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3rd Person POV
Marvel Multiverse, Universe 199999, Milky Way Galaxy, Nine Realms — Asgard.(Basically Address of Asgard)
The great realm of Asgard, the most powerful among the Nine Realms, stood in a state of unnatural silence. Once a shining example of divine strength, culture, and prosperity, its majestic golden towers now loomed over deserted streets.
The marketplaces, usually filled with the sounds of trading, laughter, and music, were now hauntingly empty. Shops were shuttered, stalls abandoned, and the winds that blew through the marble lanes carried only silence and tension.
The common citizens of Asgard had taken shelter in fortified sanctuaries, protected by powerful enchantments and guarded by the few remaining soldiers still able to fight.
The once-glorious Asgardian army, the pride of the realm, had been reduced to a fraction of its original strength. Two-thirds of the elite force had been overwhelmed—defeated not by an army, not by a fleet, but by a single man.
Though not a single Asgardian life had been lost yet, the injured were many. Some soldiers were gravely wounded, with limbs severed by ruthless attacks, their lives forever altered. Others were left unconscious, groaning under the care of their fellow warriors.
Their morale, however, had not been broken.
Standing at the center of the chaos was the cause of it all—a lone figure.
A handsome man, tall and imposing, with sharp golden eyes that sparkled like yellow crystal. His wavy brown hair was streaked with glowing yellow strands, and his face bore the smirk of someone utterly confident in his own superiority. His attire resembled that of a powerful mage—an ornate robe layered with magical symbols, deep violet and gold, signifying his mastery over arcane arts.
Ataman.
He stood among fallen soldiers with an almost theatrical swagger, laughing under his breath as if all this destruction was merely entertainment.
Ataman chuckled, his voice playful and mocking.
"Fufufufu... Is this all you've got? Really? I expected more. I thought Asgardian soldiers were supposed to be mighty warriors. But you all seem so-so... average, at best."
The remaining guards stationed at the perimeter of the citadel clenched their weapons tightly. Bloodied, bruised, and exhausted, they glared at him, filled with rage they could barely suppress. His words were a direct insult to everything they stood for.
They wanted to charge at him, to stab him through the heart for his arrogance, but deep inside, they knew they didn't stand a chance. He had defeated a majority of their forces alone. They couldn't risk a suicidal attack—not because they feared for their own lives, but because the civilians depended on their survival.
Only thirty percent of their troops remained active, and even those were being used to protect non-combatants. Every decision they made now was for the preservation of Asgard's people.
Moments earlier, Ataman had casually severed both legs of an Asgardian warrior using a shining, deadly blade forged of Orichalcum—a mythical metal stronger than Uru. After rendering his opponent immobile, he turned to the others, inspecting them like an artist dissatisfied with his canvas.
'They might be weak,' Ataman thought, 'but I'll give them this—all of them are brave and loyal. Almost every soldier I've fought so far didn't hesitate to charge into battle, even knowing death was imminent. But damn it... they're annoying as hell. All of them shout the same thing: "For Asgard!" before they rush at me. Do they not have any originality?'
Behind him stood another figure—completely still, yet radiating a dangerous aura.
A young-looking male, no older in appearance than sixteen, with a slender build and ethereal beauty. His platinum-blue hair flowed down to his waist like silk, and his piercing ruby-red eyes shimmered with cold intensity. His expression was void of emotion—blank, uncaring, yet chillingly captivating due to his feminine traits. His frame and thin chest gave her an almost androgynous appearance, but the magical energy surrounding his was overwhelming.
He raised his hand ever so slightly—a signal for Ataman to stop.
Ataman, without protest, ceased his movements and teleported instantly to her side, bowing his head in acknowledgment.
He then turned her gaze to the few soldiers still standing and spoke, his voice like ice:
"Where is your king? Where is Odin? Don't tell me the mighty All-Father is cowering in fear and has run away?"
The soldiers stiffened. His voice was emotionless, yet her words were filled with venom. The insult directed at Odin—their Odin, the All-Father, protector of the Realms—was too much to bear.
Their eyes burned with fury, and without hesitation, they shouted in unison:
"For Asgard!"
They charged forward, weapons raised high, their injuries forgotten in the face of this sacrilege. Even if it meant death, they would not tolerate a blasphemy against their god.
Ataman sighed, visibly irritated.
"Same boring line again. Can't any of you say something new for once?"
He was about to retaliate when the android god—Raphael—raised his hand again.
He stopped, instantly.
Raphael's eyes narrowed, and he raised his other hand, focusing his energy. A dazzling array of magical glyphs circled around his arm as he cast an overwhelming spell—an advanced fusion of Rune Magic enhanced by All Booster, a powerful buffing technique.
Though Rune Magic was considered common, with the All Booster multiplying its effect a thousandfold, it now rivaled even Unique Skills in potency. In an instant, time itself seemed to freeze for the attackers. Every soldier, even those mid-leap, halted mid-air as if reality itself had locked them in place.
Their expressions remained frozen—fierce, determined, defiant.
'Impressive,' Raphael thought. 'They keep charging even when they know it's futile. Brave, yes... but still just insects.'
The spell's effect was temporary, and it consumed an enormous amount of magical energy, but Raphael was unbothered. Thanks to his Magicule Fusion Reactor, he could recover faster than anyone else alive—even expending an Ultimate Skill wouldn't leave a dent in his reserves.
With a calm sigh, he released a small portion of his Magicule Aura—barely a fraction. Even so, the energy was suffocating. If he had released his full aura, everyone in Asgard, save for a handful of elites, would have perished instantly.
"I've had enough of this nonsense," Raphael muttered coldly. "Ataman, teleport to Odin's chamber. Retrieve the Space Stone. I've already wasted far too much time dealing with these bugs."
Ataman bowed his head once more."Yes, my Lord."
He vanished with a flash of teleportation. Seconds later, he reappeared with a glowing blue cube in hand.
"My Lord, this is the Tesseract—also known as the Space Stone."
Before he could hand it over, a loud crack echoed as an axe came flying at them. It struck Ataman, but bounced harmlessly off his barrier. His expression twisted in annoyance.
"You intruders cannot take the Tesseract!" a voice thundered. "It belongs to Asgard!"
Thor stood at the gate with Sif and the Warriors Three at his side. All of them were battle-ready, their faces grim and resolute.
Without a word, Raphael extended his hand. The Tesseract flew through the air and landed gently in his palm, drawn by a Rune Magic pull. The onlookers stared, shocked that the artifact had been taken without resistance.
"Attack them! For Asgard!" Thor shouted once more, charging forward.
Raphael, unfazed, thought to himself, 'Still impulsive as ever. Brave, yes... but still foolish. He never learns.'
He turned to Ataman, issuing his next order:
"Handle them. Do not let anyone interfere with my power-up sequence."
Ataman grinned, his eyes glowing brighter.
"Understood, Master. I'll show these worms their place."
His words sent another wave of rage through the Asgardians.
Thor roared back, his voice thunderous.
"How dare you insult us?!"
Sif and the Warriors Three drew their weapons and followed his lead.
Battle was about to resume—and this time, the stakes were even higher.
Ataman didn't waste time replying to what he considered meaningless noise. Without a word, he suddenly appeared right in front of Thor, effortlessly blocking the incoming axe swing with a single hand. His palm wrapped around the weapon's handle, stopping it in its tracks without so much as a tremble.
"You may be the strongest opponent I've encountered in this realm," Ataman said with a calm, mocking tone, "but a stronger bug is still just a bigger and fatter bug."
"You—!" Thor roared in rage, immediately swinging his other fist at Ataman's face.
But again, Ataman simply raised his free hand and caught the punch mid-air, as if it were nothing more than a light breeze.
Seeing Thor engaged at close range, Fandral, Volstagg, Hogun, and Sif quickly closed in to assist. Together, they struck Ataman from all directions—swords, spears, and enchanted strikes—all aimed to force him to loosen his grip.
The combined assault managed to push Ataman back just slightly, his fingers relaxing around Thor's axe for a brief moment.
Thor seized the opportunity. Channeling his strength, he swung his hammer directly into Ataman's chest.
Srrriiiinnnng!
A metallic ringing echoed through the battlefield as the hammer clashed against Ataman's chest—only to rebound with a shockwave. Thor was knocked slightly back by the repulsion, staggering from the unexpected result.
He looked up at Ataman with disbelief. His full-force strike had done nothing. Not even a dent.
The Warriors Three and Sif, equally stunned, instinctively backed away, putting distance between themselves and the unfazed enemy.
Ataman looked down at his chest briefly, then back at them with a disappointed sigh.
"My, my... Is that really all you've got?" he said with a lazy smirk. "Truly disappointing. I expected more from Asgard's finest."
His mocking tone caused Thor's temper to boil further. Without another word, Thor charged again.
'A bug is still a bug—stronger or not,' Ataman thought coldly as he prepared to strike back.
Raphael POV
Watching the battle unfold from a short distance, I nodded mentally in approval.
'As expected,' I thought with a satisfied smirk. 'Thor's axe didn't even leave a scratch on him. That's the strength of a body forged from pure Orichalcum.'
Not only was Ataman's body enhanced beyond reason, but he also wore an Orichalcum robe with several minor enchantments. The robe wasn't just decorative—it granted defensive resistance against nearly all physical and magical attacks. Only weapons forged from Uru or materials above it would have any hope of injuring him. Something as weak as magic steel? Worthless.
Now that the battle was under control, I could turn my attention to the true objective.
Raising the Tesseract, I crushed its crystalline shell without hesitation, revealing the shimmering blue Space Stone inside. There was no need for drama—just purpose.
Without delay, I invoked the power of Void God Azathoth, allowing the entity to devour the Space Stone completely. Immediately, I felt the surge of power coursing through me—pure, unfiltered cosmic force flooding into every corner of my body.
{Universal Sense has been upgraded}
{Extra Skill – Cosmic Energy Generator has been acquired}
{Fusing Extra Skill Cosmic Energy Generator with Unique Skill – Magicule Fusion Reactor... SUCCESSFUL}
{Unique Skill – Magicule Fusion Reactor has been upgraded}
{Chaos King Cython's Sub-Skill – Space Manipulation has been enhanced}
I narrowed my eyes, impressed.
'The rewards did not disappoint,' I thought. 'This world's Infinity Stones live up to their reputation.'
I shifted my gaze back to the battlefield. The clash had already ended.
The Warriors Three were sprawled on the ground, groaning in pain, defeated but not dead. Sif lay unconscious nearby. Only Thor remained standing—battered, bloodied, and breathing heavily. His arms and armor bore cuts, his skin was bruised, and his legs trembled under the weight of fatigue.
Ataman stood before him, unfazed. His robe remained spotless, not a single tear or scratch visible.
"I expected you to at least entertain me," Ataman said as he summoned his Orichalcum sword back into his hand. "But you were this weak even after all that buildup? Boring."
Thor, struggling to keep his footing, gritted his teeth at the insult. His axe had already been destroyed, shattered in the fight. Hogun, despite his own injuries, called out with a desperate shout:
"Thor! Catch!"
He threw a sword toward him, and Thor caught it mid-air. He held the blade firmly, leveling it toward Ataman, his eyes filled with defiance.
At that moment, Ataman received a mental message from me.
'Our work is finished. Time to leave.'
He responded with a silent mental nod.
'Yes, Master. As you command.'
Without ceremony, Ataman dismissed his sword, storing it within his Pocket Space—an artificial inventory dimension I had personally created for him. The weapon vanished instantly, dematerializing into thin air.
Thor's eyes widened. To him, the gesture was an insult of the highest order. He took it to mean that Ataman no longer considered him a threat, not even worth fighting with a weapon.
He clenched the sword tighter, enraged, and was just about to charge again—
When a deafening voice suddenly echoed through the skies:
"Who dares to attack Asgard?!"
The voice carried the weight of divinity—calm yet thunderous, ageless and commanding.
Every surviving Asgardian, every injured soldier, and even Ataman paused in place.
The true(False) God of Asgard had arrived.
To be continued…