Authors Notes
Greetings, readers. This story is going to focus on the entire Marvel Cinematic Universe, including the shows and other media, but from the perspective of the protagonist, feel free to make any suggestions of the stuff you want to see in the story, and if it is reasonable, I will fit it into the story
Please feel free to leave a review as it helps improve the story's quality.
CHAPTER ONE
NEW BEGINNINGS
You want to know my story? How a homeless kid from the streets of another world became the greatest warrior in a world not his own? It's not a tale of glory—at least, not at first. It began with blood, fear, and desperation. My name is Jonathan. I was a 17-year-old orphan scraping by in the shadows of society. That was my life, until the night everything changed.
The night I died.
It started like any other, scouring through trash for scraps of food. My fingers were numb from the cold, the chill biting through my threadbare hoodie as I crouched beside a dumpster, praying for anything edible. Then I heard it—a scream piercing through the night, sharp and desperate.
"HELP! HELP ME!"
I froze, my heartbeat pounding in my ears. My head snapped up, eyes darting toward the source of the cry. The sound came from the alley just ahead, and every instinct screamed at me to stay put. But curiosity—or maybe something deeper—dragged me forward. I crept out from behind the dumpster, each step hesitant as I neared the commotion.
When I rounded the corner, the scene hit me like a punch to the gut. Two men loomed over a struggling woman, pinning her against the wall. One had a cruel grin plastered across his face, while the other kept a hand clamped over her mouth to stifle her cries.
My stomach twisted. I didn't want to get involved—I wasn't a hero. I was a survivor, a kid who knew when to keep his head down and avoid trouble. But then I saw her face.
"Naomi?" The word barely escaped my lips.
It was her. Naomi, the kind waitress who worked at the diner across the street. She always slipped me leftover food, always smiled at me like I was more than the invisible kid everyone else ignored. She'd been my lifeline more times than I could count. And now she needed help.
"Shit," I muttered, my heart hammering in my chest. I couldn't run. Not from her.
Grabbing a rusty metal pipe lying nearby, I stepped into the alley. "Let her go, you bastards!"
One of the men, his head wrapped in a red-and-white bandana, turned to me. He laughed, a low, mocking sound. "Beat it, punk. This ain't your business."
"It is now," I shot back, gripping the pipe tighter. "That's my friend you're messing with."
Naomi's tear-streaked face turned toward me. "Jonathan, no! Run! They'll kill you!"
The man holding her sneered. "Smart girl. You should listen to her, runt, before I put you in the ground."
His friend snickered and stepped closer. He was huge—easily six feet tall, broad shoulders straining his leather jacket. I was a scrawny five foot six inches, maybe a hundred and twenty pounds soaking wet. My hands shook as I lifted the pipe, forcing myself to stand my ground.
"Last warning, kid," the man growled.
I didn't wait. I swung the pipe with everything I had, aiming for the nearest guy's ankle. The metal connected with a sickening crunch, and he screamed, collapsing to the ground. I followed up with a strike to his head, knocking him out cold.
The second man let go of Naomi and stormed toward me. "You little shit!"
I swung again, but he caught the pipe effortlessly. His grip was like a vice as he wrenched it out of my hands and flung it aside. Before I could react, he grabbed me by the throat and slammed me into the pavement. Pain exploded through my back as the impact drove the air from my lungs.
"You're dead, kid," he snarled.
Naomi's voice broke through the haze of pain. "Jonathan! God, no! Please, stop!"
Gasping for air, I managed to rasp, "Run, Naomi… run!"
She hesitated, tears streaming down her face, but I forced myself to shout, "Go!"
Finally, she bolted, her footsteps echoing in the alley as she fled toward the street.
The man cursed, starting after her, but I reached out and grabbed his ankle, tripping him. He fell hard, swearing loudly as Naomi disappeared into the night.
"HELP, SOMEBODY HELP ME!" her voice rang out faintly in the distance, mingling with the distant wail of sirens.
The man turned back to me; his face twisted in fury. "Congrats, hero. You saved her. Now you're gonna pay for it."
He raised his boot and stomped down on my head. Stars exploded in my vision as pain blazed through my skull. Again and again, his foot came down, until I couldn't tell where the pavement ended and my body began. I felt a warm, wet, sticky liquid on the back of my head, I was bleeding profusely.
Desperation drove me to move. My fingers closed around a loose brick nearby, and with the last of my strength, I swung it into his leg. The crack of bone breaking was deafening.
The man howled, collapsing to the ground. I forced myself upright, my vision swimming and blood dripping from my head. I staggered toward him, the brick still in my hand.
"Not so tough now, huh?" I croaked, raising the brick weakly and bringing it down again and again—his thigh, his crotch, his chest and finally, his neck.
He let out a choking sound, his hands clawing at his throat as he struggled to breathe.
I swayed on my feet, the world tilting around me. Blood pooled beneath us, warm and sticky. My legs gave out, and I collapsed beside him, the fight draining from my body.
The last thing I saw was Naomi rushing back into the alley, her face contorted in horror. "Jonathan! No!"
Her voice echoed in my ears as darkness closed in.
And then… nothing.
My vision slowly returned, and the first thing I noticed was a blinding expanse of white—white walls, white floor, white ceiling. It was endless and sterile, almost otherworldly in its purity. Blinking against the brightness, I became aware of a new sensation: I was completely naked. My breath caught in my throat as panic set in, and almost instinctively, I thought, I wish I had clothes.
In the blink of an eye, clothes materialized on my body. Soft, well-fitted fabric now covered me, and I stared down at myself, stunned. "What the hell?" I muttered, my voice shaky. My mind raced. Where am I? What's going on? And then, like a punch to the gut, the memory hit me: Naomi. Was she okay? Did she make it out alive? My heart clenched at the thought of her being hurt.
As I wrestled with my thoughts, a deep, resonant voice echoed from behind me, smooth and commanding. "Hello, child."
I spun around, heart pounding in my chest, and came face to face with a striking figure. A woman stood before me, draped in flowing black robes. Her hood cast shadows over her face, but her glowing white eyes pierced through the darkness. They seemed to see through me, stripping away all pretense. She radiated power, a kind of energy that felt far beyond anything mortal.
I froze, trying to make sense of her. My brain, fueled by years of comic books and superhero stories, scrambled for answers. Was she a goddess? Some kind of deity? Or maybe… was she Death itself? After all, I had died, hadn't I?
She observed me silently for a moment, her presence both intimidating and oddly comforting. Finally, she spoke. "It is rare for a mortal to please me, yet you have done so, young one."
Her voice was calm, yet it carried an otherworldly weight, each word deliberate. I swallowed hard, my throat dry, as she continued.
"The girl you saved tonight," she said, "she was never meant to be there in that alley. She was not fated to die. A freak of nature, a mishap on fate's part, happened, and would have upset the natural order of things, until you… you interfered. And in doing so, you changed the course of fate's grave mistake."
I stared at her, my mind reeling. "Wait—what? Changed fate? What are you talking about?"
She nodded slightly, her expression unreadable. "You saved a soul that had been wronged, and in doing so, corrected our mistake, for that, we are in your debt, unfortunately, your heroics led to your death, that too, was not part of the grand design. For that, I offer my apologies. No life was meant to end in that alley, but it ended up being yours. And now, here you stand—a departed soul, in my realm."
I stared at her, my chest tightening. The weight of her words sank in. I truly was dead. Gone. Yet somehow, I was here. Before I could fully process what, she was saying, she continued.
"I cannot return you to your world," she said, her tone tinged with regret. "But for your great service to me, I offer you a choice."
Her words hung in the air, heavy with possibility. My old life flashed before my eyes—the cold nights, the endless hunger, the loneliness. Going back wasn't an option, even if she could somehow send me back.
"What's the choice?" I asked cautiously, my voice barely above a whisper.
She smiled faintly. "You may move on to the afterlife. A direct path to peace—what some call Heaven."
Heaven. A straight pass. It sounded… final. Peaceful, yes, but final, and as good as that sounded, I was not ready to move on, hell, I hadn't even been laid yet.
"Or," she continued, her glowing eyes narrowing slightly, "you may choose to be reincarnated into a new universe of my choosing. You will begin anew, with a life far from the one you left behind. And," she added, her smile deepening, "you may choose what you wish to become."
My breath hitched. "Wait. Let me make sure I'm understanding you. You're saying… I can choose what I want to be? Like, anything?"
She nodded.
My mind raced. "Hypothetically speaking," I said, raising a hand, "So, if I asked to be say… I don't know… a Kryptonian, you could do that?"
"Yes," she replied. "Although, your abilities would not be at their peak. You would need to grow stronger, develop your potential over time through rigorous training."
Of course, there was a catch. There was always a catch. I was going to be nerfed from the beginning, Still, the idea thrilled me. A chance to start over, to be someone else, someone powerful, no more scavenging, no more sleeping under bridges and being called a sewer rat.
I nodded slowly, excitement bubbling beneath my nerves. "Okay," I said, "then I choose to be a Viltrumite. Oh, and… can I also have genius-level intellect?"
Her smile widened, and for the first time, I noticed the sharp edges of her teeth, almost skeletal. "A good choice, child. A very good choice."
Before I could respond, her face shifted. The lower half of her face dissolved into bone, her lips fading to reveal a grinning skull. I gasped, the sight both horrifying and mesmerizing.
"And now," she said, her voice taking on a sharper, almost metallic quality, "to place you in a universe of my choosing, have a great life, Jonathan, you have earned it."
She raised her hand, fingers snapping with a resounding crack that echoed through the white void. Everything vanished in a flash of brilliant light.
When I opened my eyes again, I was lying in a bed. A real bed, with soft sheets and a warm comforter. I blinked, disoriented, and sat up, taking in my surroundings. It was a bedroom—cozy, normal. Nothing like the cold streets or the dumpsters I was used to.
I glanced down at myself, startled by what I saw. I still looked like me… but different. My body was leaner, stronger, healthier. I had caramel skin, and medium short, curly black hair cut to a tapered fade. Huh, interesting, I thought to myself. The scrawny kid I'd been was gone, replaced by someone taller, bulkier, with what felt like at least 160 pounds of solid mass.
I stretched, feeling the strength in my muscles. "Guess the powers haven't kicked in yet," I muttered to myself.
Before I could think any further, the door creaked open. A woman peeked inside; her warm, dark-skinned face framed by soft curls. She looked to be in her early forties, with kind eyes and a smile that tugged at my heart.
"Morning, son," she said gently. "Breakfast will be ready in five. And put on some clothes, will you?"
The door closed softly, leaving me stunned. Son, I'm her son, I have a mother?
I sat back on the bed, my mind spinning. I had parents. In this universe, I had parents. A home. A family. My chest tightened with emotion, and for the first time in as long as I could remember, I felt hope.
This truly was a new beginning, and I was going to make the most of it.
I pulled on my clothes, still adjusting to the strange sense of familiarity mixed with the uncanny feeling of being in an entirely new world. Taking a deep breath, I made my way downstairs, where the smell of breakfast filled the air. At the dining table, the woman who had peeked into my room earlier—my mother, apparently—sat beside a white man who looked to be in his forties. He had dirty blonde hair, broad shoulders, and muscular arms that made him look like he could still bench press half the kitchen.
When he noticed me, he gave a warm smile and said, "Morning, son."
I paused, the word "son" hanging in the air. Deciding to roll with it, I replied, "Morning, Dad. Morning, Mom."
Both of them smiled, and for a moment, the warmth in their expressions made me feel at ease. They began chatting casually about the day's plans, mentioning that I was on summer break and that school would start soon. The normalcy of the conversation felt surreal, as if I'd stumbled into someone else's life and was only pretending to belong.
Then Mom turned to me and asked with a knowing smile, "So, are you planning to see Penny later today?"
"Penny? Who's that?" I echoed, genuinely confused.
She chuckled, shaking her head in mock exasperation. "Not funny, Jon."
Jon? My brain scrambled to process this. Jon had to be short for Jonathan—at least my name hadn't changed in this bizarre new world. Still, the mention of Penny made me pause. Who the hell was Penny?
As if on cue, the doorbell rang. Grateful for the distraction, I headed to answer it. When I opened the door, standing on the other side was a girl who seemed about my age—seventeen, like me. She was cute, with bright red hair that caught the morning sunlight, freckles dusting her cheeks, and round glasses perched on her nose. Her athletic build gave her an air of confidence, and something about her screamed "Hermione Granger," though she was clearly her own person.
"Hi, can I help you?" I asked, trying to play it cool.
She laughed, a light, teasing sound, and then playfully punched me in the shoulder. "Very funny, Jon," she said, grinning. Before I could react, she pushed past me with an easy familiarity, strolling into the house like she owned the place.
"Morning, Mr. and Mrs. Miller," she called out cheerfully, addressing my parents as if this were her second home.
My parents turned to her with smiles of their own. "Hello, Penny," Mom said warmly. "We didn't expect to see you this early. Please, join us for breakfast."
"Thank you, Mrs. Miller," Penny replied, pulling out a chair. "I had some time to kill after running errands, so I figured I'd drop by to see this bozo." She punctuated her sentence with another playful jab at my shoulder.
I blinked, still trying to wrap my head around the situation, while Penny settled in like she belonged here. As I stood there awkwardly, trying not to look too out of place, she turned to my parents, her tone shifting slightly. "Did you see the news? Apparently, the government is holding a hearing about whether they should confiscate Tony Stark's Iron Man suit."
The casual mention of Tony Stark made my stomach drop. My parents chimed in, discussing the news like it was just another headline. Penny threw in her own opinions, her voice animated as she gestured with her hands. I stood frozen, my mind reeling as realization hit me like a freight train.
I scanned the apartment—its high ceilings, luxurious furnishings, and the faint hum of city life outside. Everything about it screamed New York. But it wasn't just New York. Penny had mentioned Tony Stark, the Iron Man suit, and the government's involvement. This wasn't a movie. This was real.
No freaking way.
I swallowed hard, my hands clenching and unclenching at my sides as my thoughts raced. I was in the freaking Marvel Cinematic Universe.