Back on the ground, Thor handed Minerva over to Nick Fury. He left a trace of lightning inside her body—its effect was the same as a tranquilizer gun, leaving her unable to move for a short time.
By his calculations, Ronan the Accuser would be arriving soon. The battle was taking place in the air, and Thor—who at present could only rely on leaping—basically couldn't intervene. Not that he planned to. Ronan was a coward; if things went badly, he'd simply run.
More importantly, when Thor had tried to summon Mjolnir just moments ago, he noticed something odd. The hammer hadn't lost contact with him, but it also didn't return immediately. It was as if Mjolnir were telling him to wait.
"Please enter the verification code to confirm recall of Mjolnir… Please confirm again…"
Thor frowned, puzzled. Still, he could sense Mjolnir's position clearly enough, so he decided to investigate later. As for Ronan—Thor shrugged—that coward could be Carol's problem.
In a vast expanse of snow, two groups stood facing each other. On one side, a squad of fully armed adult men. On the other, a single girl who looked no older than twelve or thirteen. Her body was scarred, but her eyes burned with cold resolve—indifferent, firm, unyielding. There was no trace of fear.
I am an orphan.
For as long as I can remember, I've wandered alone, never knowing where I came from or who my parents were. In those early years, I survived by digging through trash cans for scraps to eat, and at night I fought with other beggars for a bench in the park to sleep on.
Then, one day, a middle-aged man in a military uniform took me in. He brought me to a place where I had bread to eat, warm cotton clothes to wear, and a bed at night instead of shivering in the snow. I met many other homeless children like me. For a while, I thought I had finally found paradise.
I was wrong.
Not long after, terrifying instructors arrived. They taught us combat skills—how to fight hand-to-hand, how to wield blades and firearms. Those who failed were punished. The lucky ones were locked in a dark room and starved; the unlucky ones were beaten mercilessly. Sometimes, children simply vanished. Perhaps they were considered useless and discarded.
I learned quickly. Because of that, I suffered the fewest beatings.
A few years later, they began sending us on missions. Theft, extortion, protection rackets, even assassination. Children made the perfect cover—no one ever suspected.
By then, I understood what kind of place we lived in. The base was illegal, hidden in the shadows, and from the next year it would go completely underground.
Many of my companions died during missions. Those I had once trained with could now be counted on one hand. Each time I heard someone was gone, I wondered—when will it be my turn? Maybe next time?
I thought about running away. I thought about fighting back. But I had no chance. Every time I left the base, I was watched. I pretended not to notice, but I knew. Every girl who tried to escape was hunted down and killed horribly. Their twisted faces still haunt me.
Graduation was approaching. Rumor said it would be marked by a terrifying ceremony.
Was this really my fate? To die on some mission, forgotten? Maybe that was the best ending I could hope for.
No… no path is absolute. As long as I still breathe, there's a chance. One chance—that's all I need to escape this hell.
A thunderous bang shook me from my thoughts. A building nearby collapsed into rubble, and the wail of air-raid sirens split the sky. A squad of armed soldiers rushed past.
An enemy attack? Impossible. This organization was powerful and secretive. No one should even know it existed.
Cautiously, I moved toward the blast site. Amid the smoking ruins, something gleamed.
A hammer.
I approached, wary, my eyes tracing the strange runes etched into its surface. Taking a deep breath, I reached out, wrapped my fingers around the handle—and lifted.
At once, the air trembled. Darkness swept over the sky. Lightning split the heavens.
Thunder roared.