The Triskelion
The normal light of mid-morning flooded Nick Fury's office, feeling harsh and wrong after the sudden, oppressive night. Fury stood at the reinforced window, his jaw clamped tight. He pulled out his phone, the screen's glow bright in the lingering tension. He dialed Coulson's direct line.
"Coulson. That darkness, the sky changing. I want every available agent investigating what caused it, starting now." He paused. "Assign it codename: Sky Curtain."
Coulson's voice came through, crisp and professional, with no hint of surprise. "Understood, sir. I'll coordinate the teams immediately."
Fury hung up without another word.
Kamar-Taj
Baron Mordo entered the quiet meditation chamber, the faint scent of brewed herbs hanging in the air. He bowed low. "Supreme Sorcerer. The three Sanctums report no dimensional breaches detected. No demonic intrusions, no tears in the fabric of reality."
The Ancient One lifted her teacup with an unhurried, graceful motion and took a slow sip. Her eyes remained closed.
"We haven't identified the source of the phenomenon," Mordo continued.
"If it's not a dimensional invasion or an otherworldly threat," she replied, her voice perfectly calm, "then it doesn't concern us."
Mordo hesitated, his rigid posture betraying his surprise at her immediate dismissal. But he had learned not to question her judgment. He bowed again. "Yes, Supreme Sorcerer." He withdrew, leaving her to her tea.
New York
In a university office, the Asgardian berserker who'd taken the identity of a history professor let out a long, slow breath as the daylight returned. He'd hoped his warrior days were far behind him. The last thing he wanted was to dig out his hidden weapon and join another battle.
Whatever had caused that darkness, he prayed it wouldn't disrupt the peaceful, quiet life he'd built.
Across the world, reactions varied wildly. Some supernatural forces mobilized in alarm, sensing a shift in global power. Others watched with keen interest but did not intervene. A few, like the Ancient One, simply returned to their tea.
The Island
With Shenron gone and the wish fulfilled, Tony gathered Pepper and Happy. Pepper still looked pale.
Tony straightened his suit jacket and strode onto one of the waiting aircraft without ceremony. As the plane lifted off, the whine of the engines growing, Tony glanced back at the island one last time, his expression thoughtful, his mind already spinning with questions about the dragon he'd just witnessed.
Selene watched the aircraft disappear into the distance. Then she turned, walked to Smith, and dropped fluidly to one knee, her head bowed.
"Honored leader. Thank you for giving my people this chance. For allowing us to fulfill our greatest wish." Her voice was steady, resonant with emotion. "I will unite my entire race under your banner. We pledge our loyalty to you and the Fraternity. I ask that you accept us as one of your guardian."
Marcus stood frozen several paces behind her, his ancient features slack with shock. Pledging allegiance was one thing. Offering their entire species, his own bloodline, to serve another... That crossed lines he'd never imagined crossing. But what choice did they have? He looked at Smith. This man possessed power beyond comprehension, commanded resources that defied explanation, and controlled the Dragon Balls themselves. Objecting would be suicide.
Smith looked down at Selene's bowed head. "I promised to accept your allegiance after the tournament. I keep my promises." His voice was calm, final. "I, Smith Doyle, accept the vampire race's oath of loyalty. You are now officially recognized as guardian of the Fraternity."
He added, "We have also brought the werewolf clans under our banner. From this day forward, vampires and werewolves will coexist peacefully. No more blood feuds. No more territorial wars."
Selene's head dipped lower. "When I return home, I will bring every member of our race to New York. We will swear our oaths properly and become the Fraternity's most devoted servants."
Smith gave a single nod of acknowledgment. His gaze swept across the assembled vampires, all of whom had now knelt, including a reluctant Elder Marcus. "Selene. The prison your adopted father, Victor created. It also holds Marcus's brother, William."
Both Selene and Marcus jerked, their heads snapping up in surprise.
"Bring him when you come to New York," Smith continued, as if stating a simple fact. "I will find a way to restore his sanity."
Selene had only learned about William and her role as keykeeper when she'd absorbed Viktor's blood memories. But how did Smith know? Marcus's expression transformed, shock replaced by a raw, naked gratitude. For centuries he'd wanted to free William, to cure the primal madness that had consumed his brother. He'd even considered using his wish on it, but Selene's cause for the whole race had seemed more pressing. Now Smith was offering the solution freely.
"Thank you, Leader." Marcus's voice cracked slightly. "Thank you."
Smith had staff escort the visibly moved vampires to their transport. The rest of the Fraternity's core members boarded their own aircraft. Over the next year, crews would return to repair and expand the island's facilities. The arena, the spectator sections, everything. The second tournament would need even better infrastructure.
On the plane, Smith settled into his seat, the hum of the engines a steady drone. Around him, Bulma chatted animatedly with Robot Friday about potential equipment upgrades. He tuned them out and let his consciousness sink inward, into the system space.
The familiar interface materialized around him. The three wish draw options that had been grayed out for so long now glowed with an active, pulsing light. Shenron's departure had recharged them.
Smith selected the Character Template draw first.
The vast meteorite field appeared, thousands of glowing spheres drifting in the void above him. But the contents had changed dramatically. Young Goku was gone. Kid Krillin had vanished. Master Roshi, Tao Pai Pai, all the early Dragon Ball characters had been filtered out.
The spheres now showed adult, hardened warriors. Full-grown Goku in his orange gi. Piccolo in his weighted training clothes gathering aura. Yamcha wearing the Kame House colors. A very young Gohan, maybe four or five years old. Then, the invaders: Raditz with his wild mane of hair, Nappa's bald head and massive frame, Vegeta in his blue Saiyan armor.
Smith's eyes tracked deeper into the field. Far back in the meteorite swarm, he spotted three spheres that made his breath catch. Vegeta again, this one showing his arrival on Namek. Zarbon in his elegant, armored form. And Dodoria, the pink-skinned brute.
The system had updated. This was Dragon Ball Z. The Saiyan invasion arc, the beginning of Frieza's forces entering the story.
Those deep options represented terrifying, planet-breaking power. Dodoria's combat rating hit 22,000. Zarbon could transform and reach more heights. With power like that, destroying a planet became trivial.
But those were distant prizes, buried so deep in the field his Kamehameha was unlikely to reach them. The closer spheres held more modest, but still incredible, gains. Early Z-era characters. Goku at the start of Raditz's invasion sat around 924. Piccolo, 1,020. Young Gohan's rage burst touched 710. Raditz himself carried 1,500. Nappa, a staggering 4,000. Even the Saibamen, those little plant-based soldiers, measured 1,200 each.
Tien and Yamcha lagged behind at 200 to 300 points.
Smith studied the distribution. Any of these would be an acceptable, massive upgrade. Hell, even a Saibaman template would boost his power significantly, though he'd grit his teeth about it. But if he had a choice, anything else would be better. Saiyans dominated the field. The odds of pulling Saiyan blood were high. That would strengthen the template he already had from young Goku, maybe even trigger a deeper awakening of that heritage. Yamcha and Tien weren't flashy, but their Z-era versions still outclassed his current normal state. As for those three monsters lurking in the depths? Smith didn't let himself hope. The odds were astronomical.
He'd observed enough. Time to commit.
Chibi Smith on the screen pulled his arm back, gathering his focus, and then thrust his palm forward. Ki, blazing white, gathered around his fist. "Kamehameha!"
The blast screamed upward into the meteorite field. One of the closer spheres shattered, its light cascading down toward him.
Congratulations! Smith Doyle has received: Piccolo Character Template
A card materialized in front of him, suspended in the void. The image showed Piccolo in his iconic purple gi and white cape, arms crossed, his expression stern and imposing.
The details scrolled past Smith's vision:
Skills Acquired: Special Beam Cannon, Explosive Demon Wave, Flight, Eye Beam, Demon Shock, Light Grenade, Regeneration, Stretching Limbs, Antenna Beam, Materialization...
Upon use, you will gain Piccolo's abilities and Namekian bloodline.
Smith's hand closed around the card. This was the second-generation Piccolo, King Piccolo's reincarnation. At Raditz's arrival, Piccolo measured 1,020 combat power. In the current Marvel universe, that made him a serious, significant threat. Combined with Namekian regeneration, Smith wouldn't need to worry about severed limbs or crippling injuries anymore. As long as his head remained intact, he could recover.
Only one small concern nagged at him. Would absorbing the Namekian blood change his physical appearance? Would he start turning green, or grow antennae? I mean he did get the Saiyan tail, so all of this is a possibility.
He'd find out soon enough.