Chapter 730

Eternal never believed there was any question in this world he could not answer; a truly omniscient and omnipotent being, an embodiment of the eternal universe, ought to know all truths and provide answers to every question.

But now, he found he could not answer Spider-Man—and more importantly, after Spider-Man spoke those words, a faint white light spread throughout the Eternal Temple.

Peter and Deadpool were both enveloped in this light, and Eternal, touched by it, found his omnipotence and domain could not penetrate the glow—it was a world unknown to him.

Who holds the authority to interpret the Gospels? Perhaps many do, but Eternal certainly does not.

Fundamentally, whether OAA or Eternal, they are function gods—simply put, their existence is necessary, a prerequisite for the universe's stable operation, the foundation of all existence.

Their omniscience and omnipotence stem from their nature: they are the universe itself and what lies beyond it; their entire responsibility is to ensure the universe runs smoothly.

God loves humanity—that is not within their responsibility.

Of course, in Marvel's official canon, OAA's weapon is love; whether this was influenced by the Gospels is unknown, but the manifestation of "God loves humanity" certainly does not include killing the loved ones of every universe.

Of course, doctrine also includes atonement and trial theories, but if Spider-Man is a believer, why does he suffer a far more tragic fate than non-believers in every universe?

Can God love everyone except Spider-Man? If so, how can one speak of "God loves humanity" or universal values?

Eternal could not answer this question, and he dared not answer it.

Marvel comics have one trait: they are reluctant to explore issues tied to reality; Marvel prefers commercialization and avoids sensitive topics, even when briefly touched upon, leaving commercial value diminished.

In contrast, DC comics constantly engage with themes of humanity and society, even publishing works like "The Long Halloween" specifically to examine social issues.

This is the source of fan wars: DC fans mock Marvel for lacking depth, while Marvel fans mock DC for melodrama; neither side has won, yet their editorial teams maintain decent relations.

If this were DC, Spider-Man's question would trigger a series of comics dedicated to exploring it: trial theory, atonement theory, universalism—does faith justify, or works? Does man love God first, or does God love man first? These are worth examining.

But Eternal, operating within the Marvel system, chose silence.

Yet without an answer, the problem remains unresolved—if Deadpool one day again seeks revenge for his friend, will Eternal's temple have to guard against shit-mountain every day?

He cannot answer, and he cannot send them away; if he sends them away, he fears they'll return. His only option now is to file an upward report.

I can't answer this. Boss, you handle it.

Eternal sighed and said to Peter, "Wait here a moment. I must step out. When I return, perhaps I'll have an answer."

Peter was confused—he didn't understand why Eternal was leaving.

In truth, he never expected Eternal to give an answer; he merely asked because Shi Le told him to, and he himself had been simmering with anger, so he simply followed Shi Le's instructions.

Peter truly felt it was unfair—even apart from faith—none of the Spider-Men across all multiverses or their families had done anything wrong. Why must they suffer this?

If one discusses the content of Spider-Man comics, it truly deserves the title of a history of blood and tears behind laughter.

As the former sales champion of Marvel's editorial department, Spider-Man's top status brought him no luck; instead, nearly every Spider-Man has a tragic, sorrow-filled story.

At least one close relative dies; one editor's girlfriend is killed off by the next editor; to maintain Spider-Man's relatable image, he's often forced to take odd jobs due to poverty; those who rise are killed by legacy families; those who don't rise are mocked for only swinging fists, never using their brains.

If only one or two universes suffered this, one might call it coincidence—but every universe is nearly identical: a father's status, a foundling's treatment. Spider-Man is Marvel's number one unlucky soul.

Peter thought: even if Spider-Man isn't perfect, does he deserve this?

If there were no gods, one might say they were just unlucky—but there is an omniscient, omnipotent god who can arbitrarily arrange everything in the universe. So why target Spider-Man so cruelly?

After speaking those words, he already felt better. Fundamentally, Peter doesn't do good deeds for reward; he doesn't believe being a good person entitles him to happiness. He asked this question partly because Shi Le told him to, and partly just to vent.

In fact, this attitude among all Spider-Men could be called defiant; others never even considered questioning a god. Peter could only be called a slightly less pathetic do-gooder.

In the temple, Peter had already pulled Deadpool to leave, but Eternal was still climbing mountains and crossing borders to reach headquarters.

Crossing the barrier between worlds isn't simple—even for Eternal, it demands great effort. And having been exiled to such a remote place, yet constantly running back to headquarters to bother the big boss, Eternal felt he was barely a step from quitting.

Meanwhile, in Marvel's main universe, OAA gazed at the clean, orderly universe and felt deeply satisfied—he had acted swiftly and cleanly, avoiding greater damage.

At that moment, the Living Tribunal sent him a message: the Eternal of a universe he had just expelled had returned to cause trouble.

Compared to the Five Gods, OAA's emotional thinking was weaker—or rather, his function demanded stronger logic and rationality, so he focused on Eternal's purpose.

Eternal brought OAA only Peter's final words—and OAA was left speechless.

Though they were superior and subordinate, if Eternal couldn't answer, neither could OAA.

How could he answer? Say God doesn't love humanity? That would invite physical transcendence. Say God loves humanity but not Spider-Man, that Spider-Man is an outcast, an unrighteous one? Then what use would the comics be?

Even if one claimed it was trial or atonement, once discussed, this issue would destroy the issue.

OAA had a nagging feeling this trapped question sounded familiar—not like Spider-Man's style, but more like…

OAA and Eternal exchanged subtle signals, then concluded a pattern: whenever a problem arose in the multiverse, it was inevitably tied to one person.

As OAA and Eternal exchanged views, Lucifer in the DC universe stood near the Wall of Origins, looking around.

Just now, he suddenly felt the feather embedded in Shi Le's soul twitch—but Shi Le only tugged the feather without saying what he wanted. Lucifer was both furious and curious.

Was this a distress signal? Was Shi Le's soul in trouble? Was the universe from that earlier prank call suffering some disaster? Or something even more mysterious?

With endless time and nothing to do, Lucifer had the luxury to satisfy his curiosity—and due to his immense power, he rarely faced danger.

Next only to God, he could leave the Wall of Origins—but beyond it was no peaceful land. Outside the Wall, many of Lucifer's powers weakened; if he crossed bare-bodied, the key was slowness.

But Lucifer had another way.

The structure of the DC universe differs from Marvel's; DC's multiverse is finite, generally consisting of 52 universes.

These 52 universes are like fillings in a bun, enclosed within the Wall of Origins, typically fixed in position—with darkness and light each occupying half—yet beyond them exist the hyperspace multiverse and unstable multiverse.

Lucifer had not been to the Wall's exterior for the first time; being so powerful and idle, he'd tried nearly every extreme sport, and exploring mysterious unknown realms was nothing new.

But the world beyond the Wall was not as thrilling as he imagined—just a pile of ancient monsters sealed outside, and endless silence.

Though Lucifer always chased entertainment, he wasn't foolish; long ago, he knew leaving home meant danger, so he didn't just walk out—he went to his garage and drove a car.

That car was a DC universe.

Of course, being his own property, he wouldn't wreck the 52 main universes—so he picked a similar one from the unstable or hyperspace multiverse, then drove it beyond the Wall.

This time, to find Shi Le, Lucifer planned the same: since he was going to Shi Le, he'd drive Shi Le's universe.

Lucifer fused his will into the universe, turned the key, found it started, then stomped the accelerator and drove the universe to the Wall's edge.

Next step: drive the car out of the garage, then roam beyond the Wall.

Just as humans don't feel Earth's rotation, most beings within universes didn't feel Lucifer speeding them along—they carried on their lives as usual.

Moving a universe beyond the Wall was difficult; first, ensure his father didn't see. Lucifer looked around—God showed no sign of appearing—so he stomped the accelerator, and the universe shot beyond the Wall.

Beyond the Wall lay ancient monsters sealed away, but under Lucifer's protection, the glowing little car accelerated from 0 to 100 km/h in 3. seconds—"whoosh"—vanished into boundless darkness.

When Lucifer finally slowed after a satisfying joyride, following Shi Le's GPS signal to the target, he saw a small cube—Shi Le, arms crossed, face full of resentment.

If Lucifer hadn't misread, judging by the clothing, Shi Le had just been thrown out by the collar.