God of Stories

Stan Lee?

Silver Surfer repeated the name, and the deep light swirling in Starlight's pupils paused for a moment.

This sounds like the name of an ordinary human being, a name that seems to have nothing to do with a cosmic threat.

Before becoming Herald of Galactus, Norlin Ryder was an astronomer at Zenn-La, where he had seen the names of countless Galaxy and the languages of countless civilizations.

But the name "Stan Lee" has never appeared in any star map or any file about cosmic threats.

"An old man who writes stories is comparable to Cosmic God." There was something almost absurd in Silver Surfer's voice.

"You're going to use an old storyteller to fight the Galactus."

"Yes." Russell nodded.

Ebony Maw, standing behind, finally couldn't help but burst out laughing.

The laughter echoed over the Hudson River, carrying a sharp, long-suppressed suspicion.

"An old man who writes stories," Ebony Maw repeated, turning to look at Thanos.

"Your Majesty, did you hear that? An old man who writes stories. He lives in Queens, eats hamburgers, and writes Heroes tales."

After he finished speaking, he turned back and looked at Russell.

"Mr. Russell, like His Thanos said, I admit you are very strong, but this sentence..."

He shook his head. "To randomly pick someone to defeat Galactus is the most absurd and arrogant thing I've ever heard, and besides..."

He paused for a moment.

"A mortal who has never even left his own Planet, an old man who weaves fantasies with pen and paper—what do you expect him to use to fight Galactus? The pen he uses to write stories?"

Ebony Maw was right; Stan really could use his pen to deal with Galactus.

Russell narrowed his eyes. Stan had suddenly appeared on Earth, and he drew everyone's attention to him, wanting to see what this Marvel Creator was up to.

Could it be that they're here to offer some warmth to Spider-Man, Marvel's most popular character?

Thanos did not respond to Ebony Maw's words.

His gaze passed over Ebony Maw and landed on Russell. He remained silent for a moment before slowly speaking.

"Russell, while Ebony Maw's words were a bit excessive, I'm sorry, I can't understand or believe that anyone could defeat Galactus."

Magneto's fingers tightened slightly; the composure of a veteran, honed through countless life-or-death situations, was being tested.

He believed in Russell; he had seen Russell accomplish things that seemed impossible.

But this time, to fight against an existence at the level of the five great Creator God, instead of taking action himself, relying on an old man who writes stories? That is indeed a bit unbelievable.

Qin looked at Russell without questioning or refuting him; she believed that Russell had his reasons for saying so.

Perhaps that old man named Stan Lee possessed extraordinary abilities, or was even a powerful Cosmic God in disguise.

"Magneto." Ebony Maw turned to look at him. "You just said Russell was okay, and that ' Russell is even more different; you never know what miracles might happen with him.'"

A mocking smile curved his lips.

"Now you see. His 'miracle' is an old man who lives in Queens, eats hamburgers, and writes stories."

"I've known Russell for a long time." Magneto still trusted Russell implicitly. "He's never lied to me."

He paused.

"And you, Ebony Maw? You've known Thanos for a long time, has he ever lied to you?"

Ebony Maw's smile froze slightly.

"No," he said decisively.

"Then you should know that my belief that Russell doesn't lie is the same as my belief that Thanos doesn't lie."

Ebony Maw did not continue to refute.

He simply hovered in place, his cold eyes holding something that was being recalculated and reassessed.

Silver Surfer took in the murmurs of the crowd, his starlight pupils darting back and forth between Russell and the city below.

The old man who wrote stories, as Russell described.

Stan Lee is currently in a fast food restaurant in Queens.

Silver Surfer's Cosmic Energy could clearly sense his presence; he was just an ordinary old man.

He could not sense any power, any energy, anything in this old man that could fight against the Galactus.

"You still don't believe me," Russell said. "This is the third time I've asked you."

"I don't believe it," Silver Surfer said, her voice still firm.

"Let's go, I'll take you to see this 'old man who writes stories' first."

A portal opened between Russell and Silver Surfer.

Russell went in first, and Silver Surfer hesitated for a moment before following him in.

Thanos then strode towards the Portal, with the Black Order following behind.

Magneto and Jean Grey remained in the skies above New York.

Magneto stared at the Portal for a long time without saying a word.

"Do you really think the person Russell chose can defeat Galactus?" Jean asked.

Magneto remained silent for a moment.

"I don't know, but I've known Russell for a long time. He's never lied to me."

He turned around and flew towards the city below.

"Perhaps this time will be the same."

A typical fast food restaurant in Queens.

Stan Lee sat by the window with a half-eaten hamburger, an iced Coke, and an open notebook in front of him.

The notebook's cover was covered with sticky notes of various colors, and the inner pages were filled with messy handwriting and doodles.

These are all Heroes stories he's currently writing.

He was wearing a wrinkled plaid shirt under an old jacket, and a pair of reading glasses perched on his nose.

His hair was completely white, and he had a fringe of unkempt stubble on his chin.

He looks like any ordinary elderly person on the streets of New York.

A retired old man who enjoys spending his afternoons in fast food restaurants, sketching and writing, and occasionally chatting with the staff.

Then, in the next second, the air suddenly froze.

Russell emerged from the portal and landed in the center of the fast food restaurant.

Next came Thanos, Black Order, and finally the Silver Surfer.

The surfboard beneath Silver Surfer's feet was retracted, but the liquid metal bodies looked particularly out of place under the fluorescent lights of the fast food restaurant.

The other customers in the fast food restaurant were stunned.

A young man eating French fries opened his mouth wide, and the fries fell from his hand onto the table.

The shop assistant behind the counter stopped what she was doing, her eyes wide as saucers.

In the corner, a middle-aged woman who was reading a book slowly closed it, holding it to her chest as if protecting herself.

Only Stan Lee remained still.

He looked up and, through his reading glasses, saw Russell, Thanos, the Black Order, and Silver Surfer.

They glanced at each other briefly, then he casually lowered his head and wrote a line in his notebook.

"Wow." Stan Lee mimicked Spider-Man's tone, his voice as casual as if he were greeting a neighbor, "We've got quite a few guests today."

Russell walked straight up to him, pulled out a chair, and sat down.

Stan Lee.

"Hmm." The old man raised his head, his eyes, magnified by his reading glasses, holding a sharpness that belonged to a creator, someone who was conceiving a plan.

"You're Russell, I recognize you. Your image is everywhere on New York's advertising screens now; you're more popular than Spider-Man."

He paused.

"Is that purple-clad gentleman next to you Thanos?"

Thanos's pupils contracted slightly.

"Do you know me?" he asked, his voice low and steady.

"I write stories." Stan Lee shrugged and gestured to the notebook on the table.

"I've written a lot of Heroes stories, and I really like your type of villain."

He tilted his head. "You look more... real than in my story."

Thanos did not answer.

"Stan Lee," Russell said, "Two days from now, Galactus will come to Earth. He will devour this planet and consume all life."

Stan Lee's expression remained unchanged; he showed no fear, no panic, and not even surprise.

"Galactus," he repeated, "I've written similar stories too."

"The story you tell might be reality, because you are the God of Stories." Russell shrugged.

"God of Stories"—that's what I call others, but I never imagined I'd become the God of Stories myself today.

Stan Lee took off his reading glasses, placed them on the table, leaned back in his chair, and looked at Russell.

His cloudy eyes looked exceptionally bright at that moment.

"You came to me, which means you already have a solution."