A sickening wave of dizziness washed over Ernst.
He stumbled, collapsing onto the deck of the Space Walker.
The color entirely drained from his face, and his breathing grew sharp and ragged.
"Ernst!"
Shaw cried out, rushing forward to catch his son.
His voice was laced with panic.
"What happened? How serious is the injury?"
Ernst coughed violently for several seconds before regaining a fraction of his composure.
"Do not panic," Ernst rasped, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.
"It is nothing immediately life-threatening. I sustained severe cellular trauma during the fight, but I have already stabilized the damage. This is merely my biology purging the necrotic cells."
Shaw's anxiety eased slightly at the clinical explanation.
"Who won?" he pressed, his eyes searching Ernst's pale face.
"And who was the second person that joined the fray? He wasn't affiliated with Thanos, was he?"
Despite the massive clouds of dust and pulverized rock obscuring the planetary battlefield, Apocalypse possessed a vast array of sensory mutant abilities.
He had been monitoring the shifting tectonic and energy signatures from orbit.
When Apocalypse detected Darkseid's arrival and the subsequent two-on-one assault against Ernst, he relayed the news to Shaw, Stakar, and Borgin.
Upon learning that an unknown, god-tier entity had allied with Thanos, Shaw had nearly ordered in to intervene.
Fortunately, Apocalypse's sensors later confirmed that Ernst had miraculously maintained the tactical upper hand.
This data had barely kept the commanders from breaking ranks.
With Ernst's immediate survival assured, their dark curiosity about the new threat burned bright.
"That," Ernst explained, his breathing slowly steadying, "was another cosmic overlord. You may have heard whispers of him in the deep void. Darkseid."
Ernst leaned against the wall.
"He rules the nightmare planet of Apokolips. He is no less capable than the Mad Titan. However, he prefers to operate entirely in the shadows, so very few possess actionable intelligence on him."
Ernst shifted his cold gaze toward the ancient mutant standing near the console.
"Be extremely wary if you ever encounter his forces in the outer sectors. Especially you, En Sabah Nur. Your old moniker clashes directly with his homeworld. If you two ever cross paths, expect an immediate, brutal fight."
"Ugh!" Apocalypse groaned, rubbing his temples in genuine annoyance.
"Can I still legally change my name?"
"Someone else bestowed this ridiculous title upon me centuries ago, and now it is drawing cosmic aggro," Apocalypse complained.
"Didn't Chris and the Vanguard want to fight over the title before? I should have just surrendered it to the children."
Ernst, Shaw, Stakar, and Borgin all turned to direct a look of withering disdain at the ancient mutant.
They were currently navigating a geopolitical crisis involving two literal gods, and the First Mutant was loudly fretting over trademark infringement.
It was not a particularly inspiring display of leadership.
Ernst spent the next hour detailing the specific data he had gathered regarding Darkseid's Omega Beams and physical durability.
The briefing left Apocalypse and the others sighing in heavy defeat.
The universe seemed to be teeming with anomalous, god-like beings.
Thanos alone was an apocalyptic handful, and now they had Darkseid to factor into their logistics.
How were they supposed to safely navigate this increasingly lethal cosmic landscape?
Sensing their mounting dejection, Ernst offered a rare, pragmatic word of comfort.
"There is no need for excessive paranoia," Ernst stated evenly.
"We managed to draw. Live your lives and execute your contracts as you see fit. Do not let the existence of these warlords paralyze the Black Shadows."
"Avoid provoking them or their core fleets directly," Ernst advised.
"But if their isolated underlings cross your territory, do not hesitate to exterminate them."
Shaw gazed at Ernst, a complex mixture of immense pride and quiet sadness welling up within his chest.
His son had surpassed him by impossible, exponential leaps.
Ernst had become the undisputed pillar of strength for their entire species.
Here Shaw was, the supposed patriarch and commander, now entirely reliant on his son for survival and guidance.
Ernst sighed, running a tired hand through his dusty hair.
"The physical injuries themselves are not my primary concern," Ernst admitted quietly.
"Both Thanos and Darkseid suffered far worse structural damage than I did."
"However, they both possess inherent, alien biology that far surpasses my human baseline. Their cellular recovery is nearly instantaneous. They will return to maximum combat readiness in a matter of weeks. I will need years of passive healing to fully recover."
Ernst looked at his trembling hands.
"My specific condition is tricky. The blunt-force trauma wasn't severe, but I pushed my nervous system far beyond its limit by channeling uncontrollable, fused cosmic forces."
"My body's endurance reached its absolute breaking point. My cells were on the verge of total, spontaneous collapse. This resulted in serious, systemic internal damage."
A heavy shadow of frustration crossed Ernst's features.
Although his magical output and tactical intellect were vastly superior, his mortal, physical limitations prevented him from fully capitalizing on his advantage.
Ultimately, a golden opportunity to permanently eliminate two cosmic threats had slipped through his grasp.
Radically strengthening his physical vessel to avoid such biological bottlenecks instantly became his top priority.
Standing in the periphery, Apocalypse cast a sidelong glance at Ernst.
A fleeting, treacherous thought flickered across the ancient mutant's mind.
Ernst was severely weakened. His cells were failing.
Was this the perfect, singular opportunity to strike and reclaim his freedom?
Apocalypse quickly, violently squashed the idea.
Even bleeding and exhausted, Ernst was a terrifyingly unpredictable opponent.
Apocalypse had zero guarantee of securing a clean kill.
Moreover, eliminating Ernst would leave Apocalypse facing the inevitable combined wrath of Thanos and Darkseid without a cosmic shield.
The prospect filled the ancient mutant with cold dread. For now, Ernst had to remain a necessary, protective evil.
Let the tallest tree catch the lightning, Apocalypse thought, a touch of tactical cowardice coloring his internal monologue.
I will stay hidden in the canopy until this cosmic storm passes.
"In that case," Apocalypse offered smoothly, his voice taking on a highly placatory, supportive tone, "we must adopt a significantly more cautious operational approach."
"We will actively decline any mercenary contracts involving sectors controlled by Thanos or Darkseid. There is absolutely no tactical need for a head-on confrontation while you recover. I am certain the commanders share this sentiment."
Shaw readily agreed, eager to minimize the risk.
"Absolutely. The Black Shadow Mercenary Group has already established a terrifying reputation across the void. We do not need to push our expansion as aggressively as before. We will lie low and consolidate our assets until Ernst fully recovers."
"Agreed," Ernst nodded tiredly.
"I will be returning to Earth to recover for the foreseeable future. The mercenary fleet will be in your capable hands. Do not contact me unless a Tier-One cosmic event arises."
As Ernst pushed himself off the bulkhead and walked past Apocalypse toward the shuttle bay, a very faint, chilling smile played on his lips.
The subtle expression sent a violent shiver down Apocalypse's spine.
A cold sweat broke out across the ancient mutant's gray skin.
Apocalypse's earlier, fleeting lapse into malice had not gone unnoticed.
The body Apocalypse, currently inhabited, had been meticulously sculpted from the very magical worms Ernst had refined in his laboratory.
Ernst maintained a deep, subconscious telepathic tether to that specific biology.
The exact microsecond Apocalypse harbored lethal intent, Ernst's mind registered the spike.
However, Ernst kept his cards close to his chest.
He fully understood Apocalypse's simmering, caged resentment.
The god was a wild card with the potential to lash out.
Yet, the magical blood-contract they had forged on Earth still held significant binding power, even if the tether was slightly weakened by the vast cosmic distance.
It was not a leash that Apocalypse could simply snap.
Ernst wasn't overly concerned with a potential mutiny.
While Apocalypse was a devastating asset, he was not irreplaceable.
Having unlocked the genetic secrets of the First Mutant, Ernst was entirely confident that, given enough time, he could engineer Shaw and Azazel to match that power output.
Even if they couldn't overpower Apocalypse in a duel, they wouldn't be far behind.
Furthermore, Ernst commanded a loyal army of ten thousand resurrected mutants on Skull Island.
What you cannot overcome with raw power, you overwhelm with sheer logistics.
Ultimately, Apocalypse was a highly useful tool.
As long as he did not actively overstep his operational bounds, Ernst would tolerate the underlying hostility.
But any physical transgression would be met with swift, merciless, and permanent consequences.
Ernst's return to the farmhouse in Smallville marked the beginning of a long, quiet period of recovery.
He returned to a deceptively simple life.
For a full day and night, he slept, allowing his battered body to slowly repair the catastrophic toll of the three-way war.
His internal injuries demanded a lengthy, passive healing process.
Thus, Ernst embraced an unexpected era of domesticity.
He was perfectly content to stay on the Kansas farm, effectively becoming a reclusive hermit.
This newfound normalcy held a deep, grounding charm for him. He reveled in the quiet moments.
He spent his days teaching Chris advanced, dark magic theory.
He played high-speed games of catch with Clark to test his Kryptonian growth.
He patiently guided little Eli in safely honing her reality-warping powers.
Years flew by in a peaceful, idyllic blur.
But the wider world continued to spin, witnessing significant historical shifts in the shadows.
In the year 1988, the Red Queen's orbital surveillance network detected a cloaked, alien spacecraft breaching Earth's atmosphere.
It briefly touched down in Missouri before spiriting away into the void.
Ernst reviewed the data and recognized the pivotal timeline event.
The future Star-Lord, Peter Quill, had just been abducted, embarking on his chaotic cosmic adventures.
While Ernst had zero intention of actively interfering with the boy's destiny, he harbored a cold curiosity about the biological seed Peter's celestial father, Ego, had planted deep within Earth's crust.
It was a massive, planetary threat.
Red Queen, ever vigilant, dispatched a microscopic legion of mapping nanobots to locate the exact coordinates of the alien blooming plant, succeeding within weeks.
Meanwhile, Kerry remained firmly in charge of the vast, corporate and political forces controlled by their shadow empire.
He closely monitored the activities of Hydra.
Alexander Pierce, ambitious and utterly ruthless, had been steadily attempting to expand Hydra's global reach within S.H.I.E.L.D.
However, thanks to Kerry's subtle, flawless market manipulations and political sabotage, any attempt by Pierce to exploit the advanced research stolen from Ernst's front companies backfired spectacularly.
Pierce was repeatedly forced to relinquish his ill-gotten gains to avoid total exposure.
Hydra also possessed a rogue branch leader, Daniel Whitehall.
Whitehall had recently stumbled upon the existence of the Inhumans.
He successfully captured Jiaying, an immortal Inhuman, fully intending to vivisect her and harvest her organs for biological rejuvenation.
In Ernst's eyes, harvesting raw organs was a crude, barbaric, and wildly inefficient method of achieving immortality.
He ignored the primitive butcher entirely.
The narrative then shifted back to the mundane world, where a massive ideological rift finally fractured the relationship between Hank Pym and Howard Stark.
The dispute culminated in Pym's angry, permanent resignation from the agency.
The Red Queen kept Ernst perfectly abreast of all these global developments.
Her superior intellect allowed her to effortlessly bypass the Pentagon's encryption, accessing highly classified data at will.
Despite possessing total, omniscient knowledge of the shifting board, Ernst chose not to intervene.
He was perfectly content with his peaceful, healing life on the farm.
Then, on a cold night in December 1991, a sudden, sharp suspicion jolted Ernst from his tranquility.
He vanished from his armchair.
He materialized instantly on a dark, deserted, snowy road in Long Island.
A wrecked car lay smoking amidst the debris of a shattered streetlight.
Inside the mangled, crushed vehicle was an elderly woman.
Outside, slumped against the frozen asphalt, a white-haired man lay completely lifeless.
His skull was crushed.
All mundane signs pointed toward a tragic, accidental car crash.
A chilling, predatory smile crept across Ernst's face as he surveyed the assassination.
He extended a hand, unleashing a wave of highly concentrated, dark necrotic magic that enveloped the freezing surroundings.
With a sharp flick of his wrist, a translucent, spectral figure was violently ripped from the corpse of the white-haired man.
The soul was drawn toward Ernst's hand like a moth trapped in a gravitational flame.
"Hello, Howard Stark," Ernst greeted the terrified phantom, his voice laced with dark, clinical amusement.