"Why? Isabelle would never commit suicide!"
The dead girl's sister, Angel, roared at her superior like a lioness. A heavy crimes unit operative, she'd taken down plenty of criminals. Though she sought forgiveness at church after every shot, she never regretted her actions. Like her sister, she was a devout believer—suicide was unthinkable.
"You didn't see the marks on the ground? How could that be suicide?" Angel's fury was palpable, her shouts overwhelming her boss.
"Angel, calm down! The footage clearly shows your sister took her own life. No matter what marks were found, that's the fact!" her superior said, exasperated.
The ground's traces and the roar that echoed through the neighborhood left him baffled. The focus wasn't Isabelle's suicide anymore but what caused these incomprehensible events. Normally, such supernatural cases were quickly handed off, but now the file just sat on his desk.
He didn't know the department meant to handle this was tied up with an internal investigation. No one would take this case anytime soon.
"Damn it!" Angel stormed out, grabbing her coat and heading for the church.
As a heavy crimes agent, she anchored her spirit in faith, confessing after every kill. Now, she needed peace.
At the church entrance, she brushed past a scruffy man in a black trench coat.
"Constantine, where to now?"
"Charlie, you know where."
Angel vaguely caught their words but paid no mind, entering the church to seek the priest's counsel.
…
"Have you and your son finished your little chat?" Bul-Kathos asked Frank and his son, his tone deliberately calm.
Frank had unfinished business. "I'll visit again in a few days, Gil," he said, ruffling his son's hair before nodding to Bul-Kathos and leaving.
Gil and Bul-Kathos stood outside, watching Frank vanish from sight.
"Big guy, you seem angry," Gil said softly, standing beside Bul-Kathos. Though unaware of the details, he sensed the rage radiating from him.
"It's not for you to worry about now, Gil. Don't stress. Wash up and sleep. Make up for missed training tomorrow," Bul-Kathos said, unlocking the door and leading Gil back to the blacksmith shop.
The Ancient One was busy worldwide, conferencing with angels and dealing with unregistered ones lingering in violation. Earth tolerated their presence, but only within strict boundaries. Unreported angels were stowaways, and their superiors would have to fish them out of the proverbial pool.
As the blacksmith shop's lights dimmed, calm seemed to return. But S.H.I.E.L.D. was about to get busy.
Nick Fury's desk, already piled with files on the mysterious intruders, now held a report on Bul-Kathos's actions—highlighting the explosive war cry and the scene's traces.
"Motherfucker!" Fury, usually adept at hiding emotions, lost it. His expression management training crumbled.
He knew Bul-Kathos had extraordinary power, but that wasn't the point. The barbarian had restrained himself to limit collateral damage, yet Fury was still stunned by his strength.
"Who can tell me what the hell this guy was fighting?" Fury's rapid-fire rant showcased his natural flair.
"Get Rumlow in here! Now! Immediately!" His shout echoed beyond the office.
Rumlow, just settled on his couch in pajamas, got the call from S.H.I.E.L.D.
"This feels like trouble," he muttered, changing clothes.
Since becoming a barbarian, he'd gained some odd new talent.
…
"Rumlow, have you found any enemies of the barbarians?" Fury's single eye narrowed, scrutinizing him.
Fury, ever driven by profit, struggled to grasp the barbarian's reckless sense of justice. He wanted to know if Bul-Kathos had brought enemies to this world.
Though he'd read Coulson's "mythical" reports multiple times, he didn't buy them.
"As far as I know, the barbarians have no enemies here—at least not before," Rumlow said. Learning of Bul-Kathos's actions from Fury's account made him question his own answer. What normal person could provoke Bul-Kathos to unleash environment-shattering force?
This was a problem.
"Then you handle the mess he stirred up. Deal with this Isabelle woman's death," Fury said, still probing Rumlow to gauge his ties to the barbarian.
His agitation was clear, words spilling quickly yet clearly. Rumlow led the special ops team but wasn't clueless about standard S.H.I.E.L.D. work—he just lacked experience.
"Fine, I'm on it," Rumlow said, his attitude toward Fury cooling. His growing strength and will shifted his focus. He no longer cared for Hydra's world-domination ambitions.
No one who'd witnessed Hell, High Heaven, or the Nephalem's power could cling to mundane authority. Even if he ruled the world, what would Rumlow gain? A village, maybe?
(Chapter End)