Chapter 170 to 178
…
Ross remained silent.
Reality was harsh. The world of adults and the powerful was complex and multifaceted, but at its core, it was painfully simple: the weak had no voice.
As a former military colonel, Ross had built his tough demeanor and style upon the foundation of his status, power, and connections. Under the established rules of this game, he was among the powerful, while others were naturally the weak. He had long enjoyed the privileges that came with his position.
But Natasha was different. She existed outside—and even above—the rules of this game. It was clear to Ross that he couldn't use those same rules to suppress her or take the Hulk and the Abomination away from her.
Realizing this, Ross hesitated, unwilling though he was to admit defeat.
Natasha cast a calm glance at Ross before turning her attention to Betty. Noticing Betty's expression, heavy with sadness and worry over matters of life and death, Natasha couldn't help but find it amusing. She offered a casual reminder:
"Hey, ma'am, I'll be taking him with me. But it doesn't mean he's going to die. You'll have the chance to see him again in the future."
"Thank you..." Betty murmured, her voice dazed, as though she couldn't quite believe it.
Natasha shook her head helplessly.
She snapped her fingers, and a purple portal suddenly appeared behind Natasha. Without hesitation, Natasha stepped through it, taking Hulk with her. He turned and walked toward the portal as well.
Bloody Mary parted her lips as if to speak but stopped herself. In the end, she simply watched in silence as Natasha and Hulk disappeared into the portal, which then vanished without a trace.
After Natasha and Hulk's departure, the entire block fell into a tense calm, broken only by the crackling sounds of flames still burning nearby.
For now, Ross's reaction was left unaddressed, but the police and the crowd of onlookers began to murmur excitedly among themselves.
As live witnesses to the extraordinary battle, the impact on their senses was far greater than anything seen on television. Every punch and kick had a visceral quality, the sound of each impact like a thunderclap reverberating through the streets.
The sheer force of the attacks created shockwaves that pressed down on the onlookers, making their blood run cold and their hearts skip beats. It was a feeling far more exhilarating than any extreme sport, like high-altitude bungee jumping.
"It was an unimaginable battle! Oh my God, I'm absolutely in love with that lady. She's like a mythical Valkyrie—elegant, powerful, and awe-inspiring."
"She's truly a goddess of war! Beautiful in every way—her appearance, her poise, her strength. She's incredible!"
"Believe me, she's my now," one exclaimed passionately.
"She could easily defeat such a terrifying monster, and the battle destroyed the entire neighborhood in the process. Power like that… it's not something a human should possess."
"Yes, today's battle was a disaster. Don't forget, the monster that first appeared was accompanied by the military. I have every reason to believe that the birth of this monster is tied to a military experiment. That lady obviously stepped in to stop the creature—and in doing so, she saved all of us."
"This must be a conspiracy by the federal government and the military. They allowed an uncontrollable monster to rampage through the streets of New York, causing the deaths of countless innocent people and police officers."
"The police did their best. They were brave. They helped many of us, alongside that lady and the man with the bloody hair."
"True, they may have seemed a little weak, but I believe they gave it their all. After all, they were up against a terrifying monster—a cruel demon."
There is no doubt that the people, though uninformed, are perceptive. They understood what happened when the Abomination tore through the neighborhood, killing innocent civilians. The police responded quickly, trying their hardest to subdue the creature, but it was far too powerful. Conventional firearms had no effect on it.
Although tensions between the American police and the public are often high, and the police's infamous reputation for emptying magazines during law enforcement encounters doesn't sit well with the populace, this time was different.
For once, in the face of crisis, the police did not act like cowardly fools abandoning the people to save themselves. Instead, they bravely stood their ground, fighting the monster to the death. Many officers lost their lives in the process, their sacrifices both tragic and heroic.
Tonight, the police of New York earned the cheers and admiration of its citizens for their courage and dedication.
In stark contrast, however, stands the federal government and the military.
The public doesn't fully understand the details, but the monster's arrival alongside military forces raises serious questions. It suggests that the military not only knew about the creature but might even have been responsible for its creation.
The federal government and the military have always left a poor impression on the American people. So much so that, after today's disaster, the first entities questioned were the federal government and the military.
Even the lady who saved everyone—despite taking Abomination and Hulk away—was not criticized by the people. Instead, they breathed a collective sigh of relief. The public was far more inclined to trust Natasha than the government or the military.
In fact, many believed that Natasha, with her immense strength, had the capability to control and suppress the two monsters she had taken with her.
However, to the military and government, this was unthinkable.
The staggering number of deaths and the extensive damage caused to the neighborhood tonight would undoubtedly shock the world, sparking fresh waves of criticism and public outrage.
At the center of the storm, General Ross understood all too well that his military career was over.
Someone would have to take full responsibility for the events of the night—and that someone was him.
Ross stood there, overwhelmed by a sense of loneliness. He looked at the devastated neighborhood in front of him: vehicles reduced to smoldering wrecks, flames still licking at the charred remains, and collapsed streetlights flickering faintly. He sighed deeply.
Meanwhile, at the S.H.I.E.L.D. headquarters, Fury turned away from the blacked-out screen and began to leave, with Hill trailing behind him.
"Get Bloody Mary and our Black Widow back," Fury ordered.
"Yes, sir."
"And keep an eye on Ross."
"General Ross? His political career is done. He's bound to be made the scapegoat to quell public anger. Why should we still pay attention to him?"
"You underestimate Ross, Hill. He's not as simple as you think."
…
Ding!
The elevator doors slid open, and Fury and Agent Hill stepped inside, standing side by side as the elevator ascended. Fury, continuing his earlier thoughts, spoke in his deep, authoritative voice.
"What happened tonight has undoubtedly caused irreversible consequences," Fury said, "but it doesn't mean Ross's career is over. He's not finished yet."
Hill glanced at him, her expression sharpening as realization dawned. "Director, are you saying…?"
Fury nodded, his tone growing serious. "The Super Soldier Serum."
"The super-soldier project Ross worked so hard to build may have gone out of control tonight, resulting in this disaster. But that chaos has also made more people take notice of the destructive power unleashed by those two monsters."
Hill frowned, following his train of thought. Fury continued, his words heavy.
"Trust me, the higher-ups aren't just thinking about sending Ross to a military court. What's really on their minds is getting their hands on the Super Soldier Serum formula. That's the cruel reality of power at the top. They'll prioritize their interests above all else."
Fury's gaze was sharp as he explained. "Of course, they'll parade him in shackles to appease public outrage, but that's just a performance. The destruction caused by the Abomination and Natasha will become Ross's bargaining chip. When the scales of interest tip in his favor, those same high-ranking officials will do whatever it takes to pull him out of the abyss."
Hill's expression hardened. Fury pressed on. "Especially now, with powerful mutants emerging and the mysterious abilities Natasha demonstrated tonight. The political elite feel their dominance being threatened, and they'll stop at nothing to maintain it. To them, a powerful, extraordinary army isn't just an asset—it's a necessity."
Hill, one of S.H.I.E.L.D.'s most skilled agents, finally saw the full picture Fury was painting. While her operational skills were second to none, she had to admit Fury's grasp of political games surpassed her own.
"Are we watching Ross because of the serum?" she asked carefully.
Fury's reply was icy. "I'm keeping an eye on who he'll give that formula to. The world is chaotic enough with two monsters. The last thing we need is an army of them. Do you understand, Hill?"
"Yes, sir."
Fury turned to look out the transparent glass of the elevator, his reflection faint against the city lights below. His fingers lightly tapped the side of the elevator panel, a rare sign of unease.
His voice dropped to a murmur, almost to himself. "The world is slipping out of control. There was a time when I could stabilize it from the shadows. But now…" He trailed off, the weight of the shifting world heavy on his shoulders.
But now, the number of mutants was increasing, and their abilities were growing stronger. In addition, more monsters were emerging—especially the mysterious organization lurking behind Natasha, which made him even more uneasy.
The previous calm he once felt was gone, and he no longer held cards powerful enough to confront the growing threats.
He needed to find and create tools to stabilize the world and fight against those monsters.
The original Hulk had been one of his chosen targets, but this big guy was easily deceived and led astray—driven by hatred and manipulated by just a few words. Now, Fury was left with only a playboy, a guilt-ridden spider boy, and a half-crazed maniac with multiple personalities chasing his so-called lover.
Maybe he could add Barton to the mix.
But these few people alone weren't enough to achieve the grand plan Fury had envisioned.
"It's really difficult for me…" Fury thought, maintaining an indifferent facade, though he sighed inwardly.
Perhaps… could he reach a deal with those people?
His one good eye flickered with consideration.
"Wow~~~"
A loud cheer echoed through the airbase above the Pacific Ocean. In the spacious hall, Pietro, Sergei, and a group of boys were shirtless, wearing shorts, and munching on snacks. While chewing, they gathered around the unconscious Abomination lying sprawled on the ground, gazing at him with curiosity.
Clarice and Alina, the two mischievous girls, squatted nearby, poking the ugly monster's massive head with their tiny white fingers.
"Is this the big monster Sister Natasha controls? Super cool," Pietro said, grinning and crunching on a bag of potato chips.
Sergei wrinkled his nose and shook his head. "This guy is so ugly. And, ugh, he reeks of bad breath. Honestly, it's disgusting."
Alexei, who had bulked up into a hulking strongman, approached, appraising Abomination with his own unique perspective.
"I like his muscles. Muscles mean strength. I bet he's a great fighter," Alexei said confidently, flexing his arms in a pose.
The others barely glanced at him before returning to their discussion. They had long since dismissed Alexei's obsession with muscles as both his strength and his weakness. Even though they admired his raw power, it didn't change their opinion of him.
Soon after, Yelena and Melina entered, wearing loose gray tops and jeans.
Pietro, Sergei, and the others quickly stepped aside to let the women comment.
Yelena tilted her head at the sight of the Abomination and gave her judgment. "What a disgusting thing."
Melina, always blunt, added, "I think John and his team would enjoy dissecting him. He'd make an excellent test subject."
Her cruel remark drew no serious reactions; they were all too used to her dry humor.
Weng!
A low hum vibrated through the air, signaling something brewing in the background.
At that moment, the metal door nearby slid open, and Natasha entered with Hulk in tow. Hulk, clearly in good spirits, was carrying a large meat roll in one hand and a big cup of Coke in the other. His mouth glistened with oil as he happily devoured his snack.
However, when Hulk noticed Pietro, Sergei, and the others, his chewing slowed. He glanced cautiously at the group, sticking close to Natasha as his wary gaze swept over them.
The group, however, showed no hostility, only kindness.
The three little girls, along with Pushkin, immediately darted toward Hulk. The girls chirped excited greetings, their eyes wide with curiosity as they studied him.
"Hey, big guy! You're so tall! What's your name?" one of them asked, tilting her head.
"Wow! You're much prettier than that other big guy, but you're all green! Did you eat too many vegetables or something?"
"I hate eating vegetables," another girl added with a grimace. "If eating them turns you into this, I'm never touching vegetables again!"
Pushkin rolled his eyes at his friend's comment and shouted in exasperation, "This has nothing to do with eating vegetables! He was injected with a mutated version of the Super Soldier Serum. Stop making excuses just to avoid eating your greens!"
…
"Hey, Pushkin, you're slandering me!" Alina protested, visibly upset at being called out. She angrily raised her tiny fist and landed a light punch on Pushkin's head.
Pushkin, considering himself a gentleman, thought it beneath him to argue with a little girl. Instead of retaliating, he dodged the blows and tried to maintain an air of authority, glaring at her with what he believed was a fierce expression. But the three girls who lived with him day and night knew him too well. His attempt to appear intimidating failed miserably. They didn't take him seriously, and one of them even playfully slapped him on the cheek.
"Justice siege!" she cried with mock drama.
Nearby, a group of carefree onlookers were munching on snacks, loudly cheering and enjoying the show. The lively atmosphere could be felt, and Hulk, watching from a distance, felt a pang of envy.
As the playful fight continued, Yelena and Melina approached Hulk, standing close to him. At over two meters tall and weighing more than a thousand pounds, Hulk's sheer presence was intimidating. For most humans, the fear of giants was instinctual, but Yelena and Melina were far from ordinary. Having surpassed human limits, they no longer harbored such fears.
From a certain angle, Hulk even looked endearing—smiling sheepishly, his demeanor almost childlike.
"Hey guys, welcome to our base!" Yelena greeted him warmly, waving her hand.
Hulk seemed uncertain, his large green hand hesitantly waving back. "Hulk...!" he bellowed, his voice booming but friendly.
"Wait, he can't speak properly?" Yelena asked, turning to Natasha.
Natasha, without stopping, strode toward Abomination's lifeless form lying in the center of the area. Her long legs carried her with poise as she replied, "His consciousness is still young. He needs time to learn and adapt."
While Hulk remained confused under Yelena's teasing gaze, Natasha reached Abomination's body. She looked down at the hulking creature with calm indifference and said, her tone sharp and cold, "Don't bother pretending. No matter how good your act, you can't hide from our perception."
Her words struck with precision. "Your fate is already written," she added with finality.
At this, Abomination, who had been feigning unconsciousness, opened his eyes. His fierce gaze met Natasha's calm one as he slowly sat up, surveying the scene. The young faces watching him were filled with apathy, their expressions indifferent.
To them, his massive size and imposing figure seemed as harmless as a stray dog. This dismissive attitude ignited a surge of humiliation within him.
Even so, Abomination forced himself to stay composed. His primal instincts warned him that the auras surrounding him were dangerously powerful—each of them, including the woman who had effortlessly defeated him, exuded an energy far beyond his own capabilities.
It felt as if the roles had reversed. These people all had terrifying wild beasts sleeping within them. When they were dormant, there was no danger, but when they woke up, they could easily tear him apart.
"Damn it, what kind of place have I been thrown into?" Abomination cursed inwardly.
He had finally arrived in the den of monsters.
"What do you want me to do?"
Abomination, despite his monstrous appearance, displayed an unusual calmness. His only concern now was survival. He needed to make sure he didn't die, then wait for the right moment to escape. As for revenge? That was laughable. Abomination had no intention of seeking revenge.
Revenge on these monsters? Who could he even take revenge on? Maybe he could defeat those four little brats, but even if he did, so what? The result would likely be even worse for him.
Abomination, who had personally fought Natasha, understood the cruelty and darkness in her heart all too well. To put it simply, she was not someone to offend.
Abomination knew this well, and Natasha wasn't surprised by his insight. She had cultivated a high level of emotional awareness, able to sense subtle shifts in people's emotions. They could appear to hide their inner thoughts, but in reality, they were completely transparent to her.
But Natasha didn't care much about hiding her own thoughts.
"We will ensure your basic needs are met," she said coolly. "We've prepared a comfortable room for you. You can watch TV, surf the internet. You won't be treated as a slave or a test subject for dissection. But only if you're smart enough."
She continued, "You can try to escape, but you'll need to evaluate the consequences yourself."
"Your only role here is as a sparring partner. Fighting is in your blood. You're a born warrior. At certain times, I'll allow you to unleash your anger and fight your opponent."
"How long you'll stay here depends on my mood."
Natasha's calm words carried an irresistible authority.
After hearing her conditions, Abomination secretly let out a sigh of relief. The terms were far better than he had expected. At least he wasn't going to be turned into a lab rat.
Suddenly, sparks crackled in the air nearby, forming a circle. Everyone turned to look as two figures stepped out of the sparks—Leon and Wanda.
"Yo, it's quite lively today," Leon remarked as he appeared, scanning the room. His eyes lingered on Abomination and Hulk for a moment before focusing on Natasha.
"So, did you enjoy playing around today?"
"I stretched my muscles a bit. Unfortunately, the intensity wasn't high enough, but it still felt very comfortable," Natasha remarked.
Leon chuckled. "Haha, Natasha's showing her violent side now."
"How's it going over there?" Natasha asked, shifting her attention to Leon and Wanda.
The two didn't hesitate to speak openly in front of Abomination and Hulk. Leon nodded and replied, "Just earlier, under the guidance of the Ancient One, I led a group of sorcerers to track down members of the so-called Dark Sorcerer Order. Kaecilius wasn't there, but we managed to eliminate a dozen of their fallen sorcerers."
He added with a hint of pride, "The sorcerers are progressing as expected under my rigorous training. Their strength is steadily improving."
Wanda stretched lazily and chimed in, "Once I take over as the Supreme Sorceress, we can proceed with the follow-up plans."
…
To put it bluntly, this is a plan to cut off the Vishanti's influence.
The Ancient One, the Supreme Sorcerer, was unaware of this plan. Even if she had known, she likely wouldn't have taken it seriously. The plan to sever ties with the Vishanti was devised by Leon, Natasha, and Wanda.
The core of the plan involved using Kamar-Taj as a central point to restructure how magicians accessed their magical power. Traditionally, magicians draw magic from the Vishanti through communication and absorption of energy from their dimension. However, under this new scheme, the old magicians would be bypassed, and neither the Vishanti nor Wanda would be provoked—for now. Instead, new mages would be directed to borrow magic first from the Vishanti and then from Wanda herself.
Yes, Wanda had effectively become a figure comparable to the Vishanti.
Her Chaos Magic, the most primal and potent form of magical energy, far surpassed the magic offered by the Vishanti. Wanda thus had the qualifications to become this new "loan shark" of magic.
As Wanda delved deeper into the Darkhold, her power grew exponentially—frighteningly so. Even the Ancient One was shocked by her strength. Fortunately, the Ancient One sought to keep the situation stable. If she'd known that Wanda was practicing dark magic, she might have had to consider expelling her as a successor. However, the Ancient One herself had relied on dark powers in the past. This shared reliance on forbidden energy forged an unspoken understanding between them.
With the Ancient One in a semi-retired state, she delegated many of Kamar-Taj's responsibilities to Wanda, allowing herself to focus on battles with Dormammu and other interdimensional threats. This was why Wanda had been so busy lately. She even dragged Leon into her tasks, insisting that having more people made things easier to manage.
Wanda's interception plan was surprisingly balanced. The Vishanti traditionally demanded both magic and the souls of practitioners. Wanda, however, had no need for souls. Instead, she required all magical energy from the mages to flow back to her upon their deaths. Essentially, this meant that these mages were unknowingly enhancing her power through their practice. Every century or so, Wanda's magic would experience a surge as these energies accumulated.
If a mage proved exceptionally skilled, Wanda could even liberate their soul upon death, allowing them to follow her as a vassal. In essence, her plan ensured that these mages worked for her—even in death.
This "black-hearted capitalist" approach was unmistakable, and Leon's influence on the plan was obvious. Without his scheming, a straightforward girl like Wanda wouldn't have conceived such a concept.
However, the mages might not object. After all, working under Wanda offered far more favorable terms than dealing with the Vishanti.
Natasha was fully aware of this plan. Though she recognized the risk of offending the magical hierarchy, she knew the rewards were too promising to ignore.
After some thought, it seemed unlikely that the big boss would notice anything. After all, they were essentially "borrowing money to lay eggs" by focusing on training a new generation of sorcerers.
Following a brief discussion, Natasha instructed Alexei and Sergei to head to his private quarters, carrying a sense of animosity. Since the Abomination would no longer remain at the air base, Natasha also tasked Melina with locating a new base. This new location would serve as a training ground for recruits to be absorbed in the future.
Meanwhile, Hulk had been settled into a harmonious environment. Surrounded by goodwill, Hulk remained calm. The three young girls even enjoyed spending time with him, often opening portals to take him to the beach or other islands for fun. These peaceful moments lasted until Bruce Banner's consciousness reasserted itself, overtaking Hulk's.
Despite both being gamma ray mutants, the Hulk and Abomination had vastly different circumstances. However, this distinction mattered little to anyone.
After defeating the Abomination and bringing both him and the Hulk back, Natasha returned to her routine—resting, training, sunbathing—while Sergei and the others resumed their carefree activities, going to school, playing, and enjoying themselves.
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Though Natasha, Leon, and their group enjoyed this peaceful interlude, the world outside faced an upheaval of public outrage.
A monster had rampaged through New York City, causing 403 civilian casualties and the deaths of over 40 police officers. This marked one of the most catastrophic events in recent U.S. history. To make matters worse, the incident implicated the military and possible experimental mutants, reviving the public's distrust of the federal government.
The American people's bitter memories of past government misdeeds—biological experiments, nuclear testing, and other unethical practices—came rushing back. This time was no different. The sheer destruction caused by the monstrous Abomination shook the public to its core. People questioned how the military and government could conduct experiments that resulted in the creation of such an uncontrollable creature.
The fact that the monster breached an urban area, putting countless lives at risk, only fueled public fury. No one wanted to live in fear of walking down the street, only to encounter a terrifying beast that could destroy their lives and families in an instant.
On social media, criticism of the federal government and military erupted like wildfire, overwhelming servers on some platforms. Comments flooded in, with users expressing their outrage:
- "It's unimaginable how the government and military keep creating these monsters without our consent. Let's not forget the first 'monster' they made—Steve Rogers."
- "Controlled monster: Steve Rogers. Uncontrolled monster: Abomination. Amazing. America will eventually fall because of its own arrogance."
- "If this monster wasn't stopped by the pretty lady, there would've been even more casualties. The only way they'd solve it would be missiles—or maybe even nukes."
- "They created something that doesn't belong in this world and shattered nearly 500 families. My heart aches for the innocent victims, and I offer my deepest respect to the brave officers who gave their lives. It's tragic."
The tragedy and the public's anger cast a long shadow, and it became clear that this event would have far-reaching consequences.
"Someone must be held accountable for this. The person responsible for these experiments should face the gallows. He must pay with his life to atone for the countless innocent lives lost."
"They deserve to rot in hell. They're always using our tax dollars for these shameless experiments. I'm sick of it. They constantly hide the truth from us."
"Am I the only one amazed by the beauty and power of that woman? She's like a Valkyrie! Honestly, I wouldn't be surprised if she were the reincarnation of Athena."
…
Under intense public pressure, the federal government and the military maintained a coordinated silence. Both the new White House spokesperson and the military representative held press conferences, offering vague statements that avoided admitting any direct responsibility for the creation of the Abomination.
At the same time, to quell public outrage, the federal government began compensating the families of police officers and civilians who lost their lives during the attack. To further placate the masses, they dismissed a few low-level officials from the military and federal agencies—mere scapegoats.
Shortly afterward, a series of high-profile news stories in Hollywood and other entertainment circles dominated the media, effectively diverting public attention. The controversy surrounding the Abomination, the military, and the government was pushed aside and soon forgotten.
"Sir, as you predicted, General Ross was indeed saved."
In a Chevrolet SUV parked outside Xavier's School for Gifted Youngsters, Maria Hill turned to Nick Fury in the passenger seat, her hands resting on the steering wheel. She listened intently to her headset before speaking softly.
The car came to a halt in the parking area. Fury and Hill opened their doors and stepped out. The campus was serene, with a winding road leading to the main building. As they walked, Fury spoke, his tone calm but firm:
"Hill, as an agent, you should know by now—this world has never been the utopia ordinary people imagine."
His gaze remained fixed ahead as he continued. "Driven by self-interest, they'll abandon anyone, even us, if it suits their agenda. They'll rewrite the truth at any cost. The truth doesn't matter to them."
"But SHIELD protects these people, enabling them to act with impunity," Hill said with a cold snort.
"What we protect has never been them, Hill," Fury replied, his voice low and steady. "It's the world—the billions of ordinary people who rely on us, whether they know it or not. Forget the politics. Our job is to focus on what matters."
Their conversation ended as they approached the Mutant Academy's main building. In front of the entrance stood Jean Grey, wearing a brown coat, and Logan, the Wolverine. The two mutants seemed to be waiting for them, engaged in quiet conversation.
When Fury and Hill reached them, Jean offered a polite smile and extended her hand. "Mr. Fury, Ms. Hill," she greeted warmly. "The professor is expecting you in his office."
"Thank you," Fury replied with a slight nod.
Jean gestured toward the building. She and Logan accompanied Fury and Hill to the principal's office. Jean knocked briefly on the door before opening it.
As they stepped inside, Fury's single eye scanned the room. Seated with Professor Charles Xavier was another figure—a new face who seemed as strong as steel. Fury's gaze lingered briefly before he greeted the professor.
"Professor Xavier."
"Mr. Fury," the professor replied with a nod.
After brief pleasantries, the professor gestured to two empty chairs opposite his desk. Fury and Hill took their seats, noting that the X-Men members present didn't seem to be leaving. Fury immediately understood: this meeting wasn't going to be a casual discussion.
"Professor Xavier, please forgive me for the unexpected visit," Fury began, his tone courteous but firm.
"There's no need for apologies, Mr. Fury. I believe we'll both gain much from this discussion," the professor replied with his usual mild demeanor, unchanged over the years.
"In that case, I won't waste time with formalities. I assume you're aware of what happened two nights ago?" Fury's voice was calm and direct, devoid of the aggressive edge he often carried as Director of S.H.I.E.L.D.
Professor Xavier's expression turned somber. "It was a tragedy—a disaster that could have been avoided," he said with regret. "My thoughts are with those who lost their lives. Unfortunately, we were… preoccupied."
"Preoccupied?" Fury raised an eyebrow.
"An old friend," Xavier said quietly.
"Magneto." Fury nodded knowingly. "He's been moving in the shadows, making it nearly impossible for us to track him. What's his objective this time?"
Magneto was on S.H.I.E.L.D.'s highest-level monitoring list, alongside other individuals considered global threats. Unlike Xavier, who cooperated openly, Magneto was a ghost—a master of magnetism capable of erasing his tracks with ease. Surveillance cameras, electronic monitoring, even advanced drones—nothing worked against him. As long as he wanted to remain hidden, he was virtually untraceable.
Fury had long harbored a professional disdain for individuals with such abilities. Magneto's power to manipulate magnetic fields rendered conventional surveillance obsolete. And while Fury loathed dealing with unknowns, he grudgingly acknowledged that few others were as uniquely untouchable as Magneto.
"Do you know what he's after?" Fury asked.
Xavier sighed. "I'm afraid I don't. Erik hasn't confided in me, but I suspect he's searching for something."
"Something?"
"Perhaps an object, perhaps a person—or something beyond my understanding. His actions have been… peculiar."
Fury leaned forward slightly, his gaze sharp. "So you've been trying to locate him?"
"Yes," Xavier admitted. "But every time we make a move, he seems to anticipate it. By the time we arrive, he's already gone."
Fury nodded thoughtfully. Magneto's pattern of behavior was unnerving. He wasn't concerned about Magneto making a public spectacle—Erik's silent maneuvers were far more dangerous. Fury knew from history that when Magneto worked in the shadows, it usually led to an event that shook the world.
"Professor, are you still unwilling to share more with me?" Fury's voice was low, his single eye locked onto Xavier's with unrelenting focus.
Xavier met Fury's gaze, his calm composure unchanged. "Mr. Fury, you know that Erik is not easily understood, even by those closest to him. I will help where I can, but I can only offer you what I know."
Fury remained silent for a moment, then leaned back in his chair, his mind already calculating the next steps. Magneto was a problem—a silent, unpredictable force—and Fury's instincts told him something monumental was on the horizon.
The meaning behind Professor Xavier's words was clear, yet he maintained his calm demeanor, shaking his head with a gentle smile.
"You know, Mr. Fury," Xavier said, "they have never shown malice toward the world. In fact, they've extended goodwill on many occasions."
"I understand your perspective, Mr. Fury. They are not inherently bad people," he added, his tone measured.
Fury gave a slight nod but wasted no time shifting gears. "Then let's change the subject. I'd like to invite some of your people to join my team," he said decisively.
Xavier's brow arched slightly in curiosity as he glanced at his students and colleagues. "I'm intrigued," he said with a warm smile.
"We need a team that's stable and strong enough to handle crises," Fury explained. "A group capable of addressing the kind of threats that the world isn't prepared for."
…
"With all due respect, I don't think the government trusts us enough yet," Professor Xavier said calmly, addressing the underlying concern with precision.
He could allow his students to join Nick Fury's team, but there was a lingering danger that weighed on his mind: humanity's deep-rooted prejudice against mutants. While the public might remain silent, their opinions often followed the tides of manipulated narratives and public sentiment. What truly concerned Xavier wasn't the people—it was the federal government.
The prejudice of government officials toward mutants was no secret. For decades, high-level initiatives had sanctioned experiments targeting mutants, atrocities drenched in blood and tragedy. Could the federal government claim ignorance of such events? No one could answer with certainty. Until Xavier could trust the motives at play, he would not risk sending his students into a potentially hostile situation.
Nick Fury, catching the hesitation in Xavier's demeanor, leaned forward, planting his hands firmly on the desk. His single eye locked onto the professor's, his voice resolute.
"The team I'm creating exists solely to protect this world. No one has jurisdiction over it." Fury's tone was firm and unyielding. "It doesn't follow orders from any government, and it answers to no one. As long as I'm Director of S.H.I.E.L.D., that independence will be protected."
He straightened, his expression shadowed by concern. "Charles, the world is changing—faster than either of us could have predicted. I feel it. Crises are brewing, spreading like wildfire. While the federal government and the military are busy scheming for power, I need a team strong enough to face what's coming."
The room grew quiet as Fury's words settled. Those standing nearby exchanged uncertain glances, their expressions reflecting a mix of intrigue and doubt.
After a long silence, Xavier finally broke it, posing a question with careful deliberation. "So, who exactly do you have on this team?"
Fury met his gaze without hesitation.
"That woman burdened with fractured personalities? That young man grappling with self-blame because of something you said? Tony Stark?" Xavier's tone was light, but the implications were clear.
Fury's jaw tightened. "They're not perfect, and they're not the answer to everything," he admitted. "But they're the best we've got. And I trust them to rise to the occasion."
"I hope your trust in them remains steadfast," Xavier replied, his voice tinged with a faint warning.
Finally, after a moment's pause, Xavier gave a slow nod. "Very well. I will allow it."
His agreement wasn't just for Fury's sake—it was an opportunity to shift public perception and address the prejudice mutants had faced for so long.
As for whether Fury would deceive him, Xavier was confident in his own abilities. Should Fury ever betray that trust, Xavier knew there was no force on Earth that could resist him when necessary.
Johnny Blaze hadn't been in a good mood lately.
To be fair, his mood had been sour ever since he agreed to join the Brotherhood. The trouble stemmed not from his decision, but from the fiery entity residing within him. As Ghost Rider, the Flaming Skeleton Knight, Johnny found himself compelled to transform at night, seeking out and delivering vengeance to the wicked.
At first, this wasn't an issue. Hunting down and punishing heinous criminals felt like a natural extension of his existence. Promoting good and eradicating evil—it was almost poetic. But problems arose when his instincts turned toward his newfound "allies."
From the Brotherhood's leader, Magneto, to members like Sabretooth, Mystique, and the junior recruits, none were spared from the Ghost Rider's judgment. In his fiery eyes, they were all sinners, steeped in blood and guilt, worthy only of his penance stare and a one-way trip to hell.
Inevitably, every night he transformed, Johnny would set off to hunt his Brotherhood comrades. Predictably, this never ended well. Despite his supernatural powers, he was no match for the Brotherhood's unique and varied abilities. Magneto, in particular, was far too powerful. The Skeleton Knight would launch his attack only to find himself overpowered and, more often than not, suspended in the air by Magneto's unyielding chains of metal.
It became a grim cycle. Johnny would heal during the day, transform again at night, and promptly pick a fight. Magneto, exasperated, would defeat him yet again. The Brotherhood began to treat these nightly beatdowns as routine, while Johnny himself descended into despair.
Sure, he had an iron will. But waking up every morning bruised, restrained, and subjected to the disdainful gazes of his Brotherhood "peers" was enough to make anyone spiral into depression.
Ironically, the one silver lining in this endless cycle of humiliation was that Johnny eventually learned how to control his Ghost Rider form. He began to master his transformations, gaining a measure of sanity while in his skeletal state. This newfound control should have been a cause for celebration.
But Johnny's happiness was short-lived.
As the Ghost Rider, his Penance Stare allowed him to see things that most humans couldn't: the state of a person's soul and the weight of their sins. This sight became a curse. The Brotherhood, riddled with corruption and malice, was unbearable to look at. Each night, his instincts urged him to judge and punish them, while his reason forced him to hold back.
This constant battle between instinct and reason took a toll on Johnny.
Finally, unable to endure the torment any longer, Johnny approached Magneto with a straightforward request: to leave the Brotherhood. He explained his reasoning with uncharacteristic honesty.
To his surprise, Magneto, known for his domineering nature, agreed without hesitation. Perhaps he was simply tired of having to clean up Johnny's nightly chaos, or maybe he recognized that the Ghost Rider didn't belong among the Brotherhood's ranks. Either way, Magneto's willingness to let him go was a relief.
And so, Johnny Blaze walked away, carrying the weight of his fiery curse but relieved to leave behind the Brotherhood—and the constant struggle that came with it.
Free at last, Johnny Blaze rode his cherished motorcycle all the way to Texas, hoping to rediscover his true self—and perhaps reconnect with the woman he once loved.
Life in Texas suited him. Living with his girlfriend brought a rare sense of peace, a reprieve from the chaos of his curse. For a while, everything felt calm and uncomplicated.
But peace is fragile.
One fateful night, everything changed when someone—or rather, something—came knocking on Johnny's door.
In a modest apartment tucked away in a quiet neighborhood of Texas City, Johnny lounged on a battered sofa. The room was cluttered, a reflection of his inner turmoil. A half-empty bottle of beer rested in his hand as he stared at the TV, its muted program doing little to distract him. He was alone tonight—his girlfriend, a reporter, was working out of town for the next few days.
The night seemed uneventful, save for the constant battle within him to suppress the fiery transformation clawing at his soul. But then, a strange and eerily familiar sensation crept into his heart.
It wasn't fear, nor anger—though it bore traces of both.
Johnny set the beer aside and sat up straight, his senses sharpening. Something was coming. Something he couldn't ignore.
…
This inexplicable feeling gave Johnny an overwhelming urge to transform.
Driven by this powerful impulse, Johnny opened the door and stepped outside. The streetlights lining both sides of the road were flickering erratically, casting an eerie glow on the otherwise desolate street. The darkness of the night seemed to swallow everything, and the silence was deafening, making the atmosphere unnervingly strange.
Johnny, clad only in slippers, stood quietly, gazing across the street. As the flickering lights alternated between dim and bright, a figure emerged. Dressed in a slightly purple suit, the man's pale, handsome face stood out starkly against the night.
The moment Johnny saw him, a single word instinctively formed in his mind: demon!
The urge to transform surged within Johnny, growing stronger by the second. Hatred and anger bubbled to the surface, threatening to overwhelm his sanity. But through sheer willpower, Johnny managed to maintain a fragile grip on his composure.
"You're much stronger than I expected," the figure said, breaking the silence. His voice was smooth but carried a dark undertone. "As the Ghost Rider created by my father, seeing you always stirs up mixed feelings."
"Your father..." Johnny narrowed his eyes, scrutinizing the man before him.
"Yes, my father," the man replied with a faint smile. "Compared to previous Ghost Riders, you're a bit weaker. But they've all fought countless battles and vanquished enemies in my father's name. It's understandable."
"So, who are you?" Johnny demanded, his voice tinged with suspicion.
"You can call me Blackheart," the man said, his smile widening.
"And your father?"
"Mephisto," Blackheart answered without hesitation, his tone almost casual. "The demon king who rules Hell. I believe you've met him before."
Johnny didn't deny it. Instead, he remained silent, wondering why Blackheart, the son of Mephisto, had suddenly sought him out.
Sensing Johnny's unspoken question, Blackheart took a step forward, crossing the street to stand before him. His expression shifted into one of amusement as he said, "You seem puzzled about why you became the Ghost Rider."
"I do find my identity quite strange," Johnny admitted.
Blackheart smirked. "I think you already know the answer. You once signed a contract with him."
Johnny's eyes flashed as memories stirred within him. He thought of the mysterious old priest he had encountered as a child, during the darkest moment of his life—when his father was on the brink of death. The memory resurfaced, vivid and haunting.
"It seems you've remembered," Blackheart said, his voice dropping to a whisper. "It was a conspiracy from the start, Knight. Making a deal with the Devil is madness. He imbued you with the Spirit of Vengeance, turning you into his Ghost Rider. After death, your soul belongs to Hell."
"You're nothing more than a slave—a puppet."
Johnny's eyes narrowed as he responded, his voice steady despite the storm within. "I don't think you're here out of kindness, crossing over from Hell just to answer my questions."
Blackheart chuckled, his expression calm and calculated. "You're right. I came here for a reason. I want to win you over. I'm preparing for the day I overthrow him."
"You expect me to join you in rebelling against the ruler of Hell?" Johnny shot back, his tone incredulous. His unspoken question lingered in the air: Why would I ever follow you?
Blackheart, undeterred, provided his answer—a revelation that left Johnny stunned.
"Because whether you admit it or not, you will resist him one day."
Johnny's gaze hardened. "Why would I?"
"Johnny," Blackheart said, his tone taunting, "are you truly content with your life as it is?"
Johnny frowned but remained silent. Blackheart continued, unfazed by the lack of a reply. "What if I told you that your peaceful existence will soon be shattered?"
Johnny's expression shifted, a flicker of unease crossing his face.
Blackheart smiled knowingly. "You can't escape your fate, Knight. The moment you signed that contract, you were marked by Hell. As a Ghost Rider, how many demons out there would relish the chance to destroy you? You're a symbol of vengeance—and of their despair."
He took a step closer, his voice lowering into a dark, persuasive tone. "The only reason I can even find you is because of him. He enjoys watching you suffer, watching you drown in anger and despair. That's how he shapes you into the perfect Ghost Rider—a spirit that hates demons with every fiber of its being."
As his words faded, so did Blackheart's form. His figure dissolved into the shadows, leaving the flickering streetlights to return to their normal glow.
Johnny stood silently at the door of his apartment, his mind racing. The encounter had left a storm brewing in his heart.
Elsewhere, within the mirror dimension...
Under a clear sky, the calm sea was suddenly disrupted. Towering waves, hundreds of meters high, surged with terrifying force, sweeping across the horizon. These colossal natural disasters dwarfed humanity, rendering people as insignificant as ants, vulnerable to annihilation.
And yet, amidst the chaos, there were those who stood apart.
Bang!
A thunderous explosion echoed through the air, and within seconds, a massive blue slash, hundreds of meters long, tore through the sky. It sliced apart the turbulent sea, heading straight for the one controlling its chaotic waves.
Floating gracefully in the air, Wanda stood tall, her red coat and flowing cloak billowing behind her. Her slender hands stretched forward elegantly as she faced the incoming attack, a slash powerful enough to cleave an island in two.
In an instant, time seemed to freeze. The devastating slash shattered upon reaching Wanda, disintegrating into countless azure light particles that scattered into the air before descending into the sea, creating towering water pillars in its wake.
As the remnants of the attack dissipated, a figure materialized behind Wanda like a phantom, moving so swiftly that even she had no time to react.
The figure wielded a gleaming cross-shaped sword, its blade honed to an unnatural sharpness, and swung it mercilessly at Wanda's neck. The sheer force of the blade caused the air to howl, a testament to its destructive power.
But just as the edge of the sword came within half a meter of Wanda's skin, it stopped abruptly. An invisible force held it at bay, red tendrils of energy coiling tightly around the weapon, neutralizing its momentum.
Wanda, unfazed, raised her right hand and snapped her fingers.
Boom!
A deafening burst of energy erupted outward, a violent shockwave tearing through the air with her at its center. The force was overwhelming, and the figure behind her let out an anguished scream as they were sent hurtling away. With a thunderous crack, they vanished into the distance, their presence erased by the explosion.
A faint smile tugged at the corners of Wanda's lips. Without hesitation, she traced intricate patterns in the air with her hands, weaving a complex and arcane design.
In the blink of an eye, the mirror dimension warped into chaos. The world turned upside down, its space folding and twisting in defiance of logic and physics. The sea folded into impossible angles, creating jagged planes that stretched far beyond comprehension. The sky descended beneath their feet, while the ocean floated above their heads.
In this disorienting, inverted reality, those trapped within found themselves falling endlessly, as though the very concept of a stable ground had been erased.
…
It wasn't just his body that had been disrupted but also his mind and consciousness.
As if realizing he would definitely lose if he continued in this state, a surge of terrifying, domineering power erupted from him, instantly altering the world around him. The once-vivid colors drained away, leaving behind a gray, desolate landscape filled with the ominous roar of blood and the crackle of black thunder raging across the sky.
But alas, no matter how fierce the effort, it was ultimately futile.
His consciousness descended into complete darkness.
He didn't know how much time had passed, but when Pietro finally woke, he bolted upright from the ground, his eyes darting around warily. To his surprise, he found himself on a sunny beach. The blue sky stretched endlessly overhead, and not far away, he could hear laughter and cheerful voices. The tantalizing aroma of barbecue wafted through the air.
Before Pietro could fully grasp the situation, a dinner plate filled with barbecued meat appeared in front of him. Turning his head, he noticed a massive figure looming over him, blocking out the sun.
Looking up, he saw Hulk grinning down at him with a simple, honest smile.
"Hey, big guy, is this for me?" Pietro asked, blinking in disbelief.
"Hulk," came the friendly growl.
"Thanks." Grateful for the gesture, Pietro accepted the plate. Standing up, he grabbed a couple of skewers and handed them back to Hulk as a gesture of goodwill. With his own skewer in hand, he began eating while walking toward the lively group nearby.
Ahead, he spotted familiar faces—Leon, Natasha, Wanda, and the others were all gathered around, enjoying a feast. They laughed and chatted, the table laden with roasted meats, fried steak, steamed crabs, and other delicious foods. The boys lounged in shorts, their torsos bare under the sun, while the girls wore light shirts and shorts, looking equally relaxed.
When Pietro and Hulk approached, Sergei noticed them first and let out a loud, teasing laugh.
"Look who it is! Isn't that our very own Mr. Maximoff? Why do you look so beat up all of a sudden?"
As if recalling something, Sergei smirked and added mockingly, "Oh, wait! I remember now. You got thrashed by your own sister, didn't you? And you couldn't even fight back!"
The entire group erupted into laughter.
Pietro grimaced at the teasing but managed to retort with mock indignation, "Why are you all picking on me? Trust me, if it were you or Wanda in my place, you'd have it far worse!"
His defiance only made everyone laugh harder, leaving Pietro shaking his head in reluctant defeat as he joined the group.
"That's right! That's why I had the good sense not to challenge Wanda and instead watched you get beat up," Sergei declared confidently.
His decisive answer left Pietro choking on his words, unable to reply, which only triggered more laughter from the group. Helpless, Pietro found an empty seat and slumped into it, sulking as he tried to contain his frustration.
Reflecting on the day, Pietro couldn't believe how his impulsiveness—egged on by guys like Sergei—had led him to challenge Wanda.
Originally, aside from Leon, Pietro and Wanda were ranked first and second in stable combat power within the group. The difference in their strength had always been minimal, and at one point, Pietro was arguably the stronger of the two. His super-speed gave him a significant edge in combat, especially before Wanda had mastered chaos magic.
But then, everything changed. Wanda joined the Kamar-Taj mage organization and began learning various forms of white magic. From that point on, her power surged at an incomprehensible rate.
At first, Pietro didn't pay much attention, convinced that their strength gap couldn't possibly grow that wide. But as time went on, it became impossible to ignore. Even so, when his friends manipulated him into challenging Wanda, a small part of him was genuinely curious to see how far her strength had progressed.
The answer was humiliatingly clear: Wanda annihilated him.
There was no contest—he had been utterly powerless.
"This is unbelievable. It's completely against common sense," Pietro muttered dejectedly as he snapped the legs off a hairy crab, eating while stewing in his defeat.
Across the table, Wanda ignored her sulking brother entirely, chatting with Natasha and playing with the three younger kids. Meanwhile, Hulk sat off to the side, happily devouring food while watching everyone with his usual endearing cluelessness.
As Pietro continued to grumble, Leon decided to provide some insight. Swallowing a bite of steak, he spoke with a knowing smile.
"Wanda is on track to become the next Sorcerer Supreme," Leon explained. "She wields chaos magic, one of the most powerful forms of energy. Magic nourishes her abilities in ways that are fundamentally different from ours."
He paused to let that sink in before adding, "Your super-speed is impressive, Pietro, and it'll continue to develop as you grow stronger. But magic—especially Wanda's magic—isn't bound by the same rules. It's spiritual and limitless."
Leon leaned forward slightly, emphasizing his next point. "If she wanted, Wanda could erase your existence. Completely. Not just from the present but from the timeline itself. You'd vanish from the history of the world."
He sighed lightly and admitted, "If this continues, even I might not be able to stand against Wanda one day."
"Damn, that's just ridiculous," Pietro complained, his voice tinged with reluctant awe. Hearing Leon describe Wanda's abilities in such detail left him shaken. He'd known she was strong, but this level of power was beyond anything he could comprehend.
His complaints didn't go unnoticed. Wanda shot him a sharp look, her displeasure evident. Pietro, catching her glare, immediately straightened up, pretending to obediently focus on his food. He wasn't about to provoke her any further.
Leon chuckled at the scene but continued seriously, "Wanda's future battles won't be easy. She'll face dimensional demons capable of breaking through realities and destroying entire worlds. If you don't step up, Pietro, you'll be left far behind."
Wanda, pleased with Leon's praise, cut a piece of barbecue and placed it on his plate. Leon responded by affectionately patting her head, enjoying the food with a smile as Wanda beamed beside him.
"This is a path I never could have imagined," Yelena said, cutting her food with a knife and fork. She stuck out her tongue as she continued, "I used to think it would be enough just to break free from Dreykov's control. But now, I find myself abhorring the situation while also being stuck in a form like the Hulk. And then, as if that wasn't enough, some demon god capable of destroying the world shows up. It's truly a terrifying world."
"But you have to admit, it's also exciting, isn't it?" Melina, sitting next to Yelena, replied with a slight smile as she elegantly ate the barbecue on her plate.
Yelena's words struck a chord with Melina. As an ordinary person, she had once been consumed by fear of Dreykov's rule, constantly longing to escape but lacking the strength or courage to act. For the longest time, Dreykov had seemed like the most terrifying existence in her world.
That changed the day Natasha, Yelena, and Alexei arrived at her house. Natasha had opened her eyes to things she never thought possible.
She had seen a world beyond her imagination: Leon, who carried himself like a god; Wanda and others, whose powers rivaled that of Superman. And when Dreykov—once her greatest fear—was wiped out as effortlessly as crushing an ant, Melina realized how small her perspective had been.
…
Yelena did not object.
She was grateful for her encounter with Natasha—not only because it freed her from Dreykov's grasp but because it opened the door to a new world.
Even if that world wasn't as beautiful as she'd imagined, and even if it was dangerous at times, it made life more thrilling. More legendary.
She knew that her future with Natasha wouldn't be confined to Earth. Together, they would explore the vast expanse of the universe.
Natasha glanced at Yelena, a subtle smile playing on her red lips, before turning to Leon. "We've secretly funded 137 orphanages across the globe. The funds cover education, meals, and general support. We've also been monitoring the children's conduct."
She continued, "From the initial phase, about 500 children have been selected for observation. Over the next year, we'll invest heavily in their education, learning resources, and nutrition. Among them, we're identifying those with exceptional talent. The World Admissions Association will recruit and develop these individuals, and we'll allocate significant resources to their growth—especially for those destined to become scientists."
Natasha didn't linger on the topic of funding; she mentioned it casually, as though it were an afterthought. With the help of advanced artificial intelligence, gray and shadowy industries had been forced to divert funds seamlessly, making this initiative relatively simple.
Leon nodded thoughtfully. His talent cultivation plan was already taking shape.
The approach was straightforward: by secretly investing in orphanages worldwide, they could identify children who met the criteria for character, ability, and potential. Once selected, the children would be transferred to specialized educational facilities.
There, with the help of the Sky Blade's computer, they would undergo enhancements to improve their breathing techniques, consume nutrient solutions to build physical strength, and receive ideological training to prepare them for a larger purpose.
That purpose was theocracy. Supreme loyalty to the divine.
Leon envisioned himself as the ultimate god, embedding the consciousness of divine power into these children to secure their unwavering allegiance. During their critical growth period—starting at the age of thirteen—they would enter the second stage: the infusion of the Sky Blade and the Super Soldier Gene Serum.
Unlike the serum injected into others, such as Wanda, this variation emphasized unlocking potential rather than dramatically increasing physical strength or fitness. This careful adjustment minimized the risk of mental instability or rebellion, ensuring the children remained loyal and balanced as they grew into the super-soldiers they were destined to become.
Through rigorous, high-intensity training, the children would enhance their physical strength and fortify their willpower. In addition, their super genes were engineered with built-in loyalty to the Leon family, eliminating the possibility of betrayal at the genetic level. It was a two-pronged approach.
Of course, this didn't erase their free will—it was merely an added layer of insurance. Leon had no desire for the warriors he trained to turn on him one day. While any betrayal wouldn't pose much of a threat, the mere idea was distasteful.
However, the Sky Blade genetic engineering ensured such betrayals wouldn't occur.
This was precisely why Leon sought to create his own "kingdom of God." He wanted to be certain that the warriors he nurtured would remain steadfastly loyal.
Everyone involved in the plan understood this, except for Hulk, who remained blissfully unaware. Natasha, Yelena, and Melina were all directly participating in the initiative.
"Our base is located on our Pacific island," Melina reported. "Construction is expected to be completed within a year. Additionally, some of the Black Widows have agreed to join us." She glanced at Leon after finishing her update.
Leon nodded silently before asking, "What are your thoughts on the matter?"
"These children are essentially the consequences of Dreykov's actions," Melina began. "Their parents either refuse to accept them or were killed by Dreykov's schemes. Most of them are alone, with no families to return to."
She sighed before continuing, "After years of intense training, they're incapable of reintegrating into normal society. They're trapped, unsure of their futures. But they're good children. With the right guidance, they can become exceptional assets."
"If left unchecked, they could become dangerous, unpredictable beasts. But if they're handled properly, they could be invaluable allies," Melina concluded, her tone heavy with pity.
Natasha and Yelena remained silent, but Wanda, clearly moved, spoke up while cutting into her steak. "I think they're doing well. The world hasn't been fair to them. In a way, we're not so different."
"And they've already gone through years of training," she added. "That saves us time. All we need to do is ensure their loyalty."
Wanda wasn't lacking in methods to guarantee that. If necessary, she could subtly influence the Black Widows to maintain their allegiance without compromising their free will.
Leon understood her point. Glancing around the table, he noted that both Wanda and Sergei were in agreement.
"Very well," Leon said. "Let each of them give a blood sample, and I'll prepare the corresponding genetic serum for them. Over the next year, they can begin learning breathing techniques and the principles of the three-color Haki."
"After that," he continued, "they'll be ready to serve as instructors for the first wave of children. They'll teach and train the next generation themselves."
He turned to Wanda. "Additionally, you should evaluate the children's potential for magic. This will give you a foundation to train a new generation of young mages when you eventually become the Sorcerer Supreme."
Wanda grinned and waved her fork in the air. "No problem~~"
"In addition," Leon continued, "once you, Sergei, and the other three-color Haki masters reach a high level, we can move on to the next phase of training."
"Next phase?"
Sergei and the others froze, surprised that there was still more to do.
Leon's expression turned sharp as he replied, "You've had plenty of time to rest. Don't tell me you're okay with others surpassing you in the future?"
He leaned forward slightly, his tone tinged with challenge. "It's time for you to experience a whole new world."
Sergei exchanged a glance with Pietro, who raised an eyebrow, a flicker of excitement in his expression. "Alright... So, what's this new world about?"
Leon's lips curled into a sly smile. "Hell."
"Hell?"
The room went quiet, all eyes fixed on Leon. Even Hulk, who had been happily entertaining himself on the side, stopped mid-motion.
The giant looked left, then right, his confusion evident. Finally, his gaze landed on Leon, his wide, copper-bell eyes narrowing slightly as he tried to process the word. His expression turned fierce, though it seemed more puzzled than threatening.
…
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