"Fury, the curse is real. I can only tell the truth now. The others are probably in the same situation as me—we've all been affected. What should I do?"
Natasha sent the message with trembling hands. For an agent, lying and deception were fundamental skills, and now those skills had been utterly destroyed.
It wasn't life-threatening, but being forced to speak only the truth meant her career was effectively over.
She had been trained as a spy since childhood. If she retired now… what would become of her?
It was as if she'd lost the very meaning of her existence.
To be honest, Nick Fury himself felt overwhelmed. Ever since Gilgamesh had publicly cast the curse, Fury had sent agents to monitor the situation, just in case. He had already heard about Tony Stark's incident—grabbing men in public of all things.
Now, bad news kept piling up. Natasha could no longer lie. Captain America's condition was still uncertain. Clint Barton's situation was even worse—they didn't dare let him go home to his wife and children.
Aside from Thor, who was still unconscious, all of his top operatives were now crippled in various ways.
Before Fury could come up with a single solution, more bad news arrived.
Bruce Banner's mental state had collapsed.
He felt no joy when eating good food, no sadness in loneliness; even a cut on his hand was met with perfect calm.
It was as if he had entered a state of complete detachment—unmoved by gain or loss, devoid of human emotion, and consequently stripped of any motivation to act.
His mind was filled only with pure logic.
He ate not because he felt hunger, but because logic told him he should.
He read not because he enjoyed reading, but because logic said it was part of his routine.
But why did he follow the routine?
He no longer had the curiosity or will to question it.
"The effects of this magic are terrifying…"
Nick Fury shuddered. In this state, Banner would never be able to summon the Hulk again. And once Captain America's curse activated, he would almost certainly fall into villainy.
"Does anyone here know magic?" Fury swept his one eye across the room, only to be met with helpless expressions.
Talos spoke up, trying to comfort him. "There's an old saying in the East: 'Whoever tied the knot must untie it.' To break the curse, we should rely on the God of Light."
"That guy…" Fury rubbed his forehead, recalling Gilgamesh's arrogant and domineering attitude. "There's no way he'd help us."
"When Thor wakes up, maybe we can ask him. After all, they're brothers."
"But Gilgamesh's the one who knocked Thor out!"
"Then do you have a better idea?" Talos sighed. Complaining was easy—solutions weren't.
Fury thought for a moment, analyzing aloud. "Judging from Gilgamesh's attitude toward that sorcerer, they're not in a subordinate relationship. And yet—Gilgamesh still listened to him and stopped killing."
"That alone proves Gilgamesh is wary of the sorcerer's power. And our only real trump card to threaten him… is Captain Marvel."
"You mean—"
"Exactly." Fury nodded before Talos could finish. "Let Captain Marvel negotiate with Gilgamesh. Earth has its own superhumans. We absolutely cannot let him underestimate us."
"But what if even Captain Marvel isn't his match?"
Fury fell silent. If even she lost, he'd have no choice but to surrender.
But that was impossible.
He knew Captain Marvel's power better than anyone. Listed as one of the Avengers, competing for the title of crown prince, fighting side by side with Thor—he couldn't believe she wouldn't be able to defeat Gilgamesh.
"For now, keep him calm. Don't let this ticking time bomb explode."
Nick Fury quickly set the tone, even personally ordering Commander Hill to pose as his secretary so she could approach and monitor Gilgamesh's every move.
Even though he had just been beaten to a pulp, there were no permanent enemies in politics. And with the other party's terrifying background, Fury could only swallow his pride and treat the man like royalty—whether he liked it or not.
Inside the White House, Maria Hill, dressed in a fitted uniform, stockings, and a short skirt, stood quietly before Gilgamesh. Her face remained expressionless, but inside she was tense.
She had heard all the rumors about his unpredictable temperament, yet she still had to accept the mission to infiltrate his side and keep watch.
She wasn't just representing S.H.I.E.L.D.—she was also acting on behalf of the World Security Council. The two organizations appeared aligned on the surface, but in truth, they were always wary of each other.
As one of the few agents who could follow Fury's orders without defying the Council's directives, Hill had steadily risen through the ranks—eventually becoming S.H.I.E.L.D.'s future director.
"The new secretary? Interesting."
Gilgamesh tilted his head, lounging in what used to be the president's seat, his boots propped up on the desk as he scrutinized her with a playful expression.
His gaze was cold, emotionless, yet sharp enough that Hill felt as though he were stripping away every layer of composure she had.
As an elite agent, she was prepared for any extreme situation, but Gilgamesh showed no interest in such trivial intimidation tactics.
"First, tear down all those portraits of mortals in the White House. The palace of the gods doesn't need that trash."
Hill nodded. The White House walls were lined with portraits of past presidents; if Gilgamesh didn't want them, they would be removed immediately. She swiftly noted the order.
Gilgamesh continued, "Replace all the chefs. Michelin stars? Are they feeding pigs half-cooked slop?"
Hill wrote it down again, then cautiously asked, "What sort of cuisine would you prefer, sir?"
Gilgamesh shot her a glare. "I haven't set foot in Midgard for ages. How would I know what you people eat now? Tomorrow, gather the world's top chefs and have them cook for me."
Hill bowed her head in acknowledgment. Even though his scarlet eyes only flashed with mild displeasure, the sight made a chill run down her spine.
If Gilgamesh decided to kill her right now, neither S.H.I.E.L.D. nor the Security Council would dare to protest. They would probably send someone prettier and more capable to replace her by the next morning.
The thought alone terrified her.
Fortunately, despite Gilgamesh's notorious reputation and impossible personality, he wasn't someone who killed without a reason. That fact alone gave her a small measure of relief.
In reality, she was underestimating him. To someone in his position, killing was merely a tool—one method among many to establish dominance. Toward those who served him faithfully, however, Gilgamesh could be surprisingly tolerant.