Deep beneath a forgotten mountain range in the heart of Europe, the Emperor stood within the sanctum of his hidden stronghold, a fortress of psychic and technological wonder, buried far from the eyes of the crumbling world above. The air within shimmered faintly, charged with the constant thrum of latent power. Walls inscribed with ancient sigils whispered softly in a language lost to mankind, save
one.
Before the Emperor floated a golden projection, not of stars and galaxies, but of Earth. The planet spun slowly above the obsidian table, its surface a patchwork of smoke, fire, and steel. It was a world dying of its own ambitions. Borders soaked in blood, nations ravaged by pride, soldiers bled for causes long since twisted by power-hungry men.
The Emperor stood still, 3.9 meters of godlike form, his dark hair flowing like a mantle of shadow, golden armor glowing faintly with psychic sigils of immense complexity. He had watched long enough. The veil had remained intact, and the world had descended into madness.
"This Earth," he muttered, voice low and commanding, "has no right to destroy itself... not while I draw breath."
He extended a hand toward the floating world. Golden threads of power lashed out, psychic tendrils unseen by mortal eyes, interwoven with purpose and judgment. With a single breath, he expanded his mind to encompass the entire planet.
The Earth trembled.
Birds paused in flight. Predators stilled in jungles. In distant cities, radios went silent. Machines hesitated. And across the web of human thought, a presence descended.
The Emperor's will spread like a tidal wave, gently but firmly gripping the minds of the world's greatest influencers, leaders, military officers, industrial magnates, scientists, priests.
He did not shatter their free will, he shattered their illusions. In place of fear, he gave awe. In place of ideology, he gave clarity. They knew who now ruled Earth. It was no longer a question of belief, it was knowledge. Fact. Truth carved into the soul.
In bunkers, boardrooms, palaces, and war camps, they collapsed to their knees. Generals cried without understanding why. Monarchs ordered silence. Some screamed. Others knelt. And a few... died from sheer psychic overload.
Across the world, radios shrieked with static, then silence.
Then came His voice, not over frequency or transmission, but within the minds of every human being alive.
"I am the Emperor of Mankind."
It was not simply heard. It was felt, a vibration in the marrow of bones, a heat in the blood, a spark in the mind.
"Your wars end now. Your delusions end now. From this moment on, Earth is mine. Its fate, its unity, its survival, all lie under my authority. You may resist... but it will cost you everything."
Visions flashed into the minds of billions. Cities rebuilt. Skies cleansed. Armies unified. Technology reborn. Behind it all, a single, golden figure standing unchallenged, surrounded by warriors of unmatched power.
Among those minds, three were spared, Steve Rogers, Howard Stark, and Peggy Carter.
The Emperor had seen in them something he rarely did in mortals: true nobility. They were not yet puppets nor pawns. They were offered a chance. Let them watch. Let them choose of their own free will.
And yet, across the planet not all minds bent so easily.
Far to the East, hidden within the Himalayan Mountains, Kamar-Taj stood untouched by the Emperor's psychic dominion. A bastion of ancient knowledge, mysticism, and sorcery. There, deep within the inner sanctum, the Ancient One opened her eyes.
Golden light danced across her pupils as the psychic tremor swept through the ley lines of the world.
"Something... older than any Sorcerer Supreme," she whispered, her voice calm, but filled with reverent tension.
She stepped into the central chamber of Kamar-Taj. Scrolls unrolled themselves. Floating symbols shifted in the air. The fabric of reality itself had bent not from magic, but from something far deeper.
"A Man held power beyond gods..." she muttered, "...Born in ancient times, now claiming the world"
Her students sensed it too. The wards held, but just barely. The Emperor had not pushed into Kamar-Taj. He had simply brushed against it, and already their strongest defenses trembled.
She closed her eyes, exhaled slowly.
"We must observe. For now."
Back across the world, the final echoes of the Emperor's message faded.
Presidents, warlords, and kings had all heard the same words. Some wept. Some fell silent. A few raised weapons against the shadows. None succeeded.
The golden warriors his Custodes, stood like statues behind him, unmoving yet eternal. Each one a monument of strength and perfection, forged not as tools of war, but as instruments of divine order.
The Emperor stepped back from the projection, his voice soft, yet absolute:
"Earth is mine. And soon... it shall be worthy to be called Terra."