Just so you guys know, this story takes place in the comic universe, so it's not our world, it's marvel universe, so this chapter will be a bit of a chapter that focuses on the logistics of this changing world in this story. After all, a lot has happened in this story so far, and with the threat of fourteen knulls still at large. Peter-Knull is being brought into the larger international community. At this point he's a global player even if he doesn't want to be, and he's simply being caught up in global affairs since America and the western countries are receiving refugees from the alternate universe that actually just had a nuclear war and a world war. It's impossible for him to not get involved with what's going on right now in the world. So he'll get involved sure, but he doesn't want to escalate things, thus, he's proceeding very carefully, so bare that in mind since it starts out as kind-of slow at first, but it builds up momentum.

And if you find that this chapter is too intense then feel free to skip it, as it does get into real life issues that are going on in our world, so just a heads up, if your not comfortable with the plot of this chapter in the long run then feel free to skip it, it gets kind of intense at the end.

So heads up this chapter presents peter-knull with a bit of a dilemma due to his new international status in this story. Just so you all know.

…

Marvel: From the Void and Back Again, Part 2

Chapter 36: Mutually Assured Destruction…. What Comes After?

…

Peter-Knull stepped off the sleek, symbiote-crafted transport that had brought him to the Ukrainian Embassy in Europe. The streets were busy, but his presence drew attention like a silent storm. His leather jacket rustled slightly in the cool breeze, his face calm, though his mind was anything but.

As he approached the embassy, flanked by S.H.I.E.L.D. agents who had insisted on accompanying him, the weight of what he was about to do settled on his shoulders. This wasn't the first time he had walked into a warzone, whether literal or political, but it was one of the few times he felt the gravity of his decision pulling him in multiple directions.

His thoughts briefly wandered to the worlds he had seen destroyed by similar conflicts—other Earths that had been ravaged by war, greed, and ultimately, self-destruction. Two worlds in particular stood out: one where he had been too late to intervene, and the other where his intervention had helped, but not without its own cost. The devastation left behind, the shattered lives, still haunted him. Now, another war loomed on this Earth, and Peter-Knull knew that his decision, whichever way he leaned, would echo far beyond this moment.

The Ukrainian Embassy's entrance opened for him, and as he walked inside, he was greeted by officials with tense but hopeful expressions. They were unsure of what to expect from the mysterious being who had gained influence in both the East and West. He wasn't a politician, nor was he bound to any earthly nation, but his power, his presence, was undeniable.

As he made his way through the halls, he couldn't help but feel the weight of those who had already started to look to him for guidance. Back at home, his symbiotic network was already working to heal the displaced and wounded in Poland and the surrounding NATO countries. Seraphis symbiotes—healers of great repute—had been sent to hospitals, quietly repairing shattered bodies and calming anxious minds. It was the least he could do, and yet, it wasn't enough.

Peter-Knull had been requested by Ukraine itself to provide logistical support and, potentially, even training to some of their men if they volunteered for it. They had heard about the work he was doing—helping to protect not just Earth, but parts of the galaxy from even greater threats. Now, they needed his help here.

He was ushered into a meeting room where a number of high-ranking Ukrainian officials awaited him. Their faces showed the toll the war had taken on them, but their eyes carried a glimmer of hope. They had heard stories about what Peter-Knull had done on other worlds—how his actions had saved countless lives and helped turn the tide in conflicts far beyond Earth's borders.

"Mr. Knull," one of the diplomats said, offering a formal greeting. "Thank you for coming. We understand the weight of the responsibilities you carry, and we do not take your presence here lightly."

Peter nodded, but his eyes were distant for a moment. He'd spent countless nights thinking about the dilemma he faced. He could sense the destruction, the death, the pain from the war on both sides. It reminded him far too much of what he had seen before. His hands clenched into fists for a brief second, but then he relaxed them.

"I've thought long and hard about this situation," Peter began, his voice calm yet layered with sincerity. "I've seen this before. Twice, in fact. On other Earths. Wars that start as one thing, but spiral into something else. I've watched how conflicts like these tear worlds apart—not just physically, but spiritually. Entire nations lost to ruin. I've watched as people who never should have been involved were punished long after the fighting stopped."

The room was silent, all eyes on him.

"I've already sent Seraphis symbiotes to Poland, Romania, and other surrounding NATO countries," Peter said, a flicker of resolve in his voice. "They're helping the wounded, those displaced from the front lines. Healing them. But I know that isn't enough. Not here."

The officials exchanged glances but didn't interrupt him.

"You're asking me to get involved... and I know why." He looked each one of them in the eye, his tone heavy with the complexity of the decision he was about to make. "You want to turn the tide of this war. You want me to train troops, to provide logistical aid, to help in ways that your current alliances cannot. But I need to be honest with you—this war... it's not just about who wins. It's about what happens after."

Peter paused, allowing his words to sink in. He could see the flicker of unease in some of their faces, but he continued.

"The problem with turning the tide is that there are consequences. When the war is over—when the fighting stops—what happens next? What happens to the people on both sides who are forced to live with the decisions made now? Will there be peace, or will we just be sowing the seeds for another conflict? And worse still... if we push too hard, if the balance tips too far, there is the risk of something far worse: nuclear conflict."

His words hung in the air, a dark reminder of what was truly at stake. Peter had seen the devastation of limited nuclear war firsthand on the world that Peter Blue-A1 and his family had fled from. They had found sanctuary in this Earth, but their stories still haunted him.

"I cannot—will not—stand by and do nothing," Peter said, his voice stronger now. "Too many people are dying, too many lives are being torn apart by this war. I've tried to live as a man, not a god, but no one should have to bear the responsibility of this alone. This is no small task. But I cannot ignore what's happening right in our backyard."

One of the Ukrainian officials finally spoke, his voice tentative but sincere. "We understand your concerns, Mr. Knull. But we also believe that you have the ability to prevent even greater loss. You've already helped save countless lives in the galaxy... We need you here."

Peter looked at the man, then at the others around the table. He could sense their desperation—the need for someone to step in, someone with the power to make a difference. They weren't wrong to ask for his help. But it wasn't an easy decision.

"I'm not officially part of NATO," Peter said after a pause. "Which gives me... flexibility. I can help voluntarily, without being bound to the same restrictions or responsibilities."

Another official, a woman with sharp eyes, leaned forward. "And what are your concerns beyond the endgame, Peter-Knull? You mentioned the consequences of turning the tide."

Peter's eyes darkened, and he spoke quietly. "Even if we win this war, there will be those on the other side who will be punished. Innocent people. Those who had no choice who are being imprisoned right now. They will face retaliation, and that will only breed more hate, more conflict."

He sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. "I've seen it before. What comes after a victory can be just as devastating as the war itself. And if we don't handle it carefully, we'll be creating another war—one that could easily escalate into a full-scale disaster."

One of the officials, a general with a scar running down his cheek, nodded. "But doing nothing…?"

"Doing nothing isn't an option," Peter said firmly. "I've seen too much death in this world already. Too many lives lost. I've lost entire worlds. But I also know that we must be careful about how we proceed. This isn't just about winning, it's about what comes after. And we need to plan for that now."

The room fell silent again, each person grappling with the magnitude of what Peter-Knull had said. The tension was thick, but there was also hope. They knew that Peter-Knull was a being who understood more than most, the weight of war, the responsibility of power, and the consequences of every decision.

"Then we ask you," the woman said, her voice steady, "to help us find that balance. We don't want more death. We want to rebuild, to bring peace. But we need your help to do that."

Peter looked around the table once more, his gaze settling on each person. He could feel the weight of their plea, their desperation. He thought of the countless worlds he had tried to save, the lives he had touched and lost. He had come to this Earth with no desire to be a god or a ruler, but the responsibilities that had fallen to him were undeniable.

"I'll help," he said at last, his voice baring a seriousness that didn't come easily. "But we do this carefully. Deliberately. We will not escalate the conflict unnecessarily. And when the time comes to rebuild, I will ensure that the innocent on both sides are protected."

Peter looked around the table once more, his gaze settling on each person. He could feel the weight of their plea, their desperation. He thought of the countless worlds he had tried to save, the lives he had touched and lost. He had come to this Earth with no desire to be a god or a ruler, but the responsibilities that had fallen to him were undeniable.

"I'll help," he said at last, his voice resolute. "But we do this carefully. Deliberately. We will not escalate the conflict unnecessarily. And when the time comes to rebuild, I will ensure that the innocent on both sides are protected."

The officials nodded, relief washing over their faces.

Peter stood, his gaze steady. "Now, let's talk logistics."

As they moved into the war room, Peter-Knull unfolded a holographic map of the region, his symbiotic technology integrating with their systems. Each movement of his hand expanded the map, highlighting areas of strategic importance.

"Our priority is securing key hospitals and humanitarian routes," Peter said, the map zooming in on eastern Ukraine. "I've already deployed symbiotic healers to hospitals in Poland and surrounding NATO countries, but we need more here, close to the frontlines." He gestured to key regions near Lviv and Kyiv. "I can send Seraphis symbiotes, capable of healing soldiers and civilians alike. They work fast, but they also need protection. I'll place some of my own to guard them."

A Ukrainian general leaned forward, his eyes filled with both curiosity and respect. "And what about the troops? We're stretched thin and in need of support. If your technology can aid us in battle..."

Peter nodded. "I've already developed symbiotic weapons, armor, and survival gear. These items," he brought up a visual of the symbiotic knives, belts, and backpacks, "aren't just tools. They're alive. They respond to the user's needs. The knives adjust to their wielders' strength, the belts and backpacks can repair themselves, and the boots adapt to terrain. They're designed to be more than just equipment—they're companions."

One of the advisors, a woman who had been silent until now, spoke. "And the food? We're losing crops every day. People can't survive without it."

Peter's expression softened. "I've prepared for that too. The symbiotic food I've developed doesn't just last—it grows. We'll deliver field rations to the troops and provide food supplies to civilians. These rations will replicate themselves, ensuring no one goes hungry."

The room was quiet as Peter's plan began to take shape. The Ukrainian officials exchanged glances, sensing the depth of what he was offering, far more than aid. It was a solution, a way to sustain them through the worst of the conflict without escalation.

One of the military leaders spoke up, his voice rough with emotion. "We've been fighting for so long... and you've thought through everything. If NATO grants you full cooperation, can you expand these efforts?"

Peter-Knull's eyes gleamed with purpose. "I'm prepared for that. I can train your troops, provide logistics, and support for civilians. And if the conflict worsens, I'll work with you to keep this war from spiraling out of control. But I need your trust."

The officials nodded solemnly. Trust had been a rare commodity lately, but Peter-Knull had shown them something more, a path forward that wasn't just about winning, but about surviving, rebuilding, and protecting what remained.

…

In the grand halls of the Slavic pantheon, the ancient gods convened. Their seats were as old as the stones of the earth, carved from the elements they governed—Perun's throne, forged from eternal storm clouds and iron, crackled with static energy; Veles's seat, twisted from the roots of the underworld, dripped with the essence of sorcery and shadows; and Morana's place, cold as death itself, exuded the stillness of winter and the finality of decay. War had long simmered in their lands, feeding the cycle of life and death that the gods oversaw with indifference. For millennia, mortals bled and perished in battles fought across these ancient plains, but it mattered little to them.

But now... now something had shifted.

Perun, the thunderer, stood tall, his fierce eyes gazing out over the lands of Eastern Europe. His spear of lightning, always at the ready, crackled with anticipation. He was the god of war and storms, but even he could feel the disquiet in the air. "Rumors spread like wildfire, my brothers and sisters," Perun began, his deep voice echoing through the hall. "Of this 'Peter-Knull,' a god—if he can be called that—who controls an existence outside of our understanding."

Veles, lounging in the shadows, his form half-hidden by swirling tendrils of mist, raised a brow, his serpentine smile spreading slowly. "A god of the void, they call him. How... intriguing." His voice was a smooth, hypnotic drawl, filled with trickery and malice. "If the rumors are to be believed, this Peter-Knull is unlike any we have faced. He is said to exist beyond the reach of even the Living Tribunal. Beyond the Celestials. Beyond... well, even what we call the multiverse."

Perun frowned, his lightning dimming for a moment. "That is troubling. The Tribunal and the Celestials may be self-righteous in their balance, but they follow the laws of creation. They adhere to the cycle. But a being outside their reach? It disturbs me."

Morana, seated at the far end, listened in silence. Her eyes were like pools of frozen water, and her skin, pale as frost, shimmered under the faint light of the hall. The goddess of death and winter finally spoke, her voice slow, deliberate. "This Peter-Knull walks in a place where time, life, and death are nothing. He does not belong to this world's order, nor does he seem to respect the natural cycles." She paused, her gaze cold and distant. "And yet... he shows compassion. He heals, protects, and... hopes."

"Hope," Veles spat, as if the word itself disgusted him. "What good is hope in the face of death and war? Mortals have hoped for millennia, and still they die. Still they fight."

Perun nodded slowly, though his gaze was troubled. "It is not the hope that concerns me, but what he represents. A power beyond what we know. Even the mighty Celestials craft their plans with the framework of our reality in mind. But this Knull..."

"He transcends it," Morana finished. "He does not fight for power. He fights for something more elusive. Something even the one above all himself cannot master."

Veles leaned forward, his serpentine eyes narrowing. "If the rumors are true, and this Peter-Knull has access to a higher existence... one that not even the gods can touch, then we are faced with a dilemma."

Perun's brow furrowed. "What are you suggesting, Veles?"

The god of the underworld grinned darkly. "We are beings of power. We rule over life, death, and magic. But this... Peter-Knull... he does not fit within our realms of control. If he grows too powerful, he may upset the balance we maintain. He may render us... obsolete."

Morana, ever cold and contemplative, spoke again, her gaze shifting to Perun. "He is not like the other gods, Perun. He does not seek worship. He does not hunger for dominion. But his existence... it could challenge everything we stand for."

The thunderer's fist clenched around his spear. "If he does, then he is a threat."

Veles chuckled, his voice a hissing whisper. "Ah, but he does not seek to be our enemy. Not yet, at least. But the question remains—if he holds access to a higher existence, one that even the Living Tribunal cannot master, what will that mean for us? For the mortals?"

Morana's cold gaze lingered on the lands below, where war raged once again. "The mortals fight their wars. It is their nature. But if Peter-Knull interferes, if he alters the course of this conflict, we may have no choice but to intervene."

Perun looked to the horizon, where dark clouds of war brewed. "He has already sent his... creations. Symbiotes, they call them, to heal and protect. That is what concerns me. If this conflict escalates because of him, the consequences will be catastrophic."

Veles grinned, his serpentine voice filled with mischief. "Perhaps it is time we pay this Peter-Knull a visit. After all, he may claim to walk beyond the reach of gods, but he still treads on our lands. If he is truly so powerful, then surely... he can handle a conversation."

Perun's eyes flared with lightning. "You would confront him?"

"No, brother," Veles replied with a sly smile. "I would... test him."

Morana rose from her seat, her cloak of winter shadows billowing around her. "It seems we are all agreed. If this Peter-Knull holds power beyond our understanding, then we must know his intentions. For the sake of the balance we protect."

Perun, ever the warrior, nodded solemnly. "Then let us see if this 'god of the void' is truly what the mortals say he is. And if he is... then we will decide how to proceed."

…

The vast SHIELD training facility, now in cooperation with NATO, was buzzing with activity. Rows of soldiers stood in formation, their expressions ranging from curiosity to wariness as they eyed the symbiotic creatures and living equipment being introduced to them. Peter-Knull walked among them, his presence commanding the attention of both human and symbiotic entities alike.

Around him, sym-orcs, hulking, green-skinned creatures enhanced by the same living matter that Peter-Knull meticulously created to help in such situations. were busy guiding the soldiers through the new combat protocols. Beside them, the more agile sym-sapians, sleek humanoid figures with swirling tendrils and piercing eyes, demonstrated the use of specialized weapons.

Peter-Knull approached a group of soldiers, led by one particularly stoic sym-orc named Ghor'Tak, who was currently explaining the mechanics of the retro-reactive armor to a cluster of NATO operatives.

"These armors are not like your standard military gear," Ghor'Tak growled in his deep voice, emphasizing his point with a heavy tap on the soldier's chestplate. The armor rippled like liquid under his touch before solidifying again, the symbiotic tendrils weaving around the soldier's body. "It knows you. It learns from you. And in a moment of crisis, it will protect you—better than any static piece of metal."

Peter-Knull watched as the armor shifted on the soldier, adjusting its form to match the movement of the wearer. "It's alive," he added, his voice calm but carrying a weight that silenced those around him. "You are not just wearing it—you are partnering with it. Trust it, and it will save your life. Hesitate, and it may hesitate with you."

The soldiers nodded, though some still exchanged uncertain glances. Peter had seen this hesitation before. It was always the same when soldiers first encountered symbiotic technology—a mix of awe and discomfort, a recognition that they were dealing with something beyond human understanding.

Off to the side, the sym-sapians were helping another group master the symbiotic knives. The fluidity with which they moved was mesmerizing. As one soldier took hold of a knife, it seemed to shimmer in his grip. Before he could react, the blade twisted on its own, spinning in his hand, the handle becoming an extension of his will.

"What the hell?" the soldier muttered, his eyes wide.

Peter-Knull stepped in, gently taking the soldier's hand and guiding him through the motion. "Let it guide you," he said softly. "This knife is not like anything you've trained with before. It responds to your intent—your instinct."

The soldier steadied himself, and as he relaxed, the blade stopped its erratic twisting and flowed with him. He swung it experimentally, and to his astonishment, the knife twisted mid-air, forming a defensive arc that deflected an attack from another soldier training beside him.

"That—makes no sense," the soldier whispered.

Peter-Knull smiled. "It doesn't have to. The symbiote does not think in static terms of physics or structure. It moves beyond that, just like you will learn to move beyond the limitations of your old training."

Across the training grounds, the massive symbiotic canines stood tall, their dark, organic hides glistening in the sun. On all fours, they were easily the size of a man, their thick, sinewy limbs rippling as they walked among the soldiers. Despite their intimidating size, there was a calmness in their glowing eyes.

"These canines will be your greatest allies," Peter-Knull continued, addressing the soldiers as they gathered around. "They are not mere beasts. They understand your commands—whether spoken or not. They can carry supplies, drag wounded from the field, and even engage enemies when needed. Their loyalty is absolute, and their instincts will rival your own."

A sym-orc walked up to one of the canines, rubbing its side affectionately. The creature emitted a low, rumbling growl, its glowing eyes locking onto the soldiers. "These canines, they'll save you when you need it most," the sym-orc grunted, motioning for one of the troops to approach the creature. "Go on. They're smarter than any damn machine. Let them know who you are."

The soldier hesitated before cautiously extending his hand to the towering canine. The creature sniffed him, its massive head lowering as it nudged the soldier's palm. A faint, organic pulse ran through the air, and the bond was formed. The soldier stepped back, marveling as the canine moved seamlessly beside him, as if they had known each other for years.

Peter-Knull moved from group to group, ensuring each soldier learned the intricacies of their new symbiotic gear. He watched as the armors molded to the soldiers' bodies, as knives twirled in hands like extensions of their thoughts, and as the massive canines settled into the ranks, eager to serve.

"This gear will protect you," Peter-Knull said, his voice carrying across the grounds. "But remember, it's not about brute strength or speed. It's about trust. Trust the symbiotes, and they will trust you. Symbiosis, true symbiosis, is the future of this war. And it's one we will see through sooner rather than later…"

And Peter-Knull, for all his concerns and moral dilemmas, knew that standing idle was no longer an option. Too many lives were at stake.

…

deep within a fortified estate on the outskirts of Moscow, a group of men sat around a long mahogany table. The atmosphere was heavy with tension, the weight of current events hanging over them like a dark cloud. They were oligarchs—wealthy, powerful, and in some ways, as entrenched in the fabric of Russia as its historical institutions. Yet, even with their wealth and connections, the recent reports had unsettled them.

The leader of the group, a broad-shouldered man in his mid-fifties with thinning gray hair, leaned forward, fingers tapping against the surface of a folder thick with intelligence reports. His name was Sergei Zolotov, a former military general turned oil magnate, whose influence stretched far into the Kremlin. He had long been a power broker in both government and business, but recent developments had left him... concerned.

"We've received word from our field commanders," Zolotov began, his voice gravelly. "The lines are starting to collapse. We've lost nearly half of the ground we gained in the last eight months."

Around the table, the other oligarchs exchanged nervous glances. One, a younger man named Mikhail Larinov, shifted uncomfortably in his chair. Larinov was a tech billionaire with close ties to the state's cyber operations, but his expertise in technology didn't prepare him for what they were facing now.

"It's because of this... Peter-Knull," Larinov muttered. "The West has gained an edge they didn't have before. We're hearing reports of his so-called symbiotic technology—gear that actively protects soldiers, that adjusts to the user in real time. If what we've heard is true, this is no ordinary battlefield equipment. It's alive. And that, gentlemen, changes everything."

Zolotov nodded slowly. "We're not just facing Ukraine anymore. We're facing something new. And it's not just a few battalions here and there. Peter-Knull's involvement is turning the tide. Our commanders are saying that the Western lines are pushing back, mile by mile, regaining territory that's been locked in stalemate for months."

Another voice chimed in, an older man with a harsh gaze named Viktor Krasnyakov, an oligarch who made his fortune in arms manufacturing. "Logistical support. Gear that acts like a living entity. This Peter-Knull is more than just some Western asset—he's a wildcard. Our intelligence says he's setting up defensive nets around the galaxy, and yet, here on Earth, our own defenses are weakening."

Krasnyakov paused before adding, "And let's not forget the rumors. This Peter-Knull supposedly has access to an existence outside our understanding, a realm beyond even the Living Tribunal's domain. That's not something to ignore."

The room fell silent as the oligarchs considered this. The idea that something, or someone, was operating outside the framework of even their most powerful cosmic entities was disquieting.

"I don't like it," said Anatoly Vorkov, a media mogul who controlled most of Russia's propaganda networks. "We can't allow this narrative to spread. If the people start believing that some 'god of the void' can offer salvation, we lose control of the narrative. We need to control the information coming in and out of the country. If word spreads that Peter-Knull's involvement is tipping the scales, we'll have uprisings on our hands."

Zolotov grunted in agreement but raised a hand. "The West is harboring refugees from an alternate Earth that descended into nuclear war. Our intelligence confirms it—a limited nuclear conflict, but enough to destroy entire cities. These refugees have been integrated into Peter-Knull's operations. They know war, real war. And now they're helping the West. Every mile they push us back, every inch of ground we lose, is a reminder that our own cities could face the same fate. We can't let it get to that."

A cold silence fell over the room as the oligarchs absorbed Zolotov's words. The notion that the West's refugees had come from a world ravaged by nuclear war, and were now actively contributing to the Ukrainian defense, sent a chill through them. It wasn't just about military strategy anymore—it was about survival.

Larinov leaned forward, speaking cautiously. "The real issue is that Peter-Knull is not officially part of NATO, which means he can act independently. He's not bound by their bureaucracy or their treaties. He can offer aid without repercussion, provide them with technology we don't fully understand, and do it without anyone stopping him."

Krasnyakov's eyes narrowed. "China has been watching this situation closely. They've been hesitant to fully cooperate with us, despite their nuclear capabilities. If Peter-Knull's influence grows, and China decides to align with the West..."

"We'd be surrounded," Zolotov finished. "Russia would be isolated. Vulnerable. And if even one of those remaining Knulls strikes... we're wide open."

The mention of the Knulls, the remnants of an ancient threat, hung in the air. While much of the world dismissed them as something their own symbiote god could handle, the oligarchs knew better. The remaining Knulls could strike at any moment, and with much of Russia's territory left outside the safety nets Peter-Knull had set up, they were facing a potential catastrophe.

"We've declined to let Peter-Knull set up his defensive nets in Russia," Zolotov continued. "Out of pride. But now I wonder... how long can we hold out? How long can we refuse his aid?"

Vorkov scoffed. "You're suggesting we bow to him?"

"I'm suggesting we're pragmatic," Zolotov shot back. "We're at war. We can't afford to let pride or ideology blind us. If the Knulls strike while we're weakened, we lose everything. And if Peter-Knull truly has access to a realm beyond what even the Living Tribunal can master, then we need to proceed carefully."

"What are you proposing?" Krasnyakov asked, his voice low.

Zolotov paused, his gaze hardening. "We need more information on Peter-Knull. His motives, his methods. We need to understand whether he's truly an ally to the West or a neutral force we can manipulate to our advantage. We send a delegation. Quietly. Offer an olive branch, but with our own terms."

Larinov frowned. "And what if he refuses?"

Zolotov's lips curled into a thin smile. "Then we find his weakness. Everyone has one."

The oligarchs nodded slowly, some in agreement, others with hesitation. The world was changing, and Russia was in the middle of a dilemma. Peter-Knull, with his alien technology and vast cosmic influence, had shifted the balance of power.

As the oligarchs rose from their chairs, the weight of the decision settled over them. They were men used to controlling their fates, bending the world to their will. But now, they were facing an unknown force, a god of the void, operating outside their understanding, with an agenda they couldn't predict.

Russia's future was uncertain. But one thing was clear, they could no longer afford to ignore Peter-Knull.

…

A day later…

Peter-Knull, seated with an air of calm despite the tension in the room, listened intently to the delegation before him. Across the table, Nick Fury sat with his arms crossed, his one good eye scanning the group, taking mental notes. Black Widow, poised but alert, was leaning slightly forward, her gaze fixated on the speaker from the delegation. Colossus, arms folded, was stone-faced, but his presence alone brought a sense of weight to the situation. Then there was Red Guardian, who was silent but radiated quiet vigilance, his bulk a protective shadow behind Natasha, and it was clear to Peter-Knull that this meeting was more personal for some than others.

Peter waited for a lull in their dialogue before he began. His voice was measured, deliberate.

"I've heard many reports regarding the actions taken during this war," Peter-Knull started, breaking the tension in the room. He paused, scanning their expressions. "And I'll be honest—I hear you. I understand the urgency of your situation."

He leaned forward slightly, placing his hands on the table as his gaze drifted across the delegation. "But I've also seen more wars than I care to count. I've visited alternate earths where destruction reached levels you can't imagine. I've spoken to refugees from a world where nuclear fire consumed entire nations. Entire peoples reduced to ash and dust… I have no intention of allowing that to happen here."

The room was silent as Peter-Knull continued. "Which is why, despite the aid I've given to Ukraine, I've been cautious. Every step I take is measured. Every word I speak is chosen carefully. Not just because of the lives at stake, but because the souls of both this world and others have seen enough destruction. They've moved to my symbiote afterlife to find sanctuary after all for those who chose to go there."

As Peter spoke, he couldn't help but notice the subtle shifts in the room. It wasn't outright hostility, no, that would've been too easy to detect, but there was something in the air. An undercurrent of unease, especially from a few in the back. One of them was a hardliner, his expression betraying his discontent.

Peter-Knull leaned back, his demeanor unbothered, but his senses were finely attuned to the change. He smiled almost imperceptibly. "And speaking of careful steps, let's address the extremely powerful nerve agent in this coffee," he said, motioning toward the cup that sat before him. All eyes turned to him in shock.

He lifted the cup slightly and pointed to a man in the back, whose composure visibly cracked. "The gentleman back there slipped it in. Not exactly subtle, I must say." Peter then took a deliberate sip of the coffee, his face unreadable, before finishing the entire cup in one go.

Silence enveloped the room, thick and heavy.

"I should mention," Peter added casually, placing the empty cup down, "that such things don't affect someone like me. However, when you report this meeting to your superiors, I'd suggest mentioning that certain members within your own leadership seem to have unresolved issues. Issues that, perhaps, they should deal with internally, rather than dragging everyone else into them."

A tense moment passed as the delegation exchanged glances. Fury's expression remained neutral, but Natasha's jaw clenched slightly. Red Guardian narrowed his eyes, crossing his arms tightly over his chest, glaring at the man Peter had called out.

Peter-Knull, calm as ever, straightened his posture and gave a small, reassuring smile. "Now, if you don't mind, I'd like to continue this very productive conversation. After all, we still have much to discuss."

The delegation shifted awkwardly, clearly rattled by Peter's revelation. Yet, no one dared protest as the meeting continued, their attention now fully on the task at hand.

Peter's words weighed on the room, and from that moment, it was clear that his influence, both as a leader and a being of immeasurable power, would reshape the course of the conversation.

…

As the meeting adjourned, Peter-Knull's point had clearly resonated with the delegation. His calm dismantling of their subtle attempt on his life left a lasting impact, especially given the delicate political landscape they were navigating. Even the more hardline members couldn't ignore the gravity of his words. They left the room tense, their internal dynamics visibly shaken.

Peter-Knull remained seated for a moment, watching the delegation leave, his thoughts swirling as his allies stood nearby, processing what had transpired.

Nick Fury was the first to break the silence, his voice gruff but laced with quiet respect. "You handled that well, Peter. More diplomacy than I expected, given the circumstances. But still... nerve agents in the coffee? Someone's getting desperate."

Black Widow crossed her arms, her eyes narrowing as she thought back on the meeting. "This could've gone so much worse. But the fact that some of them didn't even know about the poisoning... that says something. There's internal conflict within their ranks." She shook her head. "We've got bigger problems if that's the case."

Colossus, usually the calmest of them all, had remained silent during the meeting. Now, he sighed deeply, his large hands clenched into fists. "That man... the one who tried it... I wanted to believe that my homeland wouldn't have come to this. , but seeing how they turn on one another, I wonder if there's any honor left."

Red Guardian, standing with his arms crossed, let out a bitter chuckle. "Honor? This war was never about honor. It's about power. About control. The ones pulling the strings, those oligarchs, they don't care how many die, so long as they keep their positions. But this... this was foolish. Desperate." He looked at Peter-Knull. "You made your point. Now, they have to live with their failure."

Peter-Knull remained still for a moment longer, processing the varying reactions of his allies. He had anticipated pushback, but the attempted poisoning had been a more overt move than he had expected. Still, his words had landed where they needed to, and that was what mattered.

"They'll reconsider their moves now," Peter said, finally rising from his chair. "I don't think their leadership is unified. The fact that some of them didn't know about the stunt speaks to that. Chaos within their ranks might be our advantage." His gaze flickered with a hint of something deeper—concern, perhaps, or maybe foresight. "But that doesn't mean we can be complacent. They're desperate, and desperate people do dangerous things."

Natasha nodded in agreement. "You're right. With the front lines in Ukraine pushing back and their forces losing ground, they'll need to reassess their entire strategy. Especially now that some of their own leadership might be considering cutting their losses."

As if on cue, reports started filtering in through their communication lines. Nick Fury's device buzzed, and he glanced down at it before sharing the information with the group. "Seems like things are shifting faster than we thought. Word from the front lines is that Ukraine is gaining ground, miles at a time. The Kremlin's furious, but... due to the pressure and the fact that even eastern powers are requesting that they tone down the strikes on civilian infrastructure combined with this stunt, they've ordered their rocket operators to stand down. No more firing on civilian infrastructure lest they pay the price in the long run, though, they may be saving the rockets they have since their starting to run low on ammo on the fronts. Apparently their trying to save whatever face they have left, if they even have any left at this point."

"That's a good sign," Colossus added, relief in his voice. "Maybe they're realizing this war isn't winnable."

But Peter-Knull had to bring up an unescapable fact. "Not quite yet," he murmured. "Desperation has a way of breeding more chaos before things settle. Especially when you've got break-away regions stirring the pot."

Red Guardian nodded. "I've been hearing the same thing. Southern regions starting to push for independence. That's going to be another headache for the Kremlin. They won't be able to control everything anymore, since some regions are starting to get more emboldened."

Natasha's expression darkened. "And the oligarchs? They'll start asking themselves if this war is even worth continuing. If Peter-Knull's involvement has already tipped the scales, they'll be asking themselves where their real interests lie."

Peter-Knull looked out the window, deep in thought. "The chaos they've built is starting to unravel that's for sure. As for us, we can only keep working, we have to if this situation is going to finally wind down.

The room fell silent again, the weight of the situation pressing down on them all. Though the immediate threat had passed, the implications of what had just happened, both in that room and on the front lines, were far-reaching.

…

Over one and a half weeks later…

After the delegation returned from their tense meeting with Peter-Knull, the Russian front lines started to collapse in an eerily quiet fashion. The usual chaos of war, explosions, artillery, and gunfire was absent. Instead, a strange calm washed over the battlefield as the soldiers went closer to the borders. Orders filtered in from high command, but they were more like updates, signifying that the situation had changed dramatically: Russia as a unified nation no longer existed in the total sense. Not like it once was, and it was still early on.

In the weeks leading up to this, the mounting pressure of sanctions, internal rebellion, and political fragmentation had finally reached a boiling point. Different regions declared their independence, and oligarchs, regional leaders, and military commanders scrambled to salvage what they could. Many troops, disillusioned by the chaos and lack of direction, stopped following orders. Some packed up and retreated into Russia, retreating further into zones that still held some semblance of order. But even this retreat felt hollow.

As the front lines crumbled, Crimea became a ghost town. Once a heavily contested region, it now lay abandoned, its streets empty and its skies filled only with the distant hum of drones. Those who had defended it simply melted away over time, either fleeing or disappearing into the chaos. The remaining Russian soldiers faced a new reality. Their country had splintered into independent states due to mistakes made, and the central command could no longer enforce discipline.

In the field, commanders faced mutiny and resistance. Some were so out of touch with the reality on the ground that they ordered soldiers to fire on retreating comrades en mass. But some of those instances were met with brutal consequences. Soldiers, fed up with the senseless violence, turned their guns on their superiors. Others, seeing no way out of the chaos, took their own lives, unable to cope with the collapse of everything they had fought for.

As the dust settled, those left behind were consumed by one haunting question, what was it all for? After years of war, bloodshed, and sacrifice that now felt hollow, it all seemed for nothing. The country they had fought for was gone, its leaders scattered, its people divided. There was no grand victory, no glorious return home. Just the lingering question of what it all meant when they would have to return home and face their families and confront the reality of what many of them had done, and the weight of a shattered nation on their of Form

…

Nick Fury sat behind his desk, eyes narrowing as he read the evolving reports on the situation unfolding in what was once a unified Russia. His office was dark in light of recent events, slightly dimmed, save for the glow of multiple screens displaying an intricate web of intel streaming in from S.H.I.E.L.D.'s network.

The chaos in the former Russian Federation had taken on a life of its own. Reports from the field described a patchwork of newly-formed states, each with its own emerging leadership. Some regions had managed to maintain order, piecing together functioning governments and establishing relative calm since the people were trying to pick up the pieces. But in others, the situation was far more tenuous, fluctuating between order and outright chaos. Armed groups, oligarchs, and remnants of the old regime all vied for control over territory, resources, and loyalty in various ways.

Fury skimmed through a detailed report on infrastructure damage in one of the newly declared states. Roads, railways, and power grids had been devastated, but efforts to rebuild were already underway. There was a notable priority on securing logistics, as humanitarian aid and critical supplies that were within these zones were being sent to the regions most in need. Some regions were pulling ahead, coordinating with local leaders and international agencies to stabilize, while others were mired in uncertainty, still unsure of where their borders or alliances lay.

Another report detailed the rise of regional militias in the more chaotic zones where order hadn't yet fully taken hold. These groups were unpredictable, forming around various local strongmen or disillusioned former military leaders. Thankfully, they hadn't yet tipped into outright civil war, at least on the scale that they could have taken, but the threat remained immense.

Nick rubbed his chin as he moved to the next set of documents. Satellite surveillance showed the collapse of centralized military control, with large numbers of troops retreating to their home regions or simply abandoning their posts. Many of them had started to integrate into the fragmented states, leaving behind the remnants of a once-powerful military machine. The war machinery of the Kremlin had ceased after weeks since Peter-Knull started giving aid to Ukraine through the symbiote canines and gear that did everything from protecting the user, to purifying muddy muck into water with the water purifiers, its gears grinding to a halt as commanders either deserted or swore allegiance to new governments springing up across the landscape.

Economic collapse was another concern, with sanctions and internal strife having gutted any chance for recovery, at least for now. Yet, despite the crumbling economy, certain factions had begun establishing trade routes with neighboring countries, some of which were within their former borders and international partners, trying to rebuild in the face of this tragedy that had gone on for too long due to the actions that spiraled for far too long.

Fury sighed, recognizing the monumental challenge ahead for those picking up the pieces. The global implications were massive, and his role in managing this evolving crisis was far from over. With the information in hand, he would have to plan carefully. Despite the fractured landscape, stability, fragile as it was, was starting to form in certain regions, however small it was. For now, that was the best anyone could hope for.

A few minutes later as he reviewed the latest reports about the fractured states that once made up Russia. The situation was still evolving, but the news was grim. Some regions were attempting to stabilize and rebuild, while others teetered between order and chaos. The logistical nightmare of sorting out who controlled what, and which territories had declared independence, was daunting. Fury's fingers hovered over his tablet, the weight of the responsibility pressing on him.

Suddenly, an alert blared on his screen. His eyes widened as he scanned the emergency notification. Nuclear launch codes had been sent out… these were the former governments codes!

"What the hell…?!" Fury muttered that was nearly a shout, nearly knocking over his chair as he leaped to his feet.

He tapped his comms, urgently calling in the key personnel. "Get me Hill, Natasha, and Captain Rogers! Now!"

Within moments, the S.H.I.E.L.D. command center buzzed with activity. Agent Hill stood near Fury, reviewing the incoming data on the situation, her expression growing darker by the second.

"Sir, the reports indicate that the remnants of the Kremlin have activated several nuclear launch sites," Hill said, her voice grim. "There are ten nukes in the air. It's chaos, several of the bunkers are still operational, but not all launches were successful due to most territories declaring independence, and some just flat out ignored the launch orders or weren't even in the bunkers to begin with! Peter-Knull has already intercepted seven of them!"

Nick Fury clenched his fists. "And the others?!"

Hill took a deep breath. "Three are still headed toward their targets! International neighbors are in full panic mode! They're giving Peter-Knull the benefit of the doubt that he'll handle it for now, but their on standby! if one of those nukes hits-!"

"We're looking at full-scale retaliation," Natasha Romanoff finished, stepping into the room alongside Captain America. The gravity of the situation was not lost on her. Even Red Guardian, still adjusting to his role, stood nearby, a grim look on his face. The fact that his homeland had come to this weighed heavily on him since this was too far, and his homeland was willing to go this far in a first strike profoundly disturbed him.

Steve Rogers, Captain America, was stoic as ever, but even he couldn't hide the tension in his voice. "If one of those missiles makes impact… the world goes up in flames."

Natasha, her sharp gaze fixed on the reports, said quietly, "Peter-Knull is containing them for now, but if he slips or one gets through…"

Fury slammed his fist onto the desk, barely able to control his frustration. "This is a damn suicide run! Whoever's left pulling the strings in those bunkers must know they can't win. They're desperate, this is their last card!"

Suddenly, a voice crackled over the comms. It was a SHIELD agent monitoring the situation in real-time. "Director Fury, Peter-Knull's just contacted us. He's actively moving the remaining nukes into his symbiotic prison-like reality before they detonate so they won't destroy anything! He's containing them, but we've got minutes before the international response goes critical!"

Logan, sitting with his family as they helped refugees readjust, overheard the conversation and noticing the chaos decided to come check on what's going on. He grimaced, his mind racing. "Damn fools," he muttered, standing up. "They're ready to take the whole world down with them!"

Back in the command center, Fury's voice cut through the tension. "If Peter-Knull manages to stop those last three, we might avoid a world-ending scenario. But we need to make sure none of those missiles hit, or every nuclear-armed country is going to fire back."

Hill nodded, already typing out commands. "I'll contact our allies, but we've got to pray Peter-Knull can handle this."

The room fell silent as they waited for the next update. Each passing second felt like a lifetime, the fate of the world hanging in the balance and this was a situation where they could only watch and hope, and pray…

…

Minutes later…

A global frenzy erupted as news of the launched nukes hit the media. The world watched as red dots, marking the missiles' projected trajectories, appeared on screens everywhere, ominously tracing their paths toward the United States, the United Kingdom, and a key area of Europe. Social media buzzed with panic and speculation, live-streaming and recording every update with mounting dread.

One by one, however, the red dots began to vanish. Videos surfaced from the conflict zones, showing a fleet of symbiote dragons and Lunaris symbiotes enveloping the missiles mid-flight. These symbiotic beings intercepted the missiles, each vanishing moments before reaching the upper atmosphere. Behind the scenes, Peter-Knull worked tirelessly, using his symbiotic power to shift each missile to his prison dimension, where they detonated harmlessly. Each explosion that should have been an earth-shattering catastrophe was instead contained within his isolated realm.

A chill ran through the international community as the full scale of the attempted devastation became clear as they identified the missiles used. Each missile was a cluster bomb, loaded with multiple nuclear warheads, some in the megaton range. The plan was clear, total annihilation. Relief spread at the realization that Peter-Knull's intervention had prevented a chain of destruction that would have reshaped nations.

With these events, attention quickly shifted to those responsible. A coalition of global intelligence agencies released a list of locations suspected to be housing the bunker complexes where those behind the attack had taken refuge. The outrage was beyond immense, not only from the international community but also from within the newly formed states that had once been part of Russia, which in light of these events, decided to hand over the information as they all nearly faced catastrophy. The message was unmistakable.

These rogue actors had nearly dragged the entire world into ruin as a last ditch effort to destroy those half a planet away.

Within the SHIELD command center, a tension-filled silence was broken only by the sighs of relief and calls to action. Nick Fury, watching the news feeds, shook his head grimly. They'd narrowly averted a global crisis.

Captain America nodded slowly. "We owe Peter-Knull for this one," he said. "Without him… we'd all be facing a very different reality right now."

The impact of Peter-Knull's actions rippled across the world. The chaos was contained, but the scars of this near-catastrophe would linger for of Form

…

That night, Avengers Tower was enveloped in an uncharacteristic quiet, each member still shaken from the day's events. Peter-Knull had ensured no other hidden, last minute surprises remained, and now that his work was done in the short term, he returned to the Tower.

In the infirmary, Peter Purple-A4's Mistress Death lay resting after a difficult labor that went on during these events. She had just delivered twins, a boy and a girl, each embodying the delicate balance of life and death that defined her existence. They decided on names that reflected this balance, Tenebris for the boy, symbolizing the mystery and power of his death-like powers that also had rejuvenating powers in some degree, and Luxara for the girl, a symbol of the guiding light within the dark since she glowed with an ethereal light.

In another corner of the room, Peter-Knull's wife, Madelyn Pryor, held their twin toddlers, Selene and Lucian, close to her, her face pale with fear as she tried to soothe them. Though they didn't fully understand the catastrophe that nearly unfolded, they'd seen the tension in everyone's faces on the news, the shadows cast across their parents' eyes.

As soon as Peter-Knull entered, Madelyn's eyes found his, and she rushed forward, her arms wrapping tightly around him. She trembled slightly, clutching him as if afraid he might slip away. The whole ordeal had been a sharp reminder of how close they had all come to disaster.

"I'm right here, my love," he whispered, stroking her back gently as he held her and their children close, offering his family the comfort and reassurance they needed after the day's close brush with destruction. "I'm right here."

…Bottom of Form

Ivana Tsvetkov sat quietly in her family's woodshop in Switzerland, the rhythmic sound of her carving tools gently scraping wood filling the room. She had just ended a video call with Lupin, Regina Grind Sulivan, and , three close friends who kept her up-to-date on the developments back in New York. The news was surreal—her homeland, Ukraine, had finally achieved freedom after years of war, chaos, and unimaginable challenges. For the first time, Ivana felt a weight lift from her shoulders, but it was quickly replaced by the growing responsibility of what would come next—rebuilding.

Beside her, her father, Andrei Tsvetkov, worked silently but with purpose. His hands, calloused from years of manual labor, moved deftly as he shaped another piece of wood into a mural of the Ukrainian flag, a project they had been working on together for weeks. The Tsvetkov family had made a name for themselves by producing intricately crafted merchandise that supported the Ukrainian war effort, and now, with the war finally ending, their focus had shifted to the country's reconstruction.

Requests were pouring in, orders for more art, more symbolic pieces to celebrate the newfound freedom. Andrei and Ivana were swamped, but they relished the work. Ivana, her powers of plant manipulation helping her to entwine vines and leaves into the wood, knew this was their way of giving back.

The mural she was working on was a special commission—soldiers holding up the Ukrainian flag, symbolic of the resilience and strength that had defined their homeland's long fight for independence. As she focused on the details, adding life to the carved wooden figures, the news from earlier played back in her mind.

Symbiotes had saved the world. Peter-Knull had intercepted nuclear missiles that could have wiped out countless lives, and the world was indebted to him, especially Ukraine. The horror of what could have been weighed heavily on her, but she tried to push those thoughts aside. Now was the time for rebuilding, for hope.

As the mural came together piece by piece, there was a knock on the door. It was a SHIELD operative informing them that their shipment is ready to head out, a reminder that Ivana and her family were still in witness protection after the incident with Emma Frost some time ago. Outside, SHIELD personnel stood guard, keeping a watchful eye on their residence. Despite their contributions to the war effort, the Tsvetkov family had their own enemies and a lot of people who would like to weaponize an Octo-Gene user like her.

Ivana sighed, her green eyes flashing with resolve. She knew they couldn't stay hidden forever, but for now, this was their life. She glanced at her father, who smiled at her, his hands never pausing in their work. They would finish this mural together, and then, no matter what challenges awaited, they would keep going.

As Ivana picked up her carving tool once more, she whispered softly to herself, "For Ukraine."

…

I have to be honest guys I wasn't sure how to do this chapter at first, since I tried to make it life-like in terms of one of the scenarios of how peter-knull could get involved without getting into to much detail of the warfare. I was just imagining how peter-knull would handle the situation and what a scenario like that would actually look like. I'm not saying this is how it'll go down even in post-war terms, it's just taking place in the comic universe, since peter-knull had to address this sooner or later, I decided to have him address this sooner rather than later, since like I said. He's a political and international player on the international stage, he's got a whole symbiote universe, and due to his ties to the 'other' existence, I needed him to try find a way out of that ticking time bomb on his world, Earth-616 that's a lot like our world. So he could protect his family and let's face it, he had to get involved in this since many nations are using his symbiotes and symbiote tech. If he didn't get involved, someone else would. And part of the chapter focused on the aftermath, since if something like this happened, and let's say even a fraction of something similar happened, no matter how you look at it, one side or the other would change after an event like that. There's simply no avoiding it… so yeah… that's how it went down in the story…. If you don't want to read this chapter then please by all means don't read it. It's entirely up to you the viewer if you want to skip this chapter, since it's a side chapter.

P.S. for those of you who are wondering, technically speaking Russia the continent is still around, it's just it's not exactly the same areas that once made it up and their all independent states like I described in this chapter. The way it all went down was in a way where it could change without involving a nuclear retaliation option as a response. That's why I had peter-knull help take care of the missiles, that way there would be no need for the western powers to retaliate. If you think about it peter-knull is the only one who could handle that situation real time since he called on his symbiotes to help move the missiles to his dimension where they could explode harmlessly without fallout.

Okay… that's all.