Six months had passed like a dream that refused to end.
The golden light of Soul Space never changed, but the people inside it had.
James stood on the wide balcony that overlooked the endless forest illusion, arms resting on the railing, watching the false stars flicker above.
Behind him, the main living area was quiet—only the soft hum of the dimension's ambient magic and the occasional page-turn from someone reading late.
Himiko Toga—his fourth wife now—was curled on the oversized sectional with Eri asleep across her lap. Toga's blonde buns were slightly mussed from an earlier tickle fight; one hand absently stroked Eri's silver hair while the other held a half-finished manga.
The little girl had come so far. No more flinching at sudden movements. No more waking up screaming Overhaul's name. She laughed freely now, called all five women "Mama," and had even started drawing pictures of the whole family—stick figures with too many hearts.
Lady Nagant—his fifth wife—leaned against the far wall, arms crossed, watching the scene with the same quiet intensity she'd once used to line up shots. Her blue hair was longer now, loose around her shoulders instead of the tight prison knot.
She still carried the sniper's poise, but the sharp edges had softened. The first few weeks she'd barely spoken. Then she started joining training sessions with Hope and Hayley. Then she let Jozie braid her hair one night. Then she kissed James under the false moonlight and whispered that she was ready to stop running.
The ring on her finger matched the ones Toga, Hayley, Hope, and Jozie wore—simple bands of silver and obsidian that the dimension itself had conjured the day each woman said "yes."
Five wives.
One daughter.
And a world—two worlds—that had finally stopped screaming.
James hadn't noticed when the screen made its quiet adjustments.
Toga and Nagant would never age. Their bodies locked at the age they'd been when they joined him—eternal youth granted without fanfare, without his knowledge. The screen had slipped the change in during one of the many quiet nights when everyone slept, rewriting biology so subtly that even Hope's witch senses never caught it.
The restriction on Nagant's private room had also vanished weeks ago.
No announcement. No glowing text. One day the door simply allowed anyone she trusted, James, the other wives & Eri, to pass through.
She'd tested it the first night, stepping in and out with growing disbelief. Then she'd invited Eri to sit on the bed and tell her stories about the "big dragon in Daddy's pocket." The room was no longer a cage. It was just… hers.
Tonight, though, the house was still.
Toga had kissed James goodnight thirty minutes ago, fangs grazing his neck in that playful way she loved. Nagant had pressed a slow, deliberate kiss to his lips before retreating to check her rifle—old habit, even if she hadn't fired it in months.
Hayley, Hope, and Jozie were already asleep in the master bedroom, limbs tangled, breathing even. Eri had insisted on sleeping in Toga's arms tonight.
James had stayed up.
Something felt… expectant.
He was about to turn back inside when the blue screen appeared—silent, floating directly in front of his face.
[Do you wish to enter Earth-2149 (Marvel Zombies)?]
[Note: You will be teleported 2 days before the virus spread, just like in canon.]
James stared at the words.
Marvel Zombies.
A reality where the superhero virus turned gods into flesh-hungry monsters. Where the Avengers became cannibals. Where hope died screaming.
He'd read the comics. Watched the animated series. Knew the body count. Knew the horror.
He also knew he could stop it.
Or at least try.
His family was safe here. Soul Space couldn't be breached without him. The Legacies world was quiet. The MHA world had no villains left worth the name.
But another Earth?
Another timeline bleeding out?
He thought of the faces sleeping behind him—five women who trusted him with their forever, one little girl who called him "Daddy" without fear.
He thought of the people on that other Earth who hadn't been given a chance to escape.
"Yes," he said quietly.
The screen pulsed once—bright, approving.
[Teleportation initiating.]
[Arrival: Earth-2149, 48 hours before outbreak.]
The balcony blurred.
Golden light folded inward.
James felt the familiar tug—stronger this time, like space itself had hooked claws into his ribs.
Then everything went white.
When the light cleared, he stood on cracked concrete under a bruised New York sky.
Sirens wailed in the distance.
The air smelled of exhaust and coming rain.
Two days.
He had two days before the virus broke loose.
James exhaled.