Omniscience in Marvel 171

171

…

From the void between realities, I observe.

I am Uatu, the Watcher, tasked with the sacred duty of observing the multiverse. Endless are the realities that stretch before me, each a tapestry of choices, possibilities, and the intricate dance of cause and effect.

I have seen universes born from a single act of kindness, and others plunged into despair by the flick of a careless hand.

Yet, in all my eons of observation, few universes have baffled me as much as the TRN-001 universe—a place that exists as a contradiction to the natural laws of reality itself.

It is, by all accounts, an aberration.

And yet... it endures.

The TRN-001 universe is not meant to be. A temporary reality, crafted by hands more powerful than most mortals can comprehend, it exists at the crossroads of creation and annihilation.

Its very nature is a paradox—stitched together from fragments of other universes, borrowing their histories, their rules, and even their champions.

I have seen echoes of Earth-616, glimpses of Earth-199999, and even whispers of the What If...? realities within its fabric. It should not function. It should collapse under the weight of its own contradictions.

But it doesn't.

This is what fascinates me most. Unlike the patchwork universes of my experience, which inevitably unravel or spark incursions, the TRN-001 universe remains intact.

Its timeline does not crack, its boundaries do not fray, and, most astonishingly, it does not bleed into the multiverse in ways that would spark disaster.

It is as if the universe itself knows it is temporary and adjusts accordingly—a feat I have never seen elsewhere.

How?

Perhaps it is the influence of its creator, Leucadius—a being whose very existence defies classification. He is not merely a cosmic entity, nor a god in the traditional sense.

He is something... other.

His experiments within this reality, from the crafting of Yggdrasil to the emergence of humanity's latent potential, are as unorthodox as they are brilliant. Where most beings would stumble into chaos, Leucadius thrives in the void between order and entropy.

And yet, I wonder...

The uncanny similarities between this reality and others cannot be ignored.

There is Peggy Carter, whose enhancement echoes her counterparts in countless universes. But here, she is not merely a super-soldier—she is a harbinger of what humanity could become.

There is the digital Yggdrasil, a construct that mirrors the World Tree of Asgard, yet operates within the boundaries of logic and technology.

There is Phastos, the Eternal whose remorse for his past deeds drives him to oversee a digital frontier unlike anything his kind has ever known.

These are not coincidences. They are patterns.

The TRN-001 universe weaves together threads from disparate realities, yet it does so with a precision that astounds me. Unlike the chaotic mash-ups I have witnessed in other temporary realities, this one operates with a strange harmony.

The rules it sets for itself—though often bending the natural order—remain consistent.

There is no ripple effect, no cascading disruptions in the timestream. How peculiar, then, that a reality so inherently flawed could remain stable while others far simpler crumble into nothingness.

I have often mused on the purpose of this universe. Is it merely a testing ground for Leucadius, a sandbox in which he plays god? Or is there a greater design, one that I cannot yet see?

If so, what role do its inhabitants play? Do they realize the fleeting nature of their existence, or do they live as though this reality is eternal?

And what of the Emergence?

Even I cannot predict its full consequences. The Emergence, a cataclysmic event tied to the very fabric of the TRN-001 universe, looms on the horizon.

It is a point of convergence where the temporary and the eternal collide. The universe, for all its brilliance, cannot escape this fate.

Or can it?

There is an irony to be found here, in this universe's peculiar durability.

While countless others fracture and fail under the weight of their contradictions, this one thrives, precisely because it knows it is fleeting.

It does not attempt to anchor itself as a permanent fixture of the multiverse. It simply is, flowing with the inevitability of its own demise.

It reminds me of humanity itself.

Fragile, fleeting, and yet capable of such remarkable resilience. Perhaps that is the secret of TRN-001—the reason it has not collapsed into an incursion or torn a hole in the multiverse. It understands its own impermanence and finds strength in that knowledge.

And so, I watch.

I watch as Leucadius walks among his creations, shaping their futures with a mix of care and cunning.

I watch as Phastos constructs the digital Yggdrasil, laying the foundation for a new kind of evolution.

I watch as humanity, unknowing of the forces at work, begins to awaken to its own potential.

I watch, and I wonder.

The TRN-001 universe may be temporary, but it is far from insignificant.

Its existence raises questions that even I, Uatu, cannot answer. Perhaps that is why I am so drawn to it.

For all my knowledge, there is still so much to learn.

And for a Watcher, that is the greatest gift of all.

…

I am the Living Tribunal.

I exist not as one, but as many.

The embodiment of balance, the arbiter of universal law, the guardian of the multiverse's sacred equilibrium.

All realities, all dimensions, all strands of existence bow to my scrutiny, for where there is imbalance, there is I to rectify it.

And yet, there is one reality—one peculiar anomaly—that I find myself observing with... curiosity.

TRN-001.

It is a universe that should not be.

No natural law brought it into being. No cosmic purpose ordained its creation. It exists only because a singular entity—Leucadius—willed it so. This act alone would warrant my intervention.

Normally, such a fabrication disrupts the fragile tapestry of the multiverse.

Temporary or not, such realities often unravel the fabric of others, their instability bleeding into neighboring dimensions, creating chaos and destruction.

But TRN-001 is different.

It does not strain against the boundaries of the multiverse. It does not threaten to cause incursions or collapse under the weight of its own contradictions.

On the contrary, it thrives. It holds together with an order that defies reason, as if it has carved out its own rules and abides by them with precision.

It is an unnatural paradox—an aberration that obeys its own logic and in doing so avoids the reckoning that would otherwise befall it.

This is not how things should be.

And yet... I find no reason to act.

There are similarities in TRN-001 to other realities—echoes, reflections, parallels. The beings within it walk paths I have seen countless times in Earth-616, Earth-199999, and others.

Peggy Carter, enhanced to the peak of human capability.

Phastos, repenting for his role in past tragedies by forging a new legacy.

The human potential awakening, inching closer to the divine spark that lies dormant in their very essence.

These elements are familiar, yet the way they converge is unique. This reality does not merely copy its counterparts; it weaves their threads into something wholly distinct.

Leucadius, its architect, is the crux of its stability. He bends the rules of creation and destruction without shattering them.

His presence is not one of chaos but of calculated ingenuity.

He acts with the precision of a cosmic chess master, ensuring that his reality exists as a self-contained anomaly rather than a rogue threat to the multiverse.

And so I ponder.

Why has this universe been permitted to persist?

I have considered judgment. I have weighed the scales. The TRN-001 universe has every reason to be deemed unfit for existence.

It is artificial, temporary, and created outside the natural order. But when I peer into its depths, I see balance.

The universe, despite its origins, does not tip the scales of creation and destruction. It is not perfect—no reality is—but it functions within its own framework.

Perhaps it is because it knows its place.

TRN-001 does not strive for permanence.

It does not attempt to rival the great pillars of the multiverse, nor does it demand recognition as a fundamental force.

It exists in the moment, as a fleeting anomaly that has accepted its temporary nature. This self-awareness is rare, even among realities.

Leucadius himself intrigues me. A being of immense power, yet one who does not seek dominion or worship. He crafts, he experiments, he evolves.

His creations—like the digital Yggdrasil—reflect his ingenuity.

He does not challenge the multiverse's greater design, but neither does he submit to it. Instead, he operates in the spaces between order and chaos, walking a line that even I find difficult to define.

And then, there is the Emergence.

A singularity within a singularity. An event that will determine the fate of this fragile reality. I see it on the horizon, a convergence of forces that could unravel the very fabric of TRN-001. It is a test, not only for the universe but for Leucadius himself.

Will he prove that even an artificial reality can endure the trials of Existence? Or will TRN-001 collapse, proving that such anomalies have no place in the multiverse's grand design?

I cannot interfere.

To do so would disrupt the delicate balance this universe has achieved. To pass judgment now would be premature, for the scales have not yet tipped.

And so, I watch, as I always do, with all my faces turned toward this peculiar creation.

But let it be known:

Should TRN-001 falter—should it stray from its path and become a threat to the multiverse's equilibrium—I will act. Not out of malice, but necessity.

For while I find no fault in its existence now, I am the Living Tribunal, and I cannot allow imbalance to fester unchecked.

Yet, for now, I am content to observe. To see what becomes of this reality, its creator, and its inhabitants.

Perhaps TRN-001 will teach even one such as I something new about the nature of existence.

…

I am Death.

Not a concept. Not a force.

I am a being older than the stars, older than the very first word that attempted to define me.

I am inevitable, a constant in all things, for nothing escapes my touch. From the smallest atom to the grandest cosmic entity, all meet me in the end.

And yet, as I drift through the myriad threads of existence, I find myself lingering near a peculiar one—a reality that defies even my ancient understanding.

TRN-001.

It is strange, this universe.

A temporary fragment, a bubble in the ocean of the multiverse. By its nature, it should flicker and fade, swallowed by the inevitability of entropy. Yet it persists. It clings to existence with a tenacity that I rarely see in such fleeting creations.

There is something oddly beautiful about its impermanence.

I have wandered through countless universes, each one bound by the natural cycle of birth, growth, decay, and death.

Even the greatest, most sprawling realities cannot escape the end. Yet TRN-001 is unlike the others. It was not born through the usual cosmic mechanisms. It was created—intentionally, deliberately—for and by a single being.

Leucadius.

His actions intrigue me, though I do not judge.

To me, all creators are the same. They bring forth life, ideas, and energy, only for me to claim them in the end.

But this one... this creator has crafted a reality that does not fight its fate. TRN-001 knows it is temporary. It embraces its impermanence, like a flower blooming brilliantly even as it knows its petals will soon wither.

I wonder—do I terrify him?

Leucadius, the Architect of TRN-001, is no stranger to power.

He shapes dimensions and bends the rules of existence to his will. Yet he does so with precision, never overreaching, never tempting destruction.

Does he fear the day I come for his creation? Does he believe he can forestall my arrival?

He cannot.

But what fascinates me is that he does not try.

Unlike so many others, Leucadius does not seek to defy me.

He does not strive to make TRN-001 eternal. He builds with the full knowledge that I will one day unmake it.

And in that acknowledgment, there is peace. I have always respected those who understand the inevitability of my role.

And yet... there is an unease within me.

TRN-001 is strange not because it exists, but because it should not work. Its threads are too similar to other realities, its events echoing the stories of countless other universes.

Peggy Carter becoming something greater than human. Humanity inching closer to divinity.

These should fracture the timeline. They should cause rifts, incursions, chaos.

But they do not.

Instead, TRN-001 holds itself together as though it were always meant to exist. The threads of fate, which are usually mine to sever, are tightly bound. Not in rebellion, but in harmony. This reality is... aware of itself.

It reminds me of mortals who, upon knowing their time is limited, live with extraordinary clarity. Perhaps TRN-001 understands that its time is fleeting and thus strives to exist fully, without waste or hesitation.

I admire that.

The Emergence, however, is another matter.

It looms over TRN-001 like a storm cloud. I feel its weight, its inevitability.

A convergence of forces, a reckoning that will determine whether this fragile universe can survive the trial or collapse under its own contradictions.

I see Leucadius preparing for it. I see the universe's inhabitants walking toward their fates, some unaware, others defiant. They march toward a moment that could be their end—or their rebirth.

And I wait.

I do not intervene. It is not my way. I do not push, pull, or persuade.

I merely exist, and when the time comes, I take. But for now, I linger on the edges of TRN-001, watching, listening.

Will it surprise me?

It is rare for a universe to do so. I am not easily moved, for I have seen the rise and fall of all things. Yet TRN-001 holds my attention. Perhaps it is its fleeting beauty. Perhaps it is the quiet defiance of its creator.

Or perhaps I see in it a reflection of myself.

For just as TRN-001 knows it is temporary, I know that even I, Death, am not eternal. There are forces beyond me, truths that even I cannot touch.

Perhaps that is why I find this reality so compelling. It exists in defiance of permanence, as a reminder that even in the face of inevitability, there is wonder, there is life, there is creation.

When the time comes, I will take TRN-001 as I have taken all things. But until that day, I will remain here, watching as it dances on the edge of existence, a fleeting moment of brilliance in the vast, endless void.

And perhaps, when I finally come for it, I will feel something I have not felt in eons.

Regret.

…