Orion, standing unnervingly still, gave a small nod. "Legends often hold a kernel of truth. If you’re lucky, maybe you’ll even meet the Asgardian in person someday."

Fury raised an eyebrow. "Lucky? That sounds more like a threat."

Natasha, who had been leaning casually against the wall, arms crossed, suddenly chimed in. "You mentioned Odin is still alive, which keeps the aliens in check. What happens if he… you know… kicks the golden bucket?"

Orion turned his gaze to Natasha, his amber eyes catching the light just enough to give her the impression he was staring straight into her soul. He said nothing, but the silence was deafening. It wasn’t the kind of silence you could fill with a clever quip; it was the kind that made you question your life choices. Natasha swallowed hard, her usual composure slipping just a little.

Coulson, ever the optimist—or maybe just trying to break the tension—spoke up. "So… we’re basically on borrowed time, right? Good to know. I’ll pencil that into my calendar."

Orion didn’t dignify that with a response, which was somehow worse. Fury felt a headache coming on, the kind that even his trusty eyepatch couldn’t block out.

"Let’s cut to the chase," Fury said, folding his hands on his desk and leaning forward. "If Odin dies, how bad is it gonna get? Are we talking mild inconvenience or full-scale alien invasion?"

Orion’s lips curved slightly, not quite a smile but close enough to make Fury uncomfortable. "That depends. Can humans survive without their training wheels?" And just like that, he vanished—no flashy smoke or dramatic lightning, just gone. Fury glanced at the cash, mildly annoyed. "He really knows how to make an exit, doesn’t he?"

Natasha tilted her head, her sharp gaze fixed on where Orion had stood moments before. "We have no idea who he really is," she said flatly. "For all we know, he could be just some guy with a really good PR team."

Coulson scratched the back of his head. "Sure, but he did mention the Kree and Skrulls. That’s not exactly trivia you pick up watching late-night sci-fi flicks."

Fury stood up, pacing behind his desk as his mind worked through the possibilities. "Exactly. The Kree and Skrulls are real, and only a handful of people know about them—people like me, who’ve had the pleasure of dealing with them firsthand. So either this guy’s plugged into some very classified alien gossip channels, or he’s the real deal. And frankly, I’m not sure which one is worse."

The room fell silent again, though this time it was the kind where everyone was actively trying not to imagine Earth becoming an alien punching bag. Finally, Fury broke the silence.

"Natasha," he said, his tone all business now, "track him down. Death God, or whatever he’s calling himself—find out if he’s a super, an alien, or just some weirdo with a god complex. And don’t let him know we’re watching."

Natasha gave a tight nod, already mentally drafting a game plan. "Understood."

Fury turned to Coulson. "I want you on the lookout for anyone with abilities we can use. If this Odin thing goes south, we’re gonna need every edge we can get."

The author's tale has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.

Coulson, ever the team player, nodded. "I’ll get right on it. But, uh, what if he doesn’t like being tested? You saw how he left—cool, calm, and with our money."

Fury allowed himself the briefest of smirks. "Then we’d better hope his price tag doesn’t include selling Earth out to the highest bidder."

As Fury walked out of the room, his mind churned with plans within plans. The information Orion had dumped on them wasn’t just a wake-up call—it was a full-on air raid siren. Odin’s lifespan, the threat of alien interference, and the unsettling mystery of the so-called Death God were all pieces of a puzzle he wasn’t sure he wanted to solve. But one thing was clear: Earth needed more than just bureaucratic red tape and aging SHIELD agents. They needed a team—something bigger, stronger, and just crazy enough to handle whatever came next.

He had a name for it already: The Avengers. Now all he needed was to build it before the universe decided to crash the party.

_______

Orion snatched the cash from his hideout, tossed on a hoodie, and bolted out the door like a guilty raccoon. Minutes later, he was soaring through the skies, heading straight for his plush manor in New York—a sprawling estate that screamed “I have too much money and zero subtlety.” Once home, he made a beeline for the basement, where he stashed the loot with all the care of a dragon hoarding gold. After changing into fresh clothes (because who schemes in yesterday’s sweat?), he flopped onto his ridiculously oversized couch and opened the system interface.

What greeted him wasn’t the usual screen of Avatar Slots, but two shiny new options. Intrigued, he leaned closer.

Option One: Evolve Avatar.

Option Two: Enhance Avatar.

“Well, well, aren’t we feeling generous today, System?” Orion muttered, clicking on Enhance Avatar first. The screen flickered before revealing a shadowy image of the Void Reaver. But it wasn’t just one avatar—oh no—there was an entire buffet of them, each with their own unique flavor of chaos.

Guardian of Sand Void Raider This one could morph into sand. Perfect for stealth, assuming you didn’t mind becoming nature’s litter. Redemption conditions? Completely unclear.

Death Bloom Void Reaver: A plant-based version that could disguise itself as a harmless flower. Probably great for ambushes—or garden parties. Conditions? Also unknown.

Tyrant Alien Void Predator: A mechanized beast that could transfer consciousness into devices. Price tag? A casual 100 million energy. No big deal.

Odyssey Void Raider: This one had arcane powers and promised to unlock “the mysteries of the universe.” Whatever that meant. Conditions TBD.

Death Star Void Raider: Control the universe with Dark Star energy. Conditions? Don’t even ask.

Orion couldn’t help but smirk. “Nice more way to become stronger.” His gaze lingered on the Tyrant Alien Void Predator. That mechanized ability to control devices? Tempting, but the 100-million energy price tag might as well have been a neon “Not for You” sign.

Shrugging, he moved on to the Evolve Avatar option. This one was less exciting. It required something called the Source of Evolution, which he could only get after gaining 1,000 level. With just 200 under his belt, that goal felt as distant as his willingness to do cardio.

Suddenly, the system pinged, breaking his thoughts.

[Host has successfully recognized the master. Initiating mission from the Void.]

[Objective: Spread the will of the Void by any means necessary. Convert fated creatures with great power or significance to the cause. Higher influence equals greater energy.]

Orion leaned back, fingers steepled. “Okay, System, what’s the catch? Or do I just start handing out pamphlets like a spiritual telemarketer?”

He followed up with a direct question: “What counts as converting?”

But as usual, the system went radio silent, leaving him with his own theories. “Of course, you’re quiet now,” he grumbled. “Typical.” Still, Orion had a pretty solid hunch. Fate probably referred to individuals with big destinies—people whose actions shaped the world. Tony Stark came to mind immediately. The guy was practically a walking buffet of influence.

But targeting Stark was a gamble. Messing with the Marvel timeline could unleash consequences even the Void might find hard to swallow. Orion wasn’t ready to deal with a snowballing multiverse meltdown, so he shelved that idea—for now.