The heavy, unwieldy, stiffened body refused to obey, exerting incredible effort; it was impossible to even raise oneself up on one's elbows; the cough, with difficulty spitting out dark clots of blood, stained the already long-dirty gray balaclava hiding the face and the lilac torn jumpsuit, covered in soot and dust.
With his still-strong hand, the man tried to cover the deep wound in his abdomen, but he knew in his mind that it was all a pathetic, futile effort. He looked emotionlessly with his one remaining eye down his body—his legs were missing up to the knees. With each beat of his heart, beating for life, blood gushed generously from torn vessels and tattered muscle tissue.
"It seems this is the end. As Thanos said, the inevitable has caught up with me."
And as the onset of mild cramps and piercing cold culminated, Stark, in a mangled wreck of what used to be a Mark of who knows what model, landed next to him, aiming his whole left hand with a charged energy pulser...
"This is the end, Chameleon," the battle-worn man said with hatred, with undisguised bitterness in his eyes, "For Peter."
A bright flash…
And the scorching beam dented the Chameleon's wounded body, ramming it into the hard, cold ground, mercilessly scorching raw human flesh and cracked ribs...
The flash evaporated in the space heated to hellish temperatures.
A perfect, empty circle in his chest, like the finale of a mortal battle. Chameleon's brown eye clouded over and slowly closed. The man died without saying a word.
Chameleon's POV
Looks like I'm dead. Wow. I didn't think our wily six would hold out so long against all the Avengers! I even managed to take out that restless neighbor, Spider-Man, damn him! He drank so much of my blood, and in the end he fell for such a stupid thing, it was kind of disappointing that all those well-thought-out plans failed, and that this bastard was killed by a mere trifle. The guys didn't let me down either – Rogers and Widow are literally gone forever… I guess if I looked in the mirror now, I'd see a small smile, even though it's not my nature to smile. I was even glad of that last battle; it was fun fighting the "heroes of Earth." Heh-heh... people think you have to fight with honor, that there are some unspoken rules for battles. It's all bullshit.
I've never understood "heroes." What are you fighting for? People are trash, constantly trying to take advantage of you and throw you away like used up property. Most of them are worthless, a drab mediocrity that seeks to assert itself on the most ridiculous things and events. Dirty worms, useless pieces of shit. And they need to be protected? And when the going gets tough, these freaks are capable of such things that we, professional villains, can only shrug our shoulders in bewilderment and marvel at human vices. Villains are a far cry from people. In some ways, I understood Thanos; I would have destroyed even more useless trash. In this fucking world, only shit and inequality exist. We are born, not equal in the slightest. I was born to a rich man, an aristocrat, a fucking moneybags, but my mother was just his servant. I've experienced so much bullshit, so much abuse, so much cruelty from my father, so much neglect from my mother. You'd think, well, you've had a son, even if it's from a mistress, so you should at least provide him with the bare minimum to live on, at least until he's eighteen, but no. They made me out to be a leper, a slave, a laughingstock. But damn, I didn't choose who I was born to or where!
I started growing up and realizing I didn't want to be a piece of shit, constantly being walked on. As a kid, I tried to befriend my half-brother, Sergei, aka fucking Craven, a real idiot. I started mimicking people's behavior, which amused him; sometimes he'd be so confused that if I looked like the person I was impersonating, he wouldn't have known who I was. I realized I could use this in my life and finally crawl out of the cesspool. At first, I used rubber masks and make-up tools to better nail the look. I can't even remember how much time it took to fine-tune, master, and copy facial expressions and voices. One thing I know for sure: it worked flawlessly. Having achieved mastery in my field, I robbed my thrice-damned father, even wanted to kill him, avenging all the humiliation and beatings he had inflicted on me, a defenseless child, with such brutality. But standing before that screeching, vile creature, I couldn't pull the trigger. After all, no matter how deformed he was, he was my father. I disappeared, the eternal gray mask-face became my alter ego; no one ever saw my true appearance.
Later, Russian intelligence agencies contacted me. I don't want to go through all that routine, but in short, I gained significant combat experience and espionage skills there. At one point, they decided to sell me out to our competitors, the Americans. Whether the Americans offered a tidy sum for my shady head or softened the sanctions—I don't know. At first, I couldn't believe it. How could this be?! My country, my homeland, had decided to betray me? For what?! Anger and despair consumed my heart. I became consumed by hatred, and it led me down the path of crime. After taking revenge on my former comrades, wiping out my entire unit, I went to the States. Not knowing what to do, I decided to become a mercenary. Later, a leading crime boss nicknamed "Big Man" noticed my talent, and we began working closely together. He respected me greatly, knowing my unyielding character. Sure, there were some sticky moments when that bald, fat man threw me into the thick of things, beyond my expertise, but he paid generously, writing fat checks and handing over suitcases stuffed with green stuff. That's unchangeable. The big man always stood by his word, and I respected that. That's what held our alliance together.
Remembering my life, in this endless oppressive darkness, I saw a flicker.
"What, like white light, a corridor and all that?"
I tried to get up, but there were no arms or legs, and my body couldn't be felt in the normal human sense. I thought, well, to hell with this bright flickering, I want to be in silence right now. To hell with all this crap.
But the flickering had completely different plans; a dim beam in the form of a writhing tentacle reached out to me, grabbed me tightly and with a sharp jerk pulled me into the concentration of light.