"Father Anderson, you should know what kind of enemies we might face. Go."
A man dressed as a bishop spoke to the respectfully standing Alexander Anderson with a somewhat ethereal tone.
"I'll only send them to their deaths. I don't want to say more."
Father Anderson was enveloped in a swirl of book pages, vanishing in the blink of an eye.
Lately, the Church had received numerous vampire sighting reports, keeping the priests of Section XIII exceptionally busy.
Outside the Hellsing Organization's gates, Coulson climbed into his temporary ride, watching as a pitch-black van pulled into Hellsing's entrance.
A tall man clad entirely in red, topped with a fedora, stepped out. He tilted his head, glancing at Coulson with a flicker of irritation in his eyes.
Others unloaded a coffin from the van and carried it inside.
The man was strikingly handsome, exuding an icy aura.
As an elite agent, Coulson knew the rule: "Don't dig into things that aren't your concern." He turned his head away as if he'd seen nothing.
His communication with Hellsing wasn't a complete failure—at least the business card in his hand proved that. Pushing for more about Hellsing's internals would only invite trouble.
"Director, I'm heading back now. Hellsing will show up on the battlefield when needed."
Coulson reported succinctly over the phone.
"I thought you could do better. Come back for now; we still need your strength."
Nick Fury didn't elaborate. After the brief call, he turned his gaze to the man before him.
Bucky Barnes!
Though uncertain about potential severe side effects from the resurrection procedure, this man could now serve as a force for S.H.I.E.L.D.
"Bucky, I assume you understand your situation now."
Nick Fury glanced at the crudely repaired metal arm, somewhat dissatisfied.
Clearly, it wasn't as powerful as before, but Bucky's inherent combat prowess could still fill S.H.I.E.L.D.'s gaps.
"I thought I could die in peace."
Bucky eyed the bald black man with discontent.
"You think your mistakes end with death?"
Nick Fury slid a report across the desk.
Bucky approached, took the file, and skimmed it briefly.
"Hydra was never an organization you could easily wipe out. They might be bigger than you imagine."
Bucky set the file down, his animosity toward Hydra as strong as ever.
"Then do something about it. I'll give you the relevant details."
Nick Fury fell silent after speaking, watching the Winter Soldier intently.
…
In the silent space, only Jessica's ragged breaths echoed.
The creeping fear in the darkness was driving her mad.
She pulled food from her waist, roughly wiping off the foul pus from the walkers, and bit into it without a care.
Food brought energy, somewhat dispelling the unease gnawing at her core.
As for taste, Jessica barely registered it; panic was stripping away her sanity bit by bit.
"Would death be salvation?"
Jessica curled up, the ceaseless scraping of walkers' bones against the door panel resounding overhead.
The noise was inching closer.
Demons possessed intelligence—no doubt about it. This door couldn't shield her cowardice forever. Waiting in despair changed nothing.
The walkers would tear through that not-so-sturdy iron sheet, and eventually, this trial would revert to combat.
On the Sacred Mountain, only Steve—who had just arrived with Kolik—Hawkeye, and Natasha remained watching the projection.
The other ancestors had no interest in a boring wait.
Even the realm's master, Orak, had vanished. Who would care about a girl teetering on death's edge?
Doing nothing was the greatest mistake.
"What's she doing?"
Steve watched the projection, tightening his grip on his shield.
"A trial, to see if she qualifies for power."
Kolik didn't want to waste words on the topic.
"Locking a girl in pitch darkness? You want her to break?"
Natasha spoke up directly; probing for intel was second nature to her.
"It was her choice. And what do you plan to do?"
Bulkathos approached; he'd come to greet Kolik but overheard the unwelcome remarks.
So he addressed the group with a chill in his voice.
Since he was on the Sacred Mountain, he'd personally check out anyone who ascended.
The current situation differed from before; no one could predict if Malthael might suddenly appear in this world.
Training recruits had to continue.
Steve, the veteran, carried a pure aura—mostly goodness.
Natasha and Hawkeye's mix of good and evil was more complex.
Though overall kind, the faint whiff of sin made Bulkathos grimace.
"Bulkathos."
Natasha uttered the name.
She'd only seen it in Coulson's reports, but who else on the Sacred Mountain was so unbelievably robust?
Steve heard the name and scrutinized Bulkathos.
It wasn't their first meeting, but back then, Bulkathos was fully armored.
Especially with his previously white hair and beard now a brilliant gold.
He needed to confirm.
"I remember you—the guy with the shield always charging ahead."
Bulkathos addressed Steve.
Among the three, only Steve didn't grate on him.
"That was you?"
Steve instinctively raised his shield, positioning himself in front of Hawkeye and Natasha.
"Relax, no need to be on guard."
Kolik said.
He and Bulkathos weren't exactly taciturn, but they weren't great at chatting with ordinary folk either.
Barbarians' harsh lives meant they didn't cater to others' moods—except for Vydia, the merchant.
"Look at this crude shield! I think you need to pick something from my wares too, though I've lost them."
Vydia appeared nearby with a lighthearted tone, tapping Steve's shield.
"Looks like Bulkathos roughed it up?"
Vydia sensed Bulkathos's lingering aura on the shield.
That punch hadn't been full force, but traces from Bulkathos in the Immortal King set were unmistakable.
"How should I address you?"
Natasha smiled at Vydia, her cheeks flushing slightly.
Hard to tell if it was the cold or some charm tactic.
"Vydia, call me Vydia. This lady's weapons seem subpar too."
Vydia casually responded; Natasha's hidden arms couldn't escape a barbarian's eye.
A beautiful woman meant little to these ancestors.
"Better to go back and forge iron than stay here."
Bulkathos mumbled; Vydia's arrival killed his interest in talking.
"We're here for Rumlow, Bulkathos… sir. Can you tell me where he is?"
Steve called out to Bulkathos, who had just opened a portal, hesitating slightly on the title.
This trip wasn't for intel; S.H.I.E.L.D. needed power. Convincing Rumlow would be a great boost.
Bulkathos paused mid-step through the portal, glancing back at Steve.
"I don't like your actions, even if I understand them."
Then he strode through without hesitation.
The weather was nice today—perfect for crafting a seatbelt or something for that pickup.
Barbarians had seen organizations like S.H.I.E.L.D. before: soldiers hating them yet seeking aid against unstoppable foes.
Understandable, but not endorsable.
Remember, barbarians never sought mages' help even when Baal besieged the mountain.
They paid with elders' lives for no gain, but never regretted not asking.
"Rumlow's with Maddock."
Kolik addressed Steve solemnly.
Tarik hadn't stayed with his heir, sending them to the dorm with Maddock instead.
Maddock's mood had improved since Luke survived the realm.
Now he was chatting with the kids.
Tarik kept eyeing the trio, wondering who the mountain meant.
He eagerly awaited an heir.
"Seems Bulkathos doesn't think much of you."
Vydia shook her messy hair, planning to leave.
Bulkathos's attitude largely represented barbarians', except for legendary ancestors.
Those only followed the Immortal King's orders; others' views meant nothing.
Vydia was just a merchant, once a decent adventurer.
"I'll take you to Rumlow."
Kolik had planned for Vydia to guide, but with her aligning to Bulkathos, he'd do it himself.
He had nothing else to do anyway.
"I feel like people here have always been hostile to us."
Hawkeye recalled the agent smashed by Olongus's boulder, muttering softly.
"Just because your actions are detestable."
Kolik tossed out three black loaves, then led the way.
Sharing battle was barbarians' highest honor for friends, followed by weapons and liquor.
But food at least showed no enmity.
Sanctuary's recruits knew that.
…
"How strong was that big rat when alive?"
Luke, after downing a potion, sat cross-legged on the bed, asking Maddock. Though worried about Jessica Jones, he avoided the projection.
Better to discuss normal things now.
Matt and Rumlow were interested too.
"You mean Hamelin? No one wanted trouble with it alive."
Maddock eyed the cross-legged Luke, speaking casually.
Orak wouldn't have faced Hamelin without the endless confusion potion teleporting him there, costing his life.
"You felt the shadow rat swarm's power, right? Alive, those pests didn't vanish."
Maddock spoke, embedding his greataxe in the ground, gesturing for Luke to try.
Luke rushed over, gripping the handle.
"Ha!"
Luke's dark face turned purple with effort, but the axe didn't budge.
"When you can lift it, you'll qualify to glimpse living Hamelin from afar."
Maddock smiled.
"What's it called?"
"Maddock's Sorrow!"
A raspy female voice rang out as Reko strode in.
This room, once a barbarian dorm, was spacious.
Barbarians loved sparring; tight spaces wouldn't do.
"Ancestor Reko."
Matt stood immediately. He couldn't sense "Maddock's Sorrow," but he recognized Reko's voice.
"Tch."
Maddock rose, shoving Luke aside and hefting his weapon.
"Maddock, planning to get beat by me again?"
Reko's shoulder pauldrons flickered menacingly.
Luke gawked at Reko.
Her threat seemed absurd; in his mind, Maddock was among the mountain's top ancestors.
"You think I'm scared of you?"
Maddock yowled like a stepped-on cat.
He held the axe defensively, wary of a charge.
"Fear or not, you can't beat me, Maddock. I'm taking this kid for a trial—don't waste words."
Reko stated facts, then left with Matt.
She'd watched the group realm from afar.
Unsatisfied with Matt's performance.
"Maddock, tell us her story?"
Rumlow shifted topics to ease Maddock's embarrassment. He meant Reko, obviously.
"That barbaric widow."
Maddock finally grasped whispering, his voice audible only to himself.
"That's Reko. On the mountain, only Volusk besides Bulkathos can beat her."
Maddock sat back down, fuming.
"I think her existence is why Bulkathos doesn't want a barbarian wife. I always thought Sonya was fine."
Maddock barely started when incoming Kolik slapped his head.
"Want Reko to thrash you first, or Bulkathos's dual blades?"
Kolik entered, Steve's group trailing.
"One bottle of reserve!"
Maddock flipped him off, yelling.
Earning another slap from Kolik.
"You think my reserve buys my silence? You bastard!"
Kolik slapped Maddock again, then kicked him aside.
Maddock rubbed his rear, grumbling as he grabbed his weapon.
"Can't beat Reko or Bulkathos, but I can take you?"
"You sure you want to fight me!?"
Kolik's eyes widened, a greataxe materializing.
"Rumlow, we hope you'll return."
Steve interrupted the brewing clash between the souls.
Maddock took the out, and Kolik dismissed "Bastion's Power."
"Two bottles of Bulkathos's reserve."
"Pfft!"
Maddock and Kolik agreed.
"You? Or Nick Fury?"
Rumlow stayed cross-legged on the stone bed, scoffing at Steve.
"It's S.H.I.E.L.D."
Steve's words drew a smile from Rumlow.
"Then go find that red-clad speed freak. That do-gooder's easier to recruit."
Rumlow joked, grabbing his dual hammers from the side.
Clearly, he had no intent to help S.H.I.E.L.D.
If talks failed, a fight it was—he'd bottled rage from his beating.
"Superhumans can't fight the mystic."
Hawkeye muttered.
After angelic and demonic blows, he overvalued mysticism.
Central City's guy wasn't weak; against Witchheart Demon, he'd fare fine.
Demons followed rules; even self-destructing, Witchheart couldn't touch a speedster.
Natasha stayed silent, observing Rumlow closely.
Black Widow assessed her target; as S.H.I.E.L.D.'s top diplomat besides Coulson, her goal was Rumlow.
Careful observation ensured success.
"Fight? Count me in!"
Luke stood, swinging his warblade fiercely.
Hawkeye readied his bow, hand poised for an arrow.
"Not your business! Think about handling the Hand first!"
Rumlow slapped Luke's head, staggering him.
"Your strength's bigger than mine now?"
Luke turned, incredulous.
"How about it, Rumlow? I guarantee no more internal attacks."
Steve stowed his shield, pressing down Hawkeye's bow to signal no fight.
"Captain, I trust you, but you don't represent S.H.I.E.L.D.—especially that black-hearted egghead."
Rumlow hung his hammers back, staring into Steve's eyes, searching.
His redemption was half-done; his war with Hydra far from over.
To atone for victims, he needed institutional power; finding victim info alone was impossible.
"I'll vouch: if Nick Fury does something we hate, I'll join you storming his office."
Steve met Rumlow's gaze firmly. Behind him, Kolik appraised him.
Kolik figured the mountain's "similar" one wasn't Steve.
He'd never aid an untrustworthy guy—grab a weapon and charge instead.
"Right is right, wrong is wrong—no middle ground." That was Kolik's creed.
Without Tarik reining in this overly pure guy, Kolik might've caused endless trouble.
He wasn't a battle seer like Maddock; his personality, unsummoned by the mountain, might've landed him sunk by a witch doctor.
Or buried by a Rathma priest? Poisoned by a demon hunter? Possible.
"I won't trust S.H.I.E.L.D."
Rumlow crossed his arms, eyeing Natasha and Hawkeye.
These agents were infamous; Rumlow knew of them, if not personally.
"You might misunderstand S.H.I.E.L.D.?"
Hawkeye interjected.
His experience differed from Natasha's; to him, S.H.I.E.L.D. maintained peace. A combat specialist knew little else.
Natasha stayed calm but shared Rumlow's doubts.
"Agent Barton, you handle field ops—what do you know of that black-hearted bastard's deeds? Even the famed Black Widow isn't rebutting; what are you defending?"
Rumlow sneered at Hawkeye.
Hawkeye glanced at silent Natasha, frowning.
"Say something, Natasha."
Hawkeye panicked. He knew S.H.I.E.L.D. wasn't spotless but not evil.
"Enough, Barton."
Steve steadied Hawkeye, then faced Rumlow.
"State your terms; I'll fight for them."
"I want you… as S.H.I.E.L.D.'s leader."
Rumlow dipped his head, hiding a mocking smirk.
Steve leading would prevent messes.
But an above-board spy agency? Laughable.
"If I form an ops team, interested?"
Steve said seriously.
Reviewing S.H.I.E.L.D. files, he'd seen intriguing intel.
About a superhuman squad.
Called "Avengers."
"A bit interested."
Rumlow stepped to Steve, tone grave.
He was intrigued.
"But this team can't be anyone's blade. As a shield? Maybe."
…
At the Sacred Mountain's gates, a gaunt, disheveled man tightened his coat, warming by Kolik's leftover brazier.
Touring the mountain's base, he'd felt long-lost peace and security.
So he stubbornly embarked on this climb. Now hungry and cold, but a burning brazier appeared.
(Chapter End)
-------------------------------
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