When that hot pot—simmered in the fundamental laws of two universes—had finally cooled, the ruins of Wakanda fell into a silence even longer than the one following the battle itself.
The Justice Avengers Alliance, that coalition of top-tier heroes from both Marvel and DC universes, now stood gathered around the no-longer-glowing "Universal Pot," every single one of them looking like they'd lost their souls.
Their expressions were identical: the look of people who had just watched a co-production by How It's Made, Planet Earth, and A Bite of China—cosmic-scale, IMAX 3D, directed by Lovecraft.
Stunning, yet filled with an absurdity that defied description.
"So..." Tony Stark was the first to emerge from the philosophical abyss of Who am I? Where am I? What did I just witness?
He pointed at the now-solidified "residue" at the bottom of the pot and asked in an extremely uncertain tone: "...did we just... deep-fry an incomprehensible, ancient god-tier mastermind who was trying to devour two universes... like tempura?"
"It... would appear so." Steve Rogers, Captain America himself, felt his patriotic spirit being challenged like never before. He was starting to think he might not have been protecting America all this time—just America's kitchen.
"Not just fried him," Superman added, staring at his own fists—the same fists that had just burned with the "Flame of Hope"—and muttering to himself. "I think that fire actually smelled... pretty good?"
"Good? It was better than good." Thor, Asgard's self-proclaimed "God of Cuisine," smacked his lips with the expression of a satisfied food critic. "I swear on my hammer, that aroma was even more divine than the golden apples my father Odin roasts with dew from Yggdrasil!"
Cloud, having witnessed all of this, stood there like a restaurant owner who had just finished serving an important table of VIP guests. He let out a contented belch and patted his nonexistent belly.
"So? What do you think, everyone?" He grinned. "The house specialty—was it up to your standards?"
Every hero present turned to look at him with a complex gaze mixing reverence and "please stay away from me."
They silently swore they'd never forget this moment as long as they lived.
...
The "feast" was over, but the "kitchen cleanup" had only just begun.
While that unlucky cosmic Whisperer had been physically transcended by Cloud in the most eco-friendly manner possible—and both universes had avoided being completely devoured—the violent collision between the two worlds, combined with Cloud's completely unreasonable "kneading dough" approach, had left the barriers between universes looking like Swiss cheese that a toddler had attacked with a fork.
Countless tiny spatial rifts now spread like spider webs along the boundary between the two universes.
Every so often, debris from Marvel's Outrider forces would fall into DC's Metropolis.
Or occasionally, a lost gryphon from Themyscira would wander into Marvel's Wakandan airspace.
While these little accidents didn't affect ordinary people much, for S.H.I.E.L.D. and the Justice League, it meant the start of an endless maintenance nightmare.
"This can't go on! We need a solution!" Nick Fury and Bruce Wayne—representing their respective universes' "biggest brains" and "biggest control freaks"—arrived at the same conclusion after a "friendly meeting" filled with coded language and scheming.
They went to find Cloud.
At that moment, Cloud was lounging by Wayne Manor's outdoor pool—which somehow managed to be even more luxurious than Stark Tower's—enjoying "stereo surround" massage services provided by Wonder Woman Diana (reluctantly) and Catwoman Selina Kyle (enthusiastically).
"Mr. Cloud." Fury's blood pressure spiked at the sight of this scene of "corruption," but he got straight to the point. "Regarding the aftermath of the two universes' collision—we need your help."
"Help?" Cloud didn't even open his eyes. "Didn't I already eat the biggest 'problem' for you?"
"You can't handle the rest yourselves?"
"We cannot." This time it was Batman who answered.
His voice—hoarse and deep as Gotham's night—carried an unquestionable finality.
"According to my calculations, if these spatial rifts are left unchecked, within fifty years, the laws of both universes will mutually erode until they both collapse."
"In layman's terms: Apocalypse, Version 2.0."
"Oh? That serious?" Cloud finally opened his eyes.
He wasn't worried about any apocalypse per se. He just figured that if these two "back gardens" he'd worked so hard to unify both collapsed, where would he find so many interesting people and beautiful women in the future?
"Ugh... what a pain." He sighed with all the weariness of an overworked office drone.
He stood and made his way to the junction between the two universes—a chaotic sea of twisted, fractured space, filled with endless rifts at the level of fundamental law.
Looking at the mess before him, he rubbed his chin thoughtfully.
"Just tear the two universes apart again? Nah, too crude. And the environmental damage would be terrible."
"Use Sunlight's Blessing to purify all the rifts? Also no—that would damage both universes' core essence."
"Then..."
A cunning, merchant-like gleam suddenly flashed in his eyes.
"...Got it!"
He snapped his fingers.