Some matters could wait for later.
Right now, the priority was saving her life.
Tony Stark personally carried the unconscious girl—Bella—across fifty miles to a secure temporary S.H.I.E.L.D. base. Nestled in a restricted zone, the base was equipped with a medical wing typically used for injured agents during field operations. After everything that had happened, Bella became the first to be treated there… though she had no idea, lost in unconsciousness.
Inside the sterile, high-tech medical bay, Bella lay quietly on a specialized recovery bed. Around her, S.H.I.E.L.D. medical staff moved swiftly, operating equipment meant for high-risk recovery: physical stimulation devices, pulse monitors, arcane scanners—all working in tandem to stabilize the girl's condition.
Tony, Captain Rogers, Natasha Romanoff, Clint Barton, and Maria Hill were present. Hill, now without her tactical armor, stood near the foot of the bed, overseeing the situation.
A medic stepped forward and addressed her.
"Commander Hill, based on our scans, she appears to have collapsed from extreme fatigue. Her life isn't in danger, but we planned to administer a regenerative compound to speed up her recovery… There's a problem, though."
Hill narrowed her eyes. "Problem?"
"Yes, ma'am. Her skin is... well, we can't penetrate it. The needle simply won't go in. It's as if her dermal tissue has been reinforced beyond what even Kevlar can match."
Hill frowned but nodded. "Understood. How long before she wakes up?"
The medic hesitated. "We can't say for certain. There's a regenerative energy pulsing through her body, possibly a magical self-repair mechanism. It's accelerating her recovery, but it's unpredictable. She could regain consciousness within hours… or longer."
"Alright," Hill said, firm. "You're dismissed for now."
"Yes, ma'am."
The medical team exited in orderly fashion, leaving only the Avengers behind. The atmosphere in the room shifted—calmer now, but still thick with tension.
Natasha Romanoff approached the bed and quietly observed the sleeping girl. Her expression softened.
"She looks so peaceful," she murmured, her voice laced with empathy. "There's exhaustion written all over her face… She's just a kid."
It was a rare moment of tenderness from the seasoned spy. Perhaps it was her own history as a child dragged into war, or maybe it was something deeper—recognition of a shared burden.
Steve Rogers stepped closer and nodded solemnly. "She's too young to carry this much power... or this kind of responsibility. But the world's changed. No one gets to stay out of it anymore—not when they have this kind of strength."
Silence fell in the room as the others contemplated those words.
The truth stung.
Tony's gaze was fixed on Bella's hand gripping the hilt of the black sword that had shattered the meteorite. He clenched his fists.
Why did it have to be her?
He felt useless. That helplessness was clawing at his chest.
He was Iron Man. He'd designed armor after armor to protect the world—thinking he could do it alone. But every time the stakes rose, every time the danger escalated, it was someone else who ended up saving the day.
This time, a girl barely in her twenties had risked everything.
It was infuriating.
It was humiliating.
It was a wake-up call.
"I thought I could handle anything," Tony muttered under his breath, "but I'm always two steps behind. Always reacting, never ready. She saved the damn planet while I watched."
Steve gave him a quiet look, then gently said, "Let her rest. She earned it."
One by one, the Avengers stepped out of the room. As they exited, a deep voice interrupted their thoughts.
"This… is exactly why I created the Avengers."
They turned around.
Nick Fury stood in front of the observation glass, arms crossed behind his back, eyes locked on Bella's unconscious form.
He looked unusually serious, even contemplative.
"This world is vast. Dangerous. Beyond what any of us can deal with alone. That's why we need a team—to face enemies no nation or single hero can handle."
He paused for a moment before adding, "And that includes enemies not from this Earth."
His words landed heavily. Everyone knew what he meant.
Demons. Aliens. Gods. Monsters. The threat list was endless.
The Avengers were never supposed to be a first-response team for ordinary robbers or terrorists. They were the final line. The last defense against extinction.
Fury continued, "I underestimated the enemy this time. Mephisto—the Lord of Hell himself. And now? You're all wondering if you're even enough. If this team really can protect the world. I know what you're thinking."
He was right.
They were thinking exactly that.
Tony, Steve, and the others exchanged glances.
"You saw what she did," Fury went on. "And yes, she's powerful—more powerful than any of us expected. But it's not just power. She didn't run. She didn't save herself and disappear. She stood there, alone, and risked her life because she believed it mattered."
He paused, letting that sink in.
"You're telling me she has more courage than all of you combined?"
Tony's brow twitched. "Are you lecturing me now? Is that what this is?"
Fury smiled faintly. "If that's what you need to hear, maybe I am."
His tone shifted, darker now. "I didn't form this team to deal with burglars. I built the Avengers to fight nightmares. If one failure is enough to make you all hesitate, then walk away. We don't need hesitation. And we don't need cowards."
With that, Fury turned on his heel and walked away without another word.
The silence he left behind was suffocating.
Barton frowned. "Well, he's not wrong… but does he always have to sound like a drill sergeant?"
Natasha exhaled and crossed her arms. "We're not failures. We survived Mephisto—barely. I don't think any of us were ready for literal hellfire… but maybe next time we will be."
Tony scoffed. "Next time, if some idiot drops a meteorite on my head, I'm sending it back to hell with a nuke. No more waiting around."
He stormed out, voice laced with sarcasm but eyes full of resolve.
Steve shook his head. "He'll be fine."
The others lingered for a moment longer, then slowly dispersed.
Despite everything, the seeds had been planted. Fury's words had stung, but sometimes pain was the only thing that got through.
At the same time, the World Security Council convened an emergency meeting.
Leaders across the globe—especially from Country G—were already demanding answers. A meteorite had descended from the heavens, comparable in explosive power to twenty Hiroshima bombs, and it had done so without warning.
Even Country M, the most powerful military nation on Earth, had been caught off guard. Despite their bravado, they had no choice but to explain themselves.
The meeting was highly classified. Encrypted footage from drone cameras and recon satellites was presented to the world leaders.
The screen showed the once-quiet undead town. It showed demons—yes, actual demons—emerging from the shadows. And then it showed Mephisto, the Demon Lord, commanding an apocalyptic meteor to fall from the sky.
And it showed what came next: a single girl, unleashing a divine golden beam that cracked the heavens and reduced the meteorite to dust.
No amount of CGI or digital manipulation could fake that.
The room was silent.
All eyes locked onto the same figure—the young girl with the black sword who had stopped the apocalypse.
"Who is this?" one of the G-country leaders asked quietly, voice tinged with awe and suspicion.
Country M's representative leaned back and cleared his throat. "She's one of ours."
That, of course, was a half-truth. But in geopolitics, possession is everything. And if a superweapon disguised as a teenage girl existed, no one wanted her to fall into enemy hands.
There were murmurs across the council room. Worry. Curiosity. Ambition.
The video ended.
For now, the world had survived.
But peace had never felt so fragile.
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