Unfortunately, the "spoils of war" Tony had promised Pepper were already gone, swept away into the atmosphere by the sheer force of Hebe Shikai's gale.
Of course, the transport vehicles Tony had called for weren't entirely useless. At the very least, they were able to load up the heavy, dead weight of the Iron Man Mark IV armor, which was now completely drained of its palladium core's energy.
A moment after Tony's sleek town car drove away, the roar of repulsor engines washed over the street. A sleek, black S.H.I.E.L.D. Quinjet descended vertically, kicking up the remaining dust.
The rear hatch hissed open, and the impeccably suited Phil Coulson stepped onto the ramp.
"I thought someone else would be coming to pick me up," Hawkeye remarked, slinging his collapsed bow over his shoulder.
"By 'someone else,' I assume you didn't mean me," Coulson replied with a mild, knowing smile.
"Nat!" Hawkeye called out playfully, looking past Coulson into the cockpit.
The woman in the pilot's seat turned her head. Natasha Romanoff flashed him a brief, genuine smile. When old friends meet on a battlefield, words are rarely needed. Natasha had been a lethal Black Widow of the Red Room, and she had only defected to S.H.I.E.L.D. because Clint Barton had made the call to spare her life.
Though the relentless grind of S.H.I.E.L.D. missions meant they rarely operated in the same sector anymore, their bond hadn't faded in the slightest.
Clint stepped into the hold, teasing Coulson about his receding hairline—a casualty of being the busiest man in the agency—as the Quinjet's hatch closed.
The jet ascended smoothly, cloaking systems engaging as it vanished into the morning sky.
Inside the cabin, Coulson handed a classified tablet to Hawkeye.
The screen displayed live satellite telemetry. It showed the violent storm Hebe Shikai had kicked up after leaving 5th Avenue. The Dragon Servant hadn't disappeared; instead, he was carving a path of destruction through the city, surrounded by a localized Category 4 hurricane.
'He's tearing the grid apart,' Clint thought, watching the red weather anomalies track across the map. 'He's actively searching for that reliquary.'
Hawkeye quickly briefed Coulson on everything he and Tony had learned from the ancient warrior. But as he spoke, his eyes drifted toward the back of the cabin.
Through the glass of a specialized S.H.I.E.L.D. medical pod, Clint recognized a familiar, star-spangled uniform.
"Captain?" Hawkeye's eyes widened, stepping closer to the pod. "What happened to him?"
Steve Rogers was unconscious, an emergency life-support system pumping stabilizing fluids into his veins. His skin was marred by horrific, branching electrical burns, as if he had been struck by a localized lightning storm.
Coulson didn't sugarcoat it.
"While you and Stark were holding the line against the Bronze Soldiers, Director Fury had the rest of us tracking their origin," Coulson explained. "We pulled the city's grid surveillance and traced the constructs back to the Rand Estate."
Coulson pointed to a high-resolution drone photograph displayed on the bulkhead monitor. It showed the Rand Estate, its grounds soaked in blood and littered with the bodies of The Hand's mercenaries.
"Natasha and I infiltrated the perimeter and found an excavated tunnel leading deep underground," Coulson continued. "But right outside the entrance, we found the Captain in this state."
"Is he going to make it?" Clint asked, his jaw tight.
"The super-soldier serum is doing its job," Coulson reassured him. "It looks severe, but the damage is mostly external. His internal organs weren't cooked. He'll recover, but he's out of the fight for now."
Hawkeye breathed a sigh of relief. He turned his attention back to the tablet. On the screen, the hurricane was rampaging closer to the densely populated shelters. Millions of panicked civilians were fleeing under the NYPD's frantic guidance.
"Are we just going to let him do this?" Hawkeye asked, his tone turning grim. "Didn't Fury give you a counter-measure?"
Coulson's expression mirrored Clint's gravity.
"This entity has enveloped himself in a hyper-compressed wind barrier," Coulson said. "Conventional ordnance can't penetrate it. As for strategic missile strikes... we can't drop bunker-busters in the heart of Manhattan."
Coulson's words hung heavily in the air. The situation was a tactical nightmare.
"So we do nothing?" Hawkeye demanded.
"No," Coulson replied, looking out the viewport. "The place we're heading to right now... is the only key we have left to resolving this."
[The Great Tomb of Nazarick - Upstate New York]
Neither Coulson nor Natasha had any desire to return to this place. The psychological terror of the silent, death-soaked forest still haunted their mission reports.
But they had no choice. Among all the known assets on the planet, only the master of the Great Tomb of Nazarick possessed the sheer, overwhelming power necessary to oppose a being like Hebe Shikai.
The Quinjet touched down smoothly in a clearing just outside a heavily fortified barbed-wire perimeter.
As the ramp lowered, a S.H.I.E.L.D. perimeter guard jogged up to meet them.
"Agent Coulson," the guard saluted crisply. "No anomalous activity reported in the forest during this rotation. We've already opened the primary access path for you."
Led by the guard, Coulson, Natasha, and Clint arrived at the reinforced gate. It was wide open, an eerie invitation into the shadows.
"Once we're inside, maintain strict comms silence," Coulson warned, looking specifically at Hawkeye. "Do not draw your weapon. Do not make sudden movements. Let me handle the talking."
Hawkeye frowned, puzzled by the extreme caution, but nodded. 'What kind of monster lives in there to spook Nat and Coulson this badly?' he thought.
The trio stepped past the wire.
The forest was exactly as Coulson remembered it. Utterly devoid of life. No birds, no insects, no wind rustling the leaves. It was a perfectly preserved graveyard.
They reached the massive, imposing gates of the Tomb without encountering a single trap or monster.
Coulson stepped forward, clearing his throat.
"Lord Ainz Ooal Gown!" Coulson called out, his voice echoing off the ancient stone. "I am Agent Phil Coulson of S.H.I.E.L.D.! Please forgive our unannounced arrival!"
A heavy, grinding rumble shook the earth. The massive palace doors swung open inward.
Standing in the grand entryway was a woman. She wore a pristine, traditional maid's uniform and a pair of sensible glasses. Her posture was flawless, her hands clasped neatly in front of her waist.
It was Yuri Alpha, Vice-Captain of the Pleiades. As the most polite and human-empathetic member of the Battle Maids, Ainz's intention in sending her as the greeter was clear: he was willing to talk.
"This way, please, honored guests," Yuri said, offering a graceful, welcoming bow. "Lord Ainz is already waiting for you in the Throne Room."
She turned and led them down the cavernous, opulent corridors.
For Coulson and Natasha, this was their second time walking these halls. Compared to the suffocating terror of their first visit, they were noticeably more relaxed. Coulson, ever the spy, even decided to casually probe for intelligence.
"Excuse me, Miss," Coulson began politely. "During our last visit, we didn't have the pleasure of meeting you."
Yuri glanced back over her shoulder, her expression perfectly serene.
"Perhaps Lord Ainz believed your initial visit required a more... intimidating formality," Yuri replied smoothly, offering a polite smile. "After all, we are simply maids."
Clint's eyes narrowed as he watched her walk. 'Simply maids?' he thought, his sharp archer's instincts screaming at him. 'The way she moves... there are no blind spots. She could snap my neck before I even drew an arrow. In this place, nothing is just a maid.'
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