"Let's start with your little supervillain dream team, shall we?" Gene's tone was calm as he looked down at Baron Zemo, who lay restrained b
"Let's start with your little supervillain dream team, shall we?" Gene's tone was calm as he looked down at Baron Zemo, who lay restrained b
"Let's start with your little supervillain dream team, shall we?" Gene's tone was calm as he looked down at Baron Zemo, who lay restrained b
"Let's start with your little supervillain dream team, shall we?" Gene's tone was calm as he looked down at Baron Zemo, who lay restrained before him.
"You recruited the Taskmaster, Living Laser, and the Lizard. All incredibly dangerous individuals—world-class threats, in fact." His voice was clinical, as if reading from a report. "But what I don't understand is this—why would a sorceress from Asgard stoop so low as to join your operation?"
Zemo glared up at Gene, defiance flashing in his eyes. "Because we share a common goal," he hissed.
"World domination? Or just taking over Hydra?" Gene chuckled softly. "I don't think the Enchantress cares much for this little blue marble we call Earth."
As he spoke, a staff materialized in Gene's hand—glowing faintly with a cold, azure light.
The same scepter he had snatched from Zemo during the earlier battle.
"You recognize this, don't you?" Gene asked, tilting it toward Zemo.
The Baron scoffed but said nothing. The expression in his eyes said it all: Of course I do.
Gene spun the staff in his hand like a baton, the deep-blue glow casting eerie shadows across the walls. Then, without warning, he gripped both ends—and snapped it in half.
A faint hiss escaped from the broken scepter, pale blue energy smoke leaking from the fractured core. The once-brilliant glow vanished instantly, like a toy whose batteries had just been yanked out.
"Wha... What?! That's impossible!" Zemo's voice trembled as he stared at the broken relic, as if his entire world had cracked with it.
Gene shrugged. "It's fake. You were lied to."
He let the broken halves clatter to the floor.
"The sorceress wasn't following your orders. She was never yours. She came here looking for entertainment—and you were the opening act."
Zemo's expression twisted into something between disbelief and rage.
In truth, his misfortunes were almost comical. He'd built his squad with meticulous care—only for it to crumble like a sandcastle in high tide.
Taskmaster? Bought off by Gene with better pay.
Amora? Contributed little more than busting Abomination out of prison and temporarily "recruiting" Venom… who turned out to be the biggest double agent of them all.
The Lizard? KO'd before the real fight even began.
Living Laser? Launched into outer space.
"Amora… I swear I'll make her pay," Zemo growled, teeth clenched.
Gene didn't even flinch. "You won't get the chance."
He turned, letting the fractured scepter fall to the ground with a clatter.
"Venom belongs to me now," he added coldly.
At that, Venom gleefully slithered over to Gene's side, tongue lashing excitedly from his fanged mouth. He looked more like a slobbering bulldog than a cosmic parasite.
"Finally… it's feeding time," Venom grinned. "I'm going to devour his delicious little brain."
"No! No—NOOOOO!"
Zemo's scream echoed through the base—before cutting off abruptly.
Elsewhere.
The Enchantress, Amora, was livid.
She stood in a crumbling old safehouse, furiously whacking the Executioner on the head with both hands. Her face was twisted in rage, her voice venomous.
"You absolute idiot! I should've banished you to the stars the moment I met you!" she shouted.
"What good are you? You've got all that muscle and can't hit anything! You're like a blunt axe with no handle! A total waste!"
Amora had narrowly escaped death—again.
But this time was worse than before. She had underestimated Earth—again.
First, her powers of enchantment had failed spectacularly against Venom. (She still didn't understand how she'd lost that exchange.) Then, following Zemo's harebrained plan, she and her allies walked blindly into Gene's carefully laid trap like lambs to slaughter.
As if that wasn't enough, she'd once again run into Earth's Scarlet Witch.
She had already clashed with the one they called the Black Devil… but this time she had met Wanda—a mortal witch with terrifying close-combat skills that nearly ended her.
Perhaps Midgard's mortals aren't as weak as we believed…
She shook the thought away.
Now wasn't the time.
"Where's your helmet and axe, you oaf?" she snapped.
The Executioner flinched.
His weapons had been lost in the chaos of trying to rescue Amora. But the truth? The real reason she'd gotten into trouble was because she'd let Wanda throw her off rhythm—not because of her henchman's failings.
Of course, none of that mattered now.
Executioner kept his head low, accepting the verbal beating without protest, like a scolded schoolboy.
Eventually, Amora sighed and waved a hand.
"Fine. Go do… whatever it is you do. If I need you, I'll call."
Executioner took the hint and slinked away, his large frame disappearing down the hallway.
Amora folded her arms, letting out a long breath.
With a flourish of her hands, she traced a glowing arc in the air. Green magic shimmered, slashing through space like a blade, revealing a portal on the other side.
Through the portal was a throne room.
A vast cosmic palace under a field of stars.
And on that throne sat a man.
A man with wicked eyes, a charming smile, and danger oozing from every pore—a man wrapped in mystery and power.
A man whose very presence could shatter worlds.
A sinister man, watching the Enchantress through the portal, smirking.
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T/N:
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