Aryan stepped forward, his silhouette sharpening as the distortion field around him adjusted, allowing a glimpse of the man beneath the god like power. His eyes bore into the shivering form of Emil Blonsky.
"This isn't a total erasure," Aryan stated, his voice calm and resonant in the pocket dimension. "I've installed a reversible biological switch within your DNA. I have effectively partitioned your genetic code."
He adjusted the dimensional parameters with a thought, allowing the darkness that had blinded Blonsky to recede, returning the world to a comprehensible state.
"You can shift between forms at will," Aryan explained. "Human or Abomination. Your cells now possess a cellular memory buffer. They can transition between the two states without the previous loss of cognitive function or the agonizing bone growth."
Blonsky groaned, clutching his head as his human senses flooded back. He looked at his hands, no longer monstrous claws but human fingers. "You… you changed me… I can feel my own skin again."
"Yes," Aryan replied. "I gave you a gift the military was too incompetent and too ambitious to provide." He paused, his presence expanding until it seemed to fill Blonsky's entire field of vision. "And as long as you obey, you keep it."
With a wave of his hand, a Soul Contract manifested in the air between them, a shimmering lattice of metaphysical energy that bound Blonsky's very essence to Aryan's will. In this dimension, the contract was as binding as the laws of physics. Blonsky didn't hesitate. He pressed his hand to the glowing script, sealing his fate. The light flared, then vanished into his chest.
The world blurred, the warped geometries of the Fog sub dimension collapsing outward like a popped bubble. In an instant, the sterile vacuum was gone, and the smog choked air of the industrial outskirts of New York rushed back into their lungs. Blonsky collapsed to one knee on the concrete floor of the smelting plant, the sudden return of standard gravity feeling like a physical weight pressing down on his shoulders. His blood flow normalized as his heart rate synced with a human rhythm.
Aryan stood over him, a figure of absolute authority amidst the rust and shadows. He reached into the air, and from a shimmer of light, he produced a bone white artifact.
[PURCHASE CONFIRMED: Mask of Loki (Imitation Grade)]
[COST: $1,000,000]
"Your instructions are straightforward," Aryan said, his voice dropping into a pragmatic tone. He tossed the mask to Blonsky. It felt cool and smooth, like polished ivory. "This is a specialized concealment artifact. Once applied, it bonds to your dermis via molecular adhesion. It is invisible to infrared, thermal imaging, and facial recognition algorithms. Even in your human form, you are a ghost to the surveillance state."
Blonsky took the mask, feeling its strange texture, lighter than plastic but harder than steel.
"You will use this to establish a new identity," Aryan continued. "Even without transforming, your physiology retains the serum enhanced muscular density and accelerated synaptic response times. To the common criminal, you are already a god."
Aryan stepped back, his eyes tracking Blonsky's every movement. "You will leave the public view entirely."
Blonsky remained silent, his fingers tracing the edge of the mask.
"Phase one is capital acquisition," Aryan stated. "Banks, armored transfers, illegal holdings of the cartels. You will seize what is necessary to build your organization. Once you have sufficient funding, you will begin the recruitment process. We want something useful. Organizers, enforcers, and logistics experts already embedded in the criminal subterranean."
Aryan gestured toward the flickering lights of the Manhattan skyline in the distance. "New York's underworld is currently a fragmented mess, competing factions, none with the vision to lead. You will be that vision. Absorb the weak. Force cooperation through intimidation or strategic benefit. Eliminate resistance only when it cannot be subverted."
Blonsky's fists tightened, the mask beginning to glow faintly in his hand as it sensed his bio signature.
"You do not act unless it serves the long term stability of the Order," Aryan warned, his sapphire eyes flashing with a dangerous light. "And you do not involve civilians. Collateral damage is a signature of the amateur."
Blonsky finally looked up, his voice rough with disuse. "And when you call?"
"You respond," Aryan answered without a moment of hesitation. "Without question."
Aryan stepped back, the shimmering distortion of the Absolute Stealth field beginning to reclaim his form.
"You're free to move," Aryan said. "Start tonight. Build your network, Emil. I'll contact you when the variables require your intervention."
And just like that, the light bent, the air hummed, and Aryan was gone.
Blonsky stood alone in the dark factory, the mask reflecting the sliver of moon through the broken skylight. He slowly pressed it to his face. It fused with his skin, reshaping his features into something forgettable.
———-
Blonsky's POV
The concrete of Harlem felt like wet sand under my feet. Every time I slammed my fist into that green beast's jaw, I expected the world ending roar of him hitting me back. I was a god of bone and muscle, the ultimate version of what every soldier dreams of being, and for the first few minutes, I loved every second of it.
I watched the Hulk charge at me. I saw his massive frame tensing for a blow that should have sent me through a skyscraper. But as he swung, his foot dragged. Just a tiny bit. It was a stumble he shouldn't have had. He looked dizzy, his eyes going fuzzy like he'd just taken a blow he didn't see coming.
Is he sick? I wondered, even as I buried my elbow into his ribs. Is that green fire in his blood finally burning him out?
He was clumsy. His punches were a half second slow. His balance was shot. I didn't care why at the time. I just enjoyed the win. I watched him tuck tail and run into the shadows of the park like a wounded stray. I roared into the night, the king of the trash heap.
Then the man appeared. Or, he wasn't exactly a man. He was a blurry shape in the air, like a heat mirage on a desert road. Looking at him made my head hurt. I couldn't see his face. I couldn't even see the color of his eyes. He was just a ghost made of twisted light and bad intentions.
He told me I hadn't actually won. He told me he was the reason the Hulk had tripped. I wanted to kill him for saying it, but when I tried to jump, my body just... stopped.
It was like someone had pulled the plug on my brain. I was a statue of meat and bone, floating in the air while this shadow man treated my three thousand pound body like it weighed nothing at all.
One second I was in Harlem, and the next, I was in a nightmare. Everything was twisted. Up was down, light was bending in ways that made no sense. I couldn't see anything.
I felt something cold and powerful flood my body. It felt like being pulled apart and put back together. I felt those jagged bone spikes on my back shrinking, melting back into my skin. I felt the grotesque muscles that had been making me feel like a monster softening and shrinking. The rage in my blood finally went out.
When I opened my eyes, I was Emil Blonsky again. I could feel the cool air on my skin instead of that constant heat.
He gave me a choice, though we both knew I had to take it. He gave me a mask, a bone white thing that stuck to my face like it grew there. He told me it would hide me from every camera and sensor on the planet.
I don't know who he is. I don't know his name, his face, or what he's really planning. Is he a hero? A villain? I don't care.
Because as I stand here in the dark of this old factory, the white mask fused to my jaw, I realize one thing: I am not in a military lab. If General Ross had caught me, I'd be strapped to a table right now, my chest pinned open while they dug through my guts to see how I worked. I'd be a lab rat.
This shadow man gave me something the military never would: he gave me back myself. I can feel the monster sitting in the back of my mind, quiet but ready to come out when I want it to. I am the King of the Underground now, with the strength of a titan and the face of a ghost.
I don't know what he wants, but I'm not a weapon owned by a government. I'm a man doing a job for a ghost. And that's a hell of a lot better than being a specimen.