Marvel Magic Case Files

Chapter 620 The Legacy of S.H.I.E.L.D. (First Update)

"What do you want?" Nick Fury asked. "Isn't the legacy of S.H.I.E.L.D. enough to fill your stomach?"

"I've ordered all my forces to stand by, but it's far from enough." Salomon ignored the former S.H.I.E.L.D. director's sarcasm. Even having witnessed it firsthand, he didn't feel ashamed of plundering vast amounts of S.H.I.E.L.D. assets. Compared to being used by secular governments as bargaining chips and research data in the next arms race, or as stepping stones for the internal strife of human resources, at least he could use those strategic resources for the safety of all humanity. "I want you to use your hidden strength, Nick Fury," he said. "I want you to play a few cards. I don't believe you didn't have a few cards up your sleeve, otherwise you wouldn't have come down from that secret space station alone."

"What did you see now? I'm just a poor, blind vagrant now. Do you still think I'm as powerful and influential as before?" Nick Fury's one eye was fixed on the sorcerer. "I'm retired, Salomon. I can't even afford my next lunch."

"My missiles are already aimed at your orbital space station, Nick Fury." Salomon waved his hand dismissively, uninterested in Fury's attempt to conceal anything. "A grand ambition, trying to get Earth to interfere in cosmic affairs this way. But I can only tell you, it's the most foolish idea in the world. Your actions will only hasten humanity's demise, but that's not what we're discussing today. Don't try to hide anything from me; I also know that orbital space station doesn't have many orbital defense systems. Now is the time for you to exchange the lives of your most loyal Skrulls for the lives of humanity. I think it's a good deal. How can those green bugs compare to humans, can they?"

Nick Fury had no doubt about Salomon's current military strength; he knew perfectly well how much Salomon had taken from the Hydra rebellion. Moreover, he believed that someone like Salomon wouldn't be limited to those forces; he was certainly developing his own power base in secret. Although he didn't know if Salomon's claims about missiles were true or false, even a single RPG-7, paired with a portal, would be an incredibly powerful strategic weapon.

"You still haven't answered my question, Salomon. What exactly did your prophecy foresee? What problems will Ultron cause?" Nick Fury pointed to his one eye, barely suppressing the unease of his secret being exposed. He only felt this way after meeting Salomon; before this man, no one had ever been able to reveal his secret so readily.

Magic, damn magic again!

"When it comes to dealing with Ultron, I stand with the Avengers."

"Is that all?" Nick Fury narrowed his eyes. Even Salomon needed to help the Avengers, which meant the disaster this event would bring was no less than the Battle of New York, and could very well lead to the destruction of human civilization. He recalled the missions Salomon had actively participated in: extradimensional evil god invasions, demon invasions, alien fleet invasions… He sighed and crossed his arms.

Yes, that's all.

A stranger wearing a black cloak walks through the war-torn city of Sokovia.

This stranger had no name, only a number, because he had not yet earned one. He wandered along the winding, broken cobblestone path, shrouded in shadow between makeshift tents and incandescent bulbs, carefully avoiding tangled wires, wrecked tires, and cars that never passed their annual inspections, keeping as far away as possible from anyone who might strike up a conversation. Even though years had passed since the last time this place was ravaged by war, the city had not yet recovered from its wounds. Disability and poverty still plagued everyone here, the pungent smell of gunpowder in the air seemed never to have dissipated, and the old buildings constructed half a century ago, destroyed by modern artillery, had never been repaired. It seemed as if this place had never been far from war.

Even so, he couldn't help but marvel at the resilience of the human race.

Even though these people's faces were pale from malnutrition, and their clothes were worn and fuzzy from repeated washing, perhaps having passed through countless owners, they still huddled together to share the little warmth left after the disaster. His facial analysis courses allowed him to understand that these people were merely finding joy in suffering, as indicated by the pile of broken bottles he had just jumped over. He felt a pang of sorrow, for he saw corruption here; all the beauty of humanity was nothing more than flowers frozen in the cold wind. The boy had reviewed the UN aid program for Sokovia; all the aid had been delivered to the local government. If the food had truly reached the local people, he wouldn't have seen so many emaciated children on the streets.

The boy knew the reason.

The previous government was a new government established by the opposition party after a rebellion years earlier, an administrative system set up with American assistance following a meaningless democratic election. If not for this, Baron Strucker would not have been so popular locally; Hydra seemed so merciful compared to the American-controlled comprador class, not to mention the terror of the secret police forces established by the local government to suppress the guerrillas roaming the mountains.

After overthrowing the weak and ineffective local government, Baron Strucker provided employment for the locals, feeding a large number of people who would otherwise have been unable to survive. In the face of starving people, discussing morality and stances is meaningless. "When the granaries are full, people know etiquette; when they are well-fed and clothed, they know honor and shame"—this was the only saying he could think of, knowledge instilled in him by the monarch. He needed ancient knowledge from a different civilization, taught personally by the monarch—he knew that in the eyes of the locals, the Avengers, who shouted slogans of liberating Sokovia and eliminating Baron Strucker, the only one who could feed them, were the true evil; survival was the only justice.

"It is also the only justice in the future human world." He said softly, his expression unmoved by what he saw. His mind had undergone a dual adjustment of secret arts and chemistry, and endless hypnosis was constantly hammering at his soul, allowing him to calmly face any terrifying scene that would make one's legs go weak, including that darkest future.

He leaped repeatedly across the walls of the narrow alleyways between buildings, climbing onto the almost interconnected low rooftops with the creaking of his lightweight exoskeleton joints. It was hard to imagine the strength of a nine-year-old boy carrying several kilograms of equipment under his cloak. Through a mysterious genetic alchemy known only to a select few, the boy possessed height and muscles far exceeding his peers. A second heart and muscles that grew while he slept in the incubation chamber supported him in actions that even an adult man would find difficult. His brain and nervous system had also been modified, and implanted glands allowed him to fight for extended periods without fatigue. His training enabled him to survive freely in the wild and in the city. All his modifications would be completed within the next few years; his master would accelerate the process through time manipulation, otherwise, the modifications would take decades.

If he fails during the surgical adaptation program, then no one will remember him.

He planned to find an empty house to stay in today, and then do a final check on his equipment before the battle.

It's not difficult; the air here is thick with the smell of death.

Please vote for me!

(End of this chapter)