Somewhere near the true center of the Prime Galaxy, gravity folded in on itself.
Two massive black holes circled one another in a slow, deliberate dance, their event horizons stretched and distorted by mutual pull. Space between them screamed under the strain, light bending into arcs that never escaped, time itself dragged thin and elongated. Any ordinary matter caught between them would have been torn apart long before it could form a thought.
Yet between those two singularities existed an anomaly.
A pocket of isolated space, carved by design, where opposing gravitational vectors canceled just enough to create stillness. Within that stillness hung a planet.
It was enormous, its surface dark and scarred, continents fractured by ancient tectonic violence. Vast mountain ranges cut across its surface like wounds that never healed, peaks jagged and black, veins of dull crimson magma glowing faintly beneath the crust. The planet did not orbit in any traditional sense. It remained suspended, held in place by forces too precise to be natural.
On one such mountain range, a plateau had been hollowed out long ago.
The stone there was smooth, polished by something far older than erosion, forming a wide circular platform etched with faint grooves that pulsed softly, as if reacting to the surrounding void. Above it, the sky twisted unnaturally.
Without warning, space tore open.
A portal bloomed into existence above the platform, glowing with a harsh crimson light that bled into the air. From it fell a cocoon, wrapped tightly in layers of energy and sealing runes, trailing streaks of red mist as it descended.
It struck the platform with a heavy impact.
The portal collapsed as if it had never existed.
For a brief moment, nothing moved.
Then footsteps echoed across the stone.
From the far end of the platform, a figure approached at an unhurried pace. He was tall, his frame lean but dense, every movement controlled to the point of madness. Ash-gray skin stretched smoothly over his body. His white hair was cut short and precise, not a strand out of place. His eyes were black, glass-like, reflecting no light, no emotion.
An Eternal.
He stopped before the cocoon and placed one hand upon its surface.
The seals did not resist.
The moment his palm made contact, the crimson bindings unraveled as if they had never existed, dissolving into harmless motes that faded into the air. The cocoon collapsed inward, revealing the Eternal within.
The captured Eternal stumbled forward, barely managing to stay upright. His breathing was uneven, his aura fractured and unstable, eyes wide as he took in his surroundings. The pressure of the place alone was enough to crush lesser beings, yet he endured, driven by shock more than strength.
"Where is this," he asked first, then corrected himself, voice tightening. "No... what is this place."
The figure in front of him did not answer.
The Eternal swallowed and forced himself upright another inch. His perception slid outward and came back fractured, like light bent through broken glass. There were no coordinates. No spatial anchors. No reference points he could lock onto.
"This isn’t a holding facility," he said, more to himself than anyone else. "It’s not a battlefield either."
Still nothing.
His eyes lifted again, fixing on the one standing before him. The similarities were unsettling. Too close to him.
"You’re not part of the expeditionary forces," he continued cautiously. "I would remember you. I remember all of them."
The figure watched him with black, reflective eyes that gave nothing back.
"Who are you?" the captive Eternal said.
That earned him a response, though not the one he wanted.
"You are no longer relevant to your chain of command," the figure said mildly.
A flicker of alarm crossed the Eternal’s face. "Then this is internal," he said. "A correction? A reassignment?"
Silence.
His jaw tightened. "If this is a correction, I demand clarification. By whose authority—"
The figure finally moved.
He stepped closer, presence deepening, space around him compressing just slightly, enough to make the Eternal’s instincts recoil.
"My name is Jupiter," he said quietly.
The words landed with unexpected weight.
Something in the Eternal’s composure cracked. "That designation doesn’t exist," he said. "Not anymore."
Jupiter tilted his head, just a fraction.
"It does here."
The Eternal opened his mouth to speak again.
Jupiter struck.
The punch was impossibly fast, his arm blurring for less than an instant before impact. There was no shockwave, no dramatic flare of energy. The blow landed cleanly against the captive Eternal’s chest.
His body did not fly back.
Instead, it shuddered.
A deep, internal rupture echoed through him as black blood spilled from his mouth, splattering onto the stone. His knees buckled, and he dropped heavily to the platform, one hand bracing against the ground as his breathing turned ragged.
Jupiter did not pause.
He placed his hand atop the kneeling Eternal’s head.
A soft green light flared. It sank into the captive’s skull. The Eternal’s body stiffened once, then went slack, consciousness snuffed out without resistance.
Jupiter lifted him with one hand as if he weighed nothing.
He turned and walked toward the edge of the platform, descending along a carved path that led deeper into the mountain. The passage opened into a chamber where a stone tablet stood upright, its surface covered in shifting symbols that rearranged themselves continuously.
Jupiter laid the unconscious Eternal upon the tablet.
The symbols flared brighter, then the stone surface liquefied briefly, swallowing the body whole. In the next moment, the tablet returned to solid form, smooth and untouched, as if nothing had ever been placed there.
Jupiter straightened.
Without another glance, his form blurred, space folding inward around him. He vanished silently, leaving the chamber empty once more.
Above, the black holes continued their eternal orbit.
And somewhere within the systems that governed existence itself, the captured Eternal was no longer merely a prisoner.
Jupiter came to a halt at the peak of another mountain, the stone beneath his feet scorched smooth by forces older than erosion. The distorted sky hung low above him, stars smeared into slow arcs by the pull of the twin singularities. He did not look at any of it.
He spoke to the empty air.
"Are you going to punish him."
He waited, unmoving, as if listening to something that did not need sound.
"...I see."
A pause followed, longer this time.
"But we could have had three more," he said calmly. "If he had simply listened."
Another silence.
Jupiter’s fingers curled slightly at his side.
"You are taking a risk with him," he continued. "You know that. He should be chained, not allowed to roam free across active sectors."
The mountain wind rose briefly, then died.
"Yes," he said after a moment. "The Fallen might interfere."
His head tilted a fraction, as though acknowledging an internal counterargument.
"...No. I understand."
A final pause.
"You can deal with him," Jupiter said at last. "If it comes to that."
He fell silent again, presence steady, expression unchanged, as though the conversation had never taken place.
Then space folded softly around him, and the peak was empty once more.