{Recap}
Mayukh, heartbroken after a painful breakup, plunged into a mysterious game called Omniverse Nexus—a creation of divine beings who chose him for an extraordinary adventure across countless worlds. His first and main destination is the Marvel Universe.aND NOW HE IS ALEX
After discovering that he and his family were involved in a tragic accident, Mayukh stepped up to take responsibility for his home and future. Using knowledge from both his original world and the Marvel Universe, he began building a powerful business empire, leveraging future foresight to stay ahead of the curve.
Along the way, he received a powerful system—one that allows him to acquire the abilities and powers of fictional and real characters from across the multiverse. With this system in hand, Mayukh embarks on a journey that blends emotion, strategy, power progression, and survival across worlds where the stakes only grow higher.
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(January 31, 1998
(Alex's Home, Alex's POV){8 days letter)
The sterile scent of antiseptic still clung to the air as Dr. Stephen's words echoed in my mind: You'll be able to meet your parents very soon. My chest tightened with hope, fragile and sharp, like a glass ornament teetering on the edge of a shelf.
I glanced at Mr. Anish, standing by the window, his broad shoulders slumped under an invisible weight. His face was a map of quiet grief—lines etched deep, eyes glistening with unshed tears. He didn't need to say it; I felt the ache radiating from him, heavy as a winter fog.
"Don't worry, Mr. Anish," I said, my voice softer than I meant. "I'm not gonna cry. I… I just want to see them. I miss them so much it hurts."
He turned, his weathered hand finding my shoulder, warm and steady. "Young Sir Alex," he said, his voice thick, like he was swallowing a storm. "I know you're strong. Sandhya would be so proud." He paused, his throat bobbing, then forced a smile that didn't quite reach his eyes. "She always said you had her stubborn heart."
My own heart stuttered at her name. Sandhya. My mother. I wanted to say something, anything, but the words tangled in my throat. Instead, I just nodded, clinging to the warmth of his hand like it was an anchor.
Dr. Stephen cleared his throat, breaking the moment. "I'll see you next week, Alex. Keep up the exercises." He adjusted his glasses, offering a kind smile before heading toward the door.
I expected Mr. Anish to follow, to see him out as always, but instead, he gently steered me toward the hall. The lights were off, the space swallowed in shadow. My brows knitted together.
"Uh, Mr. Anish? Why's it so dark? Aren't we—"
Before I could finish, the room exploded into light. A chorus of voices hit me like a tidal wave.
"HAPPY BIRTHDAY, ALEX!"
I froze, my brain short-circuiting. People poured out from behind furniture—friends, neighbors, Brew Haven staff—grinning, clapping, cheering. My jaw dropped as I spotted Sophia, her mischievous smirk brighter than the candles waiting to be lit. Emma and Daniel flanked her, their smiles conspiratorial, like they'd been plotting this for weeks. Even Larry Page was there, looking awkwardly out of place in a sweater vest but clapping with genuine enthusiasm.
And then… Cara. My breath caught. She wasn't a flickering hologram this time. No, she stood there in a synthetic body, crafted from System Space materials so advanced they made my head spin. Her deep purple dress hugged her frame, shimmering faintly under the lights. Her hair cascaded over her shoulders, kissed with a subtle glow, and tiny silver earrings caught the light like distant stars. She looked…amazingly beautiful.
My heart did a weird flip, and I immediately hated myself for it. Dude, you're fourteen. Chill.
Mr. Anish stepped forward, his eyes glistening but his smile wide. "Happy birthday, Alex," he said, voice warm as a hearth. "May you conquer every dream you chase."
I swallowed hard, emotions knotting in my chest—joy, gratitude, a flicker of guilt for feeling happy when my parents weren't here. "Thank you… Grandpa," I said, the word slipping out before I could stop it. His face lit up, a spark of joy breaking through the grief, and for a moment, I swore he looked ten years younger.
"Well, happy birthday, boss!" Sophia sauntered over, thrusting a gift at me wrapped in garish floral paper that screamed wedding centerpiece. "Hope you promote us now, Your Majesty."
I snorted, taking the package. "Thanks, Sophia. But this bribe? Kinda tiny for a raise."
The room erupted in laughter. Emma, usually a ghost in group settings, let out a soft giggle, her cheeks pink. Daniel flashed a thumbs-up, muttering, "She spent hours picking that wrapping paper, man. You're doomed."
"Hours, huh?" I raised an eyebrow at Sophia, who winked like she was in on some grand heist. "Guess I'll open it later. Don't want to ruin the masterpiece."
The warmth in the room wrapped around me like a blanket, but a shadow crept in, cold and familiar. My parents' absence was a quiet ache, a missing note in the symphony of laughter. I forced a smile, but it faltered at the edges.
Then, Cara's voice cut through, soft as honey. "Alex, look what I've got for you."
I turned, and there she was, closer now, her synthetic body so lifelike I forgot how to blink. Her smile was serene, but her eyes held a playful glint. My brain scrambled. When did she even finish this body? How did I miss this?
"Uh… where is it?" I asked, glancing at her empty hands, feeling like a kid searching for a hidden piñata.
She leaned in, her breath—wait, she has breath now?—tickling my ear. "It's in the System Space," she whispered, her voice teasing, before gliding away to chat with Sophia.
I stared at her retreating figure, my brain stuck somewhere between awe and a full-on system crash. What is wrong with you, Alex? , not starring in a rom-com! Without thinking, I gave myself a light slap on the cheek. "Ow," I muttered, rubbing the spot.
Daniel, the traitor, choked on a laugh from the sidelines. "Smooth, boss. Real smooth."
Mr. Anish appeared beside me, his arm settling around my shoulders. "You've carried grief more than any boy should," he said quietly, his voice steady but laced with something raw. "But look around, Alex. You're not alone anymore. Let this day remind you of that."
I met his eyes, the weight in my chest easing just a fraction. "I'll keep going," I whispered. "No matter what."
He squeezed my shoulder, and for the first time in months, I felt like I could breathe.
The candles on the cake flickered like tiny beacons, their glow casting soft shadows across the faces gathered around me. Sophia was belting out an off-key rendition of "Happy Birthday," her enthusiasm making up for her pitch, while Daniel tried to harmonize and failed spectacularly.
Emma, tucked shyly behind them, mouthed the words, her eyes bright with quiet joy. Mr. Anish stood at my side, his hand still resting on my shoulder, grounding me in the warmth of the moment.
And Cara—God, I kept stealing glances, half-expecting her to vanish like the hologram she used to be.
Make a wish, Alex. The thought was automatic, a reflex from birthdays past, when Mom would ruffle my hair and Dad would sneak an extra slice of cake onto my plate. The memory stung, sharp and sudden, like a paper cut you don't see coming.
I squeezed my eyes shut, blocking out the laughter, the light, the love in this room. I wish… I wish you were here. But that wasn't the wish I needed. Not now. I took a shaky breath, the weight of Mr. Anish's hand steadying me. I wish to keep going. To make you proud.
I opened my eyes and blew out the candles in one puff, the room erupting into cheers. Sophia whooped, tossing a confetti popper that showered me in glitter. "Nailed it, boss!" she crowed, brushing a stray spark from her hair. "Now, cut the cake before Daniel eats it with his eyes."
"Hey!" Daniel protested, clutching his chest in mock offense. "I'm admiring, not devouring."
"Same difference," Emma quipped, her voice so soft it nearly drowned in the laughter. I grinned, the ache in my chest easing just a fraction. These people—my chaotic, brilliant crew—were stitching together the holes in my heart, one smile at a time.
As I reached for the knife, Cara glided closer, her purple dress catching the light like a twilight sky. "Need help?" she asked, her voice warm, teasing, with that honey-smooth edge that made my brain stutter. Her silver earrings glinted as she tilted her head, and for a second, I forgot how to hold a utensil.
"Uh… I got it," I mumbled, my cheeks burning. Fourteen, Alex. You're fourteen. She's a synthetic AI. Get a grip. I sliced into the cake with more force than necessary, earning a chuckle from Mr. Anish.
"Easy, lad," he said, his eyes crinkling. "It's cake, not a combat mission."
The first piece went to him, a silent thank-you for being my rock. He accepted it with a nod, his smile soft but heavy with unspoken words.
As I handed out slices, the room buzzed with chatter—Larry Page debating tech with Dr. Stephen, Sophia roping Emma into a mock argument about coffee blends. It was chaotic, messy, perfect. But that shadow lingered, the one shaped like my parents' absence. I pushed it down, focusing on the chocolate frosting smudged on my fingers, the laughter ringing in my ears.
Cara leaned in again, her voice low. "Check the System Space later, Alex. Your gift… it's worth the wait." Her lips curved into a smile that was equal parts serene and mischievous, and then she was gone, weaving through the crowd like she'd been born to work a room.
What is she planning? I wondered, my curiosity sparking. If Cara had hidden something there, it was bound to be mind-blowing. But her new body, her presence—it was already a gift I didn't know how to process. Focus, Alex. Cake. People. Birthday. I shook my head, trying to dislodge the image of her shimmering hair.
As the party wound down, Mr. Anish pulled me aside, his expression softer now, less burdened. "You're growing up too fast," he said, his voice rough with pride. "But you're doing it well. Sandhya would say you're stubborn enough to outlast the stars."
I swallowed the lump in my throat. "Thanks, Grandpa. For… everything."
He ruffled my hair, a gesture so familiar it hurt. "Get some rest, lad. Tomorrow's a new day."
As I watched him join the others, the weight of the night settled over me—joy, grief, hope, all tangled together. I wasn't alone anymore. But the road ahead, with its mysteries and dangers, was mine to walk. And I'll walk it, I promised myself.
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Von Doom Industries
(January 31, 1998, Boardroom)third person pov
The boardroom of Von Doom Industries gleamed like a surgical theater, all polished glass and cold steel. The air hummed with the faint buzz of high-tech displays, but the tension was thicker than the holographic cosmic cloud swirling beside Reed Richards. He stood at the head of the table, his navy blazer slightly rumpled, dark hair falling into his eyes as he gestured with the fervor of a man possessed by discovery.
"This is a once-in-a-lifetime chance, Victor," Reed said, his voice sharp with conviction. "The cosmic cloud will pass Earth's orbit in weeks. Your space station could let us study its effects on organic DNA firsthand. The implications—for medicine, for evolution—are limitless."
Victor Von Doom lounged across the table, his charcoal suit so flawless it seemed to absorb the light. His slicked-back hair and chiseled features gave him the look of a predator playing at civility. His eyes, cold and calculating, never left Reed, but his lips twitched into a smirk. "You want my multi-billion-dollar station… to chase a storm?"
Ben Grimm, slouched in a chair with his leather jacket straining over his broad frame, muttered, "Here we go…" His square jaw tightened, his weathered face broadcasting his distrust of Victor's theatrics.
Reed pressed on, undeterred. "Not chase. Study. In a controlled orbit with maximum exposure. The Baxter grant fell through, and the government balked at our credentials. You're the only one with the platform to make this happen."
Victor's smirk deepened, his fingers steepled under his chin. "So, Reed Richards comes crawling back. Just like college. Only this time, no Susan to clean up your mess."
The glass doors hissed open, and Susan Storm entered, her white lab coat crisp over a tailored skirt. Her blonde hair was swept into a flawless twist, but her blue eyes carried a storm of their own—calm, controlled, but electric with unresolved history. Reed's faltered for a split second, a flicker Victor didn't miss.
Johnny Storm sauntered in behind her, all leather jacket and cocky grin, his aviator sunglasses perched on his head like he'd just stepped off a movie set. He winked at the receptionist, who stifled a smile, and slid into a chair. "Sounds dangerous," he said, kicking his boots onto the table. "I'm in."
Ben shot him a look. "That's 'cause you've got the survival instincts of a moth in a campfire."
Johnny's grin widened. "C'mon, Ben. Someone's gotta fly this thing. Might as well be the best-looking guy here."
Victor ignored the banter, his gaze locked on Reed. "All data collected is also proprietary to Von Doom Industries," he said smoothly. "And I'm joining the mission. I won't let you take credit for my equipment."
Reed exhaled, his jaw tight but his mind already calculating. "Fine. Deal."
Susan stepped forward, her voice steady as steel. "I want full oversight on all biological handling protocols."
Victor's expression softened, just a fraction, his eyes glinting with amusement. "Of course, Sue. And… try to keep your ex from blowing us all up."
Reed flinched but held his tongue. Susan's face remained impassive, a masterclass in restraint. Johnny, oblivious to the tension, clapped his hands. "Space, radiation, awkward ex drama—when do we leave?"
"This month," Reed said, his eyes fixed on the cosmic cloud, burning with a hunger only science could ignite.
World Security Council
(February 1, 1998, World Security Council HQ, third person pov)
The World Security Council's headquarters was a fortress of shadows, its subterranean office buried beneath layers of concrete and secrecy. A single fluorescent bulb flickered above an old wooden desk, casting jagged light across the room. The air smelled faintly of stale coffee and ink, the kind of scent that clung to places where decisions were made and buried.
Behind the desk sat Alexander Pierce, his weathered hands folded atop a thick manila folder, his posture relaxed but his eyes sharp as a hawk's. At 50s, he carried the weight of authority like a second skin, his silver hair neatly combed, his suit pressed to perfection. To the world, he was the Secretary of the World Security Council, S.H.I.E.L.D.'s steady hand. To those in this room, he was something far darker.
"So," Pierce said, his voice gravelly, deliberate, like a blade sliding from its sheath, "did you find anything unusual in the boy's blood?"
The two agents before him stiffened, their black suits blending into the dimness. The taller one, a man built like a battering ram, stepped forward.
His face was all hard angles, his eyes cold and unyielding—a soldier, not a spy. "No, sir," he said, his tone clipped. "No energy residue. The researchers ran every scan, every protocol. He's human. No mutations, no anomalies. At this point, sir, it's either a miracle… or a lab error."
Pierce's lips twitched, not quite a smile. A miracle. The word was laughable, but he let it hang in the air, heavy as the folder beneath his hands.
His fingers tapped the cover once, twice, the sound unnaturally loud in the silence. Alexander Pierce, Secretary. Alexander Pierce, servant of Hydra. The duality was his armor, his truth. He flipped open the file, scanning the pages—charts, blood panels, a grainy photo of a boy with tired eyes. Alex. The kid who shouldn't be alive.
No anomalies. The words gnawed at him. He'd seen too many "miracles" unravel into threats. The boy's recovery was too clean, too convenient. His mind flickered to the reports. If you're hiding something, kid, I'll find it. But for now, the data was clear. No proof. No leverage.
"Hmm," Pierce murmured, closing the file with a soft thud. "Alright then. Pull back the surveillance teams. No need to waste resources on a false alarm."
The agents nodded in unison, their movements precise, mechanical. "Hail Hydra," they intoned, their voices low but fervent, a vow etched in blood.
Pierce rose, his chair scraping faintly against the floor. He raised a hand across his chest, the gesture as natural as breathing. "Hail Hydra," he echoed, his tone calm but laced with steel. His thin smile held no warmth, only the promise of a man who played chess with the world as his board.
As the agents turned to leave, Pierce's gaze lingered on the folder. A single word scrawled in red ink caught his eye: Inconclusive. He leaned back, the flicker of the bulb casting his shadow long and jagged across the wall.
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Xavier's Institute
(February 1, 1998, Jean's POV)
The Xavier Institute was a haven of polished wood and warm light, its tall windows spilling golden afternoon sun across the hardwood floors. I stood by one of those windows, my reflection faint against the glass, my emerald eyes fixed on the horizon. The world beyond the school grounds felt impossibly far away, like a dream I could only half-remember. My fingers traced the cool sill, grounding me as my thoughts drifted to Alex.
He doesn't even know me. The thought was a quiet ache, not sharp enough to cut but heavy enough to linger. I'd seen his face in my mind a thousand times—his shy smile from before the accident, the way his eyes lit up when he talked about his dreams.
But that was years ago, before the bus crash, before my powers woke and tore me from the life I knew. Now, he was a stranger, recovering from his own tragedy, celebrating a birthday I could only imagine.
"Jean, what are you doing alone, staring out the window without blinking?" Ororo's voice was calm, like a breeze over still water, pulling me back to the room.
I turned, a faint smile tugging at my lips. Ororo Munroe—Storm—stood in the doorway, her white hair flowing like silver mist, her presence as steady as the earth.
Her deep blue eyes held a warmth that made the world feel less heavy. "Just… thinking," I said softly. "About Alex. About why things have to be so hard. Why I have these powers if they can't bring me closer to the people I care about—Mom, Dad… him."
Ororo crossed the room, her steps silent, and placed a hand on my back. The touch was gentle but firm, like a tether in a storm. Her other hand brushed my auburn hair, a motherly gesture that made my throat tighten.
"Some things are meant to be, Jean," she said, her voice rich with quiet wisdom. "That boy—Alex—he was barely hanging on, and yet he's here. You cried for hours when the Professor told you he'd recovered. Joyful tears, Jean. Maybe that's the work of the same God you're questioning."
My heart swelled at the memory, the relief that had flooded me when I heard Alex was alive, whole. I'd never told anyone how much it meant, how his survival felt like a small victory against the chaos of my powers. I fidgeted with my fingers, nervous but resolute.
"Teacher Ororo… there's something I want to do. For Alex. Yesterday was his birthday, and even if he doesn't know me, I know him. I want to give him a gift."
Ororo raised a brow, folding her arms with a smile that was equal parts encouragement and caution. "Tell me, Jean. If it's within my power, I'll help."
"I don't want to meet him," I said quickly, my voice barely above a whisper. "I just… I want to leave a gift outside his home. Something small, so he knows someone's thinking of him."
Before Ororo could respond, a commanding voice cut through the room, firm but warm. "Well, if you're so eager, Jean, I'll grant you permission. But you must understand—this means forgoing the weekend outing with your friends. I can't play favorites."
I spun around, my heart leaping. Professor Charles Xavier sat in his motorized wheelchair, his serene presence filling the space. His eyes, wise and kind, held a spark of amusement. Behind him stood Scott Summers, his red quartz glasses glinting, his posture rigid with that familiar mix of arrogance and annoyance.
"Jean, why bother?" Scott said, his voice edged with frustration. "He doesn't know you. He won't care about some random gift."
I bristled, my hands curling into tight fists at my sides. A tremor worked its way up my spine, but I forced my voice to remain steady, even as the heat burned behind my ribs.
"He's not random," I said firmly, locking eyes with Scott, daring him to challenge me again. "He saved me, Scott. That bus accident when I was ten—it changed everything. My powers, my life… it all started because he pulled me out of that wreck." My voice cracked on the last word, but I swallowed hard, pushing through the lump in my throat. "Even if he doesn't remember... I do."
I clenched my jaw, the memory clawing at the edges of my mind. That day was burned into me like a brand. The smell of gasoline. The suffocating smoke. The screams.
And him. The boy who dived into that burning wreck without hesitation. His face blurred by tears and ash, but his eyes... I remembered his eyes.
But now, those same eyes looked at me like I was a stranger.
He forgot about me. After all, when my powers awakened that day—when the chaos of telekinetic force exploded from me—I couldn't control it. That blast… it must've hit him, hurt him, and made him forget who I am to him.
Ororo's eyes narrowed at Scott, her tone sharp. "Scott—"
But I raised a hand, stopping her. I didn't need defending. Not for this. My gaze flicked to the Professor, who watched us with quiet understanding. "Please, Professor. I just want to do this one thing."
Charles's smile was gentle, timeless. "Now, now, Scott. Let's not dwell on what was. Jean's heart is in the present, and that's what matters." He turned to me, his voice warm. "You'll go, Jean. Ororo and Piotr will accompany you. Return before nightfall."
"Yes, Professor," I said, my voice trembling with gratitude. Ororo's hand squeezed my shoulder, her smile mirroring my own.
As we turned to leave, my heart fluttered with possibility. The gift was tucked safely in my bag. It wasn't much, but it was enough. For now, it was enough.
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Author's Note
Yo, legends! 👋
Got any spicy, brain-melting ideas for the upcoming Demon Slayer arc? Don't be shy—drop 'em in! If they vibe with the chaotic direction I'm steering this madness, who knows? They might just find a home in the story. I'm always lurking, reading, and plotting.
Now, onto the juice—next chapter's gonna be wild. Our MC is about to pull his third template, and with it... a brand new template rule is about to drop. And nope—I ain't putting a leash on his growth. But let's keep it 100—if he just keeps grinding inside Marvel, he's basically gonna end up bitch-slapping anime worlds without even flexing properly.
So yeah, to keep the chaos fresh, the power balanced, and the drip overflowing, he's gotta keep hopping across universes. Each world brings new rules, new headaches, and new ways to break them.
Stay tuned, fam. Next chapter's gonna hit like a truck—power, chaos, and disrespect all included.
—Author out ✌️🔥