Steve slowly opened his eyes. He felt a bit dizzy, as if he couldn't breathe, but years of vigilance and combat instinct still allowed him to control himself by willpower.
He found himself trapped in a transparent bubble, sensing the waves around him, but that's about it. The only thing he could move was his neck, and looking up, he couldn't even see the sunlight above the sea.
God, no one said Hell is a water prison.
Steve thought to himself, attempting to clench his fists and break free from the chains on his wrists. The transparent liquid should be water, but it's like elastic colloid, no matter how he tore and twisted, it firmly restrained him.
This feels like magic.
Captain America seemed to return to the battlefields of World War II, where NAZI's warlock troops also used magic, a time when he had the most frequent contact with magic.
But those warlocks preferred fire and lightning, as they represented destruction, and dealing with those maniacs was mostly the Magic Prince's task, as he was the Mage in the Invasion Team.
And water.... In his memory, only one person would manipulate water in such a manner.
"Namor! Is that you?!"
He shouted in the bubble, but he had no idea how far the sound could travel underwater.
He heard a faint collision sound beside him, turned to look, and found it was Peggy.
She was trapped in the same bubble, right next to him, jumping forcefully up and down to make noise and attract Steve's attention.
Then she shouted loudly, but he couldn't hear clearly, as if separated by mountains and rivers.
So Peggy soon slowed her speech, letting Steve read her lips.
"We're at the seabed..."
Steve said word by word, reading the lips, then he smiled wryly: "Thanks for the info, I'll notify the press."
He was just captured, not blind, of course he knew they were at the seabed.
Peggy rolled her eyes; sometimes Steve was really unreliable, not as sharp as Baki.
He didn't even think about how the water pressure at the seabed hadn't crushed them within these bubbles. Whoever captured them had powers completely unprecedented.
But both were alive, so the captor must have a plan. At least she should figure out who they were, whether human or not.
Then ideally, they should escape, and failing that, try to contact SSR.
Although retired, in the spy trade, you can't hide forever. Who can emerge clean from the mud?
At this moment, they saw a humanoid creature swimming past nearby, a robust giant about three meters tall.
His attire was bizarre too, wearing green pants on the bottom and a shark head as a helmet on top. His blue face was exposed from the shark's open mouth, like a person wearing a motorcycle helmet.
Peggy closed her eyes, preparing to feign unconsciousness and listen to the creature's intentions.
Steve saw the outfit and felt it looked familiar. He shouted with the loudest voice: "Hey! Shark Head! Over here!"
Perhaps due to the creature's sensitive hearing, or maybe he was already headed for them, it certainly drew his attention.
He swam closer, pressed his hand on Steve's bubble, and conveyed sound through vibration.
The creature's English was very poor, but at least understandable: "....you, you are, prisoners, of the King's."
"Who is your King?!" Steve realized things were proceeding in an undesirable direction. He just hoped the ocean and land were divided among various nations.
Yet the Sharkman showed no intent to explain, his dead fish eyes glanced at Peggy before turning away, disregarding Steve's desire to communicate.
"Damn it!"
Steve snorted through his nose, and the air bubble bore the scent of seawater.
Peggy opened her eyes, mouthed to him: "Are these Namor's men?"
"...." Steve was just frowning, not confirming: "I don't know, maybe they're U Demon's men. You know he vanished with many U-boats after Germany's defeat."
Peggy saw his demeanor, knew it well, though unsure how Steve identified their affiliation, but indeed they were King Namor's subordinates.
Steve didn't want to admit it, still clinging to a final hope.
Despite Namor not being on good terms with the Invasion Team, he joined in NAZI-killing merely en route, whether with them or not didn't matter to him.
Yet Captain America still considered him an ally.
He truly hoped not to fight old friends, especially underwater, while with Carter.
Everything around was so foreign that even if they escape the bubble, where could they go?
He wanted to meet the mastermind face-to-face; if unfortunately, it's Namor, he must ask for reasons.
...............
Miyajima, Yamamoto family's courtyard.
"There's no scent in the grass, it isn't human." Logan tossed the cigar, and the red glow gradually dimmed on the snow, while white bone claws extended from his hands.
Logan had lived with wolves in Canada for a long time. Even now, when identifying various creatures, he still prefers relying on his keen sense of smell.
Natasha flicked off the safety of her pistol and stood back to back with Logan at the bedroom door because more bushes were shaking and rustling.
In the darkness, it seemed as if some demon was hiding inside.
"Are you sure? No scent at all?"
Her focus seemed different, emphasizing the question again.
Logan got irritated by the question, saying no meant no. This is the annoying part about Mao Sister, not at all like Japanese women who listen.
He replaced his answer with action, pushing off with his legs. Two furry thighs emerged from beneath his robe, launching towards the nearest bush like a toad.
"Whoosh whoosh whoosh...."
The sound, dense like a torrential rain hitting leaves, rang out as Logan, having no support mid-air, was struck by flying needles suddenly shooting out from the bush.
In just that brief moment of airborne time, his whole front was filled with needles, like he had plunged onto a cactus.
But these injuries were nothing to him, not painful or itchy. As he landed in the grass, he swung his bone claws, skewering an odd-looking object on his fist.
He lifted it up, examining it carefully under the moonlight.
It was a large puppet, its upper body dressed in the manner of a geisha, holding a shamisen in its arms, wearing a pink embroidered kimono.
But it had no lower body; below the waist were thin treads, presumably used for movement.
The strange object that had now shut down had exaggeratedly opened its jaw, revealing a structure inside like a hive from where the dense needles had just shot out.
"A Japanese doll? Is this a gift you brought me?" Logan tossed the doll to the ground and sliced its head off with his bone claws. The thing, made of wood and metal, emitted a weak spark from its severed end.
Natasha showed no sign of relaxing: "I didn't know you were getting married today, how could I have brought a gift? Be careful, these things feel really eerie."
The pallid Japanese doll, moving with treads yet leaving no tracks in the snow, had deliberately let itself be discovered earlier. This was all too strange.
"Ha ha? Are you scared of this thing?" Wolverine cracked a true man's smile, brushing off dozens of fine needles from his front like one might stroke a beard, the tiny blood droplets turning his face red: "In Japan, this is called Chiben, a ninja weapon used to hit pressure points, but these toys don't recognize pressure points, so they pose no threat to me."
"Oh? Legendary pressure points and meridians, so you know them?" Natasha guarded the door, preventing a surprise attack.
"I... indeed, haha, ahem!" Logan turned his head and pounced towards another bush.
But he didn't need to make a move now, as all sorts of Japanese dolls emerged from the surrounding bushes, each with different hairstyles and clothing, holding different musical instruments.
The jaw of each puppet dropped, and in the moonlight, a silver gleam locked down all directions around Logan.
And he lost control of his body the next instant, keeling over in the snow, with his front now looking like it's covered in long, silver hair.
After firing the Chiben, these puppets made no further attack moves; rather, they began to play various ancient Japanese folk songs with their instruments.
The only issue was the shamisen player, broken by Logan earlier, making the tune like a machine missing a gear. Initially eerie at midnight, the flawed tune more resembled a ghostly moan.
Fortunately, the Yamamoto family had drunk quite a bit tonight, even Ichiro had rewarded the servants with drinks, so despite all this noise, no one came out to check, or they'd surely be frightened.
Natasha rolled her eyes; she knew it would turn out like this.
Adjusting her Widow Sting slightly, she clinked her bracelets together, releasing an invisible electromagnetic pulse.
The eerie puppets instantaneously tilted their heads, frozen.
"Give me a hand..." Logan, lying in the snow, blew at the snowflakes and struggled to speak.
Natasha ambled over, looked at the puppets with a real sense of interest, and then helped Logan to his feet.
She grimaced slightly as she began pulling needles from him, one by one.
"Can't tell the pressure points, huh? Well, I see they didn't need to."
"Poisoned... on the needles." Logan's lips were blue and purple, trembling as he warned her, feeling like his heart was about to explode.
Natasha made a noise of acknowledgment — things like needle tips, small blades, or fine steel wires were, of course, always poison-tipped. Wasn't this common knowledge?
A female special agent of the SSR might not know this, but the Leviathan's Red House certainly taught plenty of poisoning methods.
Though her body had left that hell, the memories were unforgettable; she could only ensure they were used for better purposes now.
Seeing Wolverine in such a state, she was somewhat grateful for not having face-planted into the bushes like Logan. The well-trimmed little pines in the Japanese garden were truly obstructive in winter — planting deciduous trees would avoid such hazards...
"No choice, I don't have an antidote, we'll have to tough it out."
Natasha pulled out a few pieces, and now Logan looked like a bald rooster, but at least he could move.
She had tried using an EMP earlier; all the puppets were paralyzed, indicating that although their shells were wooden, they still operated on electricity inside.
These were robots crafted with Japanese tradition and modern technology; her foremost task now was to determine who they were really after.
Her little uncle? Or herself?