Chapter 227 to Chapter 237

  ...

  "You're insane, Pierce, and I can see how tempting the idea might be," Mrs. Ophelia said, her voice sharp and filled with disdain.

  She glared at Pierce like he was a madman, shouting, "Are you even sure you can find them? What makes you think you can take down a group of superhumans?"

  Pierce leaned back, unfazed.

  Ophelia's tone grew colder. "Even if you manage to replicate those superhuman legions, how do you plan to deal with Leon? Who could possibly withstand his wrath? Or do you think he's not powerful enough to destroy the planet with a mere flick of his hand?"

  Among the group, Mrs. Ophelia was undoubtedly the voice of reason. While the others were swayed by Pierce's vision, she remained cautious and composed.

  Pierce's grand plans were as enticing as they were deadly. "His promises may be sweet," she thought, "but they're laced with poison."

  Pierce underestimated the cost of provoking someone like Leon. Ophelia, as Mrs. Viper, had a deep understanding of Hydra's vast industrial empire. She knew the stakes.

  Hydra could shake the world, but compared to Leon—a being capable of reversing time and singlehandedly killing Laufey—what was Hydra but a fleeting bubble?

  Her words cut through the room, extinguishing any glimmer of excitement among the others. It was as if she had poured cold water over a roaring flame.

  Pierce, however, remained calm, silently calculating. The other two glanced at Mrs. Ophelia, their hesitation clear. Her unyielding expression unnerved them, but they quickly masked their unease.

  "I understand your concerns," Pierce said smoothly. "But this isn't a plan to be executed overnight. I'll use S.H.I.E.L.D. to locate them. After all, we're operating under the guise of S.H.I.E.L.D. itself."

  He chuckled, his confidence palpable. "Even if we provoke them, it's S.H.I.E.L.D. and the U.S. government that'll take the heat—not us."

  His words gave the others pause. As they mulled over the implications, Pierce's reasoning began to sound plausible.

  They weren't afraid of the cost—it was the retaliation they feared. But Pierce offered a new perspective.

  Hydra, long thought destroyed after World War II, had been hiding in plain sight, growing stronger within S.H.I.E.L.D. and the U.S. government.

  If their operations were carried out under S.H.I.E.L.D.'s name, any backlash would fall on S.H.I.E.L.D. and the government, not on Hydra itself. This strategy gave them the opportunity to expand without drawing attention.

  After a moment of silence, the two skeptics nodded, not fully committed but no longer resistant.

  Pierce smiled. "Take your time to think it over. There's no rush."

  The meeting adjourned, and Mrs. Viper and the others left with their entourages.

  Once alone in the dimly lit room, Pierce sat silently, deep in thought. Behind him stood a tall man in a combat uniform. His left arm was a gleaming silver prosthetic adorned with a red star. A black mask covered his mouth, and his cold demeanor exuded menace.

  A knock broke the silence. Pierce looked up. "Enter."

  The metal door slid open, and a man stepped inside. His gaze briefly flicked to the figure standing behind Pierce before addressing him.

  "Sir, Mrs. Ophelia, Mr. Whitehall, and Baron Strucker have left. One couldn't attend, but he's confirmed his participation in the next Federation Council meeting."

  "Good," Pierce replied with a nod. Then, as if recalling something, he asked, "Rumlow, what's Nick Fury up to?"

  "Sir, Fury's been busy contacting the upper echelons. The formation of the Avengers is a sensitive topic among the leadership," Rumlow reported. "He's also assisting Tony Stark in recruiting members for the team."

  As the leader of S.H.I.E.L.D.'s Special Operations Team, Rumlow—despite being only a Level 6 agent—had access to sensitive information.

  Pierce shook his head, a smirk tugging at his lips. "The incident in Mexico must've emboldened him, but finding the right people won't be easy."

  He knew Fury all too well. As the man who had elevated Fury's career, Pierce understood his tendencies. Fury was meticulous, sharp, and prone to suspicion.

  Pierce had always ensured Fury's focus remained outward, keeping him distracted from S.H.I.E.L.D.'s internal affairs. If Fury ever turned his gaze inward, Pierce's carefully laid plans could unravel.

  "The fruit of my labor has begun to bloom," Pierce thought, "and soon it will bear even greater rewards."

  "Sir," Rumlow interrupted, "Fury's also recruited Dr. Erik Selvig."

  "Who?"

  "An astronomer with expertise in various scientific fields. Alongside Hill, Coulson, Barton, and even Peter Parker, he's spearheading a secret project."

  Pierce's eyes narrowed. "A secret project?" His voice held a hint of intrigue. "The Cosmic Cube?"

  "Yes," Rumlow confirmed. "They've established an underground research base in California, mobilizing substantial resources for the project."

  Pierce leaned back, connecting the dots. "It seems the Frost Giant invasion and Asgard's presence have left Fury uneasy. He's likely preparing to mass-produce energy weapons using the Cube's power."

  The Cosmic Cube had been in S.H.I.E.L.D.'s possession for decades, but only recently had advancements in technology enabled meaningful research.

  "Also, Fury's keeping tabs on the man they pulled from the ice," Rumlow added.

  Pierce's lips curled into a wry smile. "Ah, Steve Rogers. How tragic. The world he knew is long gone."

  ...

  Pierce uttered the name, Steve Rogers, and the man standing behind him momentarily froze. His cold, unyielding eyes betrayed a flicker of something unspoken, and his face, concealed beneath a mask, twitched ever so slightly.

  Steve Rogers?

  The name reverberated in his mind, stirring a cascade of emotions he couldn't fully comprehend.

  Why does that name sound so familiar? Who is he? And why does it feel like I... know him?

  The man's thoughts churned silently, though neither Pierce nor Rumlow noticed his subtle change in demeanor.

  "Sir, should we intervene?" Rumlow asked.

  "No," Pierce replied with a shake of his head. "We've had blood samples from Steve Rogers for years, but despite all our research, nothing conclusive has come of it."

  "And the Cosmic Cube?"

  Pierce's lips curled into a cold smirk. "Let Fury handle it. Once he succeeds, we'll take the results for ourselves."

  Pierce glanced down thoughtfully before continuing, "Thanks to SHIELD, our people are positioned to harvest vast amounts of critical research. The Cube is no exception."

  Rumlow nodded, his loyalty unwavering. Pierce's tone shifted, becoming more decisive.

  "Our next plan requires adjustments. We will remain dormant for now. Extend the Insight Program timeline. As for the Super Soldier Legion, it's secondary—keep things running as usual."

  "Understood," Rumlow said, his voice filled with fervor. "Everything for Hydra."

  "Long live Hydra."

  Pierce nodded in satisfaction, his ambition gleaming in his eyes. The events in Mexico, the Frost Giants, and Asgard had opened a new path for him. Conquering the world was inevitable—it was only a matter of time.

  But time was something he lacked. Despite his vitality, he knew his years were limited. If Hydra were to achieve global domination, he would need more than just ambition; he needed to live longer. For this reason, he had summoned the leaders of Hydra's other factions to orchestrate this audacious plan.

  "All for Hydra's great revival," he murmured to himself, conviction filling his voice.

  Elsewhere, on a beach near a New York manor, the atmosphere couldn't have been more different. Under the moonlit sky, a bonfire crackled, its warm glow illuminating a lively gathering. Wanda and Pietro Maximoff, Natasha Romanoff, Yelena Belova, and others were enjoying a festive evening. The air was filled with the tantalizing aroma of barbecue, mingling with the cool sea breeze.

  Leon stood shirtless by the grill, wearing shorts and flip-flops, skillfully tending to the food. Yet, behind his easy smile lay a sharp, calculating mind. He'd intercepted every clandestine meeting between Pierce and Hydra's leaders through the omniscient capabilities of Sky Blade Seven, a technological marvel. It filtered and transmitted any relevant information directly to his mind, ensuring no secret could escape his grasp.

  So, Pierce is still scheming. Leon's thoughts were cold, his emotions carefully controlled.

  Had this been years ago, he might have felt anger or even apprehension. But now, with his power and resources, Hydra's grand ambitions seemed almost laughable. If he wished, Sky Blade Seven could identify every Hydra operative on Earth within seconds—and eliminate them just as quickly.

  A few ants plotting to take down an elephant. How amusing.

  A fragrant breeze wafted by as a pair of arms wrapped around his neck from behind. Natasha leaned in, her voice low and teasing.

  "What's on your mind?"

  Leon tilted his head slightly, brushing his cheek against hers. "Just wondering why there are always people who overestimate themselves and don't know their limits."

  Natasha chuckled, resting her chin on his shoulder. "That's human nature. Greed blinds them. Even if the odds are one in ten thousand, they'll still take the gamble."

  Leon smiled, nodding. "True enough."

  "So," Natasha mused playfully, "are you planning to crush these ants underfoot?"

  "Not exactly." Leon's grin turned mischievous. "Without them, life would be too boring. I'm considering how to toy with them instead."

  Natasha raised an eyebrow, amused. "Toy with them? That's not like you. You're more of a 'quick and clean' kind of guy."

  Leaning closer, she pinched his cheek. "What makes these people so special?"

  Leon's tone darkened, his smile fading. "Hydra."

  Natasha's expression shifted. "Hydra? The same Hydra you've been dismantling in Eastern Europe? The one you robbed blind before disappearing?"

  "Exactly. And now it seems Alexander Pierce—former director of SHIELD and current member of the World Security Council—is their latest puppet."

  Natasha leaned back slightly, her eyes narrowing thoughtfully. "Pierce is Hydra? That's... a revelation. I bet Nick Fury would have a field day with that."

  Leon smirked. "Thinking of letting Fury handle them?"

  Natasha grinned wickedly. "There's no better way to torture a man like Pierce than to expose his carefully orchestrated plans. When the world turns on him, he'll be left with nothing but despair."

  Leon chuckled, her logic resonating with him. "You always know how to hit where it hurts."

  "Of course." Natasha's voice was soft but resolute. "It's not death that terrifies people like Pierce. It's being forgotten, discarded, and dying alone in the shadows like a rat."

  ...

  Looking at the red-faced Sergei, Pietro, and the others laughing, dancing, and drinking as if nothing had happened, Leon couldn't help but smile. Amid the lively scene, Natasha leaned close, exuding her characteristic triumphant attitude.

  Leon kissed her, a small grin playing on his lips. "You're in this business, yet you can still say things like that?"

  "Why not?" Natasha retorted, raising her chin slightly and giving him a half-smile. "Don't you enjoy seeing a scene like this?"

  "Of course I do."

  Leon's response was shameless, though his thoughts briefly drifted to Wanda. He'd have to find time to coax her into joining their little escapades, even if she objected initially. But for now, he changed the subject. "Just don't complain when she starts getting too comfortable with it—you'll be the one in trouble."

  "It's fine," Natasha said with a casual shrug. "Wanda's shy, thin-skinned, and easily confused. She's the easiest type to manipulate."

  Leon chuckled, shaking his head helplessly. Natasha had a knack for understanding people, especially someone like Wanda, whose intelligence often clashed with her trusting personality.

  Before Leon could respond, a loud shout came from the bonfire.

  "Boss Leon! Natasha! Get over here!"

  "Coming!" Natasha called back.

  They shared a knowing smile, grabbed the freshly grilled food, and headed toward the bonfire. The night was lively, the laughter contagious, and even the moon seemed shy, hiding behind scattered clouds.

  But while they enjoyed their carefree evening, the rest of the world was anything but calm.

  A massive piece of data had inexplicably appeared on global networks. This wasn't just any data; it was a series of detailed lists—names, aliases, countries of origin, family connections, sources of income, and more. Each list was meticulous, and what tied all these individuals together was a single, chilling word: Hydra.

  For years, Hydra had lurked in the shadows, its origins tracing back to World War II. Their infamous slogan—"Cut off one head, and two more shall take its place"—had become synonymous with their insidious presence. Hydra's goal was simple yet terrifying: global domination.

  The release of these lists sent shockwaves across every government. High-ranking officials from around the world were stunned to find familiar names among the exposed. If even a fraction of these individuals were truly Hydra operatives, then this shadow organization already wielded enough power to destabilize nations.

  There was no time for hesitation. Orders were issued to security agencies worldwide: apprehend and interrogate the individuals on these lists at all costs.

  The data's authenticity was unquestionable. Detailed financial transactions, secret meeting videos, and even recordings of individuals declaring, "Long live Hydra," left no room for doubt.

  Within hours, a global purge began. Hydra operatives, who once believed themselves untouchable, found their carefully constructed empires crumbling.

  Gunfire erupted in cities across the world. Streets ran red with blood as law enforcement clashed with Hydra's forces. Hydra agents, desperate and cornered, resisted fiercely. Every second brought chaos, fear, and death.

  Despite the destruction, world leaders remained resolute. The cost was irrelevant—Hydra had to be eradicated. The organization's ambitions to overthrow governments and seize power were too dangerous to ignore.

  Hydra's leaders, once cloaked in shadows, were thrust into despair. The global manhunt left them breathless and exposed. Resources that once seemed limitless proved useless against the overwhelming, coordinated assault.

  Their despair was matched only by confusion and rage. Who had the power to compile and release such comprehensive information?

  They had been exposed too swiftly, their operations dismantled before they could react. Even attempts to delete the lists from global networks failed. It was as if the information was untouchable—beyond the capabilities of any human hacker.

  The same question plagued the minds of Nick Fury and Tony Stark: Who was behind this?

  Within SHIELD, the revelations were catastrophic. More than 60% of SHIELD's agents were Hydra operatives, embedded in every key department. Even Alexander Pierce, the former director of SHIELD and a current member of the World Security Council, was exposed as a Hydra leader.

  The betrayal sent shockwaves through SHIELD's ranks. Once the most formidable intelligence agency in the world, SHIELD now found itself in chaos. Hydra's rebellion within its ranks turned trusted agents into deadly enemies overnight.

  Gunfire and explosions tore through SHIELD facilities. The betrayal claimed countless lives, and the ensuing battle was nothing short of a war.

  Thankfully, Nick Fury acted swiftly. He mobilized loyal SHIELD agents to join forces with the military in a massive counteroffensive. Fury called in the Avengers and even sought help from Professor X and the X-Men.

  The rebellion was suppressed, but the cost was staggering. Hydra's infiltration had shaken SHIELD to its core, leaving scars that would take years to heal.

  ...

  The biggest man behind Hydra, Alexander Pierce, was still on the run. Somehow, they had managed to block Professor X's telepathic tracking, but with the entire United States launching a full-scale pursuit, Pierce and his associates couldn't stay hidden for long.

  On a New York viaduct, a cheap, unremarkable car raced through the early morning traffic. Inside, Pierce was being pursued, accompanied by his loyal operatives, including Rumlow from the special operations team and the Winter Soldier. The group looked grim, their silence adding weight to the oppressive atmosphere in the car.

  Pierce himself wore a stained white shirt, his expression one of barely restrained fury. His sullen face and angry eyes betrayed the turmoil within him.

  The morning had started like any other. Pierce had been about to enjoy his usual lavish breakfast when Rumlow and the Winter Soldier barged into his villa and forcibly whisked him away. His meticulously planned escape route was now his lifeline.

  Rumlow had briefed him en route: Hydra was exposed. Every Hydra agent embedded within S.H.I.E.L.D. had been captured or killed.

  In the span of a few hours, Pierce had lost everything.

  His funds were frozen, industries dismantled, and even Hydra's secret bases had gone dark. Only a handful of coded messages had reached him, grimly confirming that their strongholds were compromised.

  As Pierce brooded, his emotions churned: anger, confusion, despair. How had Hydra's meticulously concealed operations been laid bare? Someone had exposed everything—down to the most classified information—and leaked it online.

  Pierce couldn't fathom how this had happened. Hydra had always erased its tracks. Even if there was a traitor, such a thorough exposure seemed impossible. The betrayal was sudden, absolute, and devastating.

  The car's slight vibrations and flickering interior lights only deepened his paranoia. Every face of Hydra's senior leadership flashed in his mind. Was one of them the traitor?

  Rumlow, sitting near the window, scanned the surroundings with a practiced eye. Seeing nothing amiss, he turned to Pierce and said in a low voice, "Sir, we need to leave New York. Nick Fury will stop at nothing to track us, and our safe houses are compromised."

  Pierce shook his head grimly. "No. Fury won't leave any route out of the city unmonitored. Every road will be a trap."

  "What should we do, then?" Rumlow pressed.

  Pierce's voice dropped to an icy whisper. "We can't risk being seen. That bald mutant has likely already read the memories of captured agents. If anyone has seen us, their memories will lead Fury straight to us."

  He leaned forward, his eyes cold and calculating. "New York is full of scum and drifters. Find them, control them, and use our mind-shielding devices on them. We'll hide behind their chaos."

  "Understood," Rumlow replied, his tone measured.

  The car sped smoothly along the viaduct, entering Queens. The streets were busy, pedestrians lined the sidewalks, and traffic moved sluggishly. At an intersection, the car stopped at a red light, its occupants tense.

  Nearby, a police car idled at the light.

  Everyone in the vehicle held their breath. The Winter Soldier and Rumlow gripped the handles of their concealed weapons.

  The driver—a middle-aged man with an air of normalcy—kept his composure. He rested his hands casually on the steering wheel, humming softly. His calm demeanor seemed to reassure the others.

  A police officer in the passenger seat glanced in their direction but showed no interest, turning back as the light changed.

  The green light signaled the police car to drive off, and the driver of Pierce's vehicle followed the preplanned route. The tension eased slightly.

  But as the car reached the center of the intersection, the Winter Soldier's expression shifted. In one swift motion, he grabbed Pierce's head and shoved him down.

  A truck barreled toward them from the right.

  Bang!

  The collision was deafening. The commercial vehicle flipped onto its side, screeching across the asphalt.

  Inside, chaos erupted. One Hydra soldier's neck snapped against the car window, killing him instantly. The Winter Soldier reacted first, using his metal arm to punch through the crumpled roof. He tore open the upper door and climbed out, hoisting himself free. With his other hand, he grabbed the modified car door, wielding it like a shield.

  Rumlow and the remaining Hydra operatives scrambled out as well, dragging a dazed and bruised Pierce to safety.

  "Get us out of here!" Pierce barked.

  The Winter Soldier nodded, drew his pistol, and leaped over the wrecked truck. He moved to commandeer another vehicle.

  Before he could act, the screech of tires surrounded them. Black Chevrolet SUVs swarmed the intersection, boxing them in. Helicopters hovered overhead, their searchlights sweeping across the chaos.

  Agents poured out of the SUVs, weapons drawn and aimed. The air was thick with tension.

  Alexander Pierce, Rumlow, and the Winter Soldier stood trapped, Hydra's once-mighty leadership now surrounded by S.H.I.E.L.D. operatives armed to the teeth.

  ...

  This tale has been unlawfully obtained from Royal Road. If you discover it on Amazon, kindly report it.

  There were people everywhere—agents swarming the area, helicopters circling overhead, and Quinjets trailing behind.

  Alexander Pierce stood amidst the chaos, a deep despair settling in his heart. He glanced left and right, his face cold as gunfire echoed around him. He knew there was no way out.

  The industry funds were frozen, and Nick Fury—his former protégé and now his fiercest adversary—would never allow Hydra to rise again.

  Pierce knew there was only one outcome: death.

  His death would be the price for peace. Too many powerful individuals, from high-ranking officials to corporate titans, would sleep uneasily as long as he was alive.

  Taking a deep breath, Pierce adjusted his collar and approached the Winter Soldier. He extended his hand, pushing down the raised muzzle of the Soldier's gun, then turned toward the agents standing in formation before him, their bulletproof shields reflecting the fading sunlight.

  "Fury!" Pierce shouted, his voice cutting through the noise. "I know you're here. Come out and face me!"

  The intersection fell silent.

  Moments later, an SUV pulled up, and from it stepped Nick Fury, flanked by Peter Parker and Maria Hill, both clad in Kevlar combat uniforms. The agents parted, creating a path as Fury led the way, stopping a few meters from Pierce.

  For a moment, there was silence.

  Fury was the first to speak. His expression wasn't the usual stoic mask but something more complicated.

  "A few days ago, something made me very happy," Fury said, his voice calm but laced with emotion. "I thought today might bring more good news, but... it's a pity."

  Pierce smirked faintly. "And what exactly is the problem?"

  "You delayed my breakfast," Fury quipped dryly.

  Pierce shook his head. "I know you don't eat breakfast often." He hesitated before continuing, his tone turning sharp. "Have you found the person who exposed me?"

  "Sorry, no," Fury replied. "The data appeared suddenly, and the source is untraceable—even Tony Stark's AI couldn't locate it."

  "Clearly," Pierce said with a bitter smile, "I've offended someone very powerful."

  Fury didn't call him "sir" this time—a subtle but deliberate omission.

  "Powerful indeed," Fury admitted. "But whoever they are, I'm grateful. Without them, I wouldn't have discovered that Hydra has been thriving within S.H.I.E.L.D., or that my own people included my mortal enemies."

  Pierce's expression hardened. "Hydra's strength lies in its ideology. Cut off one head, and two more will take its place. Faith doesn't die."

  "But today," Fury said grimly, "you all will."

  A new voice rang out from behind Fury.

  "Hydra is a cancer to the world."

  Pierce's gaze shifted past Fury to the source of the voice. His eyes landed on a familiar figure—a man in a brown leather jacket with a white shirt underneath. Tall, broad-shouldered, and possessing a face known to countless Americans, his likeness had been immortalized in museums and history books.

  "Steve Rogers," Pierce said, his voice heavy with mockery. "Captain America himself. Waking up in a world changing too fast for you, huh?"

  The first Avenger stepped forward, his face stoic but his eyes blazing with determination.

  "I thought the death of the Red Skull meant the end of Hydra," Steve said coldly. "I thought I'd woken up to a world without war. I was wrong."

  Pierce chuckled, unfazed. "The Red Skull was never Hydra's end. He was merely a vessel. And war... war has always existed, Captain."

  Steve's voice hardened. "Starting today, Hydra is finished. You'll be buried like the relic you are."

  "Perhaps," Pierce replied, his calm demeanor betraying his defiance.

  Before anyone could respond, a resounding boom echoed as a golden and red figure descended from the sky. Iron Man landed with a flourish, his armor gleaming.

  Tony Stark stood tall, his shoulder plates retracting to reveal a dozen micro-missile launchers. The weapons locked onto Pierce and his associates. After a moment, the faceplate slid up, revealing Stark's confident smirk.

  "Jarvis is on standby," Tony announced. "If anyone so much as twitches, they're toast."

  Pierce's smirk widened. "Tony Stark. A genius, just like your father. Tell me, how does it feel to meet your dad's old friend from across the decades?"

  Tony glanced briefly at Steve, then back at Pierce. "Captain," he murmured.

  "Tony," Steve replied curtly.

  The lack of spectacle in their exchange seemed to disappoint Pierce, but he quickly recovered, his tone turning ominous.

  "Tony," Pierce began, "have you ever wondered how your father and mother really died?"

  Tony's eyes narrowed. "What are you trying to say?"

  "Their deaths," Pierce continued, a sinister smile playing on his lips, "might not have been as accidental as you've been led to believe."

  ...

  Captain Steve Rogers and Nick Fury frowned as the situation grew tense. Fury's expression, however, carried a subtle edge.

  "Howard was also a genius, Tony," Pierce began, his tone laced with mockery. "But because he was too talented, he became a massive obstacle to Hydra. So—"

  Pierce didn't finish, but everyone in the room knew what he was implying.

  Tony Stark's expression darkened, suspicion morphing into anger.

  "Was it you?"

  "It was us," Pierce admitted without hesitation, his tone almost casual. "I still remember the date—December 16, 1991."

  "Shut up!" Tony roared, unable to hold back his fury. His right hand rose, the repulsor in his palm glowing ominously.

  The Winter Soldier, silent until now, immediately stepped in front of Pierce, raising a gun and pointing it at Tony.

  Steve Rogers frowned as he observed the Winter Soldier. Something about the man felt inexplicably familiar, tugging at his memory.

  The standoff thickened with tension. Pierce, calm despite the danger, seemed almost amused. He gazed at Fury, Tony, and Steve with a mocking glint in his eyes, lingering particularly on the latter two.

  "Remember the Captain of the Howling Commandos?" Pierce asked, addressing Rogers directly. "I bet you'll never forget that day."

  Steve's brow furrowed. "What day?"

  "February 1, 1945," Pierce replied, his words heavy with meaning.

  Steve's pupils narrowed in shock. "Why bring up that date?"

  "Because on that mission, your best friend—Bucky—died. Or so you thought."

  "You're trying to provoke us," Steve said, his voice low and steady despite the anger simmering within.

  "No, Captain," Pierce replied with a sinister grin. "I wouldn't waste my breath. Let me show you."

  Pierce reached over to the Winter Soldier and removed his black mask, revealing a face that stunned everyone in the room.

  "Bucky?" Steve gasped, his voice trembling.

  The Winter Soldier's expression remained cold and detached, but there was no mistaking it—this was Bucky Barnes, Steve Rogers' best friend and a member of the Howling Commandos.

  "How...?" Steve took a step forward, but froze when Bucky raised his gun, pointing it directly at him.

  "Bucky?" Steve's voice cracked. He couldn't comprehend it. He had believed Bucky was lost on that mission, only for him to now reappear as an enemy.

  Pierce, reveling in Steve's turmoil, sneered. "Yes, that's the face, Captain. Bucky didn't die that day. We found him in the snow, barely alive and missing an arm. We saved him, experimented on him, brainwashed him, and gave him a metal arm."

  "For decades, he's been our greatest weapon—the Winter Soldier. He's completed countless missions for us, including, of course—" Pierce turned to Tony with a cruel smile. "—the assassination of Mr. and Mrs. Howard Stark."

  "What?" Steve whispered, horrified. Even Nick Fury appeared taken aback.

  Pierce chuckled darkly, savoring the chaos he was sowing.

  Tony's fury boiled over. His face twisted with rage as his Iron Man helmet snapped into place.

  "You killed my parents!" Tony shouted, firing a blast from his shoulder-mounted weapon.

  The Winter Soldier reacted instantly, shoving Pierce out of the way and rolling to safety. The blast struck several Hydra agents, killing them instantly. Rumlow managed to dodge, but not entirely—he clutched his bleeding arm.

  Steve instinctively moved to shield Bucky. "Tony—"

  Before he could say more, Tony grabbed Steve and flung him aside with the enhanced strength of his armor. Steve, still recovering from the effects of being frozen, couldn't resist the force and was hurled to the ground.

  Tony's repulsor beams fired again, but Bucky grabbed a discarded car door and used it as a shield. The blasts nearly punched through the metal, forcing Bucky to retreat a few steps.

  "Tony, stop!" Fury shouted, but his voice fell on deaf ears.

  Blinded by rage, Tony ignored him. His shoulder armor deployed rows of micro-missiles, locking onto Bucky and Pierce.

  "Peter!" Fury yelled, desperate.

  Peter Parker, standing hesitantly to the side, sighed. He had hoped to stay out of this, but under Fury's orders, he had no choice.

  He raised his wrists, firing two webs that latched onto Tony's arms. With a sharp tug, he pulled Tony off balance, sending him stumbling to the floor.

  ...

  Peter Parker fired web after web, encasing Tony's MK armor in thick layers of special spider silk, immobilizing him like a silkworm chrysalis stuck to the ground.

  Fury immediately waved his hand, signaling his team. Peter, Maria Hill, and several agents approached Pierce and the Winter Soldier, prepared to apprehend them. Bucky, the Winter Soldier, tried to resist, but even with his enhanced abilities, he was no match for Peter's superior strength and agility. Eventually, he was subdued.

  As his team secured Pierce and Bucky, Rumlow shot a wary glance at Steve Rogers, who was just rising to his feet in the distance. Fury, meanwhile, approached Tony Stark, who was still trapped on the ground. He knelt and tapped on Tony's visor.

  Boom! Boom! Boom!

  The sound echoed as the faceplate retracted, revealing Tony's face twisted with unrestrained anger—an expression Fury had never seen before.

  "Tony," Fury said firmly, "we need them alive for now."

  "They killed my parents," Tony growled, his voice raw with fury.

  "I know, and it's infuriating," Fury replied, his tone steady. "But we need what Pierce knows. Give me a few days. I want to root out every last Hydra agent before we deal with him."

  Fury's indifference to Pierce's ultimate fate was clear. The only question was whether Tony would kill him now or if it would happen later in a prison cell.

  "What about Bucky?" Tony shot back. While Pierce was the mastermind, Bucky had been the one to carry out the killings with his own hands.

  "Tony, Bucky was brainwashed. He wasn't in control of his actions," Steve interjected, his voice sincere as he approached.

  Suddenly, Tony's MK armor emitted a faint red glow as its systems entered overheating mode. The intense heat softened the webbing, allowing Tony to break free with a single, sharp motion. Rising to his feet, he fixed Steve with an icy glare.

  "I don't care," Tony said coldly. "He killed my parents with his own hands. He dies too."

  Tony's voice was devoid of empathy. He didn't care about brainwashing, or that Bucky was Steve's friend. To him, justice demanded a life for a life.

  "When the Maximoff twins came for revenge, I let them. This is no different," he added, his tone chillingly matter-of-fact.

  "Tony, you're letting Pierce manipulate you," Steve countered. "This could all be a ploy to divide us. We can't even prove Bucky pulled the trigger—"

  But Pierce, ever the opportunist, cut in with a sneer. "Oh, but we can. There's a video, Tony. An old highway camera captured everything. Look for it, and you'll see the truth."

  Tony's composure wavered. His fury threatened to boil over again, but he forced himself to stay calm. He could feel the watchful eyes of Peter, Steve, Fury, and the others. He knew that if he acted rashly, Pierce might escape in the chaos.

  For now, he would wait. But Pierce and Bucky wouldn't escape him forever.

  Seeing Tony restrain himself, Fury felt a small sense of relief. He glanced at Peter, who gave a silent nod of understanding. If Tony acted out again, Peter would be ready.

  Meanwhile, Pierce, handcuffed and flanked by agents, was disappointed. He had hoped for chaos—a brawl that might allow Bucky to escape. Instead, his plan had failed.

  Just as everyone was preparing to move Pierce and the others to the escort vehicle, something unimaginable happened.

  Weng!

  An inexplicable force swept over the area, blanketing the streets. A sacred, indescribable energy froze everything and everyone in place.

  Nick Fury, Tony Stark, Peter Parker, Steve Rogers—every person in the vicinity—was rendered motionless. Their bodies refused to respond, as though their minds had been stripped away. Only their eyes could move, darting in shock and confusion.

  The stillness was absolute. Fury, Tony, and the others could see Pierce and Bucky frozen nearby, just as helpless. It was surreal, unbelievable.

  Then, golden particles shimmered in the air in front of Pierce, gradually coalescing into a human form.

  A tall, handsome man appeared, dressed simply in a white shirt and jeans, a necklace with a blue gemstone resting against his chest. His hair swayed slightly in an unseen breeze.

  From Fury's vantage point, he could only see the man's broad back, but Pierce's reaction was unmistakable—his eyes widened in terror, his face pale with fear.

  This man needed no introduction. Fury and the others knew exactly who he was: Leon.

  Leon's sleeves were neatly folded, revealing muscular arms that made his shirt stretch slightly. He exuded an aura of overwhelming power. Standing tall, he gazed at Pierce and the others with cold indifference.

  "Stupidity and arrogance lead only to one thing: destruction," Leon said, his voice devoid of anger yet heavy with authority.

  The words alone sent a wave of fear crashing over Pierce and Rumlow, threatening to drown their resolve. Pierce's earlier arrogance evaporated, replaced by regret and despair.

  For the first time, Pierce realized the depth of his mistake. Yesterday, he had been a man of ambition, presiding over a Hydra summit. Today, he was a broken fugitive, hunted and powerless before Leon's presence.

  If he could, he would slap himself for his arrogance.

  ...

  Seeing the future isn't difficult, not when Leon wields the Sky Blade. With their blessing, his dominion over knowledge expands infinitely, granting him the ability to predict events yet to come.

  But for Leon, such measures are unnecessary.

  The current timeline no longer resembles the original. His presence alone has altered the trajectory of history, veering it onto an unpredictable path—one that neither the Sorcerer Supreme, the Ancient One, nor the All-Father, Odin, can fully perceive.

  Timelines aren't static; they're fluid, shaped by countless possibilities that shift with every thought, action, or decision. Despite this, beings like the Ancient One and Odin have accepted the changes, so long as their broader designs remain untouched. One chose to suspend her own death to traverse the multiverse in pursuit of Eternity, while the other retired to the Valhalla, leaving the mortal plane behind.

  Leon shared a kinship with them in this sense—an existence behind the scenes, influencing events with clear objectives in mind. His plans were already in motion, and he awaited the harvest day with quiet patience.

  Wanda Maximoff, meanwhile, sat with a mischievous glint in her eyes.

  She had moved past her hatred for Tony Stark, but that didn't mean she couldn't indulge in a little mischief. Her mind buzzed with inspiration, conjuring ways to spring unexpected "surprises" on Tony. Letting Bucky off the hook earlier had been a small experiment, a test of the waters.

  Now, her thoughts wandered to darker territory. She mused on how much fun it would be to amplify Bucky's and Captain America's abilities with a touch of magic before pitting them against Tony. It would be such a spectacle.

  "Hehe..." Wanda grinned sinisterly, her expression so comically devious it was almost cartoonish.

  Leon, observing her from the other side of the room, sighed. His "little witch" seemed to be awakening some troubling attributes. He shook his head with a mix of amusement and pity—for Tony, of course.

  While Leon was above petty antics, he couldn't help but appreciate the thought of Stark being outwitted. There was no malice in it, just an opportunity too entertaining to ignore.

  At the villa's entrance, the sound of maids announcing guests broke the tranquility. Natasha Romanoff entered with Melina and Yelena following close behind.

  "Hey, did you enjoy your family dinner?" Wanda asked, draping herself lazily over the back of the sofa, her curiosity piqued.

  Natasha had left earlier that morning, mentioning a family gathering with Melina, Yelena, and Alexei. The dinner had been Alexei's idea—a chance for him to play the role of doting father to Melina and their two daughters.

  Yelena flopped onto the sofa with a groan, burying her face in a pillow. Her muffled voice emerged, tinged with exasperation. "Believe me, it was awful. Never again."

  Natasha and Melina exchanged helpless glances before settling down beside her.

  "Wow, sounds like you all had fun," Wanda teased, her curiosity deepening.

  The maids arrived with trays of fresh fruit and iced juice, placing them on the table before retreating. Natasha shrugged as she reached for a glass.

  "Let's just say Alexei's idea of fun doesn't align with ours," she replied.

  "Do tell," Wanda said eagerly.

  "You wouldn't believe it," Natasha began. "He decided to fly us to Russia to 'develop our skills.'"

  Yelena groaned louder, cutting in. "And then he thought it'd be a great idea to remind us of the 'good old days' in the Red Room."

  Leon and Wanda exchanged a glance, their expressions turning serious. Natasha had once confided in them about her traumatic experiences in the Red Room—gruelling training, relentless conditioning, and an unyielding demand for perfection. Even the smallest details, like enduring nauseating "food," had been used to test the trainees' willpower.

  "Alexei captured a wild boar," Natasha continued, her tone dripping with disbelief. "He made uncured pork belly soaked in salt—still streaked with blood and smelling, well...you get the picture."

  "Don't forget the roasted beef shank and the chaga tea," Yelena added with a shudder.

  "And the blintzes, pies, herring salad, and borscht," Natasha said. "Things that should've been good—except Alexei managed to ruin them all."

  "The worst part," Yelena groaned, "is that he genuinely thought it was a feast. He kept insisting we eat every last bite, like it was some grand gesture of love. And if we hesitated, he'd get teary-eyed, like a child."

  "It was torture," Natasha concluded with a shake of her head.

  "Next time someone suggests a family dinner, I'm shooting them," Yelena declared, her face pale at the memory.

  Leon and Wanda burst into laughter, their amusement unrestrained. The schadenfreude was too delicious to ignore.

  "Want Johnny to whip you up something?" Leon offered between chuckles.

  "Nope," Yelena shot back, leaping off the sofa. "I don't want to see food—or that sentimental idiot—for at least two days." She stomped off, leaving the others laughing in her wake.

  ...

  "Who do you think you are? You're just an old relic who should have stayed buried in history!"

  Tony's angry voice echoed through the conference room at SHIELD headquarters. His face was flushed with rage as he glared at Steve Rogers, the man who had once been his father's best friend.

  The room bore the scars of a recent battle. Though it had been hastily cleaned, the shattered floor-to-ceiling windows and scuffed walls were evidence of the fierce confrontation that had taken place here. Nick Fury, Maria Hill, and other SHIELD agents stood by, their expressions varied as they watched the heated exchange between Iron Man and Captain America.

  "Stark—" Steve began, his tone firm despite his evident helplessness. He couldn't let Bucky be killed, no matter what Pierce had revealed.

  But Tony wasn't interested in listening. His stance was resolute.

  "I'll find that video," Tony spat. "And if it proves he killed my parents, he's dead. No exceptions."

  "Stark, he didn't have a choice—"

  "My father was your friend too!" Tony snapped, cutting him off.

  With that, he turned on his heel and stormed out, leaving Steve standing there, his expression a mixture of guilt and frustration.

  Logan stood to the side, puffing on a cigar as he observed the scene. A former soldier himself, he couldn't recall if he'd ever fought alongside Captain America, but something about the man irritated him. Still, Logan had no intention of getting involved.

  "What a mess," he muttered.

  Nick Fury gave Maria Hill a pointed glance, signaling her to leave. Once she had exited, Fury slowly turned to Steve, his one good eye scrutinizing him.

  "Originally, I wanted you on board for some vengeance missions," Fury said. "But now... well, that seems unlikely."

  Steve shook his head, his voice low. "I'm sorry, sir. I'm not in the right frame of mind for that."

  Fury leaned back, his tone turning pointed. "You should think about it. Stark's made up his mind, and let's be honest: as the last living Hydra operative and a brainwashed super-soldier, Bucky's options aren't great. Even if he avoids death, his future won't be much better."

  The brutal truth hung heavy in the room. Steve wasn't na?ve; he understood Fury's implications.

  "I won't let him end up in a lab," Steve said firmly. "He's suffered enough already. He was a hero once."

  "No one's denying that," Fury replied. "But he's also dangerous. A ticking time bomb, ready to go off with the right trigger—a word, an image, a sound. You know what someone like him could do if he's reactivated."

  Steve clenched his fists. He knew Fury wasn't wrong, but he couldn't abandon Bucky. After a moment of silence, he asked, "What are the conditions?"

  Fury raised an eyebrow. "Come again?"

  "You've thought this through, Director. What do I need to do to protect him?" Steve's calm, measured tone betrayed his inner turmoil.

  Fury smirked, unfazed by being called out. "You need to adapt. Learn to navigate this era. And contribute to this world. That's the price."

  Steve sighed inwardly. He'd expected this. Fury's earlier warnings had been nothing more than groundwork for his proposal.

  "Can you save him?" Steve asked.

  Fury shrugged. "Not many can. But I happen to know someone who can."

  As if on cue, the door opened, and two figures entered the room: Bucky Barnes and Professor Charles Xavier.

  "Bucky!" Steve exclaimed, his face lighting up as he approached his old friend.

  "Steve," Bucky replied, his voice warm, a familiar smile on his face.

  The two men embraced, their silent camaraderie saying more than words ever could.

  After their reunion, Charles Xavier addressed the room, his demeanor calm and composed.

  "Mr. Barnes has undergone prolonged brainwashing," Charles began. "Through repeated use of electric shocks, light and shadow manipulation, and psychological conditioning, his original mind was suppressed and imprisoned in a dark corner of his psyche."

  Steve's face darkened, but Charles continued gently.

  "The conditioning was thorough. As Director Fury pointed out, certain stimuli—words, images, or actions—could trigger hidden commands. However, I've fully reintegrated his memories, identified those triggers, and erased them. He's a normal man now."

  Fury nodded, turning to Steve and Bucky. "This is Professor Charles Xavier," he explained. "He's a mutant with unmatched psychic abilities. His students include Jean , Scott, and Storm—names you might hear more about in the future. Thanks to him, Bucky's been restored."

  Bucky glanced at Charles, gratitude evident in his eyes. "Thank you, Professor," he said quietly.

  Charles smiled warmly. "I've helped you recover your memories and removed the imposed instructions, but I didn't erase your past. That pain is still with you. You'll need to face it, Mr. Barnes. If you don't, it may consume you again."

  Bucky nodded solemnly. He knew Charles was right.

  As the group exchanged farewells, Steve and Bucky lingered a moment longer. They both owed a debt of gratitude to the people who had made this reunion possible.

  But for Bucky, the memories of Hydra's atrocities loomed large. The faces of those he'd wronged haunted him, shadows of the man he used to be.

  Charles placed a reassuring hand on Bucky's shoulder. "Healing takes time," he said gently. "But you don't have to face it alone."

  Bucky gave a faint smile, a glimmer of hope in his weary expression.

  Together, they left the room, ready to face whatever challenges lay ahead.

  ...

  "You are indeed more clever than I anticipated. Unfortunately, your mind works too quickly, making it difficult to discern the truth in your every word."

  Loki stood before Thanos, attempting to maintain composure. Fear and despair gnawed at him, yet he suppressed them, forcing himself to appear calm and rational.

  There was no deep-seated hatred here—no vendetta spanning lifetimes. The interaction between them transcended such trivial emotions, shaped instead by the vast power imbalance that defined their universe.

  Yet, as Thanos knew, Loki was not someone who would surrender willingly. Compliance was not in his nature.

  If Loki had been capable of true submission, Thanos might have spared him the indignity of kneeling. But unplanned outcomes were anathema to the Titan, and he despised uncertainty.

  "You are nothing but an insignificant pawn in my plans," Thanos said coldly. "And if you wish to remain useful, I demand your obedience. Kneel."

  His towering figure loomed over Loki, radiating a biting indifference and murderous intent. Loki's body trembled involuntarily. The primal fear threatened to overwhelm his reason, dragging him into the depths of despair.

  His legs weakened, but pride kept him gripping the Eternal Spear tightly. He hoped the ancient weapon—once wielded by his father—might grant him courage. Yet he knew that courage was meaningless before Thanos.

  Resistance would only provoke the Titan's wrath.

  Loki made his decision quickly. When Thanos released his grip on Loki's chin, the trickster god lowered his head, his pride crumbling. He took a step back, then knelt, his voice laced with forced reverence.

  "I am willing to surrender to you, the great Thanos. I only ask that the sun may still shine upon me... and that I may take my revenge on Asgard."

  Loki knelt with feigned devotion, his words dripping with submission. His gaze, however, betrayed a flicker of defiance as he looked up at Thanos.

  The Mad Titan seemed not to notice. He stared at Loki with an expressionless face, scrutinizing him.

  "You will make a fine chess piece," Thanos said at last. "I can grant you freedom, but only if you play your role well. And yet..."

  He paused, his eyes narrowing.

  "...this alone is not enough."

  Loki's resentment and unwillingness briefly flashed in his eyes but vanished as quickly as it came. Lowering his head, he extended the Eternal Spear toward Thanos.

  "I offer my loyalty to Thanos," he declared solemnly.

  A faint smile played on Thanos' lips as he took the spear. He examined it for a moment before summoning a weapon of his own—a scepter adorned with a brilliant, gleaming gem.

  The air around them seemed to ripple as invisible forces spread from the gem.

  Unbeknownst to Loki, his thoughts began to shift. Subtle changes rippled through his mind, implanting another consciousness that silently reshaped his will.

  The entire process took less than a moment.

  Thanos noticed the brief flicker of darkness in Loki's eyes before they returned to normal. His smirk deepened as he placed the scepter in Loki's hands.

  "This will help you fulfill your purpose," Thanos said. "Don't disappoint me."

  "Yes, Thanos," Loki replied, clutching the scepter tightly.

  Thanos turned and ascended the steps to his throne. As the space rippled around him, his massive form disappeared, leaving Loki alone.

  Loki stared at the scepter in his hands. The fear, anger, and shame that had consumed him earlier seemed to dissipate, replaced by a singular thought: obey Thanos.

  "Asgard... Midgard..." Loki murmured.

  Yet, as he repeated the names, an unclear figure emerged in his mind. It was a formless, sacred presence—something beyond his comprehension.

  A voice within him screamed to warn Thanos of this potential threat, but an invisible force held him silent.

  On a beach far from the chaos, Leon lay on a chair, sipping iced juice. His beach attire—a brown hat, sunglasses, and a loose shirt—contrasted sharply with the serious expression on his face.

  Nearby, Natasha Romanoff read a tablet, while Wanda Maximoff flipped through a book on crafting magical weapons.

  Leon's gaze shifted to a platform in the sea where his younger charges sparred, their faces serious. What had seemed like an ordinary day had taken an unexpected turn.

  "Thanos... sharp as ever," Leon muttered, his voice low.

  Underneath his sunglasses, his eyes narrowed. After the battle in the Mexican town where the Frost Giants had been eradicated, he'd used the Sky Blade to establish a link to Loki's spiritual realm.

  What began as a connection turned into an invasion. Without Loki even realizing it, Leon had planted a seed in his soul—a remote trigger mechanism.

  It was a precautionary measure, and now it had borne fruit.

  Through Loki's eyes, Leon received every image, memory, and interaction the trickster god experienced—including the details of Thanos' plans.

  Even Thanos, for all his knowledge, hadn't detected this intrusion. Though the Titan was versed in many things, the intricacies of the soul world were not his strength.

  "Planning to use Loki as a test subject, are we?" Leon mused. "Clever. And cautious."

  Thanos' strategy was clear: he intended to wait for Odin and the Ancient One's inevitable decline, ensuring their absence before making his next move.

  Leon smirked, setting his drink down.

  "Patient as always, aren't you, Thanos? But you're not the only one who plans ahead."

  ...

  Leon would never underestimate Thanos.

  The Mad Titan was like a venomous snake coiled in the grass, silently waiting for the perfect moment to strike. Behind him, there might even be connections to that ancient god—an entity that rarely interfered in the real world. But such things were always unpredictable.

  Thanos himself was no ordinary threat. If the historical trajectory had shifted, who knew how those changes might affect him? Despite this uncertainty, Leon remained confident. The so-called "Director of Family Planning" had a remarkably high upper limit, but Leon had no doubt that he could adapt and grow stronger in record time.

  After all, the next Supreme Sorcerer was Wanda.

  Thanks to Leon's intervention, Wanda's maturity had skyrocketed, far ahead of schedule. Her mastery of black and white magic, combined with her chaos magic and reality-warping abilities, had made her a formidable force. By the time Thanos arrived on Earth, confidently awaiting the deaths of Odin and the Ancient One, Wanda would be ready. She would destroy him without hesitation.

  Leon chuckled inwardly. He had three golden advantages: the sign-in system, the Sky Blade, and the "Little Witch" herself, Wanda.

  When the Sky Blade finished calculating the genetic sequences of Thor and Adam Warlock, successfully creating the Gene of God, Wanda would only grow stronger. Leon wasn't even sure if he could match her growth rate. That's why, for now, he allowed himself a moment of relaxation.

  The advantage was his.

  Thanos? He was just another bidder, destined to lose.

  Leon knew Thanos's plan was simple: use Loki to test the waters. Not only was he probing Odin's state, but also gauging the condition of the Ancient One. The Battle of New York was still likely to happen, but Leon didn't intend to expose himself to Thanos's sight just yet. He didn't want to scare the Mad Titan off prematurely.

  For now, he left the stage to Natasha, Sergei, and Pietro, hoping they might find the upcoming drama entertaining.

  Lost in thought, Leon suddenly felt two pairs of eyes on him. Turning, he saw Natasha and Wanda watching him intently.

  "Uh-huh?"

  "So, what were you thinking about so deeply just now?" Wanda teased. Wearing a loose T-shirt, she leaned closer, poking Leon's cheek playfully, her curiosity evident.

  "I was thinking about something very serious," Leon replied, his tone mock-grave.

  "What kind of serious?" Natasha chimed in, arching an eyebrow.

  Leon smirked. "I was debating whether we should make Mexican tomato rolls for dinner."

  "Seriously?" Natasha and Wanda groaned, rolling their eyes in unison.

  "Alright, alright, just kidding." Leon chuckled, his gaze shifting to the distant platform on the sea. A tiny figure had just been knocked off into the water. He decided not to mention Thanos or Loki, instead sharing a different idea.

  "Actually, I was thinking about the future—about creating a country of our own."

  "Our own country?" Natasha and Wanda exchanged surprised glances.

  "You mean an independent nation, like Asgard?" Natasha asked, her sharp mind already working through the implications.

  "Exactly," Leon confirmed.

  Wanda, intrigued, jumped from her chair into Leon's lap. She made a playful face at Natasha, who shook her head with a resigned smile.

  Seeing their interest, Leon elaborated on a plan he had never shared before.

  "You've both entered a golden period of growth. I'm sure you've noticed."

  "Definitely," Wanda agreed, nodding earnestly. "The changes are overwhelming. If not for Master Ancient One's guidance, I'd have been terrified."

  Leon pinched Wanda's side affectionately. "No need to worry. With gene serums and high-intensity training, none of you will hit a bottleneck before reaching the Sky Father level. And the children we take under our wing will only grow faster. But staying on Earth might not be sustainable in the long run."

  "Why not?" Wanda asked, her brows furrowing slightly.

  "At a certain level, our presence could destabilize the planet. Our emotions alone might have catastrophic consequences. Imagine two Sky Father-level beings having a minor argument—entire countries could be wiped out by the aftermath."

  Leon's words weren't hyperbolic. The fragile balance of the Earth had already shown its limits. Laufey, an unimpressive figure who hadn't even reached the Heavenly Father level, had nearly plunged the planet into an Ice Age with the Casket of Ancient Winters. The loss of human life in such a scenario would have been incalculable.

  Gods and humans couldn't coexist indefinitely. For the safety of both, a separation was necessary.

  Natasha and Wanda nodded, understanding the logic.

  "But finding such a place won't be easy," Natasha mused, her practical mind already considering options. "Maybe Jotunheim?"

  Since the Frost Giants' downfall, Jotunheim had become an uninhabited wasteland. Taking over the realm seemed feasible.

  Wanda, however, shook her head vehemently. "No way! Thor said that place is nothing but ice and snow. No sun, no warmth. I'm not living there!"

  "I agree," Natasha added. "It's unsuitable for normal life."

  The two women began brainstorming alternatives as Leon smiled, content to let their imaginations run wild.