When Titans Gather
The battlefield was no longer a place.
It was a statement—a blank canvas of absolute concept, shaped by narrative weight and divine will. Time curled around it. Space dared not interfere.
Void-Sentry stood alone at the center, radiant and rotting all at once—powerful enough to rewrite the logic of gods, yet broken in a way no amount of strength could fix.
Across from him stood four impossibilities.
Superman, cracked but unyielding, golden aura dimmed but burning.
Rune King Thor, storm incarnate, his voice a whisper that made thunder kneel.
Cosmic Spider-Man, cloaked in the Enigma Force, eyes gleaming with cosmic empathy.
And Strangefate, a fusion of Charles Xavier and Stephen Strange, an omega-class mutant sorcerer from a reality where logic wore a cape and destiny followed magic.
They didn't speak.
Because there was nothing left to say.
---
The Void surged forward—an avalanche of broken dreams and inverted causality.
Thor struck first.
He hurled Mjölnir-Eternal not just through space, but through myth itself. The hammer sang with runes from Asgard's lost tongue, each one carrying the weight of a forgotten prophecy. It struck Sentry's chest, causing an explosion of unwritten history, scattering potential futures across the battlefield like ashes.
Sentry didn't flinch.
Instead, he absorbed the myth.
"You call thunder," he said, voice layered with ancient grief. "But I call the storm behind it."
He caught the hammer, twisted it until the rune-song cried out, and tossed it aside like a dead star.
Spider-Man moved next—every motion weaving probability. He webbed the moment between thought and action, trapping Sentry in a lattice of what-ifs:
What if Robert Reynolds had never taken the serum?
What if the Void had been loved?
What if heroes didn't fall?
Sentry screamed.
The web burned, not his flesh, but his soul.
"Stop showing me who I could've been!"
He snapped the threads.
But for a second—just a second—he hesitated.
And Strangefate used that.
Astral incantations wrapped around the hesitation itself, turning it into a spellform.
"You are a fractured idea," Strangefate whispered. "And I… am the will that binds paradox."
A seal of balance formed in midair, glowing with mutant-sorcery fusion. It aimed not to destroy the Void…
…but to stabilize him.
---
Superman stepped forward.
Half-bleeding symbol. Half-broken myth.
But his voice—calm. Resolute.
"Robert Reynolds."
Sentry froze.
Because that name hurt.
It reminded him of addiction. Of fear. Of being nothing before he was everything.
"You're not the Void. You're a man who was broken and given too much power. And I know what it means to carry too much weight."
Sentry's voice cracked. "You don't know what it's like… to want to be good and feel the monster crawling behind your eyes."
Superman stepped closer.
"I do. Every day. I just don't let it win."
---
The battlefield quaked. Sentry's face twisted.
Something was happening.
A conflict deeper than physics.
Deeper than fate.
Inside Sentry—Void and Robert Reynolds began to separate.
Reality itself howled.
"He's splitting," Thor warned. "We must choose. Save him—or destroy the Void before it anchors!"
Spider-Man hesitated.
Superman clenched his fists.
Strangefate's eyes burned with a thousand timelines.
And in that moment…
A fifth figure stepped onto the battlefield.
No thunder. No magic. No flash.
Just presence.
A man in black.
Glowing red eyes.
Superboy Prime.
"You want to save the multiverse?" he growled. "Then stop playing nice and KILL HIM."