strange conjuring a shield, Nebula watching, Drax moving, Mantis tumbling. And the Infinity Gauntlet, impossibly powerful, perched precariously, halfway off Thanos's hand.
Absolute silence. I emerged from [Perfect Unknowable]. The Staff of Ainz Ooal Gown materialized in my right hand. Moving through the stasis felt like wading through thick syrup. I approached the frozen Titan. The Gloves of Nabû tingled faintly, negating residual energies as I reached for the Gauntlet. No resistance. A calculated twist, leveraging the angle Stark and Parker created. A firm, steady pull. The Infinity Gauntlet, heavy with cosmic significance, slid free into my waiting skeletal hand.
Mine. Power. Space. Reality. Soul. Four fundamental aspects of this universe, now resting in my palm.
The internal chronometer pulsed. Time neared resumption. Staff ready. Gauntlet secure. Brace.
Reality crashed back. Thanos completed his roar, hand clenching empty air. His eyes, wide with disbelief, snapped downwards, then locked onto me. The skeletal interloper, holding his ultimate weapon. Disbelief morphed instantly into a fury that eclipsed all previous rage, directed solely at me.
"Who... who the hell are you?!" Stark choked out, staggering back.
"The Gauntlet!" Peter Parker gasped from the ground.
Doctor Strange stared, face a mask of profound shock. The carefully constructed future he had glimpsed shattered. The 1 in 14,000,605 outcome... nullified. This skeletal anomaly wasn't in any future he had foreseen. Shock shifted to grim understanding – a new, unpredictable, potentially far more dangerous player.
Their confusion was irrelevant. Thanos lunged, a purple comet of unrestrained hatred, ignoring the stunned heroes, focused only on retrieving the Gauntlet and obliterating its thief. Engaging him now, even with four Stones whose intricacies I had yet to master, was illogical. Tactical retreat was optimal. Objective complete. Risk minimization dictated withdrawal. I crushed the mentally prepared scroll.
"[Gate]."
A swirling black vortex tore open beside me. Thanos was meters away, fist raised, crackling with innate power. The heroes reacted – Stark raising repulsors, Strange incanting – but too slowly, trapped in shock. I offered no parting words. With a final glance at the stunned assembly and the furiously approaching Titan, I stepped through the portal, holding the Infinity Gauntlet aloft, its four captured stars blazing defiantly. The Gate snapped shut.
I left behind only ozone, the fading afterimage of stolen cosmic light, and absolute, universe-altering bewilderment on the dead plains of Titan.