(I saw another WebNovel story, Marvel 616X. It was pretty good but it got rewritten a few times now. I'm making my own based on how I think it should go. Also in the future note when I say Clone note I mean someone copying not a literal clone)
PROLOGUE
THE THRONE ROOM OF VILGAXIA
Albedo stood upon the shattered ramparts of Vilgaxia, once a glittering stronghold of conquest, now a ruin of twisted metal and scorched architecture. The planet's red skies were choked with black smoke curling into ominous spirals. Rubble crunched beneath his boots as he took slow, deliberate steps, his ears filled with the echo of distant explosions still reverberating through the atmosphere.
He had done it—he had destroyed Vilgaxia. After years of suffering under Vilgax's betrayals, manipulations, and torment, he had undertaken the unthinkable: saturating the planet's defense grid with unstoppable meltdown beams, hacking into the power core that pulsed at the very heart of Vilgax's empire, and rendering its once-invincible fortress population helpless. Great columns of smoke rose from across the horizon. If any of the city's inhabitants lived, they now wandered as lost wraiths in a world reduced to ash.
Albedo's breath came in ragged pulls. Across his chest, dust and soot mixed with the faint, sharp odor of plasmic discharge. His garments—once a sleek combination of black and red that signified his twisted claim to the Ultimatrix—were shredded and scorched at the edges. His left glove was half-melted, exposing raw flesh dotted with dark scabs. Yet he marched ever forward, his single-minded determination overshadowing even the pain lancing through each nerve.
He reached a massive set of half-collapsed doors that led into the final citadel, the heart of Vilgax's domain: the throne room. Pieces of the door clung to ragged hinges, the rest torn down by the might of the attack. He paused at the threshold, letting out a growl of satisfaction. The devastation was near-complete. He had bent every resource, every cunning ploy, to see Vilgaxia burn. And yet…
A gnawing rancor twisted in the pit of his stomach. Vilgax himself yet lived. Even among these broken spires and dying embers, Albedo could sense the presence of that relentless tyrant. The final confrontation was at hand. His ultimate vengeance would be realized.
Only a single path now lay before him—through the shattered gateway and into the darkness. Gathering the tattered remains of his strength, Albedo summoned a flicker of crimson energy around his battered Ultimatrix, confirming that at least some transformations were still possible. With that faint reassurance, he stalked forward into the gloom, his heart cold with vengeance.
Inside the corridor leading to the throne room, shadows danced upon the walls. Emergency lights sputtered overhead, sending flickers of light that cast the architecture in a ghastly ambience. Metallic walls had been torn open by the shockwave of the meltdown. Overhead pipes spilled jets of steam and coolant. In some places, flickers of flame still danced along wires that crackled with electricity.
Albedo caught a faint reflection of himself in one of the warped metal panels. The reflection showed a haunted figure, eyes narrowed in near-madness, hair disheveled, face smeared with grime. But behind the outward fury lay something deeper. The memories of betrayal stoked his anger into a wildfire.
He remembered how Vilgax had once captured him to steal the Ultimatrix, believing that Albedo's stolen knowledge of the Omnitrix might serve as a path to power. He remembered, too, how, once Albedo was no longer useful, Vilgax had tried to erase him from existence. Albedo had come within a hair's breadth of oblivion, only to be saved by his greatest nemesis—Ben Tennyson, the real user of the Omnitrix. To have survived on the mercy of that fool cut Albedo's pride like a knife. Vilgax had left him humiliated, and Ben had rescued him out of some childish sense of heroism. Rage did not merely smolder in Albedo's mind; it was an inferno.
And so, step by step, he advanced, fists clenched, determination fueling every ragged breath. He could not deny the sense of triumph that coursed through him—Vilgaxia was lost, no matter the outcome of this last duel. But now he wanted to look Vilgax in the eye and let him see the madness that he himself had sown.
At last, Albedo passed through the final corridor and emerged into the throne room. Before him stretched an immense space lit by the dull glow of overhead lights flickering amid the rolling smoke. The floor, once polished black stone, was now scorched and cracked. The columns, carved to depict Vilgax's conquests, lay shattered at odd angles.
Yet at the far end of this destroyed hall stood Vilgax—tall, imposing, and defiantly calm. His green, tentacled visage remained stoic, revealing only the slightest hint of a sneer at Albedo's approach. He wore his classic battle attire, the heavy chest plate with that organic plating that moved with his powerful frame, his red cloak torn but still draped across broad shoulders. He stood beside a throne that had likewise suffered from the planet's destruction. Parts of it had fallen away, leaving only a jagged seat. But it was enough. Vilgax stood as if he were still the undisputed lord of all.
For a moment, there was only silence. The swirling ashes of Vilgaxia's demise drifted through the throne room like spectral moths. Then Vilgax broke the hush with a low, rumbling chuckle.
"Albedo," Vilgax said, each syllable dripping with contempt. "I see you've managed to survive—and cause quite a bit of damage."
Albedo's lip curled, every nerve vibrating with hatred. "I've done more than cause damage, you treacherous worm. I've razed Vilgaxia to the ground."
Vilgax tilted his head, letting out a faintly amused hum. "Yes, I can see your handiwork. Bravo. You always had cunning—though never the intellect or power to apply it fully. But I must congratulate you on making it this far."
Despite himself, Albedo felt his heartbeat quicken with savage fury. "You dare speak of cunning and intellect?" he spat. "You, who needed me for my knowledge of the Omnitrix? You, who have always ended up undone by a mere child named Ben Tennyson?"
At that, Vilgax's eyes narrowed. "I admit, the boy bested me many times. But I always returned, stronger and more determined. That is the nature of true conquest, Albedo: never yielding until the entire cosmos bends the knee."
Albedo barked a harsh, mirthless laugh. "Funny you should say that, given how many times you've tried and failed. But you crossed me one too many times, Vilgax. Whatever your illusions of grandeur, they end here."
And yet, as Albedo spoke, he detected no hint of fear in Vilgax's expression. He realized, with a chill, that Vilgax's calm might mean the tyrant had prepared for this confrontation. But Albedo did not care. He had come too far, lost too much. The time for talk was done.
Before Albedo could speak again, Vilgax's cloak rippled around him, and the Conqueror's powerful arms moved in a blur. From the tattered folds, he revealed a massive blade crackling with energy. Albedo tensed, raising his left arm in reflex. The battered Ultimatrix flickered, but remained functional. If it had enough charge, he would transform.
"I have no patience for further conversation," Vilgax said. "If you wish to challenge me, do so. But know that you stand no chance."
With that, the tyrant lunged forward, thrusting the energy blade in a diagonal slash that carved through the swirling dust. Albedo dove to the side, rolling on the cracked tiles, and narrowly escaped a direct hit. The scorching air from the blade's passing seared his shoulder.
Snarling, Albedo smacked the dial on his Ultimatrix, twisting it to call up the form of Ultimate Humungousaur. In a bright flash, the battered figure of Albedo transformed into an immense, scaly juggernaut. His tail slammed into the ground, cracking the floor, while thick, plated arms rose in challenge.
Yet, even as Ultimate Humungousaur, Albedo sensed a creeping weakness in the transformation. The meltdown that had crippled Vilgaxia had also damaged the Ultimatrix. The energy levels were dangerously low, and the transformations felt unstable, as if the watch might glitch at any moment. Still, he snarled with reptilian fury and charged.
Their first collision shook the entire throne room. Ultimate Humungousaur's fist met Vilgax's blade, unleashing a shockwave that rattled what remained of the columns. Sparks showered down from the flickering lights overhead. Albedo's monstrous bulk crashed forward, forcing Vilgax several steps back before the tyrant regained his footing.
For a moment, Albedo believed that raw power might give him the edge. But then Vilgax twisted his body and slammed a heavy gauntleted fist against Ultimate Humungousaur's side. Pain exploded in Albedo's ribs, and he roared in agony. Vilgax followed with a slash of the energy blade that sent Albedo staggering, black blood—Humungousaur's version of it—oozing from the cut.
"How does it feel?" Vilgax snarled, voice low. "How does it feel to once again be outmatched?"
Albedo bellowed, flailing with a backhand that might have toppled entire buildings. Vilgax dodged with a terrifying speed that belied his massive frame. "You see," Vilgax continued, "even in your so-called 'ultimate' forms, you are but a pale imitation."
Drawing breath, Albedo forced himself to stand firm. Summoning the Ultimatrix's power once more, he roared, "Ultimate Cannonbolt!" His scaly form warped into a towering, spiked sphere. He launched forward, spinning with unstoppable momentum. Dust and debris flew in all directions as he crashed into Vilgax with punishing force.
This time, Vilgax stumbled, the ground quaking beneath him. Albedo felt a moment of grim satisfaction—until Vilgax recovered almost instantly. In the blink of an eye, the tyrant's glowing blade slammed down, pinning Ultimate Cannonbolt against the ground. Energy sizzled, and Albedo felt his shell begin to buckle.
"You are second-rate in everything you do," Vilgax hissed, pressing down with crushing force. "Second-rate intelligence compared to Azmuth. Second in the eyes of your own dimension's heroes, overshadowed by Ben Tennyson. And even in villainy—" His mouth curled in a mocking grin. "Why, you're not even Ben's greatest foe. There was Kevin Levin, Aggregor, so many others. To them, you're a nuisance. A cosmic joke."
A surge of rage gave Albedo the strength to fling Vilgax off. Rolling free, he sprang to his feet and forcibly willed another transformation: Ultimate Echo Echo. Instantly, his body shrank into the small, metallic figure with powerful sonic abilities. He soared upward, releasing deafening sonic blasts from multiple duplicates that split off from his form. The throne room reverberated with such intensity that the overhead lights exploded, plunging sections of the hall into darkness.
Vilgax faltered for a fraction of a second, the blasts clearly jarring him. But he reached into a compartment on his gauntlet and deployed a small device that emitted a counter-sonic field. Albedo's eyes widened in alarm as his duplicates were scattered by the interference, recoiling in disarray.
Vilgax capitalized, rushing forward with that monstrous blade. In a single stroke, he obliterated half of Albedo's duplicates. The rest—Albedo's main form included—crashed to the floor in a disoriented heap. Flickering in a swirl of red energy, Albedo reverted back to his regular Galvan form with a sickening lurch.
His chest heaved, and he scrambled backward on hands and knees. His ultimate transformations had been used so rapidly, with minimal charge, that the Ultimatrix overheated. The LED ring on the device's face flickered from bright red to a feeble dimness.
"This," Vilgax sneered, looming over him, "is exactly what you are—a copy, a stolen spark of genius you never earned, a thief of Tennyson's abilities. Did you truly believe you could surpass the masters of the Omnitrix's secrets?"
Albedo panted, his eyes wild. "I—am—no—copy!"
"You are second in everything," Vilgax continued, raising the blade. "A worthless clone bested by a mere child. Even your petty acts of vengeance pale compared to what real conquerors accomplish. You cannot surpass me, Albedo. And you certainly cannot surpass that brat Tennyson."
His words stabbed deeper than any blade. Albedo tried to summon the usual venom to spit back, but his body, battered and exhausted, refused to comply. The old humiliations—losing to Ben, being overshadowed at every turn—flooded back. Vilgax's final taunt came like a thunderclap:
"Even your presence as a villain is overshadowed by Kevin Levin. You're not even your own dimension's top threat. A second-rate everything."
Albedo's vision blurred. Black spots danced. The Ultimatrix, nearly spent, glowed faintly in the gloom. He could sense it losing power—one more transformation might not be feasible. Vilgax was going to end him, take the Ultimatrix, and seize whatever twisted advantage he could from it. The knowledge sank into Albedo's mind like a stone in deep water.
But then…a small, desperate idea blossomed. Albedo recalled the modifications he had made, the carefully orchestrated failsafe. He had always known that the day might come when he had to destroy his own creation to keep it from falling into the wrong hands. He had built in an explosive meltdown protocol, hidden deep in the Ultimatrix's code. If triggered, the device would overload catastrophically, unleashing an energy discharge powerful enough to vaporize anything in close proximity. The resulting explosion would be unstoppable.
It was not an elegant solution. It did not reflect Albedo's usual cunning. In truth, it was a last resort, an act of self-immolation in the event that he was truly cornered. But cornered he was.
"Let's end this," Vilgax said calmly. "Give me that watch, and I may kill you with minimal pain. Resist, and your suffering will be legendary."
Slowly, Albedo rose to his feet, swaying as he steadied himself. Blood trickled from a cut on his forehead. The hiss of escaping steam and the sputter of dying fires filled the hush. In the dim, half-collapsed throne room, the tyrant loomed like the embodiment of unstoppable force.
Albedo let out a shaky laugh. "You want this watch?" he rasped. "Then take it."
Vilgax narrowed his eyes. "A wise decision. Hand it over." He stepped forward, blade still poised.
Albedo's trembling hand moved to the Ultimatrix dial. He felt a surge of defiance even as he coughed up flecks of blood. "One final lesson, Vilgax," he whispered. "Never corner a wounded animal."
In that instant, he activated the meltdown protocol. The Ultimatrix's face flared from dull red to a brilliant, pulsing white. Vilgax halted, instantly realizing something was amiss.
"What have you—?"
But there was no time for further words. The Ultimatrix's meltdown discharge roared into being, a white-hot vortex of swirling energy. A booming noise, impossibly loud, erupted in the throne room. The floor vanished into brilliant incandescence, columns disintegrated in the inferno.
Albedo felt his body consumed by light and heat. In that final moment, he stared at Vilgax's expression of shock and fury—and exulted that the tyrant would die with him. After all the betrayal, pain, and humiliation, he would have the last word.
A final, silent explosion consumed them both, and with a light more radiant than any star, Albedo's consciousness faded into oblivion.
Light. A quiet, all-consuming light.
Albedo opened his eyes and found himself drifting in a void—a plane of pure white brilliance that seemed to stretch in all directions, eternal and still. Confusion seized him. He remembered the final meltdown, the scorching wave that ripped him asunder. Surely that was death. So where was he now?
He tried to look down at his body. Instead of his usual form, or even an Ultimatrix transformation, he found that his sense of self was…amorphous. He still felt like Albedo—a Galvan clone of Ben Tennyson's DNA twisted into a separate identity. But his body seemed intangible, shaped out of luminous vapor.
As he drifted, the whiteness began to recede, giving way to a bizarre vision: a table set with tea cups, nestled in a cozy garden that floated in this endless bright space. The table itself appeared antique, as if plucked from a Victorian afternoon. Fine china glistened, and chairs encircled the table. Four figures occupied them, their silhouettes cast in otherworldly clarity.
At first, Albedo thought he must be hallucinating. But the scene felt as tangible and real as any he had experienced. He drew closer, pulled by invisible currents.
Drawing near, he discerned the identities of the four beings seated at the table:
1. Professor Paradox: The time-traveling enigma from his own dimension, wearing his familiar dark suit and top hat, stirring a cup of tea with the dignified air of an English gentleman. He tipped his hat in a polite nod at Albedo.
2. Lady Death: A mysterious, ethereal woman with pale skin, dark eye makeup, and regal garments that seemed to be woven from the concept of night itself. Her gaze exuded power over the realms of mortality.
3. Phoenix: Embodied in a woman with fiery hair that glowed with cosmic flames, her presence radiating an aura of birth, death, and rebirth in an endless cycle.
4. The One-Above-All, though in the guise of a kindly older human man—looking for all the world like Stan Lee, complete with tinted glasses, a mustache, and an unmistakable warmth in his smile. The cosmic irony was not lost on Albedo: one of the most powerful entities in the multiverse wearing the face of a beloved comic book creator.
Together, they sipped tea as though this were the most normal scene in existence. Albedo floated awkwardly before them, uncertain whether to speak, attack, or cower.
"Ah, Albedo," Professor Paradox said in his usual clipped accent, setting down his teacup. "We've been expecting you. Do join us."
Albedo blinked in astonishment. "W-what is this?" he managed, voice echoing in the white-hued void. "Where am I?"
The kindly figure who appeared as Stan Lee smiled. "We like to call this place the White Hot Room. It's a sort of cosmic foyer, if you will, where certain souls pass through at critical junctures."
Lady Death regarded him with serene indifference. "You stand on the threshold of true death, but there are…circumstances that have prevented your immediate passing."
Phoenix, eyes glowing with cosmic fire, added softly, "It is a place beyond mortal comprehension, but we have shaped it to be somewhat comfortable for your sake."
Albedo bristled, though a flicker of fear twisted inside him. "This is absurd. I should be—"
"Gone?" Lady Death finished calmly. "Indeed. By all accounts, you should have perished definitively in that meltdown. Your soul, carrying the sins of your crimes, ought to be cast into the darkest corners of the afterlife. However—" She paused, turning to Paradox.
Paradox set down his teacup with a barely perceptible smile. "I may have…spoken up for you. A bit of a petition on your behalf, you might say."
That was enough to make Albedo's anger spark. "I don't want your pity!" he hissed.
"It isn't pity," Paradox corrected gently. "Merely a recognition that your story need not end in such fashion. You have made mistakes—terrible mistakes—and done terrible things. And yes, by many cosmic scales, you deserve punishment. But in some timelines, a chance at redemption remains. I have glimpsed those outcomes."
Albedo felt a tangle of emotions roil within him. "Redemption?" he repeated, nearly spitting the word. "I have no desire for redemption. I only wanted revenge on Vilgax—and I achieved it."
Phoenix leaned forward, the cosmic flames around her flickering in a slow dance. "Yet revenge rarely satisfies. You carry the weight of your own destructive choices. Every time you tried to outdo Ben Tennyson, every life you hurt, your anger grew heavier, dragging you deeper into darkness."
He wanted to snap back. Instead, shame and rage warred behind his eyes. For a moment, he was speechless, unsettled by her uncanny insight.
Lady Death lifted her porcelain cup with a steady hand. "Had I judged you at the moment of your demise, you would be cast into the blackest pits of Hell's domain—at least until your sins were purged or repaid. After that, you might enter the cycle of reincarnation, losing all memory and identity, starting anew."
Albedo glared. "And why, exactly, am I not there?"
Paradox raised an eyebrow, looking to the One-Above-All, who smiled in his gentle manner. "Our friend Paradox made a persuasive case that you have…untapped potential for growth. And so we have decided you shall have an opportunity to redeem yourself. A single chance. Whether you squander it or not is entirely up to you."
Phoenix's cosmic flames glowed brighter for an instant. "You stand at a crossroads, Albedo. Accept the chance, and you will be sent to another universe to walk a path that may lead to genuine redemption. Or reject it, and you will proceed to the fate your sins have earned."
A slow hush fell over the small tea party. Finally, Albedo found his voice, though it trembled with sarcasm. "And if I accept, do you expect me to become some kind of hero? To save kittens from trees and fight for justice? I am not Ben Tennyson. I do not have a hero's heart."
Paradox laughed quietly. "We do not expect you to become a paragon overnight. This is a journey, not a switch. However, you will find that circumstances in this new world may force you to reevaluate certain choices. One step at a time."
Lady Death quietly refilled her tea cup. "Bear in mind, your second chance can be revoked if you prove yourself unworthy. The cosmos is not infinitely forgiving."
Albedo snorted. "So I have no real choice, do I? Either an eternity in hell or a chance at some cosmic mission that you presumably want me to undertake."
At this, the man resembling Stan Lee chuckled warmly. "You always have a choice, Albedo. But yes, practically speaking, this path offers you more…breathing room."
At that moment, Paradox reached into his coat pocket, producing a device that made Albedo's eyes widen. It was unmistakably an Ultimatrix, though sleeker, more refined—almost humming with power. The casing was a pearlescent white with subtle lines of green. The interface had an intricate design reminiscent of Azmuth's craftsmanship, but also exhibited signatures of advanced temporal engineering.
Paradox placed it on the table. "Consider it a gift, but also a tool for your mission. Azmuth constructed this at my request, albeit reluctantly." He smiled wryly. "He was none too pleased about handing such power to you again. But I assured him that circumstances demanded it."
Albedo tentatively reached for it. The device glinted, not tethered to his wrist, but obviously designed for a precise fit. "And…what is the nature of this mission?" he asked, tone softening slightly.
"One might call it cosmic housekeeping," the One-Above-All responded cheerily. "You will be sent into a universe brimming with heroes and villains, cosmic forces that often clash. It is a realm known as the Marvel Universe. Your role there will be to confront crises that threaten the cosmic balance—both external foes and your own internal demons."
Phoenix nodded. "In that place, you may find new purpose. But know this: if you use that Ultimatrix for senseless destruction, if you revert to your old ways, we will know."
Lady Death's expression was inscrutable. "And your second chance will be revoked."
Albedo stared at the new Ultimatrix. An odd mixture of fear, excitement, and uncertainty flickered across his features. "And if I refuse?"
Paradox gave a slight shrug. "Then the White Hot Room dissolves, and you find yourself in the domain of Lady Death, serving your sentence in the underworld. Perhaps forever, perhaps not, but your identity would eventually be lost in the cycle of reincarnation. You would begin again as something new, free of your memories…perhaps for the better, perhaps not."
Albedo's mind whirled. Accepting meant stepping into unknown territory, forced to confront powers beyond comprehension, and likely meddling with heroes who reminded him of Ben Tennyson's meddlesome nature. But the alternative was oblivion and torment. The choice was stark.
He eyed the new Ultimatrix, recalling the original device's power. Even now, the faint green lines glowed with potential. For a moment, he dared to imagine harnessing that potential in a universe where the name "Ben Tennyson" carried no immediate weight. There might be a chance to carve out his own identity—either as a threat or something else entirely.
Without speaking further, Albedo lifted the new Ultimatrix and pressed it to his left wrist. The device hissed as it sealed itself with a smooth, whisper-quiet mechanism. He braced, half expecting a feedback surge or some cosmic trick. Instead, a faint hum of synergy passed through him, as though the watch recognized him but also warned that it could override him if needed.
Lady Death observed him with detached interest. "So you choose the living path, for now."
Albedo's eyes flickered with unspoken defiance. "A chance at redemption—or a chance at further power. Either way, I am not eager to vanish into the void just yet."
Phoenix smiled softly, though her eyes hinted at sorrow for the difficult road ahead. "Then let it be so."
Professor Paradox rose, tapping his cane lightly on the ground of the endless whiteness. The tea set and garden table began to fade. The brilliance of the White Hot Room intensified, swirling around Albedo like a cosmic current.
"I will send you now," Paradox said, tipping his hat. "You will awaken in a place we have chosen, with your Ultimatrix intact. Your memories remain. Use them wisely."
Before Albedo could respond, the whiteness engulfed him, a vortex of cosmic radiance that swallowed all senses. He felt a sudden lurch, as if falling through infinite space.
In the final instant, Albedo heard the voice of the One-Above-All—a gentle, paternal murmur echoing across the eons:
"Live well, Albedo. In striving to redeem yourself, you just might discover what you've been missing all along."
Then everything went silent.
When the vortex of light subsided, Albedo would find himself not in Hell, but in a brand-new world—a universe teeming with heroes and horrors, wonders and terrors. A realm where cosmic energies and scientific marvels mingled freely. Where beings such as Iron Man, Captain America, and the unstoppable Thanos forged legends across galaxies.
He would be an anomaly there, an intruder armed with an Ultimatrix that boasted transformations unimaginable to that reality. Would he try to seize power, become an overlord rivaling even the greatest tyrants in that universe? Would he find himself thwarted again by meddlesome do-gooders, reminiscent of Ben Tennyson's endless meddling? Or, perhaps, would some flicker of conscience—some spark of new beginnings—spur him toward an unexpected redemption?
No one, not even Paradox, could say for certain. Time was fluid and possibilities infinite. But Albedo, battered in spirit and body, carried the memory of his final destructive act in Vilgaxia's throne room. He remembered the madness of revenge and how it left him dead and void of everything, if not for a cosmic second chance. The White Hot Room awaited, always watching, and Lady Death's silent judgment remained.
He had, at the very least, a fresh slate in the eyes of an entire new universe. A realm that knew nothing of Ben Tennyson, of the petty humiliations and cosmic jokes that haunted Albedo's every waking moment in his home dimension. For the first time in many years—perhaps the first time ever—Albedo could walk free of Ben's immense shadow.
But that path was not easy. The Marvel Universe held threats that would make Vilgax look like an amateur. Galactus devoured worlds. The Kree and the Skrulls fought endless wars. Mad geniuses abounded, from Doctor Doom to the High Evolutionary. Albedo would discover that, for all his cunning, he was no longer the apex threat he believed himself to be. In this new domain, he was small—a newcomer, lost among cosmic empires and pantheons of gods.
The Ultimatrix on his wrist thrummed with possibilities. Albedo's mind, honed by Azmuth's intelligence (albeit overshadowed by bitterness), could adapt those possibilities in ways few others could imagine. Therein lay the pivotal question: would he use this creativity to subjugate and destroy, repeating the cycle that had led him to oblivion? Or would he heed the cosmic counsel of Paradox and try to understand a world shaped by heroism and sacrifice?
The answer—and Albedo's ultimate destiny—would unfold in the story to come. For now, the prologue closed with Albedo's arrival, alone and uncertain, but armed with a chance at redemption he neither asked for nor, in his heart, believed he deserved. And so, with cosmic forces watching from distant planes, the next chapter began.
He had escaped death. Now he would have to face life—and all the trials it brought.