"Rumlow, survive."
Nick Fury's final words to Rumlow crackled through the earpiece.
At this point, nothing he said would help. They'd already lost an entire team. If Rumlow died too, this mission would yield no tangible gains.
The demons' flesh, the mysterious gear Rumlow acquired—both were vital to S.H.I.E.L.D.
As for the enigmatic mountain, it was largely overlooked.
Though it held more secrets, S.H.I.E.L.D. seemed incapable of extracting anything from these beings.
Rumlow yanked off his earpiece, crushed it underfoot, and stomped hard.
At the same time, the red-skinned nuisances charged with their tattered weapons!
"Rakanishu!"
Their discordant cries rang out as Rumlow launched into another display of combat prowess.
His precise, lethal strikes quickly dispatched the demons.
Without their shaman, the Fallen Ones lost their edge.
Against an enhanced Rumlow, they posed no threat.
…
"Why do those things shout 'Rakanishu'? Is it some unique language?"
Jill, though unable to see the projection, could hear the commotion.
His face still pale, he asked Bul-Kathos.
"It's the name of the Fallen King, just like how barbarians sometimes shout my name in battle."
Bul-Kathos placed a hand on Jill's head.
The memory of that battle flickered in his mind—an endless sea of Fallen Ones, stretching beyond sight, tedious to him.
Even Rakanishu, their king, was barely stronger than the rest. Under Bul-Kathos's Whirlwind, it lasted less than three seconds before dissolving into a bloody mist carried away by the gusts.
That fight tested endurance, nothing more.
"Hey, Bul-Kathos! We only shout the name of the Immortal King! You're not there yet!"
Madawc popped up from nowhere, clutching Madawc's Sorrow.
"Then shout for Volusk in battle."
Bul-Kathos replied nonchalantly, destined as he was to become the Immortal King.
Choked by the retort, Madawc sidled up, snatching the potion flask from Bul-Kathos's waist and taking a hearty swig.
Though potions lost their healing properties for souls, on this special festival day, ancestral spirits could savor the taste of food and drink.
"Let's drink heartily! After the festival, you'll wait another year to taste food and wine!"
Bul-Kathos tightened his grip, laughing loudly.
Jill quickly ducked, dodging Bul-Kathos's heavy hand.
His scalp was starting to feel hot.
…
Rumlow bore six symmetrical wounds, slashing from his shoulders to his chest, converging at his solar plexus like war tattoos—if not for the blood seeping out.
The wraith's form was fading, but compared to Rumlow, who was bleeding heavily, it was in far better shape.
"Odd. What's that wraith's champion ability? It hasn't triggered yet—Molten, maybe?"
Madawc returned the empty flask to Bul-Kathos's waist, then produced a massive jar, placing it beside him.
The jar was as wide as a small round table and half a person tall.
"Bul-Kathos, this is wine I buried when I was alive. Want a taste?"
Though posed as a question, Madawc thrust the jar toward him.
"When you were alive? This wine's probably turned to jelly by now!"
Bul-Kathos took the jar, broke the clay seal, and a rich fruity aroma wafted out.
"Mount Harrogath protects all barbarian treasures. My wine doesn't spoil! It's the best of its era!"
"Times have changed. Back then, even Baal avoided you lot. Now those demons are gone."
Bul-Kathos thought of the shattered Black Soulstone, a flicker of worry crossing his mind.
The stone, imprisoning Hell's seven lords, was broken, its power now fused into Malthael—a troubling thought.
"Yeah, times changed, and you left that endless world behind."
Madawc dipped a bowl into the jar and drank deeply.
Though his actions were rough, not a drop spilled.
"So now, you're the only one who can make the barbarians thrive in this world."
Madawc vanished after speaking, leaving Bul-Kathos holding the massive jar, drinking.
…
"Damn it!"
Rumlow muttered, too weak to shout.
Blood loss was clouding his consciousness.
By his experience, he'd bled enough to be fatal, yet he retained some fighting strength.
All thanks to the knuckle-duster and the Spirit Stone on his forehead.
Normally, such wounds would at least start clotting.
But these felt like leech bites, showing no sign of healing.
His combat suit was dark red, blackening in places where the blood had dried.
Nick Fury could still see the fight through the camera. The experts were arguing over Rumlow's blood loss.
But Fury had no time for that—he'd uncovered some intel on Bul-Kathos.
Just days ago, he'd appeared in Hell's Kitchen with Jill.
Now, he was on a mountain that appeared out of nowhere in the Himalayas, with no record of travel—a chilling realization.
The ability to cross such distances so covertly.
Even if this teleportation had limits, he couldn't afford to be careless.
What if it was more terrifying than imagined?
Author's Note:
Seeing several readers' generous support today caught me off guard, so here's a bonus chapter.
Let me express my gratitude to my readers: "Thank you all!"
It's almost laughable… My first book ran for 243 days, updating 4000+ words daily until it hit a million words, with an average subscription of just 2 and 102 collections on its final day.
This book has already surpassed that performance early on. Does that give you some confidence in my consistent updates?
Next week, I'll hit my first recommendation, so updates will increase to 6000+ words daily.
It's not that I can't write more, but as this is still in the new book phase, updating too fast could lead to an early paywall…
So let's make a deal. I'll track all data, and when the book goes premium, I'll start bursting updates.
Tentative plan:
For every 50 additional recommendation votes, I'll add one chapter. For donations, I'm less experienced, so tentatively, every 2000 points adds one chapter…
Counting starts today and runs through the end of next week's recommendation.
I'll adjust the bonus rules based on data and my capacity then…
Please bear with this flop author. I'll do my best to write and refine content to repay your support.
All bonus chapters will start rolling out after the paywall.
Your humble author bows!
(End of Chapter)
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