Marvel: From the Void and Back Again, Part 3

Chapter 26: Mad-Knull

…

The Senkaimon gates pulsed with radiant light as Lupin and Nemu stepped through, back into Soul Society. The familiar energy of the realm washed over them, bringing with it the comfort of home, but also the lingering weight of everything they had just endured.

Their arrival had been delayed, their return hijacked by chaos, but now?

Now, they were finally back.

And a crowd was waiting for them…

Standing just beyond the gate, a gathering of familiar faces was already waiting for them.

Matsumoto, hands on her hips, was grinning ear to ear, her amber eyes glinting with amusement as she called out, "About time you two showed up! We were starting to think you got lost in the honeymoon phase."

Beside her, Rukia stood with her arms crossed, though her usually serious expression softened the moment she saw them. "It's good to have you both back."

Nanao, always composed, had one arm lightly linked with Dordoni Alessandro Del Socaccio, a fact that didn't go unnoticed. They weren't hiding their relationship anymore. The flamboyant Arrancar had a smug but genuine smile, his free hand resting comfortably at his hip.

Nearby, Haineko and Sode no Shirayuki stood together, their distinct presences adding to the scene. Haineko's tail flicked lazily, while Sode no Shirayuki's cool elegance remained unchanged, though there was a rare warmth in her expression.

Then there was Cirucci, leaning casually against her symbiote partner, Inferno-Strike. His fire-like mohawk flickered in the breeze, the light catching against the silver studs of his leather jacket. He had an arm wrapped firmly around Cirucci's waist, his sharp teeth flashing in a grin as he gave Lupin a nod of acknowledgment. Cirucci, for her part, simply rolled her eyes, though there was an unmistakable softness to the gesture.

And lastly, Nel stood with her own symbiotic partner, Ryūgen, who gave them both a respectful bow. Nel, however, had no such restraint, she lunged forward, arms outstretched, wrapping both Lupin and Nemu in an embrace.

"You're back! Finally!"

Lupin chuckled, returning the hug. "Yeah, Nel. We're back."

Then, as Nel pulled back, she blinked, finally noticing.

Her gaze lowered slightly, and then her eyes widened in realization.

Because the last time they saw Nemu, she had been early along in her pregnancy, barely showing.

Now? Her baby bump was unmistakable.

Matsumoto's grin widened. "Well, well. Look at you! Nemu, you're really showing now!"

Nemu, as calm as ever, simply rested a hand over her stomach, glancing toward Lupin with a soft nod.

Lupin, instinctively, placed a hand over hers.

"Yeah," he said, he said with something deeply content. "They're growing strong."

…

After the initial welcoming committee had their fun, Lupin and Nemu finally made their way through the winding streets of Soul Society, heading toward their new home, their official residence as husband and wife.

The streets had changed significantly over the past few months, with new architectural styles mixing with the traditional structures, thanks to the integration of various interdimensional materials and symbiotic enhancements. The air was cleaner, the sky a little more vibrant, and the people?

They were happier.

As they walked through the district, the occasional nods of respect and soft murmurs followed them. Lupin, now officially a Soul Reaper of the Thirteen Court Guard Squads, was recognized by many, but it was Nemu who truly turned heads.

Her pregnancy was visible now, and in Soul Society, where life was often dictated by spiritual energy rather than biological cycles, it was rare to see a pregnancy progress naturally.

They reached their residence, a spacious traditional-style home, modified to fit Lupin's unique physiology, complete with a meditation garden, a reinforced training ground, and a small personal lab for Nemu.

Waiting for them at the entrance was a small gathering of close friends, including Matsumoto, Rukia, Cirucci and Inferno-Strike, Nel and Ryūgen, Haineko, and Sode no Shirayuki. The welcome home party was already set up, lanterns softly glowing, a large wooden table filled with food and drink, and an unmistakable air of celebration.

Matsumoto wasted no time pouring drinks, handing Lupin a glass of Berry-Kernal Juice, the slightly tart, slightly sweet beverage from the Grey-Sym homeworld.

"Go on, have a sip," she teased, nudging his arm. "It's not gonna get you drunk, but it'll make you feel warm inside."

Lupin smirked and took a long sip, savoring the rich, deep flavor. "Yeah… damn, that's good."

Nemu, meanwhile, had opted for a slice of symbiotic cheesecake, a delicacy made from hybridized organic symbiotic enzymes, perfectly balanced between creaminess and flavor.

Cirucci was already stealing pieces of Inferno-Strike's plate, much to his mock annoyance, as Nel happily devoured fresh fruit, laughing at something Ryūgen whispered to her.

As they sat around the table, the conversation drifted between lighthearted banter and meaningful updates.

Rukia leaned forward, arms crossed. "So? How does it feel, being back? Being home?"

Lupin glanced at Nemu before answering. "…Feels right."

And it did.

For so long, he had been trying to readjust to the world he had been thrust into after his father and siblings rescued him from Weapon-X but here? With her?

This was his place.

As the night went on, conversation naturally shifted to the other major news in Soul Society.

Unohana & Patchwork were officially engaged.

No one was surprised.

"Well, that's official now," Cirucci muttered, sipping her drink. "Didn't we all see that coming?"

Inferno-Strike chuckled, his fiery tendrils flickering. "Oh yeah. Didn't Feras and Rehan already show a picture of Unohana in a wedding dress from the future?"

Rukia shook her head, laughing softly. "They did. So I guess the wedding was always bound to happen."

Matsumoto leaned against the table, grinning. "I heard they're already planning it out for early next year."

Lupin smirked, raising his glass. "Guess some things really are fate."

As laughter and warmth filled the room, as plates were passed around and drinks flowed, Lupin glanced at Nemu, her hand resting over her stomach once more, this was their future now.

…

Karakura Town – Kurosaki Clinic

The clinic was quiet, the late-night hum of the city filtering through the windows as Yuzu Kurosaki wiped down the counter. The air smelled faintly of antiseptic and fresh tea, a comforting blend that kept her hands busy and her mind occupied.

Across from her, Ichigo Kurosaki, or rather, Kon in Ichigo's body, was leaning lazily against the doorway, arms crossed, clearly bored out of his mind.

"Man, I'm tellin' ya, your brother owes me for this one. I could be out there enjoying life, but nooo, I gotta play babysitter in this meat suit."

Yuzu rolled her eyes, setting down the rag she was using. "You do realize you're in my brother's body, right? You don't get to complain about 'babysitting' when you're literally the guest here."

Kon scoffed, waving a hand. "Tch, details. The point is, I should be out there living—not running clinic errands." He sighed dramatically, before slumping onto a stool. "At least you're not freakin' out about talking to me anymore."

Yuzu hesitated for a moment, her fingers idly gripping the edge of the counter.

She wasn't freaking out anymore.

At least… she was trying not to.

Ever since that night, the dinner where that thing, the Scarecrow Knull, had walked into their home, its needle-thin teeth gleaming, its twisted stitched-together grin stretching far too wide, she had felt like her entire world had cracked open.

She hadn't wanted to believe it.

But when Isshin and Ichigo had finally told them the truth, about the Soul Reapers, the Hollows, the war with the symbiotes, about their mother, about who they were as a family, everything that had never made sense before suddenly clicked into place.

Even still, the dreams haunted her.

She glanced at Kon, her expression distant, her voice quieter now.

"I think… I've always known something was different."

Kon blinked, his posture relaxing slightly at the change in tone.

Yuzu gave a small, rueful smile. "I mean, strange things happened around us all the time. There were nights where I felt like I wasn't alone even though no one was there. Times when I'd see shadows that weren't really there, or when Karen and I would both feel like something was watching us. And the way Dad-."

She stopped, inhaling sharply.

Isshin.

Their father, who had always been a little too quick to dismiss things, a little too easygoing about things that should have been serious.

And now it all made sense.

Kon was watching her now, his usual cocky grin replaced by something softer, more thoughtful.

"And Karen?"

Yuzu exhaled. "She's handling it better than I am." A small chuckle. "Of course she is."

Karen had always been the stronger one, more grounded, less likely to panic. Ever since the Scarecrow Knull incident, she had started training, working with Isshin, Ichigo, and some of their allies to ensure she would never be caught off guard like that again.

But Yuzu?

She wasn't sure how she was supposed to prepare for something like this.

"I still can't see them," she admitted, her voice quieter. "The spirits, the souls, all the things you guys talk about, I can't see any of it."

Kon tilted his head, his expression thoughtful.

"You will, though," he said, almost casually.

Yuzu looked at him, surprised.

"Huh?"

Kon grinned, leaning forward, his arms resting on the counter now. "You're a Kurosaki, kiddo. Trust me, sooner or later? You're gonna start seeing things."

There was something about the way he said it that sent a chill down her spine.

But before she could say anything else, the clinic door opened, and Karen walked in.

"You're still running your mouth, huh?"

Kon shot upright, instantly going into his fake serious Ichigo mode. "Tch, of course not! I was just imparting wisdom to your clearly confused sister!"

Karen rolled her eyes. "Uh-huh. Sure."

Then, her gaze shifted to Yuzu.

"You good?"

Yuzu hesitated, then nodded. She had to be after all that's happened.

…

Kon was in the middle of sweeping the clinic's front entrance when it hit him, a sudden, faint burst of Reiatsu. It was subtle, like a flicker of static electricity dancing through the air, but enough to put him on edge. He froze, gripping the broom tightly, his heart pounding in Ichigo's body.

Issane, who was organizing medical supplies behind the counter, caught the shift in his demeanor. "What is it?" she asked cautiously.

Kon squinted, glancing toward the entrance. "I... I felt something. Right outside."

Issane frowned, setting down the box she was holding. "You're sure?"

Kon nodded, the unease in his chest growing. "Yeah. I don't like it. Feels... off."

Karen, who was nearby dusting off some shelves, felt it too, her skin prickling with a strange chill. "Kon... what is that?"

"Stay here," Kon muttered, motioning for Issane to follow as he moved toward the door. Issane hesitated, but ultimately followed his lead, carefully approaching the entrance.

Kon hesitated just a moment before swinging the door open, his heart pounding like a war drum. And there, standing right on the clinic's doorstep, was something straight out of a nightmare.

A figure loomed in the dim light, a man, tall and lean, with jagged, spiked tendrils writhing around his form like restless snakes. His attire was dark, a leather jacket adorned with chaotic, spidery emblems, and a tank top underneath marked with a distorted spider symbol. His face... it looked almost human, but with massive, wickedly sharp teeth stretching into a wide, unnaturally happy grin. His eyes, huge, reflective white orbs with thin, tar-like veins spreading out from them, seemed to widen just slightly as he caught sight of them.

The man held a large duffle bag in one hand, and there was something incredibly wrong with his entire presence, like the air itself warped around him, bending under the pressure of his chaotic energy.

"Oh, good! I was worried nobody'd be home," he said cheerfully, his voice a disturbingly casual blend of charm and mania. His grin stretched impossibly wider, and his symbiotic tendrils twitched with excitement. "You mind if I come in? I just wanna talk... and trust me, you're gonna want to hear what I have to say."

He giggled, a high, almost childlike sound that sent a shiver through both Issane and Kon. Karen, standing a little farther back, felt a crawling sense of dread slide down her spine.

Kon swallowed, trying to keep his composure despite the icy dread settling in his stomach. "Who... who are you?"

The figure tilted his head, almost as if genuinely considering the question. "Oh, me?" He let out another giggle, the sound uncomfortably loud. "Let's just say... I'm the kinda guy who loves to make an entrance."

There was something undeniably sinister in his tone, a dark thrill in his every movement. The way his smile never faltered, how his gaze remained locked onto them like a predator eying its next meal, it was like staring into the face of madness itself.

Issane tightened her grip on her medical bag, whispering to Kon without taking her eyes off the intruder. "Something's not right about him..."

Kon nodded subtly, muscles tensing. He couldn't shake the feeling that one wrong move would set this guy off, like a live wire just waiting to explode.

The stranger continued, his eyes gleaming with an almost childlike excitement. "Don't look so scared! I'm just here to share some... interesting news." He waggled the duffle bag for emphasis, as if its contents were the most precious thing in the world.

Something told Kon that whatever was in that bag... it wasn't anything good.

…

Kon hesitated, unsure of whether to actually let this guy in, but something about the way he just kept grinning at him, like he knew something they didn't, made him feel like refusing wasn't an option. Issane gave him a cautious nod, signaling that they didn't really have a choice. With a slow, wary motion, Kon stepped back, gesturing for him to enter.

Mad-Knull's eyes widened with apparent delight, his head giving a sudden, unnatural jerk to the side like a marionette with a broken string. He hummed a cheerful, discordant tune as he stepped inside, his footsteps almost unnaturally quiet despite his heavy boots. As he moved into the living room, he plopped down on the couch without so much as a second thought, his duffle bag thunking to the floor with a disturbingly wet squish.

Yuzu was in the next room, organizing some snacks, when she caught sight of him, and froze. Her blood went cold, memories of that horrific scarecrow Knull flooding back. She gripped the edge of the counter, fighting the instinct to bolt. She could feel her legs trembling and tried to steady herself.

Kon glanced back at her, trying to put on a brave face, but he couldn't help but feel the same unnerving chill creeping up his spine. Issane cautiously moved to one side, ready to intervene if necessary, though he was painfully aware that this thing radiated far more malice than most beings he'd encountered.

Mad-Knull's head jerked to the side again, almost like it was pulled by invisible strings, his neck cracking in an unnatural way. He settled back on the couch, sprawling like he owned the place, his wild grin never fading.

"Ahhh... comfy," he mused, dragging one clawed finger across the upholstery and making a small, neat slice in the fabric. "Homey. I like it."

Kon cleared his throat, trying to sound more confident than he felt. "You... said you wanted to talk?"

Mad-Knull snorted, flicking his gaze to Kon, his symbiote's eyes shifting slightly in size like they were rippling. "Oh right! Introductions and all that jazz!" He snapped his fingers with a loud pop. "Name's Mad-Knull. Or if you prefer the more charming moniker, Violator-Knull. A not-so-nice variants of one of Peter-Knull's variants who... enjoys the finer 'meals' in life. Then there's my other titles, The Jester of the Abyss, The Devourer of Gods, The Walking Nightmare..." He leaned forward, his teeth practically glinting with madness. "Or my personal favorite... The Unhinged One."

He suddenly looked down at the duffle bag and giggled. "What's that, missy? Why the fuck not?" He let out a peal of hysterical laughter that was loud, jarring, and absolutely devoid of sanity. His head spun 360 degrees, the sound of vertebrae cracking echoing through the room before it snapped back into place.

Yuzu stifled a scream, gripping the counter until her knuckles turned white. Issane swallowed hard, his instincts screaming at him to get as far away from this thing as possible.

Mad-Knull finally seemed to collect himself, wiping away a nonexistent tear of mirth. "Ahhh, anyway! Down to business. You know... Peter-Knull, right? Big hero type, all noble and shit. Loves saving people, keeping his little world in check. And, if I'm not mistaken, he's got a little problem on his hands with some... unruly Knulls. Right?"

Kon hesitated. "Uh... yeah?"

Mad-Knull smirked, leaning back again and stretching his arms out over the back of the couch, looking as relaxed as if he were on vacation. "See, those dumbasses think they killed me. Honest! They really did! Just because they separated my head from my body, ripped off my arms and legs, spilled my entrails like confetti... and then shot each part into different regions of the multiverse... they thought that was enough to finish me off." He burst into another fit of laughter, kicking his feet up and wiping at his eyes again. "Those fucking idiots...! Not that I'm complaining. Made some good meals of their former associates, at least. You'd be surprised how tender some symbiotes are when they're properly prepared."

He kicked the duffle bag with his boot like it was a particularly stubborn dog, his gaze flicking between Kon and Issane with unsettling glee. "Can't say I didn't see it coming, though. I mean... betrayal is just part of the game! I always knew they'd backstab me eventually. It's why I made sure to backstab them first!" He shrugged nonchalantly. "Just like I did when I drove that airliner into that building, ahh, the screams... they were delicious. Right before I detonated those nukes in the first universe I visited. Beautiful fireworks. Real pretty."

Issane felt his heart pounding, unable to fathom how something so heinous could be spoken about so casually. Kon's face had gone pale, and Yuzu was barely breathing, holding herself together only by sheer will.

"Oh! Oh!" Mad-Knull suddenly sat up straight, as if he'd just remembered something important. "And I almost forgot! I brought you a little present!"

He leaned forward, unzipping the duffle bag with a slow, dramatic flair. The zipper whined, and suddenly, a muffled scream erupted from inside as he reached in and pulled out a bound figure. A teenage girl with vivid green hair, tied up with rope and duct tape over her mouth, her eyes wide with terror as she struggled against his grasp.

"Found this Mod Soul wandering the precipice world, trying to make her way here. Guess she was hoping for safety or something." He leaned in, pressing a mocking kiss to her cheek, making her shiver and whimper through the gag. "You're welcome!"

Then, without any further warning, he let her drop to the floor, dusting off his hands as he stood up. "Welp! Gotta skedaddle! Don't say I never did you any favors."

Before anyone could react, he stepped back, his body distorting and stretching unnaturally as the air itself seemed to warp around him. Reality itself seemed to rip apart like a tearing sheet, a gap forming just behind him. He gave a mocking peace sign over his shoulder and casually stepped backward through the rift.

And just like that... he was gone. The room fell into utter silence, and the residual chill left behind seemed to seep into their very bones.

Kon slowly approached the bound Mod Soul, gently peeling the tape from her mouth as she gasped for air, trembling violently. "H-Hey... it's okay. You're safe now."

But deep down, Kon knew they weren't safe. Not with whatever that thing was wandering around freely.

Issane shakily exhaled, his eyes still wide as dinnerplates. "Who... what was that... was that another one of those Knull's?"

Kon didn't answer, unable to form words as the weight of what just happened settled in. Yuzu just stared, terrified tears forming in her eyes as she realized that the nightmare was far from over.

…

The door swung open, and Ishane greeted them with a relieved but tense expression. "You're back," he said, his voice slightly relieved from the way it sounded.

"We... had a visitor."

"A visitor?" Ichigo frowned, stepping inside and immediately noticing how shaken Yuzu and Karen looked, sitting side by side on the couch. Kon was hovering nearby, trying to comfort Yuzu, while Nozomi sat curled up in the corner of the room, her knees drawn to her chest. Her wide, haunted eyes stared blankly ahead.

"What happened here?" Ichigo asked.

Kon hesitated, rubbing the back of his neck. "You're not gonna believe this... Another one of those Knull freaks showed up. He called himself Mad-Knull... or Violator-Knull... and some other crazy titles too."

Rukia narrowed her eyes. "Another Knull? Did he hurt anyone?"

Kon shook his head, looking uneasy. "No... I mean, he didn't hurt us. But he was... completely insane. Like... his head spun around and he was laughing like a psycho. He kept calling himself names like 'The Unhinged One' and 'The Jester of the Abyss'... and he carried this duffle bag with him. Brought it inside and just... sat down like he owned the place."

Ichigo's brow furrowed. "What was in the bag?"

Kon swallowed hard and glanced at the girl who was now resting on the couch, still trembling and staring into space. "A Mod-Soul. He just... dumped her here like some kind of gift. Said he found her wandering around the precipice world and brought her here for us to take care of. She hasn't stopped shaking since he left."

Rukia looked at Nozomi, her heart sinking. "Nozomi... are you alright?"

Nozomi slowly lifted her head, her eyes glossy with fear. "I... I'm not okay..." she whispered, her hands gripping the edges of her sleeves so tightly that her knuckles were white. "He... he showed me things..."

Ichigo moved closer, crouching down beside her. "What did he do?"

Nozomi swallowed, trying to steady her breathing, but she couldn't help the way her hands kept shaking. "First... he took me to a world... he called it his personal playground. He said he liked to make it fun... and then he blew up the Statue of Liberty. Just... like it was nothing. And he was laughing. Then... then he brought me to the former Soviet states. He showed me where he... reenacted the French Revolution."

"The French Revolution...?" Rukia echoed, confused.

Nozomi's eyes widened, horror flashing across her face. "Mountains of skulls... walls of bones... people impaled on pikes. He said he liked how it 'added character' to the landscape... like he was some kind of artist. And then..." She hesitated, covering her mouth with one hand as if trying to keep from vomiting. "Then... he brought me to his personal movie theater. It was... it was filled with human bodies. Stuffed like puppets, propped up in every seat. They looked like mannequins, but they were... real. And the screen..."

Ichigo felt a cold chill crawl up his spine. "What was on the screen?"

Nozomi's voice dropped to a terrified whisper. "Torture tapes. Hundreds... maybe millions. He just... played them one after another. Laughing. Saying they were his 'masterpieces'... and that he could watch them forever and never get bored." She bit her lip, tears welling in her eyes. "He said it was his 'art form'... and he thought I'd appreciate it... because I looked like someone who needed to be... educated."

Rukia gently placed a hand on Nozomi's shoulder. "He didn't hurt you, did he?"

Nozomi shook her head, but the trauma was still clear on her face. "No... but he kept saying how I was 'interesting' and how I didn't scream like the others... like he was fascinated by me. I was too scared to move or talk. I didn't know what he'd do if I did."

Ishane stepped forward, crossing his arms tightly. "Whatever that thing was... it wasn't human. It wasn't anything human could comprehend. That creature... it's more monster than man. Even the way he moved didn't feel right."

Ichigo clenched his fists, his knuckles cracking under the pressure. "Dammit... another Knull... and one that's completely deranged."

Kon gave him a haunted look. "He said that in his universe, he... detonated nukes in major cities... after committing... unspeakable acts. He didn't even flinch when he said it. Just laughed like it was a game to him. And then he mentioned... he beheaded Odin and put his head on a pike... right in front of his world's Thor. It was like he took joy in tearing apart anything good or noble just to see it break."

Ichigo gritted his teeth, trying to process what they were dealing with. "This isn't just some random threat. If this Mad-Knull is wandering around freely, he's a danger to everyone... not just here, but everywhere."

Karen finally spoke up, her voice shaking. "Why... why does he act like that? Why does he do such horrible things and laugh about it?"

Rukia exhaled, sharing a grim look with Ichigo. "Some beings just... aren't right. Whatever sanity he might have once had is long gone. And if he's really one of those Knull variants, he might be even more dangerous than we can imagine."

Nozomi glanced up at them, still clutching her sleeves tightly. "He... said something about the other Knulls thinking they killed him. Tore him apart and scattered his body across the multiverse... but he survived. He... he just kept laughing about it, saying how they were fools for underestimating him. He said something about organizing them and then betraying them first... like it was all a game to him."

Ichigo placed a reassuring hand on Nozomi's shoulder. "We're not gonna let him hurt you. I promise."

She just nodded shakily, unable to fully calm down. Rukia looked at Ichigo, her expression serious. "We need to report this to Peter-Knull. If this Mad-Knull is out there and looking for trouble, he'll want to know."

Ichigo nodded, his jaw set. "Yeah. Let's not waste time. The last thing we need is a psychopath like that running loose without anyone knowing."

…

Morning light filtered through the large windows of their quarters in Avengers Tower, casting a warm glow over the sleek, modern furnishings. Emma Frost Diamond-A12 stirred awake, her senses immediately attuned to the gentle movements of her lover, Peter Parker, who was already half-dressed in a comfortable shirt and loose sweatpants, his back to her as he stretched.

A soft smile curved on her lips, and she shifted closer, slipping her arms around his waist from behind and pressing a gentle kiss to his cheek. "Mmm... morning, darling," she murmured, resting her chin on his shoulder as he smiled, reaching back to brush his fingers through her platinum hair.

Peter turned his head slightly, his eyes bright despite the early hour. "Morning, Em. You sleep okay?"

She hummed contentedly, nuzzling his neck. "Like a queen. Especially with you fussing over me every chance you get." Her hands slid down to rest on his abdomen, holding him close. "You've been spoiling me lately... not that I'm complaining."

He chuckled, leaning back into her touch. "You deserve it. Besides, I'm not gonna argue with my beautiful, pregnant girlfriend about taking care of her."

Emma smirked, turning his head and catching his lips in a tender kiss. When they parted, she gave him a sly look. "Speaking of being spoiled... would you be a dear and fetch me some breakfast? My cravings are kicking in."

Peter grinned, giving her another peck on the lips. "Scrambled eggs and French toast coming right up. Maybe a bit of that fruit mix you like too."

Her smirk softened into a genuine smile as she watched him slip out of bed, the morning light catching on his toned frame. As he moved towards the door, she stretched luxuriously, savoring the subtle feeling of relaxed muscles from that massage the night before. "You're too good to me," she mused, her voice soft.

He glanced back, giving her a playful wink. "Only the best for my girl."

As Peter disappeared into the kitchen, Emma sat up, adjusting her silk robe around her shoulders, her fingers tracing her slightly swollen belly almost absentmindedly. She hadn't even realized just how much she'd missed the feeling of being cared for, of waking up beside someone who truly adored her, despite her flaws and past mistakes. Her gaze softened, her hand pressing lightly against her abdomen, feeling the subtle pulse of life within.

They had decided to stay on Earth-616 for a while, both as mediators for their own Earth and because it had become something of a multiversal trading hub in recent days. The remains of the Six Celestials past Mars had transformed this entire chunk of the galaxy into a major intersection for trade and interdimensional diplomacy. There was still a lot to organize, a lot to secure, and more than a few diplomatic crises to avert, but Peter had taken to the task with his usual blend of enthusiasm and charm.

Emma couldn't help but feel pride swell in her chest. The world around them had become something entirely new, almost like a living, breathing organism of cooperation and trade. Alien vessels from countless dimensions came and went, docking at ports that had been crafted from the skeletal remains of the Celestials. It was daunting, but Peter never seemed fazed. He just kept moving forward, bringing his signature brand of optimism to every situation.

She traced the edge of her collarbone absently, her thoughts wandering to the future, their future. A quiet life wasn't exactly possible anymore, but at least they had each other. And their child.

Her musings were interrupted when Peter poked his head back through the doorway, grinning as he held up a plate piled high with scrambled eggs, golden-brown French toast dusted with powdered sugar, and a small bowl of fresh fruit.

"Breakfast of champions," he declared, carrying it over to the bed and setting the tray down. Emma glanced at it, her stomach growling approvingly, and couldn't help but laugh at how meticulously perfect he'd made it look.

"You really are an overachiever," she teased, but her eyes shone with appreciation.

Peter shrugged, sitting beside her and grabbing a piece of toast to take a bite for himself. "What can I say? When you've got someone worth impressing, you go all out."

Emma took a forkful of eggs, savoring the taste before leaning in to kiss him once more. "You're lucky you're adorable," she quipped, but the fondness in her voice made it clear that she wouldn't have it any other way.

…

Peter Diamond-A12 and Emma Frost made their way out of their quarters, both of them refreshed and ready to face the day. Emma had decided to throw on a sleek, white blouse paired with fitted black trousers, while Peter kept it simple with his usual mix of casual and practical, dark jeans and a fitted, gray t-shirt.

As they walked through the hallway, the ambient hum of Avengers Tower buzzed softly around them. Peter couldn't help but glance out of the massive windows, taking in the view of New York from their elevated position.

Just as they rounded a corner, they came across an unexpected sight, Nightcrawler and Pixie, with their young daughter cradled in Pixie's arms. The little girl, Amy, was an adorable mixture of both parents, her skin a bright, cobalt blue, with Pixie's hairstyle Her wings fluttered lightly as she babbled to herself, playing with her father's fingers.

Peter grinned. "Morning, Kurt! Hey, Pixie!"

Nightcrawler turned, his signature grin spreading across his face. "Ah! Guten Morgen, mein Freund!" He gave a little bow, his tail flicking behind him. "And good morning to you too, Fräulein Frost."

Pixie smiled warmly. "Hi, guys! Look who's finally learning to say 'Papa'!" She tickled Amy's cheek lightly, and the little one giggled, waving her tiny hand at Peter.

Peter chuckled. "Oh, that's awesome. She's growing fast."

Amy suddenly noticed Peter and her golden eyes widened. "Pa-pa!" she squealed, making Pixie giggle.

Peter gave her a wink. "Almost, kiddo. Keep practicing."

As they continued down the corridor, Emma and Peter both stopped dead in their tracks as they spotted someone down the hall, someone who immediately made them both do a double take.

It was a woman, well, at least, mostly a woman. Regina Grind Sullivan. Her presence was unnerving to say the least. She was standing in the middle of the hallway, popping glass marbles into her mouth. As she chewed, they heard the unmistakable sound of shattering glass, followed by the grating, metallic crunch as her bladed tongue and metal teeth ground them to dust.

Her mouth opened wide enough to reveal something far more disturbing, a spinning, bladed garbage disposal at the back of her throat, grinding away without missing a beat.

Emma blinked. "What... in the world...?"

Peter just stared, his face caught between morbid fascination and pure confusion. Regina paused, glanced their way, and gave them a smirk before popping another marble into her mouth and crunching down like it was a piece of candy.

"Morning," she greeted casually, as though eating marbles was completely normal.

Peter cleared his throat. "Uh... morning?"

Regina just smirked and moved on, humming a tune as she wandered off, her blade-filled mouth still crunching.

Emma looked at Peter with wide eyes. "Did we just... see that?"

Peter slowly nodded. "Yeah. Yeah, we did. And I don't think I'm ever gonna forget it."

Still shaking off the unsettling encounter, they continued on to the main lobby. Peter approached the large notice board near the entrance, a digital screen that displayed job postings and tasks available around the Tower and the city. He scrolled through the list, hoping to find something productive to do.

Emma leaned against his shoulder, glancing at the screen. "Anything worthwhile?"

He hummed thoughtfully. "Not much. A few odd jobs, courier tasks and some mediation requests. Titan and Kitsuna are already on assignment somewhere... and Logan, Gabriella, and their Laura took up that greenhouse garden job."

Emma raised a brow. "That the one where they're cooperating with those alien refugees? The... what were they called? Leamer-Yeti-humanoids?"

Peter nodded. "Yeah. Poor guys lost their world when three Knull variants turned it into a molten wasteland. They're trying to cultivate those sacred mango-seed trees as part of their rituals. The world's gonna take a while to heal, but projections say it might come back in a year or so."

Emma sighed. "It's good that they're making progress. I can't imagine how much pain they've been through."

Peter's eyes caught another notice, posted directly by one of the Leamer-Yeti representatives—a tall, noble-looking figure covered in pristine white fur, standing not too far from the board. He wore a ceremonial headdress made of woven vines and feathers, his piercing blue eyes watching the board thoughtfully.

Peter glanced at Emma. "Looks like they're looking for some diplomatic exchanges and mediators to talk about how well their sacred seeds are taking root here. Guess they want to express their gratitude."

Emma gave him a gentle nudge. "Maybe that's something we could look into. We're mediators anyway, aren't we?"

Peter smiled. "Yeah. Could be nice to give them some positive news for a change." He glanced back at the representative, who gave a slow, respectful nod.

The morning sun poured softly through the high, curtain-filtered windows of their temporary quarters within Avengers Tower. The room had a tranquil glow to it, filled with golden warmth that Laura Brown/Orange-B1 still wasn't entirely used to. Peace wasn't something she'd ever had in abundance—not in her world. Certainly not back then.

But here?

This world felt different.

She lay face-down on the bed, her dark hair damp from the recent shower, a towel wrapped loosely around her hips. Her body, normally taut with tension and readiness, had begun to unwind under the touch of her Peter. The brown-and-orange suited variant had strong hands, careful hands. He was massaging her shoulders with slow, circular pressure, working the knots from weeks, no, years, of accumulated stress.

"You're really good at this," she muttered into the pillow.

Peter smiled softly. He leaned down, planting a tender kiss on the back of her neck. "You're terrible at letting people take care of you. I take that as a personal challenge."

Laura chuckled lightly, almost a rarity, and let her head roll to the side, her eyes fluttering shut. "It's not that I don't appreciate it... it's just... I'm not used to it."

"I know," he said quietly, his voice warm against her skin. "But you're here now. And you're safe."

She felt the tension melt from her shoulders, his thumbs tracing slow, rhythmic circles into the space between her neck and spine.

On the side table beside her, an open datapad displayed a number of archived files and articles from this Earth. Laura had been reading up late into the night, fascinated, if a little stunned, by the differences between this Earth-616 and the broken mess their world had become.

One tab still sat open: Norman Osborn – From Green to Gold: The Rise of the Goblin Redeemer.

Apparently, here? Norman had undergone a legitimate transformation. The Goblin persona had been extracted, surgically and psychically removed, and through a strange twist of fate, it had briefly attempted to root itself in Peter-Knull.

But Peter-Knull had responded in a way no one could've predicted. He didn't fight it like a curse or deny its presence, he absorbed it into a newly crafted entity: a symbiote named Mystra, a graceful, magical, almost divine figure of balanced chaos and order. Mystra assimilated the Goblin's madness, filtered it, and repurposed it. He

became... something entirely new.

No bombings. No death spirals. No psychotic laughter echoing through the night skies.

Just calm. Stability.

Laura exhaled deeply, letting herself relax again as her Peter kneaded down her shoulder blades.

"It's crazy," she said aloud, almost to herself. "To think... this world actually figured out how to fix that bastard. Back home, he burned half of Manhattan to the ground before we could stop him."

Peter leaned forward and rested his chin lightly against her shoulder, his hand gliding down to squeeze her fingers gently. "This place has had its share of hell. But they've built something out of it. They learned from it."

She turned her head just enough to look at him over her shoulder. "And Mystra? That's... actually impressive."

Laura smiled faintly, the tension from her brow finally softening. "Everything here's weird. Seeing Logan again... or all these Logans, really. There's one who meditates. One who runs a flower shop in Kyoto. One who teaches history."

Peter chuckled. "Yeah, not what you expected."

She looked away again, her expression sobering slightly. "My Logan... he didn't make it. He cracked. And once he did... that was it. He never came back."

Peter didn't say anything, just leaned in and pressed a soft kiss to her shoulder. His presence didn't try to fix it. He just stayed close.

"I don't hate seeing them," she admitted after a long pause. "It's strange. But not unwelcome."

Another moment of quiet passed. The morning outside the window felt calm, filled with the gentle rhythm of wind through towers and distant songbirds from the rooftop gardens.

Then Peter grinned again, sliding down beside her and propping himself up on his elbow. "Wanna see if the cafeteria has those mango-seed pancakes from the Lemur-Yeti guys?"

Laura raised a brow. "You really think I'm gonna pass on alien pancakes after that massage?"

He smirked. "Didn't think so."

They lay there for another breath or two, just absorbing the quiet together. For now, the past could wait. For now, they had this moment, and in a world that actually felt like a home.

The scent of rich syrup and freshly made pancakes mingled with the distant hum of alien tech and the soft warmth of a morning sun filtered through Avengers Tower's sprawling skylights. The kitchen—more of a culinary hub by now—buzzed with low conversation, soft laughter, and the unmistakable sound of children learning fast.

Laura Brown/Orange-B1 stepped through the doorway with her Peter close behind, both still smelling faintly of soap and warm steam from the shower they'd shared only moments ago. The moment they entered, the familiar aroma of symbiote-infused blueberries hit Laura's nose, and her stomach gave an audible growl.

Across the room, Rachel Summers was settled at the corner table with her four children—Thorn-Claw, Flora-Claw, Pyre-Claw, and Echo-Claw—all perched around her like a perfectly organized little squad. Each one had a tablet in front of them, styluses in hand, scribbling cursive with near-mechanical precision. Even more impressive were the math strings scrolling across the screens—multiplication matrices, prime equations, logic puzzles. Thorn-Claw was halfway through solving a high-level quantum calculus problem and casually spooning pancakes into his mouth between steps.

"Yeah," Laura muttered to Peter as she loaded a plate with berry-soaked pancakes. "Definitely smarter than I was at one."

Peter laughed quietly. "I think Pyre-Claw just corrected the kitchen AI's internal temperature setting."

Pyre-Claw belched a small flame and wiped his mouth with a napkin, before offering Echo-Claw the syrup. Echo merely nodded and passed her tablet to Flora for a peer check.

Rachel glanced over, raising a coffee mug in greeting. "Morning, you two. The stack's still warm."

"Thanks," Peter replied, sliding into a seat beside her. "And... congrats. The kids look like they're prepping to take over the multiverse by next week."

Rachel smiled wryly. "They're learning fast. Blight-Claw says it's the bloodline, symbiote genetics mixed with psionic trace patterns." She motioned to Thorn-Claw. "That one already corrected a few schematics on a new type of energy reactor yesterday."

At the prep counter, Night-Cure, clad in his usual sleek Transylvanian style vampire suit

As Night-Cure gave the final tap to the sealed crate, he turned with that seamless grace only vampiric symbiotes seemed to master, the shadows of his cape dancing along the polished floor. Without breaking stride, he returned to the small toddler sitting neatly in a high-backed chair carved from living vine-wood, his daughter with Elsa Bloodstone.

And for Laura Brown/Orange-B1 and Peter Brown/Orange-B1, who had just stepped into the kitchen to load up on pancakes, the sight made them both freeze.

The little girl sat calmly, legs crossed in a dainty pose, wearing a dress that could've come straight from a Victorian ball if not for the tendrils lacing its edge, shifting gently with every breath she took. Her complexion had an alabaster glow, eerily smooth, and her eyes shimmered red with slit pupils like rubies in candlelight. Flowering thorns sprouted from her back, softly blooming around her shoulders as if responding to the sunlight streaming in through the tower's skylights, and her arms… they seemed to divide at the elbows onward into two forearms per arm fully functional. And yet, for all her eerie elegance, she spooned thick berry-stuffed oatmeal into her mouth with the seriousness of royalty being served her first meal of the day.

Emma Diamond-A12 and her Peter had entered a few moments after, still mid-conversation, until Emma laid eyes on the girl.

"Good lord..." Emma whispered, raising a manicured brow. "She's... exquisite."

Peter Diamond-A12 blinked a few times, then leaned over to the other Peter. "Okay. I have to ask... how many symbiote children are on this world?"

Rachel Summers didn't even look up from where she was helping Flora-Claw adjust her handwriting technique on the tablet. "Depends on how many mothers there are," she said, deadpan.

Laura chuckled under her breath as she filled a plate with pancakes. "Okay, yeah... fair point."

The toddler, without looking, tilted her head toward the newcomers and gave them a curtsy so perfect it felt instinctual. "Good morning," she said in a bell-clear voice, then returned to her oatmeal.

Peter Brown/Orange-B1 blinked again. "She's... polite, too?"

"Highly educated," Night-Cure said smoothly as he passed behind them. "She knows six languages and can disassemble a sidearm in eighteen seconds. Symbiote blood has... certain benefits when paired with an enhanced vampire lineage and a mother who specializes in supernatural extermination."

Elsa, reclining at the far end of the table with her boots crossed on a chair, smirked while sipping her coffee. "What can I say? We make good hybrids."

Peter Diamond-A12 muttered, "You're not wrong..."

Emma gave her Peter a side glance and nudged him. "Don't even think about suggesting we keep up with that curve. I'm barely handling one pregnancy right now."

Rachel raised her mug. "Trust me... it's not a race. Not unless you want nap times synced with interdimensional war schedules."

"Already on the calendar," Night-Cure added. "I updated it while I helped her with her history studies."

Laura whispered to her Peter, "I... honestly don't know if I'm impressed or terrified."

"Both," Peter replied. "Let's go with both."

The moment was shattered.

Every symbiote in the room, Blight-Claw, Night-Cure, the children, even Echo-Claw's echolocation-sensitive plates, snapped to attention and turned in unison toward the kitchen threshold. The air suddenly rippled, warping like heat off asphalt. A sharp sting of pressure rolled across the space like a broken seal on reality itself.

A low, almost melodic whistling drifted out of the distortion.

It was chipper. Cheerful. Sinister.

Then came the singing, in a pleasant, lilting voice.

"If you're happy and you know it, scream in fear…
If you're happy and you know it, shed a tear…"

Reality tore open.

Mad-Knull strolled out like he owned the place, still humming his twisted tune. His hair was slicked back, his jacket replaced by a ridiculous pink apron that read "Kiss the Cook" in blood-red cursive. Flour dust clung to the black writhing tendrils of his exposed neck, and he wore mismatched oven mitts over claws that had definitely never belonged in a kitchen.

He carried a covered silver platter in one hand, walking with a spring in his step.

"Breakfast... is served!" he chirped like a sitcom dad from hell, setting the platter down with a theatrical bow at the center of the table. The symbiotes instinctively flared into defensive stances. Night-Cure's crimson eyes ignited with fury. Rachel's fingers sparked with psionic fire. Thorn-Claw let out a growl that vibrated the reinforced windows.

Mad-Knull slowly, painfully slowly, gripped the lid, eyes gleaming with a sadistic kind of pride.

"Bon appétit."

He lifted the lid.

Three severed human heads stared back, mouths frozen mid-scream, eyes wide and lifeless. One still had a metal fork jammed through its cheek.

For a split second, everything froze.

Then, chaos.

The children shrieked, two of them activating their symbiotic armor instinctively, spilling plates and pancakes across the table as their instincts kicked into high gear. Flora-Claw grabbed her younger sibling and dove under the bench. Echo-Claw emitted a defensive pulse that shattered one of the ceiling lights.

Night-Cure lunged, cape flaring like wings of vengeance, but Mad-Knull vanished before contact, reappearing upside-down on the ceiling, laughing hysterically like a deranged clown.

"Oh, come on! Don't be so uptight!" he cackled, his head spinning 180 degrees. "I made breakfast! I even washed my claws! Sort of!"

Blight-Claw hurled a root-spear through the space where he was, too slow. He vanished again in a pulse of twisting shadow.

Rachel, her fists crackling, shouted, "YOUR SICK!"

It was then that it happened.

Mad-Knull's jagged grin twisted into something… off. His eyes went wide, too wide, then suddenly squinted shut as his entire frame convulsed.

"AH, H-Hold on-!" he wheezed, claws clamping down on the chandelier's frame as his chest heaved unnaturally. "I, hkkkrrkk-!"

SPLORCH.

A wet, revolting sound echoed through the space as he let out an explosive sneeze, launching a thick glob of black symbiotic snot that slapped across the table, slithering with an awful wet squirm onto Rachel's datapad and Elsa's untouched cup of coffee. The smell was indescribable. Some blend of rotting battery acid, scorched plastic, and burnt hair.

Then came the hacking.

Loud, rasping, unnatural coughs, like a dying vacuum trying to suck down thumbtacks. Each one expelled more viscous symbiotic mucus, some of which slithered off the table like it had a mind of its own.

"Cough! COUGH! HKHHKKK! fUCK! COUGHHHHK!"

He dropped from the chandelier, landing in a half-crouch with snot streaked across his apron, chest heaving as black fluid oozed from his nostrils like runny tar.

"—GHHKRRRGH—as much as I'd like to stay—HACKHACKHACK—and play..."

He gripped the edge of the table with shaking claws, another violent sneeze splattering the far wall with twitching mucus.

"These damn... microscopic symbiotes... in the atmosphere Peter-Knull left here..."

Another double-wheeze. His tongue hung out limply, curled like a dying eel.

"...are WRECKING HAVOK ON MY LUNGS-!"

He hurled up another lungful of goopy symbiote snot that hissed where it hit the floor. A few motes of symbiotic mist floated into the air around him, wriggling like gnats made of pure infection.

He wobbled to his feet, wiping a streak of slime across his leather apron and laughing weakly, his voice cracking.

"COUGH! Soooo... yeah..."

He staggered toward the air, claws slicing an uneven rift in reality that sparked with static and twitching lines of corrupted code.

"Bye-bye, my breakfast club of fleshbags and semi-functionals. I'll come back when I've got the proper antibiotics... and some new heads."

He waved, then immediately sneezed again, spraying a final mist over the chandelier before his body twisted sideways through the dimensional tear.

With a snap and a final disgusting splorp, he was gone.

The chandelier groaned.

And fell.

Right onto the pancake table.

Emma Frost, Diamond-A12, stood completely still, her hands twitching slightly as if she were resisting the urge to disintegrate the entire dining table with a psychic pulse. Her lips were parted in shock, her diamond-hard composure cracked for just a moment.

Then, slowly, her gaze drifted down to the oozing, still-bubbling smear of symbiotic snot sizzling on the corner of her lace-edged napkin.

She blinked once.

Twice.

"…I think I just watched absolute insanity incarnate sneeze on my breakfast," she said calmly, her voice ice over broken glass. "And I am—truly—going to need therapy."

Peter Diamond-A12, standing beside her with a half-bitten pancake still skewered on his fork, hadn't moved since Mad-Knull crashed through reality like a snot-slicked banshee. He turned ever so slowly to Emma, expression unreadable behind the veil of pure what-the-hell.

Then he let out a long, low breath.

"Okay," he finally muttered. "I've fought celestials. I've stared down Galactus with a stick of gum and a boombox. But that?"

He pointed vaguely to the splattered remains of the pancake table, where Mad-Knull had launched his final, mucus-fueled farewell. The children were still whimpering. A few symbiotes had hissed and tried to slither off into the walls.

"That was legitimately terrifying. And, why was he wearing an apron?!" he added, flabbergasted.

Emma stepped back carefully, checking her shoes for residual splash damage.

"We are never speaking of this again," she muttered through gritted teeth.

Peter leaned closer and whispered, "Was that a head platter or a performance piece?"

Emma didn't answer.

She just flicked a speck of black goo off her sleeve with surgical precision and said coldly, "If I ever see that Knull again... I'm diamond-forming his tongue out of existence."

Then she turned to Rachel.

"Please. Tell me someone vaporized that table."

Laura Brown / Orange-B1 was absolutely frozen mid-motion, her fork hovering just inches from her mouth, a pristine triangle of pancake dangling from the edge. Her amber eyes, usually razor-sharp and predatory, were wide with raw, unfiltered disbelief.

Her Peter, seated beside her, had one hand raised mid-gesture as if he were about to say something witty or sarcastic, but that moment had passed, along with the sanity of reality itself.

Instead, both of them sat in stunned silence as Mad-Knull's snot-slick departure still echoed in the awkward quiet of the room. The shrieks of traumatized toddlers had given way to low, confused murmurs, and somewhere across the room, Thorn-Claw was trying to disinfect his stylus like it had been touched by cosmic madness.

Peter slowly lowered his hand and turned to Laura.

"…So… was that a dream, or are we officially in the part of the multiverse where lunatics with god powers drop in to serve head-plated brunch and trauma with syrup?"

Laura blinked slowly.

Then, in a flat voice that betrayed just a hint of panic behind her usually-calm demeanor, she said, "I was going to ask for seconds."

Peter let out a sharp exhale and pushed his plate away like it had become radioactive.

"Yeah. Uh. Same. But now all I can think about is did he wipe his hands after handling the heads or before touching the flapjacks?"

Laura slowly turned her head toward him. "Peter. I think that was the least insane part of what just happened."

They both went quiet again, the buzz of discomfort hanging between them like smoke.

"…Was he singing when he walked in?" Peter asked, brow furrowed.

"Yes," Laura said, rubbing her temple. "And whistling. And wearing an apron that said, 'Kiss the Knull'…"

Peter shuddered. "Okay. Nope. That's it. We're skipping this timeline's breakfast from now on."

Laura nodded silently.

And then, quietly, from somewhere behind them, one of Rachel's toddlers murmured, "…I don't like pancakes anymore…"

Peter leaned into Laura's shoulder.

"Same, kid," he muttered. "Same."