In crisis situations, people can act surprisingly fast.
This time, it took Aron less than a tenth of a second to activate teleportation magic and return to the place where he had previously left his goods.
Just a few moments later, a black rift resembling a portal opened again in the air, and from it emerged Aron, carrying several heavy boxes.
"Good thing no one got here before me," he muttered, visibly relieved.
Carrying the boxes, he casually headed home.
Fortunately, the entire Queens district hadn't been affected by the battle, except for being evacuated. The street was now eerily quiet.
The Parker family from next door had also left their home.
He returned to his house and immediately dumped all the boxes full of money and jewelry into the living room.
They stacked on top of one another, along with what he had previously collected.
He looked at the scene with a satisfied smile.
Maybe he had been a squirrel in a past life, because he had a strong urge to hoard, especially valuables.
He didn't need them.
He didn't spend them.
But... he had to have them.
…
As evening fell, television broadcasts covered the demon invasion.
The media immediately dubbed this battle the Second New York War, comparing it to the First, when the Avengers first appeared.
But this time, the public had a completely different reaction.
Comments were harsh:
"The Avengers couldn't even defeat a single demon!"
"Where was Thor?"
"If it weren't for that mage... we'd all be dead!"
"Especially Tony Stark, that rich playboy, what kind of superhero is he?!"
"What happened to Thor!?"
People were disappointed.
As always, those who were heroes yesterday are culprits today.
The two greatest pleasures of humanity are: exalting idols... and tearing them down.
Admittedly, there were some more reasonable voices: "They gave it their all, the enemy was simply too strong..."
But Aron didn't care about any of it.
He was sitting in front of the TV, among his wealth, with a can of juice in hand.
He was watching the reports but didn't care at all what people thought.
Watching the entire battle report, Aron was only interested in one thing.
"Demon hunter?" he repeated softly. "Sounds a bit... too cheap."
Indeed.
The title was the only thing that caught his attention. He wasn't bothered by the damage, fame, media, or others' opinions.
Who even cares what people think?
He lay slouched on the sofa, legs dangling off the side.
The shadows of objects in the room suddenly thickened, forming two shadow warriors who began massaging his feet.
He admitted to himself—the shadow demon might be the most useful thing he'd picked up.
While enjoying the improvised massage, he pulled out his phone and opened his favorite game.
But due to today's events, the number of players had dropped, matchmaking was taking an eternity.
In the end, he got into just one match.
"The first Batman in American skin has arrived, make room on the third floor," he muttered into the mic.
…
Meanwhile — inside the Helicarrier.
On the large screen in front of Coulson, a digital file was displayed.
[Name: Aron]
[Identity: Unknown]
[Age: Unknown]
[Abilities: Unknown – analysis impossible]
Coulson silently stared at the screen.
All they had was a single name. The rest, a bottomless pit.
"By the way," said Agent Hill as she was getting ready to leave.
"Nick Fury asked me to tell you, Aron and Mordo are probably the same person, some kind of false identity. Watch out for that."
"The rest is up to you."
She quickly left the room after that, not wanting to stay a second longer.
A mission like this? Thanks, but let Coulson handle it.
Coulson slowly sighed.
Sometimes, it might be better to be dead—at least then your superiors can't shove you into nonsense no one else wants.
"So… this mission falls on our team?" asked Grant Ward, lifting Coulson's file.
Members of S.H.I.E.L.D.'s special unit were gathered: Ward, Melinda May, Fitz, Simmons, and the new hacker, Skye.
"No," replied Coulson, lowering the file. "This one's mine."
He looked again at the target's profile.
Beneath all the unknowns stood one single piece of information – target's hobbies: "Gaming."
Coulson rolled his eyes.
During his career, he had met all kinds of weirdos.
But a gamer?
Skye suddenly looked up. "Gaming? Did you say gaming? Want me to try?"
Coulson immediately cut her off. "No. The mission prohibits the use of... 'visual advantages'."
Skye blinked in disappointment.
"Too bad. I already had a plan."
"So did I," said Coulson, closing the file and putting on his coat.
A flash of determination appeared in his eyes.
"I'm going... to meet the player."