In Nick Fury's eyes, Skyl was a mysterious figure, and at times a dangerous one. But he was also the kind of asset that could be brought into the fold. Much like Captain Marvel, Carol Danvers. To the countless ordinary people of Earth, Carol was practically a goddess, yet she could still choose to be humanity's protector and a friend to S.H.I.E.L.D. There was no need for everything to end in bloodshed.
When it came to superhumans and superpowered incidents, Nick Fury had real strategic vision. He did not let himself be boxed in by the narrow Cold War mindset of us-or-them. On the contrary, he believed extraordinary forces that could be united should be united, so they could stand against common enemies together.
On a stage where superheroes and supervillains clashed, an ordinary organization like S.H.I.E.L.D. served as the glue and lubricant. It was the bridge between normal people and the extraordinary, the thing that allowed the stories of both sides to intersect.
"You're going to New Mexico because of that hammer, right?" Nick did not wait for Skyl to answer before laying out S.H.I.E.L.D.'s research dilemma. "Our people already secured the thing that fell out of the sky, but other than burning through hot dogs, beer, Playboy, and entire boxes of tissues every day, the science nerds haven't managed to produce a single decent page of academic analysis."
Skyl gazed out at the passing city through the window and answered in an easy tone, "That's Thor's hammer."
Nick was delighted to squeeze at least one useful piece of information out of him. "That name sounds familiar. I know I've heard it somewhere before. Don't tell me, I definitely know it, it's right on the tip of my tongue, do not tell me..."
Skyl really did not remind him.
In the end, Nick failed to come up with the answer himself and could only grin awkwardly. "A little hint?"
"Thor's hammer, Mjolnir. Legend says it was forged by the gods of Asgard from the core of a dying star. Anyone unrecognized by Mjolnir cannot wield the divine hammer. Whether it's the forging technology or the enchantment craftsmanship, both are far beyond anything Earth's current civilization can achieve."
Nick kept pressing, determined to chase down every term that came out of Skyl's mouth.
Skyl reminded him, "Keep your eyes on the road."
"I could drive this road with my eyes clo—"
Before he could finish, a heavy truck suddenly burst out from a side street and slammed into the S.H.I.E.L.D. director's SUV. The truck shoved the vehicle sideways down the street, the tires screeching against the asphalt and sending up thick smoke. More vehicles poured in from all directions, stopping haphazardly as armed men jumped out.
They carried a chaotic assortment of firearms and came on hard, looking every bit like they intended to carry out a public execution in broad daylight.
Nick Fury's specially modified vehicle was rammed into a streetlight pole by the truck, the bent metal wedging under the chassis and lifting part of the SUV off the ground. One side's tires were hanging in the air. It was obviously going nowhere now. They were stuck as sitting ducks.
The truck driver bailed out and ran. The gunmen formed a half circle and opened fire at once.
Bullets poured down like a blazing metal storm, slamming into the bulletproof armor and windows with rapid, high-pitched shrieks, throwing off ten thousand sparks.
Nick had been rattled senseless by the sudden collision, and Skyl, sitting in the passenger seat, had taken the brunt of it. Still, he was in much better shape than Nick.
A faint dragon-scale shimmer of magical light surfaced over Skyl's skin. Every bit of impact had been blocked by that thin, translucent layer of scales. He might have been sitting inside the SUV, but he was actually tougher than the vehicle itself.
"We've run into a little trouble," Skyl said with a smile. He tightened his seat belt and adjusted himself into a more comfortable position.
"These motherfuckers!"
The outside of the windows was now covered in dense spiderweb cracks, a cloudy blur. From inside the car, all they could hear was a terrifying barrage like raindrops hammering on a roof. It was as if knives were falling from the sky. If they got out, they would die. But staying inside might not keep them safe either.
Nick made his decision fast. He tapped rapidly on the center console, and a rotary cannon rose from the roof. A four-barreled minigun loaded with depleted-uranium armor-piercing rounds opened up on the pavement in front of the shooters. The hardened asphalt was chewed apart as if it were soft cookies, a ring of bullet holes appearing in the blink of an eye.
If those rounds hit a human body, there would be no such thing as a bruise or a flesh wound. People would end up scattered in pieces. As an official government figure, Nick had no desire to turn New York into a battlefield slaughterhouse scene like that.
The gang gunmen fled in panic, scrambling for cover.
The gunfire ceased. Nearby car alarms shrieked hysterically. The citizens of New York were panicked but not foolish. They either ran or took cover. No one was stupid enough to stay and watch the excitement.
If superheroes were out saving the world, maybe some idiot would risk their life for clicks and footage. But a regular gunfight? Who cared. Unless the street was running red with blood, it probably would not even make the front page.
With the tires still hanging in the air, Nick's vehicle could not get free right away.
At the same time, the gang shooters had already begun organizing a second wave of attack. They looked like a mob of random thugs, but they were showing surprisingly decent discipline, which said a lot about whoever was pulling the strings behind them.
But a fist made from gathered mud would never beat a pair of iron shears.
Kingpin had unified New York's underworld and launched a frenzied retaliation against Skyl.
He had no idea that the power Skyl commanded could uproot the foundations of an evil empire with absurd ease.
Gangsters were criminals, and if criminals no longer dared to commit crimes, then the underworld would simply vanish like smoke. If justice and law shone into every corner like the sun, where would any shadow still have room to exist?
It would not.
Skyl took out the Law Crystal Orb, examined it for a moment, then fed it to Mora's Book before reciting a spell in a low voice.
Mora let out quiet praise, followed by a satisfied sigh.
Sacred, solemn words echoed through the car.
Nick curled his lip. "Listen, Padre, this is not the time. God's teachings are a lot less useful right now than Nobel and Maxim." He pulled a Glock from his waist and slapped it into Skyl's hand. "Here. Use this. Works great."
The corner of Skyl's mouth lifted in a smile, a look full of unreadable meaning.
Nick activated the escape protocol. The SUV shifted into off-road configuration, the suspension rising until all four wheels touched the ground again, giving it enough traction to move.
He floored the gas pedal and broke out of the encirclement with a slick, showy turn.
The Motherfucker Hero smugly jerked his chin at Skyl and laughed. "See that? As long as I'm around, you'll be absolutely sa—"
Before he could finish, he caught a flash of fire in the rearview mirror. It was the tail flame of an RPG racing after them.
"WTF! RPG!"
The rocket struck the rear of the vehicle.
With a thunderous explosion, the three-ton S.H.I.E.L.D. field vehicle performed a sluggish forward flip in the middle of the street and landed upside down.
The blast wave shattered the windows, peppering Nick's face with glass shards. The old man clenched his teeth, stars bursting in his vision. He could not hear a thing. Half his body was being blasted by the hot air of the explosion from outside the broken window, leaving it numb, while the other half felt cold.
He swore to himself that once he got back, he would have the equipment department upgrade his ride again. He wanted the armor as thick as possible and the glass as strong as possible. Absolutely no more getting dropped by a single RPG.
In the middle of the dizzy haze, Nick turned to look at the passenger seat.
Skyl had already vanished, without a trace, like a wisp of smoke.
By then, the gang gunmen had caught up.
Nick gave a bitter shake of the head. "You've got to be fucking kidding me." The vehicle's AI had already called for backup automatically. Standard support response time was five minutes. He just had to hold out until then.
He looked out the window. The upside-down ground was full of frantic footsteps as the gunmen stopped outside the doors. Nick prepared himself for a brutal fight.
And yet the gunmen did nothing.
They just stood there outside, their steps unsteady, as if they had witnessed some terrifying vision.
What was going on?
Had reinforcements arrived?
A violent ringing filled Nick's ears as his hearing began to return.
Then he heard a deep, calm voice, as though it were rising from the depths of his own soul. It was not just Nick. Every single person in New York heard it.
"I hereby establish the Law. This Law shall be Fate itself, and no mortal may defy it."
"All who dwell within this city and bear guilt shall be punished."
"Only by doing good may sin be redeemed."
The moment Nick heard those words, endless memories rose inside him.
He remembered the winter of 1944. After the European second front had opened, the Howling Commandos he served with were the first into the Alsace-Lorraine region. There, he had mistakenly killed a civilian child.
Every time he thought back on it, the memory was a tangled mess. Nick Fury had killed many people in his life. He told himself he had fought for justice and peace, but innocent blood had still stained his hands.
A sudden wave of nausea hit him.
The guilt of killing the innocent felt like a fist smashing into his stomach. His organs began to spasm and contract uncontrollably.
And then he threw up.
Outside the vehicle, the gang gunmen were vomiting too. The whole scene looked like one of those classic Flash games about a puking hobo, except now it was an entire crowd of thugs retching their guts out.
Across the whole of New York, more than 1.6 million people were struck by sudden vomiting.
Above the city rang out one loud, unified cry:
"Bleurgh—!"
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