Before lunch had even arrived, Constantine was thrown out—because he couldn't understand the love between Aragorn and Arwen.
Though he had read much literature and history where the concept of love was often mentioned, and though Solomon and the witch had personally demonstrated to him what an emotional life entailed, neither spiritually nor physically did the Honor Guard harbor any needs related to women or love. Their only emotions were loyalty to Solomon and a desire to fulfill their mission. So even if he could appreciate the elven beauty described in the book and admire the artistry of the writing, Constantine could only comprehend Aragorn and Arwen's relationship through his own lens—by framing it in rational terms and relating it to reality.
To him, it was akin to the love between a human and an alien.
From one perspective, the elves in the story were aesthetically and spiritually aligned with human ideals, so interspecies romance was not inconceivable. Constantine understood that completely. But as one of the commanders of Operation Secret War, and having led the campaign against the Skrulls, Constantine had seen numerous reports where human women discovered their husbands were actually Skrulls but still chose to love them—sometimes even resisting armed personnel to defend those relationships. Aside from a few with particular fetishes (like asking to transform into a certain female celebrity), such cases were rare—especially among male and female Skrulls. At least, existing sample data supported that conclusion.
This led Constantine to reflect on humanity's reproductive instincts, drawing parallels with the relationship between Neanderthals and Homo sapiens. He even held a serious discussion with Solomon about how such behavioral patterns were advantageous to species propagation and helped early humans gain both population and combat superiority.
Now, he brought up that same argument to demonstrate how rare and precious Aragorn and Arwen's love was in Middle-earth—comparing it to that between a human male and a Skrull female. And for that, he was promptly cursed and thrown out by Solomon, missing lunch entirely. Solomon described him as: "I swear on my beautiful long hair, your brain—cast in gold with excellent electrical conductivity—simply cannot comprehend it." He followed with phrases like: "You're a tin-can goblin designed by lore accuracy," and "The idiocy radiating from your brain's decay causes me psychosomatic neural pain." It wasn't until Constantine reached the landing pad that he fully understood what Solomon had meant. Though Constantine was used to Solomon's frequent use of various "fuck" variants, this time it was far too refined, far too eloquent—which deeply concerned Constantine about the Sovereign's mental well-being.
But he didn't really need lunch. It had only been a day since his power armor's life-support system last replenished his nutrients and combat supplements. The system's recycled metabolic fluids, once purified externally, were more than sufficient to support his energy needs. Appetite had long been discarded; he only consumed nutrient paste—containing special components like high levels of minerals, nano-alloy powder, and vitamins—when absolutely necessary. He wasn't the only one consuming that now. The two newly transformed, yet untrained, Honor Guard candidates were also eating nutrient paste, as it aided in their skeletal development. This was an order issued directly by the Monarch of the Undying City. Constantine still vividly remembered his first meal after emerging from the incubation pod—flavorless nutrient paste.
Constantine now had two hours to travel from the British Isles to Kaiserslautern, Germany, where he would rendezvous with undercover agents to obtain satellite data from the Ramstein U.S. Air Force Base—NATO's largest airbase in Europe and a crucial location the Undying City needed to monitor closely in the coming Latovinian war. If the U.S. made any large-scale military moves in Europe, transit points like Ramstein would be unavoidable.
Given the Undying City's aerial supremacy and the transport capacity of the Heaven's Sword orbital station, this was entirely feasible. The assault transport could deliver passengers to orbit in a very short time—normally slower only to accommodate human tolerance. The Undying City had a significant edge in electronic warfare, but industrial output and strategic priorities limited how that edge could be applied. Stephanie, head of internal affairs, hoped to take over NATO's entire aerial combat infrastructure.
Simply put, the plan was to retrofit U.S. military assets and use them, saving a fortune that could instead be used to build up the Latovinian Air Force. This was especially important given the strained economy of the Undying City. Even though its own aircraft had low production costs and excellent performance, manufacturing still required investment—and certain parts had to be purchased or traded from Wakanda. Stephanie, responsible for the budget, had to calculate every cost with precision.
She issued a request to the Honor Guard for assistance. Considering the long-term interests of the Undying City, Constantine agreed. Later, Stephanie, Constantine, and Victoria Hand held a lengthy holographic video conference to finalize tactical deployments against NATO. Thanks to Nick Fury's longstanding distrust of world governments and his covert actions, the intelligence department could impersonate S.H.I.E.L.D. agents to earn the trust of former S.H.I.E.L.D. spies and extract valuable intelligence from them. Even if those spies had been turned, intelligence agents embedded around them—monitoring both the spies and the spies monitoring the spies—could still provide usable intel and force former agents to cooperate.
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Even in a night that would never end, the deep crimson sand pit was brightly illuminated by dozens of blinding floodlights suspended over the arena. Every mark in the sand was clearly visible under the inescapable glare. Nearby were mech-servants loaded with heavy explosive rifles, plasma weapons, and various melee arms. Each mech was covered in battle-scarred armor; every weapon showed signs of repeated use. This was a specialized training arena where every trainee risked death. Only members of the Honor Guard could activate and survive the dangerous training provided by these armed mechs.
The foundational knowledge and combat techniques implanted into his brain were now being applied through genetically enhanced muscles. Though his movements were still somewhat stiff, he successfully dodged a rocket launched by one of the mech-servants and closed in to the maximum range of his halberd, thrusting forward. The halberd struck under the arm—an area unprotected by armor—severing the weapon arm from the body. Even then, he didn't dare relax, because his Master was watching—he wanted to prove himself. He charged toward the next mech, red sand kicking up behind him. The high-priest-grade silent servo motors and electro-muscle coils, combined with fully developed bioplastic implants beneath his skin, conducted electrical signals to make his every move more fluid.
Number Two. I am Number Two. The arena lights began flickering rapidly. A blast struck his shoulder armor. The force made him stagger slightly, but he maintained balance. Surging adrenaline dulled the pain. Before the next explosive could fire, he twisted his aching shoulder, recalled the enemy's location, and used the targeting data on his HUD to pin the mech to the ground from above.
He stepped forward, crushed the heavy explosive gun underfoot, shattering both the armor and the bone beneath.
"Number Two," he heard his Master's voice behind him. His brain instantly estimated the distance. He wanted to turn around but didn't dare stop his movements. That voice triggered a surge of devotion—but he couldn't yet answer the call. He wasn't qualified to swear loyalty. He didn't have a name. He had to prove that centuries of gene alchemy had not failed in his body. Only then could he receive the Sovereign's naming—the name buried in his genes.
The test had lasted several hours. His magazines had long since been emptied.
"Your name is Hammurabi Badia," Solomon said gently. "You're next, Number Three."
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