Before his departure, the Ancient One presented Emrys with a final gift: a Sling Ring. To the sorcerers of Kamar-Taj, it was a fundamental tool for channeling eldritch energy and carving portals through the fabric of reality. To Emrys, it was a tactical asset—a way to bypass conventional defenses without relying on the temperamental whims of the Warp.
After a final nod to the Allfather, Emrys returned to the Helicarrier. He had been absent for nearly four months; in his original itinerary, the Marvel universe was meant to be a swift recruitment drive, not a seasonal residency.
The landscape of Earth had shifted violently in his absence. The failure of the United Nations to prevent the Chitauri invasion had shattered its remaining credibility. In the power vacuum, S.H.I.E.L.D. had been dismantled and purged, its assets seized and reorganized into the Council of Holy Terra.
Transitioning the world's governance into the hands of the Council would take more than military might—it required the slow, grinding machinery of bureaucracy and the "Transformers model" of technological dependency. Military conquest was easy; ruling was a game of patience.
The Avengers were formally integrated as the Council's executive arm. Tony Stark, ever the visionary, had been installed as the first High Provost of the Council, tasked with planetary administration.
Nick Fury, relegated to Vice-Chairman, served as the pragmatist behind the throne, with Phil Coulson acting as his primary liaison. Balancing this political weight was the newly established Cult Mechanicus, led by the Tech-Priest Galahad, ensuring that the Council's monopoly on technology remained absolute.
As Emrys tallied his gains, he allowed himself a rare moment of satisfaction.
First, the Atropos Blade. With the combined efforts of Odin and the Ancient One, the daemon souls within were bound and suppressed. The sword was no longer a ticking time bomb of Khorne's corruption, but a lethal instrument under his total control.
Second, the Chitauri. The boarding actions led by the Dark Angels and the Hulk had severed the hive-mind's command hub, leaving tens of thousands of cybernetic warriors in a state of catatonic paralysis. By re-coding their central neural relays, Emrys had effectively inherited a legion of expendable cannon fodder.
They were crude, perhaps even pathetic by the standards of a Hive World militia, but they were thirty thousand rifles that didn't need to be fed or paid. In the meat-grinder of the Purgatory Galaxy, they would serve as the perfect frontline screen—bio-mechanical shields to soak up enemy fire and exhaust their magazines. To a Rogue Trader, xenos invaders who had slaughtered humans didn't possess "rights"; they possessed "utility."
As for the Space Stone, it was a disappointment. Emrys knew that once it crossed the dimensional threshold out of Marvel, it would become an inert, glowing pebble. However, knowing a certain purple-skinned Titan was scouring the galaxy for it, he tucked it into his private stasis-vault. If Thanos wants it, Emrys thought, he can try his luck in the Eye of Terror.
Before the final departure, Emrys decided to visit one more "associate."
In the penthouse office of Oscorp Tower, Norman Osborn was buried in ledgers when a shadow fell across his desk. He looked up, his pupils shrinking to pinpricks.
"It's been a while, Mr. Osborn," Emrys said, sitting on the velvet sofa with his legs crossed, a razor-sharp smile playing on his lips. "Or should I address the Green Goblin?"
"Merlin... you're back." Osborn's heart hammered against his ribs. He dropped his pen and stood, bowing with a submissiveness that bordered on the groveling. "Because of your investment, Vought has successfully reverse-engineered the Compound V templates!"
Emrys remained silent, his gaze heavy and expectant. Cold sweat beaded on Norman's forehead, dripping onto the imported rug. He didn't dare straighten his back.
"You're quick to confess," Emrys said finally, his voice like silk over stone. "I'll overlook your little shadow-trades with the remnants of the U.S. government. For now."
Osborn let out a breath he hadn't realized he was holding. "Thank you... thank you, Merlin. I assure you, it was a lapse in judgment. It won't happen again."
Ambition was a disease that grew in the absence of a master. While Emrys was away, Osborn had attempted to play the high-ranking officials against Stark, hoping to turn Vought into his personal fiefdom.
He was a shark in a boardroom, but he had forgotten that Emrys was the leviathan. The sight of a gothic warship obliterating an alien armada on every news channel had effectively ended Osborn's dreams of a coup overnight.
Tap. Tap. Tap.
Emrys's finger drummed against the armrest. "I value talent, Norman. That is why you are alive. Control your appetite, or I will find someone who can."
"Understood! Perfectly understood!" Osborn nodded frantically. He felt a bitter sting of regret; he had tried to steal a crumb from a man who owned the bakery.
"The progress of Compound V," Emrys commanded. "Give me the data."
"It... it remains unstable," Osborn stammered, handing over a tablet. "The manifested abilities are random. We cannot yet standardize the specific superhuman traits. We can trigger power, but we cannot choose its form."
Emrys flipped through the reports. Most of the test subjects had manifested useless, cosmetic mutations or unstable pyrokinesis. It was a far cry from his vision: a legion of stable, psionically-active Space Marines—a private chapter of Librarians.
"Continue the research," Emrys said, tossing the tablet back onto the sofa. "I want a stable catalyst, not a lottery. If I wanted a circus, I'd have gone to Asgard."
"Yes, Merlin! Right away!"
Osborn bowed his head again, waiting for the dismissal. When he finally looked up, the room was empty. Emrys had vanished as silently as a ghost, leaving only the faint scent of ozone and ancient paper.
The CEO of Oscorp collapsed into his chair, his legs turning to jelly. He knew, with a terrifying certainty, that he had been one wrong word away from the total annihilation of his bloodline.