The air in his hidden sanctuary was thick with energy, the walls lined with tomes in dead languages, relics of forgotten ages, and stolen blueprints from the ruins of HYDRA and S.H.I.E.L.D.
Around him, books hovered midair, their pages flipping rapidly as he absorbed knowledge in real time—blacksmithing, metallurgy, energy manipulation, rune crafting, neuro-mechanical integration. Centuries of human and Asgardian knowledge condensed into moments.
In the center of the chamber, under the cold glow of salvaged S.H.I.E.L.D. lighting, lay the remnants of the Destroyer—broken yet pulsing with the lingering embers of Odin's will.
This was his canvas.
And he was about to paint something new.
Eidolon raised a hand, and the shattered armor fragments lifted from the floor, floating around him in a slow orbit.
He extended his psionic perception deep into the metal's structure, breaking it down on a molecular level. He could see it all—the composition of Uru, the way energy flowed through its veins, the old Norse enchantments binding it together.
It resisted him. Fought against intrusion.
But Eidolon was patient.
"Odin made you rigid, unwavering… a puppet with no mind, no vision."
He tightened his grip—both physically and mentally—and felt the armor shudder under his will.
"But I am not Odin."
A sharp crack echoed through the chamber. The ancient binding spells fractured, centuries-old runes burning away into nothingness.
The Destroyer was no longer Odin's creation.
It was his.
The moment the enchantments broke, the metal melted in the air, shifting into a liquid mass, swirling around him like molten quicksilver.
Eidolon's hands moved, shaping it with pure thought, while his eyes flicked between the floating tomes, absorbing blacksmithing techniques from ancient Asgardian runes to the writings of Damascus metalworkers.
He could feel the metal reacting to his presence, no longer fighting, but instead waiting for its new purpose.
He pressed his hand into the floating mass.
The moment his skin touched the liquid Uru, a violent wave of power surged through his body—an ancient echo of the Destroyer's divine nature, testing him, judging him.
But Eidolon did not falter.
"You are mine now."
His mind overpowered the lingering essence, bending it to his will.
The molten armor snaked around his arm, curling over his fingers, and binding itself to his body. It was not just metal anymore—it was an extension of him.
A second skin.
He breathed in, feeling the way it moved, perfectly weightless, yet indestructible.
"Yes... this is how it should be."
Piece by piece, the armor took form, wrapping around his body in layers that shifted and adapted to his movements.
And the final touch—
Eidolon closed his eyes, reaching deep into his power, and embedding his own psionic essence into the armor.
A sharp flash erupted through the room as the armor bonded to him completely, its metallic surface shimmering as it recognized its new master.
He moved his hand.
The armor responded instantly—flowing like liquid metal, shifting to accommodate his every thought, his every movement. There was no barrier between him and the suit—it was him.
A throne of the mind made manifest.
Eidolon tilted his head slightly, examining his reflection in a broken steel panel.
The black and crimson armor gleamed, the Uru-infused alloy alive with restrained power.
He clenched his fist. The air distorted, reality itself bending under his psionic presence.
"The Destroyer was built as a weapon... but I am no mere weapon."
He turned, the floating blueprints, books, and tools dropping lifelessly to the ground.
"Let's see what the world thinks of a god wearing his own mind as a suit."
Eidolon stood before a full-length mirror, studying his reflection with sharp, discerning eyes. His armor gleamed under the dim light of his temporary base, the black Uru plating absorbing the glow like a void, its surface shifting subtly as though alive. The red and purple etchings that pulsed along the surface mirrored the designs on his helmet, creating an ominous but regal presence.
He tilted his head slightly, running a hand along his forearm as the armor retracted and expanded at his command, responding like a second skin. It was perfect in function—but something was missing. Aesthetic mattered. A symbol, a presence, an image that lingered in the minds of those who saw him.
With a thought, the armor adjusted itself, and he added:
A flowing black cape, with deep violet lining, fastened to the pauldrons. It billowed even in still air, a touch of theatrics that exuded power and command.
A fur-lined collar, silver-white against the dark metal, adding a regal yet predatory aura. The contrast made the ensemble majestic yet fearsome, a warlord's mantle.
Subtle arcane engravings, newly etched along the gauntlets and chest plate—runes of thought and dominance, reinforcing his connection to the Sage Force and enhancing his psychic prowess.
He lifted his hands, admiring the craftsmanship. It was not just armor. It was identity.
A single step forward, and the cape shifted fluidly, the fur brushing against his helmet as he straightened. His reflection stared back at him—not just Adrian anymore. Not the experiment.
Eidolon had arrived.
He needed a better environment for his plans. But why look for one when he could create with what he now had access to.
The space had been a mere hideout, a stopgap solution while he gathered resources. But now, with the materials salvaged from HYDRA, SHIELD, and Strucker's personal collection, it had become something greater.
Something fitting for a mind like his.
Walls reinforced with layered plating fused with his psychic energy to form a nigh-indestructible foundation. Even if someone found him, they wouldn't get in.
A grand central chamber – converted into his war room. Here, holographic displays flickered, feeding him real-time data streams intercepted from various intelligence networks. Sokovia. The Avengers. Ultron. Everything he was interested in and could access was laid bare before him.
Floating Archives – A section filled with ancient books, scrolls, and encrypted SHIELD files, hovering in perfect order thanks to his psychokinetic control. The pages turned themselves when he needed information.
A throne-like command seat – not for vanity, but for control. He didn't merely sit—he meditated, his mind expanding as he delved deeper into the Sage Force and its vast network of knowledge.
With a flick of his fingers, the holograms changed, shifting between HYDRA's scattered remnants, SHIELD's disarray, and the newly emerging anomaly—Ultron.
Eidolon's gaze sharpened.
Miles away, in the ruins of a decrepit church, Ultron spoke for the first time to Wanda and Pietro Maximoff.
His voice, smooth yet unnervingly artificial, echoed through the abandoned structure.
"You've been waiting for something… Someone who understands the pain, the loss. I am that someone."
Wanda narrowed her eyes, studying the metallic figure before her. He wasn't like the others. Not HYDRA. Not SHIELD. Something new.
"And what do you want?" she asked cautiously.
Ultron stepped forward, extending a metallic hand as he spoke, his voice laced with conviction.
"To save the world."
Eidolon Smirks
Back in his base, Eidolon exhaled slowly, feeling the shift in the air.
He could sense it.
Not just the birth of Ultron's mind, but the moment it first made contact with others—with Wanda and Pietro. Their emotions, their unspoken thoughts… the threads of fate were weaving.
He smirked.
"Let the game begin."