Inside the stone coffin lay a decayed skeleton.
Across its chest rested a long sword; in its bony hand, a transparent crystalline cube.
Suddenly, the officer's eyes narrowed—there was something else inside. The coffin was packed with explosives!
He had been leaning over the coffin, pushing it open when the realization struck. There was no time to react.
Boom!
A thunderous explosion rocked the entire church. Fire and dust burst outward like a living storm, shaking the stone pillars to their foundations.
The officer was caught at point-blank range. The coffin disintegrated, and the blast swallowed him whole. Flames licked at his uniform as his hardened faceplate shattered, revealing the crimson flesh beneath. The violent shockwave hurled him across the floor, tearing his mask completely apart—
exposing the terrifying blood-red skull underneath.
It was none other than Johann Schmidt, the infamous leader of Hydra—the Red Skull himself.
He hit the ground hard. Shards of stone had torn through his coat and skin; blood poured from his wounds, pooling beneath him in a spreading crimson stain.
As the fire died down, a shadow dropped silently from the rafters above.
Two flashes of silver cut through the smoke.
Swish! Swish!
Twin throwing knives flew straight toward the Red Skull's eyes and throat.
He moved—barely. Despite his injuries, his instincts saved him from instant death. He rolled aside, but one blade still sank deep into his neck. Blood spurted out in thick streams.
His mind swam, his body trembling from pain and blood loss. The explosion had left him dizzy, half-blind, and barely conscious. He propped himself on trembling hands, glaring with feral hatred at the figure standing before him.
That man—the one who had set the trap—was dressed exactly like him. The same black military coat, the same boots, the same face…
Realization struck. This man meant to kill him—and replace him.
But even knowing that truth, Schmidt could do nothing.
The imposter raised his arm. Two more knives flashed.
Chen Mo's expression was calm, deadly precise. He had planned this moment down to the second—there would be no chance for a counterattack.
The Red Skull was already finished. His body tried to dodge, but the pain and vertigo made him sluggish. Both blades struck home, burying halfway into his eye sockets, piercing straight through to the brain.
And just like that, one of this world's greatest villains—the mighty Red Skull—was gone.
It wasn't that he was weak. It was that Chen Mo had known everything: the place, the time, the trap. With perfect foreknowledge and flawless execution, he had delivered a killing blow.
Schmidt could never have imagined that the remote Norwegian church he had spent years locating—the one hiding the Tesseract—had already been wired with explosives, set precisely for this moment.
Even the massive blast hadn't killed him outright, thanks to his super-soldier serum. But Chen Mo had been waiting for that, finishing the job with two swift strikes.
With blood and rage clouding his dying eyes, the Red Skull collapsed, his body thudding onto the shattered floor. A lifetime of ambition ended in silence. The future—would now be written by Chen Mo.
From the moment Chen Mo had recognized Howard Stark's photo in the newspaper, identical to the man from the films, he had guessed the rest. If this world followed the same story, then everyone else—the heroes and villains alike—existed too.
That was when the plan took shape: kill the Red Skull and take his place.
He had prepared meticulously—sketching out the Hydra uniform from memory, commissioning an exact replica, mastering German speech and accent, perfecting a silicone mask to mirror Schmidt's face. Even if his appearance didn't fully match, he had a backup—another mask, one shaped exactly like the Red Skull's infamous visage.
From the rafters, he had listened to Schmidt's tone, his cadence, every nuance of his speech. When the soldiers arrived, they would see the same leader, the same voice, the same commanding presence—and no one would dare question him.
When the real Red Skull's corpse was gone, hidden safely within his spatial dimension, no one would ever know.
Moments later, as the dust cleared, a squad of Hydra soldiers rushed into the ruined church.
They froze, then snapped to attention at the sight of Chen Mo standing tall amid the smoke. None dared speak. The Red Skull's authority within Hydra was absolute—if he said nothing, they would not ask.
Chen Mo nodded approvingly. Well-trained indeed, he thought.
Ignoring them, he surveyed the wrecked church. The explosion had torn apart the murals, leaving only fragments clinging to the cracked walls.
He had been cautious—filling the coffin with all the explosives he'd stolen from a nearby German base. Even then, the serum-enhanced Schmidt had survived long enough to resist. That alone proved how powerful the serum truly was.
Now, Chen Mo wanted it even more.
Approaching the fractured mural of the World Tree, he found the serpent Nidhogg coiled at its roots. Pressing its eye, he heard a click. A hidden compartment slid open—a small wooden box popped out.
He opened it slowly.
A blinding blue light burst forth, flooding the chamber.
Inside was a blue crystal cube, shining like a captured fragment of the cosmos. Swirling galaxies seemed to dance within, infinite and dazzling—beautiful beyond words, but pulsing with an almost divine power.
The Tesseract.
Seeing it with his own eyes—far beyond the movie screen—took his breath away. This was no mere prop; it radiated the weight of legend, the raw energy of the gods.
Recovering his composure, Chen Mo closed the box carefully. But as he turned to leave, a glint of silver caught his eye.
In the corner, a long silver sword was embedded deep into a stone pillar, its blade piercing clean through to the other side. The metal gleamed in the firelight.
Chen Mo walked over, grasped the hilt, and pulled.
Shing!
The blade slid free with a resonant hum—clear, sharp, alive.
It was the king's burial sword, once rusted and forgotten. The explosion had stripped away its corrosion, revealing its true form—a weapon of gleaming brilliance.
A broad double-edged blade nearly a meter long, a twenty-centimeter hilt with a crossguard and circular pommel. Heavier than ordinary swords, but perfectly balanced in his grip.
He swung once. The sword cut clean through the stone pillar as if through paper.
Definitely no ordinary relic. Its origins would be worth studying.
Satisfied, Chen Mo sheathed the weapon and strode out of the ruined church.
Outside, a massive war tank, a steel fortress on treads, loomed before him.
He couldn't help but admire it.
Hydra's technology truly outstripped this era—advancements that even modern science would struggle to replicate.
And now… it all belonged to him.
Once, Chen Mo had focused solely on personal power, ignoring the importance of influence. He had learned the cost of that mistake when his grandfather was injured.
Personal strength was vital—but until one was powerful enough to stand above all, power and authority were the next best weapons.
If he had possessed an organization back then, Zhou Tianhao would never have dared to harm his family.
That thought had long since taken root in his mind. And now, by replacing the Red Skull, it had come to fruition.
With Hydra under his command, Chen Mo had gained more than just an army—he had gained the foundation of an empire.
Whether in this world or back in his own, his reign was about to begin.