X-Men: The Unnatural Omega's Volume 1, Fractured Realities

Chapter 15: Walkers, Witchers and White Walkers

Sabretooth had experienced countless forms of humiliation over his long, violent life, but being defeated by a mere infant was a new low. The bitterness of his recent defeat at the hands of Derreck and Laura's son, Oriaon, still clung to him like a stench. The little brat's blue monolith had crushed him into the ground with an ease that was entirely too insulting for Sabretooth's tastes.

It made him seethe, every muscle in his body tense with indignation. It was one thing to be bested by an equal, another to be crushed by a child wielding a toy. He roamed the quiet corridors of the facility, rage simmering beneath the surface, when he abruptly halted.

A nauseating mix of odors hit him - the sickeningly sweet scent of rotting flesh, the musty smell of decayed vegetation, and the iron-like aroma of stale blood. Sabretooth's instincts screamed in warning, his eyes narrowing as he cautiously turned the corner.

His eyes were greeted with a horrifying sight. A figure, or what was left of one, was slowly making its way towards him. Its skin was green and mottled, appearing more like decaying leaves than human flesh. Its gut was torn open, entrails dragging on the floor as it moved with a shambling gait. A skeletal face, with empty eye sockets, looked towards Sabretooth, teeth bared in a grotesque imitation of a smile. This wasn't just some deformed creature or a victim of some bizarre mutation. This was a zombie, and it was heading straight towards him.

As the shambling horror began to snarl and reach towards Sabretooth, two individuals stepped into view. The first was a woman with sun-kissed skin, roughened by exposure and hardships. Her auburn hair was cut in a practical bob, her emerald eyes sharp and cautious. The lines on her face and the hardened set of her jaw spoke volumes of the struggles she had faced. This was a woman who had experienced the harshest of life's realities and emerged as a survivor. This was Maggie from The Walking Dead.

Beside her was a man with a leather jacket adorning his burly physique. His dark hair was slicked back, showcasing a beard stubbled face. His eyes held an unhinged gleam, exuding a dangerous allure. There was a charismatic menace in the set of his jaw, the curl of his lips. A crowbar rested comfortably in his hands, its metal end stained dark with dried blood. This was Negan from The Walking Dead.

Negan did not hesitate. He rushed forward, crowbar swinging with a fluid grace that belied its deadly purpose. With a sickening crunch, it smashed into the walker's skull, ending its advance towards Sabretooth.

The two newcomers stood, breathing heavily as they surveyed their surroundings, their faces reflecting a mixture of confusion and apprehension. Their gazes landed on Sabretooth, their expressions hardening. This was clearly not the world they knew.

Taking a moment to assess the situation, Maggie was the first to break the silence. She looked at Sabretooth, her emerald eyes full of questions and wariness.

"Where the hell are we?" she asked, her voice resolute, betraying no fear. "This sure as hell isn't Alexandria... or anywhere else we've been."

Negan, who had been scanning their surroundings, turned to regard Sabretooth. The gleam in his eyes hinted at an untamed spirit and a mind calculating their next move.

"And you, big guy," Negan added, gesturing towards Sabretooth with his crowbar. "Who the hell are you and what's with the bad Halloween getup? And where did that walker come from?"

Both of them clearly expected answers, their hardened gazes fixed on Sabretooth. They were out of their element, but they weren't helpless or afraid. Their postures spoke volumes about their will to survive, regardless of where they were or what they faced.

Sabretooth folded his arms across his chest, a cold smile creeping across his features as he took in Negan's comment about his appearance.

"Walker? That's a new one. Around here, we just call them zombies," he replied, not missing a beat. His smile grew wider, showing off his feral teeth. "As for the costume comment, you're one to talk. What's with the leather jacket and scarf? You part of some biker gang?"

His gaze shifted to Maggie, his smile fading slightly as he took in her earnest query. "As for where you are... this ain't anywhere you've been before. You're in a place called kroakoa. It's a maximum-security prison designed for meta-humans. As for how you got here... beats me."

Sabretooth shrugged, seemingly nonplussed by the sudden appearance of these two strangers. His gaze lingered on them, waiting for their next move.

Maggie and Negan looked at each other, Krakoa? is that an island or something?

Sabretooth let out a low chuckle, the sound grating like gravel. "Krakoa. Yeah, it's an island, but it ain't like any island you've seen before. It's... let's just call it 'special'," he replied, eyeing their reactions. The mention of his claws made him flex his fingers, making the deadly digits gleam ominously. "And these? Just a part of who I am."

He could see the bewilderment in their eyes, a sight that would normally amuse him. But seeing their genuine confusion made him pause. For all his brutish ways, Sabretooth had always prided himself on his honesty, albeit a harsh one.

He sighed, a sound that was as much a growl as an exhalation. "Alright, here's the deal. You ain't just in a different place. You're in a different universe. Specifically, you're in a universe that some folks call the Marvel Universe. And if you're asking about the year... it's 2023."

Sabretooth paused, letting the reality of their situation sink in before he continued, "You know about Marvel comics? Apparently, it's a thing on some Earths. Well, that's where you are. You're in the Omniverse, and it's a lot weirder than you can possibly imagine."

The living island seemed to ripple as a crude, plant-like face formed from the intertwining roots and bark. Krokoa's voice rumbled out, ancient and wise. "New arrivals?" it queried, directing its attention towards Sabretooth.

The mutant couldn't help the chuckle that escaped him. Even in his long, tumultuous life, moments like this never ceased to amuse him. He turned to the bewildered pair of Maggie and Negan, then back to the sentient island. "Yeah, Krokoa. New arrivals," he confirmed, his voice infused with a hint of amusement. "And not the kind we're used to, either."

Krokoa's voice was unyielding, "Victor Creed, return to your confinement. The new arrivals require evaluation."

Sabretooth laughed heartily, a low and rumbling sound. The confused expressions on Maggie and Negan's faces and the mangled remains of the 'walker' were a sight that Sabretooth would remember for quite some time. A bright spot in his current predicament. He waved a clawed hand dismissively in the direction of the newcomers.

"Sure thing, Krokoa," he drawled out, a wicked smile playing on his features. "This has already made my day." With that, the feral mutant sauntered off, heading back to his cell. The image of the bewildered Maggie and Negan, standing beside a slain zombie, already replaying in his mind.

A short while later, jean was evaluating the new arrivals, while several others were gathered around including bugs bunny.

Once the initial shock of meeting the legendary cartoon character, Bugs Bunny, wore off, Maggie and Negan found themselves being evaluated by Jean Grey. A collective of their world's top scientists were inspecting the remains of the walker, the term 'zombie' already making its rounds among the group.

Jean's questions were methodical and thorough, her demeanor empathetic yet professional. "Tell me more about your world," Jean requested. "Is the undead situation... a common occurrence there?"

While they were processing that, she asked, "Are you familiar with a concept known as the 'omniverse'? And, if so, do you know how you came to be here?"

Jean patiently waited for their responses, her mind open to any emotional distress or confusion they might be experiencing. Meanwhile, Bugs Bunny nibbled nonchalantly on a carrot, his laid-back demeanor contrasting with the seriousness of the situation.

A grim expression spread across Maggie and Negan's faces as they recalled the harsh reality of their world. "Our world, well, it ended in 2010," Maggie began, her voice wavering slightly. "People didn't stay dead. They came back, but not as themselves. They were... walkers, mindless and violent."

Negan added, his gruff voice surprisingly soft, "It wasn't about them getting you. It was about not letting them bite you. A bite was a death sentence, and the only way to delay the inevitable was to amputate the infected part. But even then, it wasn't a guarantee."

They both shuddered, their past traumas still raw. It was evident that living in a world overrun by the undead had left deep scars on them both. They paused, then, as if remembering something important.

"And everyone's infected," Maggie finally said. "It doesn't matter how you die. If your brain isn't destroyed, you come back as one of them. It's the world we lived in. It's the world we survived."

John Rambo, who had been silently observing the conversation, clenched his jaw at their story. He'd seen many horrors in his time, but an entire world overtaken by the walking dead was something entirely different.

The color drained from Maggie's face as she continued, her hands trembling slightly. "The walkers...they don't just bite you," she said, her voice nearly a whisper. "They eat you, while you're still alive, if they can overwhelm you."

Negan grimaced, nodding in agreement. "It's... gruesome," he acknowledged, his eyes clouded with dark memories. "They don't stop until there's nothing left or until they're distracted by something else."

A shiver ran through the room as the reality of their world sank in, their words painting a grim picture of a world where death was the beginning of an even worse fate.

The room fell into an eerie silence as the horrifying nature of Maggie and Negan's world sunk in. The gathered individuals shared uneasy glances, a stark contrast to the otherwise vibrant and lively environment of Krakoa.

Logan, having faced his fair share of horrors throughout his extensive life, kept his face stoic, yet his eyes carried a profound sense of empathy. "That's... hell on earth," he finally spoke, his voice gruff and low.

Bugs Bunny, used to providing a lighter note, found himself unusually silent, his usual smile replaced by a serious frown. He glanced at the two newcomers, his eyes softening with empathy. "That's a tough break, doc," he murmured.

Even Jean, typically the pillar of calm, found herself swallowing hard, her heart heavy at the thought of the living nightmare Maggie and Negan had been living through. She gave them a sympathetic look, her voice filled with compassion as she spoke, "We'll do everything we can to help you two."

Beast, the team's resident biologist and medical expert, took a moment to process this information. He pushed up his glasses, peering intently at the microscope screen before him.

"Fascinating," he murmured, his attention fully absorbed by the microscopic images displayed. "This isn't just a typical virus or fungus. It's more akin to a genetically engineered pathogen... one that, intriguingly, seems unable to spread beyond its original environment."

He turned to the group, the light of scientific curiosity illuminating his eyes. "It's as if it has been specifically designed to only affect those within its native universe... An astounding and terrifying piece of bioengineering." "And it has French letter in the DNA."

The room fell into a deeper silence as the weight of Beast's words sank in. This wasn't just a horrifying epidemic that plagued Maggie and Negan's world. This was a man-made horror, a biological weapon that had turned their reality into a nightmare. It was a chilling reminder of the dark depths humanity could plummet to.

Maggie and Negan exchanged glances, their faces growing grave as Beast relayed his findings. Maggie's heart hammered in her chest, her mind spinning as she processed what Beast had just said.

"It can't be..." she whispered; her voice barely audible. "All those years ago, when we met Dr. Jenner at the CDC... He told us the French were the last ones to hold out, the last ones trying to find a cure before... before they went dark."

Negan, always the more hardened of the two, looked at Beast with an expression of cold fury. "So, you're saying that some French scientists created this thing? And it got out of hand?"

Beast, still looking at the screen, slowly nodded. "It seems so, yes. The genetic 'signatures' on the pathogen are quite specific. They are French. It would seem that in their attempts to counter the disease, they may have inadvertently created it."

Maggie buried her face in her hands, her shoulders shaking. This was too much. She had seen so much horror, lost so many people. And to now learn that it was all due to a man-made disaster... it was too much to bear.

Negan, though visibly shaking with anger, wrapped a comforting arm around her. "We'll deal with this, Maggie," he said quietly. "Like we've dealt with everything else."

After a few moments of palpable silence, Beast cleared his throat, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose. "Well, there is some good news to all of this," he began, managing a small, encouraging smile. "From what I can discern, the pathogen can't spread outside its original world. It seems unable to adapt to the biological conditions here."

His words hung in the air for a moment before they slowly sunk in. "You mean... we're not a threat to this place?" Maggie asked, her voice hesitant.

"That is correct," Beast affirmed, nodding his head. "You, Negan, any other potential survivors from your world that might appear... none of you pose a danger of spreading the infection here. It seems this small mercy is ours to claim."

There was a collective exhale in the room. Though this revelation did not solve all the problems, nor mitigate the horrid reality of Maggie and Negan's world, it was, at least, a silver lining. They were not harbingers of a deadly plague in this new universe, but victims of a world gone horrifyingly wrong. It was a small victory, but a victory nonetheless.

With an odd sense of familiarity, Maggie and Negan found themselves surrounded by a group of people - or rather, beings - they never thought they would encounter outside the confines of fiction and video games. There, standing among them, were figures that defied belief.

First was Bumblebee, the Autobot from the classic Transformers franchise, gleaming in all his Cybertronian glory. His lively and friendly mannerisms were disarming, despite his towering robotic stature.

Next to him stood a collection of individuals who could have walked right out of a medieval fantasy novel. The silver-haired witcher, Geralt of Rivia, with his stern face and piercing yellow eyes. Beside him was the beautiful sorceress Yennefer, her dark hair and violet eyes radiating a sense of mystery and allure. Alongside them stood the young woman named Ciri, whose emerald eyes shone with both curiosity and determination. Two figures, Regis and Dettlaff, stood somewhat apart, their pale skin and red eyes suggesting they weren't quite human.

And then there was... Mario? The legendary Nintendo character was somehow real in this universe, sporting his iconic red hat and overalls.

Last but not least, two Pokémon were present - Mewtwo and Pikachu. Their presence was both surreal and fascinating. Pikachu was as adorable as expected, while Mewtwo carried an air of stern authority.

"Sure, is a mixed bag," Negan remarked, still grinning. Maggie, however, remained quiet. She was still trying to take it all in - this strange, unbelievable gathering of beings from all corners of the omniverse. It was a stark departure from the bleak reality they had been plucked from. It was... astonishingly, bizarrely... hopeful.

As Pikachu nuzzled into Maggie's hand, a rare, soft smile spread across her face. It was a stark contrast to the grim expression she had worn for so long in her own world. The little electric mouse Pokémon cooed softly as he enjoyed the attention, his tail flicking happily. "Pika, Pikachu," he squeaked, prompting a chuckle from the group.

Negan, ever the conversationalist, didn't miss a beat. "So, let me get this straight," he began, pointing at Geralt. "You're some kind of monster hunter?"

Geralt merely nodded, crossing his arms. "A Witcher, yes."

Negan hummed in interest, then pointed at Mario. "And you're... what, a plumber who rescues princesses from turtles?"

Mario laughed, patting his round belly. "Ah, it's-a not just turtles, my friend. There's-a many other dangers in the Mushroom Kingdom."

Mewtwo, who had been silently observing, then spoke. His deep, telepathic voice echoed in their minds. "In each of our worlds, we have our duties, our struggles, our enemies. Here, however, we find ourselves unified. Our experiences, as diverse as they are, bind us."

The room fell silent for a moment at Mewtwo's profound words. The reality of their situation, the magnitude of their shared experiences, weighed heavily. They were all individuals displaced from their own worlds, but in their shared displacement, they found a sort of unity.

"Yeah, I suppose you're right, big guy," Negan finally responded, breaking the silence with a relaxed shrug. "Here's to unity, then."

As Pikachu's delighted cry of "Pika Pika!" echoed in the room, they all joined in a round of light laughter, sharing in the strange camaraderie of their situation. For a moment, amidst the chaos and uncertainty, they found a semblance of peace.

Just then after Maggie and Negan enjoy a pizza slice and a burger logan walked into the room saying we aren't sure but they think another walker showed up in the New York graveyard.

Upon hearing Logan's words, both Maggie and Negan instantly looked up from their food, glancing at each other with a shared understanding before turning back to Logan. The joyous atmosphere in the room seemed to wane slightly as they realized they were once again faced with the harsh reality of their previous world.

"Alright," Negan said, standing up and dusting off his pants. His nonchalant demeanor was replaced by a serious and composed one. "Lead the way."

Maggie, too, nodded, her expression hardening. "We'll help in any way we can," she agreed, setting her slice of pizza down and standing up.

Bumblebee, who was observing from a corner, chimed in with an enthusiastic beep, his headlamps flashing. He was also more than willing to lend a helping hand, or wheel, in this case. Pikachu and Mewtwo shared a nod, ready to use their powers to aid the team if necessary.

Before they departed, Logan turned back to the group, "We need to get a handle on this situation quickly. Our world has enough threats to deal with. We don't need zombies on top of everything else."

As the team prepared for departure, there was a sense of resolve among them. Despite their differences and the trials, they had each faced in their own worlds, they were united in their effort to ensure that the threat from Maggie and Negan's world didn't spread into theirs.

As they flew through the jet, Maggie and Negan looked out the window at the city bellow.

Maggie's voice was a quiet whisper, barely audible over the hum of the jet's engines. Her eyes remained glued to the cityscape sprawling out beneath them, vibrant lights blinking and dancing like a living entity.

"It's... surreal," she finally said, her gaze distant. "I had almost forgotten that a world like this used to exist. The bustling streets, the towering buildings... the life. Our world... it's been so long since I've seen it brimming with life."

Negan, silent till now, let out a low hum of agreement, his fingers lightly drumming against the armrest of his seat. He was also staring out of the window, his eyes reflecting the twinkling city lights.

"Yeah," he said, his voice gruff, "It's been a long time since we saw a city not in ruins, or swarming with walkers."

The two of them continued to stare out at the lively city, a stark contrast to the destroyed and undead-infested world they had left behind. For a moment, they allowed themselves to be lost in the sight of this bustling, living city - a poignant reminder of what once was, and a glimmering promise of what could be.

After landing and exiting the craft there was a walker, but... it was too rigged, and too skeletal, like it crawled out of one of the graves.

The walker was a grotesque sight, its decaying form a patchwork of rotten flesh and exposed bone. Its frame was skeletal, a horrific caricature of a human body that looked as if it had been pulled straight from a grave, the ground still clinging to its tattered clothing. Half of its head was missing, the exposed brain matter dry and shriveled, while its skull had an eerie blue glow radiating from its eye sockets.

Suddenly, its body tensed and it let out a high-pitched, gut-wrenching screech. An otherworldly sound that echoed through the quiet graveyard, freezing everyone in their tracks. The walker didn't stumble or lumber like the ones they knew from their world. Instead, it sprinted towards them with a speed and agility that was terrifyingly unnatural for a creature in its state.

Its glowing eyes focused with an uncanny intelligence, it bore its few remaining teeth, gnashing them together in a horrifying mockery of life. This was something different, something far removed from the walkers Maggie and Negan had fought for years. It was a new kind of terror that even in their world of undead nightmares, they had never encountered.

Negan swung his crowbar with all his might, the impact colliding with the side of the walker's damaged skull. It barely slowed down; its glowing eyes fixated on Mewtwo. Maggie stepped aside as the walker bolted past her, its snarling form an uncanny display of unnatural agility.

Logan, reacting with his feral quickness, grabbed the walker and yanked it back, his claws flashing as they dismembered the creature. But the horror didn't end there.

Severed from their host, the walker's arms didn't lay lifeless as expected. Instead, they writhed and twisted, each one moving with a life of its own. One clawed hand latched onto Maggie's leg, its fingers digging into the fabric of her pants. The sight of the autonomous limbs caused a new wave of horror to sweep over the group. They were dealing with something far more sinister than the walkers of Maggie and Negan's world. This was an abomination of a new kind.

Pikachu sprung into action, his cheeks sparking with an electrical surge. With a commanding "Pika-CHU!", a blinding arc of lightning thundered towards the walker. The energy blasted through the creature, rending it to pieces and scattering its skeletal fragments.

A chilling rain of charred bone fragments showered the group. Among the debris, the skull - now split and blackened - landed with a hollow sound. One of its blue eyes was still intact, glaring up at them with a haunting glow. Despite the catastrophic damage, the creature's remnants continued to twitch and writhe, a horrific testament to the unnatural resilience of these altered walkers.

The group watched in horrified fascination as the dismembered fragments squirmed and jerked on the ground, a gruesome display that challenged the limits of their understanding and steeled their resolve to combat this unprecedented threat.

"I thought you said they'd die if you destroyed the brain!" Logan exclaimed, his voice echoing through the graveyard, a note of shock ringing clear.

Maggie and Negan exchanged wide-eyed looks of disbelief before they turned to face Logan, their faces pale under the stark glow of the street lamps. "They're supposed to!" Maggie shouted back, her voice wavering with the reality of what she just witnessed. "In our world, destroying the brain is the only way to... to kill them for good." "And their limbs don't move on their own!"

"Something's different here," Negan chimed in, his gaze fixed on the still writhing fragments of the walker, his crowbar held tightly in his grip. "That... that's not like any walker we've ever seen."

They all watched as the walker parts continued to twitch, an unnerving reminder that the rules they were familiar with may not apply in this world. The night had just become even more terrifying.

As they stood there, contemplating the ghastly sight before them, a sudden chill swept across the graveyard, making them shudder. To their surprise, the warmth of the summer night was replaced by a biting cold. Flakes of snow began to fall, swirling around them in a silent, surreal dance, their cold touch stark against the night's unnatural chill.

They all turned to look at the source of the chill. The figure was tall and imposing, his appearance eerily human, yet profoundly different. His skin was a deathly pale, shriveled and looked as cold as ice. Dark armor clung to his slender frame, shimmering in the sparse moonlight. He wore a crown, seemingly carved from ice, atop his bald head.

But what struck them most were his eyes. They were a vivid blue, glowing against his icy skin, watching them with an inhuman coldness that sent shivers down their spines. He made no move to attack, simply observing them with an air of calculated indifference. The sudden snowfall, the chill in the air, the unearthly figure... everything pointed to the fact that they were dealing with something much more dangerous than a walker.

After observing the writhing walker thing on the ground, it looked back at them... it's gaze scrutinizing every one of them... Who are you?! Negan demanded.

There was an eerie silence following Negan's demand. The figure in black simply regarded them, its gaze distant and uncaring. Then, slowly, it raised its hands towards the moonlit sky.

Logan's animal instincts screamed danger and his heart pounded against his chest. Something terrible was about to happen. The atmosphere crackled with a sudden, unexplained energy that prickled at his heightened senses. He instinctively drew his claws, the metal gleaming under the spectral light.

Suddenly, the earth beneath them started shaking. The soft thud of the falling snow was drowned out by the alarming sounds of the soil being disturbed, the ground under their feet tremoring. One by one, the gravestones started to shudder and tilt, some of them toppling over, revealing gaping holes beneath.

The others watched in wide-eyed horror as skeletal hands shot out from the graves, clawing at the loose earth. The air filled with the sounds of breaking soil and the grating of old bones against stone. Then, skeletal figures, thin and brittle, began to rise, pulling themselves free from the earthen depths. Their skeletal faces were hollow, save for the intense blue glow emanating from their empty eye sockets.

A chill colder than the night's air swept through them, piercing their bones. They were no longer dealing with just one aberration. The graveyard had become a cesspit of unearthly creatures, all under the command of the icy figure before them.

As the horde of skeletal figures rushed forward, Mewtwo, Pikachu, and Bumblebee acted in unison. Pikachu's thunderbolt lit up the night sky with its blue-white electric arc, incinerating the first line of the charging dead. Bumblebee's cannon roared to life, launching a series of energy bolts that exploded amongst the skeletal horde, sending shards of bones and grave dirt flying in all directions.

Meanwhile, Mewtwo used its psychic powers to hurl a wave of energy at the attackers, throwing them back against the gravestones. But, despite their initial success, more skeletons emerged from the ground, their numbers unending.

Logan was a blur of adamantium and flesh, tearing through the attackers with brutal efficiency. Beside him, Maggie and Negan swung their weapons, destroying anything that came near. But the blue-eyed horde seemed undeterred by their losses, and with every skeleton they destroyed, two more took its place.

Just when the situation seemed dire, there was a sudden roaring sound overhead. A majestic dragon, scales glinting in the moonlight, swooped down, and fire rained down around the horde, incinerating many and scattering the rest. As quickly as she had appeared, the dragon morphed mid-air into a woman, landing gracefully in front of the group.

Behind her, three more figures stepped forth. Witchers Letho, Eskel, and Lambert, their silver swords gleaming in the eerie light, swiftly joined the fray, their movements swift and deadly. Next to them was Vernon Roche, a hardened soldier and Triss, a fiery sorceress, both ready to lend their support.

Vernan roach muttered to the stunned crowd behind him... We'll explain later... for now, we need to take out the leader, if he dies, they all die!

His words stirred them into action. With the newcomers engaging the horde, Logan, Maggie, Negan, and the others turned their attention to the icy figure. They quickly formed a plan, with Logan and Negan leading the charge, while Maggie and the others provided cover.

"Remember, we only get one shot at this," Logan growled, his claws glinting menacingly in the moonlight. "We need to make it count."

As they launched their attack, the figure raised its hands once more, as if to command the dead. But before he could react, Logan was upon him, a blur of motion as he lunged for the leader. It was a desperate gamble, but if Roche was right, it was their only chance to stop this nightmare.

Logan grimaced, pain surging through his body as his flesh darkened around the claws embedded into the icy figure. It was a cold, biting sensation, creeping up his arm as he struggled to keep his grip. He could feel his healing factor working overtime, battling against the spreading chill.

Despite the agony, Logan held on, his features twisted in a fierce snarl. He wouldn't let go until the job was done. Behind him, he could hear the others fighting, their shouts and the clash of weapons providing a grim backdrop to his struggle.

Suddenly, the figure let out an eerie, otherworldly shriek, causing the surrounding horde to falter. A tremor of hope ran through the group. They just needed to hold out a little longer.

As the figure swatted logan away, Letho disengaged and attacked heating up his sword with ignii as Saskia tossed Maggie an, obsidian blade, USE THIS! IT'S THE ONLY THING THAT CAN KILL HIM FOR GOOD!

Reacting swiftly, Maggie caught the blade as it spun through the air, gripping the handle tight. It felt alien, yet it had a comforting weight to it. Nodding at Saskia, she squared her shoulders, her eyes fixed on the figure.

As Letho charged at the figure, a fiery blaze enveloped his sword. With an expert swipe, he managed to slice a significant cut across the figure's chest, eliciting a furious hiss.

The icy figure, now visibly wounded, turned its frosty gaze towards Letho. However, before it could retaliate, Maggie sprinted forward. Using the moment of distraction, she plunged the obsidian blade into the figure's side.

The reaction was instant. A piercing shriek echoed throughout the battlefield, resonating in every soul present. The icy figure started to disintegrate, its form dissolving into a whirl of snowflakes, carried away by the biting wind.

Around them, the horde of undead creatures collapsed, their blue glowing eyes fading as they crumbled to the ground. The silence that followed was deafening, the only sound being the group's ragged breathing. The battle was finally over.

As logan healed he got up and said, thanks for that... before rubbing his clawed hands together as he was trying to warm himself up... before he looked at the witchers, with cat like eyes and silver swords with another one on their backs... Witcher's huh? You don't happen to know a guy named Geralt by any chance?

Eskel, who was cleaning his sword from the remnants of their icy enemies, turned towards Logan at the sound of the familiar name. "Geralt? Yeah, we know him. He's one of us. Is he here?"

Letho, now busy re-sheathing his sword, shot Logan an inquisitive glance. "If he's here, then it means we're not the only ones who got dragged into this place from our world." He paused for a moment, his hard eyes softening slightly. "Would be good to see the old wolf again."

Logan simply nodded, wincing slightly as he flexed his hands. "He's here alright," he confirmed, "and I'm sure he'll be just as glad to see you."

Just as they were catching their breath, Mewtwo came forward. "We have to return to Krakoa," he said, his psychic voice echoing in their minds. "The situation is under control here, but we still need to find out how this happened."

Logan nodded in agreement. As they turned to leave, he glanced at the still bodies of the undead scattered across the cemetery. He shivered, not just from the cold, but from the implications of what they had just faced. It seemed they had much more to worry about than they initially thought.

Skip ahead to the jet arriving on kroakoa, Triss was horrified at Maggie and negans story... a world where everyone who dies becomes those... things... you told me about... I can't even imagine...

Maggie nodded at Triss, her eyes hollow yet filled with a weary resilience. "We didn't just imagine it, Triss. We lived through it. Day after day, seeing people we cared about turn into... walkers. Fighting to survive, to keep our humanity intact... it was our reality."

Negan, leaned back against the wall of the jet, a grimace tugging at his features as he stared at his crowbar. "Yeah, that was our world. One big horror show. But we managed. We...adapted."

Triss directed her attention to Saskia, a question forming in her eyes. "Saskia, your dragon fire managed to burn these things. But what about their world? How do they fight these...walkers?"

Saskia exhaled deeply, her face hardening with the weight of the problem. "If they don't have something as potent as dragon fire... I'm not sure how they can."

The air within the jet went heavy with silence, each individual grappling with the grim reality of Maggie and Negan's world. It was a chilling reminder of the sheer breadth of the struggles faced in the vast expanse of the multiverse.

As the jet's hatch opened, the waiting group revealed themselves. Seeing familiar faces, Triss let out a sigh of relief. A small smile crossed her face as she made her way towards Ciri and Yennefer, the raw relief and happiness in her eyes telling volumes about their shared history. Ciri broke into a grin, meeting Triss halfway and wrapping her in a tight embrace. "Triss!" she cried, relief resonating in her voice.

"I'm glad to see you safe, Ciri," Triss replied, pulling back and giving her a reassuring smile before turning to Yennefer. The two sorceresses looked at each other for a moment before they too shared an embrace. It was a clear mark of mutual respect, of the many trials they had faced together.

Finally, Triss nodded to Geralt, meeting his gaze with a warm smile. Geralt reciprocated the nod, a glint of relief visible in his eyes. Despite the changes in their relationship, the friendship they held for each other was still strong.

Meanwhile, Maggie and Negan watched the scene unfold with an air of detachment. It was as if they were intruding upon a personal moment, making them feel even more alien in this already unfamiliar world. But, in the midst of this strange universe, there was a sliver of familiarity - a connection between people who cared for each other, something they both could recognize. It was a comforting sight, one that gave them hope amidst the uncertainty.

Next to disembark from the jet were the three witchers - Letho, Eskel, and Lambert - followed closely by Vernon Roche, their faces etched with the residual tension of the recent battle. The last to emerge was Queen Saskia. Her eyes scanned the crowd, before they landed on Geralt. A broad, appreciative smile spread across her face as she nodded in recognition and respect towards him.

Geralt acknowledged her with a respectful nod of his own. The shared memory of the past trials they had faced together in her kingdom came rushing back. How he had helped break the spell that held her, how he had helped her army hold the line during a critical battle, and how he had tirelessly worked to bring peace to her kingdom by taking care of the harpy problem and putting the restless souls of the battlefield to eternal rest.

Saskia's gaze softened as she watched Geralt, a symbol of strength and resilience. "Geralt of Rivia," she called, stepping closer to the crowd. "A sight for sore eyes." Her voice was filled with genuine warmth, a testament to the deep respect she held for the white-haired witcher. Geralt simply responded with a humble smile, the corner of his lips twitching in quiet amusement at her formal address. It was good to see familiar faces, he thought, in these unexpected and challenging times.

As they all found seats around a table, they began to delve into the unbelievable circumstances that led to their presence in this strange new world. Laura approached them at this point, her infant daughter Aorara nestled in her arms. The baby's sharp little teeth were gnawing happily at her own pink monolith, a small version of the mysterious item that had been the cause of their unexpected journey.

Eskel's eyes widened dramatically as he absorbed the information, his gaze moving between Aorara and the others in disbelief. "Wait... so you're telling me," he began, his voice filled with a mixture of bewilderment and incredulity, "that all of us... we were pulled into this place because she...," he pointed a shaky finger at the small baby who was obliviously chewing on her monolith, "was just... waving her toy around?"

His tone echoed the incredulity they all felt. A tiny baby, completely unaware of the monumental chaos she had inadvertently caused, was the catalyst for their arrival in this alternate universe. The thought was mind-boggling. Even in a world filled with mutants, Witchers, and various other beings with extraordinary powers, this was an event that defied any logic or explanation they could muster. But as they all looked at the small child, they knew it was the reality they now had to navigate.

"Yep," Geralt responded, his voice filled with a bemused resignation as he gave a small shrug. They were living in a world where the extraordinary was now the norm.

Their conversation was underscored by the chatter of other unlikely inhabitants of this new world. Members of the Ghostbusters were having an animated discussion with the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles nearby, a sight that would have been completely unthinkable in any other circumstance.

And there, amidst all the unusual occurrences, was the cutest one. Hello Kitty, the animated feline character, was reaching out her little paws towards Ciri. The Witcher girl couldn't resist the adorable creature and, with a soft smile, she bent down and picked up the small cat.

All around them, familiar figures from different worlds mingled, each trying to make sense of their new reality. Yet, as they exchanged stories and shared experiences, there was a sense of camaraderie starting to form among them. Despite the chaos, they were adapting, finding comfort and companionship in their shared situation.

"Those things in the graveyard," Saskia began, her face sobering. "When we arrived here, a man dressed in a black cloak and fur skins told us that an obsidian blade would kill them. He referred to them as 'White Walkers.' He said his name was... Jon Snow."

At this, Dante, who had been eavesdropping on the conversation nearby, couldn't hold back his laughter. "Jon... Snow?!" he hooted. "That's straight outta Game of Thrones!"

Seeing the confused expressions around the table, Dante stifled his laughter and composed himself. "Alright, alright. I'll explain," he offered, still grinning. "Game of Thrones is a book series turned television show back in our world. It's got dragons, warring families, political intrigue... and White Walkers, creatures of ice and death that resurrect the dead. Jon Snow is one of the main characters. He fights these things."

As Dante laid out the plot, there was a murmur of surprise and realization around the table. The fantastical elements of the show sounded all too familiar to them in the world they now inhabited. And if a character like Jon Snow was real here, then what else from that world might be real too?

Dante shifted uncomfortably in his chair as the attention of the group focused on him. He ran a hand through his hair, took a deep breath, and began to explain the ending of Game of Thrones.

"Alright," he started, "this is going to get a bit tricky. Jon Snow, he falls in love with a woman named Daenerys Targaryen. She's the exiled princess from a once-great dynasty, who's spent her life trying to reclaim her family's throne. She's got dragons, armies, the whole deal. They're on the same side for a while, fighting against the White Walkers."

He paused for a moment, gathering his thoughts before continuing. "It's only later that they find out they're related. Daenerys is actually the younger sister of Jon's real father, making her his aunt. It's a whole mess."

Dante winced at the collective groans and grimaces around the table. But that wasn't even the worst part. "Anyway, Daenerys, she gets to the city she's been trying to conquer and... well, things go south. Despite the city's surrender, she orders her dragon to burn it all down. Men, women, children, everyone who didn't swear loyalty to her, they're all caught in the fire. It was... it was a massacre."

He could feel the weight of the silence in the room after he finished speaking. The horrific image Dante painted of the destruction was a stark reminder of the possible devastation that could befall their own world if they weren't careful.

Dante swallowed hard, the gravity of the story settling heavy in the room. The silence was thick, punctuated only by the distant hum of conversation from the other groups. He continued, his voice quiet.

"Daenerys, she didn't stop with just that city. She was planning to 'liberate' the rest of the world the same way. 'Breaking the wheel', she called it," he said, the sarcasm dripping from his words. "It was her justification for committing what amounted to genocide. She was ready to turn on anyone who didn't agree with her, even her allies. It was madness, plain and simple."

The memory of the harrowing scene from the series played vividly in Dante's mind, the images of destruction all too real. "The streets of the city were littered with charred bodies. Men, women...children," his voice hitched slightly on the last word. "They were just caught in the crossfire, innocent lives snuffed out in an instant."

He paused again, bracing himself for the final part of the tale. "And Jon Snow, he had to make a choice. He loved Daenerys, but he also knew what she was doing was wrong. So, he confronted her in the ruins of the city. They shared a kiss...and then he stabbed her. He killed the woman he loved to save the realm from her madness. And that was the end of it all. Bitter, brutal... and tragic."

"Well, after he killed Daenerys, the ones left in charge didn't know what to do with him. He was, after all, technically the rightful king according to some complicated lineage. But his actions, while they saved countless lives, were also seen as a betrayal," Dante elaborated, tracing an aimless pattern on the tabletop.

"He was given a choice: face execution or return to the Night's Watch, a sort of brotherhood of outcasts guarding the borders against the threats from the north. So, Jon chose the latter. He was exiled to the farthest reaches of the kingdom, basically sentenced to live out his days in isolation. It was a heavy price to pay, but he did it willingly. He chose duty and honor over power and throne."

Dante paused, tilting his head thoughtfully. "It was a pretty sad ending for Jon Snow, actually. He did what was right and paid the price for it. But in a way, it was also fitting. He was never really about the power or the crown. He was about protecting people, doing what was right, even when it cost him everything."

The room fell into silence once again as they processed the tale. It was a stark reminder of the complex and often harsh realities of power, duty, and sacrifice. The characters of Game of Thrones might belong to a fictional universe, but the lessons they offered were all too real.

Dante let out a sigh, a mixture of nostalgia and regret. "After Jon killed Daenerys, her dragon, Drogon, comes to her. Instead of attacking Jon, which many expected, the dragon mourns his mother. Then he does something nobody could have predicted..."

He leaned forward, his voice dropping to a hush as if he was sharing a secret. "He turns his fiery breath to the Iron Throne—the very symbol of power that led to so much bloodshed, so much conflict—and melts it down. Turns it into nothing more than a puddle of molten metal. And Jon, he just stands there amidst the fire and chaos, not even flinching."

A sense of awe filled Dante's voice as he continued. "It was as if the dragon understood that it wasn't Jon who was the enemy, but the power, the throne that Daenerys had become so obsessed with. In his grief and rage, Drogon chose to destroy that symbol of power."

He sat back, running a hand through his hair. "And after that, the dragon gently picks up Daenerys' lifeless body and flies away, disappearing into the horizon. Leaving Jon Snow alone in the ruins of the throne room, surrounded by the molten remains of the Iron Throne."

A hush fell over the room as everyone absorbed the tale. It was a powerful story, filled with the raw intensity of love, power, betrayal, and sacrifice. The characters of Game of Thrones may have been from a different universe, but their struggles resonated deeply with everyone present.

Dante frowned, ruminating over this new information. "If what you're saying is true, and these are indeed the 'White Walkers' from Game of Thrones, then it shouldn't be possible. In the show, Arya Stark—Jon's sister—kills the Night King, the leader of the White Walkers. When he dies, all the White Walkers and their undead army, known as 'wights', die along with him. It was like a network that went down when the main server was destroyed."

He paused, glancing around at the faces surrounding him. "Now, I'm no expert in omniverse anomalies, but if one showed up here... it's possible that maybe the one Arya killed wasn't the last of them. Maybe there were more we didn't know about. Or perhaps... this isn't exactly the same universe as the show. There might be subtle differences, changes. Maybe the White Walkers won in this version, and this 'Night King' is a new one. Or... something else entirely. We're dealing with inter-dimensional weirdness here, after all."

He shrugged, not liking the idea but not seeing any other explanation. "As for how it got here? Well... perhaps our little gate-opener," he nodded towards baby Aorara, "might have accidentally pulled it in when she did her... thing. Or maybe there are others out there with the same or similar abilities. All I know is that we need to be prepared for anything."

The room fell into a contemplative silence, the severity of the situation sinking in. They were no longer dealing with simple reality disruptions; now, they were facing threats from other universes, entities powerful enough to raise the dead and command them. This was a game-changer, and it left a chilling question hanging in the air: What else could be out there?

Everyone turned towards the voice, their eyes widening at the sight of the man standing at the entrance of the room. He was of average build, with dark curly hair and a face that wore its hardships well. He was dressed in a black fur-lined cloak, with a brooding expression that instantly set him apart.

"I didn't think I'd ever have to face them again," the man said, his gaze settling on the table. His voice carried a deep sadness, one that came from a past filled with loss and regret.

"Jon Snow," Dante muttered under his breath, recognizing the character from the show. The room grew quiet as everyone took in the new arrival, a character from a universe filled with medieval fantasy and deadly creatures. If there was anyone who knew about White Walkers, it was him. And they needed all the information they could get.

"You're... Jon Snow?" Triss asked, trying to suppress her shock. She had just heard about him, but actually seeing him here was another thing entirely. "You fought these White Walkers?"

Jon nodded, his gaze distant. "I did. And we barely won. If these creatures are here... we are all in grave danger." He said those words with such gravity that no one could doubt his sincerity. This was real. And it was terrifying.

Skipping ahead a little ways... john snow took a seat and he's been doing some digging... someone who was dressed in black and went by the name ring-wraith somehow managed to resurrect the night king... their trying to find ways to combine their powers, and give him a strange ring that glows white... they called the ring's owner, calibrimbor.

The atmosphere in the room became tense as the information settled in. Talion clenched his jaw and his knuckles turned white from gripping the armrest of his chair. The name 'Calibrimbor' was all too familiar to him.

"That is... troubling," Legolas said, exchanging glances with Gimli and Aragorn. The memories of their struggles in their own world felt fresh and raw at the mention of the infamous ring.

"Calibrimbor," Talion finally said, breaking his silence. His voice was filled with a haunting bitterness. "He was an elven smith from my world. The one who crafted the rings of power. The one who ended up possessing my body to fight our enemies. He's not... He's not to be trifled with."

Jon nodded at Talion's words, his gaze becoming grave. "The Ring-wraith and the Night King are formidable on their own. But together, with the power of this Calibrimbor and his ring... They could bring about a disaster unlike anything we've ever seen."

A heavy silence fell upon the room as everyone took in Jon's words. The severity of the situation was not lost on anyone. These were enemies from different worlds, enemies they had managed to defeat in their respective universes. But here, in this place, they were joining forces. And the potential destruction they could bring was unimaginable. The threat was clear and imminent.

"We need to stop them. Before it's too late," Aragorn finally declared, his voice firm and determined. His words echoed in the room, bringing back a semblance of hope amidst the fear and uncertainty. After all, they had faced impossible odds before. And they had emerged victorious. They would do it again. They had to.

How do you know this? Geralt asked. and john snow would put down his drink before explaining.

There was a painful truth in Jon Snow's eyes as he spoke. The desperation, longing, and a tinge of guilt was palpable. "When I was alone one day," Jon started, leaning back on his chair and sighing heavily, "a figure shrouded in darkness approached me. He offered me a chance to bring Daenerys back, to erase the nightmares of the past and give me a future where we could live together in peace."

His voice held a note of anguish as he continued. "They said that they have the power to turn back time, to bring back the dead. But it's not real. It's just a manipulation of what was and what could be. Daenerys... she made her choices, as did I. To try and erase that, to bring her back under such circumstances... it's not right."

There was a pause as Jon clenched his fist. "It was then that they told me about their plans. To resurrect the Night King, to use Calibrimbor's ring of power. They said it was inevitable. That it was already happening. They left, leaving me with the burden of their words."

The room fell silent again as everyone absorbed Jon's words. This was a threat that encompassed all their worlds, a threat that could erase all they had fought for. The urgency of the situation was now clear to everyone present. They had a formidable task ahead. But together, they would face it, for the sake of their worlds and the ones they hold dear.

Talion, a spectral figure with piercing eyes, nodded solemnly at Jon Snow's confession. He seemed to carry an eternity of torment in his gaze, a man who had seen more darkness than any other in the room. He cleared his throat and began to speak.

"Jon," Talion said, his voice gruff with the weight of his words. "You did the right thing. Those creatures... they are deceitful. They manipulate. They twist promises into curses, dreams into nightmares."

His gaze hardened, the spectral light in his eyes glowing brighter. "They once offered me a similar deal - the return of my wife and son, in exchange for service. They used my grief, my despair against me. But what they offer is not life, but a mockery of it. It's a perversion of the natural order. The dead should remain dead."

Talion then leaned back, folding his arms over his chest. "No matter the temptation, we must resist. There is a cost to everything. And the cost of such magic... it's too high. Too cruel. I've seen it, lived it. It is a torment I wouldn't wish on my worst enemy."

His last words hung heavy in the air, a chilling reminder of the dark road they could easily tread if they let their guard down. His warning served as a dire prophecy of what could happen should they fail. Yet, within the weight of his words, there was also a spark of determination. They had a mission, and they would see it through, no matter what.