(T/N: There is now a p.atreon for this work, and any new work I add will be dropped there first. check it out for an early release of up to 30 chapters edited smoothly. https://www.p.atreon.com/INeedRest)
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The deafening shouts reverberated through the narrow prison corridor, a mixture of voices blending into an indistinguishable noise.
It was chaotic, like being trapped in the middle of a frenzied mob or a marketplace at peak hour, where individual words dissolved into sheer noise.
The air itself seemed to vibrate with raw energy, thick with the collective excitement of the inmates.
This was no ordinary prison.
On either side of the dimly lit hallway, cells stretched into the shadows, their iron bars the only barrier between the prisoners and the outside world.
The men inside pressed against them, arms straining through the gaps as if trying to grasp something just out of reach.
"Heyyy!"
"Hahaha"
Their voices rose in a feverish chorus, as though some grand, thrilling spectacle had unfolded before them.
But not everyone was caught up in the chaos.
At the far end of the corridor, a lone cell stood apart from the rest, its silence almost eerie in contrast to the surrounding ones.
Inside, a person lay sprawled on the stiff uncomfortable mattress of the prison cell.
His mind still reeling from the absurdity of his current situation.
Less than half an hour ago, this guy, Allen Robinson had arrived here—though arrived was too gentle a word for what had happened.
"I know some things naturally happen fast the 'first time', but this is just ridiculous. At least give me a damn minute to process it. Isn't it against some kind of cosmic law to throw me into round two before I've even figured out round one?"
He muttered the words under his breath, half-expecting the universe to respond with another cruel twist.
Now, let's be clear—this wasn't about some awkward coming-of-age moment, nor was it one of those grim prison tropes where new inmates learned harsh lessons the hard way.
No, this was about transmigration.
In fiction, traveling to another world was practically a cliché.
In reality, the odds were so astronomically low that winning the lottery a hundred times in a row would've been more plausible.
Yet somehow, against all logic, Allen had not only crossed over into the Marvel Universe.
He had also been granted the powers of Protégé somewhat.
Protégé wasn't just another overpowered Marvel character lost in the sea of superheroes.
He was a rather broken character.
This Protégé's abilities were nothing short of terrifying.
Absolute Power Mimicry.
Absolute Potential.
Any power, any ability, whether physical or even that of an abstract existence—he could replicate it in an instant.
Not only that, but he'd also inherit the knowledge and experience needed to wield it flawlessly.
With this power, Protégé had crushed countless cosmic entities, almost defeated the Living Tribunal, and had even claimed once to rival The One Above All.
But his abilities were so absurdly overpowered that the narrative itself had intervened.
In the end, he'd been written out of existence—killed by the plot—sealed away by some inexplicable new character who appeared solely to erase him from reality. It was the Celestial, Scathan the Approver.
The Living Tribunal then absorbed the Protégé into itself to prevent him from endangering reality again.
And now, Allen had inherited this monstrous power.
Even if that was all, he'd already be an unstoppable force.
But the real insanity was the stacking ability Allen had gotten.
Once he copied an ability, he could amplify it—once, ten times, maybe a hundred times, possibly even infinitely.
In simple terms? The moment someone tried to fight him, they'd already lost.
He had thought he was set for an easy life—adventures, action, fun.
Reality, however, had other plans.
Not even three minutes after arriving in the Marvel Universe—before he could so much as blink, let alone copy a single ability—the entire universe had collapsed around him.
Just like that.
Poof. Gone.
Allen had been certain he was dead.
But instead, he had transmigrated again—straight into this prison cell.
Hence why he was complaining.
'Who the hell transmigrates twice in three minutes?!'
Cautious after the last disaster, he spent the past half-hour doing absolutely nothing, half-expecting the walls to crumble around him at any second.
But so far, so good.
"My first time was way too damn quick, but now I'm lasting longer… Guess this is just the natural progression—every man's gotta grow eventually, right?"
With a dry chuckle, he pushed himself upright, deciding it was time to figure out where—and when—he had ended up this time.
Since both transmigrations had been physical, meaning he didn't change bodies, his abilities should still be intact.
All he needed was to learn about this new world, find a target, and—
His thoughts got cut off abruptly.
"The noise outside… it stopped?"
The once-deafening corridor had fallen into an unnatural silence.
Just as Allen was about to get up and investigate—maybe even find a way out of the damn cell—footsteps echoed down the hallway.
Two prison guards approached, escorting a woman between them.
Both guards were clearly rough-looking and buff.
Their expressions were a mix of irritation and unease.
Once they reached his cell, they were confused.
"Wait a second. Wasn't this cell supposed to be empty?" one muttered, eyeing Allen with a frown.
"Looks like someone tossed this guy in here without even having him change his clothes," the other replied with a shrug.
"Probably pissed off the wrong people. Not our problem. Anyway, let's just put her in already…"
"You sure? I mean—"
"Did you see what she just did earlier? What the hell are you afraid of?!"
Without another word, they yanked open the cell door and shoved the woman inside.
The lock clicked shut behind her, and the guards strode away without a backward glance.
Allen blinked.
Putting two prisoners in a single-occupancy cell was already strange.
But a man and a woman? That was pushing it.
"Is this some kind of newbie welcome gift?" he muttered, studying the new arrival with wary curiosity.
Then his gaze sharpened.
Short to medium black hair.
A figure that even the baggy prison uniform couldn't hide.
Her posture was regal, her expression icy—yet there was something undeniably wild about her, like a predator momentarily at rest.
And most importantly—Allen recognized her.
"Oh. Now this is what I call beginner's luck. Everyone else starts with nothing. I start with a cat. And not just any cat—an untamed, wild one."