Gulp...
His throat was dry. Nick Fury stared at the demonic spear in the other's hand. The razor-sharp tip seemed to press straight through his eyeballs, as if in the next instant it would thrust forward, pierce his face, and skewer his skull.
Crimson halo-like particles shimmered brilliantly and seductively, stinging the flesh and sending tremors through the heart.
Even the king of agents could not stop himself from swallowing.
"Motherfu—" The word slipped out, a habit etched into his very genes. Even a Skrull double would have copied it perfectly.
Puchi!
"Mortal, do not assume I cannot understand your language."
Every hair on his body stood on end. Instinct screamed of danger, and Fury forcibly cut off his habitual curse. The proud, cold, mature female voice made his body stiffen. Muscle memory kicked in, and he slid backward.
With a tactical roll, he instinctively drew his gun and raised it in a defensive stance. But when he saw clearly the forest of long guns and heavy barrels surrounding him—and the tall, dark-purple figure at the center—he immediately let the pistol fall with a clack, raising both hands high with practiced ease.
You've got to be kidding. The other side had a group of heavily armored brutes nearly ten feet tall, and the caliber of those barrels was almost as wide as his face. And that dark-purple woman—she was downright unnatural. He happened to know someone else who could roam the cosmos in the flesh alone. Not someone to mess with. Definitely not.
"Ma'am, we've never met, and we bear no hostility toward each other. What is the meaning of this?"
Hands raised high, Nick Fury's face was as dark as the bottom of a pot.
His mood was utterly wretched.
Taking advantage of a rare break, he had been vacationing aboard the still-classified S.W.O.R.D. orbital aerospace base, enjoying astronaut rations while admiring the moon—when these uninvited guests attacked without warning.
They gave him no chance at all. Not even an opportunity to contact Talos on Earth—his Skrull double.
Fortunately, the pager was on him. He had already activated it.
"How dull. I had thought the leader guarded and supported by that group of shapeshifting xenos would be some formidable alien foe. Instead, it is merely a mortal nearing the end of his years... Concealing your aura? It seems I overestimated you."
Without sparing a glance for the one-eyed, bald-headed man's thoughts, Scáthach turned away, interest fading.
A middle-aged to elderly mortal veteran with no supernatural abilities, no magecraft, no exceptional 'wisdom'—only simple enhancement drugs and anti-aging procedures.
Not worth her attention. No meaning as a trial.
"He is yours. Your task."
The Queen of the Land of Shadows lightly gripped the air. Within her dark-purple gloved hand appeared the crimson spear that had been aimed at Nick Fury. Under the starlight she flourished it in a final arc before lowering it, then addressed the Demon Inquisitor warriors acting beside her.
Then magical energy erupted. Mixed with Honkai Energy particle factors, it wrapped around her graceful form. She stepped through the ruptured compartment of the space station, transforming into a streak of crimson light that shot upward toward another cleansing war zone flashing with countless dazzling bursts on the far side of the moon.
Nick Fury was left speechless.
Only then did he feel the warmth flowing over his lips and cheeks, and the burning sensation at the tip of his nose.
Using the polished wall of the station as a mirror, Fury saw clearly that the flesh at the tip of his nose had been sliced open. Bright red blood trickled slowly from the cut.
Some droplets drifted up and down as the gravity system faltered.
He was just an old agent. Strong among ordinary people, intimidating perhaps—but to stand against beings on the level of Captain Marvel? That was asking too much.
Crack!
In a brief daze, he only belatedly realized that the armored giant had already slapped handcuffs onto his wrists. Instantly, a weakening sensation spread through him. He knew at once—the cuffs had suppression functions, inhibiting the anti-aging and enhancement drugs in his cells.
"This is really bad..."
He muttered silently. The eyepatch was torn from his face. During the search, the pager was confiscated. His battered, bloodstained black trench coat was ripped apart. He was shoved forward, nearly stumbling.
"Those green-skinned xenos—the Skrulls, right? Their leader turns out to be human... Hah. Interesting."
"Execute him on the spot?"
"No. The Chapter Master is currently in talks with Earth. Leave this one. Let them extradite him."
"Soul-search?"
"Yes. But not too rough. Don't treat him as disposable."
Speaking in Imperial Common, the armored warriors conversed without any attempt at concealment. Lacking psychic abilities, Nick Fury had no idea he had just walked past the gates of death. He was marched through the corridors of the station.
Everywhere he looked were the corpses of Skrulls who had resisted. Ruptured hull walls were either sealed by airtight energy shields or repaired with a liquid-metal-like substance.
Through the portholes, in the boundless void of space, starships like mobile cities of steel stood in the vast darkness, awe-inspiring and terrifying.
Locust-like starfighters weaved through the vacuum. Death intertwined into radiant streaks of light, like blooming flowers, destroying Skrull and alien outposts, cities, and ruins on the moon's dark side. Teleportation beams and bombardments exploded in brilliant splendor, impossible to distinguish from one another.
Seeing this, Nick Fury understood.
One of the foundations that had allowed him to monitor Earth and sit atop the throne of spymaster—his Skrull pawns—had suffered catastrophic losses. Space stations and satellites in Earth-Moon orbit were destroyed or falling. The central database had been seized.
Nearly everything he had painstakingly built was wiped clean.
His heart ached.
This was all money he had squeezed out bit by bit—misappropriated, skimmed, conned, blackmailed, scraped together with endless effort!
"Hahahaha... This is the merciful death granted to you by the King of Heroes. Kneel and give thanks!"
Suspended within the thin atmosphere over the moon's dark side, a handsome man with short golden hair and metallic earrings spread his arms in intoxicated delight. His crimson eyes brimmed with mockery and arrogance.
Whoosh! Whoosh whoosh! Whoosh whoosh—
The black curtain of space was torn apart by streaming light. Countless blades howled forth like a rain of lasers from transparent vortices that appeared behind the golden king, crashing down upon the cities below.
Rumble rumble rumble—
Terrifying wind pressure formed sharp explosive blasts. Amid flashing firelight and flying sand and stone, each detonation brought the destruction and death of entire districts—like orbital bombardment from a dedicated air-to-ground support vessel.
By the standards of Chaldea's Masters, such power had already far exceeded the limits of a normal Saint Graph. It was as if there were no restraints at all—the threshold still slowly rising.
It was as though, with the golden king's proclamation as he enacted his kingly path, the radiant road bestowed upon him by the Supreme had unlocked its [shackles]. The primordial energy of the Marvel universe responded to him, embraced him.
"A mere insect crawling on the ground is not worth half of this king!"
"Who permitted you to leave? You are not qualified. An insect should know its place—crawl obediently upon the ground and accept the king's bestowed death... Hahaha! As the first trial granted to this king by that Root which dragged me down from the Throne of Heroes, struggle with all your might and entertain me!"
Not far away, at the edge of a lunar impact crater, Saitama stood holding the corpse of a Super Skrull that had attempted to copy him—only to be blown apart.
His drooping eyes twitched.
"Where did that hardcore chunibyo come from?"
He stared, dumbfounded, at the golden show-off spewing trash talk while shooting down Skrull warships—whether fleeing skyward or fighting back—with all manner of weapons that looked outrageously expensive, even pure-gold spikes cast from solid metal.
That glittering gold guy—just short of having 'I'm rich and ridiculously overpowered' written across his forehead—really did not mesh well with a poor guy like him.
Still... Saitama narrowed his eyes. He could not quite tell what state the other was in. That subtle, mysterious aura—half real, half illusory—felt strangely familiar.
Thud! Bang! Smack!
Casually flattening the Skrulls who fled toward him into pancakes, and prying up chunks of bedrock to use as pebbles to nearly clear out nearby Skrull fighters, Saitama fell into thought.
"..."
Just as his facial features were gradually simplifying into minimalist lines, a handsome man with flowing white hair and exquisitely refined features stepped through the air and glanced toward Gilgamesh.
"Chunibyo?"
The incubus curved his lips into a faint smile.
That show-off of a man... quite an apt description.
Mirth and satisfaction shone in Merlin's eyes. He cleared his throat lightly and introduced, "Mr. Saitama, that is the King of Uruk, the Heroic King—Gilgamesh."
"Heroic King? A hero... Is he a hero? The strongest hero?"
"That depends on how you define a hero," Merlin replied. "And Gilgamesh is clearly not the kind of professional hero from your home world."
"Leaving that aside, Mr. Saitama, shall we go?"
"Go where?"
"A new mission. Master has had a very cordial meeting and negotiation with the North American authorities. A considerable consensus has been reached. Our task of sealing the outer Earth-Moon orbit is essentially complete. Aside from eliminating the Skrulls on Earth, the North American authorities and the United Nations Council have also passed the proposal of the 'Divine Tribute System.' One of the secret treasures is quite special. According to the documents transferred by the North American authorities, we must retrieve it ourselves."
"Retrieve it ourselves?"
Saitama blinked in confusion.
Facing Earth, Merlin waved his hand. Effortlessly, a clairvoyant spell expansive enough to envelop the entire planet spread outward. "Because it is alive."
After finishing, the white-haired incubus cast a meaningful glance at the expressionless bald caped hero.
"A tribute. An offering to Her Majesty Selene."
It was a secret well known among veteran citizens of the Sacred Selene Empire—the Divine Empress' fondness for collecting.
"Since the mortals are so eager to shove it into our hands like kicking away a plague to avoid misfortune, we may as well test their mettle."
Speaking to himself as though fully understanding the American authorities' intentions, Merlin nodded thoughtfully before continuing with an unchanged smile, "Mr. Saitama, shall we act? Though we may very well end up opposing this world's 'heroes.'"
"Hmm... Anyway, I promised Her Majesty that I would protect the 117th Strike Cruiser Fleet with my life. The Master Chief... that's the title, right? As long as he asks for my help, I don't mind."
The incubus felt satisfied at such praiseworthy heroism and sincerity. He nodded eagerly.
He truly could not wait.
All of them were Heroic Spirit vessels—except Saitama. This utterly ordinary-looking man had been cast by Her Majesty Selene into this boundless, omnipotent universe in his flesh-and-blood body. For Merlin to claim he felt no anticipation, no restless curiosity, would be impossible.
"Very well, then let us move. I have already located it—the law of the mind..."
With a smile at his lips, Merlin spoke.
Suddenly—BOOM!—
A violent explosion lit up the dim expanse of deep space. Gale-force winds hurled pale dust forward, fine grains pelting their faces.
Across the heavens, a red and a golden streak of light alternated in furious pursuit. Every second held hundreds, thousands of collisions. Explosions and flashing energy waves intertwined, forming dazzling cascades of light too fast for the eye to follow.
"Merlin, look! A powerful enemy has arrived—we should go help!"
Pointing at the sky, Saitama's lifeless eyes gleamed with sudden brilliance.
"Too late. That is Lady Scáthach's prey. The culture of her people does not favor sharing one's hunt."
Shaking his head, the incubus felt the countless extraordinary auras blooming across Earth. He emphasized the mission he—no, more precisely, he had guided Saitama toward.
"Our task is the 'tribute.'"
"The obstinate 'heroes' of Earth, I imagine, will not disappoint you, Mr. Saitama..."
...
Meanwhile, aboard an unmarked Quinjet flying from Edinburgh, England to New York.
"Ah—! Hah... hah..."
Forced to interrupt his honeymoon with the Scarlet Witch, and still processing the words of Captain America and the others, Vision suddenly opened his eyes wide. His fully humanoid, dark-red face twisted in pain. His body tilted weakly, brows tightly furrowed, as though enduring immense suffering.
"Vision? What's wrong!"
Warm, soft hands gently cupped his face. The red-haired woman supported the groaning Vision with concern, quickly checking him over from head to toe. No wounds. Nothing visible.
"Wanda... They have come. They are is coming... Their apostles are about to arrive!"
The golden gem embedded in his forehead crackled as though short-circuiting. Terror had not yet faded from Vision's expression as he gripped the red-haired woman's hands. For the first time, his eyes were filled with fear and helplessness.
The power of the Mind Stone had allowed him to glimpse a fragment of the near future—and the shadow of a supreme abstract entity that transcended the limits of the universe.
Fear spread within him like an encroaching shadow. He could not stop imagining it—the blade piercing his body, the gemstone ripped violently from his brow, the agony and finality of that end.
"Whose apostles?" Steve Rogers asked gravely.
"No—no, there's no time to explain. Wanda, go! Captain, Sam, Natasha—you have to leave! Their target... is me!"
Just as everyone in the cabin was sinking into uneasy speculation from Vision's warning, a thunderous roar descended from above. The Quinjet shuddered violently under the impact, its frame groaning as a brutal force flipped the occupants from their seats.
"Damn it—evasive maneuvers!"
Straining to steady the control stick, Rogers looked through the windshield toward the source of the impact.
A gleaming bald head suddenly filled his vision at terrifying speed.
"!!"
—
—
40 Advanced Chapters Available on Patreon:
Patreon.com/DaoOfHeaven