The Wreckage of the Valkyrie
Ernst stared at the frozen Captain.
For a moment, a bit of jealousy hit him.
Steve Rogers would sleep through the chaos of the 20th century and wake up a legend.
Ernst would have to live through it, building his empire brick by bloody brick.
'In seventy years, you will wake up strong', Ernst thought, his eyes narrowing.
'But I will be stronger. I will not be the villain who waits for the hero to catch up. By the time you thaw out, I will be a god.'
He turned away from the Captain and continued his search.
He walked to the main containment unit where the Tesseract should have been.
It was empty.
At the bottom of the casing, a jagged hole had been melted through the hull of the plane.
"Dammit," Ernst cursed.
He remembered now.
In the chaos of the final fight, the Tesseract had burned through the deck and fallen into the ocean.
It was lost to the depths, waiting for Howard Stark to fish it out.
"A wasted trip?" Azazel asked, looking at the empty mount.
"Not entirely," Ernst said. He walked over to the bomb racks.
"The Tesseract is gone, but the ammunition remains. These bombs are filled with pure Tesseract energy. Help me unload them. We are taking the batteries."
They spent the next hour stripping the energy cores from the Valkyrie's payload.
It wasn't an Infinity Stone, but it was enough raw power to fuel his experiments for decades.
The Alps
Back at the cave, the wait was grueling.
Finally, the radio crackled.
A heavy transport plane roared overhead, spotting their smoke signal.
A rope ladder dropped.
Ernst and Azazel climbed up, leaving the snowy wastes behind.
The interior of the plane was plush, converted for high-ranking officials.
Sitting in a leather armchair was a man who seemed to suck the light out of the room.
He was bald, bearded, and wore a heavy wool coat.
His eyes were deep pools of madness.
"Dr. Ernst," the man rumbled, his voice thick with a Russian accent.
"I have heard much. We are to be partners."
"You are..." Ernst hesitated. The face was familiar. Too familiar.
"I am Grigori Yefimovich Rasputin," the man said, extending a hand that felt like cold marble.
"The Führer's magical advisor."
Ernst shook it, his mind racing.
Rasputin. The Mad Monk.
But he recognized the face not from history books, but from a movie he had watched in his previous life.
Hellboy.
This was the villain who summoned the Ogdru Jahad.
A blonde woman in a sharp SS uniform stepped out from the cockpit.
She was severe and beautiful, holding a dossier.
"I am Ilsa Haupstein," she said, handing Ernst the file.
"These are your transfer orders. We are going to a secure site off the coast of Scotland. You are to fix the Gateway."
Ernst took the file. Ilsa. Rasputin's lover and fanatic loyalist.
"And for security," Rasputin gestured to the shadows in the back of the plane.
A figure stepped forward.
He wore a black SS uniform and a sleek, gas-mask helmet that covered his entire face.
He moved with a ticking, mechanical jerkiness.
Two short blades were sheathed at his waist.
Karl Ruprecht Kroenen.
The Clockwork Assassin, Ernst thought, fighting a grin. The gang's all here.
"An impressive team," Ernst said aloud.
"Science and Sorcery. Let's hope they mix better than oil and water."
The Ragna Rok Site - Scotland
They landed on a bleak, windswept island as night fell.
The base was built into the ruins of an ancient abbey.
In the center of the courtyard stood a massive, ring-shaped machine of steel and copper wires.
It looked like a steampunk particle accelerator.
Directly in front of it was a stone altar, stained dark with age.
"Magnificent," Rasputin whispered, staring at the machine.
"A bridge to the infinite."
"It's a particle collider," Ernst corrected, walking up to the device.
"Or it's trying to be."
He didn't need tools to diagnose it.
He extended his mental senses, scanning the machine's internal structure.
The alignment is off by three microns, Ernst analyzed instantly.
The energy couplings are inefficient.
It's bleeding power before it can reach critical mass.
But as his mind swept over the area, he felt something else.
Something cold and rotting.
His focus shifted to the altar.
Beneath the stone, buried in the earth, were bodies.
Dozens of them. Fresh. Their souls, or what was left of them, had been used to grease the wheels of this ritual.
Human sacrifice, Ernst realized.
'That's the fuel source I was missing.'
He looked at Rasputin. The monk was smiling, a cruel, knowing smile.
"Do you see the problem, Doctor?" Rasputin asked.
"I see the flaws in the geometry," Ernst lied, keeping his discovery of the bodies to himself.
"The machine is trying to punch a hole in dimension, but it lacks focus. I can fix the lens. But the power source..."
"The power is provided," Rasputin interrupted.
"You just build the door. I will provide the key."
Ernst nodded. He knew exactly what was going to happen.
They were going to open a portal to Hell. And a little red monkey with a stone hand was going to fall out.
Hellboy, Ernst thought. If he comes through, the BPRD won't be far behind.
I need to get what I want and vanish before the heroes show up.
"Get me a chalkboard," Ernst ordered.
"We have work to do."
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