Marvel: My Genius Is Almost Frightening!

"How fascinating," Octavian muttered once again, staring at the skinless, lifeless body of John sprawled on the ground.

His voice carried the kind of curiosity you'd expect from someone watching ants build a hill. "Fascinating indeed."

To be clear, John wasn't fascinating. Not to Octavian, not to anyone else. John had lived a life of such insignificance that even his death would barely register as an afterthought.

No, Octavian wasn't marveling at John. He was marveling at himself.

Yeah, Octavian was his own biggest fan.

You have to understand, no matter how terrifying Octavian's genius might be—and boy, it was terrifying—he was still a child.

A very bloody, very horrifying child, but a child nonetheless. He wasn't even 20 seconds old, and like any newborn, he was filled with curiosity.

Of course, unlike your average baby who gets excited over shiny keys, nipples, or wondering if their diaper has NASA-grade padding, Octavian's interests were... different.

'How am I able to do such things?' he thought, stepping over John's remains without a second glance. He made his way to the room's wooden window, his curiosity burning brighter than the sun outside.

'What am I? Am I a mutant? A GOD?!'

{A/N: Bro is underestimating himself 😔}

With a casual push, he opened the creaky window and let the sunlight flood in. His pale, blood-soaked face tilted upward as his eyes locked onto the blinding orb in the sky.

'How does that thing function?'

These were Octavian's first thoughts upon seeing the sun. A normal baby might think something along the lines of, "Damn! My eyes are burning! What is this stupid bright ball?!"

But not Octavian. No, his brain immediately started analyzing the sun like it was a science experiment.

This was Octavian in a nutshell—a curious child who wanted to understand the logic behind everything, as long as it held his interest. If he didn't find you interesting? Well, congratulations. You got to live. He wasn't a psychopath, after all.

But annoy him? Yeah, then you'd end up like John. Poor, insignificant John, whose lifeless body now served as an unfortunate example. Even without skin, John's butt was somehow still more impressive than every woman's in the town.

Octavian glanced back at the corpse and shrugged. "Some things in this world truly defy logic(Sarcastic)," he muttered, more to himself than anyone else, before turning his gaze back to the sun, already consumed by thoughts of how to break it apart just to see how it worked.

Octavian's gaze lingered on the sun as his mind began to race, piecing together a web of theories in mere milliseconds.

A smirk played on his blood-smeared lips as his thoughts surged, fueled by the boundless curiosity of a 20-second-old child with a brain sharper than any blade.

'The sun,' he mused, his eyes narrowing. 'A massive fusion reactor, perhaps? Its light suggests photon emission through continuous nuclear reactions. Hydrogen atoms undergoing fusion to form helium—simple enough.

But how does it sustain such immense pressure and heat over billions of years without collapsing?'

His mind snapped into overdrive.

'Gravitational forces,' he reasoned. 'The sun must balance the inward pull of gravity with the outward force of radiation pressure. But wait... could it be something more exotic?

A stabilized field of quantum flux particles? Or perhaps a miniature black hole at its core, contained by some hyper-dimensional energy lattice? Hmm...'

The thoughts didn't stop there.

'If I wanted to replicate this... no, improve upon it,' Octavian pondered, his smirk deepening, 'how would I create a mini sun? A miniature celestial body with controlled nuclear fusion, portable enough to fit in my palm?'

His eyes gleamed as the theories flooded his mind.

'First, I'd need a containment field to mimic the sun's gravitational equilibrium. A dynamic plasma cage generated by rotating electromagnetic fields should suffice.

But that alone isn't enough. The energy density required to kickstart fusion... I'd need an initial spark—a concentrated pulse of zero-point energy, compressed to the Planck scale. Risky, but manageable.'

He rubbed his chin thoughtfully, leaving a streak of dried blood there.

'To stabilize the process, I could introduce a quantum tether—a self-regulating feedback loop of energy derived from vacuum fluctuations. That would prevent runaway fusion reactions.

And for fuel... hmm, I'd synthesize pure hydrogen isotopes from atmospheric water vapor using molecular disassembly techniques. Efficient and renewable.'

Octavian paused, his gaze unwavering on the sun as if challenging it.

'But why stop there? Why replicate when I can innovate? A mini sun could serve as more than just a light source. With proper tuning, I could amplify its radiation spectrum, turn it into a weapon capable of atomizing matter at a molecular level.

Or... better yet, I could reverse its energy flow, creating a device that absorbs ambient energy to fuel itself—a self-sustaining, ever-evolving power source.'

He chuckled, the sound low and unsettling.

'A sun in the palm of my hand. A star of my own creation'

Truly, the gods would weep at the sight of such brilliance.-Author.

Octavian's thoughts came to a halt—not because he ran out of ideas, but because he realized something: his audience, if they could hear him now, would probably be scratching their heads, questioning their own intellect.

With a casual shrug, he muttered to himself, "Yeah, I'll do it later. No rush."

And with that, he turned away from the window, his mind already onto the next mystery worth solving.

While continuing his exploration of the room, Octavian paused, realizing something that hadn't yet crossed his terrifyingly genius mind—he was stark naked.

Completely bare.

His perfectly sculpted six-pack abs glistened with remnants of blood, and, well, let's just say the Shenlong dragon between his legs was swinging in all its majestic glory.

Bro was packing that elite 6-10-0 package right now: 6'4" in height, 10 inches of certified weaponry, and 0 coins in his pocket.

The last part stung his pride a little. Sure, Octavian didn't need money, but the idea of being broke didn't quite sit right with a man destined for greatness.

"I be taking this," he muttered, his tone smooth, almost gentlemanly, as his eyes landed on the skinless corpse of John, aka the booty of the town.

Without hesitation, Octavian bent down and stripped John of his clothes. The robes weren't exactly designer—just a rough, basic set—but they would suffice for now.

Stripping them off was easy, given John was, well, skinless. Octavian handled the task with the efficiency of someone performing a mundane chore.

Once dressed, Octavian glanced at himself in the room's grimy mirror. The robe was loose but did little to hide his chiseled physique. It looked... almost regal.

Satisfied, he turned his attention back to John's lifeless, skinless form. With a casual flick of his wrist, Octavian tossed John's body across the room as if it were no more significant than a discarded rag.

The body hit the wall with a loud thud before crumpling to the ground in a heap.

"Worthless," Octavian muttered under his breath. To him, John was nothing more than a walking (well, not anymore) representation of mediocrity—one of the many filthy monkeys that littered this world.

Octavian didn't care about societal norms or anyone's opinion. Why would he? In his eyes, they were all beneath him. They didn't even register as equals—just walking bags of meat with sub-par intellect.

He smirked, adjusting the robes slightly before muttering to himself, "Even these clothes are wasted on them. But, for now... they'll do."

And with that, Octavian strode confidently out of the room, looking every bit like the divine being he believed himself to be—even in stolen peasant robes.

As Octavian confidently walked through the dimly lit hallway, adjusting his newly acquired, slightly oversized robes, a loud, commanding voice shattered the silence behind him.

"WE FOUND HIM! WE FOUND HIM!"

It echoed with urgency, piercing the still air like a dagger. For the first time in his incredibly long and eventful life—all 69 seconds of it—Octavian felt something new: surprise.

He turned around, his golden eyes narrowing as they locked onto the source of the commotion. What he saw could only be described as... a circus gone wrong.

A group of what he immediately labeled as jokers emerged from a glowing orange square portal, their uniforms as strange as their sudden appearance.

Of course, they weren't actual clowns, but Octavian's superior brain had already categorized them as such.

Their cold, disdainful expressions didn't help their case, especially when contrasted with the vibrant orange glow of the portal.

Octavian tilted his head slightly, his long black hair, streaked with hints of blonde, cascading over his shoulders like a goddamn shampoo commercial. His golden eyes sparkled, catching the light like molten metal.

Majestic wasn't just a word for him—it was a way of life. If he ever met The Rizzler, he'd probably out-rizz the rizz himself.

"Who are you jokers?" Octavian ordered, his tone commanding, not curious. He didn't ask questions; he demanded answers. However, mid-sentence, his attention shifted.

His gaze flicked to the glowing orange square portal still shimmering behind the group. His eyes lit up with pure, unfiltered curiosity.

"How does this work?" he muttered, already running a dozen theories through his mind.

This small, absent-minded question only deepened the disgust on the faces of the TVA agents. Their captain stepped forward, his face as cold as a winter storm.

"Anomaly," the captain said, his voice firm and devoid of emotion. "Under the orders of the higher officials of the TVA, you are to be executed on the spot."

His declaration was meant to strike fear or, at the very least, garner some reaction. But Octavian? Octavian didn't even flinch. He didn't care. In fact, he wasn't even paying attention anymore.

By the time the captain finished speaking, Octavian had already progressed halfway through comprehending the mechanics of teleportation.

His mind was a whirlwind of theories and calculations, piecing together the function of the glowing portal with terrifying speed.

"Fascinating," he murmured, his golden eyes fixed on the orange square. His lips curled into a slight smile as if the world around him—the threats, the disgusted stares, the declaration of execution—was merely background noise.

"Execute him!"

{A/N: Okay, so this chapter turned out a bit shorter than usual because the next one is much longer, and I'm still working on it. My bad for leaving you with a short one, but hey, it's for the sake of pacing. Hope you understand!}

Also, shoutout to Supreme_Otaku_01! You win this round. Even though Octavian didn't create his own energy in this chapter, that was totally the plan until I realized I had to split the chapter to make it flow better.

But don't worry! He'll be cooking something insane in the next chapter, and trust me, you'll get what you're waiting for.

Since I'm feeling extra generous today, here's the deal:

You've got two choices, Supreme_Otaku_01:

1️⃣ Get the promised spoiler (you'll love it).

2️⃣ Get two bonus chapters today (yeah, TWO).

The choice is yours, my friend.

To everyone else: Have an awesome day! Your comments fuel my motivation, so please drop a line and let me know what you think. Octavian's story is just heating up, and I promise the next chapter will be worth the wait. ✌️