Chapter 35: The Doorway Beyond
The doorway loomed before Ethan Cross, a rippling tear in the fabric of the In-Between. Unlike the chaotic rifts he had encountered before, this portal pulsed with a strange serenity, as if it were a living invitation rather than a trap. The gauntlet on his right arm vibrated gently, the fused Anchor Shards within resonating with the doorway's silent call.
For a moment, Ethan hesitated.
He knew that stepping through meant more than just advancing toward Omega Son or retrieving the next Shard. This was a transition—a true convergence of identity and power. No more half-measures. No more hiding from who he was becoming.
He stepped forward.
As he crossed the threshold, the world around him melted away into cascading sheets of light and sound. The In-Between twisted, and for a brief, breathless moment, Ethan existed nowhere—no past, no future, no body, no mind. Only the essence of becoming.
Then reality slammed back into place.
Ethan found himself standing in a realm unlike any he had seen. A sky of molten gold stretched above, punctuated by massive gears turning lazily, each the size of mountains. Floating islands connected by shifting bridges moved in choreographed dances. The very air thrummed with raw fusion energy.
At the center of this strange realm stood a massive citadel, its spires seemingly stitched from the very threads of the multiverse itself. And at its peak, he felt it—another Shard, the most potent yet.
He wasn't alone.
Figures moved along the bridges—guardians of this place. Each bore a resemblance to Ethan, twisted and evolved in different ways. One was armored in a fusion of steel and fire, another cloaked in storms, yet another pulsing with spectral energy.
These were not Echoes. They were something else.
"Guardians of Potential," a voice intoned behind him.
Ethan spun to see an old man, his robes woven from flowing light, his eyes a mirror of Ethan's own. Wisdom and burden etched every line of his face.
"Who are you?" Ethan asked.
"A fragment of your future," the man said. "Or a remnant of a path you may yet walk."
Ethan tensed. "If you're here to stop me—"
"No," the old man interrupted. "I am here to test you."
At that, the Guardians turned, their eyes locking onto Ethan with a unified, thunderous intent.
The first charged—the steel-and-fire Ethan, moving like a juggernaut. Ethan barely sidestepped the blow, the bridge shuddering beneath the force. He responded with a sweep of his electromagnetic blade, but his opponent absorbed the attack, redirecting it into a blast of molten fury.
Ethan knew brute strength wouldn't win this. He had to adapt.
Drawing from the fusion principles he'd learned, Ethan focused, pulling from the shards fused within his gauntlet. He combined speed with resilience, agility with ferocity. A fusion of traits—something wholly his own.
Their battle became a dance, each blow testing not just strength but identity. With a final surge of will, Ethan fused kinetic energy and inertia, catching the Guardian mid-charge and redirecting the force outward, sending the steel-and-fire Guardian tumbling into the abyss.
Before he could breathe, the storm-cloaked Guardian descended.
Lightning and gale winds battered Ethan, tearing at his flesh, his mind. Memories flickered—Gotham's grim alleys, his first desperate fusion, the first life he could not save. But he used them, anchored them, fused them into a shield of hardened resolve.
When the storm Guardian struck, Ethan was ready.
He caught the lightning, weaving it into a whip of energy, lashing out with precision. The Guardian reeled, destabilized by Ethan's rapid adaptation.
Finally, the spectral Guardian emerged—no physical form, just intent and regret. It attacked not with fists or weapons, but with emotion. Regret, anger, despair—emotions Ethan had buried deep.
He almost fell.
Almost.
But then he remembered the child in the carnival village, the Anchor fused to memory, the reflections of who he had been and who he could be. Ethan stood firm, fusing hope and grief, forging a blade from understanding.
The spectral Guardian howled and dispersed into mist.
Panting, Ethan knelt, his body battered but his spirit burning brighter than ever. The old man approached, smiling warmly.
"You are ready," he said.
The citadel's doors opened, a pulse of fusion energy bathing the world in radiance.
Ethan rose, determination hardening his gaze.
This was no longer about finding shards or fighting enemies. It was about forging himself anew—not just surviving the Spiral, but mastering it.
He stepped onto the bridge leading to the citadel.
Each step echoed across realities.
Each breath wove new patterns into the fabric of existence.
And at the heart of it all, Ethan Cross walked toward destiny—not as a pawn of the Spiral, but as its harbinger of change.
The citadel doors groaned open, revealing a corridor of infinite mirrors. Each reflection showed a version of Ethan—some triumphant, some broken, some twisted beyond recognition. Every step he took, the reflections shifted, replaying moments of choice: the fusions he embraced, the lives he touched, the destruction he left behind.
Ethan Cross tightened his grip on the gauntlet, feeling the fused Anchor Shards pulsing with each heartbeat. His footsteps echoed against the marble-like floor, but the sound bent unnaturally, as if the space around him was alive and listening.
He knew this was not merely a passage. It was a gauntlet of introspection, a forge where his very identity would be tested anew.
At the end of the corridor, a door waited—no hinges, no handle, just a sheer surface of obsidian glass. As he approached, the reflections in the mirrors began to merge, twisting into a single towering figure.
It was Ethan.
But magnified—every fear, every failure, every doubt, given monstrous form. His doppelganger stepped forward, armored in regrets, armed with betrayal and guilt.
"You can't lead," the doppelganger hissed. "You fuse and break. You build and destroy. You are chaos wrapped in flesh."
Ethan inhaled slowly.
"I'm more than my failures," he said, voice steady.
The doppelganger attacked.
They clashed in a storm of brutal strikes and defensive parries. Ethan's blade clashed against the manifestation's twin, their fusions mirroring each other perfectly. Every mistake Ethan had made was used against him—moves he had once botched, strategies he had once fumbled.
Ethan fought not with anger, but with acceptance. He weaved through his own history, learning, adapting, *forgiving*.
When the final strike came, it wasn't a blow of power.
It was a gesture of understanding.
Ethan lowered his blade, accepting the doppelganger's charge. The spectral version hesitated, confused—and that moment of hesitation allowed Ethan to place his hand against its chest.
Fusion.
Not of strength, but of spirit.
The doppelganger's form dissolved into pure energy, merging into Ethan. The gauntlet blazed, the Anchor Shards stabilizing at a new level of power. Ethan fell to one knee, overwhelmed—but not broken.
The obsidian door before him shimmered and dissipated, revealing a massive chamber beyond.
Inside, a titanic structure rotated slowly—the Heart of the Spiral. A massive, multifaceted construct of fusion energy, bound by ancient and alien mechanisms. It pulsed in slow, deliberate beats, each one strong enough to ripple the surrounding space.
And standing before it—Omega Son.
The adversary who had haunted Ethan across the In-Between. No longer cloaked in ambiguity, Omega Son stood fully revealed, his form radiant and terrifying. Fragments of countless fused realities clung to his armor, and his eyes burned with paradoxes—victory and defeat, mercy and cruelty.
"Welcome, Ethan Cross," Omega Son said, his voice echoing through the chamber like a thunderclap.
Ethan rose to his feet.
"No more games," he said. "This ends now."
Omega Son smiled sadly. "It never ends. That's the Spiral's curse—and its gift."
He raised a hand, and the Heart of the Spiral responded, sending waves of pure fusion energy rippling outward. Ethan staggered, shielding himself with the gauntlet, the Shards resonating frantically.
Images flooded his mind—timelines converging, realities folding into themselves, histories rewriting. The Spiral was trying to overwhelm him, to drown him in possibilities until he could no longer tell who he was.
But Ethan's fusion wasn't about dominance.
It was about *unity*.
He centered himself, pulling from the lessons learned through pain and triumph. He wasn't just one Ethan; he was all of them. Every choice, every mistake, every moment of courage.
He was the fusion of every self he had ever been.
The Heart of the Spiral responded, its pulsing slowing, stabilizing. Ethan stepped forward, blade in hand, gauntlet burning bright.
Omega Son's expression darkened.
"You think you can stop this? Stop me?"
"No," Ethan said. "I'm going to *change* it."
Their battle began, a clash that shook the very foundations of the In-Between. Blades met, powers fused and counter-fused. Each strike between them caused ripples that altered the mirrored realities around them—worlds flickering into existence and blinking out in a breath.
Ethan fought not to destroy Omega Son, but to force him to *see*.
Every parry, every thrust, every fusion was a message: we are not prisoners of the Spiral. We are its architects.
The Heart of the Spiral pulsed faster, reacting to Ethan's will. Bridges formed between worlds, timelines aligned, possibilities unfolded.
Omega Son faltered.
And in that instant, Ethan struck—not with his blade, but with a surge of raw fusion energy drawn from every Anchor Shard, every memory, every truth he had embraced.
The blast engulfed them both, dissolving the chamber, the Heart, the citadel.
Light.
Silence.
And then—
Ethan awoke.
But it was not the In-Between he found himself in.
It was an alley. Wet concrete. Neon lights reflecting in puddles. The distant hum of city life.
He staggered to his feet, disoriented. His gauntlet was intact, but different—sleeker, humming with a new, quieter power.
Above him, a billboard flashed news footage—a man in red and blue, swinging through skyscrapers.
Ethan frowned.
This wasn't the DC Universe.
Or was it?
The world around him was familiar—yet alien.
Had he crossed into Marvel?
Or was this something else entirely?
As he pondered, a shadow detached itself from the nearby wall. A figure in a long, tattered cloak, their face hidden beneath a hood.
"Welcome, Cross," the figure rasped. "You've traveled far. But your journey is only beginning."
Ethan squared his shoulders, determination flashing in his eyes.
"Then let's get started."
-----------------------------------------------------
Ethan Cross stood still in the dim alleyway, senses flaring. The city's pulse thudded in his ears—the sound of car horns, the distant siren song of patrols, the murmuring chatter of countless lives threading through the concrete jungle. The air smelled of wet asphalt and ozone, tinged with something heavier… something *unfamiliar.*
The hooded figure took a slow step forward, their cloak dragging against the ground with a whisper like dry leaves. Ethan tightened his stance instinctively, eyes narrowing.
"Who are you?" he demanded, gauntlet glowing with latent energy.
The figure chuckled—a deep, raspy sound like old leather cracking. "A friend... for now."
Ethan's instincts screamed caution, but there was something compelling in the figure's presence. They radiated a gravity similar to the Anchor Shards—an echo of fusion energy, but layered with something more ancient, more *purposeful.*
"You don't belong here," the figure said. "Not yet."
Ethan tilted his head. "And yet, here I am."
The figure nodded slowly. "Because the Spiral needed you to be."
A thousand questions battled on Ethan's tongue, but experience had taught him that answers were rarely given freely. "Then what now?" he asked.
The figure lifted a hand, and in their palm, an orb of swirling energies formed—colorless, transparent, yet refracting every hue at once. It hovered between them, pulsing gently.
"This world is... different," the figure said. "A convergence of realms layered so intricately that even the Spiral fears to touch it fully."
"Marvel," Ethan whispered. "Or something close."
The figure smiled beneath the hood, though Ethan could barely glimpse it. "You think in terms too small. This is the Conflux. The meeting point of possibilities uncounted."
Ethan's mind raced. "Then why bring me here?"
"Because the war is not over," the figure said. "The Spiral's collapse was but a beginning. You have crossed the Veil—but forces stir here that mirror your old enemies… and worse."
The orb floated toward Ethan. Without thinking, he reached out. The moment his fingers brushed the surface, a flood of visions assaulted him.
—A world teetering between heroes and chaos.
—Fragments of timelines stitched together like an unfinished tapestry.
—Entities lurking between realities, *feeding* on the energy of fusion and collapse.
And at the center of it all—a throne of bones, and a masked figure seated upon it, watching Ethan with hollow eyes.
The vision snapped away.
Ethan staggered back, heart pounding. "What the hell was that?"
"Your new reality," the hooded figure said simply. "And your new enemy."
Ethan flexed his gauntleted hand. The fusion energy inside was still potent—but changed. Adapted to this world's strange rules.
The figure turned to leave, fading into the shadows.
"Wait," Ethan called. "What's your name?"
The figure paused. "You may call me... Ferron."
And then he was gone.
---
**Hours Later**
Ethan wandered the city, pulling the hood of his jacket up to hide his face. It wasn't Gotham. It wasn't Metropolis. It wasn't New York either—not entirely. The skyline was a patchwork of familiar silhouettes and impossible structures.
At a street vendor's stand, a television broadcast caught his eye.
"Reports continue of unidentified anomalies across the city," a reporter said. "Eyewitnesses claim sightings of 'pocket distortions'—brief tears in space where reality seems to warp."
Behind her, the footage showed a car bending like liquid, a lamppost flickering between designs from different eras, even bystanders momentarily becoming ghostly silhouettes of themselves.
Fusion energy.
It was leaking into this world.
*Because of me?* Ethan wondered. Or something worse?
He didn't have long to contemplate. A scream pierced the night.
Without hesitation, Ethan sprinted toward the source, weaving through the late-night crowds. As he turned a corner, he saw it: a gaping rift in the middle of the street, shimmering with fractured starlight. From within it, twisted creatures emerged—beasts stitched together from dreams and nightmares, wearing the skins of different realities.
Civilians scattered in panic. One young boy tripped, paralyzed in fear as a tendril-limbed creature lunged toward him.
Ethan moved without thought.
He dove between the creature and the boy, raising his gauntlet. Fusion energy roared to life, forming a brilliant shield of crystallized concepts—both science and sorcery intertwined.
The beast shrieked, slamming against the shield. Ethan grunted under the impact but held firm. With a flick of his wrist, he shifted the energy, forming a blade, and slashed outward in a wide arc.
The creature howled as it split into two, both halves dissolving into motes of unreality.
Ethan turned to the boy. "Run!"
The kid bolted.
More creatures clawed their way from the rift.
Ethan grinned grimly. "*Finally,* something I understand."
He charged into the fray.
Each swing of his blade created ripples through the distorted air, slicing through impossible flesh. But the rift pulsed, birthing more horrors faster than he could banish them.
He needed a plan.
Planting his feet, Ethan reached deep into the gauntlet's power, drawing from the anchor between realities. He visualized a fusion—not of items, but of *laws.* Stability and flux. Stasis and motion. He forced them together with sheer will.
The rift shuddered.
The creatures shrieked.
And with a thunderous *snap*, the rift collapsed inward, sucking the beasts with it.
Silence fell.
The crowd peered cautiously from their hiding places. Whispers spread like wildfire.
"Did you see that?"
"Who *is* that?"
Ethan didn't wait for thanks. He melted into the crowd, disappearing down an alley.
---
**Later**
Perched atop a rooftop overlooking the city, Ethan stared up at the patchwork sky. Stars flickered in and out, unstable.
Ferron's words echoed in his mind.
"This world is a Conflux."
Which meant it was unstable.
Which meant it was vulnerable.
And if entities like the ones he saw in the vision were already moving... he didn't have much time.
Ethan clenched his fist.
*I won't run this time. I won't just survive. I'll build something better.*
Somewhere in the depths of the city, a new beacon ignited—a pulse of power that only someone like Ethan could sense. Not a rift this time. Something else. A call.
He stood, muscles coiled with resolve.
"Alright," he murmured to the night. "Round two."
And he leapt from the rooftop, diving into the unknown once more.
**To be continued...**