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Two Weeks Later: December 25th,2013
Ethan Park
Ethan had returned from Asgard nearly two weeks ago, carrying the Aether—a "sign of trust," as Odin had phrased it. However, the Tesseract remained in the Asgardian vaults; Ethan was slated to receive it only after his inevitable confrontation with Hela.
In truth, Ethan felt no urgent rush to assemble the full gauntlet of Stones. He was acutely aware of the harrowing price required to claim the Soul Stone, and he was fundamentally unwilling to pay it. Instead, he had been contemplating a alternative: if he could successfully absorb Mahito, could the Disaster Curse serve as a viable surrogate for the Soul Stone's power?
Ethan didn't strictly need the raw might of an Infinity Stone while his operations were confined to Earth. Yet, a lingering question remained: could five Infinity Stones amplify Idle Transfiguration to a global scale? He didn't have the answer... at least, not yet.
Today was Christmas. Ethan woke early, adhering to his rigid routine. Following a quick breakfast of eggs and sausages, he remained sequestered in the training yard of his Los Angeles residence. Kamar-Taj maintained numerous such safe houses across the globe, providing the necessary privacy for their craft.
Ethan summoned his twin blades, Hati and Skoll; his shadow recoiled, and from the depths of his shadow emerged the two swords forged of Destroyer metal.
After two hours of intense swordplay, sweat trailed down his torso in salt-stained rivulets. His body was visibly strained, his brow furrowed in deep concentration. He had begun his practice well before the sun crested the horizon.
Normally, such exertion wouldn't leave him this fatigued; however, he wasn't merely practicing forms. Anchored within his shadow were two mountain-sized boulders, each easily weighing over ten tons, adding a crushing weight to his every movement.
Yet, despite the immense physical toll, his breathing remained remarkably steady. Ethan Park could feel his muscles contract in perfect sequence as he swung Hati.
The movement originated from a subtle twist of his back, radiating through his core until the full force of the momentum coursed through his arms.
Hati and Skoll cut through the air with the lethal grace of a whip. As he exhaled, the tips of the blades shimmered with the stable cursed energy he was channeling into them.
Utilizing the weight behind each strike, he flowed into the next form without a second's hesitation, his feet dancing across the dusty floor in a seamless transition.
In his mind's eye, he was currently besieged by two dozen curses. His objective was not merely to kill them, but to do so without allowing a single one to land a hit.
He moved through the imaginary horde like a ballerina on a stage: Breathe, Parry, and Twist to bypass a claw; a thrust forward to dispatch Another feind ; a leap to the side to block an overhead slash.
For a fleeting moment, the phantoms shifted. He wasn't fighting curses anymore; he was fighting her. Hela. He could almost hear the rhythmic clashing of their steel—her obsidian black against his pale white—under a phantom morning sun. They clashed on a distant hillside of endless green grass, where he could feel a cool morning breeze blowing in from a distant, invisible sea.
Then, the vision snapped. He was back in the Los Angeles training yard, his forearms burning with exertion as he swiped both Hati and Skoll one last time.
Weary and slick with sweat, he looked down the length of his arm, past the leather-wrapped white and black hilt and the stark, cross-shaped guard, following the steel until the blade narrowed to a lethal point. He took a silent moment to admire the divine metallurgy of the Destroyer metal before finally depositing the twin swords back into the depths of his shadow.
Leaving the training yard behind, he made his way to the bathroom for a quick, restorative shower. In the living room, the television had been left on, and the morning news broadcast filled the quiet space of the house. Against the rhythmic backdrop of the running water, the lead anchor for a major Los Angeles network KTLA breaks the story:
Breaking News: The Dyer Paradox
["BREAKING NEWS" ]
"Good morning, Los Angeles. We are breaking into your Christmas morning with developing and frankly chilling news out of the LAPD. Sources within the department are confirming that two women were abducted three night ago in what investigators are describing as the signature work of a notorious serial killer.
One of them was unforuntely just found dead in the woods in Griffith Park
But there is a massive, baffling catch.
Police tell us the crime scenes contain the exact, unmistakable calling cards of Rosalind Dyer. As many of you remember, Dyer was the 'Lakeside Killer' who terrorized this state years ago, known for the grisly ritual of tattooing the date of death onto her victims before taking their lives.
However, as of this broadcast, Rosalind Dyer remains behind bars. She is currently facing the death penalty at the Central California Women's Facility in Chowchilla. State prison officials have reportedly conducted an emergency roll call and confirmed that Dyer is accounted for and has not left her cell.
The LAPD is now facing a terrifying question: Are we looking at a sophisticated copycat, or has Dyer found a way to continue her reign of terror from behind the walls of a maximum-security prison?
We have a team headed to the 77th Street Station for an official police briefing. We will bring you more as this story develops. For now, authorities are urging residents to remain vigilant."
Ethan emerged from his shower, steam clinging to the air as he caught the tail end of a television broadcast. On the screen, the profile of Rosalind Dyer was being meticulously depicted in a police file graphic.
Status: Incarcerated (California State Prison, Chowchilla)
Sentence: Awaiting Death Penalty
Victim Count: 7 Confirmed Murders
Signature MO: Pre-mortem "Date of Death" Tattoos.
The screen flickered, the statistics vanishing as the broadcast cut back to the news anchor.
LIVE BROADCAST: THE RETURN OF THE LAKESIDE KILLER
[A split screen appears. On the left, a grainy, high-security mugshot of Rosalind Dyer. On the right, a map of Los Angeles with a flashing red icon over Mid-Wilshire.]
"For those just joining us, the LAPD is in a state of high alert following a series of abductions that bear the unmistakable, gruesome hallmarks of the 'Lakeside Killer,' Rosalind Dyer. To understand the gravity of this threat, we have to look at the profile of a woman currently awaiting her death sentence at Chowchilla."
[A graphic titled 'CRIMINAL PROFILE: ROSALIND DYER' scrolls beside the anchor.]
"Dyer is no ordinary killer. FBI profilers classify her as a high-functioning sadistic sociopath. Her crimes are defined by what experts call 'manual brutality.' We are talking about the use of her bare hands to perform horrific acts—the extraction of teeth, the skinning of victims, and surgical-level dismemberment while the victims are conscious but paralyzed by drugged wine. Her signature? A 'Day of Death' tattoo, inked onto the skin of her victims while they are still alive. As one LAPD profiler famously noted: 'She doesn't just kill the body; she kills the peace of everyone who finds it.'"
Ethan had heard enough, some humans were no better than curses, as he was just about to close the Television another News flashed.
[The anchor's expression turns from professional gravity to genuine shock as a producer speaks into her earpiece.]
"Wait... we are receiving a direct feed. This is... we're being told this is a video sent to our affiliate moments ago by the alleged kidnapper. We must warn viewers, this footage is disturbing."
[The screen cuts to a grainy, low-resolution video. The camera shakes. In the center, a woman—Miss Tropes—is bound to a chair, trembling. A distorted voice speaks from behind the lens.]
"This is a message for Ethan Park... Visit the Mid-Wilshire police station within Sunset and ask for Rosalind Dyer. If you don't, Miss Tropes here will be found in a ditch somewhere on the outskirts of town. This is not a joke. Visit Mid-Wilshire, or else..."
"Oh..." It seemed even the seasoned News reporter was baffled.
"There you have it, Los Angelos . A direct ultimatum to one of the Avengers. Mr. Park, if you are watching this, the LAPD—and the life of this innocent woman—are waiting for you at the Mid-Wilshi..."
Click.
The screen went black. Ethan let out a long, weary sigh that seemed to carry the weight of the last three years.
He didn't need to say a word. Tora, sensing his intent, moved with grace. With a shimmer of Transmutation spell, he transmuted his a white long-sleeve, high-collar shirt paired with dark, loose-fitting trousers, resembling a more casual, modern, slightly training-oriented look.
Ethan didn't linger. He headed straight for the main door of the house.
Roslind Dyer
It was the winter of 2009 when the heavy steel doors slammed shut, sealing Roslind Dyer away from a rapidly changing reality. Back then, the world was already strange—whispers of green rage monsters and billionaires in armored suits dominated the news. But soon, the world turned horrific.
An alien invasion, a gaping portal over New York—it was a nightmare made real. She had missed every second of it, rotting in a windowless cell, all because she had let Nick Armstrong catch her.
The deterioration began three months ago with persistent bloating and a dull, nagging abdominal ache. Initially, Roslind blamed the abysmal prison rations—the flavorless slop the guards shoveled onto her tray.
But when her appetite vanished, a cold fear took root. As the daughter of two durg addicts, Roslind had spent her childhood in a constant state of hunger.
To be hungry was her default state.
To have no desire for food was a sign that something was wrong.
Her collapse was inevitable. She fainted in the common area; though the guards initially scoffed, the weary prison doctor took one look at her swollen abdomen and demanded an immediate transfer to an outside facility.
The hospital was filled with advanced, almost "imaginary" technology—machines that peered through her skin as if it were glass.
After days of grueling tests, the verdict finally arrived: she had cancer. Ovarian cancer.
How ironic. She recalled the time she had excised the uterus of a young woman while the victim watched, paralyzed by the wine Rosalind had provided.
The girl's pleas for mercy had been amusing, and the memory of the victim holding her own uterus in her mangled hands—offering it up like a morbid prayer while begging for her life—still made her shudder with pleasure.
Her prison sentence was suddenly rendered meaningless by a much more inevitable ticking clock. She had already formed plans to initiate her escape, but those designs had been years in the slow, meticulous making.
That was when she remembered hearing whispers of him: Ethan Park, a man capable of curing any disease. Even in prison, news eventually found its way inside.
She had, of course, dismissed the rumors initially. But following her diagnosis, she began to investigate this "Mystery Avenger," as the world called him.
What she discovered through her outside sources was as interesting as it was disturbing.
It seemed the stories were not false; if anything, they had been understated.
And so, she enacted her plans, ensuring that Ethan Park would personally come to cure her. Men and women alike—they were all so predictable. Especially men like Park, whom the world put on a pedestal; they always caved under pressure when an innocent life was on the line.
The next day, she summoned Assistant District Attorney Sean Del Monte, offering to lead them to the other bodies she had buried across the four thousand acres of Griffith Park. She stipulated that she must be present, claiming she could only locate the remains if she were there herself.
It was a lie, of course, but she could not miss the chance to witness their horrified expressions when they realized the remains were far too fresh. That was yesterday. Now, she sat in a building swarming with police officers—most of whom would gladly see her dead—simply waiting for Ethan Park to arrive and save her life.
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A/N: So how was the chapter?
I have tried involving The Tv show Rookie I watched recently.
Here. If you like it.
Here. If you don't. ( If you don't, don't worry this arc will only last two more chapters)