"Regarding the matter of cooperation," Byakuya Kuchiki spoke, his voice cutting through the chilling air like ice, "Rukia has already reported the details directly to the Captain Commander."
"Oh, my. How boring," Ichimaru Gin chuckled, his squinted eyes crinkling further as he tilted his head. "Nonsense. I think I'll just kill them anyway."
"Captain Ichimaru."
Byakuya remained entirely expressionless toward the squinty-eyed man. He had never much liked him. Even knowing the dark truth that Ichimaru Gin had once followed Aizen into Hueco Mundo only to bide his time for a single, fatal backstab, it did nothing to shake Byakuya's deep-seated, stereotypical impression of the man. Especially looking at that mocking, snake-like smile Gin wore at all times—it was simply too fake.
"Fine then! Fine," Gin sighed dramatically, lazily sheathing his Zanpakutō. "Then I'll leave the matters here entirely to you, Captain Kuchiki. I'll go regroup with the others first. Don't go delaying our serious business now."
With a sudden rustle of fabric, Ichimaru Gin utilized Shunpo and instantly vanished into thin air, leaving only Byakuya Kuchiki standing aloft in the sky, his captain's haori fluttering elegantly in the desert wind.
"Captain Kuchiki," Natasha Romanoff called out, fighting through the residual spiritual pressure to keep her footing. "The contract in your hand—"
"There is no need to ask," Byakuya interrupted coldly, looking down from his aerial vantage point. "There is absolutely no room for humans to interfere in this matter. Since Rukia decided to form a temporary cooperation with your faction, then continue to cooperate well. You need not concern yourselves with other matters."
Byakuya had absolutely no intention of answering any tactical questions Natasha raised. This ancient Contract of San Venganza was not only a coveted prize for the denizens of the Pit; it was equally vital for the survival and expansion of the Seireitei.
Glancing slightly at the battered mortals below, Byakuya's figure blurred and vanished directly from the sky.
The Gotei 13 factions within Hell were entirely prepared; now they only lacked the physical contract in his hand to execute their grand spell. As long as the Seireitei's plan succeeded, the pocket of Hell where the Soul Society was currently restricted would leap upwards in spiritual density, reaching the exact same planetary scale as the sovereign territories ruled by Mephisto and Lucifer.
With the Contract violently stripped from the board, Carter Slade felt an unexpected, ancient weight lift from his soul. Johnny Blaze, meanwhile, was fiercely embracing Roxanne, quietly soaking in the pure joy of surviving a supernatural disaster.
But Hawkeye and Natasha were entirely different. Byakuya Kuchiki's parting words gave both elite spies a chilling, familiar sense of foreboding. The last time Natasha had felt this exact knot in her stomach... was right before the Chitauri portal tore open the skies of New York.
[S.H.I.E.L.D. Temporary Residence — Los Angeles Outposts]
Within the high-security perimeter where the cooperating Gods of Death were stationed, a heated argument was echoing through the concrete corridors.
Renji Abarai stood directly in front of Rukia Kuchiki, his red hair tied back tightly as he gesticulated wildly.
"Rukia! The Captain has officially sent out a mass mobilization order!" Renji shouted, his brow furrowed in irritation. "We have to go right now! The mundane task of purifying individual souls will be completed by the lower-seat officers. Creating our own sovereign spiritual land on this plane is infinitely more important than that!"
"But Tony and the others are actively trapped in a hot zone!" Rukia argued back, her violet eyes flashing with stubborn defiance. "You go to the main assembly point first, Renji. I am going to rescue them, and I will regroup with the main force immediately after!"
"You idiot!"
Renji looked at Rukia with deep, exhausting irritation. 'It has only been a few damn days,' he thought, 'how has she already developed such deep emotional attachments to these fragile humans?'
She actually dared to explicitly disobey a direct Captain's mobilization order. This reckless scene instantly reminded Renji of a certain loud-mouthed, orange-haired substitute Shinigami from their past.
Fortunately, that hateful, rule-breaking bastard hadn't manifested in this specific universe. And fortunately, among Rukia's human companions this time around, there wasn't a single young, reckless blond hair in sight. Otherwise, his Zabimaru would definitely have been unsheathed out of sheer stress by now.
"Fine!" Renji spat, stamping his boot. "I'll go rescue those cape-wearing humans with you! But the exact second we drag them out, we leave for the Seireitei assembly immediately. No exceptions!"
Rukia gave a small, rare giggle, the tension melting from her shoulders. "I knew you were the most loyal, Renji."
In a remote, decaying neighborhood, the old, weathered structure of the Winchester childhood home stood silent. Years after the traumatic Yellow-Eyed Demon incident, this house had been hastily sold off by their father, John.
But tonight, the famous hunting duo—the Winchester brothers—had returned to their roots.
"Are you really, 100% sure you have the sudden ability of prophecy, Sammy?" Dean Winchester asked, keeping his hands firmly on the wheel of the idling black '67 Chevy Impala.
"Just trust me on this, Dean," Sam Winchester pleaded, his eyes locked on the dark windows of the house.
"Fine, fine," Dean waved his hand helplessly, throwing the car into park.
He didn't believe in psychic dreams or prophetic visions at all, but since Sam insisted the nightmare was real, then there was no problem with coming back for a quick look. If nothing else, it was a nostalgic chance to check on the old house they hadn't laid eyes on in a lifetime.
The night grew darker as the brothers stepped out into the cool air. But just as they closed their car doors, a sleek, expensive sports car pulled up directly behind them. Three figures stepped out into the moonlight simultaneously. From their posture, their operational goal seemed to be the exact same house.
"Hey! Wait up!" Tony Stark called out, adjusting his glowing smart-glasses as he tracked the high energy signatures radiating from the structure. "Are you two seriously planning on going in there?"
"Hmm?" Dean spun around, his hand instinctively sliding under his jacket toward his silver-plated pistol. His jaw dropped. "Tony Stark? What the hell are you doing in a dump like this?"
There was probably not a single civilian in the entire United States who didn't recognize Tony Stark's face after the Battle of Washington. Sam and Dean stopped dead in their tracks, staring in absolute shock at the billionaire, the scruffy man in the trench coat, and the red-suited mercenary standing on the sidewalk.
"There is something wrong with the spiritual frequency of this house," Tony Stark spoke, his tone incredibly serious. 'Great,' Tony thought, 'just another pair of reckless urban explorers looking for a viral video.'
During his brief, intensive crash-course in exorcism over the past few weeks, Tony had quickly learned that some civilian deaths were purely self-inflicted by idiots challenging the supernatural.
"Mr. Stark, we aren't tourists," Sam stepped forward, trying to de-escalate the tension. "We are professional exorcists. I'm Sam, and this is my brother Dean."
Tony Stark paused, blinking behind his glasses. Once he realized these two weren't just reckless kids looking for a thrill, his posture relaxed a fraction and he extended his hand.
"This house happens to be our old family home," Sam explained, his voice dropping low. "Dean said he sensed something bad on the police scanners, but... I dreamed about this. I dreamed that a demon manifested right here. The exact same bastard that killed our mother on the ceiling."
Sam looked back toward the dark porch, his expression turning viciously cold. The Winchester family would never let that entity go.
"Well, your radar is accurate," Tony Stark said, gesturing for them to follow. "Something incredibly bad indeed happened here earlier tonight. As for whether it's a demon... our sensors aren't entirely sure."
Tony informed the brothers that a civilian family had just been completely slaughtered inside the home less than three hours ago—including two young children.
The five men entered the house one after another, stepping over shattered glass. The interior was an absolute, chaotic mess; scattered furniture, overturned tables, and gouged drywall lined the hallway.
John Constantine slowly walked into the center of the ruined living room, his fingers tracing a line of dried ectoplasm on a broken television screen.
"This particular bastard doesn't seem to be a demon, boys," Constantine muttered, pulling his cross-engraved handgun from his waistband. "It's an unchained, vengeful Evil Spirit. At least, the entity that slaughtered that family was purely incorporeal."
Without a single word of warning, Constantine suddenly raised his gun and fired a single, deafening shot directly at a vintage porcelain doll sitting on a rocking chair, which had slowly, unnaturally begun to clap its plastic hands.
BANG!
The gunshot violently shattered the silence, drawing everyone's startled attention. Fragments of porcelain splattered across the floorboards.
Constantine's aggressive action, however, seemed to have instantly enraged the invisible occupant of the house.
The ambient temperature inside the living room plummeted. Every single object in the room violently rioted at once.
SPARK!
Heavy copper electric wires violently detached themselves from the walls like whips, coiling tightly around Deadpool and Dean, pinning their arms to their sides.
"Whoa! Hey!" Dean yelled, struggling against the sparking cables.
Before Tony Stark or Sam could even draw their weapons, an invisible, crushing telekinetic force slammed both of them backward, pinning them flat against the drywall, entirely unable to move an inch.
Only John Constantine was left standing in the center of the room, ducking frantically as a swarm of floating kitchen cutlery, rusty nails, and broken glass began to launch themselves at his face like guided missiles.
"I knew I shouldn't have gotten mixed up in these localized ghost stories!" Wade yelled from inside his tight wire binding, his muffled voice echoing through the room. "This is completely different from my usual contract style! Why the hell am I always the one getting selected for the kinky bondage play?!"
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Give me powerstones.
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