章節 16: Aftermath

As I walked back through the bloodstained halls toward the main room, a strange thought surfaced in my mind. 'When did I change so much?' I used to be an ordinary person—someone who cared. Now, here I was, leaving a trail of bodies behind me, and I felt... nothing. No guilt, no sorrow.

'Is this really me?' I thought, the silence broken only by the sound of my footsteps.

But as I stepped back into the main room, the smell of blood hit me again. The bodies littered the floor, some still with expressions of shock frozen on their faces. Amongst them were the whimpering voices of the hostages—the two kids and couple huddled together in the corner, eyes wide with terror. The kids were quiet now, having already cried until they couldn't anymore.

Liam was already crouching near them, checking on their condition. "Are you okay?" he asked gently, though the terror in their eyes told him the answer. None of them spoke. They just nodded their heads, too traumatized to find words. 'The old lady who had been shot earlier—she didn't make it'. Her body lay nearby, motionless, cold. Liam had already checked her and knew there was nothing more that could be done.

"Come with me," I said, my voice low and steady as I motioned to the survivors. I led them down the stairs, retracing the path the gang members had forced me along earlier. My mind wandered from the exhaustion, but the sight of the four broken hostages kept me alert. They were scared of me, the blood that covered me from head to toe and what they had witnessed me do.

As we reached the basement where the larger group of captives was held, panic spread. The dimly lit room was filled with gasps and cries. Some captives immediately started to cry, while others screamed. Others remained in a trauma-induced silence. 'These people used to be full of life, now they are nothing more than empty shells.' Liam thought, looking at their empty eyes.

I raised my hands slightly, trying to show I meant no harm. "You're safe now," I said, addressing the captives. "If anyone's seriously hurt, tell me. We'll get help. But we need to leave here, now."

Fear swept through the room, their expressions a mix of horror and disbelief. I could feel my own heart pounding. I could barely process what I was seeing—the faces of those who had suffered at the hands of the Yakuza, still shaking from the trauma of their captivity.

I saw an elderly man slumped against the wall, his breathing shallow. I turned, my eyes scanning the room for others until they landed on the elderly man again.

Without hesitation, I approached him, lifting him gently with my arms. "I've got you," I murmured. The old man seemed to relax slightly as I carried him on my back.

"There are twenty-five of you in total," I said, my voice steady despite the enorm exhaustion weighing down on me. "We need to get out of here." Some of the hostages covered their mouths in horror at the scene, and I saw one of the younger women pale, on the verge of fainting. Still, I pushed forward, getting them all outside.

Once we stepped into the open air, I gently put the old man down and pulled out a phone I had taken from one of the dead guards, dialing the police. As the phone rang in my ear, I glanced back at the survivors, who were huddled together near the entrance. "The police are on their way," I said, trying to keep my voice calm. "Stay here and wait for them." I didn't wait for a response. I couldn't stay any longer. Without another word, I turned and walked away.

-----

Captain Jim Roberts was used to bad nights, but when one of his officers called him, voice shaky, telling him to "rush over and bring backup," he knew something was very wrong. The retching sounds in the background only made it worse.

"What's going on?" he muttered to himself, gripping the wheel as his car sped through the streets of the city with his siren on. He had a bad feeling about this. Another gang-related mess, probably, but the terror in his officer's voice gnawed at him.

As he navigated the roads toward the location, his thoughts raced, trying to predict what was going on this time. Every siren in the distance increased the seriousness of the situation. He clenched his jaw, preparing himself for whatever he would find.

Arriving at the scene, his unease only deepened. Officers were already there, guiding disoriented victims into ambulances. Medics worked tirelessly to stabilize the people, their movements efficient but busy. He scanned the crowd—'there has to be at least twenty of them.' Abused, beaten, tortured, some barely able to stand on their own. As he got out of the car, he was met with a wave of confusion and dread.

"What the hell happened here?" he murmured, his gut churning. One of his more experienced officers, Sergeant Harris, approached, his face grim.

"These people were hostages, sir. Freed from a Yakuza hideout."

Roberts nodded slowly. "By who? Was this some kind of gang war?"

Harris shook his head, looking troubled. "No, sir. Not a gang war. According to the victims who weren't too traumatized to speak... it was all done by one person."

Roberts felt his blood run cold. "One person did... all this?"

"Yes, sir. Follow me, but brace yourself—this is one of the most gruesome crimescenes I've seen in my career."

As they walked toward the building, Roberts passed the first two bodies. He immediately understood Harris's warning. The victims were unrecognizable—mutilated beyond anything he had seen before. The smell of blood hung thick in the air, the stench growing stronger with each step inside the hallway.

"Jesus..." Roberts muttered under his breath as he passed four more mutilated bodies. "This isn't the worst of it, Chief," Harris said, his skin paling as he forced himself to keep walking.

When they reached the main room, Roberts stopped cold. He had seen horrific crime scenes before, but this... this was something else. The floor was destroyed, filled with blood, and severed body parts were everywhere. The walls were splattered with blood and deep cuts, and in the middle of it all lay mutilated corpses in grotesque positions. The bodies ranged from simple decapitation to being cut in half.

His stomach turned, and he had to fight the urge to vomit. "Who could do something like this?" he whispered, more to himself than to Harris. "Are we even dealing with a human?"

Harris stayed quiet, his own face pale. Roberts turned and left the room quickly, pulling out his phone as soon as he was clear of the stench. His hands trembled as he dialed his immediate superior, Lieutenant Stevens.

"Lieutenant, I need you to come down here. We've got a major situation. You need to see this for yourself," Roberts said, his voice steady despite the turmoil inside.

"Roberts, what's happening? Tell me the specifics," Stevens replied, urgency in his tone.

"I can't explain everything over the phone. Just get here fast. We're going to need backup and possibly additional resources. This can't be the work of a normal human," Roberts's voice trembled slightly as he cast another glance at the horrific scene.

"Normal human? What do you mean by that?" Stevens asked, his brow furrowing.

"I... I don't want to jump to conclusions, but I think it's time to reach out to S.H.I.E.L.D.," Roberts said. He could feel that this wasn't something an ordinary human could do.

"Are you sure? They don't exactly get involved for just any situation," Stevens cautioned.

"Trust me. This isn't just any situation. I'll explain everything when you arrive. Just make the call." Roberts insisted.

"Understood. I'll make the call," Stevens said before hanging up.

Roberts took a deep breath, S.H.I.E.L.D. needed to be involved in this incident, which was far beyond a typical gang-related cleanup..

----

A black van pulled up quietly, its tires crunching over the shattered glass and debris. Coulson stepped out, his eyes scanning the scene. As he approached the crime scene, he muttered to himself, "What am I going to find this time?"

His instincts kicked in, alerting him to the tension in the air. It was a sensation he had learned to trust over the years, especially when the stakes were high.

He spotted Captain Roberts speaking with an officer and walked over. "Captain," Coulson called out, his tone serious, "I'm Agent Coulson from Strategic Homeland Intervention, Enforcement, and Logistics Division. I need a full briefing. What exactly are we dealing with here?''

Roberts glanced up, visibly shaken but composed. "A massacre, according to witness statements, one person did this. We need you to see it for yourself."

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章節 17: S.H.I.E.L.D.

(Read author note at the end please.)

The stench of death clung to the air. Coulson crouched down, his gloved fingers tracing the edge of a wound on the body in front of him. His face remained impassive, the detachment he had perfected over years of dealing with crime scenes helping him yet again.

"Clean cuts…" he muttered under his breath. The wounds weren't jagged like a typical knife attack—these were too precise, almost surgical. "This wasn't caused by any ordinary weapon."

Behind him, Captain Roberts stood pale, the scene still fresh in his mind. "I've never seen anything like this," he muttered, his voice cracking with disbelief. "Not in my entire career."

Coulson straightened, brushing off his hands. "You're right. And neither have we." His tone was firm, reassuring, making the horror feel like just another day at the office. "This isn't something your department is equipped to handle. S.H.I.E.L.D. will be taking over from here. Have your men clear out."

Roberts hesitated. His eyes flickered to the bodies. "But—"

"You know how this goes, Captain." Coulson's voice was calm but unyielding. "This is bigger than your jurisdiction. Get your men out of here."

With reluctance etched on his face, Roberts nodded. He gave one last look at the devastation inside the warehouse, the shredded remains of bodies littering the floor, before turning to leave. Outside, he shouted orders to his team.

As the officers began to pack up, Coulson stepped into the fresh air and pulled out his phone. He dialed a number, his phone buzzed twice before a cold and sharp voice came through.

"What do you have for me?"

"It's bad," Coulson said, lowering his voice. "We're dealing with something supernatural. And from the looks of it, whoever—or whatever—did this isn't trying to hide."

There was a pause. Fury's voice, ever-cautious, came back steady. "Supernatural? Not average gang violence then."

"No," Coulson replied, "definitely not. We need more resources on this. I'm not sure what we're dealing with yet, but it's dangerous."

Fury didn't hesitate. "I'll send a team. Keep it quiet, Coulson. We don't need this making headlines."

The call ended, and Coulson pocketed the phone. He cast a glance toward the retreating officers, the crime scene still fresh in his mind. Whatever had done this was more than just an ordinary human.

----

The sound of rushing water filled a small apartment as he stood under the shower, letting the steam rise around him. The images replayed in his mind: the ferocity, the fight, the power.

Incursio had unleashed its power, giving him the strength to kill all his enemies. His muscles had moved with superhuman strength and precision, but the massive amount of power in such a short time had left him utterly exhausted.

Stepping out of the shower, Liam grabbed a towel and dried off quickly. Incursio sat nearby, glowing faintly. He picked it up and released the sword's power, feeling the surge of power ripple through his body once again. His senses sharpened, his muscles tensed as the armor molded to his frame, making him feel invincible.

But it wouldn't last.

He clicked the timer on his watch, a habit he'd started after discovering the armor's limitations. Five minutes. That was how long he had before Incursio would dissolve. He glanced at the countdown, watching the seconds tick away as the armor encased him.

'Too short,'he thought grimly. 'I need more time.'

The fight last night had pushed him beyond his limits, forcing him to rely on fear and anger to keep going. He had lasted longer than five minutes because his emotions had driven him. But raw emotion wasn't enough. He needed control. He needed to get stronger without relying solely on the armor.

His eyes flickered to Neontote, the spear that had appeared alongside the armor. He picked it up, feeling the weight of the weapon in his hand. The spear felt almost like an extension of his body, and he knew he needed to master it. Not just brute force—real skill, precision, sharpness.

'Okoye. Sif. Odin. Valkyrie.' He ran through the list of spear masters in his mind, thinking of their fighting styles.' Proxima Midnight and Corvus Glaive, too, but they're with Thanos.' Off the table.

A bitter smile tugged at his lips. Maybe one of them could train me. If I could track them down. Okoye was busy in Wakanda, and Sif wouldn't come into the picture for another few years. Valkyrie… he wasn't even sure where to find her. She was probably drowning herself in alcohol on Sakaar, but to get to Sakaar I'd need to wait for Thor.

Then there was Kamar-Taj. The mystics could teach him discipline, control. But the Ancient One? She'd know. She'd sense he wasn't from this world. Liam shuddered at the thought. 'If she sees me as a threat to the timeline…' But then again, he reasoned, if she really thought he was dangerous, she would have appeared already. 'Maybe it's worth the risk.'

Liam flopped down onto the couch, flipping through channels. He fully expected to see news of last night's massacre all over the networks—gang violence, police investigations, something. But to his surprise, the coverage was minimal. Local accidents, traffic jams, even celebrity gossip. Nothing about the chaos he had caused.

He frowned, switching to another channel. Same thing. It was as if last night had never happened.

'S.H.I.E.L.D'. He thought, his lips curling into a smirk. 'They'd covered it up, of course.' Suppressing events like this was their bread and butter.' If S.H.I.E.L.D. knew what happened, then Hydra probably does too.'

The smirk faded slightly as a chill ran down his spine. Hydra. They manipulated governments, murdered countless people, all in pursuit of power. He wasn't naive enough to think they wouldn't come after him once they got wind of what he was capable of. They'd want Incursio. They'd want him.

He chuckled darkly. While Hydra was dangerous, he already knew a lot about them from the movies. If he gave Fury a little hint, he might not even need to clean up Hydra himself.

Still, he knew what was coming. S.H.I.E.L.D. would find him sooner or later, and when they did, Fury would have a decision to make. The man was paranoid, always thinking three steps ahead. He'd either try to kill Liam or recruit him. Probably the latter—Fury loved keeping potential nuclear bombs close.

'Joining the Avengers wouldn't be the worst option,' Liam mused, leaning back in his chair. 'At least then I wouldn't have to worry about the military and other forces I don't even know about coming after me.'

With a heavy sigh, he switched off the TV. Silence fell in the apartment, but he wasn't alone. Not in this life.