Judgment of the Endless (MarvelxDC)

Long before stars burned, before dimensions had names, and before existence fractured into the realms of time, space, and possibility, there was Judgment.

Judgment, a being of unparalleled might and incomprehensible wisdom, was both a creator and a destroyer.

He was a force beyond comprehension, an entity who walked the boundaries of absolutes.

In his hands lay the scales of cosmic balance, and with his words, the foundations of reality were written.

Where others saw chaos, he saw structure; where others faltered in emotion, he wielded pure reason.

It was from Judgment's will that the Tribunal was born. Not as a deity to be worshipped, nor as a tyrant to be feared, but as a servant to the cosmic equilibrium—a living embodiment of fairness, to ensure that no force, however great or small, could tip the delicate scales of existence.

The Tribunal's first awareness was not of its form but of its purpose.

It did not awaken to a world or a dimension, for such constructs had not yet been defined.

Instead, it awakened in the presence of Judgment himself.

The Tribunal remembered the way Judgment's presence filled the void, a brilliance so profound it did not merely illuminate the darkness but defined what light could be. Judgment's voice was not heard but understood, resonating as the very foundation of thought.

"You are my arbiter," Judgment had said, his tone devoid of malice or favor, but weighted with infinite responsibility.

"Where I cannot tread, you will go. Where my hand hesitates, yours will strike.

You will ensure balance—not for one, but for all."

The Tribunal understood. It existed for one reason: to uphold equilibrium. It was born not from compassion or anger, but from necessity.

As the multiverse expanded, so did the Tribunal's understanding of its role. It forged its tri-faced form, each visage representing the aspects of its function.

Equity ensured fairness, the impartial weighing of every action.

Necessity governed decisions required for the survival of the multiverse.

Vengeance, though seldom invoked, was the power to strike down those who defied the natural order.

Its form was no accident. It was a reflection of Judgment's perfection, yet deliberately incomplete. The Tribunal was designed to rule objectively, but never to rival its creator. It would enforce the laws but never create them.

This distinction defined the Tribunal's existence.

In those primordial eons, it observed as Judgment shaped existence. Stars ignited at his command, their light spreading across the void. Realms of life were sown and nurtured, while others were culled to maintain cosmic order.

The Tribunal watched, learning, understanding.

The Tribunal's first task came when imbalance threatened the fledgling multiverse. A singular dimension, born too powerful, began consuming neighboring realms.

The Tribunal, untested and unproven, descended into the chaotic plane.

Its presence alone halted the rampage momentarily, as the dimension itself seemed to recognize the Tribunal's authority.

But recognition was not enough. The dimension fought back, its energies clawing at the Tribunal's essence. Yet, bound by its purpose, the Tribunal endured. It invoked its power, channeling the decree of Judgment.

With a single motion, the Tribunal severed the dimension's excess energy, redistributing it across the multiverse.

For the first time, balance was restored not by Judgment but by his creation.

As eons passed, the multiverse grew ever more complex. New realms spawned with every decision, every possibility branching into infinite outcomes.

With this growth came challenges the Tribunal had not foreseen.

Beings of immense power—gods, titans, and primordial forces—rose to challenge the balance.

Some sought dominion over all creation, while others merely sought to exist outside the rules. The Tribunal faced them all, never faltering in its duty.

Yet, the Tribunal also learned that balance was not always clear. In one instance, it encountered a dimension where chaos itself was the foundation of order.

To remove the chaos would destroy the realm, yet to allow it to spread unchecked would endanger others.

The Tribunal resolved the paradox by creating boundaries, allowing chaos to thrive within its own domain but restricting its reach.

Such decisions tested the Tribunal's resolve, but it never deviated from its purpose. It was not for the Tribunal to question its creator's design, only to execute it.

Despite its immense power and wisdom, the Tribunal was not without moments of introspection. It often reflected on its creator, Judgment, and the nature of its own existence.

Why had Judgment not taken on this role directly? Why had he, with all his might, delegated this responsibility?

The Tribunal concluded that Judgment's purpose was greater than enforcing balance. Judgment was not merely a force but the source, the origin of all things. To act directly would risk disrupting the very balance he sought to maintain.

The Tribunal's role, therefore, was not just enforcement but protection—shielding Judgment from the burdens of intervention.

Still, there were moments when the Tribunal longed for its creator's presence. While it wielded immense authority, it could never claim the completeness of Judgment.

It was a fragment, a tool, a reflection of something far greater.

There came a time when even the Tribunal's power was challenged. An era where beings like Eternity, Infinity, and Death began to define their own roles within the multiverse.

They were aspects of existence itself, and their emergence introduced a complexity the Tribunal had not anticipated.

Where once the Tribunal acted as the sole enforcer, it now found itself collaborating with these entities. Together, they ensured that life and death, time and space, creation and destruction remained in harmony.

Yet, the Tribunal never lost sight of its origin. While others claimed dominion over aspects of existence, the Tribunal's authority came directly from Judgment.

For millennia, the Tribunal carried out its duties without direct communication from Judgment. It understood this silence not as abandonment but as trust.

Judgment's lack of interference was a testament to the Tribunal's success. Yet, the absence was felt deeply.

The Tribunal often wondered if Judgment still observed, if he watched as his creation upheld the balance. It found solace in the idea that Judgment's omniscience meant he saw all, even if he chose not to intervene.

The multiverse was vast and ever-changing, but the Tribunal was attuned to its every shift.

Recently, however, it had sensed something unprecedented. A disturbance so profound it shook the very foundation of existence.

The Tribunal recognized the source immediately: Darius, once known as Judgment, had acted directly. The purification of countless souls, the erasure of imbalances on a cosmic scale—these were acts only Judgment could perform.

It was a reminder of his unparalleled authority, a reminder that even the Tribunal's role was but a fraction of Judgment's power.

Now, the Tribunal waited in its domain, its thoughts consumed by the implications of its creator's return.

What did it mean for the balance?

For the Tribunal itself?

And then, as if answering its unspoken questions, the golden light of Judgment's presence began to fill the realm.

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A/N: God, this is torture. Didn't realise how deep of a grave I dug for myself when I started this book.