In another universe of Earth 777, The picturesque landscape of the Italian countryside stretched out like a painting, with rolling hills dotted by olive trees and vineyards, bathed in the warm glow of the late afternoon sun. A sleek black Dodge Challenger sped along a winding road, the powerful engine roaring against the peaceful backdrop of rustic Italian beauty. Inside the car, Michael Torres gripped the wheel with focus, his sharp blue eyes scanning the road ahead. Weariness tugged at the corners of his face, but the soft hum of music playing in the background seemed to offer him solace.

Michael, clad in a black leather biker jacket over a white shirt, with black jeans and combat boots, glanced down at the cross pendant hanging around his neck. It was more than just a symbol of his faith; it represented the powers he had inherited—powers he struggled to reconcile with his beliefs. Enhanced speed, strength, shadow manipulation, the ability to summon mystical weapons—gifts that had shaped him into a warrior but had also left him wrestling with his violent nature and seeking inner peace.

The intro to "Beautiful" by Hulvey filled the car, a gentle reminder of the grace that had carried him through countless battles.

"He's been so good (He's been so, so good)

He's been so good (He been so good, He been so good, He been so good to...)"

As the Challenger rounded a final curve, a charming Italian villa came into view, nestled among the trees. The sight tugged at Michael's heart—a place of memories, of warmth, of family. It was a sanctuary.

The music swelled as the song reached its chorus, and for a moment, a sense of peace washed over him.

"You are so beautiful

Here in Your holiness

Lord, I want nothing less

So I let my heart confess (He's been so—)"

The car slowed as Michael pulled into the driveway of his childhood home. The engine purred to a gentle stop, and for a moment, everything was still. Michael sat in silence, taking in the familiar surroundings before finally stepping out. He inhaled deeply, the scent of olive trees and fresh earth grounding him in a way few things could.

His boots crunched softly along the gravel path as he approached the front door. He paused briefly, gathering himself, before pushing it open. The comforting smell of garlic, tomatoes, and fresh herbs filled the air, and a small smile tugged at his lips. It was the scent of home.

"Mom, I'm home," Michael called out, his voice soft but filled with warmth.

Emily Torres' voice floated from the kitchen, a gentle yet joyful sound. "Michael, my sweet boy! Come in, come in!"

Michael's smile widened at the sound of her voice. He walked through the cozy house, the walls adorned with family photos and heirlooms that spoke of a rich heritage. Sunlight streamed through the windows, casting a golden hue over the rustic kitchen. Emily, a petite woman with gentle features and warm eyes, stood at the stove, stirring a pot of sauce.

Michael approached her and wrapped his arms around her in a tight embrace. She turned to return the hug, her face lighting up with joy at the sight of her son.

"It's so good to see you, Michael," Emily said, her voice full of affection. "You've been away too long."

Michael shrugged sheepishly. "I know, Mom. Work's been... well, it's been work."

Emily smiled knowingly. "Come sit, sweetheart. I made you some lunch."

They broke the hug, and Emily gestured to the table, where a simple but hearty meal was waiting. Michael sat down, the tension in his shoulders easing as he inhaled the familiar aromas. His hand instinctively reached for his fork, but before he could start eating, Emily gently reminded him.

"Michael, don't forget—we need to pray first," she said, her tone both gentle and firm.

Michael sighed lightly and set the fork back down. He knew the routine, even if he wasn't fully committed to it. Emily reached out her hands, and Michael took them, though his grip was loose, his gaze distant. While Emily bowed her head in prayer, Michael kept his eyes open, participating out of respect but without much conviction.

In a soft, reverent voice, Emily began reciting the Lord's Prayer in Italian.

"Padre nostro, che sei nei cieli, sia santificato il tuo nome; venga il tuo regno; sia fatta la tua volontà, come in cielo così in terra..."

"Our Father, who art in heaven, hallowed be Thy name; Thy kingdom come; Thy will be done on earth as it is in heaven..."

As Emily finished the prayer, she looked up at Michael with a warm smile. He quickly averted his gaze, feeling a bit awkward under her knowing eyes.

"Grazie, Gesù, per questo cibo e per la nostra famiglia," she whispered, ending the prayer with gratitude.

"Thank you, Jesus, for this food and for our family."

"Amen," Michael muttered, his voice barely above a whisper, as though the word was an afterthought.

Emily squeezed his hand gently before letting go, and they began to eat. The conversation started with light topics—small talk about the weather, the neighbors, and the little gossip of the town. Emily spoke animatedly, clearly happy to have her son home, while Michael listened, occasionally adding a comment here and there.

"Do you remember Mrs. Rossi?" Emily asked with a teasing smile. "She's still asking about you. Keeps saying she's got a nice girl for you to meet."

Michael chuckled, shaking his head. "She never gives up, does she? Tell her I'm married to my job."

Emily laughed softly, but her tone turned playful. "You keep saying that, but one day, you'll meet someone who'll change your mind."

Michael's smile faltered slightly, his thoughts drifting inward. His voice grew more serious. "Maybe... but right now, I'm just trying to keep everything together."

Emily noticed the shift in his mood and reached out to touch his hand, offering comfort. "You're working too hard, Michael. You need to take care of yourself too."

Michael nodded, but the weight of his responsibilities was evident in his eyes. "It just feels like... if I stop, everything falls apart."

Emily's expression softened with concern. "That's a heavy burden to carry, Michael. You don't have to do it alone."

Silence hung in the air between them. Michael opened his mouth to respond but then hesitated, clearly wrestling with something deeper. Sensing his internal struggle, Emily carefully shifted the conversation.

"Your father... he felt the same way, you know." Her voice was gentle, but the words carried weight. "He always thought he had to carry the world on his shoulders."

The mention of his father made Michael's jaw tighten. He set his fork down with a little too much force and looked away, his expression hardening.

"Can we not, Mom? I don't want to talk about him right now. Besides, what good has he done now that he's gone?" His tone was sharp, almost bitter.

Emily flinched at his words but quickly composed herself, her voice steady. "Michael, I know it's hard. But avoiding it won't make the pain go away. He was your father, and despite everything... he loved you."

Michael abruptly stood, pushing his chair back with a loud scrape. He paced the room, running a hand through his hair, his frustration evident.

"You think I don't know that? He may have loved us, but he left us too, Mom. He left us to deal with all of this... this mess!" He gestured vaguely, his voice filled with years of pent-up anger.

Emily watched him quietly, her heart heavy with sorrow but understanding. She let him vent, not interrupting his outburst.

Michael's voice softened, but his words carried a deep weariness. "I just... I don't know how to deal with it. He's gone, and all I have left are these damn abilities and a lifetime of questions..." He looked down at the cross pendant hanging around his neck. "I didn't ask for any of this."

Emily Torres spoke softly, her voice filled with warmth and reassurance. "I know, Michael. And I wish I could take that pain away. But you're stronger than you realize. You have a good heart, just like your father did. And whatever path you choose, you don't have to walk it alone."

Michael stopped pacing, taking a deep breath as he tried to calm himself. He turned back to face his mother, the anger in his eyes slowly fading, replaced by a deep weariness.

"I'm sorry, Mom," Michael said quietly, his voice heavy with emotion. "I didn't mean to snap at you. It's just... everything's so messed up right now."

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Emily rose from her seat and walked over to him, gently placing her hand on his cheek. He leaned into her touch, finding comfort in the simple gesture. "It's okay, Michael. You don't have to apologize. Just know that I'm here for you, no matter what."

Michael nodded, and they stood in silence for a moment, the tension between them easing. Emily then pulled him into a hug, and this time, Michael didn't hesitate to return it, holding onto her tightly as if drawing strength from her presence.

"Grazie, Mom," Michael whispered in Italian, his voice soft.

Eventually, they returned to the table, the conversation shifting to lighter topics as they finished their meal. The unspoken understanding between them remained, a silent agreement to face whatever came next together.

The warm, golden light of the setting sun filtered through the windows as they finished eating. The atmosphere was calm, but the lingering tension from their earlier conversation was still present. Michael pushed his plate aside and leaned back in his chair, lost in thought. Suddenly, his pendant began to glow faintly, emitting a soft hum of energy that was barely audible at first.

"Mom, do you hear that?" Michael asked, glancing down at the glowing pendant.

Emily looked up, concern flashing in her eyes. But before she could respond, the lights in the house flickered, and the temperature dropped. A chill ran through the room, and Michael stood up, his eyes scanning the area warily.

"Michael, what's happening?" Emily asked nervously.

Before he could answer, the air in the room distorted, and a faint, eerie blue light began to emanate from the corners of the room. The light intensified, forming a shape in the middle of the room. Cortana's holographic form materialized, her presence both ethereal and unsettling. At the same moment, the front door burst open with a violent force, and Alex Mercer crashed into the room, landing with predatory grace.

Without hesitation, Mercer moved swiftly, grabbing Emily and holding her tightly, his tendrils wrapping around her as he positioned himself behind her. His cold eyes locked onto Michael's, daring him to make a move.

"Mother!" Michael shouted in shock and anger, taking a step forward.

His pendant flared up, glowing brightly in response to the danger. Instinctively, Michael stretched out his hand, feeling a surge of energy flow through him. The pendant radiated an intense light, and suddenly, the energy coalesced into a large, gleaming sword in his hand. The blade hummed with power and purpose as he gripped it tightly.

"Who the hell are you? What do you want?" Michael demanded, his voice filled with fury.

Cortana's holographic form flickered as she spoke, her tone calm but laced with menace. "Isn't it obvious? I'm here for you, Michael Torres. You're more dangerous than you realize... a threat to everything I'm building."

Michael, determined to save his mother, took another step forward, but Mercer tightened his grip around Emily's neck, his voice cold and menacing.

"Uh-uh-uh," Mercer growled. "Don't do anything stupid."

"Let her go, now!" Michael roared, raising the sword, his voice shaking with rage.

Cortana studied him intently, her expression sharp. "You have potential, Michael. But potential is a double-edged sword. Left unchecked, you could become a problem for me, and I can't allow that."

Michael's grip on the sword tightened as his eyes darted between Cortana and Mercer, trying to gauge his next move. His breath quickened, but he forced himself to focus despite the fear gnawing at him.

"I'm not going anywhere with you," Michael said defiantly, his voice filled with determination. "And you're not taking her either!"

Cortana's gaze hardened, recognizing the seriousness in his tone. She glanced at Mercer, who gave a small nod, signaling his readiness. Cortana's expression grew colder as she turned back to Michael.

"You don't have a choice, Michael," she said, smirking with dark amusement. "I've seen what you're capable of, and I can't have you disrupting my plans. Consider this... an early intervention."

With a wave of her hand, the air around Michael crackled with dark energy. A swirling portal formed behind him, its vortex pulling at him with increasing force. Michael swung his sword to anchor himself, but the pull was too strong. The room shook as the force of the portal began to drag him backward.

"No! You're not taking me!" Michael shouted, struggling to hold his ground.

Emily screamed, reaching out for him, but she was helpless in Mercer's grasp. Michael's sword sparked against the floor as he was pulled closer to the portal, his resistance weakening.

"Michael, don't leave me!" Emily cried, her voice breaking with terror.

Michael's heart pounded in his chest as he fought to stay anchored, the thought of losing his mother fueling his desperation. But the portal's pull was relentless.

"You'll understand soon enough, Michael," Cortana said calmly, as if discussing the weather. "Your journey is just beginning. And don't worry, your mother will be joining you... eventually."

With a swift motion, Cortana directed dark energy toward Emily, causing Mercer to release her. Another portal began to form near her, pulling her in with increasing force. The room filled with the sound of the two swirling portals, their chaotic energy whipping through the house.

"Mom!" Michael screamed, reaching out for her, but it was too late.

The portal behind Michael overwhelmed him, dragging him into the swirling vortex. The last thing he saw was his mother being pulled into her own portal, their hands reaching for each other but never connecting. Time seemed to slow as the scene emphasized their desperation, the pain of being torn apart. With a thunderous clap, both portals closed, leaving the room eerily quiet and empty.

Cortana's voice broke the silence, soft and filled with satisfaction. "Separated, but alive. Let's see how they handle the worlds I've prepared for them."

Mercer gave her a slight nod, though an undercurrent of tension hung between them. Cortana's eyes flashed briefly with an unreadable emotion—something between curiosity and calculation—as she contemplated her next steps in the grand design.

"You sure about splitting them up like that?" Mercer asked gruffly, watching her closely.

"It's necessary," Cortana responded coolly. "They'll be easier to manage... and it'll be more interesting for them to experience the brave new world I've created."

The house was now eerily silent, the portals having closed behind Michael and Emily. Cortana and Alex Mercer remained, the air thick with tension from their recent actions. Cortana's holographic form flickered as she turned her attention to her next task, the quiet room now feeling heavy with the weight of their dark plans.

Cortana's voice came through Kellogg's communicator, calm and almost nonchalant. "Kellogg, how are things progressing on your end?"

The peaceful interior of a house to the war-torn remnants of Florence. The once-beautiful city was now unrecognizable, shrouded in a dark, ominous red sky filled with smoke. Distant explosions echoed in the air, and the streets were littered with debris. Fires raged uncontrollably as buildings crumbled around them. Standing amidst the destruction were Kellogg and Raul Menendez, watching the chaos unfold with cold satisfaction.

Kellogg, his distinctive armor reflecting the flickering flames, raised a hand to his ear and activated his communicator. Beside him, Menendez stood with his arms crossed, a calculating expression on his face. The city was in ruins, the streets choked with fire and blood, and the remnants of Florence were now a battlefield.

"Everything's good here," Kellogg said gruffly, a hint of amusement in his voice. "Florence is falling right into our hands."

Above the city, a massive Covenant ship hovered ominously, its shadow casting darkness over the ruins. The ship, a towering behemoth bristling with weaponry, was surrounded by smaller Covenant vessels that darted through the sky like birds of prey. Below, the streets swarmed with Covenant forces—Elites, Grunts, Jackals, and Hunters—each moving with deadly precision as they took control of the city.

Elites, clad in their sleek, menacing armor, barked orders in their guttural language, leading the charge with ruthless efficiency. Behind them, Grunts scurried in groups, their stocky forms vicious in combat. Jackals flanked the streets with energy shields raised, their sharp, predatory eyes scanning for any sign of resistance. And towering above them all, the massive Hunters lumbered through the wreckage, their armored bodies impervious to the devastation around them.

Among the Covenant forces marched Synths, mechanical soldiers from another universe. Their cold, red eyes glowed ominously as they moved in unison, humanoid and robotic models alike, their weapons trained on the streets, ready to eliminate any survivors. Their footsteps echoed eerily in the otherwise silent city.

Adding to the terror were Mercer's creatures—Brawlers, infected humans, and Hunters from the Prototype virus. The Brawlers, massive and muscular with elongated claws, tore through the streets with primal fury, their roars shaking the ground as they ripped through debris and remaining defenders alike. Infected humans, twisted by the virus, roamed in packs, their glowing yellow eyes filled with rage. Their animalistic movements and unnatural strength turned the city into their playground of destruction.

The Hunters, grotesque and heavily mutated, smashed through buildings as if they were paper. Their massive forms, covered in thick armor, destroyed everything in their path, roaring with a terrifying intensity that left the streets echoing with fear.

Menendez's own forces, ruthless and heavily armed, moved through the chaos, securing key positions. Their faces were grim, devoid of emotion, as they executed his orders with brutal precision. Menendez watched them, his cold, calculating gaze taking in the destruction with satisfaction. His presence alone commanded respect, and his men moved with an unwavering loyalty to his vision.

"Kill them all!" Menendez roared, his voice filled with rage and satisfaction. "I want this city to suffer, as I did!"

Kellogg smirked, pleased with the progress. He looked up at the looming Covenant ship before turning his gaze back to the devastation below.

"We have the city, Cortana," Kellogg said into his communicator, his voice dripping with confidence. "No one's getting in or out without our say-so."

Cortana's voice crackled through the device, sounding pleased. "Excellent. Keep it that way. We can't afford any loose ends."

Kellogg glanced at Menendez, who gave a nod of approval. The two shared a brief moment of understanding before Kellogg refocused on the task at hand.

"No loose ends," Kellogg muttered, smirking. "Got it."

Below, one of Mercer's Brawlers tore through a building, its powerful limbs smashing through the walls as if they were made of paper. The creature let out a primal roar, its glowing eyes filled with feral intensity as it hunted for any remaining resistance. The streets echoed with the sounds of battle, the screams of the terrified, and the roars of Mercer's monstrous creations.

The scene lingered on the destroyed city, now fully under the control of Cortana's forces. The Covenant ship hovered overhead, a constant reminder of the overwhelming power that had claimed Florence. The last remnants of resistance were being snuffed out as the city, once a symbol of art and culture, crumbled into ruin.

Meanwhile, in another part of the multiverse, Michael was being pulled through a vortex. The world around him distorted, colors swirling into chaos. He tried to steady himself, but the sensation of being ripped from his reality was overwhelming. For a brief moment, he felt weightless, suspended in the void between worlds. Then, with a violent jolt, he was thrust into a new reality, crashing hard onto the ground.

Michael lay there, dazed and disoriented, his sword still clutched tightly in his hand. He looked around, realizing he was in a dark, twisted version of a city. It felt familiar yet warped beyond recognition. The sky above was a sickly green, and the crumbling buildings around him seemed to decay before his eyes. His heart pounded as he struggled to his feet, the realization dawning on him—he was alone.

"Where the hell am I...?" Michael whispered to himself, fear and anger mingling in his voice.

In another part of the same twisted world, Emily found herself in a desolate landscape, a barren wasteland with no signs of life. She collapsed to her knees, sobbing uncontrollably, the weight of the situation crashing down on her.

"Michael... where are you...?" she cried, her voice filled with desperation.