Hidden underneath his Invisibility Cloak, Harry stared at the Winter Soldier with pursed lips. Watching him like this, so helpless and desperate, was clashing with the image of Winter Soldier he'd crafted in his mind for so long.
A part of him still wanted to eliminate his last challenge, bury his last connection to Hydra once and for all, and kill the being who dared harm Natasha. It would've been a fitting end to his Hydra chapter, marking a new beginning in his life.
And yet, another part of him couldn't help but imagine himself at the man's position. Had he failed to successfully avoid capture, Harry would've been in the exact same spot that Winter Soldier currently was.
With no memories and no will of his own. Perhaps someday he may have killed the Potters without ever recognizing them. Midget and Lily, Dorea and James…all dead at the hands of an emotionless machine.
A ring from his system alerted him to a new message; both the quests that he'd received for this mission seemed to have changed. Now, there was a timer under the 'Free' and 'Save' Winter Soldier objectives.
Should he be unable to save the Winter Soldier in the next two minutes, both the objective would fail automatically.
Struggling with indecision, Harry frowned, letting his eyes drift across the room. The only thing of note apart from the Winter Soldier were the two robed figures clutching wands in their grasp.
'Observe.'
Henry Shaw
Age: 48
Level: 46
Reputation: Neutral
Affection: 53
.
Mathew Martinez
Age: 51
Level: 45
Reputation: Friendly
Affection: 65
He absently wondered why his reputation with the second one was set upon friendly—perhaps he knew Harry Potter?—but most of his focus was taken by their level.
'They must not be very impressive, if their levels match the Hogwarts' students.'
Or perhaps Hogwarts was simply that much more impressive.
Harry shook his head, emptying his mind.
Overthinking was the enemy of action, and Gamer's Mind would never allow such a lapse in judgment. Thus, dismissing his inner war—along with all the distractions—Harry leapt to the decision he felt would prove the most rewarding. And one he would've performed regardless of his final choice.
Slaughtering the Hydra agents.
-----------------------------------
Stuck inside the ceiling of an airship larger than three football fields mashed together, Natasha Romanoff had plenty of time to ponder upon ways to tackle her current problem.
Which is to say, she had a grand total of two minutes.
The problem itself was actually quite simple: knock out her target as quickly as possible. She'd done it many times before—enough to call herself a specialist—with opponents of varied sizes and skills, may they be male or female.
Unfortunately, there was something different about this opponent. This one was encased inside a body of metal and could break her in half with a twist of those gigantic arms.
And reckless Natasha may be—only sometimes!—suicidal she wasn't.
Still, she had a plan.
A flimsy, fairly straightforward plan, but a plan nonetheless.
Crouching through the tunneling rafters of the Red Room airship, Natasha kept pace with her target, until she finally spotted an opening; a steel mesh grate, placed perfectly for her task.
She crawled faster, giving a quick thanks to whatever god made Taskmaster such a slow walker, and with a light tug, popped the grate right off of the ceiling.
The drop point gave her an incredibly convenient spot to ambush her target. The only problem now was that her plan hinged entirely upon Taskmaster's shoulders; one, on her inability to react quickly, and two, on the assumption that she wasn't in control of herself.
Failure of either requirements would see the plan unravel faster than she could say 'shit!'.
Before a new shower of doubts could sway her away from this fairly suicidal path, Natasha launched herself down.
The fall seemed to stretch into an eternity, the metallic shoulders of Taskmaster looking awfully larger than before. But for all her doubts, the first part of her plan went almost seamlessly as she cracked down upon her opponent with a kick straight to the package of Red Dust.
The suitcase bounced out of a startled Taskmaster's grasp, while her second leg smashed into her metallic face.
The helmet didn't come off.
Natasha landed on the floor, crouching. 'The hard way, it is.'
The looming figure of Taskmaster stared down at her in all its robotic glory. She felt a moment of satisfaction when the metallic head did a double take, no doubt reevaluating some of her earlier beliefs.
Natasha cracked her neck in preparation…and started running straight for the package of Red Dust. Now started the second part of her plan.
A glance back showed the Taskmaster cocking her hand back, a shield curled up in her arm; in mere seconds, the metal-clad warrior had already shaken off her surprise, responding with the swiftness of a snake.
Then she swung her arm in an arc, and the shield came hurtling towards her like a cannonball.
Heart beating like a drum, Natasha instantly threw herself to her knees, arching her back to let the shield slide over her, the wind of its passage kissing her face. A second late and the shield would've detached her head from her shoulders.
Natasha stood up and began running again.
Unfortunately, the attack didn't stop there.
Taskmaster broke out in a chase—wielding a unique sword with its edges gleaming orange—her metallic feet thumping down on the ship's hallway like a giant's step. Worse, the shield came back for round two, rebounding off of the wall, somehow losing none of its earlier momentum.
This time, Natasha rolled forward, her back siding past below the flying projectile, dodging with pinpoint precision. Once again, she resumed her run the next moment.
Unfortunately, that moment of pause proved too much this time, and her opponent capitalized instantly.
Taskmaster leapt to the air, one hand snatching the shield from its flight path, while letting her entire body pivot in midair.
When she came back down, she was right over Natasha's head.
Natasha threw herself to the side, landing in a crouch, and her opponent's knee slammed down upon the ship's floor with enough force to crush a human skull. She received not a moment of reprieve either, the orange-edged sword swinging out to slice at her throat with almost inhuman skill and speed.
Natasha took a quick step back, evading the lethal bite of the blade, before predicting the incoming shield bash and folding herself all the way to the ground on three limbs—almost planking. The shield passed over her head, and she took the opportunity to swing her leg in an arc, hooking the unbalanced Taskmaster's foot, before pulling back with all her might.
All she managed to do was make the metallic warrior stumbled.
She cursed, before being forced to roll left as the orange sword pierced the floor where her head had been. She pushed herself to her feet and quickly scrambled back, avoiding a low kick, then completed a back walker—dodging the following sword swing and creating some distance between them.
Natasha gritted her teeth. It felt like she was fighting Ares himself. The difference was, this one wouldn't be satisfied if her back hit the mat. This one would rather see her back broken in two.
The longer she spent fighting Taskmaster, the larger her chances of death would be. She wasn't so proud that she couldn't acknowledge being outmatched. She may match or even surpass her opponent in skill, but the advantages of that bulletproof Armor were too high, while her strength and speed surpassed even the Winter Soldier; it felt like the last time she'd fought Harry. Skill can only do so much.
Her hand instinctively moved for her gun as she faced off the Taskmaster once again—but she resisted the urge at the last moment. Without making full use of all her equipment, she was fighting an already tough fight with one hand held behind her back. But even so, she simply couldn't bring herself to kill her opponent without revealing the face behind the mask.
Normally, there wouldn't be much she could do, even with a gun. The armor around Taskmaster had been able to tank a spell from Harry—a spell with an incredible amount of firepower. Maybe if she had a couple dozen rocket launchers available, she could chip away at Taskmaster's armor. With a gun? Not a chance.
Or, at least, that would've been the case normally. Now, there were cracks all over her armor, but the most prominent ones were the inch wide hole on her helmet—showing pale burnt skin of her face—and an even wider space at her neck.
Could she have struck either of the targets with a gun? Definitely. Sadly, both targets would instantly prove lethal if struck. There were cracks and chips on her legs, but none that would allow a bullet to pass through.
She did have other tools available of course, and she might've considered using them, if the next moment hadn't provided her with such a perfect opportunity.
The Taskmaster came for her with reckless abandon, wielding her sword and shield in both hands, looking ready to finally end it all.
Natasha broke into a matching run, meeting her opponent in the middle...and simply slid past below her. Her target had never been the Taskmaster, but the small package now resting behind her.
She tilted her head, missing the blunt side of the shield, before lunging straight for the case of Red Dust, opening it with a click.
Her heart raced when she felt Taskmaster's presence looming behind her, much quicker than she'd predicted. She thanked her lucky stars when instead of a sword skewering her, a giant metal hand came to clutch her by the neck instead, removing any type of escape.
She held up the red tube in her hand…and let it burst. There was nothing her opponent could do to avoid the rapidly spreading dust.
For a brief moment, Natasha feared she was wrong; that all her planning was for nothing, that the dust would simply blow over her opponent, doing nothing, and she would meet her end right here, never knowing where her special bond with Harry could've gone had she lived…
Her fears were proved false. The moment Taskmaster came in contact with the red dust, her entire body froze in place, letting Natasha slip away.
Strength almost left her completely, relief pulping through every corner of her being as the Taskmaster went down on one knee, gasping for breath.
For a moment, Natasha simply closed her eyes, breathing in her victory. Her path hasn't ended yet.
Then a cough, bloody and wet, came from beside her. She turned around instantly, closing the gap to her former opponent. With a press to the small button on the side of her neck, Natasha ejected her helmet, pulling it off.
Young—not even an adult—with the left half melted and burnt, the face that stared at her was almost unrecognizable. Almost.
"You freed me." Antonia Dreykov whispered, blood trickling down her lips, her eyes blurry and tired. "You..."
She broke down into coughs again, spitting out a bloody phlegm.
Natasha pushed away her disbelief, placing a worried hand over her metallic shoulder. The girl's entire body was shivering.
"He'll come after us..." She whispered. "You do not understand what you've done...he'll come for us both..."
"Dreykov?" Natasha asked faintly. Not because she was afraid, but because her mind still found it hard to believe the truth sitting in front of her.
Antonia Dreykov was alive. The nightmare that had haunted her every dream in the past years was a lie. The biggest red in her ledger was false.
Kneeling in front of her, Antonia nodded, eyes growing wild. "He sees and hears everything I do. Y-you need to leave—"
"He said your chip was damaged in the fight." Natasha said carefully, forcing calm over her mind. Now wasn't the time to freak out; she had to stay focused if she wanted to make her way out of this ship alive. "It's alright. He doesn't know you're free."
Antonia closed her eyes, taking deep breaths. "...So it did. I'm sorry, my mind is...jumbled. I've been under his control for so long. It was like being a passenger inside your own body."
"It's over now." Natasha reassured her. "I promise you."
"No." Antonia shook her head. "You can never be safe from him. He will...he will send the Widows after me. After both of us. He's too powerful."
A sob escaped the girl, desperate and despairing.
"Antonia, you're safe, I promise you." Natasha tried putting as much confidence in her voice as possible. "I have an ally, one call away, who can rip this ship apart with a stick. Dreykov is nothing. Believe me, you have nothing to fear."
"Ally..." She whispered. If anything, her eyes grew even more fearful. "Is it the boy? The one who toyed with us? I remember him...he'll kill us faster than Dreykov."
Natasha resisted the urge to palm her face. Harry really needed to learn not to give his opponents P.T.S.D.
"He won't kill us, don't worry. There's a reason he's an Ally. In fact, he's currently dealing with Hydra as we speak. We have nothing to worry about."
It took another few minutes before she finally succeeded in convincing the Taskmaster that no, Harry wouldn't murder her on sight, and no, she wasn't lying.
The good thing was that her fear of Harry easily pushed away the trauma she'd suffered under Dreykov, making her willing to plot his end. For the moment.
"How exactly will we deal with…with him?" The question was finally asked.
Natasha smiled. "I have a plan, but I'll need your help."
Antonia nodded resolutely.
"Gather all the Widows in one room...it's time we put an end to the Red Room for good."
-----------------------------------
Within the cold, decrepit walls of the Hydra Castle, Harry waged unseen death upon his former captors. Cloaked from reality, only a gleam of steel announced his presence, the lone chink within his Armor of invisibility.
Yet, it mattered not.
He danced between his enemies like lightning, knife flashing with speed beyond what his opponents were capable of perceiving—carving bloody smiles upon their throats—felling any who came close with terrible efficiency. Before the first yell of alarm surged from the mouths of his future victims, he'd already reaped four lives with quick bursts of Body Flicker.
In the aftermath, there remained only seven within the domed chamber.
"Wizard!" One of the robed figures finally hollered, alerting the rest. "Under an Invisibility Cloak!"
For the final act underneath his moment of invincibility, Harry pointed his wand behind Winter's chair.
"Protect the Secretary!"
"Wizard, teleport him away from here!"
"Someone alert the Castle!"
Amidst the chaotic screams of fear and alarm, he took aim and whispered quietly, "Imperio."
Harry didn't quite know how well his Cloak of Invisibility would allow him to cast, but now seemed as good a time to test as any. There were no threats to him here.
Normally, he still wouldn't consider such an action in the midst of combat, but the fact that his Cloak had little to no physical presence gave him an instinctive feeling that his idea would work.
He was proven right.
The targeted agent straightened up, his mind now a thrall to Harry's will. A strange device was clasped within his grasp—having about to place it on Winter's head, before the massacre started.
'Place the device on the man beside you.' Harry commanded.
For a moment, a tense silence encaptured the room, shifty eye scanning for the unseen threat, the phantom who'd laid waste to their ranks in a matter of seconds and disappeared away just as quickly.
Pierce himself sat crouched at the very back, surrounded by his soldiers, all bravado having left his cowering figure as he gestured to the wizards urgently, "You, get me out of here—"
Then his thrall moved, gaining the attention of all present.
"Agent sixteen?" Winter's handler sounded rightly alarmed as the agent stumbled towards him. "What on earth—!"
"He's Confunded!" One of their resident wizards wrongly concluded. It mattered not either way, for the warning came too late to do anything as Agent sixteen forced the helmet on the head of his superior.
The man went down with a pained howl, electricity licking at his head. The Imperiused agent was shot down the next second.
Confusion and panic ran rampant as the Hydra goons now scrambled around with terror in their eyes—drowning the room in chaos—spraying bullets in random directions, most outright ignoring Pierce's commands.
"Accio Invisibility Cloak!" The smarter of the two wizards yelled over the mayhem.
Before the spell could even complete, Harry had already dismissed his Cloak back to the inventory, stepping into reality as the Herald of Death. With a killing curse on his lips, a gun replacing his knife, Harry commenced his attack in full force.
His wand flashed green, his gun burst in fiery shots, and every second brought down another enemy. With Hawkeye perk supporting his aim—and his own physical superiority excelling in this enclosed space—there was no avoiding the destined Death.
For Hydra, he was a calamity given form, a being beyond human.
They tasted his cold fury, and despaired.
Even the wizards were no better. Logically, they should've been his priority targets, showing a competence greater than average humans. And yet, the killing curse took one of them by surprise; it was the last surprise he would ever receive.
The other wizard proved to be slightly more competent, managing to cast a silent Protego and shielding against his gun shots.
It occurred to Harry then, how truly useless even the adult Wizards were in combat. Not every wizard learnt to duel, and nor was every wizard who did duel actually good at it. These ones were the obvious examples; being valued for their potion-making instead. Even if a competent Dueler stood against Harry, unless they'd mastered silent casting and learned to use minimal wand movements, there was little they could do once the gap was closed.
Their only hope would be to keep their enemies at bay or Apparate away. Sadly for this wizard, he was good at neither.
Harry closed the gap between them with three quick Body Flickers, the Hydra soldiers—having finally caught their wit—simply aiming at the mirages he left behind.
Panicked, the wizard waved his wand, yelling "Confringo!", and a spell shot out in beautiful sparks of fiery orange.
But it wasn't aimed at him.
Harry simply tilted his head, letting the spell whizz past him, towards his recent Mirage. By the time the sound of explosion and crumbling walls reached him, he was already in front of the wizard.
With a swipe of his hand, Harry snatched his wand away—like taking candy from a baby—rendering him completely defenseless.
The action was so fast that the wizard remained within the grip of panic and confusion—his lips forming the word 'Protego' uselessly—when Harry's gun blew his brains out.
With both the wizards down, there was only one being capable of stopping his rampage for even a moment. And that one being was currently strapped to a chair, his unblinking eyes fixed on Harry—making no moves to achieve his freedom.
Harry turned to the two remaining Hydra guards.
They glanced at each other, glanced at the cowering Pierce, then threw their guns at the floor. "We surrender!"
Harry smiled, dropping the Gamer's Mind to enjoy the taste of an easy victory.
-----------------------------------
Natasha had a bad feeling about this.
When she'd first asked Antonia to gather all the Widows in one room, she hadn't expected the girl to simply press a button on her helmet and command the Black Widows into compliance. Apparently, as Dreykov's most trusted Assassin and the leader of Black Widows, she had authority over them second only to Dreykov himself.
From there—with the help of Red Dust—freeing the remaining assassins was as easy as pie. Natasha didn't scrimp on the use of Red Dust, deciding to be on the safe side and utilizing all five sticks for the process, trusting Harry to secure the remaining package. There were only thirteen Widows in total present on the ship, with twelve having already been subdued by Harry and the rest spread out across the world, busy with their own missions.
Now, as they marched together for Dreykov's blood, vengeance sharp on everyone's minds, Natasha couldn't help but think something horrible was about to happen.
The plan had gone far more smoothly than she'd ever let herself believe, so much so that she couldn't help but be paranoid.
There had to be some twist here, some shocking development that would leave her on the backfoot again. Perhaps Dreykov had planned all of this from the start. Perhaps the man had so many countermeasures in place that she was simply heading to her doom, whilst dragging these ladies along with her. Perhaps he would simply snap his fingers, enthralling all the Widows instantly.
Maybe even she would fall under his control, leaving Harry to deal with her mess.
With a thousand doubts twisting her mind, Natasha followed Antonia as she led the way to Dreykov's office, traversing through the corridors of the Red Room airship.
Soon they finally arrived outside the heavily secured door, Antonia typing in the code, and her fingerprint, with almost visible trepidation.
The door opened.
And there—like the filth he was—sat Dreykov, butt naked except for a simple black coat, unbuttoned all the way down to show his hairy chest.
"What took you so long?" Dreykov drawled, before his eyes fell on Antonia. "Did I not tell you to cover your face!?"
Antonia flinched. Natasha stepped forth, placing a comforting hand over her shoulder, before gently pushing her aside.
Her eyes met Dreykov's. Confusion and sheer bewilderment flashed in her former slaver's eyes.
"What...Romanoff…what is this? How, but—"
Natasha answered with three quick bullets through the head, putting an end to his confused blubbering. Blood trailed down his forehead, his eyes empty before the second bullet even hit.
Silence reigned for a long second, no one daring to break it.
For a moment she herself couldn't believe it, her eyes searching for a sudden threat to pop up. It was only when Antonia broke down crying in sheer relief did Natasha realize the truth: it was done. Dreykov was dead.
The Widows behind her were whispering, all showing only relief at the passing of a cretin who should never have been born.
"Dreykov is dead." Natasha whispered to herself. Then, turning to the remaining Widows, she raised her voice. "Dreykov is dead! All of you are free."
The hesitant joy upon the faces of ruthless killers was a sight to see.
"I know you've been through a lot. I know you would rather live the rest of your lives enjoying your freedom. But I promise you, if you come back with me, I can give you exactly what you need right now. A safe place, a purpose…even a family. A whole new identity to live the rest of your lives never hearing about the Red Room again. Never having to kill again, if that is what you want. Of course, if you find it not to your liking, you would still be able to strike out on your own. But for now, place your trust in me, I won't lead you astray."
And they did trust her, she could see it in their eyes. Not because of her offer, but because she was one of them.
"What about this ship?"
For a moment she wondered if she should act like a good agent and hand the property over to S.H.I.E.L.D.
The moment passed. This ship contained too much information, too much power, and too many bad memories.
She couldn't let it survive.
Natasha smiled. "I have a plan. If you all care to hear me?" Then, after a brief pause—as if selling them a great deal—she continued. "It involves explosives. Lots of explosives."
They heard her. And they approved.
-----------------------------------
The stench of blood was strong in the air. It wasn't as bad as it could have been, the coldness of winter doing its best to keep it suppressed. But none present would deny the truth; a massacre had just taken place in the room.
And amidst the dimly lit chamber of the Castle of Thorns stood its perpetrator, a dozen bodies surrounding him from all sides—some bleeding, and some simply lifeless.
It felt good, Harry had to admit. Mere two years ago, he had run away from a squad of Hydra soldiers, his shoulder bleeding from a bullet wound and his wand crushed beneath his knee. The next few months had passed hiding from the mere shadow of their presence; ever-moving, ever-cautious.
Now here he stood, in the middle of an entire Hydra base, fearless and victorious. The Castle was filled to the brim with Hydra soldiers, these dozen barely making a dent in their number. And yet, if needed, he could stand here, in this exact position, and rain down slaughter and death upon them once more.
He had surpassed them. Now, he will cut them away from his life like the rot they were.
With a smile fixed on his face, Harry advanced on his main targets, absently patting the two kneeling and shivering Hydra soldiers on the head as he passed—their weapons and clothes stripped from them.
"Alexander Pierce." The name rolled off easily from his tongue. Harry was almost jealous of it. "You have my permission to fall upon your knees and beg me for mercy."
"Agent Dursley." The old man glanced back at him with pursed lips, still fiddling with the Winter Soldier's straps. "Or Potter now, as I understand. Curious how that works. I would welcome you home, but I suspect you won't appreciate it anymore. It seems you've found…a new home for yourself."
No matter how much he tried to hide it, the fear in his eyes was easy to see. As were his shaky hands, trying their best to free the Winter Soldier from the metal contraptions holding him captive.
"You know, it is a shame you chose to betray us. Hydra could've made you great. Could've shown you power you can only ever imagine. Had you stayed with us, you would've shaped the next century of this very world we live in."
Harry rolled his eyes, folding his arms. "You should focus on your task, old man. Do not waste my time with your delusions."
He tapped his foot impatiently, letting the desperate man continue with his work. He himself was curious to see what the Soldier would do. The super soldier's fate was now tied to the decision he took.
Should he show the barest hints of hostility, Harry would tear him apart in half. The only courtesy the Winter Soldier would receive was the mercy of a quick death.
"But of course, I'm sure you'd like to catch up with your old trainer over here." Pierce replied. "So why don't I just..." The metallic straps finally came undone, automatically rising up from Winter's arms. "Ah, there you go."
Pierce straightened up, stepping behind the now freed Winter Soldier who towered over them both.
"I must thank you for your patience, Mr. Potter." Pierce gave a bow, smiling as he turned to Winter. "Now kindly die. Soldier, eliminate him."
Winter Soldier did not move. In fact, his eyes never even wavered from Harry.
The awkward silence stretched.
"I said," Pierce bit his words, giving the Soldier a shove on his back. "Eliminate him. Now."
For the first time since his freedom, the Winter Soldier moved, turning to face Pierce. His face was carved with granite, eyes glittering with icy determination.
When he spoke, Harry knew he'd made a decision.
"No."
It was a declaration, final and absolute.
Disbelief flashed in Pierce's eyes. "What." That disbelief quickly turned to terror, eyes widening as Winter advanced on him.
"No." He reiterated, his hand clamping down on his superior's shoulder. When he spoke again, it was in a whisper, eyes lost into the distance. "I remember that night now. I remember so much more."
"Stand down, Soldier, you're not in control of yourself." Pierce tried to sound commanding. The quivering in his voice betrayed him. "You do not know—"
Before he could bark further, Winter pulled him closer, before turning him around and pushing him to his knees.
Within a handful of seconds, the Soldier had his head and chin clutched between both his hands.
"Please." Pierce's voice was solemn in its pleading. "There is so much more I can offer yo—"
"This is for making me fight Steve." Winter whispered, unheeding of his superior's words.
Then, with a dramatic twist of his hands, he broke the man's neck.
Alexander Pierce's lifeless body fell to the ground.
Harry stared at the scene dispassionately. He personally would've liked to take the man hostage, but this way worked just as fine. He did have an objective from the System to eliminate him anyway.
Turning his attention to the Winter Soldier, he found the man already staring back at him. The name 'Steve' caught his attention for a brief second, and he mulled over a strange theory in his mind.
'...Could he be? But that's impossible." Harry observed the Winter Soldier for the first time in almost half a decade.
James B. Barnes (Winter Soldier)
Age: 90
Level: 58
Reputation: Friendly
Affection: 61
He felt his eyebrows shoot up. Steve Rogers and James Barnes were of the same age.
'James B. Barnes…could this be Bucky himself?'
The surprise was enough that he didn't even ponder upon the reason for his 'Friendly' status.
It was an even wilder theory than being the father of Steve's friend, of course. Especially considering how young the Soldier looked. But it did hold at least a kernel of logic.
'Why didn't I remember his age the last time?' Harry frowned. He could've relayed the info to Steve.
Then again, anyone over twenty had seemed like a fossil to his four-year-old self. He shouldn't expect his younger version to remember such details.
"Are you going to eliminate me?" Winter Soldier asked quietly, breaking the tense silence, sounding almost as lost as a baby fawn.
Harry frowned, dismissing the theory as he focused back on the Soldier.
Deciding upon the truth, he nodded. "I'm considering it."
Friend of Steve or no, quest objective or no, he was still the man who delivered Harry to Hydra, and almost killed the one person in this world who understood him to a degree.
He was deserving of death far more than Cedric Diggory or that Edgecombe girl.
He expected the Soldier to take this chance and attack—or at least to try to escape—but instead, he simply bowed his head.
"May I ask to make it quick?"
Harry clenched his jaw. Now he reminded him of Natasha, with this stupidly suicidal nature. He would've found his decision infinitely easier if the Winter Soldier had attacked.
'Why is the entire world so against me killing this man?'
Harry felt vaguely irritated.
Taking a deep breath, he considered the situation for only another minute before coming to a decision.
Winter Soldier had taken too much of his time. Harry was done with Hydra. It was time to start fresh.
Closing the distance between them, Harry drove his fist into the Soldier's stomach, bending him in half. "This is for sending me to Hydra."
Then he kneed the kneeling Winter Soldier in the face, breaking his nose. "And this is for almost killing Natasha."
The Soldier's entire face jerked back as if he'd been hit by a sledgehammer, blood flowing freely down his lips and chin.
Harry stepped back, nodding as a feeling of satisfaction spread through his entire body, before summoning his Trunk from the Inventory.
Willing the door to open in the Dining room, he popped the Trunk wide and waved Winter in. "Get inside."
The Soldier slowly pushed himself to his feet, wiping the blood off of his face. "I don't understand."
Harry rolled his eyes. "It's your lucky day, I've decided not to kill you. Now get in."
Winter blinked, before glancing at the Trunk dubiously. "I do not think I will fit in here."
"Oh, just get down there already." Harry quickly moved behind Winter and shoved him inside.
The once-feared assassin, the legendary Winter Soldier, tumbled down his Trunk stairs.
"Don't ruin the dining room!" Harry called after the man.
Confused, the Soldier stood up on the stairs, brushed his knees, and gave a nod back.
Harry slammed the Trunk shut.
'Let him stew in darkness for a bit.', His pettiness strangely cheering him up.
Just as Harry finished up his business, his personal comm went off.
Frowning, he accepted the call. "Natasha?"
"Harry!" Her voice yelled into his ears. "Get out of the Castle!"
"Why?"
"I'm about to shove a damn ship inside it."
Harry chuckled, rubbing his eyes. "Just do it. I'll be fine."
"You sure?"
"Completely." He replied, whipping out his Nimbus.
"Alright, here she comes."
He packed up his Trunk back in the Inventory, before waving his wand at the fallen Hydra leader's body. "Accio Red Dust."
The tiny case came flying in his hands and went straight to his inventory. Then with a last glance around the carnage, he mounted his broom, and took off from the ground.
The two naked Hydra goons were gawking up at him, mouths wide open. He gave them a commiserating wave. "Sorry boys, your lives are now in the hands of luck. Take this time to make whatever prayers you wish to."
An entire minute later, the Castle began shaking like a potion's cauldron. The sound of a roaring engine greeted his ears next, growing louder and louder until he could feel the air vibrate. A moment later, all the walls in front of Harry crumbled down like a pinata, a humongous metallic vessel ramming its way inside, tearing through stone and concrete as if they were made of wet paper, parking itself straight down like a great Titanic.
Hovering in the air, Harry adjusted his flight to dodge the falling debris, dust and smoke almost swallowing his entire vision.
When the scene of destruction finally settled down, and the smoke cleared away, he could see the aftermath of the Thorn Castle. Or, well, of its piteous remains.
The front of the Castle had disappeared from the view completely, the open sky greeting him with a snow-flaked smile. The airship—the true culprit of such wanton destruction—was lodged semi-vertically through the Castle, like a Lance of God stricken straight through the chest of earth.
Harry looked upon the scene with wide, awed eyes. There was a certain grace, a certain beauty to destruction on such a majestic scale. It screamed of power and might, of utter ruination and death. He looked forward to the day he would be capable of unleashing something of this scale. And when he did achieve it, his enemies could only hope to cower and accept their fates.
His eyes scanned the chamber he'd been inside, dispassionately looking at the spot where the two Hydra goons had been kneeling. There was no chamber to speak of anymore.
With another glance to capture the moment in his mind, Harry drove down to the ship's slanted surface, landing straight with his perfect balance.
He looked around the ship's surface, eyes and ears open, tracking for any movement. A metallic thump alerted him to a hatch opening, and he quickly remounted his broom, taking off after it, his vision fixed like a hawk's.
When he saw a metallic arm coming out however, anger quickly ignited within. 'I may have failed to kill the Winter Soldier, but it seems like the world has offered me a recompense.'
The Taskmaster had only just managed to get its other hand out before he slammed down in front of the hatch, wand blazing with power.
"No, wait!" A girlish voice called out. Harry paused, surprised.
The next moment, a head popped out of the hatch and he could finally put a face behind Taskmaster's mask. It wasn't the one he was expecting. "Please! I'm not your enemy, have mercy!"
Then another head popped up behind her, a mane of red flowing freely.
"Friendlies incoming, don't attack!" Natasha announced loudly, green eyes focusing on both of them "Antonia, stop that, Harry's not going to hurt you. Harry, stop that, you're scaring the girl."
"'The girl'…" Harry slowly nodded, lowering his wand. "So we're friendly with Taskmaster now? And who is this 'they'?"
His question was answered when Natasha and the one named Antonia stepped out, replaced by another couple of women in Widow's uniform, then another couple, and then another couple…
A total of thirteen Black Widows exited the airship's hatch. The only reason Harry wasn't complaining was because quite a few of them were simply lovely to look at, their tight uniforms stretching to some delicious proportions.
Once out of the ship, they all climbed down and gathered at the remnants of his earlier chamber.
Natasha's eyes carefully scanned everything, from the few bodies buried beneath rubble, to the crushed limbs of Alexander Pierce.
"What about the Winter Soldier?" She asked, eyes still darting around. "Did you kill him?"
Harry paused. The realization that Natasha herself might want the Soldier dead hadn't hit him before. How would he react if Taskmaster had almost killed him, but Natasha still let her live? Not well, that much he can promise.
He kept a close eye on her, observing her reaction as he replied quietly, "No."
Thankfully, the only thing that flashed in her eyes was surprise, before her lips lifted in a coy smile. "So, the Mystique Soldier can't do everything after all."
'What?'
Harry frowned. "I could've killed him if I wanted to. I simply chose to capture him instead."
If anything, her smile simply widened. "Mercy, Harry? From you? My, you're a true master of subverting expectations, aren't you?"
Harry folded his arms defensively. "I'm very merciful. Of course, I am. I once saved a puppy from drowning. It was night, and the puppy was crying."
He tilted his head proudly, daring her to contradict him.
She nodded, raising her hands in mock-surrender. "My apologies, of course. Yes, that was quite a merciful thing to do."
Harry narrowed his eyes. He'd gotten good enough at sarcasm to know when he was on the receiving end.
He didn't get the chance to fire back however, as Natasha quickly waved him on. "Come on, we need to leave. The ship is set to blow up in about...another ten minutes, I believe."
"That is fantastic." Harry smiled. Another one of his quest objectives was about to be completed, and this time he didn't even do anything. "I'm quite done with this Castle as well."
Soon, Harry sent all the Widows down his Trunk—including Antonia the Taskmaster, who for some reason remained convinced that he was about to murder her and hide the body in the Trunk.
Before they left however, he found himself wrapped up in Natasha's arms once more.
"I'm glad you're alright." She whispered, her silken red hair tickling his ears.
Harry wrinkled his nose, but let his arms return the hug. "You smell. Though I'm happy to see you safe as well."
She chuckled, tightening her grip for another brief moment before finally letting go.
And as they left the Hydra compound behind—him and Natasha back on the Nimbus—he couldn't help but ponder. 'Mercy, huh? That's certainly not what Harry the Hydra agent would do. Maybe this is what it truly means to break the shackles of one's past.'
Of course, merciful or not, he was still going to kill Cedric Diggory and hide his body in the dungeon for daring to harm the midget.
'So I haven't completely left my past behind…'
Harry shrugged. 'That's fine. I don't need to.'
Amidst the ringing notifications from his system, Harry and Natasha flew off into the December air, watching the Hydra base being obliterated with a deafening blast, a beautiful fiery mushroom encapsulating the entire lands around it, leaving only smoldering ruins in place of a once towering colossus.
And for the first time in any mission, Harry realized it wasn't just a ton of XP that he had earned today.
He'd earned so much more.
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AN: Finally done! Over 16k words in total!
Sorry about the…you know, two years gap between the updates.
Anyway, hope you enjoyed the chapter! The mission arc is finally over. We got some nice Natasha/Harry bonding, and some slight character development for the both of them. Also some action, one a tough fight, the other an absolute curbstomp. Lemme know which one you enjoyed the most!
The last bit was really rushed, so if you felt it took away from the rest of the chap lemme know, I'll quickly rewrite it once I have some more brainpower.
My discord: discord .gg/9wpfysDGsz to discuss fics, chill, read the full smutty chaps, and see character images.
My Pat reon: www. Pat reon com/ Robs511 (No spaces and a dot before com) for anyone who wants to read upto the next three chaps of all my fics (Ch.27, 28, n 29 on Pat reon)
Well, that's it for today. Hope you enjoyed the chapter, see you in the next post. Peace!