Omniscience in Marvel 169

169

…

Leucadius stepped into the dimly lit chamber of Eden, the space designed to cradle Aethon's resting form, the young god still in his slumber after the tumultuous events surrounding his awakening.

The boy lay in a chamber surrounded by gentle hums of energy, protected by an intricate array of wards and devices designed to monitor his health and divinity.

Tilda stepped in behind him, her eyes immediately glancing to Aethon with an expression of concern. "What's happened to him?" she asked, voice laced with worry. "Has something gone wrong?"

Leucadius watched her for a moment, his eyes softening with a hint of amusement before he responded. "No, nothing's gone wrong. He's simply... exhausted. I pushed him a bit too far during his first training session after awakening his divinity. I needed to test the boundaries of his powers, and it took a toll."

Tilda raised an eyebrow, disapproval evident in her gaze. "You exhausted him on purpose? Sensei, you should know better than that. You can't afford to be reckless, especially now."

Leucadius chuckled softly, dismissing her worry with a wave of his hand. "You're being too serious. Nothing could ever go wrong with me around." He gave her a teasing smile. "And besides, he's fine. He just needed a little rest. We all need a break after a new power surge, don't we?"

Tilda's disapproving stare deepened, but despite her stern look, she knew he was right. Nothing would truly go wrong as long as he was there to protect Aethon. She didn't push the issue further.

"So," she said, shifting the topic with a sigh, "why have you called me here? You're not one to indulge in unnecessary company."

"Hey!" Leucadius intoned, a bit offended and looking far more serious now, but as he turned his gaze back to Aethon, his expression softened from fatherly concern.

"It's about Aethon. After his choice to attend the Omnipotence Academy, he'll need a recommendation letter. But not just from anyone."

Tilda's eyes narrowed in confusion. "Why can't you do it? You're his father, Sensei, and more than qualified."

Leucadius shook his head with a slight frown, his voice calm but firm. "I could, but it would be detrimental if I were the one to recommend him. Before you ask why, consider this: gods born out of wedlock—like Hercules, Achilles, and others—faced trials just to be accepted into their pantheons. While Heaven may not be quite the same, it's still a place full of politics, where whispers behind closed doors matter."

Tilda paused at this, considering his words. "So... Aethon will need a recommendation from someone who's not associated with Heaven."

Leucadius nodded, his eyes steady. "Exactly."

Tilda's brow furrowed. "So, he'll be a rogue god from Earth, then?"

Leucadius smiled brightly, a sense of pride in his expression. "Yes, exactly. A god with no pantheon but full of potential. I don't want him to be boxed in by the politics of any realm."

Tilda's gaze softened, her understanding growing. "What else?"

Leucadius's smile faded as his thoughts turned to something more pressing.

With a wave of his hand, he conjured a vivid image before them, a scene of a young boy, Aethon's contemporary, playing alone in a meadow.

Peter Quill, a child, running and laughing carelessly beneath a bright sky. His mother's house stood in the distance, isolated in the countryside.

Tilda's eyes widened as she recognized the boy. "Is that... Peter Quill?"

Leucadius nodded. "Yes. Aethon will need more than just divine guidance. His origins are... unique. He'll need someone who can relate to him, someone who has known both human and divine struggles. Peter Quill is that someone."

Tilda stared at the image in shock as a strange energy reading flashed before her. "Is that... celestial energy?"

"Hmmm," Leucadius mused, his tone distant. "That's his unawakened energy. After my... altercation with his father in the past, I made sure that his potential wouldn't be sealed away. But I need Peter to know who he really is, even before he becomes a part of the grander design."

Tilda's brow furrowed further. "So why show me this?"

Leucadius's eyes grew softer. "In a few days, Peter will be abducted by a spaceship. His life is about to change in ways he can't yet understand. I need you to ensure that Peter receives this."

He handed her a small device, a phone, its sleek design somehow more advanced than anything she had seen before. "This," he explained, "will guide him. It's a means for Aethon to stay connected to someone who can offer him... Companionship."

Tilda accepted the phone, her brow still furrowed in confusion. "And why Peter? Why not another?"

Leucadius's voice softened, almost wistful. "Peter... He's human. But he isn't just human. His story is bound to Aethon's in ways even I can't fully understand. What I want, Tilda, is for my son to have friends. Real friends his age. Tony Stark and Sharon Carter—they're great allies, but they're human, in the end. I want Aethon to experience something... different."

Tilda looked down at the phone in her hand, the weight of the responsibility settling on her shoulders. "And you think Peter Quill is the right person for this?"

Leucadius nodded, his gaze unwavering. "Yes. I believe he is or destiny wouldn't have had them born in the same year."

With a final glance at Aethon, Leucadius turned to Tilda, offering her one last look of reassurance. "Do this for me, Tilda. He will be more than he thinks."

Tilda said nothing at first, but after a long moment, she tucked the phone away into her robes. "I will. But remember, this is a lot to ask. I hope you're right."

Leucadius's eyes sparkled with a rare, knowing confidence. "I am All Knowing. I am rarely ever wrong."

…

Leucadius entered the quiet, tech-laden room where Phastos sat hunched over several holographic screens, his fingers moving with an efficiency that spoke to both his intelligence and the lingering weight of his sorrow.

The once jubilant and hopeful inventor had become a shadow of his former self.

The memory of the devastation caused by his technology during World War II—particularly the nuclear bomb dropped on Hiroshima—had taken a heavy toll on him.

It was clear that Phastos' mind had been burdened with guilt, making it difficult for him to focus on anything other than the destructive potential of his creations.

Leucadius had seen through the wall Phastos had put up and had helped the Eternal redirect his energy into something productive, something that might redeem him in his own eyes: Yggdrasil, a digital universe he had constructed and planned to bring into reality from the excess cosmic energy that would soon be released during Tiamat's emergence.

It was an ambitious project, a world meant for exploration, growth, and learning, far removed from the horrors of the past.

"Phastos," Leucadius called out calmly. "How are things progressing with the research? How is the logging of humans into the digital space coming along after Peggy's initial experiment?"

Phastos didn't look up immediately, his hands still moving over the digital displays, making adjustments to the various components of the system. The silence stretched on, heavy with the unspoken.

Finally, Phastos spoke, his voice distant, almost hollow. "The first experiment with Peggy was... successful. Her consciousness was fully integrated into the digital world without any major complications. But we're not there yet. There are still kinks to work out. The avatar system we're trying to implement needs to have a seamless connection between the person's soul and the digital realm. The avatar has to be a reflection of their spiritual energy, but it can't be an exact copy. The soul is so complex... so vast... I need more data."

Leucadius leaned against a nearby console, his expression softening as he studied Phastos. "You've been pushing yourself too hard. There's no need for perfection immediately. We have time."

Phastos finally turned to face him, his eyes tired but full of purpose. "It's not just about perfection, Leucadius. I'm trying to create something that will serve as a bridge, one that will allow people to safely explore a realm outside of their own physical bodies. If I fail to account for their soul's fragility, we could lose people. It's not a small risk." He paused, shaking his head. "I keep seeing the faces of those who died in Hiroshima every time I work on this. I can't shake it. I... I want to build something that will help people, not destroy them."

"And you think you haven't already?" Leucadius scoffed as heapproached Phastos, placing a hand on his shoulder, the weight of it both comforting and reassuring. "You've already taken the first step by changing your course, Phastos. You're creating something new, something that will allow humans and others to experience another world without risking themselves fully. You're building a path toward redemption, even if it's not perfect yet."

Phastos looked down, his lips tight in a thin line. "I know. I just... wish I could do more. I wish I could erase the past."

Leucadius gave him a small smile, a glimmer of warmth in his otherwise stoic expression. "None of us can erase the past, Phastos. But we can use it to fuel something better, something greater. You're doing that now. Ygdrassil will be a place where people can grow, learn, and live without fear of what they may have lost in the real world."

Phastos nodded slowly, his gaze shifting to the glowing holographic screens in front of him. "I've been thinking about the techniques we discussed—how the soul's energy can shape the avatars. If we can link the spiritual energy to the avatars, they could grow as the Hunters progress in their level up journey. The avatars would evolve alongside the players. They wouldn't just be mindless characters. They'd have depth, a true reflection of the player's spirit, even if they're not the full potential of the person's cultivation."

(A/N: The energy generated from the Soul is the Soul's Energy here which is also Spiritual Energy, which is also Aether. Take note of that.)

Leucadius's eyes brightened, impressed by Phastos' thoughts. "That's exactly the idea. It's not about mimicking the avatar's power, but rather about creating a vessel that grows with them, evolving in a way that complements their journey. That's why this system is so valuable. The Ygdrassil System in the digital space will be connected directly to the Human's real-world Status, allowing them to gain unique experiences and challenges."

Phastos nodded, fingers dancing over the controls, inputting new data into the system. "If we can harness the cosmic energy released during the emergence, we can turn this digital space into a real, thriving world. And then... when the time comes, we can log humans into it, allowing them to live out entire lifetimes, learn new skills, and cultivate in a world that's not bound by the limitations of their physical forms."

Leucadius stood back, folding his arms across his chest. "And once the game is fully operational, they will be able to take what they've learned in the digital world and apply it to the real world. It'll be the perfect training ground for them to expand their spiritual energy and understanding without risking their actual lives."

Phastos finally looked up, a flicker of hope in his eyes. "It's going to be a massive undertaking. There's still so much to do... but I think we're getting closer."

Leucadius smiled, his confidence unwavering. "I believe in you, Phastos. And once it's done, Ygdrassil will change everything."

With that, Leucadius turned and made his way toward the door, his mind already moving toward the next step in their plan.

He knew that the digital universe Phastos was creating would be a cornerstone for the future, and the day it came to life would mark the beginning of something truly transformative.

Although he felt bad lying to his friend and having him do all these work, Leucadius still felt that it was a necessary evil.

Prior to the Emergence, humans would be able to gain 10% of their total Ability similar to Peggy's case, but even 10% of Level 100 already put Peggy at the same level as Steve Rogers and Bucky Barnes.

As the door closed behind him, Phastos returned to his work, the weight of his past no longer a burden but a driving force to build something meaningful for the future.