Inside the cockpits of more than a dozen F-22 fighter jets, the pilots stared wide-eyed at the impossible sight rushing toward them.
A dragon, wings spread and ice shimmering along its scales, soared straight into their formation.
Their training had prepared them for enemy aircraft, missiles, and evasive maneuvers, but nothing like this. This was no stealth bomber, no experimental drone. This was a dragon.
"What the hell is going on?!" one pilot shouted over the comms, his voice tight with disbelief. "Since when did the world become… fantasy?"
There was no time for answers.
"Fire all missiles! Do it now!"
The sky erupted with explosions.
Dozens of missiles streaked forward, contrails painting the heavens, followed by a relentless storm of bullets.
The firepower was so dense that even an aircraft carrier would have been shredded.
But the woman riding that dragon, wrapped in a black aura of light, did not flinch.
A shimmering shield of pure energy burst to life around her.
Every missile and bullet that struck it triggered violent explosions, until the entire sky was clouded in smoke and flame.
The pilots squinted through the chaos.
"Is she… dead?"
The question barely left their minds before the answer arrived.
With a thunderous roar, the dragon burst through the smoke.
Atop it stood Bismarck, unscathed, her figure bathed in an almost divine radiance.
She raised her weapon.
A beam of concentrated energy lanced out like a god's judgment.
One by one, the F-22s were swallowed by explosions.
Flames bloomed across the sky, scattering debris like firework petals.
The booming shockwaves shook the air for miles.
High above, riding her dragon with effortless grace, Bismarck appeared not as a soldier, but as an angel of war. Beautiful. Terrifying. Absolute.
She looked down upon the falling wreckage with disdain.
Her cold voice carried through the comms of those who still lived:
"Those who dare insult the majesty of my master, die."
On the ground, Natasha and Barton could only gape.
Their weapons felt like toys compared to what they had just witnessed.
"Is she even human?" Natasha whispered, her face pale.
The answer was obvious, yet unthinkable.
Back in a hidden S.H.I.E.L.D. base, Director Nick Fury leaned over the console as the satellite feed replayed the impossible battle.
His one good eye narrowed, his expression grim.
"Is that still… a person?"
The woman on the dragon reminded him of someone else, someone from years past. A figure who had stood before him with the same aura of invincibility. Time had passed swiftly since then. His body had grown older. But the memory was still sharp.
"Director, what do we do?" Maria Hill's tone was heavy.
The situation had spiraled far out of control.
Those F-22s had been deployed under S.H.I.E.L.D.'s authority. Regardless of why they had been sent toward the Roland estate, the world would only see one thing. S.H.I.E.L.D. had launched an attack.
And the Roland family, led by Jason Kin under his mortal identity Roland Phils, had revealed something terrifying. They possessed not just money and influence, but warriors who defied every law of reality.
These were not ordinary enhanced humans.
They ignored missiles. They rode dragons into battle. Even the creatures at their side were devastating in combat.
Against them, even S.H.I.E.L.D.'s best agents would be slaughtered.
Most alarming of all, Bismarck was not alone. Jason Kin had more than one of these beings at his command.
Fury exhaled slowly. He knew the truth.
If the Roland family became their enemy, S.H.I.E.L.D. was finished. Even if the United States government stood behind him, there was no guarantee they would not abandon him in the face of such overwhelming power.
Maria Hill's jaw tightened. She had the same thought. Their so-called allies in high places were never above cutting their losses.
"Keep the line open with Roland Phils," Fury ordered, his voice steady. "I need to speak with him personally."
"Yes, Director!"
Meanwhile, Bismarck and her dragon descended gracefully, landing atop the estate's rooftop. She dismounted, dropped to one knee, and bowed before Jason Kin with solemn reverence.
"Commander, all intruders have been eliminated," she reported. "Additionally, thirty kilometers away, I detected an aircraft capable of cloaking. Shall I destroy it?"
Clint Barton paled.
"That's… wait! That's our Quinjet! It's friendly!" he blurted.
Bismarck's eyes narrowed dangerously.
"Hmph. S.H.I.E.L.D. dares too much. Spying on us from the shadows was one thing. But openly sending a warship into our skies? They have grown arrogant. Commander, grant me permission to destroy their so-called S.H.I.E.L.D."
Jason Kin remained silent, but before he could respond, another voice joined.
Laffey strolled up lazily, though her eyes burned with irritation.
"She's right. These people have been watching us for weeks. Annoying. We should silence them once and for all."
Then came Icarus, stepping forward eagerly.
"Master, S.H.I.E.L.D. is nothing. A mere flick of your hand can erase them. Allow me."
The rooftop trembled with the combined intensity of their words.
Jason Kin stood at the center, the quiet axis of a storm.
His followers looked to him not just as a leader, but as the embodiment of authority itself.
And for the first time, Natasha and Barton realized what kind of enemy they might have provoked.
Not a man.
Not a family.
But a god, commanding angels of war.
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