Marcus understood the true nature of those five cosmic abstracts better than anyone else could possibly imagine. Each one represented a fundamental force of existence itself—Death, Eternity, Infinity, Oblivion, and the Living Tribunal. They weren't just powerful beings; they were living concepts that shaped the very fabric of reality.
Fortunately, most of them showed little interest in Earth specifically. The planet was, after all, just one small world among billions. Death had her grand designs, Eternity contemplated the flow of time across all realities, Infinity pondered the endless expanse of space, and Oblivion waited patiently for everything to return to nothing.
The only one who posed any immediate threat was Galactus, the World Devourer—though even he was driven by cosmic necessity rather than malice. He consumed worlds not out of cruelty, but because that was his fundamental nature, his role in the universal balance. Still, that provided little comfort to the civilizations that ended up on his menu.
"It seems I still have a long way to go," Marcus sighed, the weight of cosmic responsibility settling on his shoulders.
"Indeed," Odin nodded gravely. "Our strength may seem impressive to most beings in the universe, but in the face of such entities, we are little more than insects. I once harbored ambitions of surpassing them, in my younger days." He paused, a rueful smile crossing his weathered features. "Eventually, wisdom taught me the folly of such thoughts. Even the Infinity Stones, powerful as they are, represent merely the rules of this single universe. They cannot grant power to challenge those who created the very concept of power itself."
Marcus absorbed this wisdom, though he couldn't help but feel a spark of determination rather than despair. The cosmic hierarchy might be vast and seemingly insurmountable, but that didn't mean he should stop growing stronger. After all, even the abstract entities had their limits, their roles, their purposes. And sometimes, even cosmic forces could be influenced by the right combination of power, will, and understanding.
"I understand," Marcus said finally. "Let's go."
While he hadn't found specific information about dimensional demons in Odin's collection, the knowledge he'd gained had sparked new ideas, opened new avenues of thought. The revelation about the Celestials, in particular, had reminded him of something crucial.
If the Celestials used living worlds as embryos for their kind, then Earth would inevitably be on their list. Marcus had fragmentary memories that suggested as much—glimpses of a cosmic seed planted deep within Earth's core, slowly gestating as human civilization developed and evolved. The more complex and numerous Earth's inhabitants became, the closer that seed came to maturity.
"The memories are fragmented, incomplete," Marcus muttered to himself as they walked. "But the implications are clear enough. This is definitely going to be a problem eventually."
He intended to use Earth's sleeping Celestial to his advantage somehow, though the exact method remained unclear. What he did remember was that there was a group of beings on Earth whose entire purpose was to protect and nurture the Celestial embryo—the Eternals. Ancient, powerful, and utterly devoted to their cosmic duty.
"If I'm remembering correctly, they're called the Eternals," Marcus mused. "And wasn't Thanos technically one of them? That would put his whole 'snap half the universe out of existence' plan in a very different context."
The thought made him pause. Everyone had assumed Thanos was motivated by resource scarcity, by some twisted notion of universal mercy. But if the Titan knew about the Celestials' true purpose, if he understood that every thriving world was actually feeding a cosmic parasite...
"So the Purple Titan wasn't just a megalomaniac after all," Marcus murmured with grudging respect. "He was trying to save the universe from an even worse fate. Reduce the population, slow the Celestials' development, buy time for... something. No wonder he retired after accomplishing his goal—from his perspective, he'd actually saved reality itself."
It was a sobering thought. Thanos had been willing to become the universe's greatest villain in order to prevent an even greater catastrophe. Whether his methods were right or wrong was debatable, but his motivation suddenly made a lot more sense.
The two men emerged from Odin's treasury, but Marcus didn't leave empty-handed. As they passed the display containing the Casket of Ancient Winters, he paused and lifted the artifact from its resting place.
"I'd like to borrow this for a while," Marcus said, hefting the ornate container. "I'll return it once I'm finished with it."
The Casket was a thing of terrible beauty—carved from what appeared to be crystallized ice that never melted, inscribed with runes that seemed to shift and dance in the light. Even sealed as it was, Marcus could feel the immense power contained within, the promise of endless winter that could freeze entire worlds.
Odin's expression grew serious, his single eye fixing on Marcus with unmistakable gravity. "You may take it, but you must promise me—never open that casket. If its seal is broken, the winter it contains will spread without limit. It could freeze everything from here to Midgard in a matter of hours."
Marcus nodded solemnly. He had no intention of releasing the Casket's full power. What he wanted was something far more controlled—to extract and harness the essence of its energy without unleashing the catastrophic winter it contained.
"I understand the risks," he assured Odin. "I only need access to the energy patterns, not the winter itself."
After leaving the treasury, Marcus made his way to the guest quarters Odin had arranged for him. The room was spacious and elegantly appointed, with tall windows that offered a stunning view of Asgard's golden spires and rainbow bridges. But Marcus barely noticed the luxury—his attention was entirely focused on the two artifacts he'd brought with him.
"Let's start with the Casket," he decided. "Better to get the more dangerous extraction out of the way first."
Marcus placed the Casket of Ancient Winters on the room's central table, then began to weave layers of protective energy around it. His void powers created a containment field while his divine energy formed an outer shell of protection. If something went wrong during the extraction process, these barriers should prevent any catastrophic escape of winter energy.
With infinite care, Marcus began to probe the Casket's mystical structure. The artifact was incredibly ancient, its power woven into its very molecular structure through techniques that predated most civilizations. The ice from which it was carved wasn't normal frozen water—it was conceptual winter given physical form, the pure essence of cold and endings.
Slowly, delicately, Marcus began to siphon away minute quantities of that essence. The energy that emerged was unlike anything he'd encountered before—not merely cold, but the absolute negation of heat, motion, and life. It was winter as a cosmic force, the inevitable entropy that claimed all things in the end.
"Incredible," he whispered, watching as the extracted energy took form in his hands. It appeared as a swirling orb of pale blue light, but Marcus could feel the terrible cold contained within—not temperature in any conventional sense, but the absence of all warmth, all energy, all hope.
He would call this extraction "Frost Essence"—the pure conceptual cold distilled from the Casket of Ancient Winters.
As the extraction continued, the energy began to condense further, taking on a more stable form. Marcus shaped it carefully, using his understanding of Aya synthesis to create something he could actually use. The process was delicate—too much force and the essence would either dissipate or explode, too little and it would remain unstable.
After nearly an hour of careful work, Marcus had successfully extracted seven spheres of Frost Essence, each one containing enough power to freeze a small city solid. The Casket itself showed no signs of diminishment—its power was so vast that what he'd taken was barely noticeable.
"Seven from the Casket," Marcus counted, carefully storing the spheres in specialized containers. "Seven more from the Eternal Flame, plus what I've already accumulated... That should be enough for four complete Warframe syntheses, with some left over for emergencies."
The thought filled him with satisfaction. He'd come to Asgard hoping for resources, and he was getting far more than he'd dared hope for. Four new Warframes would significantly expand his capabilities, give him tools for situations he couldn't currently handle.
And this wasn't even the end of it. Tony and Jane were back on Earth, working on equipment to safely extract the Aether—the Reality Stone itself. If they succeeded, the energy yield from that artifact would dwarf even these impressive hauls.
"This trip is definitely paying off," Marcus grinned.
Next came the Eternal Flame, and this extraction proved even more interesting than the first. Where the Casket contained the essence of ending and entropy, the Flame held creation and renewal. It was fire not as destruction, but as transformation—the cosmic force that forged stars and kindled the first sparks of life.
Marcus employed the same careful methodology, but the Flame's energy behaved very differently from the Casket's winter. Instead of the cold, patient resistance he'd encountered before, the Flame's power was eager, almost alive in its responsiveness. It wanted to be used, to create, to transform.
The extracted essence appeared as dancing motes of golden fire, each one warm to the touch but not burning. This was pure creative force, the power that had allowed Odin to kindle life in dead matter, that had given Surtur the strength to eventually destroy and renew Asgard itself.
"Fire Essence," Marcus named this extraction, watching as the seven spheres of golden energy settled into stable orbits around his hand. "The counterpart to the Frost Essence—creation to balance destruction."
With both extractions complete, Marcus leaned back in his chair, exhausted but exhilarated. The process had taken hours and required his complete concentration, but the results were beyond what he'd hoped for. He now possessed essences of cosmic winter and stellar fire, powers that could reshape matter at the fundamental level.
But as he examined the remaining Eternal Flame, still flickering merrily in its container, an intriguing thought occurred to him.
"Surtur drew power from this flame," he mused aloud. "It transformed him from a defeated demon into a force capable of fulfilling Ragnarok itself. What would happen if I integrated it directly with one of my Warframes?"
The idea was both exciting and terrifying. He'd incorporated extracted essences before, using them to enhance his armor's capabilities. But this would be different—instead of processed energy, he'd be attempting to merge raw cosmic force with his Warframe systems.
It could be incredibly powerful... or it could destroy him entirely.
Marcus turned the Flame container over in his hands, studying its construction. The artifact was designed to contain and focus the fire's power, but it wasn't inert. The flame within pulsed with awareness, as if it recognized his presence and was curious about his intentions.
"There's only one Warframe that could possibly handle this kind of integration," he realized. "Ember would be perfect for this—fire is already his element, his entire design philosophy."
Ember was one of the most versatile Warframes, capable of manipulating heat and flame with incredible precision. Where other frames might be overwhelmed by the Eternal Flame's power, Ember could potentially channel and focus it, turning raw cosmic fire into controlled devastation.
"The question is whether I'm ready for that level of power," Marcus admitted to himself. "And whether the universe is ready for me to have it."
But the temptation was too great to resist. The opportunity to integrate genuine cosmic power into his arsenal might not come again. And if the threats he was anticipating—the Celestials, the dimensional demons, the abstract entities—were as dangerous as he suspected, he would need every advantage he could get.
"All right," he decided. "Let's forge Ember first, then see if the Eternal Flame integration is even possible."
Marcus placed the Flame container carefully on the table, then began the familiar process of Warframe synthesis. Energy swirled around him as his systems activated, drawing on the stored Aya essence to begin construction. But this time, he incorporated both Frost and Fire essences into the matrix, creating a synthesis unlike any he'd attempted before.
The energy cocoon that formed around him pulsed with conflicting forces—ice and flame, creation and destruction, order and chaos. For a moment, Marcus worried that the opposing essences might tear each other apart, ruining the entire synthesis.
But instead, they found balance. The cosmic winter and stellar fire didn't cancel each other out—they complemented each other, creating a harmony of opposing forces that was far more powerful than either would have been alone.
The temperature in the room began to fluctuate wildly as the synthesis progressed. One moment, frost formed on the walls and furniture; the next, the air shimmered with heat that would have been uncomfortable for most beings. But somehow, the extremes balanced each other, creating an environment that was both scorching and freezing simultaneously.
Across the palace, Odin suddenly looked up from his meditation, his single eye widening in surprise. He could feel something stirring in the guest quarters—a power that made the very foundations of Asgard resonate with harmonic frequencies.
"What in the Nine Realms is he doing?" Odin muttered, rising from his throne to investigate.
Back in the guest quarters, the energy cocoon around Marcus began to crack and splinter. Golden light leaked through the fissures, accompanied by wisps of impossibly cold vapor. The two forces had found their balance, and now they were ready to manifest in physical form.
CRACK
The cocoon shattered like crystalline ice meeting stellar fire, and Marcus emerged in his new Ember Warframe. The armor was a masterpiece of opposing forces made manifest—sections that glowed with inner fire alternated with plates that gleamed with frost-touched metal. Where the two energies met, they created patterns of incredible beauty, ice crystals that burned with inner light and flames that somehow radiated cold.
"Magnificent," Marcus breathed, examining his reflection in the room's polished surfaces. "The thermal regulation alone is incredible—I can generate heat or cold at will, sometimes both simultaneously."
He raised his hand experimentally, and flames danced across his fingertips—but these weren't normal fires. They burned with cosmic intensity while somehow remaining perfectly controlled, hot enough to melt steel but cool enough to hold without harm.
Then he switched focus, and frost began to form on his armor's surface. But this wasn't brittle ice—it was crystallized energy, beautiful and deadly in equal measure.
"And this is without the Eternal Flame integration," Marcus realized. "If I can successfully merge with that artifact..."
He looked at the container holding Surtur's flame, seeing it with new eyes. The Ember Warframe he now wore was already incredibly powerful, capable of manipulating both heat and cold with cosmic-level intensity. Adding the Eternal Flame's raw creative force to that foundation would create something unprecedented.
But it would also be incredibly dangerous. The Eternal Flame contained enough power to reshape Asgard itself. Integrating that with his Warframe systems would push both technologies to their absolute limits.