Occasionally, the tree branches the vehicle was parked beneath dropped snow onto the windshield, creating an ever growing pile on the window and hood. Shell shocked, Ben sat completely frozen, the blast of the car's heater acting as white-noise that filled the silence ringing in his ears.

He fought against the metal around his wrists in earnest. Even without his hands, Ben thought he could at least try opening the door with his shoulders, but he did not have the dexterity to lift the door handle. No matter how hard he strained, writhed, or squirmed, he didn't get anywhere. Huffing from efforts that continued going nowhere, his forehead stayed pressed against the glass, fogging up the window with his breath.

Defeated, he remained limp as the car eventually turned off and the heater died down. Listlessly, he sat there until the interior of the car began growing colder, and he was shivering in his dumb holiday attire that he'd only put on ironically. Ben's hands clenched behind his back, tightening so hard they were shaking from more than cold.

Giving a frustrated, muffled cry behind his lips, he gritted his teeth, head smacking against the passenger window. Not even a little crack, but his forehead throbbed from the pointless action. Beyond his own image, he noticed a silhouette in the side mirror. Behind the car trapping him within, a figure was slowly approaching; it was too far away to properly decipher who or what exactly it was. Although he couldn't clearly see the thing coming for him, gravity itself shifted dramatically with each step the figure took forward, sending a wave of nausea surging through Ben.

Straightening up away from the window, he gagged underneath the impossible change in atmospheric force. A horrible pressure stabbed him between the ears, drilling incessantly into his brain.

Dread filled his body.

He sank lower into his seat, wanting to keep out of sight if he couldn't escape.

But outside, the continuous crunching of snow beneath someone's feet alerted him that the figure was drawing nearer regardless. It didn't matter if Ben hid; he couldn't run. Gasping like a dying fish, his heart hammered in his chest, working harder than usual to keep pumping, each throb made excruciating.

Was it the Plumbers with some new, creative torture device? He couldn't bear the thought of them finding him in such a pitiful state, a far cry from who he was when he was taunting them from his superior position above them. Worse, they were going to cart him off to intergalactic prison, where his grandpa would undoubtedly come to see him. Or, would it be worse if he didn't come to see him at all?

No, He decided lightheaded, every exhale rougher and more pained than the last. No, seeing him would be much worse.

He couldn't get enough oxygen into his lungs anymore, his eyes growing terribly watery from the strangulation and the idea of facing Max from the inside of a cell. Ben wasn't afraid of seeing disappointment or anger. He was scared he would look at his grandfather and see a total lack of surprise. Because he had expected from the beginning that Ben would never amount to anything good. He was right. Grandpa Max had been right from the beginning, having more faith in Gwen than he ever did in him.

By the time a tapping knocked on the window, he couldn't stop himself from crying like a child. Tears had dripped softly down his cheeks, pooling messily at his chin.

"You're in quite the bind."

Ben jerked his head up, shuddering sobs struggling to leave his chest under the invisible force smashing his body. His eardrums throbbed, a mixture of blood and wax seeping from both of his ears; he could feel it leaking down the sides of his neck as he was squeezed to death.

"Oh dear, my apologies. It slipped my mind to adjust my pressure to your current altitude."

The weight was lifted off his body. Immediately, Ben could breathe again, sucking in precious air. The car door was pulled open, allowing him to double over, retching and dry heaving from altitude sickness. He vomited into the snow; the sharp odor of chlorine and bleach invaded his senses, stinging his nose as he emptied the contents of his stomach.

"There, I'm sure that's much better."

Because he couldn't wipe his face, the stranger speaking to him was distorted by the moisture blurring his vision. To his immense relief, it wasn't the Plumbers ready to apprehend him but the British clerk from the extravagant hotel, who had tried to entertain him with lame history facts. Atop his head was some sort of old fashioned military helmet. He was dressed more eccentrically now, in a modified lab coat, with golden epaulets dangling off his shoulders.

Phantom pounding lingered in his ear drums, reminding him of the danger he was in. The initial relief was sapped out of him.

"You're that old dude from the other night." All the hairs on the back of Ben's neck and arms stood on end. Primal instinct took over, human intuition and fear ringing like an alarm bell through his system.

"Pardon?" The man responded, arching his brow. "Old is a relative term…"

"Sorry, I-I just don't know your name. Who are you?" Ben babbled dumbly, flustered, wondering if he was experiencing a hypothermia-induced hallucination.

"You and I are already acquainted. We are friends. Or, is it that we were friends?" His lips twisted upward with amusement. "In any case, we will be friends, you simply haven't caught up yet. I'm afraid you're tragically temporally challenged, an affliction exclusive to time-bound mortals. Very unfortunate."

"Mortal? But I'm not…"

"What? Mortal? Why, of course you are."

"But I'm not. I'm— I'm different." Better. Hastily trying to regain some composure, he turned his head in an attempt to wipe his eyes on his shoulders. He must have been a pathetic sight, a grown man sniffling on his knees near a puddle of his own vomit.

"Different, certainly, but differences on their own do not an immortal make. There's nothing wrong with being a mortal. On the contrary, I frequently find myself in awe of mortality and the spirit possessed by your kind. Mortals use up so little space-time, yet they are able to generate countless interpretations about the meaning of existence through art, philosophy, and celebrations. Try as I might, eternal beings such as myself will never be capable of fully reaching a similar understanding, even with illimited space-time granted to us. For us, existence ceases to have all meaning."

"Who are you ?" He anxiously repeated.

"Where are my manners? This must all be so strange for you." The man extended a hand he couldn't shake due to his binds. "A pleasure to meet you again, Benjamin Tennyson. You call me Professor Paradox."

Ben stared at him in bewilderment.

"We've done this all before," Paradox answered his unasked question. "I need your help defeating an old opponent of ours."

The Professor spoke to him like an old friend, but Ben had never seen him in his life. For that reason, he couldn't be certain if he had actually previously encountered the old opponent being referenced. And even if he did know this enemy, what choice did Ben have? He wondered if no was even an option, or if Paradox would simply vaporize him on the spot. The man was definitely cracked, so there was no predicting what was going to happen if he denied him.

"If you're a so-called eternal being, whatever that means, sounds like you got it pretty much handled. What do you need me for?"

"He's recruiting others. I'm sure he has already approached you, which is what brings me here. Call it talent poaching. I usually have more of an opportunity to explain everything to you, but our mutual enemy isn't known for being charitable. He's not very considerate of local holiday observances quite frankly."

Skeptically, Ben rose to his feet, shifting uncomfortably in his restraints. "What if I don't want to?"

"You are free to say no." Paradox blinked for the first time during their entire conversation. Eerie. As if to prove he was telling the truth and earn his trust, he released Ben's arms from their metal confines.

Before Ben could answer, the taptaptaping of metal colliding with pavement alerted them of a series of small, egg-shaped objects rolling their way. Upon closer inspection, his eyes widened when he realized that they were grenades.

"Look out!" Ben instinctively shouted.

Dismayed but otherwise unconcerned, Paradox gave an inconvenienced little sigh, swiftly opening up a spiraling vortex behind himself. He fell backward into its depths, but before he had taken the plunge into that glowing gate, he had seized Ben tightly by the shoulders, pulling him into the swirling blue.

Ben inhaled in surprise, screwing his eyes shut tight, lungs filling with a sharp, clean chemical smell that clung to Paradox's form. When he opened his eyes again, he was floating in the vacuum of space, protected by nothing except his red velvet Santa Claus robe and boxer shorts. Beneath his dangling feet was the vast expanse of his own planet.

Somehow, all his physiological processes remained stable; he was still alive and breathing, the same chlorine stench burning his airways to prove it. The Professor released him, letting him free-float without direction. Pale with fright, he helplessly clung to Paradox's knees before he could be pulled further away from the Earth.

There was nothing novel about the notion of space travel. Even unremarkable humans had already figured out how to venture to the moon and had gone as far as to build entire space stations. Hell, he and Kevin were frequently the targets of the intergalactic police force. So, he shouldn't have been as terrified as he was, but Ben had never actually been to space before, trapped by his own weightlessness, with the only thing keeping him from drifting into endless nothingness being the grip he had on Professor Paradox.

"Ben," Paradox began patiently, reminding him of his ability to manipulate mana. "You must create a platform."

But he didn't. He couldn't.

Because too much was happening too quickly for him to understand it all.

Because he had long passed the point of reasonable exertion before Paradox ripped him from the world, covered in his own sweat, tears, blood, and bile.

And because he was horrified. He was so scared that all he could do was clutch at the Professor, mentally pleading with him not to let him go when he couldn't find his own voice to beg with. Ben wanted nothing more than to be back in the car he had been imprisoned in, with his metaphorical world ending because Kevin had betrayed him, not the literal world staring impassively up at him instead.

He felt so small, his problems reduced to miniscule unimportance.

"Don't look down." The Professor gently advised. "If you've never perceived anything of this magnitude before, it can be overwhelming at first, but it's mostly in your mind."

Another vortex appeared among the stars, this one more violent and chaotic than the inviting glow of Paradox's portal. Whereas the Professor's interdimensional gateway had been a gentle whirlpool that spun fluidly, this one was physically ripped into existence, jagged around the edges. Out of the doorway exited the man in the purple armor — the same man who had been hunting him and Kevin.

The man in purple armor was not alone.

Accompanying him were several humanoid creatures made of blinding magenta. They stepped out of the portal on pink platforms much like the ones Ben was capable of producing, only theirs dripped more lustrously, creating a bleeding neon bridge with every step they took forward. Ben squinted when he stared at them, having to look away when it became too much.

"No Omnitrix wielders this time, Eon? That's unlike you," Paradox observed.

"Cease your banter, Time Walker!" The armored man roared. At once, the creatures allied with him shot shimmering beams in the Professor's direction. Despite the lack of gravity, he had no problem weaving himself around their blasts, making it look so easy.

Ben wasn't fooled, having learned of how terrifying it actually was to be let go of. The bottom of his robe was incinerated by one of the lasers, missing his toes by a hair. Frantically, he began climbing up the Professor's legs, nails clawing their way up his body until he could shield his face into his neck, blocking his sight from the unbearable shine of their enemies.

"I'm just pleasantly surprised at your spontaneity." The Professor continued addressing Eon fondly. "Is there a special occasion?"

"Your demise," Eon drawled.

"Oh? But I've brought a guest. I'd hate to have to leave so suddenly. It'd be terribly rude."

"Yes, I see that you've captured a pawn of mine. It's no matter. A pawn is still a useless pawn!" Eon viciously hacked at him with twin daggers, unable to land a successful touch. "I hope you are not under the impression it'll be enough to save you. Look at how it clings to you like a lowly barnacle. Ridiculous!"

"Eon," Paradox huffed an incredulous laugh. "It was your idea to bring him along to begin with."

Eon spiraled the Professor; he spiraled around Ben too, but only incidentally — because Ben happened to be there, not because he was consequential. They might have been talking about him, but he might as well not have been there at all. The armored man's focus was single-mindedly set on ending Paradox's existence. They were two particles encircling each other, like a newly forming planet, blazing along the starry sea. As the two immortals chased each other through the cosmos — tails of azure and violet left in their wake — the steady fire of lasers continued bombarding them.

Paradox remained unfazed by the onslaught of attacks, more bothered by the white-knuckled grip on his shoulders. The fragile lifeform attached to his back was not useful in its current state, even as a distraction.

"I hate to say it, but Eon is right," He said not unkindly but with the faintest hint of criticism. "You're being more of a liability than you are a help."

"Who ever said I wanted to help you?!" Quivering, wide-eyed, Ben found the speech he had lost when lifted beyond the exosphere. "I never agreed to this! I don't want this. I-I just want to wake up already. I want—"

He wanted to see his parents at least once more. He wanted to apologize to Grandpa Max.

"I want to go home!"

"I thought you wanted to become more than merely mortal?"

But he had been wrong. So, so, so wrong. He was wrong to believe he was better than his species— his own family members. Wrong to think he was superior to Max and his uncomplicated view of good-and-evil. His heart, beating violently within his ribcage, longed to be returned to that simplicity and the boring, never ending summer crammed in an RV, which he had spent over a decade running away from. Blood pulsed noisily and hotly in his ears, screaming at him: You're human, You're human, You're human!

Paradox zipped upward, narrowly avoiding Eon's animalistic slashes, darting back downward before mana charges could catch the top of his head. His boot smashed into the visor of Eon's helmet as a result, using his face to springboard off and away from him. The material of his faceguard fractured, the cracks spreading before shattering into fragments.

The shards glided away from Eon's face; Ben's mind was seared with the gruesome sight of a sallow, rotting face. His cheeks were sunken and corpse-like, lips pulled into a psychotic snarl that exposed all of his uneven, serrated teeth.

"If it's still what you want, I can make you biologically immortal, Ben." Paradox offered temptingly, adding hastily, "technically."

Unable to see anything except the rotting creature lashing out at them, Ben shook his head desperately, having no desire to become that thing, if that's what becoming an immortal meant.

"I want to be me."

"Well, you will always be Ben." Paradox chuckled at the silly implication he could be anything but. "However, you're also a quarter anodite, the same race of creatures attacking us. That's how you're able to use energy the way that you can."

"You told me that I was mortal. You lied to me!" He accused, anger seeping into his tone, overriding all of his fears. Beneath his fingers, hot energy leaked from his hands, smoldering through the Professor's lab coat.

"Nonsense, I never lie. I have no reason to." He responded, grimacing in annoyance at the blemished shoulders of his favorite coat. "It takes an anodite seventy years to master their power. You've not reached your full potential. You're mortal, for now, but I am offering to help quicken the process of your transcendence."

Expertly, the Professor ducked and somersaulted in zero-gravity. Every ceaseless blast of energy, every stroke of Eon's dagger fizzled passed him or failed to land. Opening a portal, Paradox pried Ben off his back and chucked him through the vortex.

Blinking only once, Ben was suddenly inhaling lungfuls of cold water.

He thrashed, freezing liquid penetrating his bones, shocking his system. It was cold enough to burn white hot; his body screamed in agony, every molecule on fire. Sucking in another mouthful, he clamped his mouth shut, weakly kicking and flailing blindly upward to propel himself. A solid wall of ice slammed into him, preventing him from breaking to the surface. Furiously slapped his palms against the frozen wall, mana melting through the barrier until Ben could feel it thinning. Dizzily, he couldn't stop himself from exhaling, more water flooding his throat and nose.

He slammed his fists upward, punching a hole through the remaining layer of ice. Fresh air hit his skin, his fingers scraping the top of the barrier. Hauling himself out, he only managed to pull his upper body onto the solid surface, chest heaving from oxygen deprivation. Half of his body remained submerged in the sea. Nothing, not adrenaline nor self-preservation, could move him anymore. Even if he had the strength, there was nowhere left to go; the land was barren, buried in miles and miles of lonely snow.

Before him, Paradox clipped back into reality, appearing out of his heavenly blue doorway. He was a misty blue, ethereal smear to Ben's rapidly deteriorating mind, a senseless cloud of splotchy watercolor.

"Forgive me, my dear friend. I truly meant no harm to you. I always forget how breakable you are." Crouching over his prone form, the Professor gave him a final offer: "I need your answer now, Benjamin. Whatever your choice, you must decide quickly."

Paradox's voice reverberated within Ben's skull, an echo, the end of his every word repeating into dreamy infinity. He thought he might have been nodding, but it wasn't in response to anything the immortal had said. The rattle of death was beginning in his throat, causing him to moan and convulse involuntarily. The spasming — induced by his central nervous system firing off its remaining electrical impulses — was an acceptable enough answer.

Before Ben could slip away, Paradox held his face, tethering him to the realm of the living. More than that, he pulled him forward through time. His body began aging at an accelerated rate, fine golden hair and pale green eyes — passed onto him by Sandra Tennyson — losing their pretty pigment. The waters the anodite was partially immersed in bubbled hotly from the magenta radiation oozing from its body.

Human skin shriveled, peeled back, and became vapor, exposing glowing sinewy muscle. It shrieked without lips or lungs, an excruciating, inhuman pitch produced from its very molten core.

That was the winter Ben Tennyson perished in the snow.