"An underground city?" Nick Fury raised an eyebrow, surveying the towering rock dome with his lone eye.
Thanks to the Saint Shield Brotherhood's masterful mystic engineering, the stone ceiling above was engraved with a dazzling star map driven by intricate mechanical systems—perfectly synchronized with the real-time night sky. Beneath this cosmic vault stood rows of grand Gothic buildings. Fury and the other S.W.O.R.D. prisoners had seen them immediately upon disembarking. The largest structures in the subterranean city were the Ministry of Internal Affairs building, the Sisterhood convent, and the Tower of Sovereignty. The supporting complexes took up nearly a quarter of the city's total area. While they gazed up at this unprecedented underground city, high-speed vacuum freight trains continued to arrive behind them, offloading personnel and materials used to manufacture ammunition and weapons for the affiliated complexes.
"This was meant to be your city," Solomon said as he unlocked Fury's handcuffs and instructed agents to escort the remaining S.W.O.R.D. prisoners to the dungeons. "But you disappointed me. This city once belonged to the Saint Shield Brotherhood—the predecessor to S.H.I.E.L.D. Howard Stark was a member, alongside others like Isaac Newton, Michelangelo, da Vinci, and Zhang Heng, sages without equal in history." The magus gestured for Fury to follow him down the steps. "They founded this organization to use their wisdom to protect humanity and guide it toward a brighter future."
"What happened to them?"
"They failed." At this moment, Solomon bore none of the harshness he had displayed just hours earlier when commanding a massacre. Now he seemed calm, even mildly unassuming—like a shy young university professor. Administrative personnel in the Ministry's signature red-and-black robes hurried past, clutching office supplies as they made their way to the train platform, ready to board sky carriers and assault transports en route to the space station. Thanks to Solomon's deliberate obscuration, ordinary people entirely overlooked his and Fury's presence.
"Limited by ambition, vision, lifespan, and even knowledge, they chose to end their own future to prevent humanity's destruction," he said. "Just as you suspected, Howard Stark founded S.H.I.E.L.D. after the Brotherhood fell, trying to continue the mission—but he also failed. S.H.I.E.L.D. didn't survive Hydra's infiltration. That's why I decided to take up the Brotherhood's work myself."
"I assume this tech isn't from Stark, is it? Stark wouldn't have gone for steampunk." Fury pointed at a dirigible drifting below the stone dome. The craft's technology was clearly anachronistic—high-pressure steam pumped through brass piping into an engine, with visible propellers. A golden eagle emblem marked its black canvas hull, and six anti-aircraft guns and two missile bays lined its flanks, always pointed at the city below.
"That's a relic of the Brotherhood. It crashed during their final battle. I restored it and now use it for patrol duty," Solomon said with a proud smile. That airship had been his first major discovery—his grand pet project during off hours. Though he preserved its outward appearance, its internals were modernized for its new patrol role. He had gifted it to the Praetorian Guard; Constantine usually lounged aboard it, surrounded by gravity-hovering jet bikes and hundreds of reconnaissance drones.
That's why the airship was permitted to fly directly over the Ministry of Internal Affairs—the citizens of Eternal City were accustomed to drone swarms buzzing through the skies.
"I'll give you a tour of this city," Solomon continued, "and authorize access to certain secrets. You'll see what the Skrulls truly are—and who our real enemies are. After that, you'll be locked up with the others. But don't worry—Eternal City's prisons are more humane than America's private ones. Compared to Guantanamo, it's heaven. Also, I'm glad you didn't use that pager. This would've ended very differently."
After a pause, he added, "I'm looking forward to working with you, Nick Fury."
Victoria Hand didn't look particularly thrilled—unsurprising, considering she was face-to-face with her former boss.
"I'm glad you're alive, Agent Hand," Fury said, accepting a dossier. "I know a lot of agents didn't make it."
"I died too. But I got brought back," Victoria Hand replied, rolling her eyes. As head of the Intelligence Department, she was now tasked with showing her former superior a selection of classified documents—those he was allowed to see. These included the vampire purge in London's sewers, the magic black market in New York's underground, the outer-dimensional entity clearance in Hell's Kitchen, and the first half of the Fenbowent campaign. Even with this access, Hand didn't remove Fury's cuffs, no matter how many times he hinted. Two armed members of the Fenbowent 1st Special Operations Group stood directly behind him, weapons ready. The files Fury was reading detailed operations they had personally survived.
"His Majesty prepared a private cell for you," Hand said, pouring herself and Fury a glass of sherry. "You'll have a TV, books, and limited free movement. As for the aliens you came in with... their fate won't be as kind."
"You've really got supersoldiers down here? I think I saw a three-meter-tall guy in golden armor. Don't tell me that's Solomon's handiwork?" Fury asked. "Also—what's with the 'Lord' thing?"
"In order to face increasingly brutal battlefields, supersoldiers are absolutely necessary. Once stripped of personal emotions, they devote themselves entirely to their missions." Hand took a sip of sherry. "You haven't seen how powerful he really is, Nick. What he displayed during the Battle of New York was just the tip of the iceberg. That man… he walks among us like a god."
"I didn't know you were superstitious."
"Ever since the Asgardians appeared, the word 'god' doesn't carry much weight anymore. But if you saw what I've seen, you'd feel the same," Hand checked her watch. "You've got thirty minutes. Use it well. This city has no room for sentiment, only rules. Follow the rules and you live. I know you're restless, but your cell won't only be secured in the physical realm—its metaphysical protections are just as strong. Don't try anything stupid. It's the only way you'll live long enough to work with us."
"So even if I surrender and join you, I'm still under surveillance?"
Hand didn't dignify the foolish question with an answer. As she finished her fourth glass of sherry, Fury's time ran out. Right on cue, the Fenbowent 1st Special Operations Group yanked the former S.H.I.E.L.D. director out of his chair and hauled him before Hand. She didn't stop them—just poured herself a fifth glass.
"I don't remember you having this kind of tolerance before."
"My power requires my diligence. I've reinvented myself," she replied, standing up. "Let me show you to your new room."
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