This work is a piece of fiction. While inspired by real events, cultures, and practices in human history, the story blends factual history with fictional characters, dramatizations, and creative interpretation.
It is not intended to promote, glorify, or encourage any illegal activities, substance use, or harmful behavior. All depictions of sensitive topics are included solely for narrative and historical context.
For the effects of the story, all characters are to be considered above the majority age.
Reader discretion is advised.
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Earth-5H1N3, Year 2001.
O'ahu, once the perfect blend of paradisiacal landscapes and modernity, now... now the nuclear blast craters outnumber the volcanic craters, the high-rise buildings lie toppled down, the turquoise shores are painted over with debris, death, and war. Once a vibrant city, now a landscape pulled out of a nuclear post-apocalyptic world.
A deity can grow from worship, that's common knowledge; however, the real nutrient is not worship, it's faith. This implies that, so long as you have the certainty without the proof on a given deity, this deity would grow in power.
Naturally, it served better for a deity to keep its worshippers alive, or dead in the case of deities from the repositories of souls, given that their worshippers were akin to small power generators.
This was, however, only valid for those deities who employed worship as their source; on the other hand, if a deity employed infamy... The greater the impact, the greater the dread they instil in the hearts of the witnesses, the better.
Hence, O'ahu became a ghost city.
The nuclear carpet bombing ended with over 67% of the island's population, the remaining 33% killed each other in a bloody battle royale that lasted until the last human perished from radiation poisoning.
The blessing from the God of War was a boon to anything that exacerbated the war the god desired. So, the humans bathed in the blessing of war felt their limits be released, and their desire for war lit high like the mushroom explosion that poisoned them.
Under the break-limit effect of the blessing, the body began to burn at its life force, and the oxygen demand increased. The air, now laced with deadly radiation, gushed into their lungs, from there it was metabolized into their bloodstream. Before they knew it, with the life force dwindling dangerously, the poison they inhaled ended the pointless war.
The first to arrive from the neighboring islands, covered in hazmat suits, almost threw up inside their masks.
Bodies pressured beyond their limits, torn muscles grossly cutting out of the skin behind the broken bones, their knuckles were destroyed, their face unrecognizable, their fingers tightened desperately, even after their violent passing, around an improvised weapon of choice, and, worst of all, there was no age, gender, nationality, or any sort of distinction, enemy was enemy.
The first reports made back on shore right after, and then, when they thought that the worst of the nightmare was over, those who had beached in O'ahu began to rampage and wage war against each other.
The entire island had been consecrated as a Holy Land of War.
The country mobilized like a well-oiled, desperate machine to figure out what had happened and what to do. It took them less than three hours to realize that they had no idea of what they were dealing with.
All readings, drones, overflights, and long-range scans pointed to the inescapable fact that the island was radioactive. That much even a high-schooler could surmise, the problem was that all personnel they sent waged war between themselves and never returned.
After reaching this point, in the past, they would have turned to their asset specialized in all things weird, Aragorn Abner. That was impossible now. So, with no other choice, they went to his next of kin.
In Salem, New York, close enough to everything that mattered, yet far away enough to have a semblance of privacy, a caravan of black SUVs with tinted windows, escorted by Humvees, made its way to the publicly recognized Abner Homestead.
The caravan, after being allowed entry easily, parked around the roundabout, and the main SUV drove to the porte-cochère. A man in a crisp suit walked out, escorted by a protective Secret Service detail.
President Clinton was the current Commander-in-Chief. With WWIII having resumed and with the bombing of O'ahu, this was the last place he was expected to be seen, but the situation demanded it.
The mansion's staff were in a purposeful hustle and bustle, Seraph and Jean were officially moving up to Halo, and there was much to 'pack.' They carried furniture, paintings, clothing, and much more to the center of the grand foyer, where a stable rectangular portal allowed them to carry over their payload to the other side.
Accompanying the mansion's staff, several free-floating heavy items made a queue to the large portal.
When the President of the United States of America walked in with his all-business protective detail, the staff threw them nothing but a passing glance of acknowledgment. This was unnatural.
However, as unnatural as it was, the officials paid little attention to it.
Aragorn Abner was many things, trusting of humans to enter his home, he was not, so, no matter how organic the staff looked at first glance, it was not difficult for them to spot the subtle circuitry under their skin.
It was beyond what their current technology had available, but at the moment, there were matters of greater importance, and, besides, they knew better than to act forcefully in the presence of the mansion's master; the same blue woman staring at them from the grand staircase in boredom.
"Heya, Mr. Potus. What brings you here?" Seraph asked. This one, contrary to the one that attended the conference, was her real body. Jean had asked her a favor to move her things from the mansion to Halo.
Jean cared that much about the stuff she kept in one of the few places she felt she could relax after Aragorn came into her life and the Phoenix Force followed after.
"Ms. Abner, I'm ashamed to bother you during your time of mourning," the president said after stopping at a respectful distance from Seraph. "With your departure from our country, and with circumstances as they are, I was forced to act in such a crass manner. I apologize."
Seraph, in a gesture that reminded the president of Aragorn, tilted her head to the side in confusion. Then, all around her, projected screens flashed through massive amounts of data. It all flashed through so fast that the guests barely had the time to be surprised by the abrupt action.
By the time they realized Seraph had done something, the satellite view of O'ahu was all that remained projected in a two-dimensional screen.
"I see," Seraph said impassively. She blinked her eyes, and the two-dimensional screen became a VR projection, and they found themselves floating above the destroyed city.
The protective detail accompanying the president was different from the usual rabble. They were not the type to be easily rattled. The president, on the other hand, was startled.
"W-woah," he exclaimed, making a false step at suddenly finding himself floating in the sky.
"It looks like someone took things too far," Seraph commented with a frown. Her reaction was genuine; she had been busy with some matters in Krakoa and did not have the care to pay attention to what was going on around the globe. "Weren't there a few signed accords about keeping the nuclear weapons near the Spaling of Discord?"
"We have yet to determine the culprit," the president said. "We have been unable to survive stepping into O'ahu. We suspect a sobrenatural event... We were hoping you might shed some light on this tragedy, Ms. Abner."
"Mmmm, let's see," she brought a finger to her lower lip in a pensive pose. Then, decisively, she made a small portal to her right, and a tendril made from her Element body extended through it. Her eyes widened slightly before retracting the tendril and giving her verdict, "It's divine interference."
The president felt something cold settle in the pit of his stomach. The images he saw from his bunker of the clash against Odin, and the rest of the deities that were repelled around the planet, flashed through his eyes.
"I-It can't be," he muttered.
"Yet it is," Seraph nodded, certain of her conclusion. She also used The System to reach out to her father and double-check with him if he knew anything about the matter.
"Lord Alduin is no longer here, and Captain Marvel won't be enough against another of those monsters; we'll need to summon Krakoa's help, and Wakanda's-No! It isn't that simple, everybody is recovering from the last horror," the president puked out all of his thoughts with no regard for his surroundings.
"I don't know, I doubt Krakoa would move for the country that spearheaded the persecution of its mutants." Seraph added gasoline to his fire. "And, as far as I know, Wakanda has no military treaties with anyone. What can you even give the richest nation in the world—by a landslide, might I add—to move them? Last time, they moved due to my father's request, as you know, that can't happen now, so, what will you do?"
Seraph was careful to show just the needed amount of hurt in her eyes when she referred to her father's passing.
The picture she painted for him was a tragedy in the making.
"Ms. Abner, is ther—"
"Are you going to involve this grieving daughter?" Seraph interrupted with a coy smile.
"... I must make use of any and all hands for my country," the president said. "My desire is not to upset you, Ms. Abner. Especially since we owe so much to your father."
"..."
"..."
Seraph held his gaze for a second or two too long, then released a sigh before saying, "My advice is to leave the island be, until you discover how to unconsacrate a holy land. Also, deities thrive in faith, or, to more easily visualize it, on reputation. So, no matter what, don't reveal the name of the one who is responsible for the blessing, even if in the future you start receiving clear hints at their identity."
"Hints? What do you mean?" He asked, confused.
"If they want their 'reputation' to grow, they'll need the help of modern communication media," Seraph explained. "You can't be on the receiving end without an identity. So, just announce the nation, or nations, responsible, don't even hint at divine intervention."
Seraph shared a few more pieces of advice with him before seeing them off. The staff finished moving not long after their visit, as if her presence in the mansion had been planned by someone, then she crossed over through the portal and left.
━━━━━━━ ● ━━━━━━━
At the edge of the Universe, a few hours after Jean Grey's wish...
What was witnessed by those who had the power to do so was horrifying beyond reason. The last time Reality was damaged to this point, or near it, the Goblin Force had wished Reality's time to turn back, meaning only a select few kept memory of what happened.
For example, from all the rightfully arrogant deities in Omnipotence city, as far as is known, only Odin remembered when the Goblin Force and Aragorn almost wrecked Reality. The Watcher was another example of one who remembered.
Among those who forgot, one with infamy of intergalactic renown could be found: Thanos, Destiny's Child.
This time, however, no one forgot, not Xandar, not the Kree, not the Shi'ar, not the Technarchy, not the Badoon, not the Builders, not the Elders of the Universe, and certainly not the Mad Titan.
The more sensible immediately took the reasonable decision to steer clear of Earth for the time being; among these, the Kree and the Skrulls could be found.
The Kree was an empire led by the Supreme Intelligence. For a being mainly led by logic, it was clear that the obvious decision was to jump ship from the madness infecting the Shi'ar and focus on strengthening the national power.
The Xandarians had no problem with Aragorn; in fact, they helped spread his legend to the less developed empires, who had no idea what Aragorn and Kubos were. To the Xandarians, currently the only recognized ally of the Imperium, the more his infamy and rep grew, the better.
Others had more pressing matters than to poke the sleeping dragon.
Then, there was Thanos...
The Mad Titan was currently on a crumbling planet. Hours ago, he was, as usual, culling the universal population and sending souls to the girl of his heart, very romantic. Then, it happened.
A beam of bluish-white light-like flames flashed above the planet, and three-quarters of his forces ceased to be. No wails of despair, no warnings, no valiant resistance, no nothing, simply erasure.
Then, if the breath of absurdity had a thing against him, as if it had suddenly noticed him while it was doing its grocery shopping for Kubos' ass, it split and made a U-turn and zeroed in on him.
There was no hesitation in his body, as if his thousands of years had suddenly borne fruit and his cultivation advanced eleven stages into Ultra Instinct in an instant. He pushed all his power into the most powerful power-squat in the history of power-squatting, then he jumped with so much force the entire planet shook.
He left the planet's gravity well so fast that he blasted a hole through its atmosphere and ignited its oxygen.
The reposition was fast, absurdly so, but it was not enough; he could feel it. Conceptual erasure was an instant behind him. He cloaked himself in pure energy and erected a forcefield, then he pushed his speed further. Less than an instant after he jumped, he was reaching sub-luminal speeds, and yet, the light of erasure was closing in.
"This won't be The Mad TITAN'S END!" He roared with determination way past madness.
His telekinesis wrapped around his forcefield, his matter manipulation began to burn away his mass to reduce teh weight and exchange mass for propulsion, and then he roared like the mad Eternal titan he was, "I AM INDEFINITE!"
He became a streak of light, he lost all but a point of mass, he was energy, and his energy manipulation was the only thing keeping him as himself; he achieved supraluminal speed.
Everything turned dark; light could no longer be used for observation, he moved faster than it, physics became undone to his eyes, and he was slowly reaching the point where Reality might consider him paradoxical in nature and encase him in a black hole.
Yet, it was not enough, was it? Even in this utter darkness, somehow, beyond all conceivable explanation, he could catch some of the bluish-white light catching up to him.
He could feel it, something about that breath was beyond him, and it was inevitable, it was going to reach him, so, in a last desperate attempt, he forced his body to veer to the left, just when the breath was about to drag him by the legs, and... against all expectation, the breath flew past him, it kept moving forward in the same trajectory it was following.
Thanos, almost 100% energy and no mass, observed as the bluish-white breath kept going, not turning, not changing directions, just going, and then, when his speed had just returned to the levels allowed by physics, he managed to see it; the breath was not after him, the breath was trying to pincer Kubos... He was in its path.
Like how a human doesn't keep track of the countless bacteria they step over on their way to the fridge. Like the countless faceless beings he had sent on their way to Death, unremarkable, not important, nothing, absolutely nothing, maybe even less than nothing!
"..." Thanos, while slowly regenerating back to a matter-body, experienced a range of emotions he couldn't understand because they had been concepts so foreign before.
Minutes later, because that's how long it took Aragorn and Kubos to undo themselves, he returned to the planet where he had left his Black Order, only to witness, once more, something unthinkable to him.
He thought the beam had erased the overpopulating 'insects', given that the planet had been, just like him, between the beam and Kubos, and yet, he found countless insects safely emerging from bubble forcefields.
The planet was being redone, as if Reality itself were playing backwards, and even his ships, which had previously been swallowed by the beam, were returning from the void.
Yet, while he awaited the standard report to come in, it didn't. He flew to his newly redone ships and entered the bay area, only to find the ships empty of their personnel.
His blood ran cold. It was not indiscriminate protection; it was targeted, and whoever was responsible for it was not on his side.
His nigh-cosmic awareness filled in the blanks for him, and he connected the dots, the one who almost inadvertently ended him, and the one who played back Reality were against him.
Two enemies he didn't know about before. Two enemies who had somehow flown under the radar of his awareness. Two enemies he did not know of.
Rage, or something similar to it, because it was so twisted it would have been hard to understand even for expert empaths, boiled in his heart and spilled over to his body, then it bubbled through his skin, and he roared like a mad demon.
His eyes lit like a car's brake lights, and two optic blasts that would shame all other optic blasts in the Marvel multiverse fired down, towards the insects celebrating in relief.
He flew behind the path of his optic blasts and burned bright upon atmospheric reentry. He had been kindhearted enough to spare half of them, but it was not the time for a kind heart, or so he thought.
He speared through the planet and then made a U-turn, spearing back through the planet.
"RAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGG!"
His wrathful cries were not muffled even by the layers upon layers of planetary mass.
He didn't stop until all those incomprehensible feelings had been healthily expressed and spent.
That brings us to the current point in time.
The planet's atmosphere was no more, and the chunk he was on looked almost ordinary—aside from being barren—except that it was hollowed.
It was as if someone had taken a sphere of styrofoam in zero gravity and had cracked it apart with their hands. Smaller pieces of styrofoam would float around the larger pieces of the sphere, and the pieces would idle about, only kept close due to the lingering gravitational pull.
To picture Thanos' surroundings, all one had to do was change the styrofoam sphere for a planet.
In this desolate world, Thanos observed the bluish-white-tinted vast expanse with a heaviness uncharacteristic of his heart, if he ever had such a thing.
Thanos knew of Aragorn, the Shine Dragon, but he was not as old as the Shi'ar, and what he knew of Cosmic Entities was only what had been available to his information-gathering assets, which only pointed out the absolute need to avoid enraging such beings.
Who was he? Wasn't he Thanos, the Mad Titan, the Mutant Eternal, Destiny's Child? He figured that with the Mind Stone in hand, plus a few others he was tracking, he could oppose and overcome any Cosmic Entity.
What he was shown was beyond his wildest preconceptions. Universe-wide reality-warping, according to what his awareness relayed to him, and that was the less problematic of the two beings who almost ended him without noticing.
The problem was the other; he could surmise Cosmic Otherness and Omnilock, and only those two were enough to throw a planet-sized stone in his plans. He even feared that entity, Aragorn, was reaching the realm of Existential Independence!
While his forces were reorganizing about a light-hour away from him, Thanos was... brooding? Depressed? Dispairing? Breaking? He didn't know, but he knew something in him had broken a few hours ago.
So, while he was in such a state, his shadows stirred. He noticed it, but he was not in the mood to care about such 'trivialities'. Because that was the root of his problem, it all had become trivial. Nothing mattered, isn't that the absolute truth, the answer to the questions?
"Has the Mad Titan been discouraged by so little?" A husky voice echoed from his shadow in front of him. The edge of his shadow seemed to expand and contract irregularly, and a strange dark smoke was oozing out from the limits of his shadow.
"Aragorn has that effect on all of his enemies," another voice, less ethereal, more grounded to Reality, commented. "Would you have fared better than that thing?"
"Oh, but I would not stand in his path in such a way," the ethereal husky voice said with a deep chuckle. "If anything, am I not Aragorn's greater fan? Imagine what would happen to Reality if only he lost control. What would be the result if the greater multiverse is eaten away by such endearing light?"
The shadoes shivered with the 'pleasant' prospect painted by the ethereal voice.
"I want him to suffer," the other voice in the shadow said. "I don't care about what follows after."
"A purposeless clown and its puppet, LEAVE!" Thanos stomped on his shadow, his boot clad with pure energy. The ground should have exploded, yet it didn't. Instead, a pained grunt came from the shadow.
"Is that how you treat your benefactor?" The ethereal voice asked icily, with enough bloodlust to understand he was not dealing with a purposeless clown; he was dealing with the purposeless clown. "Aren't you in need of allies? Power? Knowledge? Opportunity? Anything that might shed light on your despair should be welcomed at times like these."
"Speak, before I lose my patience!" Thanos demanded. He didn't need to hear the speech; he didn't need the salespitch.
"Have you heard of the God Quarry?" The ethereal voice asked, gone was all its playful subtext.
"... Keep talking," Thanos commanded.
"What you seek, a path, shall be opened to you by the Cosmic Coven, also known as the Witches of Infinity or Enchantresses of Eternity," the shadows declared before dimming slowly. "When you most need it, we shall make our move, but only once, just one time, just one shot, don't waste it, Mad Titan."
With the last promise, the shadows returned to normal, and only the burnt, faint edges of the shadow remained as proof of its visit.
"The Quarry of Creation..." Thanos muttered. A light in his eyes, a light characteristic of his eyes, lit brightly; purposeful madness!
"My Liege," Ebony Maw's voice rang clear and deferential in his mind.
"Maw, bring me the Mind Stone," Thanos commanded. "It's time to get the Reality Stone."
"As you command!" Maw replied fervently.
━━━━━━━ ● ━━━━━━━
Earth, at the base of the Arbor Mundi, Aragorn, Spark, and Seraph were having a private tea party. Irina and Yelena, for once, were acting as proper maids, catering for the royal family of the Fulgebunt Draconic Imperium.
The menu, as it was when Seraph attended a tea party, was an assorted variety of flans. Some flans were unrecognizable from their moniker, yet, to the absolute flan enthusiast, they were all flans, even if some edged outside the realm of flans.
"So, Father, I shared with Potus what you had Spark sent me," Seraph said, her blue toes wiggling playfully on the blessed soil beneath her chair. "That was an extract of 'Dealing with Hostile Divinities 101', wasn't it?"
"Mhmm," Aragorn nodded. He was enjoying the sensation of consuming matter; he could not enjoy taste yet. "It was extracted from the version for mortals."
"How alacritous of you, Father," Seraph commented, her cheeks blushing blue with delight at the treat she had just tasted.
"It was Victor's request, something to do with a new plan he has for world peace and global pseudo-centralization," Aragorn replied.
"There's a problem." The mood was halted by Spark's declaration.
"That can't be good," Seraph said, the smile dropping flat to a grimace of seriousness. Aragorn didn't say anything; he waited for Spark to continue.
Aragorn shared with Spark most of the memories that made him who he was, so if Spark declared something a problem, then without a doubt, he would also consider it as such.
"I can't locate Soul and Reality," Spark revealed.
"... Not even with the Ark powering the locating spell?" Seraph asked. The same solemnity carried by her question was shared by all the present, maids included.
"No, let me correct what I said. I located the stones on the first try, but when I ran the second scan to make sure, the stones were no more. I can't catch even the faintest trace now," Spark explained.
"What about the last known locations?" Aragorn asked.
"Both had been at the sealed pocket realm when I first pinned their coordinates," Spark said. "I took Wanda, Steve, and Peggy with me and immediately teleported to the pocket realm. I found nothing amiss."
"Since we know Thanos had the Mind Stone, is it safe to presume he also has Reality now?" Seraph asked.
"So he was spooked," Aragorn stated.
"I believe so," Spark agreed. "I don't know how ready he was to get the Reality Stone, given how decisively he acted, but he is the most likely suspect."
"That can't be good, for sure," Seraph grabbed her head with concern.
Between the three, not even once did the idea that a Thanos with only two Infinity Stones was not a big problem waiting to blow up.
"With this last revelation, it's official, everything derailed from my original plans," Aragorn lamented outloud.
"I will place the Imperium in high alert," Spark stated.
"I will... Should I, as Seraph Abner, shorten my grieving leave? Someone needs to work on the deities that will attack Earth sooner, now that we have a proverbial Destiny's Child going through his training arc," Seraph chuckled dejectedly.
"Irina, Yelena, I'll need you to start getting involved in earthly matters. We need to clean house," Aragorn ordered.
"Clean house?" Yelena asked.
"As in, we need to get rid of everything that could bite our asses when we're dealing with Thanos," Aragorn explained.
"Everything, as in?" Irina asked.
"All of it, and we need to get Doom on this. We'll have to elevate him to the level of Superman in the hearts of the average citizen of Metropolis, but for the entire planet," Aragorn declared.
"This is going to be a mess," Seraph cried out.
↓Part 2━━━━━━━ ● ━━━━━━━Part 2↓
One week later...
Life as a grunt used to be alright. We got paid above the average wage for our silence and loyalty, the health insurance was the best of the market— maybe that had to do with how complicated it could be to deal with corpses, and that, as the respectable criminals we were, we could not be seen going to the hospital, or to the vet—and it wasn't everyday we had to take questionably moral actions.
In fact, I lucked out when I was scouted by the Hand; their health insurance is such that there are rumors of no one ever truly dying. Some say that all you had to do was make sure to leave a body behind, and the organization would bring you back eventually.
Granted, that eventually may take years, centuries even—like Philip wo was resurrected to find out the witch hunts had ended—but that would beat anything the other giants like Hydra, AIM, and Essex's Labs had to offer.
At least, in the Hand, you did not have to worry about suddenly getting promoted to a client of their services and end up on the operating table like a lab rat, without pointing at Hydra and Essex's Labs.
Though there have been some rumors that he-who-must-not-be-named took out Essex from the board after the Cosmic Shadow fiasco. That madman almost took us all out, didn't he know the first rule of villainry? Never involve your peers, lest you want to end up with a knife in your back!
And Hydra... Now that I think about it, those squids have been quiet since the Divine Incursion. Wasn't there a rumor of some of their squids found with bullet holes bursting from their heads, puncturing through their assholes?
What terrible way to go! I always knew it was bound to happen one day! What sort of boss would not get betrayed if they offer such a basic grunt-level package? They even went with full brainwashing! The balls and stupidity of those squids. The Hand, at least, did the proper thing and groomed us all from our infancy.
Also, didn't Bob say that AIM's island was blown up? Something about an experiment going wrong.
I think that cements our position at the top! No, wait! There's the Ten Rings too, and the Life Foundation and Roxxon Corp, which, although they like to pretend to be better than us, are still part of our market. Bigots, the lot of them, just because they can operate publicly, they think we are different.
Uhmmm, there was also the Hellfire Club, but a few years back, they disappeared, too. The only one who could do that is probably he-who-must-not-be-named. I wonder what they did to piss off that mutie.
Well, competition is good for the market. I don't want my employer to think they can forgo our Christmas bonus just because they are the only ones left.
About he-who-must-not-be-named, I think we, grunts, must thank him. Ever since he came out in the open and took the world for a ride, our bosses have learn to appreciate us more. Something about loyalty, it must be.
As a grunt, so long as you had the talent of not having any remarkable talent, you could fly under the radar. It was simple, all you had to do was show up on time, look mildly intimidating, work the graveyard shift—no respectable criminal would operate on the day shift—ask no questions, and occasionally worship The Beast under the moonless night, easy job.
However, if I must complain about something, I would argue that it was unnecessary to plant us grunts amidst the numbers of the soldiers waging WWIII. I doubt I can preserve my body if one of them nukes hits my ship. That's how we lost Phillip!
What a tragic fate. Die during the French Revolution, be brought back to life a few months before the start of WWIII, cram centuries worth of knowledge needed to function as a proper grunt, only for then to be obliterated by one of the first nukes to hit true.
May your soul find its way to a nice spot in Hell! You will be remembered!
Moving on, the higher-ups have been restless ever since Hydra's disappearance. It was the same back when the Hellfire Club went silent and after he-who-must-not-be-named put on a show to get rid of that madman, Essex. So, now that I have experience with this, I know what to do; I just have to lie low for a while, wait out the storm.
Besides, my assignment this time is not one I can complain about. This whole ship is almost entirely manned by us, so we have some liberties. For example, attire. Gone is the NWU, back is my shinobi shozoku.
Some may say that wearing, in the middle of the Pacific, a head-to-toe black-red ninja outfit can't be comfortable, and they may be right, normally that is. But as a grunt of the Hand, I have my pride. It is my pride that no matter the temperature, I can wear my shinobi shozoku comfortably!
Naturally, this is not the only benefit... My commanding superior is Elektra-sama herself! Anyone who knows, knows what it means for Elektra-sama to be able to dress in her usual, and what a blessing it is!
Is it wrong for a grunt like me to want a worthy death? Is it too much to dream about getting triangle-choked by those thighs? I know, I know, the Cinderella story is only for little girls, but can't she be the Prince Charming to my Cinderella?
'More like Belle and the Beast, no?'
'No, no, I don't have the lineage of the Beast.'
'Certainly, that's why I meant Elektra Natchios as the Beast and you as Belle.'
'I'm no furr—' I froze the moment I turned to my left, and saw the interlocutor in my mind.
"Kuso!" I felt my chi paths lock in place and my body akin to a statue.
"Hi, Mr. Grunt," the blue beauty with the organic circuitry-like patterns greeted cheerfully. How can something so dangerous be packed in such beauty?
"Aren't you a charmer?" Seraph Abner, the daughter of he-who-must-not-be-named, said. We are done for, aren't we?
"Yeah, pretty much," she nodded with an endearing smile.
"Aww, you think so? My father also thinks my smile is endearing," she chuckled.
Thinks? As in the present tense?
"Hoh? Mr. Grunt, that is not the grunt-way of thinking; in fact, you will forget by the time you wake up!"
She placed a warm hand to my cheek, and I instinctively leaned in... Maybe, getting done in such a thoughtful manner is not that bad.
I shall secretly worship you after I wa...
━━━━━━━ ● ━━━━━━━
"Why did you knock him like that?" Wolverine asked.
Next to him, with the claw on one of her feet dangerously approaching his neck, Laura slowly tried to stab the unconscious Mr. Grunt.
"Laura, there's no need for that, is there?" Seraph asked the feral child patiently.
"... I can't?" Laura retorted.
"I'll leave the bad ones to you; this one is more neutral than anything," Seraph grinned at the unconscious man before turning to Wolverine. "His thought process was funny."
"That translates to putting him to sleep like a lover?" Wolverine asked, confusion creeping into his deep voice.
"I thought I could repay the humor he brought to me with gentleness," Seraph pouted and glared at Wolverine. "Besides, I gained another follower. And you're not my father! Stop fathering me around!"
"... How can you be so infantile? Aren't you ol—"
"Hoh?" Seraph interrupted.
"—all thinking we should maybe finish our mission?" Logan listened to his instincts and chose the most appropriate question.
"Good boy," Seraph patted his shoulder and walked past him.
Logan felt the piercing eyes of his daughter staring at him. He looked down and asked, "What?"
"... Boy," Laura said with a deadpan.
"Shut it. If you don't, I will not leave any to you," he threatened while gesturing to the grunts flooding out silently from hatches.
Sknt!
Father and daughter pulled out their claws and snarled like feral beasts at the ninjas. Under a hail of bullets, shurikens, blades, naginatas, and shi blasts, their binding time started.
Logan picked Laura by the scruff of her neck and shot her like a spiky cannonball.
The grunts of the Hand were not your average grunt; they calculated her trajectory as easily as they did before throwing their shuriken and poisoned senbon.
Humans were squishy. With this knowledge in hand, they prompted a naginata in her path and waited for the inevitable. Neither father nor daughter cared, and the fighting spirit burning bright in their eyes didn't waver for an even instant.
The Hand, having dealt with a certain regenerating mutant numerous times before, Romulus, knew what Logan and Laura were thinking, so they stood ready by the naginata. All they had to do was decapitate her the moment she was speared through.
Yet, with a swish, Laura teleported barrelled low, at the level of the ninja's knees, and cut through muscle, sinew, and bone like a Fruit Ninja slash.
As Mr. Grunt had pointed out, life as a grunt came with its benefits. What he failed to recognize was the detriments of such a life during the advent of the era of heroes.
"AAHHHH!"
"AGHHHH! MY LEG!"
The grunts howled in pain.
Training to endure pain was the basics in the Hand, how would they expect their grunts to withstand interrogation when captured if they could not at least handle a 'little' bit of discomfort?
The problem was Laura's claws. Having given free rein to her P-Link's portalling tech, Laura was always a few seconds away from her favorite Runic Enchanter, Stark. So, as the nasty thing she was, before parting for this mission, she dropped by the Stark Mansion in Malibu and requested a few handy runes enchanted to her claws.
It was nothing too serious, just {Agony}, {Paralysis}, and {Madness}.
Hence, while two of them went down in agonizing pain, one went rigid like a rock, and the other went into a rampage and attacked everything that moved.
By the time the last one began his rampage, Logan arrived and started his own rampage. Laura teleported away and reappeared in the middle of the rearguard.
Slash!Slash!Slash!
She managed to make three cuts, then she teleported before she could be pinned down by the capable grunts, leaving behind roars, wails, and pain.
"I'm gonna have a talk with Stark after this," Logan grunted before decapitating an unlucky ninja.
Logan was not naive; he had no delusions about controlling what his daughter was taught. His role in her life was akin to the beta that followed her alpha (Aragorn); suffice to say that Laura thought of Stark as one of the weaker members of her pack, and that was why she stayed more often near him, to protect him. Still, could he not enchant his daughter's cute claws with torture in one slash?
Below the deck of the vessel, Seraph walked barefoot with purpose. Her bob-cut hair swayed left and right with the rhythm of her stride, a happy skip accompanied her steps, and a soft upbeat melody hummed by her sound manipulation.
Electromagnetically locked doors opened one after the other with nothing but a glance. Ninjas, those she judged as irredeemable, dropped dead before their bodies vibrated themselves into dust and gas.
Those she found neutral, or at least not evil beyond a point of her choosing, soundlessly fell asleep and entered the Dream Dimension.
The reason for her upbeat mood lay in her father's 'acknowledgement' of Stark's intention to see his daughter with the prospect of dating.
Maybe acknowledgement was too positive a noun, maybe it was a bit wimpish of Stark to declare his intentions from behind an 'absolute' barrier called Gaea and Seraph.
Maybe it could even be called cowardly, given Aragorn's current state, such that any of the Therions could be considered stronger than him.
Maybe it was unfair, since Seraph preemptively hired Kitty and Natalia to restrain him before Stark had even arrived.
So, yeah, Stark, from behind Seraph and Gaea, managed to squeak out his intentions to pursue Seraph to Aragorn, who was not only weakened to the level of a paltry beyond-Omega mutant, but also was chained by Natalia and Kitty's restraining spells.
Some say that with Aragorn's crimson eyes, his bluish-white flame was polluted by his rage, and for an hour or two, the bluish-white tinted space became purple.
It wasn't much progress. Stark was not dating Seraph, nor was she considered anything to him beyond friends, but to Stark, it was monumental.
Seraph understood that from all Therions, Aragorn was fiercely protective of her and Mindee. So, she had reason to enjoy this as a great step.
She was sure she didn't love Stark; she was interested in him, yes, but not romantically, yet. It was all very platonic, but she was a 300,000-year-old woman who had not experienced romantic love, so she wanted to at least get the chance to explore this feeling without having to discover that her courters 'mysteriously' ended in The Void.
In fact, right after Stark squeaked out his manly declaration, he fainted and Seraph princess-carried him back to his mansion, so he had not even asked her to a date. Still, she was bubbly on her way to Elektra Natchios.
When she arrived at the bridge, only a handful of ninjas remained. They loyally stood surrounding their leader. Yet, with similar ease, they all fell down and became dust and gas.
"Should I call this an honor? Being targeted by you, I assume not many will reveal such a grand tale in Hell," Elektra said.
"My father wanted you to know that your last name might as well have been nachos." Seraph rolled her eyes at the childishness of the message Aragorn asked her to convey.
"... What?" Elektra's mind lagged for a second.
"Don't ask me, Father was an eccentric man," Seraph shrugged. "Do you think a normal man would have achieved what he did in his short age? And yes, we did know about you beforehand."
No, Elektra thought, the answer was no. Nothing with Aragorn made sense, and even after his death, he still made no sense. Personally, she believed that the thing recuperating at the base of the Arbor Mundi might have more of Aragorn than Alduin, and she feared that more than the other way around.
"Why did you wait until this moment then?" Elektra asked.
"Well, didn't you have a hand in O'ahu's bombing?" Seraph asked. The screens around them flickered on and off, and then images of O'ahu were displayed along with a few recordings of missiles being launched from this ship.
"You know we were not the only ones, don't you?" Elektra's eyes were locked on Seraph, her lips puckered just slightly, and her chi coiled on her vocal cords, ready for something.
"Father said that was called Silent Scream, right?" Seraph asked, all innocent and rainbows.
Her words, though, gave a pause to Elektra.
"He said there was this Shang-Chi guy who invented the technique," Seraph further revealed. "I think you were supposed to pucker your lips and then channel chi to create a sound capable of rendering someone unconscious or killing them, right?"
"... It seems your father had an unhealthy obsession with me," Elektra spat.
Seraph thought back to a few memories Spark had shared of Lucien with a 1:1 poster of Elektra in his room and said, "Maybe you're onto something."
She chuckled at the thought of Aragorn during his mortal days having lascivious thoughts about the woman before her.
Then, she felt an intrusion on one of her faux minds.
"Oh, wow! You dared to try to get into my mind?" Seraph opened her eyes wide.
A faux mind was bait set for telepaths, a fake mind riddled with traps, or the information she wanted them to peek at. It could also work as a prison for some inexperienced telepaths; Elektra fell in this last category.
Strictly speaking, she was not a telepath, not even psionically inclined, not in the real way. She used her chi power, her gift.
Normally, when she mind-switches, the target's mind would zone out in her body; however, Seraph was too far out of her league. Instead, due to information overload, Elektra zoned out in Seraph's faux mind, trying to process memories displayed as numbers, and the faux mind took control of Elektra's body.
"How strange," the faux mind said with Elketra's mind. "It feels similar to controlling a thought construct, but fleshy."
"I thought it was going to resemble controlling an Element Clone," Seraph mused out loud. "So, did you find Krahllak's location? Victor is almost aching for it."
"Poor king, our inconsiderate father set a deadline for the end of WWIII and then went and informed him we needed to clean house," the faux mind shook her head. "Ah, found it! Can you believe it was not in Japan?"
"Ah, good thing I didn't place a bet on it," Seraph replied. "Then, return. This girl is probably thinking in binary by now."
With a jolt, muscle spasms, and so much puke it pooled, Elektra 'safely' returned to her body.
"W-0101111000111T AHHHHHHHH!" She cried, hands to her head, nails sinking painfully in her skull, blood trickling down her face, tears almost dried.
"I can't be blamed for that, I didn't tell you mind jump me," Seraph shook her head in disappointment. "I even went slow and easy on the data transferring. You should be thankful you can still function as an organism and were not overwritten by my code."
"Y-Y-ouU, wat r U?" Elektra asked, scurrying away from Seraph in terror.
"Come on, don't give me the demon treatment," Seraph said, faking hurt. "Besides, were you not the one who ordered this ship's warheads be launched on O'ahu?
"I can assure you, even if you only contributed a small percentage to the bombardment, you are a far more demonic than I am," Seraph smiled icily. "Somehow, your results still come as redeemable, but with so much negative karma," her eyes narrowed as if observing something only she could see, "I think not even your death would cleanse your ledger.
"You may not understand what this means, so let me explain it for you. You will achieve something so grand that the hundreds of thousands that perished to your command will pale in comparison to the ones you'll save.
"Now, if you can put to work that tainted mind of yours, you can come to understand that such results can't be achieved by regular mortals. Hence, you'll possibly attain your redemption through a hero's sacrifice, or you'll pull a Jesus Christ and die for our sins," Seraph said all of this with a cold grin.
It was only after Seraph delivered her verdict that Elektra's eyes rolled back and she passed out.
"~Hehehehe," Seraph chuckled, her frigid facade melting away. "I think I'm enjoying this tormenting-the-mortals thing Kitty said I should try."
That ship, that day, became a ghost ship, and it was only discovered about a week later, after it was caught on the radar of a French vessel.
Immediately after Seraph discovered Krahllak's location, Victor von Doom received the message with the location to his P-Link.
"North Korea," he muttered.
"What happened there?" Cynthia von Doom asked. She was sharing breakfast with her son, which, given that she looked his age, might appeared like a couple sharing the first meal of the day.
"Have you heard of a demon named Krahllak, mother?" Doom asked.
"No," Cynthia denied. "I may have pacted with Mephisto, but I was never that knowledgeable in the Mystic Arts; I would not have needed his help to achieve my goals if I were."
"Mhmm," Doom hummed in acknowledgement.
"Is it a task from your boss?" Cynthia asked with a teasing grin. Her question would have warranted at least imprisonment for anyone else.
"Aragorn is not my superior," Doom stated as a matter of fact. "You're not mistaken in that this was a task brought to my attention by him. Nonetheless, this was an endeavor I would have had to carry out at some point."
"Mmmm," Cynthia hummed pensively. "What spurred this up, then?"
"Seraph discovered that the bombing of O'ahu was not as simple as divine intervention," Doom explained. "There are some links between the deity responsible for the blessing and some of the participants in charge of launching the warheads themselves."
"Gods working with demons? Is that even possible?" Cynthia asked, stunned.
"Mother, didn't you see what Aragorn showed the universe during the Divine Incursion? Do you think they, even with their sky-high pride, have the leeway to be mindful of such idiotic concerns?"
"I know, Son... But, still," Cynthia muttered. "So, when are you going? Is this something you need to personally handle?"
"The Order of Sorcerers will assist me, but I do have to be there," Doom replied. "It's needed for my image."
"Image? Don't tell me you plan to broadcast it?" Cynthia asked, her hand stopped, and her eyes widened.
"Unrest can be useful, too," Doom cryptically stated.
The rest of breakfast was completed in a silence complicated by Cynthia's thoughts about her son's revelations. But the quiet wasn't cold; after all, even though neither was particularly expressive, they shared a warm relationship.
Almost half a day after Doom received the info, across the world, a live feed was recommended, almost sponsored by N-Tek, and soon the globe's eyes were on their screens.
The video started with a green barrier crackling with arcane lightning settling down like a dome over Pyongyang, the capital and largest city of North Korea.
"I shall declare that this is not an act of war on North Korea by Latveria." Doom came into the picture, hovering high above the city. At his back, the Ryugyong Hotel's striking architecture contrasted greatly with the rest of the capital.
"I will also state that this raid has been allowed by Aragorn, the resulting entity from Lord Alduin's and Abner's merge."
A goddess with nine exceptional, long silver-white tails appeared from a portal of white sparks. Behind her, portals of orange sparks opened, and the Order of Sorcerers stepped through.
Raid alarms echoed wildly across the city, and a strange aura of malice began to seep from the streets, buildings, and ground.
It was corruption, hellish corruption. The type that brought out the monster inside, the type that buffed demons, the type that was named miasm during the time of the Black Death, and, worst of all, it was the type that declared a territory lord.
From the most ostentatious building in the city, the Ryugyong Hotel, the derranged laugh of a demon echoed with wild abandon.
"KHAKHAKHAKHAKHAKHA!" The laughter alone was enough for the now fully corrupted citizens to start demonization. "Ancient One, you didn't bring him! He is weakened! HE IS NOT HERE!"
Demon, territory lord or not, Krahllak, the Beast, was not brave enough to invoke Aragorn's name.
"What a cowardly demonspawn," Yao stated in a clear voice.
"This is as much as can be expected from one so pitiful," Doom added.
Bellow them, the agonized cries of the citizens made for a chorus of eternal damnation.
In a Doomed Reality, what could go wrong would most certainly.
Back in 1950, before the start of the Korean War, Krahllak had accomplished what no other demon had in ages: he created an achor and carved out a territory from Reality.
It could be said that even with the Time Zone, the fact that Yao only allowed for this little demonic intervention is a miracle. Demons are drawn to Doomed Realities like sharks to blood in a fishtank.
So, it wasn't accurate to say that the citizens of the capital city were being corrupted into demons. The truth was that to remain hidden, Krahllak had been wizened enough to go about it at a leisured and controlled pace.
It had taken half a century, but here he stood, with an entire country, yes, country, not city, successfully demonized.
In the live feed, thanks to the Sat-Net, the other cities were captured as the miasm revealed the hidden truth.
Yao didn't know why, but she saw that the end of the world was pushed further away if she and her forces stayed away from North Korea. Hence, she intervened little with the demonized country.
"What is Mephistopheles' pet saying?" Krahllak shot back. "Last I heard, he was showing off the toy he snatched from you-no, no, wait, it wasn't a toy, was it? KHAKHAKHAKHA! It was your mother's soul!"
Doom didn't reply for a moment, not even when the cameras centered on his cold face.
"You don't know what happened to Mephistopheles and his hell, do you?" Doom asked with a sharpened knife to his question.
The laughter ceased. For a moment, even the miasm stopped spreading, then, like an explosion of smog, everything went dark in an instant. It was almost as if a pyroclastic flow had swallowed the entire country, starting from the main cities.
Yao waved a tail, and the Masters were protected with hard-light spherical shields. Doom gestured with his hand, and his armor glowed green before projecting itself as a construct around him.
'I think we'll need my Pantheon's help,' Yao informed Doom.
'Are we not enough?' Doom asked. His question was not laced with a hurt ego; it was serene.
'For him? I alone am more than enough,' Yao stated. 'The problem is that the cowardly thing can forego his pride and summon other demons, including Hell Lords. It's his territory after all, he can do whatever he wants with it.'
'We have no choice then,' Doom concluded. 'We can't deal with a Hell Lord without dire consequences.
When the miasm explosion cleared, North Korea, Reality for that matter, had been transformed into a hell on Earth. The architecture was infernal, the air was acid, the plants were non-existent, or demonic in nature, the soil bubbled in black fire, the clouds were raining blood, and the environment was foul with corruption.
╚═══━━━─── • ───━━━═══╝
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{A/N:
Please check out my P@treon account! There are already 10 chapters ahead for premium members, which is at least 100,000 words. Premium members also gain access to a new chapter every week.
[email protected]/ExistentialVoid
Free Members get access to all free chapters, and I upload free chapters about 12 hours earlier on P@atreon.}
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