The battlefield hissed with aftershocks—steam, blood, and ozone curling in the evening air. Scorched pavement cracked under slow-burning heat, and all that remained of the Abomination's rampage were shattered buildings a ruined street.
Luthar stepped away from the crumpled green form of the beast, his robes unstained, his form unbowed. The Abomination lay twitching—not dead, but broken. Black ichor bubbled from its jaw, half its face caved in from within. Regeneration had halted, stalled beneath the weight of impossible trauma.
He lifted his wrist and spoke, voice cold and clipped.
"Lily. Prepare a containment unit for our new guest."
A faint beep confirmed the message.
High in the sky, General Ross lowered his binoculars with deliberate slowness, his mouth pressed into a hard line.
"Jesus Christ," he muttered.
Beside him, Bruce Banner's eyes narrowed. "That... that can't be real technology. The way it cuts Blonsky's flesh—it's impossible."
Ross said nothing. His knuckles turned white around the steel rail of the mobile command platform.
Betty stared, her voice barely audible. "Is he going to kill him?"
"No," Bruce answered. "Maybe... maybe he wants to study for him."
Ross turned toward Banner, voice hard. "So you're telling me he made the strongest super soldier scream like a wounded dog... and he wants to study him?"
"Then go and ask him what he wants," Bruce said flatly.
Ross looked at Bruce and started to think about whether this boy wanted to kill him, as the person in red robes was definitely not a good person, and going near him would be like throwing yourself into a fire, for which he had no plan.
On the ground, Luthar's boots made no sound as he approached another motionless figure—one not dead, not unconscious, just... broken.
Rumlow lay half-buried in debris. Twisted limbs, armour slashed and half-fused to his skin, internal augmetics blinking through torn synthetic flesh. His second transformation had rebuilt him after Harlem's earlier disaster. Even that hadn't been enough.
His red, artificial eyes—flickering targeting augments—tracked Luthar's approach.
"Mr. Luthar," he croaked. Not reverence. Reconditioning.
"You still function," the tech-priest said indifferently. "Structural integrity is at 41%. You are one step away from being recycled."
Rumlow tried to rise. Chemical suppressants flooded his spine to compensate for pain thresholds. "You said last time I'd be stronger."
"And you are," Luthar replied, kneeling. "But strength without adaptation is just metal waiting to rust."
"That thing... wasn't natural."
"Neither are you," Luthar said flatly. "You were reshaped—twice. Optimized. Yet failure still follows."
Rumlow gritted his teeth. "Then what now?"
Luthar tilted his head. "Understand this: there are always stronger things. Survival is not guaranteed by force. It is earned through calculation."
A pause. Then something flickered in Rumlow's eyes—confusion, perhaps even shame.
" I don't even know why I'm fighting. How can I think about the calculation?"
"It's because your emotions are still interfering," Luthar said, standing. "Victory and failure are meaningless. For you, what is important is to complete my task."
He lifted his wrist again.
"Lily. Send servitors. Collect all materials."
He turned away without looking back.
There was one more place he needed to visit—the origin of the beast.
Dr. Samuel Sterns' Lab — Outskirts of Harlem
The remnants of the lab stood like a cancerous scar across the city's edge—glass warped, walls sagging, lights flickering without purpose.
Luthar entered without ceremony.
He stepped over a burned-out computer terminal and paused at a shattered observation window. Chemical tanks lined the walls—half-broken, half-drained. DNA vats leaked across the floor.
He made a sound—barely audible.
"Tch. Primitive. And yet they still lost control."
He moved forward with purpose, sensors sweeping. Behind a toppled desk, a familiar figure groaned.
Dr. Samuel Sterns—pale, frantic, and struggling to crawl—looked up, blood staining his lab coat. "Who—what are you?"
Luthar knelt and struck him with precision, rendering the scientist unconscious.
"Don't worry. I'll make sure your brain is put to better use," Luthar muttered, activating a fusion charge from a side compartment of his armour.
He placed the device near the main console—no countdown, no flourish.
Then he hoisted Sterns over one shoulder, turned, and walked out.
Three Seconds Later
The explosion wasn't large, but it was efficient.
A soft ripple of pressure, followed by the collapse of the entire structure. Molecular disintegration surged outward, consuming everything in silence.
Luthar didn't look back.
"Lily," he said over the vox. "Prepare a containment pod for a biological unknown. No neural interface. No weaponisation protocol—yet."
A pause.
Then a faint, mechanical chime. "Acknowledged."
Smoke still rose behind him, but Luthar walked forward toward the shuttle, his steps steady as morning approached. The aftermath was complete.
Blonsky.
Dr. Samuel Sterns.
Rumlow.
His broken Skitarii.
With everything resolved, Luthar finally returned to his quarters, and for the first time in two standard cycles, he allowed himself a calculated indulgence:
Sleep.
Hours later, Luthar's eyes opened.
He rose from the meditative chamber, silent and immediate. No stretching. No pause. His rest cycle had completed on schedule—precisely three standard hours.
He walked without alerting the servitors, moving past the observation room toward a reinforced containment chamber deep within the Forge-Lab's lower sanctum.
The chamber lights dimmed as he entered.
Sterns groaned within the containment capsule. His skull had begun to elongate, green veins pulsing beneath the skin. Data probes danced over his form, transmitting readings into the air.
Luthar observed in silence, then activated the internal vox.
"Dr. Samuel Sterns," he said flatly. "I hope you had a good time."
Sterns blinked, his voice sluggish. "You're... not from the military"
"Correct," Luthar replied. "You are in a controlled environment where I need to give you special treatment."
Sterns laughed weakly. "You don't look like a doctor who can give treatment."
"You will learn I am much better than many doctors, I'm someone who can keep his patients alive even after removing their brains."
A hololithic scan displayed Sterns' neural structure—web and chaotic, a lattice of gamma-activated potential spiralling without control.
"Your brain is mutating, which is quite a terrible situation for you. As your mutation becomes too much, I might have to take extreme measures."
Sterns struggled to move. "I don't think, can I get just some --"
"You won't be getting anything." The Tech-Priest approached, watching Sterns' vitals. "The thoughts you're having are quite dangerous if you continue your thoughts, I might have to do what I should have already done with a mutated creature like you."
"Sterns coughed violently, his eyes glassy. 'I didn't do anything wrong—I was forced. The mutation was an accident, not my fault.' For some reason, he felt compelled to explain himself, as if silence might cost him his life."
Luthar stepped back.
"Your mind is now a case study. You will be catalogued, observed, and modified to make you more controllable if all fails, then I can only give you mercy."
He turned away, already setting up the new command Lock neural input. No cognitive stimulants. Begin the scan cycle every 1 minute.
A brief pause, then he left the door hissed closed behind him, and the lights dimmed.
Author's note: Lately, writing new chapters has become more difficult. I'm still managing to release one chapter every day on Patreon , but it's getting harder as my new glasses are giving me headaches. On top of that, I'm facing a lot of confusion while writing. The number of Patreon supporters is also starting to drop, and I'm not receiving much feedback or advice anymore, which makes it harder to stay focused. I'm confident I can finish the story, but if I can't clear my confusion it's could effect the novel and even slow down more.
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