Through the Eyes of Madness

Angstrom Levy pov:

I never wanted these powers. Unlike my counterparts across the multiverse, I wasn't one with grand ambitions of fixing my world or accumulating knowledge for some greater purpose.

Ironic considering I am the one version whose capability is beyond all the others.

To the casual observer, I'm just Angstrom Levy, dimensional researcher, unremarkable save for my intellect.

My colleagues at the Institute for Interdimensional Studies see me as brilliant but unassuming - the quiet scientist who publishes groundbreaking papers on theoretical physics and keeps to himself.

None of them know what I see when I close my eyes.

It happened during my first dimensional jump. A miscalculation - or perhaps something more sinister, a cosmic joke at my expense.

The equipment functioned perfectly, the calculations were flawless, but something... something went wrong inside my head.

Not wrong enough to destroy my body - just wrong enough to curse my mind.

I can see through their eyes. All of them. My counterparts across infinite dimensions. Their experiences flood into me without warning, without consent. Their knowledge becomes mine, their terror becomes mine, their deaths become mine.

At first, it was fascinating - a revolutionary breakthrough in multiversal research. I could observe other realities without physically traveling to them, gathering data from the safety of my laboratory.

My papers on dimensional variance were praised as visionary, though none of my colleagues knew my insights came from direct observation rather than theoretical models.

Then the nightmares began.

Three weeks ago, while sleeping, my consciousness drifted. Instead of dreams, I found myself looking through the eyes of another Angstrom Levy, one who had traveled to feudal Japan for research.

What he witnessed - what I witnessed through him - defies description.

A village burning with unnatural black and red flames that consumed everything yet never seemed to diminish. The sky above, crimson like freshly spilled blood.

People prostrating themselves before a figure that barely resembled a human - tall, marked with strange patterns across his skin, possessing four arms instead of two. Eyes that burned with malevolent amusement as he surveyed the destruction.

"Ryoumen Sukuna," the villagers chanted, foreheads pressed to the ground. "The Honored One." Begging for mercy that never came.

I watched, trapped in my counterpart's perception, as this "Honored One" casually flicked his wrist, sending invisible force through a line of supplicants, bisecting them as cleanly as a laser.

Their bodies fell apart, blood painting the ground, while he laughed - a sound that resonated with such casual cruelty that I felt my counterpart vomit in terror.

When I finally broke the connection, I was shaking, drenched in sweat, my sheets tangled around me like restraints.

A nightmare, I told myself. Just a glimpse of some horror dimension, the kind that exists in the infinite tapestry of reality.

But the visions didn't stop.

They came randomly - while working, while eating, while trying to sleep. Flashes of the same entity across different times, different worlds.

Sukuna devouring humans for pleasure, consuming their flesh with methodical appreciation like a connoisseur at a fine restaurant. Sukuna battling others with powers similar to his own, laughing as he dismembered them piece by piece, prolonging their suffering for his entertainment.

Sukuna taking women as his "possessions," some willing in their terror, others not - all ultimately discarded when he tired of them.

I began keeping a journal, documenting each vision with scientific precision, trying to maintain some semblance of sanity through methodical recording. The pages filled with horrors, my handwriting growing more erratic with each entry.

Day 4: Witnessed Sukuna destroy an entire city after its lord refused to provide him with a particular delicacy he desired. The death toll must have been in the tens of thousands.

Day 7: Sukuna battled what appeared to be a monk with extraordinary abilities. Before killing him, Sukuna forced the man to watch as he slaughtered the monk's entire family, including young children.

Day 12: Sukuna in another dimension, modern era. Using his abilities to systematically eliminate a group of individuals with similar powers. He referred to them as "sorcerers." He consumed their hearts after killing them. I vomited for an hour after this vision.

Patterns emerged. This wasn't just some dimensional variant - this entity existed across hundreds, perhaps thousands of realities.

Always powerful. Always cruel. Always viewing humans as beneath him, as playthings for his amusement.

In some dimensions, he was sealed away by powerful enemies. In others, he ruled openly as a god-king. In a few, he was known as "King of Curses," a title that seemed to please him greatly.

The visions became more frequent. More targeted. As if my initial glimpse had created a connection that strengthened with each viewing.

I began seeing through the eyes of Angstrom Levys who sought him out deliberately, who studied him, who tried to understand what he was.

Most died horribly for their curiosity.

One was flayed alive, his skin peeled from his body inch by inch while Sukuna discussed the properties of pain receptors. Another was bisected vertically, from crown to groin, then kept alive through some terrible power while Sukuna examined his internal organs with cruel interest.

A third was forced to eat his own research notes before having his jaw torn from his face.

I experienced each death as if it were my own. Felt the pain, the terror, the final desperate thoughts before oblivion.

Each time I emerged from these visions, I found new gray hairs in my mirror, new lines etched into my face.

I learned he could manipulate some kind of energy - "cursed energy," my counterparts called it. He could cut anything, control shadows, manifest flames that burned other energies.

He was functionally immortal in many dimensions, living for centuries, his power growing with age.

The visions were destroying me.

I couldn't sleep without seeing villages burning, couldn't eat without tasting the fear of his victims, couldn't close my eyes without seeing his smile - that terrible, knowing smile that suggested he understood exactly how much suffering he was causing and reveled in it.

My research suffered. My colleagues noticed my deterioration but attributed it to overwork. Dr. Michaels suggested I take a vacation.

Professor Zhou recommended meditation. Director Collins threatened to revoke my lab privileges if I didn't "pull myself together."

How could I explain that I was being traumatized by events happening to other versions of myself across dimensions? That I was drowning in the collective horror of a thousand Angstrom Levys who had encountered a monster beyond human comprehension?

Then, one week ago, everything changed.

I was inadvertently connected to an alternate version of myself who was in a dimension similar to mine - collecting scientific data.

Following his movements through the city, experiencing his observations. He was watching a battle between the Teen Team and some generic villain - nothing remarkable.

Until I saw him.

Not in the ancient past. Not in some distant different modern dimension. There. Now. Fighting alongside the Teen Team.

A young man with dark hair and intense eyes, moving with impossible precision, cutting through debris with invisible force, manipulating shadows to restrain enemies.

The costume was different. The name was different. But the energy signature—that cold, ancient power - was unmistakable.

Sukuna. The King of Curses. The Honored One.

There, he called himself "Megumi Fushiguro." There, he played at being a hero.

I broke the connection violently, blood erupting from my nose, eyes, and ears. The strain was enormous, but the terror was greater. I crawled to my bathroom, leaving a trail of crimson across my apartment floor, and vomited until there was nothing left but bile.

Impossible. It couldn't be the same entity. Not here. Not now. Not as a hero.

But once the thought took root, I couldn't dislodge it. What if he existed in my world too? I researched frantically, pulling up news reports, hero registries, social media - sources I'd previously ignored as trivial compared to my dimensional studies.

And there he was.

He literally calls himself by his true name here: Sukuna. A new hero who appeared recently, working with the Teen Team.

The news footage shows him clearly - moving with that same deadly grace, wielding an invisible cutting force. The same powers, the same presence, barely concealed behind a thin veneer of heroism.

My hands trembled so violently I could barely operate my computer. This wasn't some distant threat in another dimension. This was here. In my world. Walking among us.

I spent days gathering information, hacking into security cameras, following news reports. I watched him fight alongside Invincible, saw him meeting with the Guardians of the Globe.

I observed him walking the streets in his civilian identity - a teenage boy named Megumi Fushiguro, supposedly a reformed delinquent.

The disguise is masterful. He's integrated himself perfectly, creating a backstory that explains his unusual abilities while giving him access to Earth's greatest heroes.

None of them suspect what walks among them. How could they? They haven't seen what I've seen.

Last night, the visions took me somewhere hatefully familiar. I found myself looking through the eyes of an Angstrom Levy who had managed to capture footage of Sukuna in his prime - ruling over feudal Japan as a god-king.

The recording showed him seated on a throne made of human bones, casually dismembering a man who had displeased him while courtiers watched in terrified silence.

The man's screams echoed through the palace hall, but none dared intervene. Some even smiled, hoping their apparent enjoyment of the spectacle would spare them from being next.

"Remember," Sukuna told the assembled crowd, his voice resonating with power, "your lives are mine to take or spare as I see fit.

Your flesh exists for my pleasure, your blood to slake my thirst when I desire it. Your women to warm my bed, your children to serve or feed me as I choose. This is the natural order - the strong ruling the weak."

The crowd prostrated themselves, murmuring, "Yes, Son of Heaven," even as their fellow's entrails were splayed across the palace floor.

I forced myself to watch the entire recording, again and again and again, needing to understand what we face.

When the vision finally released me, I found myself on the floor of my laboratory, shaking uncontrollably, having clawed bloody furrows into my own arms without realizing it.

Another vision struck immediately - no reprieve, no time to recover. This time I witnessed Sukuna battling what appeared to be an entire army of sorcerers.

They came at him with incredible powers - shadows that moved like living things, blue flames that froze rather than burned, weapons that changed size and shape at will.

He slaughtered them all, laughing throughout the battle. Not the laughter of someone enjoying a challenge, but the laughter of a predator toying with prey that foolishly believed it had a chance.

"Is this all?" he taunted as he held a man's still-beating heart before the dying sorcerer's eyes. "Is this the best humanity can offer? Pathetic."

The vision shifted again - another dimension, another time. Sukuna seated in what appeared to be a modern apartment, a woman kneeling before him, her eyes vacant with terror and something else... devotion?

"You understand, don't you?" he asked her, his voice almost gentle as he stroked her hair. "What it means to belong to me?"

"Yes, Honored One," she whispered, trembling.

"And if I asked you to kill for me? To die for me?"

"Without hesitation," she replied, and I could feel the truth in her words - the complete surrender of will to this monster who had broken her and remade her in his image.

"Good," he said, and there was that smile again - the one that never reached his eyes. "Then bring me your sister. The one you told me about. The one with the special abilities."

The woman's face betrayed a moment of hesitation - just a flicker - and Sukuna's expression hardened.

"You disappoint me," he said softly, and before she could respond, she was in pieces on the floor, her blood pooling around her dismembered limbs.

Sukuna sighed, looking at the mess with mild annoyance. "Such a waste. I'll have to find the sister myself."

I came back to myself screaming, my voice raw as if I'd been screaming for hours. Perhaps I had been. The visions were coming faster now, more intense, bleeding into one another. Sukuna devouring a child while the parents watched.

Sukuna battling a creature that seemed made of pure shadow. Sukuna teaching a group of followers his techniques, only to slaughter them when they failed to meet his standards.

It was as if I no longer needed to see through the eyes of another version of myself! That I became so connected to this nightmare that I saw him always!

Anyone, please, tell me, how do you fight a god?!

How do you stop someone who has conquered worlds?!

How do you stop one who has lived for centuries perfecting the art of evil?!

The answer came to me through another vision - brief but clear...

An Angstrom Levy in another dimension had discovered that cursed energy, while immensely powerful, could be countered by something equally ancient and terrible: demonic power from Hell itself.

That Levy had formed a pact with infernal forces, learning forbidden rituals that could summon a being known as Spawn - a Hellspawn with necroplasmic powers that could match Sukuna's cursed energy.

The dimensional barriers between our world and Hell are thin in certain places, allowing such entities to be called forth by those with the right knowledge.

I watched as this Levy drew complex symbols in blood, chanted in languages that hurt my ears even through the vision, lit candles made from human fat that burned with green flame.

The air in his laboratory seemed to thicken, to pulse with malevolent anticipation.

A tear formed in reality itself - not a dimensional portal like I study, but something older, something wrong.

Through it, I glimpsed a realm of fire and torment, of twisted landscapes and impossible architecture.

And emerging from that tear, a figure wrapped in chains and a tattered red cape, its body seeming to shift between solid and smoke, its eyes glowing with green fire.

Spawn. The Hellspawn. A general in Hell's army, now bound to serve the one who summoned it.

That Levy died before completing the binding ritual, torn apart by Sukuna's invisible blades that came from nowhere and everywhere.

But his research, his preparations, the ancient texts he had collected - all of it remained, burned into my mind through our connection.

I've spent the last three days gathering the necessary components for the ritual. Ancient symbols drawn in my own blood across my laboratory floor - the blood of a dimensional traveler carries special properties, according to the texts.

Candles made from human fat (thankfully available through certain black market medical suppliers who ask no questions when enough money is offered).

Incantations in languages so old they were never meant for human tongues, languages that make my mouth bleed when I practice them.

It's heresy against everything I believe as a scientist. I've spent my career searching for rational explanations, for mathematical models to explain the multiverse.

Now I find myself dealing in blood magic and demonic pacts, in rituals that predate recorded history.

The multiverse has shown me that science has its limits. Some threats require older remedies.

Another vision strikes as I prepare the final components - this one showing me Sukuna in what appears to be our world, our time.

He's fighting alongside Invincible against some generic villain, his movements precise and controlled. To anyone else, he would appear heroic - a powerful ally using his abilities to protect the innocent.

But I see the look in his eyes when no one is watching him. The same cold calculation, the same predatory assessment. He's evaluating them. Learning their strengths, their weaknesses. Positioning himself at the center of Earth's defense network.

For what purpose? To destroy it from within when the time is right? To set himself up as this world's god-king when he tires of playing hero?

The vision shifts, showing me Sukuna - no, "Megumi" in this world - sitting in a restaurant with Atom Eve.

They're talking, and she's watching him with an intensity that borders on obsession. She doesn't see the monster beneath the mask. She sees only what he wants her to see.

"What other pleasures do you enjoy?" she asks him, her cheeks flushing slightly at her own boldness.

And he answers with a directness that startles her: "Food, certainly. Control. Sex." A pause. "And more recently, emotional connections."

The last part is a lie - it must be. The being I've witnessed across thousands of dimensions is incapable of emotional connection.

He uses people, consumes them, discards them. He doesn't connect with them.

Unless... unless this version is different somehow? The thought is too dangerous to contemplate.

Tomorrow, I'll approach Cecil Stedman at the Global Defense Agency. If anyone will listen to warnings about a potential threat hiding among the hero community, it's him.

I've prepared my evidence carefully - nothing that reveals my dimensional viewing ability, just enough concrete data to raise serious concerns.

If Cecil dismisses me, I'll have no choice but to act alone.

The summoning ritual should give me a weapon against Sukuna - a Hellspawn champion who can match his godlike might. I'll need to control Spawn carefully, direct his rage toward the right target.

As I finalize my preparations, a new vision washes over me - more intense than any before. I feel blood trickling from my eyes, my ears, my nose as my consciousness is violently pulled into another dimension.

This time, I see through the eyes of an Angstrom Levy watching Sukuna - no, again, Megumi - sitting alone on a rooftop, staring at the night sky with an expression I've never seen on his face across any dimension.

Regret.

"I can't undo what I've done," he says softly to himself, unaware he's being observed. "The blood doesn't wash away. But perhaps I can choose differently now."

He looks down at his hands - hands I've seen tear people apart, hands that have ended countless lives across countless dimensions.

"I was a monster," he continues, his voice barely audible. "Perhaps I still am. But here, in this life, I can be something else. I can protect instead of destroy. I can build instead of ruin."

He closes his eyes, and for a moment, his face is completely unguarded. The arrogance, the cruelty, the cold calculation - all gone, replaced by something that looks almost like... humanity.

"They trust me," he whispers. "Mark, Eve, the others. They see something in me worth believing in. And maybe... maybe they're right."

The vision fades, leaving me confused, uncertain, blood streaming down my face and staining my shirt.

Could this version of Sukuna truly be different? Could the monster I've witnessed across thousands of dimensions actually be attempting redemption?

I stagger to my bathroom, vomiting violently into the sink. The very idea feels like a betrayal of everything I've witnessed, of all the suffering I've experienced through my counterparts' eyes.

Another vision hits immediately - this one from a dimension where Sukuna ruled as an emperor, where humans were kept as cattle for his amusement. I watch through another Levy's eyes as Sukuna casually disembowels a child for spilling wine on his robes.

"Did you think your tears would move me?" he asks the dying child, genuine curiosity in his voice. "Did you think I would care?"

I dismiss the earlier vision immediately. It's a trick, a deception. The evidence across the multiverse is overwhelming.

One doesn't simply abandon a nature cultivated over centuries of cruelty and domination. The monster I've seen butcher entire villages, consume human flesh with delight, torture for pleasure - that being cannot change.

No, he's playing a longer game. And I may be the only person in this dimension who can stop him before it's too late.

I check the ritual circle one final time, making minor adjustments to the sigils drawn in blood. My hands shake so badly I can barely hold the brush, but the work must be perfect. The summoning of a Hellspawn is not something to be attempted with errors.

Tomorrow, I meet with Cecil. Tomorrow, I begin the process of exposing the monster hiding among our heroes.

And if necessary, tomorrow I take the first step toward summoning a demon to fight a demon. The irony isn't lost on me - combating one monster by unleashing another.

But Spawn can be controlled, can be banished back to Hell once his purpose is served. Sukuna cannot.

I catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror - bloodshot eyes, gray hair where there was brown just weeks ago, skin pale and waxy from lack of sleep.

I barely recognize myself. But it doesn't matter. Nothing matters except stopping him.

As night falls, I sit in the center of the ritual circle, surrounded by candles that cast grotesque shadows across my laboratory walls.

In my lap rests an ancient tome, its pages yellowed with age, its text written in a language that shifts and changes as I look at it.

"I will stop you," I whisper to the empty room, to the monster who doesn't know I exist yet. "Whatever it takes. Whatever it costs me."

Another vision flickers at the edges of my consciousness - Sukuna in yet another dimension, standing amid a field of corpses, his four arms spread wide as if embracing the destruction he's wrought.

"This is what I am," he says to no one, to everyone. "This is what I will always be."

I close my eyes, embracing the vision, letting it strengthen my resolve.

Sukuna must be stopped.

No matter the cost.

----------------------------------------

(Author note: So... Yeah, Angstrom.

Invincible war is a thing, and if I remember correctly, he acted before the Viltrumites truly sent anyone to earth - Conquest was the first direct reaction to Nolan's abandonment right?

Also, before anyone says anything, again this is an AU. Just like there are AUs in the show there is one here.

Since Spawn does exist in Invincible - apparently, but is mega, mega, mega, nerfed.

Now... Still, will he succeed though with summoning Spawn? For you see, Sukuna is no fool. 

He may not have seen everything from Invincible, but he knows decently enough.

Also, those Sukunas were more evil than ours. Since ours because of him being more proud than them and still having parts of his human past life during his Sukuna days, wasn't as mega, mega, evil.

He didn't completely go out of his way to cause evil - since it was a waste of time and effort to do so when the opportunity or reason for doing so didn't come naturally - he did it when it granted him easier pleasure, through conquest and the like.

For, his true focus was battling the strong and improving his Jujutsu.

I'm not saying he never did what was shown here - just that this Sukuna is more unique because his past life, before the memories even returned had subtle influence.

So yeah, do tell me how you found it and I hope to see you all later,

Bye!)