Chapter 146: Awakened Wanda, Dragon Might
Outside the bay's harbor, on a private yacht that had sailed far out, Pietro sat leisurely on the edge of the deck, his legs dangling over the ship's rail, swinging back and forth.
He held a comic book in his hand, occasionally turning a page, occasionally biting on a straw, and taking a sip of orange juice.
The sun was nice, the sea breeze was light, and everything was just right.
Suddenly, a crimson streak cut through the air beside him out of thin air, and a glowing crack split the air, its edges irregular and flowing with a crimson color, like an incomplete portal.
Wanda stumbled out from within, her steps unsteady.
"What the f*ck?"
Pietro's expression went blank, and the straw he had been biting on slipped from his lips, bounced in mid-air, and landed accurately back into the cup, splashing a small ripple of orange juice.
"Cool!!" His eyes lit up instantly, and he sprang up from the deck, leaning in close to Wanda.
"When did you learn this trick?" he asked subconsciously, his gaze fixed in wonder on the crimson crack that was slowly healing.
"Just now." Wanda patted her chest and exhaled, her chest heaving a few times before she calmed down.
"Phew—dimensional travel is really dangerous; I almost set the teleportation anchor point in the deep sea."
Her tone was understated, but there was still a trace of lingering fear in her eyes that she hadn't managed to hide.
In order to show off in front of someone, and also because she was afraid that someone would notice something, she had hurried away, not caring about the dangers that came with the new magic derived from her own mana.
Fortunately, she was lucky.
Pietro realized it a beat too late.
"Wait—didn't you go... you know... with your boyfriend?"
His expression was indescribable, hovering somewhere in the grey area between gossip and embarrassment.
Wanda gave him a disdainful roll of her eyes.
"I'm not like those playthings of his, okay? He needs me, and is even gradually accepting me, but that doesn't mean the only way for hearts to get closer is through physical connection, OK?"
Upon hearing this, Pietro's face visibly brightened.
"So that means nothing happened."
"It will happen in the future."
She glanced at the orange juice in Pietro's hand, raised her hand, and grasped at the empty air.
Below her palm, the air began to condense, spin, and take on color, and a cup of orange juice, identical to the one in Pietro's hand, appeared in her palm.
The same cup, the same liquid level, and even the angle of the straw's bend were exactly the same.
She lowered her head and took a sip.
"Tch." Pietro's mouth turned down again, unhappy, when he suddenly realized something, his gaze darting back and forth between the orange juice Wanda was drinking and the one in his own hand.
"Wait! I... this... you... huh?"
His mouth opened and closed, closed and opened; a terrifying conjecture began to form in his mind.
"Oh, this?"
The corners of Wanda's mouth curled up.
She lowered her index finger and gently shook it along the rim of the cup, and the orange juice inside began to rotate in rhythm with this movement.
The color changed from orange-yellow to light turquoise, and then from light turquoise to clear transparency; the substance changed from juice to—seawater, and a faint, salty, fishy smell drifted from the rim of the cup.
"Something new I mastered." Wanda looked at the cup of seawater, a calm in her eyes that even she found unfamiliar.
"It's difficult, but I will gradually understand it."
This wasn't a sleight-of-hand trick like Loki pulling supplies out of another dimension; this was genuine material transmutation.
One thing turning into another; it wasn't a replacement, it wasn't a disguise, it was even rewriting the fact of "what it is."
"You..."
Pietro looked at Wanda, feeling that she seemed to have changed slightly. He couldn't put his finger on it, but she was more relaxed, more... free.
Ever since losing their home, she had been carrying a breath of stifled anger.
Hatred, for a girl who hadn't fully formed a complete worldview, was poison.
It seeped into her veins little by little, mixing with her blood, making it impossible to distinguish which part was the pathogen infected by war, and which part was herself.
But now, it seemed she had liberated herself.
Or rather, she had cast that increasingly dense, dark emotion onto someone else.
"Alright then." Pietro's eyes were complex for a moment, and he looked at Wanda with a smile.
"Just don't push yourself too hard; after all, I'm your brother."
"Are you stupid? I'm not alone." Wanda gave him a strange side-glance.
Her brother was just too soft, wasn't he? What could happen to her? Who would do anything to her?
"A gift from him?" Pietro changed the subject; his sister's mouth and gaze were too sharp, and he couldn't handle it.
"Hmm." Wanda lowered her eyes to look at the necklace on her neck; having lost its spiritual essence, it hung quietly against her skin.
"He hasn't come after me for this long, which means he acknowledges that it's mine now."
"Sounds like the way you got it wasn't very honorable, and you're talking about me?" Pietro muttered, his voice very low, but Wanda heard him.
"Hmph!" Wanda didn't show a shred of shame; instead, she lifted her chin complacently, "This is called fighting for happiness."
"Fine, whatever you say." Pietro waved his hand.
Whatever games this man and woman played were their own business, and only he was the one getting hurt, but... at least the waffle was delicious, and he had eaten it.
"Friendly reminder, we still have a mission to complete."
"Do we?"
Wanda raised her eyebrows with light disdain, and Pietrocast a puzzled look at her.
She raised her hands and held them out in front of her, as if supporting something invisible and very heavy.
"Actually—I found it."
As she spoke,
A thick, ancient book appeared out of thin air, hovering above her palm.
On the black cover were bizarre text symbols, and an ominous, deathly silent aura seeped from the gaps in the pages, as if something was sleeping inside the book, or perhaps waiting for something.
The ancient book landed in her hands.
Wanda raised her eyes, meeting Pietro's gaze, which was shocked into speechlessness, her expression carrying a hint of overbearing arrogance.
It wasn't faked; it was that kind of arrogance that grows from one's bones after truly grasping some power, an arrogance that couldn't be suppressed.
"Or rather, it found me."
Ten minutes later, Green Morgan arrived at S.H.I.E.L.D.'s branch in Norway.
The underground elevator door slid open with a ding, and cold white light spilled out from the gap, illuminating a short section of the corridor.
Green Morgan stepped out, bending slightly while holding the top edge of the elevator door, his shoulders brushing against both sides of the frame, his tall figure in the doorway looking like a large beast released from a cage.
"Sir, please this way."
Several Agents seemed to be waiting here on purpose, standing in a row, all extending their hands in a gesture of invitation.
Their uniforms were crisp and their expressions respectful, but the muscles at the corners of their eyes were pulled tight.
"Where are my people?"
"Please meet with our Boss first..." one of the Agents began, but before he could finish.
Green Morgan raised his hand, reached out, and gripped his neck.
"Since when is it your turn to teach me how to do things?"
The remaining Agents instinctively reached for their holsters, the moment their fingers touched the gun grips.
"Hmm?!"
Green Morgan turned his head toward them.
Dragon Might was released.
In an instant, the pupils of the several Agents shrank to pinpoints.
In their view, the area behind Green Morgan fell into an intense pitch-black darkness; it wasn't that the lights had gone out, but that the light had been swallowed by something, and even the emergency exit sign at the end of the corridor vanished into that darkness.
A brilliant golden dragon eye emerged from the black mist, occupying the entire corridor, its pupil vertical, like an elongated crack.
The golden iris flowed with magma-like luster, looking down from above as if watching a few insignificant specks of dust.
Their souls were captured.
Fear rose from the base of their spines, crawling up along their nerves; before their consciousness could react, their bodies had already made a choice.
The group of Agents felt their knees go weak, their spines collapse, and their foreheads pressed against the cold ground, their vision plunged into darkness.
The pressure did not stop, continuing to spread like a tide, unobstructed, pressing down layer by layer, dimming the light of the entire base.
The bright corridor instantly became gloomy, the light from the fluorescent tubes turned greyish-white, and the buzzing sound of the current became particularly piercing.
In a private office, a cold, beautiful woman was with a female Agent.
Her matte purple-accented short cape hung from her shoulders, swaying gently with the movement of her body.
Suddenly—the lights flickered.
A trembling pressure pressed down from above, like an invisible palm pressing on the back of both their necks.
"Oh—Yeah—!!"
That pressure was like a potent aphrodisiac, causing the female Agent beneath her to fall completely into confusion.
"Whoa~~ A big shot has arrived."
Stormfront's mouth curled up, and that smile was surprisingly similar to Homelander's fake smile.
She climbed up and tossed the limp female Agent on the table onto the floor.
The female Agent fell to the ground, but the expression on her face remained blissful, with a satisfied, dazed smile hanging at the corners of her mouth.
Deep in her pupils, a mark of a blood-colored throne lit up, then quickly sank into the depths of her eyes and disappeared.
Her lips moved silently, as if saying something.
My Lord.
Outside the cell door, John Garrett was painstakingly conducting verbal and psychological persuasion on Thor.
[John Garrett: Level 8 S.H.I.E.L.D. Agent, the ultimate villain of the first season of Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D., a senior undercover Hydra operative, the mastermind behind the Centipede Project, codename: The Clairvoyant.]
Thor was doing push-ups by himself.
He pulled the cotton out of his pillow, rolled it into two balls, and stuffed them into his ears, treating the person outside as if they were talking to themselves.
"Come on, kid, why do you have to follow someone who has no teamwork..."
Garrett was very patient, but at this moment, the pressure descended.
The lights inside the cell began to flicker.
He frowned, picked up the walkie-talkie from his waist, and pressed the talk button.
There was only a hoarse, meaningless hissing sound in the walkie-talkie, as if something was gnawing on the signal on the other end of the electromagnetic waves.
"Go check it out." He said to the Agent subordinate, turning his head.
Several Agents nodded and walked away quickly.
Garrett stood in place, his gaze falling on the blonde, muscular man inside the cell who was doing push-ups.
Thor stopped.
He pushed off the ground and stood up, his tall frame looking exceptionally massive in the dim red light.
He reached out, pulled the cotton balls out of his ears, tossed them on the ground, and then walked toward the iron door, looking at the somber-faced Garrett with a smile.
"He has arrived."
Chapter 147: Storm
In the corridor, Green casually released the unconscious Agent and looked at the only one still struggling to stand, leaning against the wall.
"Who are you?"
"A... nobody." Grant Ward squeezed out a smile.
[Grant Ward: Key villain in the first three seasons of Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D., Level 7 S.H.I.E.L.D. Agent / senior Hydra mole, expert in operations, combat, and firearms.]
"Looks like you have a clear understanding of your position."
Green withdrew his gaze. As he walked past, he stomped on his right knee.
Crack!
"Ugh—!!"
Grant Ward gritted his teeth to suppress a scream, cold sweat breaking out from the excruciating pain. His body slid down the wall, hands clutching his leg.
"I don't like stubborn bones standing in front of me."
He didn't look back, striding forward. After a few steps, dozens of Agents poured out of the corridor ahead, filling the passage.
They raised their guns, aiming from different heights at the same target, fingers on the triggers.
"Get out of the way, I won't say it a second time."
Green didn't stop, walking straight toward them.
The Agents' eyes held no fear—not because they weren't afraid, but because they had been trained to react reflexively.
Their gun barrels trembled slightly, but they didn't lower them.
As Green approached step by step, their nasal cavities began to heat up. Warm liquid flowed from their nostrils, dripping onto their lips, salty and bloody. Bloodshot veins appeared on their eyeballs, and their vision began to blur.
"Hey, hey, don't be so tense, okay? We're on the same side."
Storm walked out from the office area with her hands on her hips, her purple cape swaying behind her. Her tone was annoyed, sounding like she was trying to break up a fight while also complaining.
She tilted her chin and gestured at the Agents: "Lower them, lower them, gentlemen."
No one listened to her.
Green's aura was too strong, forcing the Agents to keep their guns raised. It wasn't that they didn't want to lower them; their bodies wouldn't allow it. Besides, their actual leader wasn't this woman.
"Seriously! You're making me look awkward, sweethearts."
Storm was so angry she laughed, a dangerous curve forming at the corner of her mouth.
Purple plasma currents lit up the palms of her black rubber gloves, small arcs of electricity jumping between her fingers with a buzzing sound that made one's scalp tingle.
She intended to kill these disrespectful people directly.
"Enough!"
John Garrett strode over from the corridor behind the crowd, shouting angrily, his pace faster than usual.
If he were any later, his base would be cleared out by these two lunatics.
The Agents lowered their guns.
But Green didn't listen to him.
He continued forward, walking straight into the group of Agents. His shoulders brushed against the gun barrels, his chest pressed against the muzzles, like a red-hot knife sliding into butter. The crowd parted on either side of him.
The underlying logic of obedience in the Agents clashed with the fear brought by Green, and fear won.
Their bodies subconsciously swerved, clearing a path.
The result was that John Garrett faced Green head-on.
There was no obstruction between them.
"Uh..."
John Garrett choked, looking up at Green's expressionless face.
Even his cold-blooded heart, which had been tempered on the edge of life and death for most of his life, couldn't help but skip a beat the moment he met Green's gaze.
"You've got guts, old man, putting this much effort into finding me."
Thor being blocked and imprisoned was never the point.
This Hydra head was coming for him.
This base... looking at this formation, the eyes and equipment of these Agents, the closed hatch doors on both sides of the corridor, and the surveillance screens covering the entire wall, this place had completely become a breeding nest for Hydra. There wasn't a single S.H.I.E.L.D.Agent left.
"Calm down, okay?"
John Garrett sighed, raising his hands in front of him, palms out, in a friendly gesture, though he felt a surge of annoyance inside.
Although he knew a bit about Drake's top guy, he hadn't expected him to leave no face for him at all.
If he hadn't shown up, he would have intended to break through this base directly and force people away, right?
"State the purpose of having me come here. If I'm not satisfied, I'll clear out 70% of the Agents here."
"I just wanted you two to meet." John Garrett softened his tone, looking a bit helpless, and reached out to pull the edge of Storm's cape, dragging her closer.
"And I, as the middleman for you two, okay? Come on, boy, I have no malicious intent."
"With your intelligence network, I shouldn't need to introduce myself!"
"I've actually always been paying attention to you."
"Oh~~ B boy, when you exert your toughness, I... mmm~~ It's just, truly wonderful!"
Storm clasped her hands under her chin, looking up with a face full of worship, her legs rubbing together unconsciously.
Green watched her calmly.
[Storm: Real name Clara Rasinger, age 100+, active since World War II, first-generation Nazi Compound V test subject, wife of Vought Company founder Frederick Vought, key villain in Season 2 of The Boys, intends to use Supes to build a pure-blood Nazi empire, abilities include purple plasma lightning, supersonic flight, super strength, super defense, rapid healing, extremely long lifespan.]
"Two-faced bitch." That was his first impression of Storm.
"Originally, we intended to invite Baron Strucker's side," Garrett picked up the interrupted topic,
"but according to my latest intelligence, his two disciples have already left the island. So, the four of us..."
"Whatever empire plan you intend to pull off, I'm not interested. It's pretty good as it is now, with plenty of talent." Green directly interrupted him.
Garrett wasn't angry at being interrupted; he smiled and raised his head.
"What if I said, immortality?"
"Then I'm even less interested."
Garrett's confident expression froze.
"It's about Hell."
Storm took over, crossing her arms, her expression losing its frivolity, her tone becoming more serious.
"At the end of World War II, before we were defeated, we launched the 'Ragnarok' project. We brought in the dark monk Grigori Rasputin to open the gates of Hell using science and magic, intending to summon Ogdru Jahad to reverse the war situation."
She let her gaze fall on Green's face, observing his reaction.
"Obviously, we failed again, but not completely."
"A demon infant smuggled over from that dimension."
"The red-skinned demon currently with the B.P.R.D.—oh, in terms of a demon's growth cycle, he's just reached youth."
"He is the key." John Garrett took over, his voice warmer than before, his eyes carrying a kind of fanatical, or rather, desperate desire for survival.
"And, the dark monk who knows how to use him isn't dead. The plan can still proceed."
He lifted the sweater he was wearing, exposing his abdomen. Where it should have been flesh, it was now a patchwork of biological tissue and bright yellow mechanical tissue.
Under the translucent membrane were dense circuits and micro-pumps, liquid bubbling with fine bubbles as it circulated through his body, like a pot of warm porridge that would never boil.
"I don't have many years left to live." His voice lowered.
"Early in my career, during a mission in Sarajevo, I became a pawn discarded by S.H.I.E.L.D. Although I survived, my body was too severely damaged."
He pulled down his sweater, covering the disturbing sight.
"To stay alive, I started the 'Deathlok' project and became the first test subject, the so-called cyborg."
He raised his eyes to look at Green. There was no pleading, no weakness in his gaze, only the hysterical madness of someone pushed into a corner.
"I'd rather trade with a demon than beg for a single bit of mercy from a useless God."
"Drake." Green didn't answer immediately, instead mentioning his logistics director.
"Yes, he accepted." Garrett nodded.
"He hoped you would agree too, but he didn't reveal your movements; instead, he gave your subordinates a mission coordinate."
"Furthermore, he, I, and the remnants of the Nazis represented by Storm have also started working with the Black Lake again, given the sufficiently huge benefits."
"Hmph." Green laughed. He knew what Drake was planning.
He pushed Garrett aside, and the aura that had been pressing down on the air, making people unable to breathe, retracted with this movement.
"Anyway, just one sentence."
Green walked forward without looking back, his voice coming from behind, not loud, but every word was as clear as if carved into an iron plate.
"Whoever comes to my World, I'll kill them. You'd better be able to send them away, otherwise, I'll kill you all together."
"Of course." John Garrett shouted at his back.
Whether it was the truth or not, at least on the surface, he had to pretend.
"I'll take you to your people." Storm shouted, eyes flashing with brilliance. She liked dangerous people.
"Get close to me and I'll kill you, bitch."
"I'm starting to like this bad boy." Storm laughed instead of getting angry.
"Is everything okay on your end?" Garrett looked at her.
"Uh-huh." Storm nodded.
"Right now, our goals are aligned with the Nazi remnants, otherwise they wouldn't have sent me. And that dark monk, although alive, isn't fully alive. He needs time to fully recover and restore himself. We still have time to muddy the waters further."
She needed the demon's power to expand her influence, her utopia, but not to actually destroy the World—that would be too stupid.
"But we're going to have to bleed heavily, otherwise these greedy snakes won't be as easy to talk to as they were this time." John Garrett sighed and laughed at himself.
The connection of cooperation was interest. Without interest, he figured these three parties would kick him out without hesitation, and for him, in his weak position, the only way out of the game was death!
"Oh, actually, I really want him to be impolite to me." Storm seemed to be thinking about something, a sharp light flashing in her eyes, the smile at the corner of her mouth deepening.
"Do whatever you want." John Garrett couldn't be bothered to deal with this crazy woman.
"Forget it, just standing next to him earlier, his hostility almost made me spray. I'd better go find my sweet and fragrant Bloody Mary for a manicure."
She turned and headed for the elevator, her purple cape tracing an arc behind her.
"Don't bother."
John Garrett watched her walk into the elevator. Before the door closed, she gave him a smiling glance.
The elevator door closed.
John Garrett's smiling face instantly cooled.
"Sir, Storm killed a few of our men." A subordinate walked over and reported with his head bowed.
"Reason." There was no joy or anger on Garrett's face.
"They were Judases."
"...Clean them up."
"Yes."
Garrett stood where he was, his gaze fixed on the closed elevator door for a few seconds, then turned and walked to the other end of the corridor.
His back looked thin under the gray-white light, his footsteps steady, neither hurried nor slow, like a calibrated machine still running, just not knowing how much longer it could run.
Chapter 148: Green's Little Scheme
New York, night. The Life Foundation building stood tall in the Manhattan skyline.
A quinjet landed on the rooftop helipad. The roar of the engines gradually faded from a high pitch to a low hum, and the rotor blades slowly ceased their rotation.
The hatch opened with the dull hiss of hydraulic devices.
Green walked down the gangway, the night wind rushing into the cabin behind him, followed by Thor, who was munching on a sandwich.
"I need a bottle of beer to settle my stomach." This blond, muscular man had already grown accustomed to the ways of Earth.
He was a completely different person compared to when he first arrived on Earth, back when he thought beer was some kind of low-grade swill fit only for dwarves.
"Give him some room-temperature horse piss," Green said casually to the waiting assistant without turning his head.
The assistant stood at the entrance of the helipad, dressed in a black uniform with a headset hanging from her collar. She remained expressionless, giving a slight nod upon hearing the order.
"Nonono, I want an ice-cold Corona," Thor waved his hands hurriedly.
"My order stands; give him horse piss," Green said.
The assistant glanced at Thor before shifting her gaze back to Green, nodding in acknowledgment. It seemed she would have to do something unspeakable to a horse.
Thor's Adam's apple bobbed. "OK! I don't want it anymore." He was genuinely afraid Green would force-feed him.
Thor felt bitter inside. After being locked up for so long, he thought he was meeting family, but all he got was a packaged sandwich, and a cold one at that. But Thor didn't complain; he decided he would claim a hefty reimbursement for his field expenses.
He followed Green inside, the glass door sliding shut behind them.
"Hey! My great hero has returned!" Drake approached with a grin the moment they entered.
Green looked around, raising his eyebrows slightly. What was originally a circular prison-style laboratory and attached observation room had been transformed into a... miniature mimetic ecosystem.
Rocks were layered, vines hung down, and the ground was covered with fine gravel and moss. The air was filled with the damp scent of soil and plants. The lighting had been adjusted to a warm yellow, simulating sunlight, casting dappled shadows on the rock walls from the artificial sky above. It looked like they were simulating a canyon environment.
"Did you do some remodeling?" Green withdrew his gaze and looked at Drake. "I don't need to tell you how strong the aberrant radiation inside is, do I?"
"Risk and reward coexist, and it's very stable, don't worry." Drake wasn't tall enough, so he could only pat Green's arm.
Green's gaze fell toward the depths of the ecological zone. The Treant Cavalry rested in the shadows of the rocks, their bodies merged with the vines, making it impossible to distinguish skin from plant. Their eyes glowed with a ghostly green light in the darkness, blinking steadily.
"So you brought them back too? You must know that their intelligence is equal to, or even higher than, that of a normal person."
"The scientists have their ways." Drake shrugged. "By the way, you like Eve, so I promoted her to be in charge of this canyon project. She is certainly capable enough."
"Eve." Green recalled this woman. Ambitious, intelligent, knowing what she wanted and not minding paying the price for it. It seemed there were no weak women around him. Even Gwen, whose original dream was just to be a top dancer, now wanted to take over her father's job or learn to be a war correspondent like Green.
"She is researching the breeding of these humanoid bodies." Drake leaned in closer, lowering his voice and winking. "Do you need me to call her over? She misses you, and her assistant, who is also her sister, does too."
"Call her over." It was perfect; he needed their expertise.
Inside the laboratory, cold white light poured down from the ceiling, illuminating the stainless steel surfaces. The air was filled with the scent of preservative fluid mixed with metal, occasionally interspersed with the pungent lingering trace of disinfectant. In the center of the lab bench lay the dissected corpse of a Treant Cavalry. Its chest cavity had been sliced open vertically, ribs spread out to the sides like a fan, revealing the grayish-green, already shriveling visceral tissue inside.
Eve sat on the edge of the lab bench, leaning against the isolation glass with her legs spread. Her high heels hung from her toes, swinging as her body moved slightly, the heels clicking up and down like some silent metronome.
Her voice carried a deliberate steadiness, as if she were trying to maintain the tone of a professional report, but the ends of her sentences would occasionally tremble slightly. "So... you need a nearly one hundred percent... hiss—hoo..."
She paused, took a deep breath, and exhaled slowly. Her chest rose and fell more noticeably than usual, and the buttons of her uniform shirt were stretched tight. "A one hundred percent realistic female body. The real-person data is from the former Senior Director of Digital Marketing at Vought International, Becca Butcher."
"I have already sent you the specific information." Green said calmly, standing in front of her.
As the current secret agent for Vought International CEO Edgar, and as the breeding subject for his daughter, he could naturally obtain Becca's complete physical data. From bone density to skin texture, from iris color to the curve of her toes, every detail lay in Eve's inbox, accurate to two decimal places.
"I... may I ask what it is intended for? That way... that way it would be easier for me to make... adjustments."
"A scapegoat."
Green intended to package her as evidence of being murdered and dissected by Black Lake, in order to divert the attention of those in The Boys. Green wouldn't forget the trip to the canyon, nor the grudge against the opposing side. He wanted to throw some dust in their eyes.
As for the recording, he also had the promiscuous and disgraced Becca record one. Authenticity could be ensured, and he had already fabricated the timeline: it was cargo sold to Black Lake after Homelander raped Becca. So—between killing his wife and insulting his wife, the Butcher would have to choose.
"U-understood." Eve's voice carried a soaked softness. She understood immediately, both in body and mind.
"Notify me when it's done." Green turned and walked away.
"Ah... uh..." Eve suddenly felt an unprecedented emptiness. She watched Green's back. "I can handle it for you." Her voice squeezed out from the depths of her throat, carrying a strange, eager heat that even she found unfamiliar. "Also, a new Mutant has joined my ranks. Her ability is mimicry."
Her shoe fell off, and her bare toes curled, wedging into the gap between her belt and waistband, hooking back gently like a finger beckoning someone. Her eyes, glistening like water, watched him, her lower lip bitten gently by her teeth. Teeth marks sank into the full flesh of her lip, glowing with a moist, deep red that only comes from being bitten.
"Oh?" Green became interested and turned back.
"Uh... Yeah—" Eve was satisfied. She didn't know how it happened; with her high-functioning personality, she shouldn't have overstepped, acting so deliberately, especially regarding her superior's private matters. A sense of proportion was her greatest strength, the ladder she climbed to get where she was today, the weapon she relied on to survive and never miss. But...
She looked at Green in front of her, her gaze gradually becoming dazed. She craved him, needed him; she would even be willing to die for him. When that thought popped into her head, she didn't find it absurd or excessive; she just felt it was natural, like one plus one equals two, needing no proof. As long as it continued... as long as it continued!!
"She needs to ingest the target's tissue." Eve's voice returned to that professional, capable tone, but the daze in her eyes had not completely faded. "Then she can achieve a complete physical inheritance, including memories and muscle instincts."
"Is the reliability high?" "She wouldn't dare betray us, I guarantee it." "Then we can obtain the tissue sample now."
"But she doesn't..." Eve's words were only half-spoken before she suddenly understood. "Evelyn." She called out.
"Shhh, shhh, shhh... I'm working hard to obtain it, sister." A crouching female silhouette was vaguely reflected on the glass, head down, doing something.
"I told you not to block the way!" "You eat too little, useless sister..." "Don't be so stingy."
Chapter 149: Juicer
Not long after, Green Morgan walked out of the door, looking slightly depressed.
Behind him, the Eve sisters were spent, yet they still yearned for connection, never to be separated.
And this was all thanks to that blessing from Wanda.
[Crimson Blessing — — Lust of Delusion] (Bound)
Passive Trait:
Except for those loved by Green Morgan, any individual who obtains pleasure from his body in any form will fall into a bottomless abyss of desire.
Conversion Judgment:
Weak: Flesh disintegrates into "Flesh Soil" and sinks into the Hell layer.
Strong: Converted into a "Flesh Tool," permanently driven by Green Morgan (downgraded to Flesh Soil after value drops).
Basis of Judgment:
Evaluated based on the functional value of the individual to Green Morgan.
[Note: Final ruling power belongs to Green Morgan.]
Additional Constraint: The aforementioned individuals cannot conceive life with Green Morgan.
[This effect cannot be exempted in any form.]
Green Morgan finished reading, closed the panel, and stood in the corridor in silence for a few seconds.
The light poured down from above his head, casting a sharp, well-defined shadow on the ground.
His expression remained unchanged; there was no frowning, no sighing, and nothing superfluous that could be interpreted as "emotion."
This was because he felt no guilt.
Just as the blessing explained, Green Morgan did not love them.
He did not care about unimportant things, whether they were broken from play or what their wishes might be.
Yes, the scumbag Green Morgan was quite the scumbag; even though he had saved the World, he remained an out-and-out scumbag.
He just felt that the speed at which they were being "broken" seemed to have increased.
They used to be able to last a few more times, but now, after just a little fun, they started to show hysterical reactions.
He didn't know if it was due to his increasingly powerful body, the Authority of Lust, or if Wanda had added something to the blessing, or perhaps all three.
They were having a blast, but Green Morgan, on the other hand, was not getting much replenishment of desire.
That blessing was a curse, right?!
Yes, it must be; how could it possibly be Green Morgan's own problem?
"Hey, my friend."
Across the corridor, Drake walked over quickly at the right moment.
"What is it?" Green Morgan turned his head to look at him.
"I'm taking you to see something good." Drake winked and smiled, looking slightly mysterious.
The elevator descended all the way down.
The elevator button lights jumped from "L" to "-1," from "-1" to "-2," and finally stopped at "-3."
During the descent, the elevator car vibrated slightly, and the ventilation vent overhead emitted a low hum, as if some giant machine was operating underground.
Ding——
The elevator doors slid open.
Cold white light poured out from the door gap, illuminating Green Morgan's face.
The curved corridor was very long, stretching out of sight, with transparent glass partitions on both sides; behind the partitions were dense rows of workbenches, instruments, and display screens.
Hundreds of researchers were walking around inside, wearing white coats, goggles, and holding tablets, test tubes, or unknown instruments in their hands.
Their footsteps were hurried, their expressions focused, one might even say fanatical.
This kind of fanaticism was not forced, nor was it performed; it was a heartfelt obsession, deeply attracted by something, to the point of forgetting to eat or sleep.
They paid no attention to the two people standing at the elevator entrance, walking straight past them.
Green Morgan's gaze crossed over those busy figures and landed on the glass wall at the end of the corridor.
Behind the glass wall was a huge, circular space.
Its shape and structure felt familiar to him; the equipment inside, the core area in the center surrounded by various pipelines, was exactly the same as the laboratory where Green Morgan had extracted radiation back then.
Except, it was a magnified version.
Moreover, the shells of those instruments had started to grow flesh.
It was not a metaphor; it was real flesh, pink, like tissue just stripped from some giant creature, covering the surface of the metal and spreading along the path of the pipelines.
In some places, thick pads of flesh had formed, completely obscuring the original metal contours, leaving only a few indicator lights flickering in the gaps of the flesh layer.
The entire space looked like two symbiotic hearts beating together in the same chest cavity, the flesh layer rising and falling slightly with some invisible rhythm.
Drake stood beside Green Morgan, hands behind his back, rising slightly on his toes, tilting his head to look at Green Morgan's face, waiting for his reaction.
"Is there something special about it?"
Looking at Drake's "ask me, ask me" expression, Green Morgan complied and asked.
Clap——
Drake clapped his hands happily.
"In the classics, alchemists used specific Cursed Techniqueto transform human spirit and flesh into the omnipotent Philosopher's Stone, turning stone into gold, flying without tools, extending lifespan, and even, hand-crafting a small Sun."
He turned around, facing Green Morgan, making an overlapping gesture with his hands in front of him; his speaking speed increased, and his voice carried an irrepressible excitement.
"And now, through technological means, we have also realized the modern Philosopher's Stone."
"By extracting the spirit and flesh of sinners, as well as refining the extraordinary items of dark attributes we contain, the two blend and are extracted to achieve the effect of a negative times a negative equals a positive."
"The function of those two machines is not one positive and one negative, but rather they are downward compatible with each other, generating attribute-less extraordinary energy. The container for storage is right under our feet."
"How about it? Pretty good, right! We have our own unique patent!"
After saying this, Drake rose slightly on his toes and dropped back down, like a child who couldn't help but want to jump up but was forcibly suppressing it, but his body language had completely betrayed him.
"...It certainly looks like it's full of positive energy."
Green Morgan looked at the two machines growing flesh, feeling a bit weird no matter how he looked at them.
But it seemed—quite to his taste.
He was hungry just looking at it.
"There are definitely hidden dangers, but it doesn't matter; everything is under control." Drake made an OK gesture.
Green Morgan glanced at him.
"Your sanity is slipping."
"Is that so?" Drake touched his forehead, then his mouth split open, stretching to his ears, revealing an almost crazed, yet incredibly sincere smile.
"Oh~~ that means I'm getting into the zone!"
"Collaborating with the Black Lake?" Green Morgan asked.
"I offer my apologies; it was indeed acting first and reporting later, but you weren't here at the time. Those uninvited guests were barbaric and tried to control my brain, but they seemed to fear you and only made a simple probe, which gave me the chance to use those 'Philosopher's Stones' to hold them off."
He took out his phone, turned on the screen, and displayed a photo of several core figures of the original Hellfire Clubstanding in a lobby on some floor.
Drake pointed at a blonde woman with a proud figure, tapping his fingertip on the screen.
"It's her, the former White Queen. It seems there are capable people in the Black Lake who can control them."
He continued to flip the page.
The next photo was much blurrier, as if someone had taken it from a distance.
A woman in a bright red cloak was getting out of a car and walking toward the door. The cloak fluttered slightly in the night wind; her face was mostly obscured by shadows, revealing only a pale jawline.
"My insider says that the Black Lake Higher-Ups have almost all been purged, leaving only the former president's only daughter as a puppet,"
Drake flipped the page again.
The woman stopped, turned her head, and looked directly into the camera; her face was eerily blurred into a pile of pixels.
"Currently, there isn't much information about this person behind the scenes, and my long-cultivated insider is also dead. Can you tell what she is made of?"
"I'll know when I see her face to face."
"I like the way you have such confidence."
"You know their plan, right?"
"Of course." Drake nodded. "Nothing more than some ritual, summoning a demon, and profiting from it."
He paused, turned his head to look at Green Morgan, his gaze carrying a probing intent.
"Do you believe they would be willing to share the profits with us after sending the demon back?" He specifically emphasized "us."
"When has our profit ever depended on the charity of others?" Green Morgan asked back.
"Hey! Then I can rest easy." Drake smiled.
He was a bit worried that Green Morgan had been turned by the other side; after all, the other side seemed able to offer Green Morgan higher stakes than he could, because he had lost to them in the mystical aspect.
This was also why he was so eager to pull Green Morgandown to show him his results, fearing that his big treasure would run away.
"It seems our dear temporary ally has been bewitched by a demon; we must save the World."
"Yes, I don't like those corpses running to my turf and holding a knife to my throat. Besides, we also have their insiders inside, otherwise, they wouldn't have happened to come knocking while you were away."
"That is your business."
"Of course, I can handle it. Not a single one will be left."
Drake continued, his voice lowered, a flash of ruthlessness in his eyes.
"Then that's that. Find an opportunity to take them out and take over their resources."
Green Morgan's gaze suddenly stopped. He looked through the glass wall to the room on the other side and saw a familiar figure.
"Why is he in there?" He pointed at Thor.
The muscular blonde man was sitting in front of the experimental table, covered in dense electrode patches, with wires converging from all directions to an instrument that was humming.
Several researchers were surrounding him, some adjusting parameters, some recording data, some explaining something to him.
"Oh, they are looking for individuals capable of adapting to extraordinary powers to act as mobile containers, just like the wizards in 'Harry Potter,' but they don't need wands."
He smiled and shoved his hands into the pockets of his suit jacket.
"A scientist's creativity is always unconstrained and wonderful, isn't it?"
He noticed Green Morgan's expression was a bit weird and quickly explained:
"But rest assured, the examination process is gentle and won't hurt him."
"Uh..."
Actually, Green Morgan didn't want to dissuade him, but that gay guy was a bona fide member of a pantheon.
Using instruments designed for mortals to test a god was truly a bit overkill.
Seeing Green Morgan silent, Drake also cast his gaze toward Thor.
The instruments on Thor began to light up and emit pulse sounds.
His expression changed from exploration to curiosity, from curiosity to excitement, and then it was full of passion—well, in the literal sense...
"I can feel it——POWERR!!"
Thor roared and raised his hands, thousands of electric arcs shooting from his palms, crackling and exploding; blue-white electric light darted wildly around the room.
The electric arcs hit the instruments, and the instruments exploded.
The electric arcs hit the walls, and the walls blackened.
The electric arcs hit the power distribution box——
"BANG——!!"
The entire base tripped a breaker and fell into pitch-black darkness.
Only a few weak arcs of light remained in Thor's palms, flickering like fireflies between his fingers, then slowly extinguishing.
Beep——beep——beep——
In the darkness, only the faint, pale light of the emergency lamps remained, along with the air that gradually became stuffy after the air conditioning system shut down.
Drake: "..."
Green Morgan: "..."
Researchers on site: "..."
Researchers off-site: "..."
"I didn't save the game!!!" The base was completely detonated by a single howl.
Chapter 150: Plain Talk
Green Morgan dragged Thor, who had been stuck with so many needles he looked like a porcupine, and fled in a panic. Heaven knows how many secondary Adamantiumneedles were in this place.
Drake, still trying to intervene, was struck by an angry researcher with an elbow that sent his nose bleeding profusely.
After crawling out of the elevator shaft's emergency exit, the two brothers walked through the noisy streets of New York.
"As expected, no matter which World it is, these scholars have the same explosive tempers. My high-end gear got pricked a few times too."
Thor grimaced as he pulled the last syringe from his arm. The moment the needle left his skin, a small string of blood beads emerged. He wiped it casually on his pant leg, as indifferent as if he had been bitten by a mosquito.
"Can you stop ruining the atmosphere of such a nice night?"
"Where to now?"
"Finding someone to treat us." Green Morgan still had things to confirm.
In Hells Kitchen, the two walked into a crowded bar.
The air was filled with the scents of cheap perfume, whiskey, and sweat, while neon tubes on the ceiling bent into ambiguous pink and purple arcs.
"Is this reimbursable?" Thor asked, his gaze already glued to the row of shiny bottles above the bar.
"I remember I've been paying you a salary, haven't I? You can't even afford a few beers?" Green Morgan helplessly slapped a card onto his chest.
"I just went over the limit." Thor couldn't suppress a smile as he took the card, his thumb rubbing across its surface.
"Besides, that jerk Valkyrie always uses my card."
He paused, lifting his gaze from the card, and feigned casual probing, "Th-this card..."
"There's a monthly limit of three hundred thousand dollars."
"Yes!!" Thor happily kissed the card.
Only after coming to Earth did he discover there were so many fun things to do. He had to order four or five chocolate male models for himself, then buy the latest game console. Hmm, better go get a wax first.
Thinking this, he turned and happily headed to the bar.
Green Morgan wove through the crowd and walked to a corner of the bar.
The lights dimmed here, the pink and purple neon turning into a deeper, almost ink-like dark blue, as if something had squeezed it out of this space.
The smell of smoke and alcohol in the air faded, replaced by a silent, tense atmosphere.
A man sat in the shadows of a booth, dressed in the style of a truck driver.
The sleeves of his plaid shirt were rolled up to his forearms, his jeans were worn white, and the brim of his baseball cap was pulled very low.
On the table in front of him sat a glass of bourbon that had barely been touched, the condensation on the glass already forming a fine layer of mist.
"Are you monitoring me?" Steve raised his icy blue eyes from under the brim of his cap, staring at Green Morgan.
"Don't mistake kindness for malice, Steve. I just happened to run into you here." Green Morgan casually fiddled with a hanging clock decoration on the wall, his fingertips pushing the brass pendulum, making it sway.
Steve narrowed his eyes. Coincidence. Private. Secret. Was this meeting—in Green Morgan's personal capacity?
This guy... He didn't fear powerful enemies, but he was wary of people who could reasonably use their own intelligence and understood their own positioning.
Clearly, Green Morgan, this hunter walking on a gray path, was extremely troublesome.
Steve even subjectively believed that the conversation he was about to have would determine whether he could survive at his hands.
It wasn't an exaggeration, nor was it overthinking; it was that instinctive judgment of danger that only comes after decades of crawling through the battlefield.
"What do you want to know?" He said in a deep voice.
Green Morgan leaned back into the booth, his arm resting on the backrest, his fingers tapping lightly on the leather armrest.
"Some time ago, after the battle that broke out in the New York neighborhood, I didn't receive my reward. It disappeared halfway. Also, my courier—are you aware of this?"
Steve gritted his teeth, the muscles in his jaw tightening and then relaxing. He took a deep breath and exhaled slowly.
"I intercepted it, but I didn't know it was your person. I will return it to you."
"It doesn't matter. Failure is failure. Trash that can't even handle such a small task isn't worth returning. Keep it."
"I want to know, what do you need that Mutant bullfrog for? Do you like big Dio?"
Steve's face twitched. "You really sound like Soldier Boy."
"That junkie who likes saggy old ladies doesn't have my charm."
"Even more so."
"Like what?" Thor, carrying two mugs of beer, a large plate of spaghetti bolognese, and several plates of snacks piled high, squeezed over from the bar and plopped down next to Steve.
Steve turned his head, feeling an inexplicable wariness toward this overly familiar hunk.
It wasn't the vigilance one feels toward an enemy, but something more subtle, indescribable... Why is this guy sitting so close to me?!
"I am Thor Odinson." Thor didn't shout his full name and title in a chuunibyou way this time; it seemed he had gained some intelligence.
He pushed the beer mug in front of Steve, his movements as natural as an old friend.
"His bro—" He looked at Green Morgan, wanting to say something more, but catching sight of that intimidating face, he quickly stopped, his tongue twisting behind his teeth, and he forcibly swallowed the rest of the sentence.
"Bro, you know—the super reliable kind." Thor hummed and nodded to himself, his tied-up golden ponytail swinging on his shoulder, and then he winked at Steve.
That wink was heavy and direct, like a hook punch. Steve's expression stiffened as he looked at Green Morgan, exchanging glances.
"When did the entry requirements for your Agents become so loose?"
"He came in through the back door."
"Oh... wait! Do you mean the same thing I'm understanding?"
"That's not important. What's important is that he's taken a liking to you."
"?!" Steve's eyes widened in shock, his expression filled with an incredulous confusion that screamed, "Are you fucking kidding me?"
He subtly and as naturally as possible shifted the chair under him, moving two inches to the side.
"Still don't know your name?" Thor twisted a large forkful of pasta into his mouth, sauce smeared on the corner of his lips. He wiped it off and asked indistinctly.
"Steve Rogers." Steve forced a smile, glancing at Green Morgan on the side.
He suspected that this weirdo was brought by Green Morgan to mess with him. A blond, blue-eyed, muscular Nordic hunk who talked like he'd drunk three pounds of fake liquor and winked at people—he didn't look like the kind of companion a normal person would take out.
It seemed he had to be wary of anything Green Morganhanded him.
"Oh~~" Thor dragged out the tail of his voice, twirling his golden hair with his fingers. "Sounds like a blacksmith's name, but I like things that sound 'hard'."
"Maybe we can find some time to lift some iron; I can help you."
"Cough! What?!" Steve cleared his throat, sounding unnaturally dry, as if he'd been choked by something. "No... no need. Where were we?" He quickly looked at Green Morgan, trying to get back on topic.
"You like big Dio."
"Whoa!" Thor's eyes lit up, looking even more satisfied with Steve. "NO! Let's move on, OK?!" Steve's voice went up half an octave. No matter how resilient his character was, he was starting to break down from these two.
"F—overage mature women."
"Yes, F—what the fuck?!" Steve was just about to pick up the conversation, but realized something was wrong and forced his words to take a sharp turn.
"It's okay, I accept your fetishes." Thor added, twisting the knife.
"Shut your motherfucking mouth!" Steve couldn't take it anymore, stood up abruptly, and cursed.
Thor looked up at him, his eyes even brighter. "Oh, oh~~ I love you even more!" He liked men who were manly enough.
Goosebumps rose all over Steve's body, and a murderous intent suddenly flared up!
"Eat your food." Green Morgan spoke up, and only then did Thor reluctantly bury his head in his pasta.
Seeing this, Steve finally let out a sigh of relief. He silently released the brass knuckles in his pocket, took his hand out, and took a large gulp of the beer on the table.
"What have you been busy with lately?" Green Morganchanged the subject.
"Monitoring the radical Mutant gatherings." Steve put down his glass, his voice returning to that low, emotionless stability.
"They aren't very keen on the so-called 'cure,' and while they're at it, they're punishing some super-powered scourges."
"Twisting slaughter into punishment? Your tone sounds a lot like someone."
"Yes." Steve didn't deny it, meeting Green Morgan's eyes. "I know Frank. That guy is alright."
He simply stopped hiding it; after all, his intelligence was all under Green Morgan's nose, and being evasive would only look ridiculous.
[Frank Castle: Codename Punisher. After retiring, he returned to New York and was picnicking with his wife and children in Central Park when he accidentally witnessed a mob shootout and was targeted for elimination. His entire family was gunned down by the mob, and only Franksurvived with severe injuries. Seeking help from the judicial system, he discovered its corruption, completely collapsed, and became an anti-hero. He is proficient in assassination, tactics, demolition, interrogation, marksmanship, close combat, and medicine. He has zero tolerance for evil, is highly disciplined, paranoid, isolated, and suffers from self-destructive tendencies.]
"You've teamed up with him?"
"Do you have to manage this too?"
"Pfft—I couldn't care less." Green Morgan pursed his lips and shook his head with some amusement.
He then clasped his hands together on the table, leaning forward, the shadow of his shoulders falling onto the table, dimming the luster of the bourbon in front of Steve.
"What I care about is your lie."
Steve watched him silently, his gaze neither dodging nor panicking, just resting quietly on Green Morgan's face.
"Steve, answer me." Green Morgan spoke slowly. "Is Red Skull still alive?"