The subway station reeked of copper and smoke.
Broken Hunters lay sprawled across the floor, their armor dented, their blood painting the cracked tiles. Mira stood among them, her eyes glowing like molten coals, her seven cats prowling the corpses like predators circling a feast. Beside her, Deadpool casually wiped gore off one katana by dragging it across a Hunter's cloak.
"Whew," he said cheerfully. "That was cardio. Ten out of ten, would slice again."
But then came the sound.
Boots. Hundreds of them. The station began to rumble, dust drifting from the ceiling. A chorus of voices rose in a low chant, ancient words laced with venom. From both ends of the tunnel, Hunters poured in—dozens, then scores, their eyes hard, their blades gleaming with cursed silver.
Deadpool whistled. "Ohhh snap. It's a convention. Did I forget to RSVP?"
Mira's lips curled into a smile. "No more hiding. No more running." She raised her hands, flames sparking between her fingers. "Tonight, they break."
The Hunters charged.
The clash was immediate, thunderous.
Deadpool dove headfirst into the horde, blades flashing, cracking jokes with every decapitation. "Heads up! Literally!" he shouted, kicking one Hunter's severed head into another's chest like a soccer ball. Blood sprayed across his suit, dripping from his mask, but he only laughed. "You guys ever consider investing in better helmets? Y'know, like me—my face is protected, yours? Not so much."
Mira moved differently. Where Deadpool was chaos, she was precision. She whispered a word, and the lights shattered—plunging the station into darkness. The cats erupted in nightmare form. One grew to the size of a lion, shadow-wings unfurling from its back. Another melted into smoke, slithering into armor seams and clawing Hunters apart from the inside.
And Mira herself—she was the storm.
A Hunter lunged at her with a silver spear. She caught it barehanded, the metal burning her skin, and twisted until the shaft splintered. Her other hand drove into his chest, fingers curling around his heart. She pulled it free in one smooth motion, the organ still twitching in her palm. Her eyes flared red as she bit into it like fruit, blood staining her lips.
The Hunters faltered, terror creeping into their chants. That was when Mira unleashed it—the Fear.
The station warped. To every Hunter, the walls began to bleed. Shadows twisted into monstrous shapes. Dead family members whispered their names. Flames crawled across the ceiling, forming screaming faces. The Fear drowned them, clawed into their minds, shattered their discipline.
They broke ranks.
The cats feasted, ripping throats, snapping spines, dragging prey into the dark where screams didn't end quickly. One Hunter staggered back, eyes wide as he watched his own armor melt into molten flesh. He screamed until his lungs collapsed—and still he screamed, Mira's magic forcing the terror to loop endlessly.
Deadpool danced among the carnage, stabbing, slicing, gleeful. "This is insane! I love it! Buddy cop film, but with extra arterial spray!" He stabbed one Hunter in the gut, twisted the blade, and waved cheerfully at Mira. "Hey, kitty queen! Do your nightmares come in plushie form? I want merch!"
Mira ignored him, her focus absolute. Every step she took, Hunters fell. She shattered one's jaw with her fist, drove another's head into the concrete until bone cracked like glass. When a cluster tried to regroup, she whispered—and the ground itself opened, shadows swallowing them into a screaming abyss.
Blood pooled across the floor, ankle-deep, slick and steaming. The last surviving Hunters fought desperately, chanting prayers, but their voices faltered against the sheer weight of Mira's new power.
Deadpool leaned on his katana, surveying the carnage. "Welp. That's one way to clean house. Honestly, kinda hot. In a horrifying, I-should-probably-call-my-therapist way."
Mira stood at the center of the slaughter, her chest rising and falling, her hands dripping crimson. Her cats gathered around her, their nightmare forms fading slowly back to flesh. The subway was silent save for the drip of blood and the faint echo of Hunter screams that lingered long after their bodies were gone.
Deadpool clapped slowly. "So. You're terrifying. We're keeping you."
Mira met his gaze, her smile sharp, her eyes still burning. "You don't keep me. I keep you alive."
Somewhere far above the carnage, in the silence of the night, a ripple of sorcery spread across New York—an alarm bell in the mystic arts. And in the Sanctum Sanctorum, Doctor Strange's eyes snapped open.
"The girl…" he whispered. "What has Mephisto done?"