The Highbreed infiltrator—found the truth impossibly difficult to accept.
Within his noble, pure, superior body now flowed the blood of what he'd been taught from birth were inferior beings. Lesser creatures. Evolutionary dead-ends unworthy of acknowledgment.
Yet it was precisely their "inferior" blood that had allowed him to survive. More than that—it had solved the genetic breakdown that was slowly killing his entire species.
The cure his people had desperately sought for generations had been right there all along, hiding in the genetic code of the very creatures they'd deemed beneath consideration.
With the hope of his race's continuation literally flowing through his veins, he had absolutely no idea what to do with that knowledge.
The paralysis was complete, existential.
What the Highbreed didn't understand was that this revelation was itself a gift.
The Cosmic Cube had known his deepest wish the moment he'd been pulled into its pocket dimension. This answer—this terrible, perfect solution—was what the artifact had chosen to provide.
Under normal circumstances, even blood transfusions between members of the same species could fail due to incompatibility. The chance of successfully transfusing blood across entirely different evolutionary lineages was astronomically small.
And genetic breakdown? That wasn't something that could be resolved through simple fluid exchange. The degradation occurred at the chromosomal level, written into the fundamental structure of Highbreed DNA.
Yet somehow, it had worked.
The Highbreed knew nothing of the Cube's intervention. He only knew what his restored memories told him—that he'd been contaminated by lesser beings, and that contamination had saved him.
At that moment in the jungle, after regaining his identity, he'd been tormented by two warring voices within his mind.
One voice spoke of pride and dignity, the sanctity of genetic purity, the core tenets of everything Highbreed society represented.
The other voice spoke of survival, of continuing his race, of the desperate need to preserve his species from extinction.
One voice represented conscience and gratitude to those who'd saved him.
The other voice screamed that he'd committed an unforgivable sin against his own kind.
In the end, he couldn't bring himself to kill the old man and the child who'd shown him genuine kindness and friendship.
But neither could he stay with them.
So he'd chosen self-exile instead, taking his polluted blood and disappearing into the wilderness alone.
For reasons he couldn't comprehend, after leaving his companions behind, the Highbreed had found himself easily walking out of that endless forest. Navigation that should have been impossible became suddenly, suspiciously simple.
But what awaited him beyond the treeline was far worse.
A vast, terrifying desert stretched to the horizon in every direction. Sand dunes rolled like frozen waves beneath a merciless sun that seemed to fill half the sky.
The heat was immediate and oppressive.
Just as moths instinctively feared flames, the Highbreed species had evolved for cold environments. Their biology was optimized for subfreezing temperatures, for ice worlds and frozen wastelands.
High temperatures caused their bodies to dehydrate at catastrophic rates. Prolonged exposure would turn them into shriveled, mummified corpses within hours.
But the Highbreed didn't turn around.
Self-exile was itself a form of self-torture, after all. He felt he was atoning for the defilement of his noble bloodline.
Perhaps the scorching sun would bake away the base, inferior blood corrupting his veins. Perhaps the heat would purify him through suffering.
Instead, it nearly killed him.
Within the first day, severe dehydration set in. His skin began to crack and peel. The wound that should have been healed by the transfusion reopened, weeping clear fluid that evaporated instantly in the dry air.
His arm withered and shriveled, taking on the appearance of a moth that had been trapped in a window crack for weeks—desiccated, fragile, barely recognizable as a limb.
He collapsed beneath the scorching sun, too weak even to seek shade.
Death seemed preferable to the shame he carried.
That was where Ben Parker found him, hours after rescuing both Steve Rogers variants from the Cosmic Cube's pocket dimension.
After learning what had transpired from the Cube itself, Ben made a practical decision. The Highbreed had valuable intelligence about his species' operations on Earth. More importantly, letting him die here would be wasteful.
So Ben used the Omnitrix's advanced functions to perform an emergency genetic splice.
He fused Swampfire's regenerative capabilities with the Highbreed's baseline genome, the plant-based alien's DNA weaving itself into the Highbreed's chromosomes like threads in a tapestry.
The Methanosian regenerative factor healed the Highbreed's critical injuries within minutes. More significantly, it freed him from vulnerability to high temperatures—Swampfire's fire-based abilities made heat damage essentially impossible.
But to the Highbreed, the cure felt infinitely worse than the disease.
Originally, only his blood had been contaminated—a terrible shame, but one that could theoretically be hidden.
Now his actual chromosomes had been altered to incorporate another species' genetic code. His body's surface was covered with subtle green spots where the plant-based DNA expressed itself visually.
In his cultural context, this was catastrophic beyond measure.
It would be like an old white supremacist waking up to discover he'd been transformed into the race he'd spent his life despising. The body itself as betrayal, as living condemnation of everything he'd believed.
If he returned to his people like this, they would execute him without hesitation. Death would be considered mercy.
Thinking about this nightmare scenario had transformed him into the listless, hollow shell currently slumped against Wakanda's laboratory wall.
"Ignore him for now," Ben said dismissively, waving his hand as he pressed the launch sequence for the antimatter annihilation missile.
Through the viewing screens showing the red-tinted alternate dimension, everyone watched as the approaching Earth bloomed like fireworks.
The explosion was beautiful in its way—terrible, but undeniably spectacular. Matter and antimatter annihilated each other in a cascade of exotic particles, the entire planet converted to pure energy in microseconds.
In the blink of an eye, the two collapsing universes had brushed past each other once more, their gravitational fields no longer locked in fatal attraction.
The immediate collision crisis was finally resolved.
But everyone present knew another crisis was already approaching somewhere in the infinite multiverse. The problem hadn't been solved—merely postponed.
"One day we're going to be completely exhausted from dealing with these things," Tony Stark said via holographic projection from the Hydra universe's evacuation fleet.
His voice carried bone-deep weariness.
"We can only hope that Thor and Loki bring us good news from their mission," Ben replied, turning his attention to Otto Octavius.
"What's the status on the Highbreed climate towers?"
"All the structures on Earth have been toppled except for one," Otto reported, his mechanical arms adjusting data displays with precise movements.
"Dr. Connors planning to infiltrate the last tower with the Winter Soldier's support. But you took Bucky for the rescue operation, so Connors had to proceed alone."
Otto's expression grew concerned.
"The results were... not ideal. The temperature inside that final tower registers even lower than the others—several degrees below zero Celsius. Connors's reptilian physiology was reduced to extremely limited functionality in that environment."
"Did the infiltration fail?" Ben asked.
"No," Otto shook his head. "Not exactly."
"But he's lost contact."
Otto recounted the sequence of events with clinical precision. After Ben had taken the Winter Soldier for the Cosmic Cube rescue mission, both Otto and Norman Osborn had advised Connors to exercise extreme caution.
But the Lizard had insisted on taking the risk, proceeding with the infiltration on his own initiative.
Initially, everything had gone smoothly. He'd infiltrated using his human form and encountered minimal resistance from Highbreed security systems.
Then he'd discovered something unexpected: a wormhole generator hidden deep within the tower's core. The spatial distortions suggested the Highbreed's main base existed on the other side of that portal, likely on their home planet or a hidden colony world.
Connors had made the decision to venture through alone.
That was the last communication they'd received.
"There should be no technical errors in our communication systems," Ben said thoughtfully. "Which means there's only one reason we can't contact Dr. Connors."
His expression hardened.
"The communications have been compromised. He's been captured."
"So the mission parameters have changed," Otto confirmed.
"Can't we use the Cosmic Cube you acquired?" Felicia asked, gesturing to the glowing artifact Ben had brought back from the other universe.
"Natasha only wished to recover her universe Steve Rogers, but the Cube pulled both versions into its pocket dimension. Couldn't we make a similar wish to locate Connors?"
"It's not that simple," Ben said, shaking his head.
"Once the Cube leaves its original universe, it's no longer omnipotent in the same way."
The limitation was somewhat similar to how Infinity Stones functioned—their reality-warping abilities were tied to their native universe's physical laws. But there were key differences.
The Cube had lost its absolute, wish-granting omnipotence. But it still possessed functionally infinite energy reserves, which made it valuable for other applications.
"Then what should we do?" Peter Parker's voice carried urgent concern. "We can't just abandon Dr. Connors. He went in there because of our mission."
"I can organize a rescue team," he volunteered immediately. "Harry, Looma, and I could—"
"It's not that complicated," Ben interrupted.
He picked up the Cosmic Cube, its surface warm and pulsing with contained power. He walked directly to where the dejected Highbreed sat against the wall.
"Let's make a trade," Ben said, his tone businesslike.
The Highbreed looked up with dull, lifeless eyes.
"Stop your species' expansion operations immediately. Cease the infiltration and replacement of human officials. In exchange, I can fix the genetic defects plaguing your entire race—permanently solve the breakdown that's been driving you to extinction."
He gestured to the Highbreed's green-spotted skin.
"Just like I fixed you. But for everyone. Your entire civilization."
"Heh..." The sound was bitter, hollow. "Didn't you just say the Cosmic Cube was useless outside its home universe?"
"It's useless for certain applications," Ben corrected. "But perfectly useful for others."
He raised the Omnitrix on his right wrist, the device's interface illuminating with complex holographic displays.
"With the Cube's infinite energy reserves, the Omnitrix's healing and genetic repair functions can be broadcast across your entire civilization. Every member of your species, simultaneously. I can cure your people just as I cured you."
"It's meaningless." The Highbreed shook his head, his voice empty.
"You want us to allow inferior genetic material to pollute our bloodline? To become mongrels, diluted and impure?"
His voice rose suddenly, rage breaking through his depression.
"Dream on! We would rather die with honor than tarnish our heritage! Extinction with genetic purity is preferable to survival through contamination!"
"Do you genuinely believe other species are inferior?" Ben asked, his tone conversational.
"What?" The Highbreed blinked, confused by the philosophical question.
"You saw it yourself in that forest," Ben continued. "Humans have short lifespans compared to yours. Their bodies are objectively weaker—more fragile, more vulnerable to environmental hazards. But their will is extraordinarily strong. Their capacity for compassion and self-sacrifice is remarkable."
Ben crouched down to the Highbreed's eye level.
"And your species is far from perfect. If it weren't for those 'inferior' humans, you would already be dead. Your supposed genetic superiority couldn't save you from a simple injury in a hostile environment."
The Highbreed found himself unable to formulate a response.
The two Steve Rogers variants—both versions of the same person from different universes—had fundamentally changed his perspective on other life forms.
Lives that should have been fragile as soap bubbles had instead fought tenaciously alongside him until the very end. They'd saved his life when they had no logical reason to do so.
He, too, could be injured. He had vulnerabilities, fears, limitations. In extreme environments, his will could falter just as easily as any human's.
Even the Highbreed's campaign of infiltration and destruction—when examined honestly—was driven more by arrogance and jealousy than any rational superiority.
They destroyed other civilizations not because those species threatened them, but because acknowledging their value would undermine the Highbreed worldview.
"Perhaps you're right," the Highbreed admitted quietly, his voice heavy with sadness.
"It was our arrogance that brought us to extinction's edge. But even knowing that doesn't matter. The other members of my species will never agree to genetic integration. Our culture, our identity, is built on purity. They'll choose death first."
"They don't have a choice," Ben said flatly.
His tone shifted from conversational to absolutely final.
"If I'm offering you a way out, you should take it honestly and gratefully."
He stood, looking down at the dejected alien with something between pity and irritation.
"I've been busy dealing with multiversal collapse, Hydra regimes, and cosmic invasions lately. I'm already feeling stretched thin. I don't have the patience to negotiate endlessly with stubborn xenophobes who can't see their own extinction approaching."
Ben placed the Cosmic Cube directly on top of the Omnitrix.
Energy flowed between the two artifacts, circuits of blue-white light racing across both surfaces as systems integrated.
"This is a notification, not a discussion. And definitely not a request."
The Omnitrix began consuming the Cube's energy reserves at a staggering rate. Power sufficient to rewrite universal laws, to reshape entire realities, poured into the watch's systems like water into a reservoir.
Within seconds, the device's energy reserves went from depleted to maximum capacity. Then beyond maximum—storing reserves that would normally take years to accumulate naturally.
The watch was now fully charged for three continuous days of operation.
"I can broadcast the genetic cure to your entire species whether they consent or not," Ben said quietly.
His expression was perfectly calm, but his words carried the weight of absolute authority.
"Or I can use this power to crack open your homeworld like an egg. The Omnitrix is now charged enough to detonate with force sufficient to destroy your entire civilization, your planet, and everything within several light-years."
He let that sink in for a moment.
"Your choice. Survival through evolution, or extinction through pride. But make your decision quickly—I have other problems to solve, and Dr. Connors is running out of time."
The Highbreed stared up at him, finally understanding the position he was in.
This wasn't negotiation. It was barely even a threat.
It was simply a statement of inevitable reality.
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