Marcus watched the U.S. military's advance creeping steadily deeper into Queens. The rhythmic tapping of his fingers against the command table slowed… and then stopped. On the holographic map, the clusters of blue lights—representing the human alliance—had already crossed the centerline, drawing closer and closer to the New Umbrella Corporation Headquarters, the very heart of his domain.
The faint smile on his face sharpened. He glanced at the screens showing soldiers laughing, marching in high spirits through the ruins of the city, oblivious to what awaited them. Then, with a decisive slap of his hand against the table, Marcus issued the command:
"Time's up. All units—prepare for counterattack!"
At that moment, the true face of his undead army began to emerge from the fog of war.
The Scarlet Witch's amplified power field, the pathogen gene enhancement system with its new Bone Spike Lv.1 upgrade, the special assault division made up of infected supervillains, the massive Thunderbeasts, and the heavily armed Chasers—each of them now moved into position like pieces on a living chessboard.
"Mist, your turn. Begin."
The first order went out across the encrypted channel.
Mist, ranked sixth among the mutated infected, finally had his chance to prove his worth. He arrived beneath a prominent skyscraper in central Queens, and without hesitation, activated his awakened mutant gene.
From his skin and clothing, thick white vapor began to pour out, swirling upward like a living fog. Within minutes, the surrounding streets were shrouded in an impenetrable mist that rapidly spread outward, blanketing entire districts in its ghostly veil.
The sudden phenomenon did not go unnoticed. From above, one of the U.S. Navy's Osprey reconnaissance aircraft quickly picked up the anomaly and radioed in.
"Osprey to Command! We've got movement—Sector D showing heavy smoke formation! Unknown origin, expanding rapidly!"
The transmission reached the S.H.I.E.L.D. Helicarrier's command deck within seconds. The live feed showed only a wall of white mist and the faint shadows of skyscrapers—everything else had disappeared beneath the fog.
Admiral Wilde frowned. "Enemy smoke bombs? That's impossible. I've never seen a smoke screen that dense."
Hill shook her head. "No, sir. Even advanced tech-grade smoke generators couldn't achieve this effect. It's not mechanical—this has to be a mutant's ability. Scans indicate atmospheric irregularities, but nothing toxic or corrosive. Just heavy visual interference. Director, your call?"
Nick Fury's eye narrowed. "A weather-type ability… like Storm's," he muttered. "If she were here, she could probably neutralize it. But fog alone isn't enough to slow us down."
He turned sharply to Hill. "Order a full carpet bombardment of the fog's origin point. We eliminate the mutant responsible before they have time to act. Ground units—tighten formation and watch for ambushes. Keep advancing."
Dozens of Tomahawk missiles roared to life across the fleet, rising into the morning sky before arching toward the heart of Queens—straight toward Mist's position.
The mutant stood at the base of the skyscraper, hands raised, still channeling his power as he saw the missiles streaking through the clouds toward him. He couldn't move—not while maintaining the fog field.
Marcus's voice came calmly through the comms.
"Scarlet Witch—your turn."
Atop the New Umbrella Tower, Wanda Maximoff sat at the center of the newly completed power amplification array, surrounded by a hemispherical dome of reflective lenses and conduits. The air hummed with energy, and her head was encased in a sleek, glowing interface helmet. Before her eyes, the incoming missiles appeared as a three-dimensional projection, each trajectory perfectly rendered in real-time.
Wanda raised both hands. A pulse of crimson energy erupted from her palms, radiating outward through the amplifier.
Instantly, every missile in the sky was enveloped in red light. Their guidance systems—delicate, precise, and easily influenced—began to twist under her psychic interference. One by one, their trajectories veered off-course.
The result was chaos.
Several missiles plunged harmlessly into abandoned buildings—but others, horrifyingly, dropped straight into the midst of the advancing U.S. troops.
A blinding explosion tore through the front lines. Soldiers screamed as the shockwaves threw them from their feet. Vehicles flipped, fires erupted, and formations shattered. Those caught directly in the blasts were obliterated instantly; the rest were left dazed, deafened, and covered in soot and blood.
Friendly fire was not uncommon on chaotic battlefields—but precision-guided cruise missiles hitting their own side? That was unthinkable.
"F—! Who the hell fired those? That's our position! Goddamn it—stop shooting! STOP—!"
The radio channels filled with furious curses and panicked shouts. The scene mirrored the infamous Sokovia incident—only this time, the destruction was far worse.
Nick Fury's expression darkened. He recognized the pattern immediately. "It's the Scarlet Witch—psychokinetic interference! She's bending the missiles mid-flight! Cease fire! Get all air units out of there now!"
Admiral Wilde gaped at the screens, dumbfounded. "Scarlet Witch? Psychic powers? What in God's name are you talking about?"
Hill answered tersely, not taking her eyes off the data feed. "She's a mutant, an Alpha-level telepath and reality manipulator—formerly allied with HYDRA. We fought her once in Sokovia."
Fury slammed his fist against the console, his voice cold with fury. "Damn it! HYDRA moved her here. I should've known. Her abilities only work when she has visual contact—get snipers on the rooftops, now! We need eyes on her! This fog—this entire weather event—it's a cover for her operation!"
Wilde scoffed, still half in disbelief. "Why not just send in recon aircraft? Wouldn't that be faster than sending men up buildings?"
Before Fury could answer, a shrill burst of static filled the comms.
"This is Osprey One—systems malfunction! Controls are unresponsive! Pull up—PULL—"
BOOM!
"This is Osprey Two! Osprey One just—damn it, it's falling right toward us—!"
The connection dissolved into white noise.
Hill quickly checked the radar feed and reported grimly, "Osprey One and Osprey Two have collided over Sector F. Both aircraft are down. No parachutes detected."
Wilde's face turned ashen. "You're telling me one mutant just crippled our entire air division?"
"Not crippled," Fury replied bitterly, "just turned them into target practice."
In the skies above New York, chaos unfolded. Fighter jets spiraled out of control, engines sputtering and failing mid-flight. Pilots screamed into their radios before vanishing in bursts of fire. Planes fell like dying birds, crashing into skyscrapers, streets, and even friendly units below.
Against such supernatural power, technology meant nothing.
To Wanda Maximoff, each aircraft in her sight was simply a piece on the board—one she could flick away with a thought.
The U.S. Air Force had no countermeasure for a weapon like her.
For the first time since the war began, the world's strongest army was about to learn what it meant to face a god.
_____
T/N:
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