"It's just the captain left."
Tess's voice didn't reach anyone, just as Nick Fury's increasingly desperate shouts to Rumlow went unanswered.
Any information that could affect the fairness of the battle was blocked by Mount Harrogath. Now, it was a test of the warrior's resolve against the demons.
Tess trembled uncontrollably. The moment the wraith appeared, he understood why his captain had acted so strangely.
After all, in any legend, ghosts always wielded mind-altering tricks.
His teammates had been torn to shreds by the wraith without a chance to fight back.
Blood and flesh splattered the ground, while the twice-dead Fallen Ones rose again, shrieking "Rakanishu."
The scene, transmitted through the camera, reached Nick Fury's office, where silence fell.
No one could explain what they were witnessing, and the gruesome losses killed any desire for chatter.
"What are ghosts, exactly?"
Fury shouted, his agitation unclear—genuine or a facade.
But answering him was the wiser course.
"Our research suggests ghosts are mostly mental constructs," a supernatural research expert replied uncertainly.
After all, how could a mental construct use pale claws to shred S.H.I.E.L.D.'s elite special ops team?
…
"Ghosts are the manifestation of spirits, but those things aren't just ghosts—they're demons."
Bul-Kathos explained to the Ancient One and Jill.
Souls tainted by Hell's aura were no longer pure spirits. Like the barbarian ancestors blessed by Mount Harrogath, they gained a power that allowed their forms to become tangible.
Thus, barbarian ancestors could eat like the living, and those demons could tear human flesh.
"Can't a strong enough spirit condense into a physical form on its own?"
The Ancient One was puzzled. In her understanding, a sufficiently powerful soul could materialize.
"Those things have that kind of purity? Besides those who study death, how many can help a soul take physical form?"
Vydar interjected loudly, drawing the ire of other ancestors. Ambo grabbed him by the neck, and the two souls vanished somewhere.
On the projection, Rumlow was gradually gaining the upper hand.
Fighting the Fallen Shaman wasn't as easy as toppling regular Fallen Ones.
The shaman's staff wasn't just a blunt weapon—it could hurl basin-sized fireballs.
This versatile combat style forced Rumlow to expend great effort to find an opening, dragging the shaman into relentless close-quarters combat.
The blue-glowing knuckle-duster finally found its mark, slamming into the shaman's throat.
With a hoarse "Rakanishu" mixed with the crack of breaking bones, the red-skinned creature collapsed.
The footsteps of the revived Fallen Ones echoed from the corner, but Rumlow's gaze locked onto an unremarkable stone on the ground.
It was the Fallen Shaman's drop. Having tasted the power of equipment, Rumlow wouldn't miss any chance to grow stronger.
The moment he grabbed the stone, cold sweat beaded on his face.
In an instant, he regained his clarity.
"Spirit Stone. Is this guy fated to be a monk?"
Bul-Kathos commented on the brutal trial.
By convention, anything could drop in a barbarian secret realm.
But barbarian gear was more common.
Just as Sky Temple realms favored monk equipment.
The moment Rumlow took the Spirit Stone, he instinctively knew how to use it. He placed the small stone on his forehead.
As if by magic, the white Spirit Stone stayed fixed in place.
Wraiths, turned demonic, had weakened mind-control abilities.
Had Rumlow stayed cautious, he wouldn't have been so easily swayed.
With the Spirit Stone's protection, the wraith's negligible mind-control—weak to barbarians—became utterly ineffective.
The gear even boosted his defenses, making it hard for those pesky red imps to harm him.
"Does he have a chance to survive?"
Jill's voice was soft, almost prayer-like, drawing attention.
"Louder, Jill! You're training to be a barbarian warrior!"
Bul-Kathos heard him clearly. It wasn't a noisy battlefield, and his ears worked fine; a nearby voice was easy to catch.
"It depends on whether he can defeat that wraith. He's got a shot."
Bul-Kathos gave Jill the answer he wanted.
He wasn't sure if these agents deserved to live—their villainous aura made him want to sneeze.
But compared to seeing villains survive, he hated watching humans die to demons more.
The Ancient One said nothing, only glancing at the darkening horizon.
"When he comes out, this festival should be nearing its end."
She thought to herself.
…
"Come on, you damned bastard!"
Rumlow shouted at the glowing blue wraith, as if to banish his fear.
The moment he regained clarity, he realized his entire team had perished here.
They were handpicked, with over half loyal to Hydra and the rest prime candidates for recruitment.
This loss meant a year's effort wasted, but he dared not direct his anger at Bul-Kathos. After witnessing the secret realm's terrors, he recognized the barbarians' might.
His shouting was more like impotent rage, venting his fury.
Instinctively, his hand reached for his holstered pistol. Unaccustomed to melee weapons, he still trusted the gun, despite its likely inability to harm the foe.
(End of Chapter)
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