"Nick, tell me the truth. Who is my new partner? A teenager with the power of Superman?"
The message from Tony Stark flashed on Nick Fury's secure tablet.
Almost simultaneously, a second alert arrived.
INCIDENT REPORT: MANHATTAN BRIDGE.
A convoy swept into the East River by a localized tsunami. Intense thermal readings detected underwater. Witnesses report a pillar of steam and fire creating a 'beautiful' atmospheric phenomenon.
Fury's fingers trembled slightly as he swiped through the data.
"I underestimated you," he whispered to the empty office.
He had thought Vincent Hall was just a gifted high school student—powerful, yes, but containable. A potential asset for S.H.I.E.L.D.
He was wrong.
The boy wasn't just a mutant or a super-soldier. He was a force of nature wrapped in a designer suit.
He's more dangerous than Charles Xavier, Fury realized.
Fury had lived through the Apocalypse crisis. He knew what Professor X could do—wipe out humanity with a thought. But Xavier had principles. He believed in coexistence. He had a moral compass that Fury respected.
Vincent Hall had no such compass. He had ambition. He had hunger.
The real danger wasn't the power itself; it was the ego behind it.
"Sir, Tony is asking questions. Why do you look like you've seen a ghost?" Natasha asked, leaning against the doorframe.
Fury turned off the screen. "Nothing. Just Stark being Stark. Natasha... do you think the Avengers Initiative is a mistake?"
Natasha raised an eyebrow. "I think it's better to have a sword in your hand than to be empty-handed when the wolves come."
She was quoting Vincent, though she didn't say it. His pessimism about the future had stuck with her. If someone as powerful as the Ice Demon was preparing for war, what was coming?
"A sword in hand..." Fury muttered. "We can always use a sword."
He thought of Howard Stark. In the darkest hours, Howard had been the sword. Now, Tony had that same potential. If Tony and Cap could work together... maybe S.H.I.E.L.D. wouldn't be helpless.
If only Carol had stayed on Earth.
"Cover up the bridge incident," Fury ordered, his voice hardening. "And issue a Global Red Notice for Dr. Connors. I want every agent hunting him."
Connors had deployed biological weapons on American soil. S.H.I.E.L.D. had to stop the genetic technology from spreading before he built an army of monsters.
"I'm on it, sir," Coulson said, his face grave. He understood the stakes. If the Ice Demon went rogue, it wouldn't be a crime spree; it would be a natural disaster.
"Natasha, get into Oscorp," Fury continued. "Find out exactly what was in their genetic vault. If we're facing a monster legion, we need to know their weaknesses."
Central Park Villa.
The afternoon sun caressed Gwen's bare skin, stirring her from a deep sleep.
Last night, she had been determined to prove that Ghost Spider had more stamina than the Ice Demon. They had "fought" until dawn.
She woke up alone. A handwritten note lay on the pillow.
My dear little Spider, business calls. The keys are on the nightstand. Rest well.
"Heartless jerk," Gwen grumbled, smiling despite herself.
She tried to get out of bed and hissed in pain. Her legs felt like jelly. If not for her enhanced spider-physiology, she was pretty sure her pelvis would be shattered.
"He's getting stronger..." Gwen thought, a flush rising to her cheeks. How am I supposed to keep up with a perpetual motion machine?
Should she find him a... sister?
The thought popped into her head unbidden, and she immediately shook it away. "Are you crazy, Gwen? He's my man! Anyone tries to take him, they deal with the Spider!"
Oscorp Tower.
Vincent sat in the CEO's office, signing the final privatization documents. Oscorp was officially delisting from the stock market.
But there was a catch. To secure the privatization, Oscorp now owed Commonwealth Bank $12.6 billion.
The bank, represented by Mr. Smith, had pulled every string to make this happen. Now, they wanted their pound of flesh.
Vincent glanced at his system interface.
[Host: Vincent Hall]
[Wealth: $12.8 Billion USD]
[Desire Points: 5,320,000]
[Status: Ready for Limit Break]
[Active Abilities: Hie Hie no Mi (Tier 2 Peak), Mera Mera no Mi (Tier 2 Peak), Mind Immunity, Hydro-Kinesis (Sovereign Class)]
[Skills: Dragon Elephant Wisdom (Layer 13), Eight Extremities Fist (Grandmaster)]
[Reward: Red Blind Box (1)]
[Current Mission: A Fragrant Marsh]
Engage in intimate relations with special female heroes to earn massive rewards. (Target: Ongoing)
He had broken the 5 million mark.
Scrolling through the log, he saw names that shouldn't be there. Charles Xavier. Magneto. They had contributed Desire Points—shock and fear. They were watching him.
"Professor X finally noticed me," Vincent mused. Even Gwen had contributed 800,000 points last night.
"System, you should just rename yourself the 'Harem God System' and be done with it," he muttered.
Mr. Smith hurried into the office, sweating nervously.
"Mr. Hall, do you remember our agreement?"
"Relax, Smith," Vincent smiled, the picture of charm. "We're friends. Tell me, what does Commonwealth Bank need me to do in Europe?"
Smith looked around the empty room before lowering his voice.
"The Vatican. We need you to retrieve an item from the Holy See and bring it back to New York."
Vincent's smile vanished. The air in the room grew heavy.
"The Vatican's water runs deep, Smith. Your backers have bold appetites."
"Mr. Hall, I'm just the messenger. If you refuse—"
"Making deals with devils is dangerous," Vincent interrupted, his voice cold. "Especially in the Vatican. That is the closest place to God on Earth. You are asking me to declare war on Heaven."
Smith paled.
"However," Vincent's face relaxed into a predatory grin. "Oscorp's acquisition was strictly business. Commonwealth Bank made a profit. So, if I do this... I have a condition."
"Name it. Politics, business... we can make it happen."
"I want the power grid," Vincent said flatly. "I want Tesla Lighting & Energy. The largest power supplier in the United States."
Smith's jaw dropped. "Mr. Hall... Tesla Lighting is a national utility giant. Even for us..."
"I want the grid," Vincent repeated. "Have the paperwork ready. By the time my plane lands in Rome, I want to see the news that Oscorp has acquired Tesla Lighting."
"And," Vincent added, checking his nails, "I hate flying commercial. Prepare a private jet."
"I... I will arrange it immediately." Smith scrambled out of the room.
Vincent turned to the window.
The Vatican. Vampires. Gods.
In the Marvel Universe (Earth-616), myths were real. Zeus existed. Odin existed. The Celestials existed. The Vatican had stood for millennia, likely guarding something that predated them all.
He had a feeling this trip would be interesting.
JFK International Airport.
Julia Roberts was waiting on the tarmac, looking stunning in professional business attire.
"Julia? You quit your job?" Vincent asked, genuinely surprised.
"Starting today, I am your private secretary," she beamed.
"Welcome aboard." Vincent pulled her into a hug.
"Oh my god, Vincent! I just found out you are the buyer behind the Oscorp deal!" Julia whispered excitedly. "How did you keep your name out of the press? A teenager buying a mega-corp? It would break the internet!"
"Freedom of the press belongs to those who own the press," Vincent whispered back, his hand resting comfortably on her waist.
"You saved me from the abyss, Vincent," she said softly, her eyes full of devotion. "I'll follow you anywhere."
"Then don't look back. The view from the top is much better."
"Are the kids settled?" he asked.
"Yes, they're with their grandmother in New Mexico."
Vincent paused. New Mexico.
Was Thor about to drop the hammer? Or had his presence already shifted the timeline?
They boarded the luxury jet—courtesy of Commonwealth Bank—and took off for Rome.
As Vincent enjoyed the champagne and Julia's company, a phone call was being made across the ocean.
An Ancient Estate, Europe.
"Boss, he's on the plane."
Smith hung up the phone.
The recipient was in a manor that pre-dated the United States itself.
A withered old man lay in a medical bed, tubes pumping young blood into his failing veins. But the blood only delayed the inevitable.
"Lilith Drake has found the clues, Patriarch," a servant whispered. "We will find the Count's tomb."
The old man opened his eyes. They were ancient, filled with centuries of pain.
"It has been nearly six hundred years since my father fell into Hell to save me," the old man wheezed. "He was cursed by God, tempted by demons, and became the First Nightwalker."
He was speaking of the Dragon. The Son of the Dragon.
Vlad III. The Impaler. Dracula.
"Lilith hates him," the old man continued. "She is blinded by the Gypsy witches. If she finds him, she will try to destroy him. We must reach him first."
Standing by the bed was the current head of the Vlad family. His eyes burned not with reverence, but with greed.
He was dying of liver cancer. Science had failed him. He needed the Blood. But not the weak blood of modern vampires—parasites who hid in the dark. He needed the Source.
The old man in the bed was a living relic—the biological son of Vlad the Impaler, saved by monks centuries ago and kept alive by a dormant mutation. But he was still human, and he was finally dying.
His last wish was to unleash the monster God had locked away.
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