Become a Homelander and a Marvel superstar

Mephisto seduced him:

"Isn't this the kind of drama that you human heroes love to watch? Punishing evil and promoting good, helping the weak and punishing the strong."

"This world is full of scum, drug lords, and serial killers. They don't deserve to live, and you need power. Send their souls to hell, and you can reclaim your own hellfire."

"Only when a person possesses the power can they do what they want to do."

"When you possess absolute power that doesn't require you to defer to anyone, what is S.H.I.E.L.D.? What is Voughty?"

"Do you want to spend your whole life in this igloo, watching the world be destroyed?"

The devil's whispers echoed in the room.

A silence fell over the air, and Fury remained seated in the same position.

Mephisto was very patient; he wasn't in a hurry. For a demon, time is the one thing he has no shortage of.

Finally, Fury spoke.

"Are you done talking?"

Mephisto smiled slightly: "That's all."

"Then get lost."

Fury uttered those three words coldly, without a trace of emotion.

"As you wish, old friend."

Mephisto wasn't angry at the blunt expulsion; instead, he laughed happily.

He straightened up and elegantly adjusted the collar of his suit jacket.

"The gates of hell are always open for you."

With the final echo, the devil vanished completely from the room.

It was as if nothing had happened.

Fury sat quietly at his desk, motionless.

Tick-tock, tick-tock, tick-tock, the clock hand keeps turning.

10 PM.

Two o'clock in the morning.

Five o'clock in the morning.

The blizzard outside the window stopped and started again, then started again and stopped again.

Fury didn't sleep all night.

He sat there quietly all night, staring blankly ahead.

A long, black-and-white film played in his mind. From his first day in the military, to becoming a S.H.I.E.L.D. agent, and then climbing to that position of life and death. He had told countless lies and betrayed his conscience many times.

He firmly believed that everything he did was to protect this fragile world.

But what did he ultimately gain?

Betrayal, isolation, and this cold cage.

"A person must rely on themselves."

Mephisto's words echoed in his mind like a curse, impossible to shake off.

Seven o'clock in the morning.

Fury made a move; he turned on his computer and accessed Walter's internal email.

In the main body of the text, only two simple words were typed:

"I Quit."

Click send.

Then, he walked to the coat rack and took down the black trench coat that had been with him for many years.

Two fully armed security personnel are on duty in front of the base's alloy gate.

As Fury approached, the two security guards greeted him.

Good morning, Manager Fury.

Fury did not respond. He walked to the verification gate and took out his ID card.

"Beep... Verification successful. Supervisor privileges granted, passage permitted."

The heavy alloy doors slid open slowly to both sides.

Outside the door was a vast, white world of ice and snow.

He took a step and stepped into the wind and snow.

"Sir, the weather outside is extremely bad. Would you like to arrange a vehicle?" a security guard asked.

Fury didn't stop or look back. His figure was quickly swallowed up by the swirling snow.

He didn't know what awaited him ahead, but he knew very well what he had to do.

In his own way.

……

Brooklyn, New York.

In a dark and damp abandoned dock warehouse, a brutal execution is taking place.

The air was thick with the stench of blood mixed with the smell of gunpowder.

Frank Castle, a man who has just lost everything.

His wife, his son, and his daughter were all murdered to silence them after witnessing a gangland feud.

He believed in the law, he waited for the police. But all he got was the shirking of responsibility by corrupt officials and the escape of the murderers.

Justice is delayed, so he won't wait any longer.

At this moment, Frank is a father who has crawled back from hell to seek revenge, a lone wolf who has lost his mind.

"Bang! Bang!"

Two muffled gunshots rang out, and two Mafia thugs who tried to resist had a burst of blood between their eyebrows and fell straight into the puddle.

Frank stepped over the corpses expressionlessly, walked to the deepest part of the warehouse, and kicked open the rusty iron door.

Costa, the mafia boss who orchestrated the revenge killing, was cowering in a corner, trembling, holding a gold-plated pistol but not even having the courage to raise it.

"Please, please let me go! I have a family! I have a wife and children!" Costa pleaded, scrambling and crawling as he looked at Frank who was closing in on him.

Frank didn't waste any words, shooting him twice in the legs, then strode forward and kicked the gun out of his hand.

He grabbed Costa by the hair, who had already collapsed, and slammed him against the wall.

The gun was pressed firmly against his jaw.

Frank said expressionlessly, "I've been there too."

His finger had begun to apply the final pressure to the trigger.

"Give that man to me, Frank."

At that moment, a deep voice came from the shadows.

Without any hesitation, Frank kept his left hand firmly on Costa, while his right hand swiftly turned the pistol in the direction from which the sound came.

"Bang bang bang!"

He fired three bullets in quick succession without hesitation.

"Bang! Ding!"

Two more gunshots rang out from the shadows, sparks flashing in the dimly lit warehouse.

Frank dodged the incoming bullets with a tactical roll to the side and took cover behind a large wooden crate.

He quickly changed to a new magazine, and with a "click," a bullet was chambered, his eyes sharp as an eagle.

"Your skills haven't declined, Frank." The voice came again from the darkness.

"Bang! Bang! Bang!"

Without warning, without hesitation, three bullets were fired again in a triangular pattern towards the shadowy spot from which the sound had come.

In Frank's mind, anyone who tried to stop him from executing his enemy on such a occasion was an enemy.

From the shadows, a figure in a black trench coat suddenly darted out to the side.

The bullet grazed the edge of the trench coat and struck the brick wall behind it, sending shards of stone flying.

Frank's eyes narrowed; this reaction speed was definitely not something an ordinary gangster could possess.

He immediately rolled forward, attempting to close the distance and suppress the enemy with close-range firepower.

But the dark figure was also quite fast.

He burst out of the shadows, delivering a powerful sweeping kick aimed straight at Frank's neck.

Frank raised his arms to block the blow and slid back half a step.

The two engaged in close combat.

Knee strikes, elbow strikes, gun butt strikes. The sounds of metal scraping and flesh colliding echoed continuously in the empty warehouse.

After dozens of rounds of fighting, the two were suddenly separated after a violent collision.

Frank's M1911 was steadily pointed at the dark figure ahead.

The dark figure's gun was locked onto Frank's forehead.

Evenly matched.

Frank finally got a good look at the person opposite him.

"Put the gun down, Frank." The figure slowly lowered the muzzle of his gun. "It's me, Nick Fury."