Somewhere beneath the fog-choked streets of Berlin, in a warehouse that smelled of machine oil and old concrete, sat two figures.
The woman sat behind a metal desk that had seen better decades. Her suit was immaculate - charcoal gray, no wrinkles, no dust despite the grimy surroundings. Her face was sharp, ageless, eyes like chips of frozen glass. She didn’t move much. Didn’t need to. Her silence had killed men before she spoke.
The man opposite her was older. Broad-shouldered, thinning hair pulled back tight, fingers stained with ink and gunpowder. He was the Head of Hand Operations in Europe. But in front of her, he was nothing.
"Ten attacks in three weeks," she said. Her voice didn’t rise. Didn’t need to. "Warehouses burned. Supply lines severed. Key personnel eliminated."
"Are you?" She tilted her head slightly. "Because from where I sit, one girl is dismantling our whole operations in this continent."
"It’s not just any girl." The man’s jaw tightened. "It’s her. The daughter of that man. The one who caused us considerable trouble before his elimination."
The woman’s expression didn’t change, but something shifted in the air. "She should be dead by now. The attack on the headquarters should have been her final act. You should have sent everyone after her. Instead, she’s making a mockery of us with these constant raids. Will I have to step in personally, as I did with her father?"
"We can handle her. She’s not that strong."
"Then why is she still breathing?"
The man hesitated, choosing his words like a man navigating a minefield. "She’s protected."
"The ghost, the demon."
The temperature in the room seemed to plummet. "The boy? You’re certain?"
"My people have observed her coming and going from his manor. She lives there, trains there. And whenever we get close enough for a killing strike..." He spread his hands helplessly. "Things happen. Our people lose memories, find themselves in remote locations with no recollection of how they arrived. It’s his signature."
"I thought you had an understanding with him." Her fingers drummed once on the desk—the first sign of irritation she’d displayed. "We don’t touch Phoenix Group or his other interests. He doesn’t touch ours."
"I thought so too, but I’ve never actually met him face to face. Only that message he left in my bedroom - the one that appeared while I slept."
The woman leaned forward slightly. "So you think the deal is off?"
The man shook his head quickly. "No, I don’t believe he’s directly involved. If he were, we’d be ash by now. The girl’s vendetta is personal. She would have come for us regardless of his involvement. Perhaps he’s simply... providing sanctuary."
"Sanctuary is involvement." She stood, moved to the wall where a old phone hung. "This requires clarification."
She made several calls. The man caught fragments: references to old agreements, whispers of consequence, balance, wizards, shield, organizations he didn’t understand.
When she finished, the ghost of a smile touched her lips.
"Good news," she said, returning to the desk with deliberate steps. "The boy is bound by certain restrictions. He cannot act directly against us, and he’s promised to maintain that position. It’s only the girl we need to concern ourselves with."
"But if she’s under his protection—"
"He cannot help her," The woman’s smile sharpened. "So you can act. But you will not kill her. Not initially. Capture her. Leave her alive—bound, helpless, but breathing. He will save her. My sources indicate she’s allowed one rescue due to their connection. If she attacks again after that warning..." She let the implication hang like a blade. "Then the restrictions no longer apply. We can eliminate her without consequences."
"But she’s highly skilled. Controlling our force to subdue without killing will be difficult."
"Then don’t hold back. Go all out. If she dies despite our best intentions..." The woman shrugged with elegant indifference. "Send him to me. I’ll negotiate directly."
The man’s lips curled into something that wasn’t quite a smile. "Understood."
He stood, understanding the dismissal. "I’ll inform the others immediately."
The door sealed behind him with a soft click. Fresh chapters posted on 𝔫𝔬𝔳𝔢𝔩⚫𝔣𝔦𝔯𝔢⚫𝔫𝔢𝔱
The warehouse fell silent except for the distant drip of water somewhere in the darkness.
One week later. London.
Arthur sat surrounded by an unusual collection in his study. Not the ancient tomes and grimoires that typically occupied his attention, but modern hardbound textbooks—physics, computer science, advanced mathematics.
The sight would have been odd enough, but the massive screen dominating one wall made it surreal. Blue light bathed the room as equations, diagrams, and code scrolled past—a computer interface decades ahead of anything Earth had developed.
Arthur having his time table freed up after no longer being busy controlling the dream network or observing the Kree and creating dreams, a lot of his time was freed. Time he’d decided to invest in an old passion: technology.
It was a pursuit that had burned bright until a few years ago. He’d even applied to MIT, pouring his hopes into that application, only to receive a rejection letter that had stung more than he cared to admit.
Back then, Earth’s primitive tech had made him abandon the interest. But now, with access to Kree databases and hardware, the limitations had vanished.
His magical growth had plateaued anyway. He’d reached a point where only experience and time would advance his abilities further. The Ancient One had made that clear during their last training session. So he’d pivoted, diving into the alien technology with the same obsessive focus he’d once applied to spellwork.
In his past life, he’d envied Tony Stark and his JARVIS. Now, with Kree tech at his disposal, creating his own AI seemed achievable. Not particularly useful, Winky was a far more reliable assistant than any program, but the challenge called to him.
Meanwhile, Hala no longer required his constant attention. Even Carol had returned to Earth, currently staying with Maria now that she could monitor galactic developments from anywhere. Her newfound freedom from guilt had transformed her, though Arthur knew she’d soon need to resume her search for a suitable planet for the Skrull refugees.
But for now, she’d chosen to spend these precious weeks reconnecting with her life on Earth.