Marvel's master of cosmic magic

Chapter 507

"Traitor, Logan. Absolute traitor."

Wade pointed at him in disbelief as Logan calmly sat back down on a rock.

"The Wolverine I knew used to charge gods with his fists. No fear. No hesitation. Just vibes and violence."

Logan lit a cigar, unbothered.

"Yeah. That was before I met Rowan. When things go bad now, I don’t bleed first. I call him. Much healthier lifestyle."

There was a time when Logan had been the shield.

The one who stepped forward when everyone else broke.

The one who took the pain so others wouldn’t have to.

That life was over.

Since following Rowan, he wasn’t the last line of defense anymore.

Rowan was.

And Logan had quietly become one of the people being protected.

So when a monster showed up that he knew he couldn’t beat, his instinct wasn’t to die gloriously.

It was to shout for backup.

"I’m not jealous," Wade said loudly, staring at the sky. "Not even a little. My eyes are just sweating."

Cassandra watched the exchange with growing fascination.

"Interesting," she murmured. "To make Wolverine trust you like that... even my brother never managed it."

She had seen dozens of Deadpools in the Void.

They were everywhere. Loud. Immortal. Boring.

But she had never seen a Wolverine.

Not one.

And the one she finally met treated this stranger like an absolute certainty.

That made Rowan far more intriguing than his metal tricks.

The stone house door creaked open.

Rowan Mercer stepped outside.

"...Did I just get ambushed at my own front door?"

He glanced at the convoy of war vehicles, Cassandra’s enforcers, and Juggernaut looming like a demolition problem.

"I hadn’t even gone looking for you yet," Rowan added mildly. "This is very considerate of you."

As he walked forward, his mind kept moving.

Cataloging.

Measuring.

He had felt something shift while collecting universe coordinates earlier.

A quiet, important realization.

Right now, in Marvel terms, he sat in the upper tier of skyfather-level beings.

Not because he hit harder than everyone else.

But because he had too many answers.

Too many tools.

Too many ways to solve problems.

He had learned magic across countless worlds. His combat options were absurdly broad. Elemental magic. Spatial magic. Mental constructs. Summoning. Sealing. Reality patchwork.

He could adapt to almost anything.

But skyfather-level still wasn’t cosmic.

It wasn’t universal.

And it definitely wasn’t multiversal.

There was a wall there.

A massive one.

And he’d finally figured out how to climb it.

There were two real paths forward.

The first was to build his own dimension.

That was how most true demon gods did it.

Create a private reality.

Anchor your existence to it.

Let the dimension amplify your power.

The larger and more complete the world, the stronger you became.

Eventually, if that world matured into a full multiversal structure, you followed it upward.

Dormammu had done exactly that. So had Mephisto.

They hadn’t created their realms from nothing, but they still ruled them and drew power from them.

Rowan had already started down this road.

He had carved out a pocket space of his own.

He was learning creation magic.

Learning how to generate life.

Learning how to assemble a functioning world instead of a dead void.

Once that world was complete, his power would jump straight into true universal-tier territory.

And not the weak kind.

Because he would be its creator, not a squatter.

The problem was time.

Creating a world properly took absurd amounts of it.

The second path was brute force growth.

Increase his own raw magical output until he simply overpowered the boundary between tiers.

That was how the Celestials did it.

Young Celestials weren’t even skyfather-level.

Ancient ones could rival multiversal entities.

But that path was even slower.

At his current rate, meditating his way to universal-tier would take trillions of years.

Even with his clones.

Even with stacked training efficiency.

He had seven clones right now.

Seven.

He’d need trillions of them to make that path fast.

Which wasn’t happening anytime soon.

Then, while jumping between universes earlier, the answer had finally clicked.

Faith.

The old demon-god business model.

Lend out power.

Collect interest.

Grow faster than time itself.

That was how half the dark gods in Marvel cheated the ladder.

Build cults.

Empower followers.

Skim the returns.

If they could do it...

So could he.

And unlike them, he had clones.

Which meant he could run multiple faith networks at once.

Across multiple universes.

With enough capital, enough distributed power, and enough interest flowing back, he could compress trillions of years into something manageable.

Once he hit true universal-tier, he could expand the system into every universe he had coordinates for.

The only missing piece was technique.

He didn’t actually know how demon gods structured those contracts.

But that was solvable.

The Ancient One definitely knew.

And if she didn’t...

There were other, darker manuals in the multiverse.

Rowan’s gaze returned to Cassandra.

"You must be Cassandra," he said calmly.

Her smile widened.

"Oh good. The toy talks."