In Nick Fury's office, the experts didn't descend into a vomiting mess, but their faces were ashen.
Though most had seen more than one corpse, witnessing a person die so gruesomely was a first.
Suppressing the nausea from that visual shock took all their effort.
Even Nick Fury's expression was grim. He hadn't expected the creature to still attack after sustaining devastating explosive damage.
Agent Hill, nearby, remained impassive, her emotions hidden behind her usual mask.
"Rumlow, from now on, abandon sample collection unless safety is guaranteed."
Fury's single eye betrayed a trembling pupil, as if deep in thought.
What constituted guaranteed safety?
Rumlow grumbled inwardly at the order.
Wasn't this phrasing just a reminder to collect samples?
And to bring them back alive, no less.
Truthfully, Rumlow, encountering a Grotesque for the first time, was beginning to doubt his chances of survival.
If their luck was bad, they'd met one of the secret realm's toughest creatures, second only to a champion demon, right off the bat.
But if their luck was good, how could they face such danger immediately?
Had they first encountered weaker foes like Fallen Ones, they might've gathered intel on demonic combat, avoiding such a tragedy.
And they had yet to witness the Grotesque's deadliest trait—its delayed corpse explosion!
Rumlow aimed his flashlight at the slowly crawling Grotesque, its movements leaving a trail of gaping wounds.
He holstered his pistol; it was inadequate for this inhuman fight.
Switching to a shotgun, he attached a tactical light and advanced cautiously toward the Grotesque.
His peak human physique and elite combat training drove him to observe the monster up close.
As he moved, his team repositioned to avoid stray bullets hitting their captain.
They understood that if every creature in this realm was of this caliber, their chances of leaving alive were slim.
Their ammunition was finite, and this single fight with the Grotesque had already burned through a third of it.
…
Jill was panting heavily, his earlier vomiting leaving his stomach empty.
Bul-Kathos stared at the scene, his thoughts unreadable.
"You're committing murder!"
Tess, echoing voices from his earpiece, roared at Bul-Kathos.
The barbarian's earlier clenched fists hadn't escaped the camera, and S.H.I.E.L.D. decided to seize the moment.
Moral coercion was their forte.
Demanding sacrifices in the name of world safety was a common tactic to ease their pressure.
From that single gesture of Bul-Kathos clenching his fists, the experts gleaned much.
For instance, he was relatively compassionate, valuing life.
They saw this as a breakthrough.
Their choice to avoid force stemmed from witnessing the Grotesque's strength.
Though they hadn't grasped its combat style, they'd heard Bul-Kathos's words.
They could only imagine his strength as boundless, and given their situation, S.H.I.E.L.D. wouldn't act recklessly.
"This is the path they chose."
Bul-Kathos responded to Tess for the first time, his eyes never leaving the projection.
"It's the path of the brave. If they want to abandon it, that's for those inside to decide!"
To barbarians, bravery and recklessness often blurred together.
After all, a reckless person harbored little fear, and fearlessness was bravery.
Bul-Kathos fell silent, setting his roasted meat back on the ground and standing.
He was pondering: if these brave souls returned, as the Barbarian King, should he reward them?
Perhaps some gold coins?
If they explored the secret realm diligently, they'd at least find some trinkets.
He recalled his first secret realm, finding a weapon in a chest near the entrance that easily pierced monster defenses.
The weapons from secret realms would be remarkable for these agents.
If they acquired some gear, it might boost their survival odds.
A thoughtful expression crossed Bul-Kathos's face.
He was bored.
Tess's question had elicited a rare response, but he wasn't faring well.
He sensed hostility in the gazes of the surrounding barbarian ancestors.
Bul-Kathos was the Barbarian King, unanimously chosen as the next Immortal King.
Even if he didn't feel offended, the ancestors still took umbrage.
…
"Hoo!"
Rumlow stood a short distance from the Grotesque's body, shotgun in hand.
He'd even used heavy rounds, the shotgun's recoil leaving his shoulder sore.
Finally, the Grotesque stopped halfway.
This time, Rumlow didn't send anyone to inspect it, instead retreating with his team.
"We're running low on ammo. If another monster like this shows up, we can handle maybe one more."
Rumlow summarized, his shotgun still trained on the Grotesque.
"Clearly, this place is full of incomprehensible monsters, but those wielding melee weapons are no ordinary folk either."
He rambled, trying to lighten the oppressive atmosphere.
Even his elite agents, as humans, couldn't escape emotional turmoil.
Even he was beginning to waver.
"Let's start exploring from where we came. There's got to be…"
Boom!
Before Rumlow could finish, the Grotesque's delayed corpse explosion erupted.
The earlier scout's death had served a purpose.
Without it, Rumlow's team wouldn't have kept such a distance from the body.
Now, the entire team stood alert, facing the explosion. As the shockwave dissipated, snakes spawned from the corpse slithered rapidly toward them.
A barrage of gunfire consumed another fifth of their remaining ammo, leaving them with roughly half their initial supply.
They never imagined an exploration mission would escalate into such high-intensity combat.
(End of Chapter)
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