Snuggles The Symbiote

Dying hurt. Like Hell. Not as bad as having the blades put in me in the first place, but definitely worse than the M-Pox.

So, this was death? It was just... Nothing. Dying had hurt, but now it felt like... nothing. I couldn't even feel my body, I was just... Was the afterlife just an eternity as a disembodied mind in a dark box? Because that sucked. No wonder ghosts are a thing. Who'd want this? Hmm. Maybe if I haunt Riley Davis I could eventually get past the brainwashing?

After what felt like an eternity of trying to figure out how to go back as a ghost, I uh... Figured out how to open my eyes.

Fluffy golden clouds, just like in children's cartoons about Heaven. And I had a body. It was like my old one, but this one came with a white robe and wasn't sick all the time. Or at least it wasn't sick right now. The afterlife wasn't eternal nothingness after all. I was just dumb.

It was kind of empty though.

"Hello?" I called out. "Is anybody there? I'm not the first person to ever make it to Heaven, am I? Because if I am then I have serious questions for the management."

Suddenly off in the distance, there was a bright light. So bright that I had to look away and cover my eyes and it was still bright.

"Ashley O'Leary of Earth."

"Yes? Sorry, who is this? What is this?"

"I am the One Above All. I see through many eyes. I build with many hands. They are themselves, but they are also me. I am all-powerful. My only weapon is love." Was this God? Did God have a practiced recitable introduction?

"I'm sorry," I said. "This is a bit..."

"Perhaps another face would be more appropriate?"

Suddenly the brightness was gone and I was sitting down in a comfortable chair. what was this kind called? A chintz chair? Whatever it was, it was comfy.

Also, the white robe turned into my normal clothes. Except not alive. ...I miss Mister Snuggles.

"Now, is this better?"

In front of me was a small table, and across it from me sat an old man. His hair was white on the sides but grey on the top. He was wearing sunglasses, and he had a big smile.

"I guess," I said. "Uh, excuse me for being rude, but who are you? What is this place? Are you God? Was that God?"

"Yes and no, kid." The man said with a laugh. "That was the One Above All. The One Above All is an omnipotent being who created the Multiverse, so I suppose you could call him God, but whether or not he's what most people mean when they say 'God' is a lot more complicated. He could be Yahweh," he continued, "or Jehova, or Allah, or whatever other names people would have for the Abrahamic God, or those could just be names and faces he's used when interacting with mortals. Or the Abrahamic God could be a separate being entirely. It could even be all of the above. We're talking about omnipotent beings here, logic doesn't apply. Do you understand?"

"I think so?" It was a little confusing, but I think I got the gist of it.

"This place is sort of a waiting room for the afterlife. Sort of like purgatory, but without the cleansing punishments," he continued while gesturing around us. Instead of Fluffy clouds now it was just a room. There was a type-writer on a desk in a corner. It was a nice room. "And as for me? When he interacts with mortals, the One Above All does it with faces and aspects. These faces have been everything from the mightiest of Gods to the lowliest of mortals, of every race, class, sex, and creed in the universe. Each one of them is a piece of The One Above All, but they're also they're own separate people." He smiled even wider than he already was. "I'm a face that he wears, a pair of eyes from which he sees, and a pair of hands that he creates with, but I'm also my own separate person who lived his own life before being here to talk to you know."

"Really? ...Wait," I think I recognized the man. "Didn't you... Werren't you that man that started the comic book company that did licensed stories about Superheroes? I remember because Captain America used to draw his own comics before he made his identity public." I ever used to own a couple of reprints of those stories. The first editions were hard to find and ridiculously expensive becuase, of course, people were willing to pay out the nose for a first edition drawn by Captain America himself.

"Yep!" The man said. "We prided ourselves on accuracy. We were so accurate that She-Hulk was able to use our retellings as evidence in court... Of course, it wasn't enough to get me and Jack into the Richards-Storm wedding. Still, people still remember the catchphrases I came up with."

"Make Mine Marvel!" I quoted. "So... Uh, why are we here?"

"Well, kid, you died," the nice old man said seriously.

"I noticed," I replied honestly. "It's kind of hard not to notice your organs getting turned into meat-confetti."

"Yeah, that's the simple part. The complicated part, though," he continued, "is where you died."

"What's that gotta do with anything?"

"You see, different universes have different rules," the nice man explained. "Where you're from, death is a transition. Some people stay dead, but others, for better or worse, come back from the dead. It happens all the time with heroes and villains, as you well know." I nodded. "But, on Earth Bet, death is an ending. You die, you stay dead. Well, there are ways around it, but whether the person who comes back is the same person who died is a question for the philosophers."

"You're someone from a world where death is often temporary," he continued, "who died in a world where genuine resurrection is impossible. Right now, your partner, the dear friend who you love, and who loves you in return, who turned his back on his own evil and destructive nature and thoughts of vengeance becuase he saw the purity of your soul and was so impressed with it that he decided that it needed to be protected at any cost, is doing his best to bring you back to life." He paused for a second, like he was letting that sink in. "He bonded with your body to try and heal it. To try and revive you. But, because of the inhuman DNA he's stored and adapted to, he himself has begun to count as an Inhuman. When he bonded with your body, he reacted to the absurd amounts of artificial terrigen in your body and is undergoing Terrigensis. And your body got dragged along for the ride."

"You have a choice, becuase of your unique circumstances," he finished, "you can either stay dead. Go to Heaven and be with your family again. Rest in peace. Or maybe take a seat in Val Hala, you were executed shortly after trying to handle an enemy the honorable way instead of taking the easy way out. It's not the traditional way of getting there, but you'd be welcome."

"What would happen to the people I left behind if I did that?" I asked.

"Weaver blames herself right now," he said. "She'd recover eventually, but she'd probably quit the Wards. She only joined them to take care of you. But, without a strong heroic influence, she'd be more brutal. She wouldn't necessarily get Punisher Bad, but" He waved his hand in a "so-so" way. "Missy would mourn and move on, resigned to the dangers of being a hero but determined to keep it up. Same with the rest of the Wards. And your symbiote? The Terrigensis would merge him with your body completely. He wouldn't need a host anymore, and you'd be alive, but only as an empty shell. He'd do his best to act the way he thinks you'd want him to act, but it'd be clear to everyone that you're gone."

"If I go back?"

"Then you won't see your family again for a very, very long time," he explained. "Though I imagine that they'll be much happier to see you then than they would be to see you now. You and your friend will be permanently merged into one body at the molecular level and your DNA and the DNA that he's stored will comingle. You'll still be separate people, but you'll never come apart again."

Honestly, never being alone again sounded nice.

"You'll live a long life, and... That medicine that Weaver Gave you was the Blood of Apocalypse. It can have side effects on mutants like you, who are part of Clan Akkaba. It's gonna be obvious to anyone who pays attention that you're related to En Sabbah Nur after this. And there will be ignorant people who might judge you for it. But," he continued, "your relationship to Nur doesn't define you. Not any more than Knull defines your friend."

"Who's Knull?"

"You'll find out later."

"Now, beyond what I've said, I can't say for certain that I know what'll happen to you, becuase you have free will and make your own choices," the nice man said, "but if it's still what you want, you could be a great hero."

I looked away. "I'm not so sure about that." I thought about Panacea getting shot and the man that Bloodbath killed. The agents who got killed by the Poisons who were after me, and how I froze up with the Poison Bonesaw. How I hadn't been able to get through to Riley Davis.

"Kid? Let me ask you something: Do you believe that you should help people who are in trouble, becuase it should be done, or must be done? Because it's the right thing to do?"

"Yes?"

"Are you a True Believer in things like Justice? Love? That Good always will and always must triumph over Evil? In heroes who explore worlds of mystery and fantasy to defend what's right?"

"Yeah."

"Then trust me, you're more than cut out to be a real Superhero. You'll get it right eventually if you keep trying," he finished with a big smile.

"If you say so," I said. I still wasn't sure. We were both silent for a little bit. "Can I ask you a few questions."

"Shoot, kid."

"What'll happen to Riley Davis if I don't go back?"

"Real tragedy," he said with a shake of his head. "Either she gets captured here and eventually executed in a particularly... Gruesome manner to keep her failsafe from wiping out the city. Or she gets away, and Jack Slash keeps his claws in her for a few more years, and whatever good there was left in her dies."

I frowned. "Okay... There was a girl, Panacea. She had healing powers and she died after she got shot. I was trying to disarm the gangster who shot her. There was an accidental discharge. I know that I could have saved her if I'd done things differently. Been smarter. Been better. But..."

"Kid? You'd need to talk to another face to get the whole story, but from what I know about this Panacea, she had problems. In some potential timelines, she gets better and stops hurting but in others, she gets worse and starts hurting other people." He was very solemn. "I'm not gonna say that you didn't make a mistake, but the Panacea you knew is at peace now, free from her problems. It's not a happy ending. It's not the best ending. It's far from either. But you can take solace in the fact that she's not hurting anymore."

I hummed. I wasn't sure about that, but... "Am I gonna remember this if I go back?"

"Not up here," he said while pointing to my head. "You won't remember this conversation. But down here," he pointed to my heart. "Anything you need to know will stick around. You'll remember it as an instinct. You won't even question where you learned it."

"Okay... How long has it been? It feels like I've been here for a long time."

"Time passes differently here. If you choose to go back, you'll get back just in time. There's no pressure, take as long as you need to decide."

So I sat there, thinking, weighing my options, when I noticed a smell. Sulpher and cigarette smoke. (The one time I didn't have a doctor mask to wear outside was the one time we kept running into smokers. That was an unpleasant experience.)

"You know," came a silky smooth man's voice from behind me, "you're not really giving her all of the available information."

The nice man looked angry and glared at whoever had appeared behind me. I turned around and kneeled so that I could look over the seat to see who it was and saw a red-skinned man with a major widow's peak. He had a cape wrapped around him. I recognized him. He used to be obscure but nowadays everyone knew who he was.

"You're not welcome here, Mephisto," the man said.

"Yeah," I added. "Don't you have a fiddle contest to lose?"

"Oh," the demon said sarcastically, "I've never heard that one before. You wager one golden fiddle for one mortal's soul and suddenly that's all you ever do."

"Wait, that actually happened?" I asked out loud. "I thought it was just a song."

"There was a song!? I mean," he corrected, "I have a right to be here, there's a matter that concerns me. I've business with the girl."

"Sorry," I said, "the nice old man more or less guaranteed me a place in Heaven if I want. I'm not gonna throw that away by cutting a deal with you. Goodbye now."

"Lots of people make deals with me for good reasons and I don't only accept souls as payment," the demon. "I wouldn't want yours anyway. It's far too pure and good right now. I wouldn't be able to do anything with it, it'd burn me. It's almost like you're made of love or something."

" And it's stronger than you ," I sang-mocked back at him.

Mephisto sighed and rolled his eyes. "I walked right into that one. The point is, if you go back, you'll Inherit one of my Hell-Marks."

"What now?" I'd never had anything to do with him. How could I inherit something from him?

"You see," Mephisto explained, "a short few years ago when the Venom symbiote was still evil, it made a deal with me. It wanted to become a powerful demon, and I wanted to have some... Heirs, if you will. There's an event oncoming, where I and my fellows will do battle to claim Satan's empty throne. A Hell-Mark marks someone as a potential Hell Lord and, when active, gives them command over lesser demons, the power to create and manipulate Hellfire, and overtime transforms you into a powerful demon if you're not one already... and corrupts your soul utterly."

"And you slipped one on me when I wasn't looking?" I asked incredulously.

"No. I gave one to the Venom symbiote, and with its help slipped some onto Thunderbolt Ross, back when he was the Red Hulk, and onto Miss Kinney. Ross and Kinney's remained dormant and the Venom symbiote eventually passed off its Mark onto an offshoot of itself... and then your symbiote stole the remnants of the Venom symbiote out of Miss Kinney's body and thus, the Hell-Mark." Mephisto smiled sadistically. "And if you go back, then it'll be just as much yours as it is his. If it activates, you and he will inevitably become a demon and be in line to take my place should I be promoted to King of All Hells or be permanently destroyed in my attempt to secure that promotion."

"Of course," he finished all smug and fake friendly, "I could take the Mark back and pass it along to someone more receptive to being the Lord of a Hell, and all it would cost you is—"

"Yeah, no," I cut him off. "I'd rather take my chances with being a devil than make a deal with one for any reason. Especially since, from what I understand, you're basically the biggest loser in the multiverse. So please, go away, leave me alone, and go ndéana an Diabhail dréimire de chnámh do dhroma ag piocadh úll i nGáirdín Ifrinn."

"You know, that curse doesn't work when the devil is the one you're cursing."

"That wasn't a curse, that was a threat. If I end up turning into a devil becuase of your Hell-Mark I'm gonna break your back and make a ladder out of the bones."

The Devil glared at me but said nothing, then exploded into fire and smoke and was gone. I turned back to the nice old man. "Was he telling the truth?"

"More or less, but he left out some important details," the nice man said. "For one, it's far from a guarantee that the mark will activate. For two, the corruptive influence of the mark can be neutralized while leaving its power intact, That happened with Mania, who you've met." He held up his fingers. "For three, demons aren't nessesarily evil. Laussa Odinsdottir is as much a fire demon as she is an Asgardian but once Surtur's posthumous influence over her was excised she's a clearcut force for good despite still being a baby. For four, it turns out the X-Gene can keep demonic powers in check, as happened with Magik."

"So wait, becuase I'm a mutant getting turned into a demon can't make me evil?" That made no sense at all. "That's weird. That's really weird."

"You're also completely immune to HIV and a few similar viruses and are constantly building up very tiny bits of magical energy in your bones. Sorry kid, but Mutants are kind of weird. Anyway, for five, even if the Hell-Mark activates, Mania is more likely to take Mephisto's place than you are."

"And finally," the nice man finished, "Mephisto hinted at this: Demons hate love. They're allergic to it. They're afraid of it. Even if you have the body of a demon and the power of a demon and the magic of a demon and rule over a hell realm, as long as you have genuine love in your heart you'd never be a True Demon. So don't sweat it, worst case scenario it just means more power for you to use as you choose. If you become Evil, it'll be becuase of your own choices and actions. That's probably why tall, red, and creepy wanted to take it back. But you are you, and no one can take that from you."

"Okay," I said. I took a few more minutes to think... "I wanna go back."

"Excelsior! Now, kid? Before you go back, I can help you a little bit. I can't give you any weapons, the One Above All only has one weapon and you've already got it, but I can give you a little bit of advice: Like I just said, Nur doesn't define you, so don't sweat the small stuff. You're gonna have a bit of a power high when you come back to reality, and always remember that your family loves you, is proud of you, and wants you to be happy. Now face front, True Believer, you're in for a long hard road, but I can guarantee that your story can have a happy ending."

Snuggles The Symbiote

My eyes snapped open. What was going on? I was dead, but now...? I was sitting in a Terrigenisis cocoon. What happened?

"Ashley? Are you alright?" Mister Snuggles whispered in my ears.

"I'm fine, Mister Snuggles," I thought back.

"I was so worried about you."

"Since when do you use normal grammar?"

"...I don't know."

"Can you go back to using 'this one?' Hearing you use proper personal pronouns is weird."

"As you wish."

"Love you, too."

I took stock of what was going on... I could almost feel the people around me. A couple were friendly but a bunch of them were intent on doing a lot of bad. That'll have to be dealt with. Closer to home, I was sitting in the fetal position in a split open cocoon and my skin color had changed to a ... Grey? Purple? Blue? ...Periwinkle. I was periwinkle now. I pulled out my lower lip to make it so I could see it... Blue. Great. I bet my eyes were red now, too.

Honestly, I didn't feel as bad about that as I should have. I'd deal with it later. And other than the realization that I looked like Apocalypse, I felt great. I could feel raw power coursing through my veins... You know what? If I'm gonna be related to Apocalypse, I might as well own it.

I stood up and started letting Mister Snuggles form a costume around me.

"Mister Snuggles... Wanna try and scare the bad guys?"

"How?"

"Follow my lead."

"En Sabah Nur..." I said.

"En Whatta-who-now?" I heard Riley Davis ask. Good. Maybe I could try talking her down again. I started reciting a hammy speech off the top of my head and making an Apocalypse themed version of my costume.

I finished with "A Superior Apocalypse!" using Mister Snuggles to make a cool filter effect just after I finished forming my mask. Which was good, because I could barely keep my face straight while I said it.

AN: This chapter is dedicated to the Memory of Stan Lee, to all other amazing writers and artists living or dead who create stories of heroes and wonder, and to everyone who has ever done the right thing becuase it was the right thing.