"Bul-Kathos!"
Rumlow, hauling the still-bound Winter Soldier, banged on the door with a clang-clang-clang.
Bucky's injuries had mostly healed thanks to Rumlow's potion bottle, but he had no fight in him.
Still lost in memories of his past, he wasn't about to try breaking free.
Outside the blacksmith shop, Rumlow didn't see the "trash" Coulson had mentioned needing cleanup.
Even the usual agent team stationed across the street was nowhere in sight.
With a creak, the door swung open, and Rumlow strolled in like he owned the place.
Matt Murdock, the lawyer, was the one who opened it.
"Hey, Rumlow, need legal help? I can cut you a deal."
Matt's face turned toward Bucky, whom Rumlow was dragging, hesitating slightly.
Though blind, his sharp hearing picked up exactly who was being hauled in.
"You're here? That's convenient. Maybe we won't need Bul-Kathos to step in."
Rumlow raised an eyebrow and continued, "Didn't Coulson say I was supposed to clean up? Where's the garbage?"
"Some agents took care of the bodies. Saw the shop's door closed and cleared them out like thieves in the night."
Matt answered casually.
Lately, beyond his already keen senses, he'd started picking up on auras—something intangible.
Soon, he might not need detailed investigations to distinguish good from evil.
"So you've seen Coulson, then."
Rumlow tossed Bucky onto the floor and plopped into a chair.
"You mean the agent who got attacked? Yeah, I saw him."
Matt sat too, chatting with Rumlow.
"What's Bul-Kathos up to?"
Rumlow glanced at the freshly stoked furnace.
"In the bathroom. Said he's stuffing Baalza's head in the toilet. You know him—man of his word."
Matt spread his hands in a helpless gesture.
"Sounds like a blast, but I'm here for business."
Rumlow pointed at Bucky, still dazed on the floor.
"Related to the guys outside? Need a hand?"
Matt's face turned toward the door. He heard about a dozen people approaching, moving tactically.
"Tell Bul-Kathos this guy's staying here for a bit. I'll pick him up soon."
Rumlow grabbed his axe and headed out.
Bucky's tracking device had been shattered by Rumlow's Ancestral Hammer, so Hydra would have to rely on old-school manpower to find the Winter Soldier.
Rumlow had made sure Hydra's agents spotted him with Bucky, and by now, the news should've reached Pierce.
"Oh, and if you can, deal with anyone coming for the Winter Soldier. I'd rather Bul-Kathos not storm S.H.I.E.L.D."
Rumlow reached the door, waving his axe over his shoulder at Matt.
"Sure, but this is a private job. I'll bill you."
Matt walked to the shop's weapon rack, pulling out a mace and swinging it twice.
Then he fished a few crisp Franklins from his wallet and left them on the rack.
Buying stuff means paying up—simple as that.
Rumlow, axe in hand, stepped outside, head low, charging toward the hidden Hydra agents.
His torso leaned forward at an awkward angle, like someone with a tweaked back stuck in that pose.
But Rumlow hadn't tweaked anything, so he didn't shuffle cautiously to avoid pain.
Unlike someone with a bad back, whose every step would tremble through their legs.
Charging like a bull with horns raised, Rumlow's steps left shallow prints in the ground.
He hadn't fully mastered the charge, but he'd figured out enough.
His axe blade shielded his face, ringing with dings as bullets hit.
Hydra's agents weren't like the sloppy shots of the local police—every round aimed for Rumlow's head. No measly 18% hit rate here.
In a blink, Rumlow crashed into the Hydra squad, swinging his axe with casual precision, dropping three agents in one go.
Their direct attack confirmed his status as a Hydra traitor.
But Rumlow couldn't fathom why Pierce didn't even try to contact him first.
"Rumlow's yours to handle."
Bul-Kathos emerged from the bathroom, dangling Baalza's pendant by its tail.
He glanced at Bucky, still bewildered on the floor.
Rumlow and Matt's conversation wasn't exactly quiet—Bul-Kathos wasn't deaf.
He'd sensed Rumlow's faint Nephalem bloodline the moment he got close.
Since Rumlow and Matt had sorted things out, fine, let it be.
Bul-Kathos wanted to see how far Rumlow could go and get a firsthand look at Matt's current strength.
Ancestor tales only gave him a rough idea.
Distinguishing a fly's strength from a mosquito's through someone else's words was tough for most folks.
Though both were in the "swat 'em dead" range.
Bul-Kathos stuffed the cash from the weapon rack into a plastic bag and headed to the furnace.
If he started forging now, he'd likely finish the toolbook by the time Rumlow wrapped up.
Baalza's pendant, greedy for sinful souls outside, stayed quiet after its recent lesson.
As for the mace in Matt's hand? Bul-Kathos didn't care.
Just a toy, and Matt paid for it. He had no clue what to charge anyway, so whatever.
Rumlow ducked a frantic swing from the last Hydra agent, his axe blade slicing like a dagger, ramming into the agent's ribs.
The broad blade didn't cut—it smashed ribs and crushed the heart.
Same difference as a stab.
Dead is dead.
With the Ancestor's Bracers, Rumlow could shrug off normal attacks, but barbarians rarely tanked hits they could dodge.
Their strongest were combat masters—getting hit by a weaker foe meant your skills sucked.
Dodging in close-quarters combat was instinct, though that instinct flipped when red light flashed.
Now Rumlow needed to find Coulson. Hydra would likely clean up the bodies soon enough.
Coulson, holed up in a safehouse, was trying to dig a bullet out of his leg with a dagger. The sheen of sweat on his "brilliantly bald" forehead screamed how far from easy it was.
Author's Note
The next ten chapters will start dropping around noon. I need a break—my back's killing me.
Just saw a reader's comment saying they can't stand the "goody-two-shoes" protagonist and wondering when I'll crash and burn…
So, yeah, I've deleted four posts now.
That comment was straight-up malicious. I'm pissed.
Is the protagonist a goody-two-shoes?
A goody-two-shoes sees someone suffering and rushes to help.
A fake goody-two-shoes sees someone suffering and begs everyone else to help.
Does the protagonist act like that?
If he's a goody-two-shoes, then what's not one?
A protagonist who hacks and slashes everyone in sight?
One who kills until nothing moves? Is that the ultimate non-goody-two-shoes?
I think the protagonist shows principled kindness and mercy within his reach, without breaking his own rules.
He gives power to those who can't fight for justice, death to the irredeemable, and chances to those on the fence.
Sure, Bul-Kathos's "reach" is pretty damn vast, and he hasn't hit anything he can't handle yet.
Raging against injustice, tempered by kindness—isn't that just a person with decent values?
Nephalem aren't angels or demons. They're human. Just human.
There's no "Nephalem god." They're just powerful people.
Godhood's endgame—treating all as straw dogs, neither gaining nor losing?
Even in Marvel, Death and Eternity are personified beings.
OAA, the Beyonder—they're personalities too.
Why would anyone want a protagonist who's just a lunatic?
Heroes can be selfish, but a hero who's only selfish? That doesn't exist, right?
Bul-Kathos is a hero!
Even in dark stories, protagonists don't kill without purpose, do they?
(End of Chapter)
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