"Sir... it's been a while." Agent 0233's voice crackled over the comms. He sounded like a man walking to the gallows, trying desperately to maintain professional decorum.
"That it has," Ethan replied, his voice calm against the roar of the wind. "Fury mentioned you triggered a Meta-awakening. What's the skillset?"
"Report, sir," 0233 said, his voice gaining a shred of pride. "Classification: Ballistic Conversion. I can infuse kinetic energy into any inorganic matter I touch, effectively turning it into a high-yield explosive. Once marked, I can detonate it remotely within a ten-kilometer radius."
"You turn trash into bombs," Ethan summarized. "And Fury put you in a jet loaded with nukes. That's redundancy, but I like it."
"Thank you, sir," 0233 said. Then, hesitation crept in. "Consultant Hunt... permission to ask a question regarding post-mission logistics?"
"Shoot."
"Do... do I have to pay for the reconstruction? Because if I blow this up..."
Ethan blinked, hovering mid-air as the jet screamed past him. "Are you joking? Look down. This is an extinction-level invasive species event on American soil. Uncle Sam foots the bill. You destroy it; they rebuild it. That's how the economy works."
"Oh, thank God," 0233 breathed out, the relief palpable. "I thought it was coming out of my pension."
"Eyes forward, 0233. Full throttle. Ramming speed," Ethan ordered, his own body accelerating to match the jet.
"Sir?"
"You heard me. Drive the bird right down its throat."
"Copy that. Engaging afterburners!"
The F-35 Lightning II screamed, breaking the sound barrier as 0233 pushed the stick forward. The G-force would have crushed a normal pilot, but the Meta-gene kept him conscious.
As the jet dove toward the colossal tree, the 084 entity reacted. Dozens of Apostles leaped into the air to intercept, and massive wooden tendrils lashed out like whips.
"Sir, I have multiple bogeys! Engaging weapon systems—"
"Belay that!" Ethan barked. "Do not fire. Do not deviate. You are the payload. I am the escort."
Ethan surged ahead of the jet. He didn't bother cutting the enemies; he simply plowed through them. He manipulated the air resistance in front of him to zero, turning himself into a friction-less bullet. He smashed through the chest of an Apostle, exiting out the back in a shower of gore, then banked hard to sever a vine threatening the jet's left flank.
Inside the cockpit, 0233 watched in awe. The Consultant was a blur of motion, a human shield defying physics. Emboldened, 0233 pushed the throttle past the red line. Supersonic nuclear delivery. Hell of a way to go.
"Target proximity: 2000 meters! Sir, are we dropping the package?"
"No," Ethan's voice was ice cold. "We aren't dropping anything. Keep flying."
0233's heart hammered against his ribs. The tree was filling the entire canopy view. The massive hole Ethan had punched earlier was regenerating, but it was still open—a mouth leading to the heart of the monster.
CRUNCH.
A stray branch clipped the wing. The jet slewed violently to the right, alarms screaming.
"Mayday! deeply structural failure on the port wing! I'm losing lift!"
"I didn't give you permission to crash," Ethan shouted.
THUD.
0233 looked up. Ethan had landed on the nose of the jet.
Ethan crouched, pressing his hands against the fuselage. "Vector Sync: Inertia Lock."
The turbulence vanished. Ethan manipulated the kinetic vectors of the aircraft, artificially stabilizing it and negating the drag caused by the broken wing. The jet didn't just fly; it was being carried.
0233 stared at the man standing on his windshield. He's insane. We're going to fly a nuclear warhead directly into the target. I'm going to die.
The pilot slumped in his seat, his life flashing before his eyes. The military academy, the drill instructors, that time he watched a James Bond movie and thought being a spy would be cool. I swear, if I survive this, I'm finding the director of Skyfall and punching him in the face. This job sucks.
"Wake up!" Ethan's voice cut through his pity party.
The jet slammed into the opening in the tree trunk, tearing through layers of regenerating wood and pulp. They were inside.
Ethan turned, his fist glowing with gathered kinetic energy. He punched the canopy glass, shattering it instantly. Before 0233 could react, Ethan grabbed him by the tactical vest.
"Ejecting!" Ethan yelled.
He ripped the pilot out of the seat. In one fluid motion, Ethan reversed their velocity vector. They shot backward, out of the tunnel and away from the tree at breakneck speed.
Behind them, the F-35 slid deep into the core of the World Tree, lodging itself like a splinter in a heart.
They tumbled through the air, miles away in seconds. Ethan halted their momentum abruptly, hovering over the ocean.
"Do it," Ethan commanded. "Detonate the plane."
0233, hyperventilating, looked at his hand. He could feel the connection to the metal he had been piloting. He clenched his fist.
"Burn," 0233 whispered.
CLICK.
Inside the tree, the F-35's hull—charged with the pilot's explosive energy—detonated first. This triggered the primary payload: two megatons of nuclear fury.
A second sun was born inside the tree.
The trunk glowed blinding white. The regenerating bark couldn't contain the energy of a star.
KA-BOOM!
The explosion tore the titan apart. The shockwave was a physical wall of compressed air and radiation, stripping the clouds from the sky.
Ethan stepped in front of the pilot. He threw his hands out. "Vector Reflection: Absolute Barrier."
The radiation, the heat, and the concussive force hit an invisible wall three meters in front of them. The ocean below boiled, but Ethan and the pilot hovered in a bubble of stillness, the apocalypse flowing around them like water around a stone.
When the light faded, the silence was absolute.
Then came the sound of falling.
The upper half of the World Tree—thousands of tons of wood—slowly toppled. It crashed into the ocean with force that registered on seismographs in Tokyo. The main island of Hawaii shuddered as the massive root system died, triggering secondary earthquakes and a massive tsunami warning.
"Well," Ethan said, brushing imaginary dust off his jacket as he looked at the mushroom cloud rising over the shattered stump. "That takes care of the gardening."