Jump 188: Marvel Magic

Jump 188: Marvel Magic

Age: 12
Identity: Genius, Human
Drawbacks: [+1500] Fool Me Twice, Kid Jumper, To Love In Hell, The Jumping Storm, Old King Jumper

[Free]      Superior Science
[300/2500]  Sorcerous Schooling
[500/2500]  Who Deserves To Rule?
[800/2500]  THE POWER IS JUMPER'S!
[1100/2500] Science And Sorcery
[1500/2500] Doctors Without Dimensions
[1700/2500] Magitech Armor
[1900/2500] Time Circuitry
[2500/2500] Divine Metals (x2)

... at least this isn't the ruins of Wakanda. But it IS Marvel again, and instead I get to see the ruins of New York City from atop a skyscraper.

Tastes like a doomed timeline. Absently, I wonder how I know that. I get a glimpse of the zombies running about in the ruins below me, and the attention of a couple of them snap to me as soon as I appear. Fresh meat.

I don't get the time to figure out anything beyond that. It takes all of a second and a half before another body is colliding with mine at high speed - every move I make is countered perfectly, and it takes every bit of my work to counter my opposite - for he IS my opposite, wearing my face. Somewhere in the exchanged flurry of blows I realize that I'm an adolescent, and my opposite has the body of an ancient man.

These are of course convenient abstractions. The two of us are not the pale shadow of flesh exchanging blows in the sky of the city, undead heroes below watching and looking to intervene even as the blows cause their flesh to slough from their bones, only for it to regenerate. Buildings shatter around us. The ground quakes. Storm clouds fill the skies, thunder crackling.

When two beings of higher dimensions clash, past and future mutable as we strike at each other across time, I recognize that the only thing that prevents me from losing outright is the fact that he lacks both the armor and weapon that have been mine from the moment my hands were laid on them. But despite that, he is my match, he has superior strength and (slightly) more practice at exercising his skills.

Entire conversations take place in timelines that are overwritten, explanations of why the world is in the state it is. The ironic title of "king" as he rules this universe, its undead master, refusing to allow his zombified subjects to leave his rule and inflict themselves elsewhere. Having harvested the Power Cosmic from Galactus for himself, and set up pockets of accelerated time where his demon knights can source their food without starving.

This, of course, is all Mephisto's doing. I do not know how, but I do know it with certainty.

Then again... as metaphysically large as I am, there is overlap between myself and this twisted reflection, and fighting him off to keep my essence has likely shaken much loose.

The fight rages for an untold time. Earth is only one of the many places it spreads across, spawning life myself to counter his unlife and the specters that scream at us both, the stalemate spreading across the galaxy at untold speeds, skipping forward and backward in time as we bootstrap ourselves, neither of us able to effectively strike across time against the other.

It continues to escalate of course, breaking into other dimensions outright. Many planets are barely a fond memory at that point, either destroyed in the conflict or scrapped for raw material of some sort or another. Mana. Mantra. Raw materials. Even with all the bootstrapping, it's not been yet a decade, yet multiple empires have risen across time, fallen, and been replaced.

The equipment I've brought with me is my primary saving grace, and being able to augment it with adamantine and uru is helpful if only to a limited extent. But the dyson shell stays locked far, far away from this conflict. Like much of Marvel, this is not a universe I want it exposed to.

And that enrages him, deprived of an easy source of power, deprived of access to Mimisbrunnr. That doesn't stop him from ripping the life from others to empower himself, no longer content with the feint of war through indirect means but seeking to battle me directly, fully.

It occurs to me, though, that there is an easy way to get more life. And so I tear a hole in the fabric of reality, a hole large enough to fit a planet through. I dive through, pursued by my darker half, to find my ability to sense across time muted. Not gone, but nowhere near what it was. Surrounded by fire and brimstone, the skies of Hell are replaced by the shattered remains of a star system.

I could cut a deal.

Instead, I take what I wish, because I haven't the time nor the patience to deal with their ilk. My alter ego does the same, and in very short order Hell finds itself our battleground, with him running on raw mantra while I filter mine through my theotech. Slower to build. Higher in potential. The shades flicker around me, but I find myself now able to strike them with this power at my disposal, and it reminds me why I typically tend to avoid it.

A third presence, caged, makes itself known to us. By unspoken mutual agreement, we move the fight to that location to find an unreasonably smug Mephisto with a third of us in a cage. Of course; the soul of the older version of myself, a piece of him sundered by this particular Lord of Hell. And it becomes more clear to us both as to what happened, something very unexpected.

He thinks to dictate terms; he believes he knows the value of what he has and intends to use it to turn us both into his enforcers. To gain enough souls to conquer Heaven. To conquer all existence, cast down the One Above All and remake all reality in his own image, as he sees fit.

I see the truth, looking at myself in the cage; the only one that I would have found to value above all others. I smile slightly, incline my head. I would not hesitate were anyone held by him but for myself. And it occurs to me; my vices are Pride and Greed. After all, by all rights, I always shall take what I wish without hesitation rather than rest on my laurels. It is no wonder my other self did not trust me long enough to even engage in dialog.

My older self steps forward, not cowed by Mephisto's words, preparing himself for violence. His vices are Wrath and Envy, and he has not been shy about putting it on display for even the slightest provocation. Violence directed against everything he did not control and even that which he did, and the desire to take that which is rightfully mine.

The version of myself in the cage, then, the one who appears to be an adult but is anything what he appears. Cramped, curled up in a ball, without enough room to even move his arms. The truth is written plainly. Gluttony, sloth. He's had his fill and chosen to remain here rather than take any action to escape.

I glance between my other two selves. Or another way to look at it... Id, Ego, Superego.

The fury of my older self shatters the cage; the one within stands, stretches. The three of us take each others' measure as Mephisto screams denials.

In the blink of an eye, only I stand before the accursed lord of Hell. Three of us, opposed to each other, but a part of each other. I realize I feel better than I have felt in a very long time. More complete.

Mephisto is erased from existence a scant moment later.

Once I ascend from Hell again, I close the portal, muck about with time a bit in the material world, and ensure that my older self's zombie apocalypse never happened now that he is no longer a factor-

The zombie apocalypse still happened? How fantastic. And it could have been stopped if Reed Richards weren't useless. I suppose the only consolation is that I can still ensure Galactus avoids the Earth while I eliminate the zombies. Case in point: as I'm already mucking with time, there's nothing to prevent me from intercepting the zombified Sentry as he arrives and erasing him before he can actually bite anyone.

After that, it's a very long clean-up of paradoxes, time loops, and things that should never have been in the first place, throughout the greater universe.