From high above Baltimore, Richard expanded his telepathy and immediately detected dense clusters of mental activity below. Hundreds of normal human minds flickered like scattered candles in the dark. In contrast, the countless figures wandering the streets emitted nothing at all. The zombies possessed no mental fluctuations—no consciousness, no awareness, only empty biological motion.
He was not surprised.
On the surface, they appeared alive. Their muscles functioned, their bodies moved, and they hunted. In truth, they were long dead. The virus merely animated what remained. Telepathy required a mind to connect with, and there were none left inside those rotting shells.
He recalled what little he knew about this universe. If memory served, this was Earth-2149—the Marvel Zombie Universe. Mutants had existed here once, but after scanning the surviving minds, he found none among the hundreds still alive. Even if mutants were susceptible to infection, statistically there should have been some survivors. The absence was telling.
He selected over a dozen survivors at random and began reading their memories simultaneously. For him, parsing multiple minds at once required no effort. If he wished, he could process hundreds without strain.
From them, he learned the essentials.
No one knew the virus's origin. It had swept across the globe with terrifying speed nearly three years ago. These were not slow, shambling corpses. They ran, jumped, hunted with coordination equal to living humans. Civilization collapsed within months.
He confirmed another fact: there were no mutants remaining. However, other heroes and villains had existed. Captain America, Iron Man, Spider-Man, the Fantastic Four—all had once fought here.
Closing the mental channels, Richard chose not to descend into Baltimore. Saving survivors was irrelevant to his objective.
He teleported.
In a blink, he moved 305 kilometers north to New York City.
Floating above Manhattan, he surveyed a devastated skyline. Buildings were damaged, streets littered with wreckage. Zombies roamed everywhere.
He expanded telepathy again.
New York contained far more survivors than Baltimore—thousands of minds clustered in defensive zones. Considering the city once housed over eight million residents, the numbers were tragically small but proportionally higher. The difference was not coincidence. Heroes had defended this city.
After scanning memories, Richard located a primary shelter: a former S.H.I.E.L.D. underground base beneath a building in Queens. The surrounding streets had been barricaded with abandoned vehicles, forming a crude defensive perimeter.
He descended toward it.
Before reaching the rooftop, a figure launched upward to intercept him.
Falcon.
Sam Wilson hovered midair, vibranium shield secured to his arm. The Falcon suit remained intact, wings extended, posture tense.
"What's your name?" Sam asked while circling him cautiously.
"Richard Wesley," he replied evenly. "I'm here to help solve your zombie crisis."
Sam did not relax. There was something unsettling about Richard's presence—an invisible pressure, like standing near a storm.
After a few passes, Sam said, "Follow me," and descended.
Within minutes, twelve figures emerged onto the rooftop.
Spider-Man. The Thing. Invisible Woman. Black Widow. Hawkeye. Ant-Man. Wasp. Winter Soldier. War Machine. Black Panther. Happy Hogan. Sharon Carter.
They studied him carefully. Though he concealed nothing, he also made no effort to suppress his magical aura. It radiated like invisible gravity, creating instinctive unease.
Richard observed them in return. His gaze lingered briefly on Invisible Woman, Black Widow, Wasp, and Sharon Carter before shifting away. Falcon noticed and frowned.
"You said you're here to help," Sam pressed. "How?"
"I possess many abilities," Richard answered calmly. "Explaining them individually would be tedious. As for help—it's simple. I'll eliminate the zombies you can't."
Several exchanged glances.
Arrogant.
He heard the thought clearly as he skimmed their surface memories.
"You think I'm arrogant," Richard continued without pause. "That's understandable. You don't know me."
He stepped toward the roof's edge.
"In three minutes, every zombie in New York will disappear."
Silence followed.
Over eight million infected bodies roamed the city. The only method they could imagine to accomplish such destruction was nuclear detonation.
"Are you planning to launch a nuke?" Black Widow asked flatly.
Richard shook his head. "No. Just my abilities."
He faced the ruined skyline.
What he used next was the combined application of Omega-level material manipulation and Sersi's matter transmutation. Individually, Sersi's power required physical contact. However, through experimentation, Richard discovered that material manipulation could serve as an extended "touch." Once locked at a molecular level, transmutation could follow.
The heroes gathered behind him, uncertain.
Across New York, zombies began to rise.
Street walkers lifted first. Then those inside buildings tore through ceilings and windows as invisible force pulled them upward. One by one, tens of thousands ascended.
Within seconds, hundreds of thousands floated above the city.
The "zombie cloud" grew rapidly, darkening the sky.
Invisible Woman stared upward, speechless. Spider-Man's mask tilted as if trying to process what he was seeing.
One minute passed.
Millions now hovered overhead, a grotesque mass blotting out sunlight like a living storm front.
Richard turned slightly.
"Have you ever seen cherry blossoms falling like rain?" he asked quietly.
No one answered.
"Then enjoy it."
Golden light ignited at the cloud's center. It spread like lightning across the suspended mass.
In an instant, rot vanished.
The corpses dissolved, replaced by soft pink petals.
The enormous cloud transformed into drifting cherry blossoms.
Gravity reclaimed them gently.
Petals fell over Manhattan—over shattered skyscrapers, abandoned streets, ruined bridges. The wind carried them through broken windows and across empty avenues.
Silence replaced groaning.
The zombie presence was gone.
Richard exhaled slowly.
The display had cost him nearly one-third of his stored energy. It was not magical depletion, but internal energy reserves. The scale—over eight million simultaneous conversions—was immense.
Behind him, the heroes stood frozen.
They had witnessed something beyond comprehension.
He had not been arrogant.
He had simply stated a fact.
.....
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