The Führer's Office.
Ernst waited for an hour.
The waiting room was an exercise in psychological warfare.
The chairs were uncomfortable, the clock on the wall ticked with a maddeningly slow rhythm, and the portraits of the Leader stared down from every angle.
It was designed to make you feel small before you even stepped into the inner sanctum.
When the heavy oak doors finally opened, the air inside rushed out to meet him.
It was thick, stifling, choking with stale cigar smoke and a palpable, manic energy that made the hairs on Ernst's arms stand up.
Ernst walked in, his boots sinking slightly into the plush carpet.
He was escorted by a guard whose hand never strayed far from his holster.
As he entered, he bypassed a gaggle of generals shuffling out.
They looked haggard, their uniforms slightly disheveled, their eyes hollow.
They looked like men who had just endured a lecture on reality from a man who had lost his grip on it.
Adolf Hitler sat behind his massive oak desk.
The room was vast, a cavern of power, with a map of Europe spread out like a tablecloth.
Hitler was hunched over a report, scribbling furiously.
Hearing the footsteps, he looked up.
His face shifted instantly.
The scowl, the famous, terrifying scowl that had sent millions to their deaths, vanished.
It was replaced by a practiced, gentle smile that didn't quite reach the eyes.
"Ah, Dr. Ernst," Hitler said, rising to his feet.
He walked around the desk, his movements slightly jerky, a betrayal of the medication cocktails coursing through his system.
"My apologies for the delay. The burden of leadership, you understand. The Eastern Front demands constant vigilance."
Ernst didn't return the smile.
He didn't click his heels. He didn't raise his arm.
He adjusted his glasses, pushing them up the bridge of his nose, feigning the exhaustion of an overworked academic who found politics to be a distraction from the real work.
"Mein Führer," Ernst said, skipping the salute entirely.
"I traveled all night from Poland. The roads were... less than optimal. My experiments in Berlin are on a strict timer. Biological degradation waits for no man, not even the Chancellor."
He rubbed his temples theatrically.
"If this is just a social call, I'm afraid I'm not good company right now. I need sleep, or caffeine, or preferably both."
The silence that followed was deafening.
Behind Hitler, a young SS bodyguard bristled.
He was fresh-faced, blonde, and fanatical.
To him, Ernst's tone wasn't just rude; it was blasphemy.
He stepped forward, his leather boots creaking, his hand reaching for the flap of his holster.
"Watch your tone," the guard snarled, his voice trembling with righteous indignation.
"You are speaking to the Savior of Germany."
Hitler didn't even look back.
He didn't shout. He simply raised a hand, a sharp, dismissive gesture.
"Stand down," Hitler ordered softly.
The voice was quiet, but it held a terrifying edge, like a razor blade hidden in silk.
He turned back to Ernst, his smile widening, becoming almost apologetic.
"Forgive him. He is new. He is from the Leibstandarte. He doesn't understand that genius requires patience. He sees only the uniform, not the mind beneath it."
Ernst remained indifferent.
He knew this game. He had studied it.
Hitler allowed him these liberties, the lack of salute, the insolence, because Ernst delivered results.
He was the golden goose.
But Ernst also knew the fragility of this protection.
The moment he stopped being useful, the moment the "genius" dried up, that guard would put a bullet in the back of his head without a second thought.
"I appreciate the sentiment," Ernst said, checking his watch.
"But time is a variable I cannot synthesize. What do you need?"
Hitler walked back to his desk and sat down.
The manic energy returned, his eyes gleaming with a mix of excitement and deep, festering paranoia.
"Johann Schmidt," Hitler said.
The name hung in the air.
"He has found something. A relic from Norway. Hidden in a church, guarded by superstitious peasants."
Hitler leaned forward, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper.
"He calls it the Tesseract. Ancient mythology claims it is the Jewel of Odin, a source of unlimited power. He believes it can change the tide of the war."
Ernst's heart skipped a single beat.
He kept his face a mask of boredom, but his mind was racing.
The Tesseract. The Space Stone.
One of the six Infinity Stones.
It was here. It was in play.
This wasn't just a battery; this was a doorway to the universe. It was the engine of the plot.
"Mythology is not science," Ernst scoffed dismissively, waving a hand as if swatting away a fly.
"Schmidt is obsessed with occult nonsense. He spends too much time reading fairy tales and not enough time reviewing peer-reviewed journals."
"Perhaps," Hitler said.
He leaned forward, resting his chin on his hands.
"But his reports... they claim he has hit a bottleneck in energy extraction. He has the object, but he cannot harness the output without destroying the containment units."
Hitler tapped the desk with a manicured finger.
"He is requesting the Reich's best mind. He is requesting you."
Hitler paused, his eyes narrowing.
"I want you to go to the Alps. To his facility. Help him unlock this energy. We need weapons, Ernst. We need power."
Then, the tone shifted.
The paranoia bled through.
"But... I also have a request. Schmidt has become distant. He hoards his secrets. He has stopped sending detailed reports. He builds his own army within my army."
Hitler looked at Ernst intently.
"I want you to keep a separate record of the research. A copy for Berlin. Just in case. I want to know what Schmidt is building before he builds it."
Ernst narrowed his eyes behind his lenses.
So, the cracks are forming.
Hitler suspects Schmidt is building his own empire.
He suspects Hydra is growing too large for the host body.
And he was right.
But this was a trap.
"I am a scientist, not a spy," Ernst said flatly.
He stood his ground, meeting the dictator's gaze.
"I don't care about politics or power struggles. I don't care about your internal paranoia. If you want someone to steal files, send the Gestapo. Send the SS."
Ernst leaned in slightly.
"If I start playing secret agent, my focus divides. If my focus divides, my calculations suffer. If my calculations suffer, the device blows up. I will unlock the cube because that is the challenge, because I am the only one who can, but I won't be your informant."
It was a calculated refusal.
If Ernst agreed to spy, he became a pawn in the political game.
He became expendable.
By refusing, by clinging to his "pure science" persona, he reinforced his cover as the obsessed, neutral intellectual.
He made himself above the fray.
Hitler looked disappointed.
He pouted for a moment, like a child denied a toy, but he wasn't surprised.
He sighed, rubbing his forehead.
"Very well. You scientists... you have no vision for the grand game."
Hitler waved his hand.
"Just get the device working. That is an order. But take my personal detail with you. The Alps are dangerous. Saboteurs are everywhere."
"I have my own protection," Ernst countered immediately.
"My father sent me a specimen. A failed lab experiment, genetically mutated. Ugly, but loyal and incredibly strong. I prefer to keep him close."
Hitler waved his hand dismissively, clearly bored with the logistics.
"Fine. Take your monster. Just get on the plane tomorrow."
The Next Day, Above the Clouds
The transport plane was a miserable metal tube.
It was a Junkers Ju-52, affectionately called "Iron Annie" by the troops, but Ernst found no affection for it.
It was loud, cold, and vibrated so violently that his teeth felt loose in his gums.
The corrugated duralumin skin of the aircraft rattled incessantly against the slipstream.
Ernst sat huddled in his heavy wool coat, a leather notebook open on his lap.
Opposite him sat Azazel.
The Red Devil was calm.
He sat on a crate of munitions, his tail wrapped securely around his leg, eyes closed as if meditating.
The cold altitude didn't seem to bother his unique physiology.
The cabin was filled with the roar of the three BMW radial engines, making conversation impossible without shouting.
This was perfect for Ernst.
He felt the gaze of the two SS guards at the front of the plane.
They were strapped into jump seats, submachine guns across their chests.
They were watching him. They were watching the "monster."
Ernst took a fountain pen from his pocket. The ink was cold, sluggish.
He began to write.
He nudged Azazel's knee with the toe of his boot.
Azazel opened one yellow eye, the pupil constricting like a cat's.
Ernst tilted the notebook so only the mutant could see it, shielding the paper from the guards with his body language.
[Listen carefully. Do not react. Just read.]
Azazel blinked, giving a micro-nod. He didn't shift his posture.
Ernst continued writing, his hand steady despite the turbulence.
[We are going into the lion's den. Johann Schmidt is dangerous. More dangerous than Hitler. Hitler is a madman with a country; Schmidt is a fanatic with a vision. From this moment on, you are a brute.]
Ernst underlined the word brute.
[You are a failed experiment. Do NOT use your teleportation unless I explicitly signal you, or if we are about to die.]
Ernst turned the page, the sound of the paper tearing slightly masked by the engine drone.
His pen scratched loudly against the paper.
[Schmidt is smart. If he knows what you can do, he will plan for it. He will neutralize you. We need an advantage.]
Ernst looked up to check the guards.
They were sharing a cigarette, looking bored.
He wrote faster.
[Schmidt will likely provoke you. He will test you. If someone insults you, hurt them. Break a bone. Show them you are physically strong but mentally simple. Make them fear your muscles so they don't suspect your power.]
[If they want to take blood samples, let them. Their science is too primitive to understand your X-Gene. They will see anomalies, but they won't understand the dimensional displacement.]
[We need them to underestimate us. We are playing the long game.]
Azazel read the words.
Slowly, his expression shifted.
The boredom evaporated, replaced by a cruel, understanding smirk.
He looked at Ernst and nodded slowly.
'Hide the ace up the sleeve', Azazel thought.
'Let them think I am just a dog, until the dog bites their throat out.'
It was a strategy Azazel appreciated.
He had lived for centuries by being underestimated, by being a myth, a demon in the shadows.
Ernst closed the notebook and shoved it deep into his coat pocket.
He leaned his head back against the freezing metal wall of the fuselage.
The vibration rattled his skull.
He closed his eyes.
He hated this discomfort.
In his previous life, before the reincarnation, he would have been on a business class flight.
He would have had a warm meal, noise-canceling headphones, and a glass of scotch.
Here, he was shivering in a flying tin can, smelling of aviation fuel and unwashed soldiers, headed toward a maniac with a skull for a face.
But it was worth it.
He wasn't going for Hitler.
He wasn't going for Schmidt.
He didn't care about the Reich, or Hydra, or the war map.
He was going for the Blue Stone.
The Tesseract was the key.
With it, he wouldn't just be a player on the board.
He would be the one holding the dice.
The plane banked sharply, descending toward the jagged, snow-capped peaks of the Alps.
Toward the future.
, , ,
Author's Note:
"I aspire to have the level of job security where I can walk into Hitler's office, refuse to salute, complain about being tired, call his special project 'occult nonsense,' and refuse a direct order to spy... and still get a promotion.
Ernst isn't just a Mad Scientist; he is the King of Gaslighting.
Also, poor Azazel. He's a refined, dimension-hopping demon, and Ernst is making him roleplay as 'Generic Thug #3'. That is a waste of talent, but excellent camouflage."
Hitler: "Be my spy."
Ernst: "No. Spying is for people who can't do calculus."
Hitler: "Fair point. Take the monster."
Azazel (Internally): "I am going to teleport a grenade into his mustache one day."
Ernst (Internally): "Patience. We need his funding."
Me: "The restraint is impressive.
I have analyzed the physics of 'Writer Motivation.'
It turns out, my typing speed is directly correlated to the number of shiny blue rocks (Power Stones) in my inventory.
200 Power Stones = 1 Bonus Chapter
10 reviews = 1 bonus Chapter