"Thank you. Truly."
Captain America pushed himself up from the ground, his hands slick with blood, but his posture straightened the moment he faced the dark-clad Spider-Man beside him. Without hesitation, he bowed—deep and respectful, the kind of gesture you'd expect from a veteran soldier acknowledging a life-saving assist.
This was a man known across the world as a symbol of leadership.
And yet here he was, bowing to a teammate in the middle of a ruined battlefield.
It felt surreal.
But it also made perfect sense.
If not for the sudden appearance of that dark Spider-Man, there was no way they could have brought down that electric menace so cleanly. Without him, this entire fight could have turned into a disaster—and if that had happened, Steve's reputation would've taken a hit he couldn't recover from.
"This wouldn't have been possible without Captain Steve's command," the dark Spider-Man replied, giving a short nod in return.
They exchanged polite acknowledgments back and forth, each deflecting credit toward the other with practiced ease. It was smooth, almost rehearsed, like two professionals maintaining appearances in front of an unseen audience.
That was the tradition of this so-called "Black Robe Avengers."
On the surface, it was mutual respect.
Underneath, it was just business courtesy dressed up as heroism.
Off to the side, Hawkeye and Black Widow exchanged a brief glance before stepping in, both clearly satisfied with how things had turned out.
As for Electro?
He lay crumpled on the ground, his face a mess of blood and dirt, barely conscious after the relentless beating.
Enjoying the moment a little too much, Steve stepped forward again. His expression hardened, and without hesitation, he drove his boot into Electro's cheek with a sharp, satisfying impact.
The motion wasn't tactical.
It was personal.
That bastard had fried him earlier, burned through his defenses, and worst of all—taken out what little pride he still had left in his appearance. The once clean-cut hero had been reduced to a "bald captain," and that humiliation wasn't something he was willing to let slide.
"If the media gets hold of this…" Steve muttered, his face tightening as the thought crossed his mind.
Right on cue—
"Click! Click! Click!"
A rapid series of shutter sounds cut through the air.
Steve froze.
Slowly, he turned his head, eyes scanning the edge of the battlefield until they locked onto a figure he absolutely did not want to see.
"April…"
His face went pale.
April O'Neil walked toward them with confidence, camera crew close behind, her presence cutting through the tension like she owned the place. The way she carried herself wasn't just bold—it was confrontational, like she'd stepped into a battlefield she had every right to be in.
"Well, well," she said lightly, her voice carrying across the ruined plaza. "Isn't this the righteous Avengers team in all their glory?"
Steve forced a tight smile, shaking his head as if trying to brush it off. He gestured toward Electro's battered form on the ground, his tone sharpening.
"If you're here hoping to catch us looking bad, you're out of luck," he said coldly. "We've already taken down this mutant."
"Yeah," April replied, glancing over the wreckage and the bruised, exhausted figures around her. "Looks like you finally managed to win something after Butcher left."
The words landed like a slap.
Steve's face flushed red instantly.
That woman had a talent for hitting exactly where it hurt.
Everyone knew the truth behind that situation. It wasn't some noble departure—it was Director Fury's miscalculation that had driven Butcher away. And now, every comparison dragged that failure right back into the spotlight.
"You—"
Steve clenched his jaw, struggling to keep his temper in check.
Before things could escalate further, Black Widow stepped forward, her expression calm but her eyes sharp.
"There's no need for you to concern yourself with our performance," she said smoothly. "We're doing just fine. In fact, we've even gained a new ally."
Her tone was controlled, but there was an edge to it.
She and April had never seen eye to eye.
In her mind, it was this woman—this reporter—who had been circling Liam like a vulture, interfering with her own plans. The carefully constructed "honey trap" she'd been setting had collapsed, and she knew exactly who to blame.
Am I really that lacking?
The thought lingered for just a second before she pushed it aside, her posture tightening, her stance subtly shifting into something more combative.
"Bang!!!"
The sudden explosion shattered the fragile standoff.
From outside the immediate area, a streak of red flashed past, moving so fast it blurred into a single line of motion.
"The enemy's back?" the dark Spider-Man said instantly, his body going tense as his spider-sense flared to life.
Something was wrong.
Very wrong.
"Relax," Steve said, scanning the surroundings with practiced calm. "Everything's under control. There's no—"
"Captain… no. There's something else."
The dark Spider-Man's voice cut in, low and serious.
His expression had completely changed.
The spider-sense he inherited from Peter Parker wasn't subtle. It didn't trigger without reason. At first, it had been a faint pressure, a distant warning at the back of his mind.
Now?
It felt like a war drum pounding directly against his skull.
The sensation escalated rapidly, turning from discomfort into something suffocating. His chest tightened, his breathing hitched, and for the first time since entering this battlefield—
He felt genuine fear.
Even facing Electro hadn't triggered a response like this.
Whatever was coming… was on a completely different level.
"Who is it?" he muttered under his breath, eyes darting across the area.
Then suddenly, he broke formation, rushing forward a few steps as if trying to pinpoint the source.
"Who are you?!" he shouted into the open space, his voice sharp, almost unhinged.
…
Inside the S.H.I.E.L.D. operations room, the atmosphere had turned ice-cold.
Nick Fury stood in front of the monitoring screens, his single eye fixed on the live feed. Every detail of the battlefield played out in real time, and what he saw did not sit well with him.
"So this is what you meant by 'everything is under control'?" he said slowly, his voice carrying a dangerous edge.
Beside him, Leo Fitz stiffened.
"That's impossible," Fitz shot back immediately, his eyes wide with disbelief. "Absolutely impossible. My work is flawless. If something's happening, it's because an external factor is interfering. There's no way the system failed."
Fury didn't look convinced.
"That better be the case," he said flatly. "Because if it's not…"
He didn't finish the sentence.
He didn't have to.
Fitz swallowed hard, his face flushing red, but he forced himself to stand his ground.
"Then let's keep watching," he said.
Time dragged.
Three minutes passed.
Then five.
Nothing changed.
The battlefield remained eerily still, the tension hanging thick in the air like a storm waiting to break.
Fitz's confidence started to crack.
His face drained of color, his hands trembling slightly as the realization began to sink in. He lowered his head, the words forming in his throat, ready to admit failure—
"Wait—"
A sudden exclamation cut through the room.
"Oh my God. What is that?"
Fitz snapped his head up, rushing toward the monitor.
And then he saw it.
A towering red figure stepped into view, its massive frame casting a long shadow across the battlefield. It stood over three meters tall, its presence alone warping the atmosphere around it.
For a second, Fitz just stared.
Then something inside him snapped.
"I told you!" he exploded, pointing straight at Fury. "I told you I was right! I didn't do anything wrong! You think you understand science? You're just giving orders from behind a desk!"
The shift was immediate.
From panic to vindication.
From fear to fury.
Fury's expression darkened even further, his jaw tightening as he absorbed the outburst.
But he didn't argue.
Not this time.
Instead, he let out a quiet breath and turned his attention back to the screen.
"Fine," he said, his tone flat but cold. "Then let's see how this plays out."
Someone nearby stepped in cautiously, trying to ease the tension.
"Agent Fitz… that was out of line. You need to calm down."