{Chapter: 272 Consequences And Casualties}
An advanced, stealth-class aircraft pierced through the dark skies above the Pacific Ocean, its engines humming like the breath of a sleeping beast. The surface of the ocean far below reflected the moonlight in silvery ripples, but inside the cockpit, the atmosphere was anything but serene.
Natasha Romanoff, clad in her black tactical suit, sat in the pilot's seat, her fingers steady on the controls. Beside her, Dr. Bruce Banner sat silently, shoulders slumped, eyes hollow. He hadn't spoken in almost an hour, and his expression told a story of internal war — a man battling the monster within and the guilt that gripped his soul like a vice.
Natasha finally broke the silence, her voice firm yet understanding. "Still heading toward Kolkata?"
Banner didn't answer immediately. He stared out of the cockpit window, as if trying to see through time. "I can't forget it," he said at last, his voice hoarse with exhaustion and regret. "That city... the screams... the people... their eyes as they ran. I saw them — all of them."
He clenched his fists, knuckles whitening. "Every time I close my eyes, it's there."
Natasha, without taking her eyes off the controls, reached forward and activated the radio. A news broadcast crackled to life, its tone grave, underscored by soft, somber piano music meant to accompany tragic headlines.
<"Breaking News: Humanity's Greatest Nightmare Returns — Kolkata Reduced to a Blood-Soaked Graveyard.
The world trembles as horrifying reports pour in from international media. William — the man once thought erased from existence — has returned, after his last appearance eight months ago—and with him, a living engine of carnage: the Hulk. Their reappearance in Kolkata, India, has turned the once-vibrant city into a smoking crater of blood, fire, and ash.
The destruction was not merely catastrophic — it was extinction-level.
Entire districts have been erased from the map. High-rise apartments collapsed like sandcastles. Hospitals were obliterated mid-surgery. Schools became tombs. Temples were pulverized. People—old and young, rich and poor, man and child—were crushed, burned, impaled, or simply vaporized.
Footage shows streets slick with blood, bodies mangled beyond recognition. Emergency workers wade through ankle-deep pools of crimson, dragging scorched corpses from beneath melted cars and broken concrete. A mother's charred arms still clutch her baby — both frozen in an eternal scream.
Children ran ablaze. Nurses were cut in half by falling rebar. Survivors stumbled through ruins with missing limbs, eyes glazed in shock.
The official death toll has now passed 380,000—a number climbing by the hour. More than 930,000 lie wounded, many beyond saving, trapped beneath rubble or infected by festering wounds. Tens of thousands more are simply gone — incinerated or crushed into dust.
The city's infrastructure is completely annihilated. All major roads have collapsed. Airports, rail stations, power grids — gone.
The economic devastation is unparalleled: initial losses are pegged above $35 billion, but experts warn this may skyrocket as entire industries fall. Global markets have already begun to plunge, and humanitarian aid is being delayed due to the sheer magnitude of the destruction.
Landmarks that stood for centuries are nothing but charred ruins. The famous Howrah Bridge has collapsed into the Hooghly River, its twisted metal carcass resting atop submerged buses and ferries. Museums, libraries, and archives — repositories of history — now smolder, reduced to ash.
Indian Prime Minister Rajdeep Singh, face hardened by fury and grief, addressed the nation in a broadcast that has since gone viral:
> "William is not a man. He is an extinction. He is death made flesh. He is the ultimate enemy of life."
His message at the United Nations sent shockwaves through the international community:
> "We cannot let this monster go unchecked. If Kolkata is the first, the world could be next. This is not just India's war. This is humanity's final war."
The Indian Armed Forces have been placed on maximum alert, deploying tanks, aircraft, and nuclear contingencies. Over 100 nations—including the United States, France, Germany, Japan, Russia, and the entire European Union—have pledged full military, technological, and intelligence cooperation to stop William's reign of devastation. Joint task forces are forming. Satellites have been redirected. The hunt has begun.
But the world watches in horror, not merely at the sheer scale of annihilation, but at what it symbolizes: that one man and one monster can cripple a modern civilization in hours. A city of fifteen million has been turned into a graveyard. The sky above Kolkata is black with smoke. The sun has been blotted out by ash and sorrow. Survivors speak of screams that still echo, of faces lost in fire, of death falling from the heavens.
And William?
He vanished into the clouds smiling.
Humanity now stands on the edge of the abyss. The world bleeds. And survival may be the only victory left.">
Natasha turned off the radio.
"Did you hear it?" she asked quietly.
Banner exhaled, slow and trembling. "I heard it," he replied, his voice barely more than a whisper. "Three hundred eighty thousand people... gone. Almost a million more suffering. All of it... because of me."
He leaned forward and pressed his palms into his temples as if trying to squeeze the memories out of his skull. "I can't wash that away, Natasha. I was the monster in their nightmares."
"It's not your fault," she said firmly. "It's his. William manipulated you, provoked the Hulk — he set the city up as a stage, and you were the bait."
"That doesn't change the outcome," Banner muttered. "Every life taken, every child crushed under rubble, every family torn apart... I did that. With my fists. With my rage."
His body trembled with emotion. "Do you know what it's like to wake up with blood on your hands and not remember who you killed?"
Natasha looked at him then, her gaze sharp and sympathetic. "I know what it's like to wake up and wonder if today I'll do something I can never take back. But that's the difference, Banner — you still care. And that means you still have a choice."
Banner's tone darkened. "I've made my choice. William... must die. I don't care how. I don't care what I have to become. He set me loose in that city like I was a rabid dog, and now the world sees me as the monster. But it's him... he's the real monster."
Natasha smiled coldly. "That's the attitude I need to hear."
Banner turned toward her, determination building in his expression. "Just tell me what to do. What's our first move?"
"Our priority right now," Natasha said, "is to find the Tesseract. SHIELD intelligence believes William is after it. If he gets his hands on that kind of cosmic power... what happened in Kolkata will look like a playground fight."
Banner nodded slowly. "If the Tesseract can help me stop him — or destroy him — then I'll use it. No matter the cost."
Unbeknownst to them, on the far side of the aircraft, a smooth panel in the metallic wall shimmered unnaturally. A thin layer of metal twisted slightly, like liquid steel, forming the faint outline of a smiling face — a smile filled with mockery. Neither Natasha nor Banner saw it.
---
Meanwhile, deep underground in an undisclosed facility...
The sterile white lights of the basement lab flickered overhead. Computers beeped and data scrolled across holographic screens. This was not a civilian lab. The people working here wore a mixture of SHIELD uniforms and alien tech-enhanced suits.
In one corner of the room, a cluster of scientists examined glowing cubes, analyzing quantum fluctuations. In the center of it all stood a glass enclosure — inside it sat a figure draped in emerald leather and black. Loki, the Asgardian trickster god, lounged with an air of amused detachment. His wrists bore restraints, but his smirk said he was far from helpless.
Across the room, Erik Selvig — once a brilliant astrophysicist and now a mind-altered puppet of the Tesseract — typed rapidly at a console, muttering mathematical equations under his breath.
Nearby stood Clint Barton, better known as Hawkeye, his posture rigid, eyes unnaturally still, the glint of control still present in his gaze. He watched Loki like a sentry, though it wasn't clear if he was guarding the prisoner or awaiting new orders from him.
Loki glanced at the screen showing scenes of Kolkata's devastation — fires still smoldering, bodies covered in ash, and relief workers sobbing in exhaustion. He tilted his head and asked, "Who is that... William?"
He let the name roll off his tongue as if tasting the flavor of a rival.
Selvig paused briefly and looked up from his console. "An anomaly," he said. "He's not part of this universe's script. We've been tracking cosmic surges, and his signature — it doesn't align with any known celestial origin. He's not mutant, not alien, not divine."
"But... I thought you knew him," Eric Selvig muttered, his brow furrowed as he adjusted the dials on the Tesseract interface. Sparks flickered across the screen, reflecting blue light across his face. "Back then, your brother Thor was in Old Bridge City... and William was there too. He appeared out of nowhere, like a ghost from myth—except he didn't just fight. He destroyed. Thor and his warriors from Asgard were overwhelmed in minutes. I watched him walk away like it was a game."
*****
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