Though Deacon Frost's neck had fully regenerated, the rest of his mangled body still hadn't healed completely — and Lucas saw that weakness instantly.
"What's the matter, almighty Blood God?" Lucas sneered, turning toward Frost with a mocking glint in his eyes. "Not healing so fast anymore, huh?"
Then he tilted his head slightly. "Don't you feel… something new on your back?"
At that, Frost stiffened. He glanced over his shoulder—only to freeze. Six syringe-like tubes were buried deep in his flesh, each one pumping a glowing green liquid into his bloodstream.
"This… this is—"
Before he could finish, his skin began to boil—literally. Steam rose off his body as blisters erupted across his flesh. The once-regenerating wounds split open again, blood spilling like a ruptured dam.
Frost's monstrous body convulsed, his face twisting in agony.
And a few meters away, Blade stood silently, holding an empty black case in one hand, his cold eyes locked on his oldest enemy.
"So… it was you…" Frost croaked.
BOOM!
His words dissolved into a wet explosion. His body swelled grotesquely, then burst apart like an overinflated balloon. Blood and flesh rained across the chamber.
Lucas grimaced slightly at the mess. "Damn… that serum works better than advertised."
He sheathed his weapon and glanced at Blade, who finally let out a deep, weary breath.
Years of pursuit—finally over. Deacon Frost was gone.
Relief washed over Blade's face, mixed with a strange emptiness. When a hero loses his greatest enemy, all that's left is silence.
But there was no time for reflection. Outside, countless vampires still roamed, and who knew when the next Frost would rise?
---
When Lucas and the others emerged from the tower, the battlefield outside was almost quiet. SHIELD agents had already wiped out most of the vampires.
With overwhelming firepower and silver ammunition, the creatures never stood a chance. Though a few agents had fallen, the victory was absolute.
Seeing Lucas's group approach, Natasha strode over. "It's done? Frost's dead?"
Lucas nodded. "Yeah. He's finished."
Natasha didn't waste a second. "Good. Then we clean up the rest—no survivors."
As SHIELD forces pushed forward, Lucas's eyes drifted back toward the towering ruins of the manor. He frowned.
Deacon Frost was ambitious, yes—but he wasn't unique. Every species had its monsters, its dreamers of domination. Kill one, and another would always rise.
This tower—this ritual site—was too dangerous to leave standing. The runes, the blood altar… someone would try to use them again.
It all had to go.
And Lucas didn't trust SHIELD, not for a second. Whatever they told themselves, they were here for more than "containment." The mysterious glyphs carved into that stone—he could tell Fury's people wanted them.
But Lucas knew better. SHIELD had been rotting from the inside for years. Hydra's influence ran deep—too deep.
He couldn't let any of them have what was in that tower.
"Everyone, out of the manor!" Lucas shouted suddenly, his voice carrying through the comms.
Natasha's eyes widened. "Oh no. He's doing it again."
Coulson swore under his breath. "Not that trick again."
The last time Lucas had said something like this, he'd erased an entire desert monster off the map.
"Everyone move!" Coulson ordered immediately. "Clear the area! Leave the vampires!"
Agents scrambled to evacuate, dragging the wounded with them. Within minutes, Lucas stood alone inside the ruined manor, surrounded by scattered corpses.
He raised his arms slowly. His eyes ignited—burning with an orange-red flame.
"Zodiac Meteor."
His voice rumbled like distant thunder.
Magic surged through him, the air crackling with unbearable pressure.
Above the manor, the sky twisted. Space itself warped into a swirling black vortex nearly thirty meters wide. Even in the night, it was visible—a gaping hole in the heavens.
Then came the weight.
A crushing gravitational force pressed down over the entire estate. The earth groaned, stones cracked, and the few vampires still standing collapsed to their knees.
Some tried to flee, but the SHIELD perimeter outside cut them down before they got far.
The vortex darkened, and a blinding light shone from within. A massive meteor, wreathed in golden fire, emerged slowly—its surface glowing like molten rock.
Thirty meters across, descending like divine judgment.
All across the nearby streets, people stopped and stared. Phones rose to the sky, recording what looked like the end of the world.
"Holy—he's summoning a meteor! By hand!" Hawkeye gawked from the distant hilltop, jaw practically on the ground.
"Last time it was a sand monster," Coulson muttered, unable to tear his eyes away. "This time, it's a meteor. How much power does this guy even have?"
At SHIELD headquarters, Nick Fury sprang to his feet, gripping his old pager tightly. His one good eye was wide with tension.
"Don't make me call her… Don't make me do it," he muttered. "But if anyone can stop him, it's her. She faced down a Kree warship… she can stop one man. She has to."
Back at the manor, the meteor's descent grew faster. The pressure was unbearable now—like a mountain pressing on everyone's chest. Even outside the blast zone, SHIELD agents were collapsing, overwhelmed by the invisible gravity.
And then—
BOOM!
The impact tore the night apart.
A wave of blinding fire and earth rolled outward, flattening everything for hundreds of meters. Trees snapped like twigs, the shockwave leveling what little remained of the manor.
When the dust finally cleared, silence fell.
Where the grand estate had stood, there was only a crater—six or seven meters deep, scorched black at the bottom. No walls. No tower. Not even a scrap of debris remained.
Only ash and dust.
The agents stared, stunned into silence.
SHIELD operatives exchanged uneasy glances, but the undercover Hydra agents among them—those who saw Lucas not as a threat but as a sign—looked upon him with something else entirely.
Terror.
And worship.
As if they had just witnessed a god step down from the heavens.
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