MARVEL-THE MULTIVERSE TRADER

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MASS RELEASE CHAPTER→2

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Nova just rubbed his face, exhaling slowly as the news feeds rolled on. As much as he hated bureaucracy, even he had to admit — this was good for mutant society. For the first time, the government and mutant communities weren't staring each other down from opposite ends of a gun barrel.

Slowly, inevitably, those two worlds would fuse, intertwining through politics, infrastructure, business, and law until separating them would become impossible.

After all, the practical benefits of mutant abilities in certain fields were undeniable, too valuable for any society to ignore. Medicine alone would see a revolution. Mutants with regenerative or healing abilities would become the most sought-after professionals in the country — trauma centers, warzones, epidemic sites, even elite private clients would scramble to recruit them.

But despite the shiny new system and official regulations, Nova knew there were some problems no amount of legislation could solve. The biggest one was the mutant abilities themselves. Mutant awakenings were random, often violent, and almost impossible to predict or contain.

One day, a kid would wake up with glowing eyes, or suddenly lose control of the air pressure in a room, or melt a wall by accident. The potential for public damage was enormous — and it wasn't theoretical.

He thought of Scott Summers. A boy who, on the day his mutation awakened, nearly sliced his school building in half with a single uncontrolled optic blast. It took nothing to imagine what might've happened if Scott had been standing in front of a glass-walled high-rise, his eyes cutting through the lower levels like a hot knife through butter, turning an office building into a tomb.

And then, there were the others — those whose mutations didn't come with destructive power or marketable abilities, but permanent, irreversible physical changes. Kids born with crimson skin, scales, feathers, gills, or horns.

Mutants whose bodies shifted into forms society instinctively recoiled from, no matter how harmless they might be. For them, no department, no council, no negotiated peace could fully erase the social walls built by fear and prejudice.

The world might accept healers and telepaths with clean faces, but those whose mutations were carved into their flesh would always carry the weight of it in every stare, every whisper, every locked door. It was a problem none of the new laws had dared to address.

The age of hiding might be over — but for some, the age of being judged had only just begun.

But that wasn't really Nova's problem. The fate of disfigured mutants or public prejudice wasn't his burden to carry — not in this life. What gnawed at him, what made his gut twist, was how this move ruthlessly destroyed the one advantage he'd been quietly counting on: foresight.

Even in alternate timeline, certain things tended to repeat. Patterns. Personalities. Key historical beats. He'd banked on that. Hoped that somewhere beneath the chaos, the old storyline would still pulse, however faintly. The major events, the alliances, the betrayals — enough to map his way forward.

But now? That was a damn joke. An unprecedented power-share between mutants and the U.S. government? Sure, why not. The only thing more predictable than mutants being hated was Marvel timelines being a goddamn disaster.

Honestly, in this setup, nobody should even dare to try something as cliché as mind-controlling a mutant to assassinate the President and frame Xavier's school — not when the damn school was now half-run by the government itself. That move belonged to an older, dumber, bloodier timeline.

This wasn't someone tweaking the script — this was someone shredding it, setting it on fire, and then scribbling new scenes in crayon while Nova didn't even have a goddamn table of contents to follow.

And don't even get him started on how this would ripple into other plotlines. What happened to the Hulk now? Would the Mutant Department try to draft Banner like a walking WMD the moment he showed up, or worse — send a squad of cocky mutants to hunt him down and get themselves smeared across a mountainside?

Would Tony Stark still get kidnapped in a desert if a Level A mutant bodyguard was standing two steps behind him, turning RPGs into confetti?

Would S.H.I.E.L.D. even need the Avengers Initiative anymore when half their national emergencies could be handled by licensed mutants with combat clearance?

Every domino was out of line. Every storyline he thought might stay intact was wobbling, already one push from crashing.

Ah, fk.** This wasn't just frustrating — it was dangerous. This single, sweeping move had completely gutted his carefully sketched plans for the Marvel world. Timelines he'd banked on, events he'd prepped for, alliances he expected to exploit — all scattered.

And what made it worse was the speed of it. No buildup. No slow decay. Just one sharp, ruthless shift that turned the board upside down while he was busy watching a different corner.

He couldn't afford to wait anymore. Hesitation here meant losing everything — advantages, opportunities, his place in the pecking order. He needed to move fast. Improvise. Adapt. Start pulling new strings before someone else figured out where the loose ends were. In a world this unstable, prediction was a dead man's game. From here on out, the only way to survive was to be the one causing the instability.

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Nova let out a long, steady breath, pushing the frustration down. No use losing his head over it. The only way through this mess was step by step. First thing to handle — his own identity problem. Thanks to these new mutant laws, he either had to register and join a sanctioned school or get branded as a rogue. Not that he gave a damn about the Department's hit list, but the constant headaches, surveillance, and skirmishes would be a waste of time. Worse, it'd sour potential deals with the very mutants he planned to trade with. And Nova valued profit over pointless fights.

So, registration it was. But he sure as hell wasn't giving them the full story.

After plenty of internal arguments, weighing pros, cons, and what-if scenarios, Nova came to a decision. He'd split his abilities into clean, compartmentalized identities.

His official, public persona would be a mutant with the ability to perform feats based on knowledge and understanding — basically a logic-and-science-based mutation paired with heightened intelligence. Impressive enough to secure status, harmless enough not to alarm the power players.

Then, he'd craft a second identity. This one would harness the Omnitrix. No clear role for it yet — whether hero, rogue, or neutral problem-solver — but it'd be his wildcard, a persona he could shape depending on how the chessboard moved.

And finally, his third identity — the Trader. The one no system would ever trace. An anonymous dealer cloaked in shadows, carrying a four-leaf grimoire and the power to grant wishes. A figure wrapped in mystery, myths and legends, known for dealing in favors, secrets, and impossible trades. No name. No face. Only a legend.

It wasn't the cleanest plan, not yet. But over time, he'd perfect it.

Fortunately, he still had time to maneuver. The Mutant Department was barely two days old. It would take weeks, maybe months, for them to finish setting up their framework, standardize protocols, and start enforcing them on a national scale. That delay was precious. A gap wide enough for Nova to slip through and establish his own foundations before anyone thought to check.

And he already knew where to start.

Oscorp.

In Black Clover, he'd already built the framework for his artifcat trading empire — a sprawling network of artifact crafters, enchanters, and mages supplying the world's demand for magic artifacts.

That world would serve as his personal factory for magical artifacts. Products the Trader would sell not just here, but across the multiverse.

But magic alone wasn't enough. Technology mattered too. In this world, in this century, power was also measured in data, biotech, weapons systems, and corporate influence.

And Oscorp — with its deep foundations, cutting-edge tech, and a very sick, desperate CEO — was the perfect entry point. From his past life memories, Nova knew the Osborn bloodline carried a genetic flaw, a hereditary sickness that gnawed away at both body and sanity.

It explained Norman's obsession with experimental serums and his increasingly erratic grip on power. But Nova had no interest in saving Norman Osborn. Not out of spite — simply because it was a waste of effort.

Norman wasn't just some powerful CEO with a sickness. Across countless alternate realities, Norman Osborn was a recurring monster. Whether it was as the Green Goblin, a power-hungry tycoon, or a public official manipulating governments from the shadows, Norman's instinct was always the same — control, dominate, and destroy anything he couldn't own. Even if Nova cured him today, Norman would still find a way to turn that gift into a weapon against others.

And besides, Norman Osborn wasn't the kind of man you manipulated easily. He was a seasoned old fox, sharp, paranoid, and ruthless. He'd survived boardroom coups, government scrutiny, and the worst back-alley deals in the Marvel world. Nova had no illusions about the difficulty of playing that game. There were easier marks, better investments.

Harry, though?

Harry was his friend. Not perfect, not naïve — but far easier to trust and far easier to guide. Someone Nova genuinely enjoyed being around. Harry lacked Norman's ruthless cunning but had something far more valuable: loyalty and a heart that hadn't been corrupted by unchecked ambition. When the inevitable came, and Norman's empire cracked under the weight of its own filth, Harry would inherit it.

And Nova suspected that moment was coming sooner than anyone realized.

Because if there was one thing every universe had in common, it was that the moment someone put on the Spidey suit, the first big villain wasn't far behind. Nova could guess it with his toes — it was either going to be a brilliant doctor-turned-lizard or a psychotic CEO with a fetish for green armor and pumpkin bombs.

Between the two, Nova honestly preferred if Norman just dropped dead before reaching his inevitable goblin phase. Letting that old bastard go full Green Goblin would only bring unnecessary headaches — kidnapping girlfriends, blowing up bridges, and flying around on that stupid glider like a discount Halloween-themed Batman villain.

Much better if Norman's downfall came like a sick patient — slow, natural, and slipping out of the picture before anyone had to clean up after him. Less chaos, fewer citywide disasters, and one less lunatic for Nova to worry about.

Then Harry could take over. And Nova could be right there, where it counted.

And looking at his messages, it seems that their is gonna be a night out at Peter's apartment tonight.