Unsacred Responsibility Chapter 9 - (Don't) Give Me Hope

The dead roamed the frozen wastes.

Undead was a term oft mentioned in books and myths, and the knowledge of sorcery, of magic, still did not prepare her for the sight of moving, skeletal remains. Undead was the only term Nebula saw fit to term the countless skeletal remains that saluted the Asgardian woman, as the trio ascended the mountain.

Ghastly, bony figures, unbothered by the frigid cold, bore empty sockets, not even fit for maggots to find safe harbor. A yawning darkness lay within their vacant eyeholes, flickering with a faint green blaze. The green blaze would spark as they saw the Asgardian, all of them bowing, curtseying, and genuflecting as one. Their armaments, the pitch-black swords and spears of Asgardian origins, all stabbed downwards, towards the ice and stone, in a manner that spoke only of utmost obedience.

They encountered, as they ascended further, a small army of the undead carved away at stone and ice with pitch-black tools, chipping, cutting, and carving statues in the image of the Asgardian woman’s likeness. Large statues, the kinds of which Nebula could only compare to the Terran one called the Statue of Liberty, she had seen in memories of her Variants. The motif was the same, yet, rather than holding a torch, the statues of the woman all held varying objects. A skull, a blade, a crown, a hammer, all lifted high, lifted in triumph, in victory.

What was most notable was that all the statues possessed one arm, the same as the Asgardian woman. The undead carving them acted in the same manner as the undead guarding the fortress, all stopping their work to bow to the Asgardian woman, who only nodded as they passed. On their passing, the undead construction crew returned to carving and chipping.

Nebula was reminded, again, with every step upwards through a long, spiralling set of steps carved into the very mountain, that an Asgardian was a god.

Not merely a different race of Alien, but a deity, in the flesh. Perhaps Parker, with his tricks and methods, would be able to create an army of the dead similarly and have them obey his command and use them for labor similarly, but Nebula could not compare. She was just a woman with a gun, a sword, an augmented body, and years of ruthless, savage, unforgiving training, none of which were enough to fight the likes of gods.

Her father, Thanos, for all his claim to being a Titan, had held his reservations towards the Asgardians. From the varying memories of her Variants, a theme that recurred was that Thanos never sought to attack Asgard directly, so long as Odin, the King of Asgard, drew breath.

Nebula had never believed that Thanos could fear anyone, anything, but if fear was not the word used, then excessive prudence could only be the term.

Nebula shot a glance over to Parker’s still unmoving form, currently being floated in the air by Mantis, revealing a soft, bluish glow, as the woman did so. It was not magic, but it was a form of power that Nebula had never seen the ditzy woman use, and it was a form of power that made the Asgardian woman treat her a bit more politely. Or, if nothing else, with a bit more courtesy.

They came across a set of half-crescent doors and entered, eventually, into a large, ornate throne room, one carved, again, from stone. However, amidst it, were adorned here and here, silver, onyx, and a dark, midnight-black steel that Nebula could not identify.

In the throne room, there was a collection of trinkets, items, and artifacts: a shield emblazoned with a star, a hammer, and a decayed, dessicated red skull. They had no unifying theme or order and were placed on varying display cases as clear trophies. A long black carpet draped from the entrance towards a throne positioned at the very end, where a multi-thorned crown stood.

Past the throne room, they took a right and ascended a spiralling stone tower, opening a set of doors to arrive at a private study. Stepping through it, there was a flash of hot air, and Nebula’s temperature detectors sensed a significant increase. The warmth within the study stood in almost complete contrast to the frigid cold outside of it.

A cauldron sat in the center of the study, a green flame lit beneath it. Surrounding it were a series of floating sigils that her universal translator failed to decipher, but could only vaguely recognize as being Nordic Runes. Books in bookcases lined the shelves a fair bit away from the cauldron, as did skulls of varying sizes.

The Asgardian woman waved her hand, and the runes flew forward, making a rough, elevated stone platform.

“Place him there.”

Nebula glanced at the stone platform, one that almost resembled a sacrificial altar. “You must be joking.”

Mantis moved Parker’s unconscious body over to the platform, gently lowering him down atop it.

“Mantis, you can’t be—”

“She doesn’t have any ill intent, Nebula,” Mantis shook her head. “Not towards us. Or Pete.”

“You are the first visitors of the living variety I have had in two hundred and sixty-seven years,” the Asgardian woman said. “My thralls have their many uses, but holding riveting conversation is not amongst them.”

“I greet Lady Hela,” Mantis said. “Goddess of Death. Firstborn Daughter of Odin.”

The Asgardian woman, Hela, lifted a brow. “You know of me?”

“Pete told me about you,” Mantis nodded. “He said… we were alike.”

Alike? Nebula glanced at the Asgardian and glanced at Mantis. She could not find a single way in which the two women were at all similar. 

“Can you help him?” Mantis asked. “Pete has been teaching me magic, but... There is much I don't know.”

“I can try,” Hela said. “But you must swear to aid me in a matter of my own.”

Nebula did not like the sound of that. “What matter?”

“I swear.”

“Mantis!”

The entire room shook. Bits of dust and stone fell from the ceiling, as a frightful boom emerged in the vast distance. Nebula steadied herself, snapping her gaze towards the Asgardian woman, Hela.

“What… was that?”

Hela waved her hand. Those Nordic Runes flew forward, forming into a mirror that displayed a roof, the roof of Hela's fortress, and a giant… monstrosity that had landed atop it. Nebula knew not what else to call it, given its misshapen features and ugly form that matched no alien creature in her database. The only thing it could be called was an Abomination. An Abomination that roared loud enough for a shockwave to blast away chunks of ice and stone around it.

“For two hundred and sixty-seven years, all those sent here by those Midgardians in black froze to death before I ever reached them, or they reached me,” Hela turned to her and Mantis. “Yet, the moment you three arrive, a monster drops directly on my rooftop.”

Nebula unsheathed her swords. “We'll chalk it up to bad luck.”

“Please, I know a curse when I see one,” Hela sniffed. She waved her hands again, sending another series of runes flying forward.  “My thralls will keep it busy. For now, we have to make haste with awakening your friend.”

The Nordic Runes hovered over Parker’s body, circling him and rotating rapidly. 

Then, they shattered like glass. 

Hela backed away. 

“What…?” 

Hela snapped her gaze towards Mantis. 

“Who is this? Who is this man?”

“His name is Pete. Peter Parker. What’s wrong?”

The roaring on the outside of the building grew louder. Heavy, furious thuds began to strike it. Outside, blades were drawn. Bones, rattled, and crashed. Nebula gripped her sword tightly.

“My magic is rejecting him,” Hela said.

Nebula scowled. “Rejecting?”

“His existence,” Hela said. “As if his very being is… he is something that… should not belong. Not in the Void. Not in this universe. Not in any universe.”

“So you can’t help him?”

“If there is a means, it is not to be found in spells or sorcery. My methods are…” Hela hesitated. “...Lacking sufficient power.” 

Nebula scoffed. “You talked a big game, but in the end, you’re useless?”

“The ignorant should watch their tongue, lest I rip it from them,” Hela commanded. “This Midgardian’s soul… not even an Infinity Stone would have enough power to alter or harm it. It either predates the Six Singularities or originates from a place beyond our existential plane.“

Nebula froze. “What?”

“I will need some time to prepare more…” 

Before the Asgardian’s words could fully emerge, Mantis grabbed Parker’s head with her hands.

BOOM!

“Stop! What are you doing?”

“He's calling me! I can feel it! Petey... he's trying to...”

The room burst with bright, blinding light. Her eyes were glowing. Her antennae were glowing. Her entire body was glowing.

“PETE! WAKE UP! PETEY!”

The air crackled with power. Entire portions of reality, of space-time, shattered.

And Nebula saw only white.

=====)+(=====

“...and that’s a crit! Brutal Critical! Smash lands the final blow. How would you like to roleplay the kill?”

“He’s gonna grab Lucky by the head, and say, ‘SMASH SMASHES PUNY WIZARD!’ and bam! Unarmed Strike. Claps his head together.”

Where… am I?

There was a dining room, filled with blurred faces. I could smell something cooking. Lasagna? No, spaghetti? No, bread. Garlic bread? The scents blended into one another. Figures gathered together on the dining table, with tiny miniatures.  I sat with a large screen in front of me, speaking animatedly to a group of others, all with faces shaped in the form of question marks. Blurry, distorted, mishapen, question-marks riddled with holes within holes. My lips were moving, and words, not of my own will, were coming out.

“As you deliver the final blow… Lucky’s voice wafts from his smushed head, saying, ‘Fools! This is but a mere setback in my grand plan! We will meet again!’ You all watch as his body melts into a puddle of snow and ice.”

“Huh? Wait, what?”

“What do you mean, melts into a puddle?”

“Aw, man, it’s a fucking Simulacrum!” The Question-Mark with a Thor action figure in front of him cursed. “DM, don’t tell me we’ve been fighting a Simulacrum the entire time. Fuck, man. I burned all my spell slots on a Simulacrum? Even my Channel Divinity? Really?”

“Hey, hey, no metagaming!”

“We’re supposed to win here! Isn’t the entire point of it an Avengers-themed campaign being that the good-guys win at the end?”

“I never said you were guaranteed to win.” 

The words flow from my lips as if I knew them. 

As if I’d spoken them.

“Lucky is a spellcaster, and he’s a prepared one. You don’t think, with his ability to create so many illusions and doppelgangers, he’d just let you all pummel the real him, did you? That’s stupid. He’s over thousands of years old and is a fabled Illusion Wizard.”

“He did it in the Avengers,” the Question Mark with the Natasha Romanoff miniature spoke.

“Well, this is not the Avengers.”

“DM, come on, that’s no fun. We can’t beat him if you do that.”

“Do what?”

“Make him smart. You can’t have a smart Wizard as the villain. You can’t kill a high-level one if they don’t want to be killed. They have too many bullshit spells. Contingency, Clone, Simulacrum. If they know what they’re doing and have a brain, they literally can’t lose.”

“Well, that’s part of the reason I started this Campaign. Finding a way to beat an enemy you think can’t lose. Trust me, guys. You can do it. You just have to have a little bit of hope.”

The world spun around me. The dining room vanished. I was standing, no, floating, in the Void again, in Arishem’s palm. The only thing visible in the pitch blackness and nothingness was just the two of us, one Astral Body, and the Prime Celestial.

This could have been considered romantic, were I the sort, and were Arishem a bit more comely. Sadly, there was no sign of amorous inclinations to be seen within Arishem’s big, empty, giant, six eyes. That, and Arishem was male. Probably? Potentially? Were there female Celestials? There should be. Arishem was not that. Arishem did not look amused. It did not help that Ghost Tony was hovering behind him and making bunny fingers, or trying to, but failing due to the problem of size and perspective.

My subscription plan to Rationality Prime was upgrading by the second, or downgrading, depending on one’s perspective.

I needed to get back to Mantis soon. Only she could take all this shit, pack it up, and compress it into a ball of packed-up shit togetherness, and lock it back into the Parker Mind Vault.

“…up…Pete…”

There was a faint voice, I could hear. A familiar voice. 

Mantis…?

Did I imagine it?

…What was I doing?

Oh. Right.

Arishem.

It was nice of him to wait for me to gather my senses. I didn't know he was patient like that.

“Great Arishem! I am—”

“I know who you are,” Arishem said. “And I know what you desire. Shattered and fractured as your mind is, your motivations are clear to me. As are your secrets.”

I blinked. Could Arishem read minds? I turned to Ghost Tony. Ghost Tony shrugged. Beats me, he mouthed. Didn’t study Celestial Anatomy at MIT. 

That couldn’t track. Even though I was in my Astral Form, I had a spell specifically for psychics, so—

“Souls, Peter Parker of Earth.”

“Come again?”

“Judgment,” Arishem’s voice came, “Is a thing I render on worlds. Yet, you have given me cause for the first time to render it such on a single, insignificant lifeform.”

“You’re welcome?”

“Humor will not do you any justice in alleviating my displeasure, Peter Parker of Earth,” Arishem remarked. “No. That is a mere skin you wear. You… What are you?”

My Astral Form trembled. Huh?

“I created the first star. All of existence that should be, and was, came to light as a result of my grand plan. Every soul, thus, carries within it the traces of starstuff birthed of that flame, all that sprang from my fire.”

Arishem’s other hand, a finger, larger than entire cities, larger than entire countries, moved within the emptiness of the void and pointed.

“Yours does not.”

A finger that could crush New York to rubble with the ease of pressing a blood-sucking mosquito on a scrotum… 

Pointed.

At. 

Me.

“A soul that does not belong to this world, that has no traces of it belonging to any world created by my kind. An outlier. An anomaly.”

In my Astral Form, the darkness of the void began to grow more and more suffocating. Arishem’s red eyes glowed brighter and hotter, such that despite being a mere Astral Body, I could feel myself burning up.

“I ask again: What are you?”

Ghost Tony gave me a ‘Well, shit’ look. 

“I’m a Sorcerer,” I tried again. “A friendly, interdimensional, neighborhood sorcerer. You’ve met lots of those, haven’t you?”

“No.”

The Void spun. The world around me twisted until I saw a visage of Arishem, a planet, and himself planting something deep within the planet. 

“Once there is enough sapient life upon a planet, a Celestial Seed awakens. For such to be done, all Celestials can sense sapience, even in their nascent stages. All sapient things possess a mind, and all things that possess a mind possess a soul.”

Deep within the planet, the slumbering Celestial could feel the lifeforms on it. Glowing bright, glowing with a color that was eerily reminiscent of the Soul Stone. The essence, siphoned all the way down to the bottom, the crust, pouring deeper and deeper into the Celestial Seed, growing and germinating.

“The energy of such souls, such sapient life, is what gives rise to Celestials. It is with that same cosmic power we create stars and allow new worlds to flourish, and plant new seeds in an unending cycle. But you…”

Arishem waved his hand.

“You have a soul that is not part of that cycle. A soul not beholden to it.”

All the souls on the planet became a different color. Clear. White. The clear, white souls did not go down into the planet. Down within, the Celestial Seed began to shrivel.

“Were a being like yourself to multiply, worlds which have been seeded with Celestials would fail to nurture. They would find no sustenance from you, or from your progeny. There will be fewer Celestials, fewer stars being born, and less life. The cosmos will be brought to its darkest age.”

That was news to me. News to Ghost Tony, too. 

“That’s something for those not here, in the Void, to worry about,” I said. “Now, about my bargain. I offer destruction of the Time Variance Authority, and the death of the one who controls the Multiverse, called—”

“You presume me,” Arishem interrupted me. “To be a multiversal doppelganger condemned to this place.” 

Silence.

“You…” 

I did not trust my voice.

“Are you not a Variant—” 

“I am not.”

I had summoned Arishem.

The Arishem. 

Not a Variant in the Void, but the Arishem, from the ‘Sacred Timeline.’ I pulled him directly across hundreds of trillions, if not quadrillions of years, to this moment, at the End of Time, with my spell.

As no branching timelines could be created by actions and deeds at the end of time, he was not an Arishem Variant. Meaning, in the ‘Sacred Timeline, ’ Arishem had just completely vanished without explanation from wherever he was, and whatever he was doing.

Arishem’s eyes glowed brighter. There, an image appeared, of a man with Mongolian features, riding astride a horse, charging forward.

“A mere mortal conqueror was able to possess millions of descendants on your Earth. Despite his life being less than a fraction of a fraction of yours, he contributed to the advancement of the Emergence more than any other.”

 The image vanished.

“You are unaging. Mortals such as yourself who sip of the drink of Eternity cannot find it in them to do so alone. Even were you to sire but one child, your lineage will seek to multiply.”

The world returned to the pitch black, empty void.

“Should the stars be filled with your descendants, should the cosmos be littered with your children and your children’s children, the universe will see no more Celestials. The universe will see no more life.”

Ghost Tony was carrying an alarm clock, and it was ringing. Then two, then three. Hundreds of alarm clocks.

“Should you ever leave this place, it will not be a matter of if such a thing will come to pass, but a matter of when.”

Wait.

Something clicked.

“Wait.”

I lifted a hand, one hand, my left hand.

“You’re saying… I can end countless worlds just by…” 

I moved my hands in front of my waist, and my soul pelvis-thrusted in front of God. 

“Having children?”

“Yes,” Arishem declared. “Your existence is a threat to the continuance of new worlds and new stars, thus, all life in this universe. In any universe you find yourself, wherein worlds are made by my kind.”

Ha.

“If you had met me, not here, in the Void, but out there—” I said. “Would you have explained this, or reasoned with me…?”

“Would you seek to reason with a cancerous lump?” Arishem said. “Or would you immediately seek to excise it?”

Haha.

“You’re reasoning with me now.”

“Because here, you are neither a threat nor a concern. I would prefer it remain so. ”

Hahaha. 

“You’re telling me I should not leave this place. That you’re not going to help me leave this place.”

Hahahaha.

“Because if I do….”

“I will see to it that the infection does not spread.”

I nodded.

“I see.”

Ha.

HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!

“I see! I see! I see!”

Because my soul was not from this Multiverse, Celestial Seeds could not gain nourishment from it.

Even had I never been sent to the Void, even had I never encountered that wretched woman, I could never have lived a normal life as Peter Parker. The Eternals would have come for me, Arishem would have sent them for me, for the threat I possessed, the threat my soul possessed. Simply existing made me a potential threat to the universal cycle, because there was no one else like me in this Multiverse.

He would not ask nicely to keep it in my pants, oh no, no, no—

He would have killed me.

I was, after all, in his own words, a cancer.

Any universe that had Celestials, therefore, was hostile to me. Unless I went somewhere in this Multiverse without Celestials… there was nowhere, in this entire Multiverse, where I would ever have had a chance to live a normal life.

Yet, it was established that the Celestials created suns, stars, and universes. A Universe without Celestials would be a universe bereft of anything.

Thus, it meant I was not allowed to exist anywhere in this Multiverse.

“...I see.” 

For so long, I thought about destroying this accursed Multiverse, but whenever I did, my mind recalled that Old Man and T’Challa the Kind, it riddled me with doubt. 

With hesitation. 

This universe, wretched as it was, still had things within it of value. 

Things worth holding on to.

Was going about, culling lives, wantonly massacring, truly the path I wanted to follow? Was that to be the path I carved out? Blood? Cruelty? Savagery? I had reservations about that path. I had doubts as to the merits of that path. 

Yet, this Multiverse would not accept my existence.

Is that why my luck is terrible?

Something clicked again.

Is Parker Luck… simply… the Multiverse itself… recognizing me as a cancer… and doing everything in its power… to hinder me, or eliminate my existence?

I looked straight at Arishem. 

“My soul does not fall into your Grand Design.”

“It does not.”

“And if I were to have children… theirs too would fall outside of it. They would be free of not just your Grand Design… but every Grand Design… wouldn’t they?”

Arishem, for the first time, did not answer.

If every knowable aspect of the universe could be calculated, it would be possible to create a formula that would predict everything and everyone. I, my soul, however, contained the sole unknowable aspect in the universe, the thing which no one could account for. Not even the universe itself. Thus, the probabilities of events that would be fortuitous for others, deterministic for others, were not so for me. 

Therefore, my luck was terrible.

However, at the same time…

I was the sole person in this Multiverse with Absolute Free Will.

And I—

I could give that to others.

I see.

A new path had been presented before me.

Before, I had seen the destruction of the universe as a thing I needed to do as a means to vent my grief, my sorrow, my desire for vengeance… but of course, my heart would waver, my conviction would be lacking, because such reasons were born of fleeting emotion, not eternal conviction.

Now… I saw it. 

Destroying his Multiverse…

It was the first step towards freeing it.

Saving it.

I did not need to use force. I did not even need to use bloodshed.

There was an easier, far simpler method before me, which would grant me the goal of its destruction all the same. According to Arishem, all I needed…

Was to be fruitful and multiply.

Evil always carried within itself the germ of its own subversion. People would gather around, form armies, rebel, and fight against an omnicidal maniac hell bent on multiversal destruction, because he was clearly, unmistakably, irrefutably evil. My enemies would be Gods and Titans, Heroes and Monsters, Mutants and Mutates, all of which, fighting to prevent extinction, struggling, desperately, wildly, madly, against me, who would arrive blowing the trumpets of multiversal annihilation.

But who would care to stop a prolific lover, a manic pronatalist, whose greatest vice was wishing to have his baby-batter fill the womb of every woman in his sight? A manwhore, he would be cursed, a slut, he would be accused, but, even so, in that, there was no crime worthy of Accords and Conventions. His actions would be derided by some and thought amusing to others—

Yet none would question it. None would try to stop it.

Destruction of the Multiverse not through overwhelming force, not through prolonged conflict, war, bloody genocide—

But through peaceful assimilation. 

I could destroy the Multiverse—

By smothering it with love.

Love and Semen.

Then, when the multiverse was filled with only my progeny—

It would be saved.

It would be… Free.

AH!

My soul trembled. My heart cleared. 

“PETEY!”

Doubt, hesitation, even madness, all of it came together as one and left me only with a momentary serenity.

“WAKE!”

I knew, now, what I had to do.

“UP!”

=====)+(=====

Observing from a Higher Dimension, a group of three glanced down at a scene of the latest ‘result’ of a broken Oath. A man, hurling through space, doing so at such speeds faster than light, that it created a vast difference in scales of time. Time itself, despite lacking even at its end, stretched for ages… and ages… and ages.

Until a mind, unable to accept it, began fabrications.

“What is he doing?”

“He is under the impression that he summoned Arishem.”

“He does not realize his spell failed?”

“It is the same as the time he believed he encountered an Old Man protecting children. His mind continues to conjure moments of hope when he is at his greatest point of despair.”

The group of three fell silent.

“Perhaps… we may consider forgiving the Oath-Breaking. Just this once.”

“But it is against our Oath to—”

“If there has ever been a mortal for whom that Oath is worth breaking…”

The three fell silent again.

“He knows about the nature of his soul?”

“Through his hallucinations, he somehow arrived at the correct conclusions.”

The three watched a soul be dragged back by the Celestial Girl, as it began to hurtle back towards its body.

“We must continue to watch him, and watch the Oath-Breaker watching him.” 

The three figures faded.

“Just because we pardon a broken Oath once, does not mean we will pardon it again.”