The man in the black jacket had announced live on television that thirty-seven bombs were buried across New York.
Then, in front of countless horrified viewers, he slit his own throat—triggering a massive explosion.
That single insane act turned New York into a city of terror.
Countless people flooded the streets, desperate to escape.
Train stations, airports, docks—everywhere was chaos.
Even the highways were jammed with cars stretching for miles.
As time went on, panic only grew worse.
Large-scale riots broke out across the city, and even though State Police, County Police, the National Guard, and the Military had been deployed, they couldn't stop the wave of madness.
Looting, shootings, robberies—New York had descended into utter chaos.
And that chaos was spreading the police and military too thin, making the bomb search even harder.
Top Floor of a Manhattan Hotel
From the window of a luxury suite, a man watched the burning city below.
Wilson Jones—an old man turned middle-aged through dark magic—swirled a glass of crimson blood and smiled.
"Even a city protected by the Avengers is helpless in the face of absolute panic."
Turning to his subordinate, he asked coldly, "How are the preparations for the descent ritual?"
"They're nearly complete, sir. The Avengers are fully distracted by the bombs. No one's noticed our one hundred barrels of virgin blood have already been transported to the ritual site."
"The descent can begin before six o'clock tonight."
Wilson nodded with satisfaction.
"Good. But this virgin blood alone won't please My Lord Murtos."
He raised his blood-filled glass and sneered.
"The blood of the righteous—those so-called heroes—will satisfy Him. When My Lord Blood Ancestor Murtos descends, we'll gain eternal life and power. Then, the world will belong to us!"
A faint red glow flickered in his subordinate's eyes.
"I understand, sir. I'll ensure the ritual proceeds smoothly—even if it costs me my life."
"And our people?" Wilson asked.
"They've already been sent to capture the Avengers. Even if they can't, they'll make their lives miserable."
"Well done."
Wilson flicked a droplet of blood onto the man's forehead. The red in his eyes blazed brighter.
"Go."
"Yes, sir!"
The subordinate left, filled with manic devotion.
The New York Sanctum
"Master, this magic feels… evil. Shouldn't we stop it?"
Mordo frowned, sensing waves of Dark Magic pulsing from Manhattan—energy strong enough to summon devils.
But the Ancient One remained calm.
"Let the Avengers handle it, Mordo. Everything is destined—just as it was in the Battle of New York."
She glanced at the chaos below.
"Your duty is to watch over Strange while he's in surgery. Leave the rest to them."
"But Master, this summoning—"
"It's nothing of concern," she interrupted. "What they're calling forth isn't even a sub-dimensional lord. They're simply fools corrupted by their own desires."
Mordo sighed and bowed. "Yes, Master."
A Rooftop in Manhattan
"Zzzzt!"
An arrow exploded mid-air, forming an electric net that dropped a group of attackers instantly.
Clint Barton—Hawkeye—stepped forward, ready to restrain them.
But then, the "unconscious" men twitched, stood up, and ripped through the net.
Their nails elongated like claws, and faint red light flickered in their eyes.
"Damn it… Vampires? The ones S.H.I.E.L.D. kicked out?" Barton muttered, drawing a dagger and dodging.
He plunged the blade into one attacker's heart—only to realize these weren't real Vampires.
They could walk in sunlight, and while their strength and speed were superhuman, their hearts were still mortal.
Within moments, Barton had taken them all down. He crouched beside the bodies, examining them.
"Everyone, be careful," he said over comms. "I was attacked by some kind of mutants—superhuman strength and speed, fangs, claws. But not real Vampires. More like artificial mutations."
"Vampires? Seriously?" Tony Stark's voice crackled through. "If those exist, do that mean witches and werewolves are next?"
"Don't act surprised, Tony," Natasha quipped. "You've seen gods and aliens. Magical creatures shouldn't shock you."
"Are you talking about me?" Thor boomed, laughing. "Witches do exist—my mother was one. Loki learned his magic from her."
Steve Rogers cut in. "Whatever they are, this isn't simple. The city's falling apart. We need to end this fast."
"I've dismantled two bombs. Kai, how many have you found?"
"Five so far—all in Queens," Kai replied casually, munching on a chicken wrap. "Feels like I'm doing delivery work instead of bomb disposal."
"How many left, Banner?" Tony asked.
"Tony's got three, Steve two, Thor two, Natasha and Clint one each. Fourteen in total. That leaves twenty-three," Bruce said. "And we've got less than four hours left."
Steve frowned. "Twenty-three bombs in four hours across all of New York. Not ideal."
Tony suddenly smirked. "Kai, let's make this interesting. You've found five bombs, so five million in bonus pay. Every additional bomb, one million more. If you find any beyond thirty-seven, five million each."
Kai's eyes lit up. "Boss, you just motivated the hell out of me!"
He photonized and vanished.
The Capture
"Unique invitation method you've got," Barton said dryly, aiming an arrow at the man in a black suit who appeared silently behind him.
"Please don't resist," the man replied calmly. "You're our honored guest."
"And if I decline?"
The man raised a small black remote and pressed a button.
The corpses Barton had just killed exploded—blowing out both sides of the alley.
Outside, several more red-eyed men appeared—each holding hostages.
"If you don't accept, they die. And each of my men carries a bomb inside them. Those explosions were appetizers."
Barton's eyes darkened. He lowered his bow. "You win."
"That's the weakness of you Avengers," the man said, smiling. "You value human life too much."
He stepped closer—and suddenly opened his mouth wide, revealing fangs. A sonic blast erupted, slamming Barton to one knee.
Pain shot through his skull. His bow slipped from his grasp as he blacked out.
The man caught him by the collar and dragged him into a sewer tunnel—disappearing into the darkness.
Moments later, the hostages outside screamed as the red-eyed men bit into their throats.
At Avengers Tower
"Clint's gone dark!" Banner shouted. "His tracker signal just vanished!"
Steve's jaw tightened. "Send me his last known coordinates."
He revved his motorcycle and sped through traffic toward the location.
When he arrived, he found nothing but wreckage—and several blood-drained corpses.
"Everyone, we're in trouble," Steve said grimly. "The bodies here match what Clint described. Mutants—drained of blood. I think we're dealing with real Vampires."
Natasha clenched her fists. "What about Clint?"
"They took him alive," Steve said. "If they wanted him dead, they'd have done it here. Our priority is still the bombs."
The Last Bombs
Two hours later, Banner upgraded the detectors' sonar range. Within minutes, all thirty-seven bombs were located and defused.
Standing before the Avengers Tower, Natasha exhaled in relief.
"Thirty-seven bombs—all accounted for. Thanks to Kai, who found fifteen on his own."
Thor grinned. "Then it's over?"
"Not yet," Steve said. "New York's still in shock."
Just then, the Secretary of State called Tony. "Stark, the military's restoring order, but the public's terrified. I need you to speak live—to reassure them."
Tony sighed. "You've got to be kidding me."
"Great power, great responsibility," the Secretary said before hanging up.
Minutes later, Tony and Steve stood before live cameras.
Behind them, thirty-seven disarmed bombs were piled neatly on a table.
Tony addressed the world:
"I don't know who these lunatics are, but all thirty-seven bombs have been found and defused. If you're watching this—Avengers don't run. You wanted attention? You've got it. Come and get us."
Steve stepped forward, his shield gleaming.
"Your plan to spread fear has failed. The people of New York stand together, and the Avengers stand with them."
After the Broadcast
Watching from the hotel suite, Wilson Jones chuckled, stroking the horned red skull beside him.
"Hawkeye has been captured and is still unconscious," his subordinate reported. "Should we—"
"Not yet," Wilson said. "He's bait. The Avengers' anger will make the ritual stronger."
He checked his watch. "It's 1:30 PM. Five and a half hours until the descent. Keep the city burning."
He sent a message.
Moments later, a series of coordinated suicide explosions ripped across New York.
Later — Underground in Manhattan
Hawkeye woke to find himself behind iron bars in a damp chamber.
A glowing magic circle spread across the floor, surrounded by jars filled with dark red liquid.
The man in the black suit stood outside the cell, smiling. "Welcome back, Mr. Barton."
"Where the hell am I?"
"Manhattan," the man said lightly. "Right above the sewers. The conditions are… humble, but you'll manage."
He gestured at the red sigil.
"That's the summoning circle of our Lord—Blood Ancestor Murtos. Those jars? One hundred virgins' blood."
"You people are insane."
"Insane?" The man laughed softly. "No, enlightened. When my heart was failing, neither God nor medicine could save me. Wilson Jones did—with the Blood Ancestor's gift."
He unbuttoned his shirt, showing a scar across his chest.
"In two hours, the descent will begin. You'll witness the coming of our Lord with your own eyes."
Barton smirked. "So, these are my last two hours? Then let me die with my bow. I've been an archer all my life."
The man thought for a moment, then handed him his bow and quiver.
"I know you're hoping to send a signal to your friends. Go ahead—it won't matter."
Barton caught the bow, his expression unreadable.
"Oh, trust me," he said quietly, "it'll matter."
...
Author's Note
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