"Commander, we engaged the Atlanteans in the deep sea. Their scientific and technological prowess isn't weak at all. In fact, they've developed a whole new form of underwater tech that's bizarre and effective," Doom reported concisely, his tone as steady as ever.
He and Spider-Man had taken the risk to get close to the Atlantean mother city—not Atlantis itself, but close enough to observe its defense systems and catch a glimpse of their civilization.
Unlike the land-based societies, Atlanteans had evolved along an entirely different trajectory, forming a unique underwater civilization brimming with bio-mechanical wonders and pressure-based weaponry.
Inside the bridge of the S.W.O.R.D. headquarters, a massive holographic screen flashed streams of submarine surveillance data—deep sonar maps, particle scans, thermal anomalies—so dense that Spider-Man's eyes nearly rolled back in confusion.
"Ugh, I swear this stuff's written in alien," he muttered, rubbing his temples.
Gene, on the other hand, stood calmly, watching the raw data scroll past. His eyes glowed faintly with calculation, his neural network parsing everything at inhuman speed.
"There's a physiological shift after prolonged exposure to their city's energy field," Gene said quietly, tapping one of the glowing readouts. "Definitely worth studying."
As soon as the word "studying" left Gene's mouth, both Spider-Man and Doom flinched.
They looked at each other knowingly.
They'd both witnessed firsthand the "research" done inside Gene's underground Hive Lab—advanced beyond modern science, yet disturbing beyond belief. The last time they were there, a biotank had something inside that may or may not have been breathing backwards.
Yet deep down, they knew Gene wasn't wrong. If they were going to survive this new world of mutants, aliens, gods, and monsters, humanity would need knowledge—even if it came with a few moral trade-offs.
"Alright. This mission will be handed over to the Sharp Blade Squad. Rogers will be the field commander," Gene said, turning away from the screen.
He didn't consider Namor a real threat. In Gene's mind, Namor was the weakest-willed of all self-proclaimed heroes. He even remembered a comic back on his Earth—when Thanos invaded, Namor, despite just warring with Wakanda, dropped to his knees and surrendered without a fight.
Spider-Man and Doom perked up immediately, excitement flashing in their eyes.
A deep-sea battle with Atlanteans? This wasn't just another recon run or containment op—this was going to be epic.
In a hidden hall deep underground, a fervent gathering was underway. A man stood at the center, preaching to a room full of Inhumans with blazing, fanatical eyes.
"We are the chosen! The true inheritors of this planet!" he declared, his voice booming. "Tens of thousands of years ago, we Inhumans walked the Earth while those lowly humans were barely learning to make fire. Why now do we cower in the shadows?!"
A sea of nodding heads and feverish cheers responded to his call.
At the back of the hall, Skye (a.k.a. Daisy Johnson) tried not to roll her eyes.
Seriously? Ruling the Earth? Who still thinks that way in 2025?
Ever since S.H.I.E.L.D. collapsed, Skye had gone underground, joining Coulson's newly rebuilt S.H.I.E.L.D. as a senior field agent. When intelligence reports pointed to an emerging Inhuman cult, Coulson had sent her—an Inhuman herself—to infiltrate it.
She blended in well enough, but hearing this kind of cartoonish villain monologue made her blood boil.
Just then, the preacher's eyes widened with holy reverence. "And now! Our God walks among us! Let us offer him worship and obedience!"
A figure emerged from the back of the stage. The air grew tense. Even without looking directly at him, Skye felt the shift in pressure—as if the very atmosphere bent to his presence.
Every Inhuman in the room instinctively bowed down like dominoes, collapsing to their knees in synchronized submission.
The Hive wasn't just powerful—he radiated a kind of biological command signal, baked into their DNA by the ancient Kree. Resistance was like trying to disobey gravity.
Run, she told herself. Move before you drop too.
Skye inched backward, trying to sneak out of the hall.
Then—thud—she bumped into someone.
She turned and saw two towering Inhumans blocking her path. Before she could react, two metallic arms clamped onto her shoulders and dragged her back toward the stage.
"Oh?" the preacher sneered, watching her struggle. "It seems one among us dares defy God. Let us see whether she deserves salvation... or punishment."
"Let me go!" Skye yelled, kicking and squirming. Don't lose it... don't submit... don't look at him!
Her mind screamed. The Hive's presence was like a black hole, pulling her will away.
She tried to summon her energy—the concussive wave that slept inside her—but, as always, it was stubborn. Either it flared at the wrong moment or stayed silent when she needed it most.
Not now. Please, not now!
She bit her lip, drew in a breath—and unleashed.
A massive shockwave burst outward from her, blasting the two Inhumans into the air and knocking out half the crowd of kneeling worshipers. Dust, light, and broken stone filled the air.
The hall fell into chaos.
The Hive stood unmoved. His eyes gleamed with dark interest.
"Concussive talent," he murmured, intrigued. "Rare."
Then—shoom!—he blinked forward, appearing instantly in front of Skye, mere inches from her face.
"Become a servant of God," he whispered.
From his skin, thousands of bee-like parasites erupted, swarming straight for her.
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