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Miles shifted uncomfortably as he gazed at Centurion's lifeless body, a myriad of conflicting emotions swirling within him. Finally, he turned to Peter, uncertainty evident in his voice. "Should we... Should we go after them?" He asked, frowning. "They looked… sad."

Peter shook his head, his expression grave yet resolute. "No, Miles. They need some time alone. Let's leave them alone for a little while."

Nodding in understanding, Miles glanced once more at Centurion's body before mustering a faint smile. "Okay. I'll wait outside for you," he said softly, his voice tinged with a hint of sadness. With that, he exited the chamber, leaving Peter alone with Tiamut and the remains of their fallen adversary.

As the sound of Miles' footsteps faded into the distance, Peter turned his attention to Tiamut, who stood beside him, a towering sentinel of darkness and fury. The undead Celestial's gaze was fixed upon Centurion's body, a silent question lingering in the air.

Tiamut's voice rumbled like distant thunder as he addressed Peter, his words reverberating through the chamber. "Should I deal with it, Master?"

Peter nodded, his eyes never leaving Centurion's lifeless form. "Yeah, go ahead."

In an instant, Tiamut moved with a speed that defied comprehension, his shadowy form darting across the chamber until he reached an empty corner. With a swift motion, he extended his hand into the air, his fingers curling around an unseen figure.

Suddenly, the air was filled with anguished screams as a figure materialized within Tiamut's tight grasp, writhing in agony as if caught in the throes of a nightmare made manifest.

Peter's eyes narrowed as he regarded the trapped figure, his voice cold and devoid of emotion. "Did you think you could trick me with this weak illusion, Centurion?" he asked, his words sharp as he kicked the 'dead' Centurion, sending it crashing into the wall, where it shattered into particles of light. "Did you really believe you could escape?"

Centurion, now held captive within Tiamut's grasp, could only stare helplessly at Peter, his defiance crumbling in the face of his inevitable fate. He knew he had underestimated Peter's cunning and power, and now he would pay the price for his arrogance.

"Can I deal with him this time, Master?" Tiamut asked, his fist tightening, squeezing the life out of Centurion.

Peter gazed at Tiamut, silent permission granted. "…"

With a malicious grin, Tiamut tightened his grip on Centurion, relishing in the agony. "Aaarrgghhh!" Centurion's screams pierced the air, echoing off the chamber walls, until finally, with a sickening crunch, his body couldn't take the strain anymore.

"Ugh!" He let out one last grunt as blood shot out from every orifice of his body, as if he were a tube of toothpaste, which Tiamut was wringing out.

A sense of finality hung in the air as Tiamut released his grip, the disfigured remnants of Centurion hitting the floor with a sickening thud.

Peter watched, his expression unreadable, as Tiamut's shadowy form seemed to swell with satisfaction. "It is done," Tiamut declared, his voice like the rumble of distant thunder. "He will trouble us no more."

Peter nodded, a weight lifted from his shoulders. "Good," he murmured. "Now, let's focus on what's next."

Tiamut inclined his head, giving Peter a quick bow. "Yes, Master," he replied subsequently. "I'll return to your shadow. Please call upon me again…" And with that said, Tiamut's giant form shrank and vanished into Peter's shadow.

…

Alone in the dimly lit chamber, Peter's eyes conjured a ball of Phoenix flame in his hand. With a flick of his wrist, he sent it hurtling towards Centurion's lifeless body, igniting it in a blaze of bright, cleansing fire.

The flames danced and crackled, consuming Centurion's form until nothing remained but a pile of smoldering ash. Ignoring the smoldering remnants, Peter strode purposefully over to Centurion's computer set up.

Taking a seat at the large metallic desk, Peter pulled out a hard drive from his storage necklace and plugged it in. With a few deft keystrokes, he initiated a download, his eyes scanning the many screens as every bit of data from Centurion's system began transferring over.

As the progress bar filled slowly, Peter leaned back in the chair, his mind whirling with possibilities. He knew that within Centurion's files lay all sorts of information on the Council of Kang's, information that could prove invaluable to his plans…

Minutes passed as Peter remained absorbed in his task, until finally, the download was completed. With a satisfied nod, Peter disconnected the hard drive, slipping it back into his storage necklace.

Rising from the chair, Peter cast one last glance at the smoldering remains of Centurion's body before turning to leave. But as he took a couple of steps toward the exit, suddenly, time seemed to halt as the familiar figure of a grim reaper materialized before him.

Peter blinked, surprise flashing across his features. "Huh? What are you doing here? I thought you only showed up when I completed a task?"

Death regarded him with an enigmatic look, his skeletal visage devoid of expression. "Actually, I'm here to congratulate you."

Peter arched an eyebrow, his curiosity piqued. "Congratulate me? For what?"

Death's voice resonated with a chilling echo. "For being the first of my successor candidates to eliminate two of your competitors."

Recognition dawned on Peter's face as he recalled Centurion's true identity. "Oh, yeah. I forgot he was a successor as well. He was just so weak that it slipped my mind…"

Death merely shrugged, his bony shoulders rising and falling in a gesture of indifference. "I wouldn't say he was weak. You just happen to be among the stronger few of my successors."

"So there are others who are as strong as me…?" Peter nodded slowly, absorbing Death's words. "Okay, so why are you here again?"

Death's gaze pierced through him, his hollow eyes gleaming with an otherworldly light. "I'm here to offer you a reward, of course. As the first candidate to eliminate two competitors, you've earned a special privilege."

Peter's interest was piqued as he leaned forward, eager to hear more. "What kind of reward?"

As he asked, instantly, a holographic scream appeared before him…

[Remaining Competitors: 66/69

Tracker: No successors nearby…]

Death's voice resonated like a whisper from the grave. "You now have the ability to know how many successors remain, as well as a way to track them down."

Peter nodded slowly, taking in everything on the scream before him. "Thank you…" He replied, shocked by the sudden boon. "But wait, why is the tracker saying there's no successors nearby?"

"Because there are none in this universe." Death explained. "You'll have to travel around and start your search. After all, I won't make it too easy for you…"

With a nod of acknowledgment, Peter watched Death began to fade away, his form dissipating like mist in the wind. "I look forward to seeing your next battle. Hopefully, the next candidate you meet will put up more of a fight…" He said before vanishing completely.

Peter was left alone in the chamber, his thoughts swirling with newfound boon. With this gift bestowed upon him, he knew that finding the other candidates would only be slightly easier.

"Finding the right universes is going to be a hassle," he mused, though Peter took solace in the fact that he now had a newly established multiverse-level organization at his disposal, poised to embark on the search in his stead. "If I can link each universe they explore with gate-type portals, perhaps the tracker will detect a candidate and I won't have to do any work?"

Uncertain of its success, Peter acknowledged that it was worth attempting nonetheless.

————

Minutes later, Peter led the way through a shimmering portal, stepping out onto the familiar rooftop of Mateo's apartment. He glanced back as Miles, Mateo, and Aaron followed suit, their expressions a mix of relief and exhaustion as they pulled off their masks.

Once the portal closed behind them, Mateo and Aaron wasted no time in expressing their gratitude, "Uh… Thanks, Peter. We couldn't have done any of that without you…" Aaron spoke, Mateo following right after him. "Yeah, we would be dead right now without your help…"

Peter accepted their words with a humble nod, a small smile playing on his lips. "No need to thank me," he replied, his voice laced with sincerity. "Just glad I could help."

Of course, he chose not to mention anything about Centurion's fake death, wanting to preserve their sense of victory and closure.

Mateo's voice broke through the gratitude, a note of sadness creeping into his tone. "So, uh, you guys leaving now?" He asked, his gaze shifting between Peter and Miles. "I mean, you've done what you came here for, right?"

Peter returned Mateo's gaze with a reassuring smile. "Not just yet," he said, his tone gentle. "We'll stick around for a little while longer." He could sense Mateo's reluctance to see them go, and he didn't want to leave on a somber note.

Suddenly, Mateo's relief melted into disbelief as the rooftop door creaked open, revealing his mother, Rio, cigarette in hand and lighter in the other.

Miles, Mateo, and Aaron spun around, paralyzed in shock at the unexpected intrusion. With nowhere to escape on the open rooftop, they were trapped, waiting for her to notice them.

Unaware of their presence, Rio casually lit her cigarette, took a long puff, and leaned against the door, seeking solace from the stress of her life.

"Mom?! Since when do you smoke?!!!!" Mateo blurted out, his concern evident.

Rio's next puff halted midway, her eyes widening in astonishment as she processed the scene. Mateo, Miles, Aaron, and an unknown man stood before her, their stares fixed on her like startled deer in headlights.

"Miles, what are you-" Rio began, but her words faltered as she took in Mateo's Prowler suit, and beside him, Miles, both a mirror image of the other. "?!"

A/N: 1680 words :)

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