The void wasn't just empty—it was alive. Stars twitched and pulsed like neurons firing in some incomprehensible cosmic brain. Gravity didn't just pull—it hiccupped, sending waves of force rippling through space in patterns that made no sense. Time itself seemed drunk, looping back on itself in playful, impossible rhythms that would have made even the Time Variance Authority throw up their hands in defeat.
Thor floated awkwardly in mid-air, his mighty form reduced to something almost comical as he tried to orient himself. Mjolnir wobbled beside him like a confused puppy, the enchanted hammer seeming genuinely uncertain about which direction "down" was supposed to be. His cape billowed in nonexistent wind, defying every law of physics Thor thought he understood.
"By Odin's missing eye," Thor muttered, gripping his hammer tighter. "This is worse than that time Loki turned the Bifrost into a carnival ride."
Speaking of Loki, the God of Mischief floated nearby, his trademark smirk flickering like a bad hologram. His illusions—usually so precise, so perfect—were glitching out spectacularly. One moment he appeared as himself, the next as Thor, then as a dancing elephant, then as what looked like a very confused potato. His magic couldn't get a grip on reality because reality itself couldn't decide what it wanted to be.
"This is... actually quite fascinating," Loki said, watching his own hand phase in and out of existence. "Deeply unsettling, but fascinating."
Black Adam hovered with divine lightning crackling around his fists, but even his power—gifted by ancient gods—was behaving strangely. The lightning arced in random, impossible trajectories, striking at angles that shouldn't exist, suspended mid-strike as if frozen in aspic. He frowned, concentrating harder, but the electricity just danced mockingly around him.
And in the center of this impossible maelstrom floated Tony Stark, encased in his Mark-Whatever-Number-He-Was-On-Now armor. His heads-up display was going absolutely bonkers, throwing up readings that shouldn't be possible: negative mass, imaginary distances, probability percentages exceeding 100%, and what appeared to be a calculation for the square root of purple.
"JARVIS," Tony said calmly, "are you seeing this?"
"Sir, my sensors are detecting readings that violate approximately seven thousand laws of physics, three hundred impossibilities, and at least one thing I can only describe as 'cosmically inappropriate.'"
Tony's grin was audible in his voice. "This is insane... and I absolutely love it."
Above them—or below, or beside, or somehow through them—the God of Previous Universes manifested. Calling it a "being" was like calling the ocean "wet"—technically accurate but hilariously insufficient. Its form was impossible geometry made flesh (if it even was flesh), a constantly shifting kaleidoscope of energy and matter folded into dimensions that human eyes weren't equipped to process. Looking directly at it gave the distinct impression of staring at infinity while infinity stared back and winked.
Galaxies swirled within its eyes. Nebulae formed and died in the patterns on its skin. Its very presence bent spacetime like a trampoline under an elephant.
When it spoke, reality itself resonated with the words, carrying them across infinite planes of existence simultaneously:
"You have survived my initial trial."
The voice wasn't loud—it was everywhere. It didn't echo; it existed in perfect clarity at every point in space at once.
Thor straightened, trying to look dignified despite still floating upside-down relative to everyone else. "We demand to know why—"
"Now... you shall ascend."
Tony raised a gauntlet, repulsors humming to life. "Okay, ascend. Sure. I've done the space thing, the armor thing, fought aliens, gods, and that one really angry grape..." He paused. "But cosmic training with an actual capital-G God? Now that's new. Let's roll."
Thor groaned dramatically. "By Odin's beard, I hate when this happens. Last time someone said 'ascend,' I ended up fighting my own sister while our home exploded."
"Your life is very complicated, brother," Loki observed dryly.
"Says the man who once turned into a snake to stab me."
"I was eight!"
Black Adam's eyes glowed with divine fire. "Enough bickering. If this entity wishes to test us, then let it test us. We shall not be found wanting."
The God's form rippled with what might have been amusement. "Very well. But first... meet your arena."
It waved one impossible hand—or appendage, or concentrated thought-form—and reality warped like taffy in a microwave.
The transformation was instantaneous and impossible. One moment they floated in the void. The next, they stood (or floated, the distinction had become meaningless) in an arena that made the entire observable universe look like a child's marble collection.
Stars spun like tops, whirling at impossible speeds, their fusion reactions creating light shows that would have blinded anyone without divine or technological protection. Mini black holes—each containing the mass of a thousand suns—orbited like toys on strings, their event horizons swirling with captured light. Waves of pure cosmic energy pulsed through the space like drums beating out the rhythm of creation itself.
The "ground" (if it could be called that) was a surface of compressed spacetime, rippling and flowing like water made solid made liquid again. Standing on it felt like standing on the surface tension of reality itself.
"Holy shit," Tony breathed. "JARVIS, you getting all this?"
"Sir, my sensors have given up and started recording poetry. I believe the last entry was 'Roses are red, physics is dead, what the hell is happening, I should have stayed in bed.'"
"Fair."
The God's presence intensified. "Meet your instructors."
From tears in the fabric of reality itself stepped forth the most bizarre collection of beings Tony had ever seen—and he'd fought alongside a talking raccoon and a tree.
First came Doremano, and calling it a "god-dog" was like calling the sun "kind of warm." It looked like a golden retriever crossed with a cosmic entity, its fur seeming to exist in multiple states simultaneously—soft and solid, ethereal and tangible. Its tail wagged, and with each wag, visible gravitational waves rippled outward, bending starlight into prismatic patterns. When it barked, nearby asteroids trembled.
"Okay," Tony said. "That's adorable and terrifying. I want one."
Next came the Galectors—towering alien warriors, each standing at least twelve feet tall, their bodies bristling with armor made from compressed neutron stars. Star-metal, forged in the hearts of supernovas, covered them in gleaming plates that reflected light that didn't exist yet. They moved with perfect synchronization, like a cosmic military parade, each step calculated to avoid disrupting the delicate balance of forces around them.
"Big guys. Very big guys," Tony muttered. "JARVIS, threat assessment?"
"Sir, they could crush diamonds with their pinkie fingers. If they have pinkie fingers. The sensors are confused about their anatomy."
And finally, Alien X materialized—or rather, reality bent itself into a pretzel to allow Alien X's existence. The being was tall, impossibly so, with a body that seemed to be made of the cosmic microwave background radiation given form. Three personalities constantly argued within its singular form—voices of creation, destruction, and balance all vying for control. When it blinked—a simple action—the stars around it paused mid-fusion, waiting for permission to continue existing.
Even Black Adam took an involuntary step back. "This... this is beyond the gods of Egypt."
"Way beyond," Tony agreed.
The God's voice rolled across the arena like thunder made of velvet:
"Learn from them. Adapt. Survive. Then fight."
Thor hefted Mjolnir, electricity crackling down its length. "Finally! A straightforward challenge!"
"Nothing about this will be straightforward, Thunder God."
"Oh. Right. Of course not."