Every component within the power armor had been rendered inoperative by the extreme heat, turning the mystic trapped inside into a man sealed within a pressurized oven. As the heat-resistant coating and external plating failed, the searing temperatures completely disabled the high-tech armor. The finely woven artificial muscle threads made of alloy melted in the heat and then cooled upon contact with sweat and blood, fusing his body into a metallic statue.
All auto-detection systems were destroyed. Even the display screens caught fire from the heat, releasing toxic smoke. Yet though deaf and blind, Solomon could still hear the Hive's screams—parasites too weak to fly died in droves, and those that survived in the cracks tried to burrow into the sand, seeking shelter from the inferno. But on this nuclear guillotine of Solomon's design, the desert had turned into a pool of molten glass.
He would not allow a so-called ancient god of the Inhumans, a slave bred by Kree-directed genetic engineering, to continue existing.
Eyes closed, he endured the blistering pain, the dizziness of dehydration, and the stench of burning electronics, listening carefully until the Hive's core consciousness faded away into nothing. The sandstorm once controlled by Hive dissipated entirely, and the steel-vaporizing heat ensured that nothing biological remained alive.
This had been one of his contingency plans—use himself as bait to draw Hive's forces, then detonate a low-yield hydrogen bomb in the atmosphere. Flame and radiation were the only true ways to kill Hive. Even if Hive had faced nuclear retaliation before consuming this civilization, it had clearly underestimated the determination of its enemy. It had underestimated Solomon—and underestimated Kamar-Taj, the war-forged institution that raised him.
Had Kamar-Taj had more time, they would've hurled this planet into a star. Solomon didn't have that luxury, but what he did was close enough.
The last of the infernal firestorms faded, and the sudden explosive decompression nearly flung Solomon forward into the molten-glass terrain. He braced himself on his sword and shield, struggling to rise. With every movement, the metallic screech of tearing armor filled the air. Joint bearings and servos sparked violently. Half of his outer plating had been incinerated, exposing the blackened, fused artificial muscle beneath. Even the elegant gilded trim had melted into puddles of gold.
Only now did the frost-based spell he cast to resist heat begin to show its effect, aiding just enough for him to pull his greaves from the molten black glass. Against the temperatures of a nuclear detonation, magical cooling offered mere survival, a bit less suffering. His true salvation lay in the strength of his protective enchantments—Kamar-Taj's specialty. Though mystics often wielded their shields as bludgeons, this time the spell's true defensive potential saved his life.
As for why he didn't teleport away from the blast—he couldn't risk it. Not when he was this close to Hive. Any parasite in his armor's seams could have escaped with him. He wouldn't give Hive that chance.
He tore off his helmet and breathed in air filled with radioactive dust. With deadpan expression, he ripped melted alloy threads embedded in his flesh from his muscles. The pain was excruciating, but his face remained unmoved. Burns across his face began to heal slowly, and like the other wounds on his body, the sigil on his skin activated his hidden genes. This was a hard-fought victory paid for with his life—one he never expected to survive. He had never pushed the Stigmata to this extreme. Night fell once again. He walked across the glowing, irradiated glass, golden eyes scanning for any sign of Hive's survival.
"Gamma Squad, do you copy? Please respond!" Catherine anxiously stared toward the explosion's center. The command squad had been the closest force to the blast, and without the mystic's enchantments, they would've been vaporized by the thermal storm. Though reluctant, she followed her Lord's orders, distancing from the detonation and calling in scattered strike teams across the planet.
"This is… Gamma… we found the target… Leo…" came the fragmented voice through electromagnetic-resistant radio comms. Catherine gave them a new rally point and compiled the intel they were gathering. This work should have been completed before they ever encountered Hive, but nothing had gone according to plan. She didn't know if her Lord was still alive, but she held onto a sliver of hope. Unlike her, Honor Guard Zero had no time for sentiment—he continued fulfilling his duty.
"Find those two mortals! Drag them out of hiding!" Catherine snarled. "If it weren't for them, we'd have had time to coordinate support from the Helicarrier!"
————————————
"Who is the Helicarrier firing at?" The roar of the Punisher's guns didn't go unnoticed by S.H.I.E.L.D.'s surveillance. Upon receiving the report, Mike headed straight for the supply depot. Only after collecting their confiscated weapons did he finally meet with Stephanie. Daisy Johnson, who had accompanied him, was left outside—staring down multiple explosive rifle barrels.
"I thought you were here to thank me," Stephanie said without turning around, her eyes focused on the magical array carved into glass. Each transmission from Solomon and the Sisterhood's combat teams made her heart pound faster. Not long ago, she'd received a single encrypted transmission from the Punisher. Tita had relayed the Lord's order to fire missiles—and a tactical nuclear warhead—through a portal. Stephanie deduced that her Lord had encountered the ancient Hydra god and initiated a strike. She eagerly awaited the next order… but Tita stated there would be no further messages.
"Listen, I appreciate your medical staff and the biotech organs you provided. But this is something else," Mike said calmly. "Your Helicarrier is hovering above our base. We have no air defense. Random bombardment causes panic among our agents. Worse, it risks exposing our location. I want to know—who were you firing at? We detected no aircraft or facilities being hit."
"An enemy," Stephanie replied tersely.
Her brevity infuriated S.H.I.E.L.D. agents, but most of their own had already been teleported off-world for rescue. Mike had little leverage. All he could do was ask Stephanie to reduce actions that risked exposure. After all, to Congress and the public, S.H.I.E.L.D. was still a terrorist organization.
"What kind of enemy?"
"One on another planet," she replied softly. "We deployed a tactical hydrogen bomb to eliminate parasites. I know you could've come up with a better plan, but we were short on time. Your agents could've been infected at any moment."
"And yours couldn't?" Mike asked pointedly.
Stephanie gestured to the sterile corridor surrounding the glass ritual circle. "These are my orders. Anyone coming through that must undergo full decontamination. I remember ordering two hundred sterile towels—why haven't they arrived yet?"
(End of Chapter)
[Get +20 Extra Chapters On — P@tr3on "Mutter"]
[Every 50 Power Stones = 1 Bonus Chapter Drop]
[Thanks for Reading!]