Moira was truly fascinating.
Duncan was evidently deeply intrigued by this mutant with the ability to reincarnate. The fact that this woman, through her cycle of rebirth, had now directly become one of his Xenomorphs made it all the more interesting.
Duncan was well aware that this world was full of extraordinary miracles—powerful individuals blessed by some mischievous deity's generosity could appear out of nowhere.
But even with that understanding, Moira's reincarnation as a Xenomorph was still beyond bizarre, utterly defying his expectations. No matter how much Duncan liked to plan ahead and prepare for every possible scenario, he had never once considered such a possibility.
"Hmm... Her memories from her past two lives seem intact, everything appears normal. But this time, upon death and rebirth, she became my Xenomorph."
Duncan carefully examined Moira's mind—before him, she had no secrets whatsoever.
And Moira, in turn, could acutely perceive his unrestrained, forceful intrusion—an unmistakable violation on a spiritual level.
To her, it felt as though a terrifyingly omnipresent hand was seizing everything, manipulating her at will from an untouchable height—all while speaking soothing words of reassurance.
"Moira, your fate has changed. This is your greatest fortune. Since resistance is futile, why not embrace this unprecedented new beginning?"
"Look at your past self—so weak, so pitiful. A mutant, yet you died tragic deaths again and again. Your brilliant life withered before it could ever truly bloom. What was the point of such a fleeting existence?"
"Be quiet. Don't try to resist me. You know you can't refuse my commands. Quite the opposite—I can control you however I please."
Moira wanted to die.
Though she had already died twice before, she had never experienced anything as terrifying as this. Resistance was out of the question—she couldn't even keep her own thoughts to herself.
She had once planned to seek out Professor X, to keep trying, to find a future where mutants could survive.
Deep in her heart, she had even been prepared to let Professor X read her mind—to show him the memories of her past lives, the results of all her efforts.
"No—stay away! Get away from me! I don't belong here! I'm a mutant—I have important things to do! They need me!" Moira shrieked, her words incoherent. Yet her instincts—betrayal written into her very being—welcomed Duncan's every action.
The worst part was that she knew reason was utterly useless against such primal compulsion.
"Think of it another way, Moira," Duncan said smoothly. "If you've inexplicably reincarnated as my Xenomorph, why assume I have no use for you? Don't you believe in destiny? That your very existence is the key to guiding the future of mutants? Then this is your new fate—to serve me, as a Xenomorph."
Duncan finally withdrew. He had unraveled every secret within her. His voice, now indifferent, carried absolute finality.
No Xenomorph could refuse Duncan. None. Moira was no exception.
She had no choice but to lower her grotesque head in submission. The silent screams in her heart had no power to affect her body's actions.
"I don't understand," Moira muttered, filled with bitter despair. "Even if my abilities suddenly stopped working one day, I could accept that. I could even face death with dignity. But why—why am I no longer even a mutant? Why, after another rebirth, have I become… this? A Xenomorph?"
Duncan paused, then replied, "If you need a reason, perhaps it was my actions. I saved this world. My intervention altered the trajectory you once knew. I am the anchor of this reality—the force that holds erratic variables in place. And you, Moira… you are one of those variables."
Moira refused to believe him. But that wretched feeling crept in again—that insidious compulsion demanding her absolute faith. Terror dulled her mind, trapping her thoughts in a quagmire.
Time passed. Duncan no longer forced control over her body. Moira stood in silence for a long while before finally stepping out of the nest.
As she walked, she passed by many Xenomorphs, forcing herself to remain calm and study these newfound "brethren."
Without question, anyone who carefully observed a Xenomorph would be awestruck. These creatures were like something sculpted to perfection, each sinew and contour painstakingly crafted.
"Xenomorphs… I've never even heard of such beings before. So the 93rd floor is their nest? Then what about the other floors? What exactly is Weyland Tower? I don't recall ever hearing of it."
Moira struggled to make sense of the world around her. But the more she learned, the more she was left utterly stunned—so much had changed, she began to wonder if she was hallucinating. If her own mind had shattered.
"I haven't even made my move yet, and Professor X and Magneto have already joined forces? And they announced it publicly at the Global Summit? The humans haven't immediately turned against mutants, haven't begun systematic extermination efforts?"
"The world's vampires… are nearly wiped out? They're nothing more than standard hosts and food for Xenomorphs now? My god, even in my past two lives, vampires were never eradicated like this."
"What? Magneto rampaged through Westchester… only to be defeated by a Xenomorph host? That battle alone killed tens of thousands?"
"Extra-dimensional demonic gods… Dormammu… the Sorcerer Supreme… Who are these people? I know Tony Stark and the Avengers—they're our enemies—but why does this world feel so unrecognizable?"
Moira's mind was in chaos. But she quickly identified the source of all these changes—the singular force that had set everything on a different course.
Duncan.
Stepping out of Weyland Tower, she was immediately met with an overwhelming crowd. Day and night, people had been waiting outside, and now they erupted into a frenzy, cameras flashing wildly as they captured her image.
Fanatics, their minds unhinged, attempted to break through police barriers, desperate to get closer to this terrifyingly elegant Xenomorph.
Those with even a shred of common sense, however, knew the best course of action—so long as they hadn't angered Duncan or his Xenomorphs, it was best to walk by, pretending they had seen and heard nothing at all.
But if someone foolishly treats xenomorphs like harmless kittens or puppies, stepping forward to block or touch them, they're just asking for death.
Unless they're like Moira—reborn as a xenomorph themselves.
Moira looked at the fanatical crowd before her, her enhanced hearing allowing her to clearly catch the words they were shouting. She was utterly dumbfounded.
"These lunatics are worshiping me? Respecting me? And some of them even want to become me? What kind of deranged wish is that? Forget about being mutants—they don't even want to be human anymore!!"
These days, even the chance to be parasitized by a xenomorph had become a highly sought-after opportunity. This realization made Moira keenly aware that the world she had been reborn into this time was even more chaotic and dangerous than before. Too many unexpected events were unfolding, and too many powerful figures—ones she was never meant to interact with—were now appearing one after another.
"Duncan claims he has set the anchor point for this lifetime…" Moira's expression was complicated. She smacked her lips—a subconscious action that instantly triggered another round of frenzied screams from the crowd.
Moira began to reevaluate her world with a newfound sense of seriousness. She needed to integrate her memories from her past two lives with her current rebirth.
"I'm no longer a mutant. In fact, if I die again, I don't even know if I'll have another chance to reincarnate. Magneto and Professor X have already joined forces to resist humanity's oppression. They seem to no longer need me."
Moira wasn't sure whether she should feel relieved or disappointed.
When it came to combat, she knew she was weak—pitifully so. But now? She wasn't sure if she still had the ability to reincarnate, but at the very least, she possessed the powers of a fully-grown xenomorph. Super strength, super speed, enhanced hearing, accelerated healing—she had them all.
Moira silently accepted this reality. To be honest, even if she refused to accept it, there wasn't much she could do. Her body and mind now belonged to Duncan. She hadn't even met him in person, yet she could deeply feel his absolute control over her.
Duncan, who had been observing Moira all this time, finally withdrew his gaze.
"A smart woman," he mused. "She isn't engaging in meaningless resistance. She's even instinctively beginning to suppress her own thoughts, burying her desire for freedom deep within herself, quietly looking for a way to escape my control."
Duncan assessed Moira, now reborn as a xenomorph, with great interest. His demeanor was that of someone playing with a fascinating new toy.
If he weren't worried about accidentally breaking her, he would have already started experimenting with all sorts of intricate manipulations.
As for Moira's desperate yet restrained thoughts of escape—her struggle to suppress them before they even fully formed—Duncan could only shrug. He wished her luck.
The longer one remained a xenomorph, the more impossible it became to turn back. The harder one suppressed their own thoughts, the closer they came to accepting their fate.
Duncan's attention soon shifted away from Moira. He already had a rough plan for how to make use of her, but that wasn't the most pressing issue right now. Deploying xenomorph troops to capture as many vampires as possible was far more important—he needed reinforcements for his war on the alien battlefield.
"Six hundred Frost Giant captives—acceptable, but not ideal. If I can secure even more prisoners through the final battle, that would be much more worthwhile."
While absorbing Kamar-Taj's magical knowledge like a sponge, Duncan also found himself coveting the divine power of Yggdrasil.
"My progress in magic is steady, but my advancement in divine power is lagging behind. I need to accelerate my plans."
Duncan decided he needed to expand his army once more. This time, he would personally set foot on the alien battlefield, bringing the Goddess of Death along with him.
But where would he find the troops? Naturally, the vampires would have to suffer a bit more.
And so, the vampires who had barely managed to flee New York—believing they could use their accumulated wealth to reestablish themselves in other cities and continue living in luxury while preying on humans—soon found themselves struck by another disaster. The xenomorphs launched a new wave of ruthless attacks.
The Goddess of Death, ever silent and expressionless, remained Duncan's personal bodyguard.
Meanwhile, others—such as Druid, Reynolds, and the mutants Duncan had captured from Stryker's forces—had long lost their self-awareness. After being parasitized, they were now fully controlled by the xenomorphs growing inside them. Each of them led their own squads and swiftly moved out.
"Why? Why the hell is this happening? What did we do to offend Duncan? Why are we being targeted again and again? Are we really that important to the xenomorphs? Is there no one else they can hunt? The world is full of other species, and there are plenty of human criminals—so why are we the ones suffering the worst fate?!"
The vampires cried out in despair, but their pleas fell on deaf ears. The xenomorphs had no concept of negotiation—only seek, capture, and ensure that the vampires had no chance to take their own lives.
For a time, chaos engulfed the entirety of the Americas. But for most people, this was cause for celebration. After all, vampires were universally despised.
"The vampire population is already dwindling. Forget it—I'll just use some regular creatures to fill the ranks."
Duncan closely monitored the progress of his xenomorph squads, but in the end, he could only sigh in disappointment.
Vampires were only valued when they were needed—what a pity. If only there were an entire vampire planet out in the universe.
Given Duncan's current status, the immense power he had displayed when repelling Dormammu, and his connections with the Sorcerer Supreme, his latest actions had once again drawn worldwide attention.
Some independent vampire hunters even began assisting the xenomorphs, personally leading them to various vampire hideouts.
"He's expanding his army again. That must mean the war on the frontlines is intense… I almost forgot—Duncan just finished a battle on Earth, yet he's still pushing forward with another war beyond."
"Or maybe he's just running out of patience. Perhaps he's decided to head to Asgard himself and settle things with the aliens in a final showdown."
"I don't know who Asgard's enemies are, but they're certainly unfortunate. When this war began, they probably never imagined that their most troublesome adversary would turn out to be Duncan."
As the vampire purge continued in an orderly fashion, Duncan also began capturing animals to serve as new hosts, rapidly expanding his army.
Every passing day, the number of xenomorphs under his command grew at an alarming rate.
And at this critical juncture, Mordo arrived.
Sizzle!
With a crackle of golden sparks, a radiant portal opened at the entrance of Weyland Tower. Mordo stepped through, his expression solemn.
Ignoring the stunned gazes around him, he strode directly into the building without a word.
"I know you can hear me," Mordo said. "I chose to walk in slowly from outside instead of appearing directly before you—that's my courtesy."
The next second, a xenomorph passed by and nodded at him. Without hesitation, Mordo opened another portal and appeared in front of Duncan.
"What a rare guest," Duncan remarked. "Why didn't the Ancient One come herself and instead sent you? Or did you come without her permission?"
Mordo's expression was serious. "The Sorcerer Supreme is constantly monitoring all interdimensional activities and has no time to waste. That's why I have significant autonomy when it comes to handling day-to-day matters. Unlike your rigid hierarchy, Kamar-Taj doesn't operate that way."
"Rigid? It seems we have very different understandings of the word 'discipline.' Besides, I never interfere in my subordinates' personal affairs… But never mind. I'm not a scholar; I won't debate management theory with you."
Duncan studied the sorcerer before him with interest.
"You've launched a global assault on vampires, haven't you?"
"That's correct. But this is a matter of the mortal world. You're not even the Sorcerer Supreme—are you planning to intervene?"
"No. If it only involves vampires, I have no reason to care. Even if you wipe them all out, it wouldn't affect Earth's stability."
Mordo hesitated for a moment, as if unsure how to phrase his next words. "But not all vampires are the same. Some are… exceptionally troublesome."
For a brief moment, Duncan wondered if Mordo had come to plead for Stick.
He had already entrusted Stick's situation entirely to Erica. Whatever she and Daredevil decided to do with their former mentor—now turned vampire—Duncan wouldn't interfere.
After all, he wasn't some control freak who played with people like LEGO figures, demanding that every button he pressed be executed without question.
Duncan thought for a moment and said, "You're talking about Dracula? To be blunt, the vampires are looking for him, and so am I. I've heard that guy is nearly immortal—he might be quite useful to me."
"It's not Dracula. I don't even know where he's currently sleeping," Mordo replied in a deep voice. "The vampires I'm referring to… aren't from our universe."
Duncan's expression shifted slightly. Just from that one sentence, he had already made several connections.
Mordo continued, "But these interdimensional vampires are strange. They appear suddenly, attack a human, and then retreat just as quickly—before we even have time to detect and respond."
Duncan immediately understood who Mordo was talking about.
"The victim was Peter Parker? The friend of the Osborn heir?"
"You already know?" Mordo was visibly shocked.
Duncan's expression turned odd. No wonder. No wonder Spider-Man had died before he even had the chance to make his official debut. He had been targeted by them—the Inheritors, a vampiric family that roamed the multiverse, preying exclusively on Spider-People.
The Inheritors were infamous across the multiverse, feeding on Spider-Men to absorb the power of their spider totems and grow stronger.
The more Spider-Men they killed, the more powerful they became.
It wouldn't be an exaggeration to call the Inheritors the ultimate nemeses of all Spider-People. They were far more dangerous than any Sinister Six.
Duncan briefly considered warning Mordo that these creatures weren't ordinary vampires. If anything, they were vampires specialized in hunting Spider-Men. But after a moment's thought, he decided it wasn't necessary.
"Aren't you supposed to be monitoring all interdimensional threats? How did you fail to stop these vampires the moment they appeared?" Duncan asked.
Mordo's face darkened. He loathed any form of questioning regarding the Sorcerer Supreme's abilities. He immediately shot back, "What do you think the Sorcerer Supreme is? Omniscient? Omnipotent? Do you believe she can instantly detect every tiny disturbance in the universe and conjure infinite duplicates of herself to investigate them all simultaneously?"
"That's impossible. The Sorcerer Supreme may be powerful, but she's still just one person. She can't be everywhere at once, nor can she do everything."
"Besides, these vampires are highly trained. Each individual is incredibly strong. They struck a single human swiftly and then retreated—almost as if they sensed something. If you were in our position, what would you have done? Would you recklessly break through the barriers of our universe and hunt them down across dimensions, killing them one by one?"
"If I had enough power, yes. That's exactly what I would do."
Duncan's serious response nearly made Mordo cough up blood in frustration. He suddenly regretted coming here. Perhaps he shouldn't have bothered warning Duncan about these special vampires at all.
"I came to warn you because I'm not sure whether the vampires of our universe are connected to those from other dimensions. I still haven't figured out why they attacked that high schooler named Peter Parker. All I can do is make sure you're not caught off guard when they come for you."
After saying this, Mordo pulled his hood back up and prepared to leave.
"Regardless, thank you, Master Mordo. You've helped me solve a significant mystery. Who knows? One day, your actions today might end up helping me in return," Duncan said seriously.
Mordo's expression softened slightly. He stepped through the portal and vanished.
"So, the Inheritors have already visited this universe… and they succeeded."
Since the local Spider-Man had died so early, it made sense why this universe wasn't included when the multiversal Spider-Men eventually banded together to fight the Inheritors. With no Spider-Man left, there was no reason for outsiders to assign this universe a designation.
"The Inheritors' leader was able to defeat the most powerful Spider-Captain in a direct fight. Their strength is formidable, but not insurmountable."
Duncan stroked his chin, deep in thought, then quickly issued commands to several Xenomorphs. They darted through Queens, searching for Peter Parker's corpse.
Originally, Duncan hadn't paid much attention to Spider-Man's death. The multiverse was filled with countless accidents, and the loss of one Spider-Man was hardly an earth-shattering event. But now that the Inheritors were involved, his perspective changed.
He could afford to ignore an ordinary Spider-Man. But he couldn't afford to ignore the Inheritors.
"I wonder if this will work…" The thought crossed Duncan's mind. Everything depended on whether he could find Peter Parker's remains. He suspected that in this universe, Peter had been bitten by the spider, awakened his abilities, and was then swiftly hunted down by the waiting Inheritors.
Given how little time had passed, Peter had likely never even developed the 'shedding' ability. Which meant he was truly, completely dead.
Time passed.
After amassing an army of over ten thousand, Duncan reached out to Heimdall.
The dazzling Bifrost beam descended from the sky, flashing repeatedly like neon lights against the night. Bright points of energy flickered chaotically, and with each flash, entire squads of Xenomorphs vanished—transported to Asgard.
Yet Duncan still felt the numbers weren't enough. Perhaps he needed to parasitize more mammals and breed a massive swarm of messenger Xenomorphs to reinforce the battlefield.
After all, even the standard Xenomorph had an astonishing ability to adapt. Fighting on hostile planets was hardly a challenge for them.
Times like these always made Duncan sigh in frustration. The vampire population was simply too small, while the Inheritors were both numerous and powerful. Worse yet, their current location was unknown. Who knew which universe they were happily hunting Spider-Men in? They were unsuitable as parasite hosts.
The repeated flashes of the Bifrost had become a striking spectacle, drawing the attention of countless onlookers.
"Hello? I had no idea the Weyland Corporation was offering guided tours now. Keep this up, and tourists from all over the world will be lining up to buy tickets. You might just have stumbled upon a brilliant business idea."
Tony Stark's voice came through Duncan's communicator, carrying his signature sarcastic tone.
"I'm busy, Tony. If you called just to show off your new armor, don't bother," Duncan replied.
"Ha! You got me. That was part of the reason. My Mark 10 is finally complete! Crafted from my personally developed proprietary materials, with some adamantium integrated into key components. It's practically a Xenomorph killer."
A distinct gulping sound came through the line—clearly, Tony was sipping a drink as he spoke.
"I have over ten thousand Xenomorphs now. Before long, that number will double. So tell me, Tony Stark, how many suits of armor do you have? Three thousand? Maybe thirty thousand, all resistant to Xenomorph acid?"
Tony fell silent for a moment, envisioning the overwhelming swarm. Then his mind drifted to the battle where Duncan and the Ancient One had fought together—a truly awe-inspiring sight.
God only knew how many generations of armor upgrades he'd need before he could match that level of combat ability.
"Alright, back to business. I'm inviting you to a private gathering—just close friends. Remember? When the Sentinels went after Magneto, I promised to throw a party afterward."
A party.
An incredibly common social event. Yet, for Duncan, such things were exceedingly rare. He glanced at the still-teleporting Xenomorph forces, then made his decision.
He accepted the invitation and went to attend the gathering.
An entire floor of Stark Tower had been converted into a grand banquet hall. Duncan arrived, bringing some of his Xenomorphs along.
Naturally, Tony had invited a few others as well—including a very tense-looking War Machine.
"Tony, I have a constant feeling that these things could attack us at any moment. It's too dangerous—I have to keep my armor on at all times and be ready for the worst."
"Well, you sure are cautious. I imagine that once this party is over and you get home, you'll pass out the moment you hit the bed."
Tony glanced around. He hadn't even invited the other Avengers. His pride wouldn't allow it—he had little confidence in his teammates, and even less interest in them.
If he had the time, he'd rather spend it observing the Xenomorphs. Who knew? He might just get some new ideas for anti-Xenomorph armor.
As the night went on and the drinks kept flowing, the minds of ordinary people grew increasingly clouded.
Even when the alarm blared through the hall, Tony didn't react immediately.
But the deafening explosion that followed was real—so real that it sent tremors through the entire banquet floor.
No one could have predicted that some lunatic would dare launch an attack here, seemingly unafraid of being fed to the Xenomorphs the moment they showed up. Even Tony himself hadn't bothered to prepare a detailed contingency plan for an attack at an event like this.
No matter what happened, his instinct was always the same—suit up first, then unleash an arsenal of high-tech weaponry to blast the intruder into dust.
Meanwhile, Duncan remained seated calmly at the bar, gazing down at the lineup of a dozen or so glasses before him. He seemed to be in no rush, having carefully filled each glass with a different kind of fine liquor.
"In my time, even the wealthiest upstarts wouldn't drink like this," a voice remarked. "Even when tasting fine wines, they wouldn't go as far as filling every glass to the brim. Such a waste."
A gaunt man, draped in a flowing cloak, approached Duncan and casually offered his critique.
Duncan glanced at him indifferently. "I have no real interest in alcohol. If I had the time to drink, I'd rather have a few pots of plain hot water. And you—I doubt you're much of a drinker either."
"You're absolutely right," the man admitted, nodding. "My preference is blood. Especially the blood of powerful creatures. Drinking such blood makes me stronger—and fulfills me on a spiritual level."
The lean middle-aged man flashed a cruel smile. He gestured toward the glasses on the table. "If these were filled with the blood of different creatures instead of wine, I'd be quite delighted by the sheer abundance."
"Oh? And what kind of powerful creatures are you referring to?" Duncan asked. "My Xenomorphs, perhaps? Now that's an interesting request. Consider this my treat."
Without a change in expression, Duncan reached to his own chest, tore off a chunk of his own bloody flesh, and molded it into a crude vessel. Then, he sprinkled some of his highly corrosive blood into it before handing it over to the stranger.
"Let me guess—Dracula, isn't it?" Duncan mused. "Those wretched survivors finally realized their dark sorcerers were useless, so they dug you up instead? Well then, go ahead—drink this Xenomorph blood. If you don't, I'll grab you by the head and force it down your throat. It'll make you stronger."
...
BONUS: For every 100 powerstones, I drop a new chapter! LETS GOOO!