"Excellent."
Mephisto straightened, the smile on his face twisting into something savage.
"Then… the contract is sealed."
He pressed the sphere of hellfire in his hand straight into Fury's chest.
"Embrace it, Nicholas!!"
"AAAAAAHHHHHH—!!!"
A scream of pure agony tore through the safehouse.
Fury felt every inch of his skin, every bone in his body, melt and reform.
His dark skin peeled away in the flames, crumbling into ash.
Muscle fibers shrank—then expanded violently.
Only a few seconds passed in reality, yet to him it felt like centuries.
Finally—
The flames died out.
Silence returned to the room, broken only by the faint stench of sulfur lingering in the air.
The Nick Fury who had been hunted by the world… was gone.
Standing before the mirror was a stranger.
A white man.
Roughly in his fifties, silver threading his hair, a face carved by time and hardship.
His left eye was still covered by that familiar eyepatch.
He raised a hand, touching this completely unfamiliar face.
A cold smile curled at the corner of his mouth.
From this day forward—
The world would never again hunt a "S.H.I.E.L.D. rat" named Nick Fury.
What remained was an avenger returned from Hell.
Mephisto regarded the new Fury with satisfaction.
"A flawless masterpiece."
"The deal is complete, Nick. Or would you prefer a new name? Jerry? Tom? Take your pick."
"It doesn't matter. What matters is that when you finally arrive in Hell, I'll be waiting."
"I'll save you a premium seat—right next to Hitler."
He reached elegantly for the signed parchment contract on the table.
But—
The instant his fingers touched it—
Mephisto's triumphant expression twisted into shock and fury.
"What have you done—?!"
The Lord of Hell's voice lost its refinement, erupting into a sulfurous roar.
His gaze locked onto the lower-right corner of the contract.
There—
a seal had appeared.
One that never belonged on a demonic pact.
A dark-red clay stamp bearing a cross, encircled by nearly worn-away sacred script.
The moment Mephisto's fingers touched it—
SSSSSS—!
The sound of flesh burning.
"The Holy Cross Clay Seal…"
"You dared to stamp a Holy Cross Seal onto a contract with me?!"
Mephisto looked up, eyes blazing like twin infernos.
This was power from the Tenth Angelic Dominion.
And its consequence was devastating.
The contract—once entirely under Mephisto's control—had become a fairly arbitrated agreement under third-party witness.
He had lost final authority over interpretation.
Any curse hidden within the granted power would invalidate the pact.
"Do you even understand what you've done?!" Mephisto roared.
"To anger a Lord of Hell—this is a price you cannot afford!"
Demonic shadows crawled across the walls, as if ready to swallow Fury whole.
"Save it."
Fury calmly picked up his pistol from the table and slid it back into his holster.
"Your anger only proves you're powerless."
"This thing?" He tapped the seal.
"I picked it up in 1988 during a mission at a monastery in Berlin."
His mind drifted back to that frozen night.
"The old priest shoved it into my hands before he died. Told me it made devils behave."
"I didn't believe him at the time."
"But I have a habit—
I never throw away a potential trump card."
"I kept it as a lucky charm."
Fury raised his eye to Mephisto.
"The moment you entered this room, it started guiding me."
"…Good. Very good."
The rage in Mephisto's eyes slowly receded, elegance returning.
"Nick Fury. I'll admit—you are the most cunning mortal I've ever met."
"But don't think you've won."
He extended a finger, pointing at Fury's heart.
"The contract still stands. Using hellish power is a curse in itself."
"You'll discover that some prices can't be dodged with wordplay."
"I'll be watching."
"I'll watch you walk—step by step—toward the abyss."
With that, Mephisto dissolved into a plume of black smoke and vanished.
"The price?" Fury scoffed softly.
"Everything has a price…"
"But it has to be one I'm willing to pay."
-----
London, United Kingdom.
Greenwich University — Particle Physics Laboratory.
Scraps of formula-covered paper littered the floor, alongside half-eaten sandwiches.
Jane Foster leaned over a complex apparatus, carefully adjusting the parameters of a gravitational-wave detector.
"If I tune the gravitational constant to this frequency…" she murmured, gently turning a screwdriver, "…we might be able to detect those faint spatial ripples."
"That's residual Asgardian energy."
A deep voice spoke behind her.
Jane's hand slipped—the screwdriver nearly vanished into the machine.
She spun around, then broke into a radiant smile.
"Thor!"
Thor stood at the doorway—not in gleaming armor, but wearing a mortal jacket and jeans.
Mjolnir had taken the form of an ordinary umbrella.
"Hey, Jane."
He stepped forward and pulled her into a hug.
"Easy! Easy!" Jane laughed, patting his back. "My ribs aren't made of metal!"
Thor released her, eyes gentle. "Sorry. I still struggle with my strength. How's your research?"
"Exceptionally well—thanks to you." She gestured to the data.
"With the Nine Realms coordinates you gave me, my Convergence paper is going to make those old professors arguing about wormholes choke on their dentures."
"That's good." Thor nodded.
"Then keep working here. Once you're done, I'll take you on a trip."
"A trip?" Jane's eyes lit up. "Where?"
"Still on Earth." Thor smiled.
"My father mentioned a place on Midgard called Norway. Fjords. Aurora lights. It's where the Aesir once walked. Beautiful scenery."
"Norway…" Jane imagined it. "That sounds romantic."
"It is. Just the two of us."
He took her hand and kissed it.
"But before that, I need to deal with a minor nuisance."
"Oh… that woman."
Jane's radar instantly activated. She narrowed her eyes.
"Sif said she was your… old flame?"
"No! Absolutely not!"
Thor threw both hands up like a man accused of treason.
"That's slander! Complete slander!"
"Lorelei is merely a criminal I apprehended six hundred years ago! I have only legal responsibility toward her—no personal feelings whatsoever!"
"Really?" Jane eyed him skeptically.
"Because I heard you nearly threw Mjolnir into space over her."
"That was sorcery! Sorcery, do you understand?!"
Thor flushed red, flailing as he explained.
"I was young—barely nine hundred! My will wasn't fully tempered! But now it's different!"
He thumped his chest proudly.
"My mind is ironclad now! Completely immune to her charms!"
"Really?"
"By Odin's beard!"
Jane laughed at his earnest panic.
"Alright. I believe you."
She stood on her toes and kissed him lightly.
"Go. Come back safe."
"Yes, my lady. I'll be swift."
Thor grabbed his "umbrella" and strode out.
Once he reached an empty stretch of street, he looked up at the sky.
"Heimdall!"
"Tell me—where is that troublesome woman now?"
--------------
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