Chapter Twenty-Four: The Lich King, Unassailable

“Director, the target has vanished. We... we've lost him!”

As Nick Fury and Coulson were deep in conversation, a S.H.I.E.L.D. agent reported the latest intelligence.

“How did you lose him?”

Nick Fury couldn’t comprehend it. Manhattan wasn’t that large, and with so many of his operatives on the ground, how could they lose their target even while driving?

“Sir, I think you should review our dashcam footage. We were driving at over eighty miles an hour, but he was still faster than us—I can guarantee that, and I stand by what I’m saying!”

The agent’s voice on the comms was resolute. After watching the footage, Nick Fury raised his eyebrows, glanced at Coulson, then shrugged, spreading his hands in disbelief.

“All right, perhaps—just perhaps—I should try to keep up with the younger generation. Coulson, have you found Hogwarts yet? I’d like to pay them a friendly visit. What do you think?”

“I think you should start working out before your next field mission, then read some science magazines or journals before bed. That way, we might be just a little more receptive to... well, just a little!”

In the footage, S.H.I.E.L.D. agents had pushed their cars to eighty miles per hour, yet they still couldn’t catch up with Roald and Grommash in their suits of armor. In just the blink of an eye, the two had vanished from sight.

Took a rocket to the face, shrugged off a barrage of submachine gun fire unscathed, wielded legendary magic, had a partner by his side, and could outrun a car.

Was Nick Fury still dreaming?

What was this—an upgraded Captain America? The magical transformation of a Sailor Senshi? Or perhaps an invincible ancient warrior?

If word of this got out—if it was exposed—how would Captain America feel? Would he even want to wake up from his slumber?

If he woke up to find the world changed, he’d be in tears!

Nick Fury couldn’t be sure what the Captain would think, but he knew he had to contain this information.

All for the sake of stability.

Stability was paramount, like the ever-refreshing lineup of Playboy models—always steady, always new.

Whether it was Hydra, the military, or any number of restless factions, Nick Fury’s immediate problem was how to deal with Roald.

“Sir, I think our first priority should be to determine the reason behind today’s attack.”

Under Nick Fury’s scrutinizing gaze, Coulson hurried to add, “Then we can show S.H.I.E.L.D.’s sincerity—maybe we’ll still have a chance to sit down and talk peacefully. If that blue mist starts spreading elsewhere...”

Coulson left the rest unsaid.

He suspected the ghouls in the blue frost mist were actually FBI agents transformed by the haze—a thought that sent chills down his spine.

Perhaps the terror people felt was a hallucination brought on by some neurotoxic agent.

But whatever the case, Coulson could scarcely imagine the consequences, and he feared the mist was truly a virus.

If that blue frost were to spread across Manhattan—or anywhere, for that matter—who knew if it would trigger a biochemical catastrophe?

He couldn’t rule out the possibility.

“Your team has been observing him for a week,” Nick Fury said, brimming with distrust.

Was this what he called surveillance?

And besides, he doubted Roald would listen to Coulson.

“If only I had the Hulk on my side!” Nick Fury couldn’t help thinking, already planning to check in on Natasha’s progress in Brazil.

In theory, Fury considered Roald extremely dangerous, especially given his unwillingness to be constrained.

He seemed to have no sense of belonging here.

Such people were dangerous!

If he could pinpoint Roald’s fatal weakness, Fury would have every confidence in bringing him to justice—but after witnessing today’s events, he doubted that conventional weaponry or standard agents could even put a scratch on him.

Feeling powerless, Fury instinctively touched the signal transmitter inside his jacket.

But for Roald alone to warrant such a massive response felt excessive, and Fury’s sense of crisis for the future only grew.

“Director, in our first encounter, Barton was captured. Coupling that with what I felt—the cold, and what Natasha described—the sensation was remarkably similar.”

Coulson paused, then added, “It’s not as if we came away empty-handed. At least we have some intelligence.”

“The moment the attack began, the target donned a suit of armor. His defensive capabilities may come from that black suit—it might not be magic, but rather some kind of tech, perhaps powered armor forged from special metals.”

“As for the terror-inducing effect, I suspect the blue frost mist is some kind of hallucinogenic gas or virus—something that disrupts the nervous system.”

“These factors misled our sensory perceptions. We could start our investigation by looking into organizations specializing in advanced metals, energy, and biotechnology.”

Coulson’s reasoning was sound, and he believed this was the most probable explanation.

“And that axe-wielding brute,” Coulson continued, “I think he’s much like the Hulk—a simple case of physical mutation making him swift and powerful. Ordinary weapons are unlikely to harm him, but against anti-tank ordinance, he may be no different from anyone else.”

Nick Fury pondered this.

Coulson’s analysis wasn’t exactly wrong, but the intelligence was insufficient, and his thinking was still bound by certain patterns.

“So, in your view, this isn’t magic at all, but a product of technology—a threat not too formidable? As long as we’re prepared, we can handle it?”

Captain America was still on ice, and the Hulk—the most talked-about mutant recently—was being hunted by General Ross. The axe-wielding Grommash at Roald’s side was smaller than the Hulk, seemingly less powerful, a pale, weakened version.

“And how do you explain the elf at his side?” Fury pressed.

“Director, you really ought to pay attention to modern trends in your downtime. Young people are strange these days; a thing for pointy-eared girls isn’t all that unusual. The so-called elf might just be a personal preference, or a unique ability.”

“Go on.”

Fury pulled up a chair and sat down—he trusted Coulson’s abilities.

Coulson, now a Level Eight Agent, had encountered and studied plenty of mutants during missions. Listening to his analysis, Nick Fury began to connect the dots.

Magic? It was all just technology!

Unless proven otherwise.

Nick Fury would always believe in science.

Elsewhere, in an office decorated quite differently, Alexander Pierce hurled his coffee cup to the floor.

As the former director, he was certainly getting on in years, but time had only deepened his gravitas.

Now Secretary of S.H.I.E.L.D., he held a position in the American administration and was a councilor on the World Security Council—in other words, he was the one bringing in funding and investment for Hydra’s development.

A respected elder, he had devoted himself to S.H.I.E.L.D.’s growth.

Like Nick Fury, whom he had promoted, he had the highest level of clearance in S.H.I.E.L.D., including A-level executive authority. In fact, he was probably the only person in S.H.I.E.L.D. who could make Fury obey.

Of course, his true identity was far more complex.

“So, Sitwell and Viper, can you tell me which idiot issued such a pointless order? Tell me, I’d like to personally send him to meet his maker.”

Meanwhile, Roald appeared out of nowhere in the office and patted Norman on the shoulder from behind.