Nick Fury sat in a darkened chamber beneath S.H.I.E.L.D. HQ, the glow from the World Security Council screen barely illuminating the stoic lines of his face.
His mind was in war mode, quiet, calculating, relentless. There was no protocol, no handbook for a man like Tenebris. A god with extra batteries, walking among mortals, running a planetary infrastructure empire, building cities in ice, and still filing tax returns like it was Tuesday.
Some part of Fury admired the absurdity.
The rest of him? Terrified.
Behind him, Maria Hill hadn't spoken in fifteen minutes. Not since she read the final reports on what happened in New Mexico. On Markus being a god. On what he did to the Destroyer.
Fury turned to her. "You good?"
Hill was stiff, arms crossed, breathing uneven.
"Do you hear anything?" she whispered.
He frowned. "Hear what?"
She didn't answer. Instead, she took two steps back from the wall screen and… whispered.
"Forgive me," she said softly. "I didn't understand before. I didn't see. If your will needs me, I am ready."
Fury stared at her like she'd grown a second head. "Hill. You praying?"
She snapped back upright, blinking. "Just… recalibrating risk assessment, sir."
He didn't buy it for a second.
But he understood.
The screen flickered to life.
Five members. Nations. Interests. Agendas. And now, ideologies.
The French member spoke first with a sharp voice.
"This Tenebris must be neutralized. The United Nations may recognize his city, but sovereignty does not extend to omnipotence. I propose coordinated high altitude deployment. Nuclear, if necessary."
Gasps rippled. Fury's jaw clenched.
Then the Japanese representative joined in. "His refusal to sell to us was calculated humiliation. He stripped us of leverage, of standing. If we act quickly, we may still contain him."
On the other end of the feed, the UK and US delegates exchanged a glance, one of silent warning.
The delegate from UK spoke calmly. "Contain him? You've seen what he can do. The Destroyer was not subdued by an army, but Tenebris alone. He stored it like a trinket."
"Have you forgotten who you're dealing with?" added the US representative. "He's not just a man. And he's certainly not interested in your missile arsenals."
Fury finally cut through the noise.
"You try to nuke Tenebris," he said, "and all you'll do is give him a reason to stop pretending we're on the same evolutionary rung."
The French delegate huffed. "So what's your grand plan, Director?"
Fury leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table.
"I go back to him. Not with threats. With a diplomatic initiative. We open a proper line of communication. Define boundaries. Find out what the hell he actually wants."
A pause.
The council members nodded.
"Motion carried. Director Fury will serve as envoy. Informal terms, without any escalation."
The screens began to dim one by one as members signed off.
Fury stood, exhaled, and turned toward Hill, who hadn't moved.
"You done praying?"
She didn't answer.
He walked out without waiting.
The black gates of the gothic estate parted without a word, opening silently to allow the arrival of Director Nick Fury's convoy. It was smaller than last time, only one passenger beside him: Agent Coulson.
Hill was absent, by Fury's own orders.
And Fury couldn't have her whispering invocations in front of a god.
The car rolled to a stop on the obsidian driveway. Before they could knock or announce themselves, the massive doors to the mansion opened on their own.
Markus was already waiting.
He stood by the hearth, a decanter of amber wine in hand, swirling it absently, dressed in a black vest and sleeves rolled. Fury stepped forward, every instinct screaming that he was in over his head, but his resolve was firm.
Coulson simply nodded politely.
Markus didn't speak first.
Fury cleared his throat.
"I've been thinking a lot," he began, voice low but firm. "About your company. Your products. Eden Industries."
Markus tilted his head, smiling faintly.
"All those biblical names, 'Prayer', 'Metatron', 'Azazel', 'Abaddon'…"
He exhaled slowly. "It's all starting to make a lot more sense now."
Markus's grin widened, but he offered no reply. His eyes sparkled with quiet mischief.
Fury pressed on.
"I'm here to ask you directly," he said, stepping forward. "What are your intentions?"
Markus didn't blink.
"I haven't decided."
Fury frowned. "Your plans, then? Long term?"
"I have none," Markus said, swirling the glass again. "I'm simply enjoying my eternity."
There was no weight in the words. But there was finality. It wasn't a statement of laziness. It was the voice of someone for whom time had no pressure. No urgency. Only appetite.
Fury kept his jaw tight. "Alright. Are you.. are you a threat to the world?"
Markus let out a short, amused breath that evolved into a soft, rumbling laugh.
"A threat, Director?" he said, finally facing him fully. "No. I'm inevitable."
He stepped forward, slowly, deliberately.
"There's not a single thing you, your precious world, or even your gods can do to stop that."
Fury felt his spine stiffen. Every inch of the room felt colder.
"And yet," Markus continued, turning away again to refill his glass, "you're still alive. Everyone is. No plagues, no fire from the skies. Not even a power outage."
Fury clenched his hands. "You're saying you've done nothing?"
Markus turned, leaning against the mantel.
"I haven't done even one thing to this world," he said smoothly. "Not after being coerced by nations. Dismissed by your lovely council. Provoked by your agencies. threatened by your your very agent."
A glance.
"You really ought to audit S.H.I.E.L.D.'s intrusion protocols, by the way. Sloppy work."
Coulson shifted his weight quietly. Even he didn't like that dig.
Fury tried to steady himself.
"Fine. Is there anything we can do to keep things... diplomatic?"
Markus looked at him, a long pause hanging in the air.
Then he smiled.
"You've already answered that question, Fury. I've given you peace."
He leaned forward, setting his glass down, his eyes gleaming.
"And you've managed to keep it. Barely."
Fury took a breath, then added quickly, "About Hill..."
Markus chuckled before the question even finished.
"You want her functional, I assume?"
Fury nodded once.
"She's not exactly combat ready in her current state. And I need her sane."
Markus took a long, deliberate pause. Then he laughed again. Not loud, but low, soft, and decidedly not comforting.
But he said nothing.
No answer. No promise. No refusal.
Just laughter that made the hair on Coulson's neck stand up.
Fury didn't press further.
Some prices were better left unpaid.
He was still trying. Still hoping that logic, negotiation, and carefully measured words might build a bridge.
"I just need to understand what's possible between us," he said, voice steady despite the tension in his shoulders. "Diplomatically."
Markus tilted his head, expression unreadable.
Then, softly: "Allow me to show you something, Director."
And the world snapped away.
The air turned scorched.
Fury found himself standing on cracked earth beneath a sun that seemed too large, too close. The sky was painted in shades of fire and ash. In the valley below, two armies clashed. Humans, beasts, hybrids, hacked, grafted, built for war. They surged into each other like tide and undertow.
There were no screams. Just efficiency. Endless, measured death.
Fury's stomach turned as blood mixed with dust in ritualized slaughter. His voice came out dry.
"What is this? Why are they fighting?"
Markus stood beside him, hands folded behind his back, expression calm as a still lake.
"They displeased me," he said without emotion. "So I punished their world with eternal discord."
He gestured toward the valley. "Now their lives are mine. Every death a sacrifice. All in my name."
Fury swallowed. "You did this?"
Markus's face didn't change. "I ensured the efficiency as well."
The ground shuddered beneath them as another frontline collapsed. Then..
They vanished.
The next place was quieter.
A pristine city of carved stone and rising towers. The banners waved high, and people moved in silence below. Not fearful. Just... orderly.
Too orderly.
Elves walked beside men. Mages beside witchers. No shouts. No noise. No chaos.
Fury looked around slowly, his instincts screaming that something here wasn't natural.
"What did you do here?" he asked carefully.
Markus looked down from the high balcony.
"There was disorder," he said simply. "And the people of this world disrespected magic."
He turned, finally meeting Fury's eyes.
"So I arranged their society."
He looked back over the city.
"Now... they have structure. Their existence has meaning."
He didn't sound proud. Or cruel. Just factual.
The wind shifted, and so did the world with it.
The next step stole Fury's breath.
Void.
Cold.
A black hole turned slowly in the distance, its event horizon devouring light like a silent beast. Time itself warped near its edge. Debris spiraled in. A part of a ship, a fragment of.. asteroid perhaps.
Before them rose Voidwatch Castle, a citadel of impossible scale suspended in the cold dark. Its spires reached like teeth, and its shadows extended far into space.
Sovereign, class Reapers glided in absolute silence, their sheer size dwarfing everything Fury had ever seen. One of them turned as it passed. Slow, deliberate. It was a gaze without eyes.
Markus moved them to his throne, steps unhurried. He sat with practiced elegance, crossing one leg over the other.
"I find black holes... peaceful," he said. "Meditative, even."
Fury's voice cracked. "Did you… destroy this system?"
Then he smiled faintly.
"What do you think?"
Fury said nothing. He couldn't.
And then, just as suddenly, they were back.
Coulson blinked. To him, it had been no more than a second.
But Fury stood frozen, face tight, throat twitching as he tried to reorient himself to the normality of Markus's mansion. The weight of what he'd just seen refused to lift.
Markus turned slightly, adjusting his cuff.
"Any more questions, Director?"
Fury didn't answer.
He shook his head once, sharply and turned to leave, every step heavier than the last.
Coulson looked at Markus for a heartbeat, then followed in silence.
The door closed.
And Markus smiled, faintly, to himself.
Director Fury stormed into his office, coat still clinging with the scent of ozone, his face drawn tight, eye cold.
He didn't sit.
"Emergency meeting," he barked. "Zero protocol. World Council only."
Within sixty seconds, the encrypted displays on the wall came to life. Five faces appeared, stiff, impatient, calculating.
United States
United Kingdom
France
Japan
Unspecified (always silent, always listening)
Fury faced them like a man dragging bad news through hell.
"Tenebris agreed to meet," he began. "I just got back."
"You look like death," said the UK representative.
"I saw worse," Fury replied. "Much worse."
He took a breath. There was no easy way to say it.
"I asked him what he wanted. What his goals were. If he was a threat."
"And?" Japan asked, voice tight.
Fury's voice dropped.
"He said he had no plan. No strategy. That he was simply 'enjoying his eternity.' Said he wasn't a threat."
He looked up, dead serious.
"He said, and I quote 'I'm inevitable.'"
The silence was immediate.
France was first to recover. "What does that mean? Some kind of bluff?"
Fury's tone turned grim.
"No bluff. He took me and showed me what it looks like when he actually does something."
He stepped closer to the monitor.
"Three places."
Japan narrowed his eyes. "Where?"
Fury shook his head. "Doesn't matter. Not Earth. Not anywhere I recognized. But real enough."
He paused.
"The first... was a world on fire. Sky was too bright. Ground was cracked, dry. Like the sun got too close. Down in the valley... two sides. thousand, hundreds of thousand of them. Humans, things that looked human, monsters. Fighting. Organized. Unstoppable."
He swallowed hard.
"No screams. No panic. Just killing. Like it was rehearsed. Coordinated."
UK frowned. "Why?"
"I asked the same."
Fury's tone flattened.
"He said, 'They displeased me.' So he condemned the entire world to eternal war in his name. Every death. Every sacrifice, for him."
France went pale.
Japan looked away.
Fury didn't stop.
"The second place... looked like a kingdom. Like something out of an old book. Castles. Stone streets. some kind of academy. Elves. Mages. People. But they were quiet. Too quiet. Moved like they were being watched all the time."
He met their eyes.
"I asked what he'd done there."
A pause.
"He said, 'I arranged their society.'"
The fear settled in the room like fog.
France leaned forward. "Mon Dieu..."
"And the last place…" Fury hesitated, for once looking unsure of his own voice.
"We were in space. But not just space. Somewhere wrong. Outside the laws we know."
He swallowed.
"There was a fortress. Massive. Floating. But that wasn't what got me."
He looked down at his hands, then back up.
"There was a black hole."
Japan stiffened. "A what?"
"Close," Fury said. "So close I could see the light bending around it. Nothing should be that close and still exist. But it was. And around it, machines. Big ones. Not satellites. Not ships. Things with mass. Like living weapons. Just... floating there."
France's voice cracked. "He destroyed a system?"
"I asked," Fury said.
Markus's smile echoed in his head.
"He didn't answer. Just smiled and asked, 'What do you think?'"
No one spoke.
"I think he crushed a star like it was clay," Fury added.
The American representative finally spoke. "So he's capable of that level of destruction. On whim."
"Yes," Fury answered simply. "And yet, he hasn't done anything here."
He let that hang.
"Not after being provoked by nations. Spied by our people."
Japan sat back, visibly shaken.
France was visibly sweating now, fingers clenched.
"What do you propose?" UK asked, his voice now much lower.
Fury's voice hardened.
"Observe. De escalate. Engage diplomatically, if he allows it. And most of all, don't poke him again."
He glanced at the screens of France and Japan.
"France. Japan."
Both looked up.
"You're already on thin ice with him. If he ever remembers that detail on a bad day... I'm not sure we'll even get to see what hits us."
No one replied.
The unspecified member lingered a moment longer, then cut the line in silence.
One by one, the rest followed.
Fury stood alone in the dark again.
He didn't sit.
Didn't speak.
Just stared at the screen, Markus's final smile still burning behind his eye.
The Bifrost hummed with light in Asgard.
Thor stood at with Warriors Three, Mjölnir in hand, gaze sweeping the horizon as the they prepared for return. The Destroyer was gone. Midgard safe.
Almost.
"Sif," Thor said, his tone softer than usual, "will you return with us?"
She hesitated.
It was a rare thing, that flicker of uncertainty in her eyes.
Then, quietly, she stepped away and closed her eyes.
Her voice came in a whisper. Not to Thor. Not to anyone nearby.
But to someone far greater.
"Markus Tenebris... shall I return? Or remain at your side?"
A breath. A heartbeat.
And he appeared.
Markus stepped through space as if the fabric of Midgard itself parted for him, arriving without sound, without fanfare, clothed in shadow and elegance. His presence eclipsed the moment.
He looked to Sif with a smile. kind and controlled warmth on lips.
"You are free to return to your home, Shield Maiden," he said gently. "I will still be here. Waiting."
She nodded once, eyes lingering.
And with that, she departed with Thor and the others, the rainbow bridge pulling them back to Asgard.
Markus remained, turning his gaze northward.
His next move required patience.
The Mind Stone was coming.
Greenland. Several Months Later
The tundra howled in silence.
But where once there was nothing but ice and isolation, now rose something impossible, an imperial silhouette against the endless frost:
Arx Seraphim.
A city not built by human hands, but by smart machines.
It stretched endlessly, domes and towers of towering gothic architecture etched in obsidian and silver. Every wall bore intricate reliefs of angels and celestial battles, every spire crowned with statues.
It was cold, silent, and beautiful in its dread.
Streets divided the city in perfect geometry. No clutter. No waste. Every building served purpose:
Research Districts, sunken beneath the surface, where Eden's most guarded projects now thrived.
Production Pylons, where machinery the size of ships forged wonders and weapons alike.
Cathedral like Citadels, home to governance, control, and high level AI coordination.
Security was provided by Guardian Angels, standing watch like divine sentries.
They were now reborn in Asgardian templates and powers, they moved without wasted motion. Their numbers had grown, over 30,000 strong, and nearly 10,000 fully upgraded with enhancements, integrated combat experience and instincts and limited telepathy.
They were Markus's peacekeepers.
And the world took notice.
The first move came from France, then Japan, both nations having previously clashed with Eden Industries and been refused military drone contracts. Now, they issued formal apologies. Tot to Markus directly, but to Eden Industries, thinly veiled, laced with diplomatic language.
South Korea followed next. Then China.
And then the world held its breath.
Nations, sovereign, proud nations were apologizing to a corporation.
It was unprecedented.
Embassies stammered when asked. Media floundered. The stock market adjusted. Governments, behind closed doors, realigned.
They weren't afraid of a company.
They were afraid of the man behind it.
The world's intelligence community slowly began to whisper the truth to its heads of state.
Markus wasn't just influential. He was unkillable, untouchable.
And then came the churches.
What started as a joke on a fringe livestream, "Praise the Technology God!" turned into something more.
A handful of fanatics built shrines to Markus in backrooms, then in abandoned warehouses, then in open lots.
No one stopped them.
Not when those shrines started to work.
People claimed their illnesses faded when they left offerings in his name. Prayers whispered at dusk returned with warmth on the skin.
Day by day, numbers grew.
Vatican and similar organizations, disturbed by this trend, issued warnings.
Then sermons.
"Heresy," they called it.
"Idolatry," the cardinals warned.
But the priests who preached against him ..died. Simple as that.
One, struck by lightning in a field on a clear day. Another, collapsed mid sentence during mass the moment he uttered Markus's name with contempt. A third was found frozen in a locked room. No signs of forced entry. No explanation.
Dozens followed. It became a pattern.
And like all patterns, people began to believe.
Churches became Temples of the Seraphim. Their architecture mirrored Arx Seraphim's. Cold, beautiful, reverent.
No commands had been issued.
No priesthood appointed.
But faith had already found its god.
And he never had to ask for it.
While the public laughed at late night jokes and scrolling headlines, behind closed doors, alliances were hardening, and fears were formalizing into action. It was no longer about governments, no longer about nations. It was about response. A response to the one thing no army, no economic leverage, no blackmail could influence.
Tenebris had become the quiet threat no one dared name aloud in the wrong room.
It wasn't just the destruction he could bring. It was the fact he hadn't, and still held the power of a thousand nations under his fingernail. That kind of restraint terrified the old guard more than open violence ever could.
Nick Fury knew it. He felt it in every Council meeting. Every diplomat's forced smile. Every shaky hand that signed a policy paper to quietly pull back from Arctic operations, or cancel a defense contract in Greenland's hemisphere, or suddenly revise airspace protocols near Arx Seraphim.
They were all yielding, without ever being told to.
Which was why Fury moved forward.
If Earth was going to have a chance, any chance it needed a fallback. A deterrent, even if only symbolic. Something more than machines and satellites. Something unpredictable. Chaotic. Human.
And maybe, just maybe.. something divine enough to interest Tenebris.
Thus, the Avengers Initiative moved out of shadow and into selection.
Some faces were expected. Stark had already begun tinkering with the idea of belonging to something larger, even if he couched it in sarcasm and cynicism. Rogers, once located and revived, became the moral anchor, the war hero out of time. Thor, after much debate, returned to Earth. His respect for Markus unspoken but present in every pause and narrowed glance.
But this time, there were others.
The Initiative opened files they once kept sealed.
Mutants.
The word still tasted like a threat in political circles, but Fury ignored the noise. He had Erik Lehnsherr under monitoring, Magneto, too volatile but Ororo Munroe, with her calm poise and elemental power, was selected. She carried storms in her hands and diplomacy in her tone.
Piotr Rasputin, the Russian born steel giant, joined quietly, speaking little, listening much.
Even Laura Kinney, the engineered echo of Weapon X, had been tapped young, lethal, and struggling with the idea of team.
Together, they were a framework.
Not an answer to Markus. But a question, at least. A reminder that Earth still had a hand to play.
But the shadow of Markus Tenebris loomed over everything.
Stark refused to mention him. Publicly. But he rerouted entire divisions of Stark Industries to counter technological development. He'd seen Eden's schematics and hated how beautiful they were.
Banner avoided the subject. The Other Guy didn't like the feeling he got when that name came up. Like prey near a sleeping predator.
Thor spoke his name with reverence. Once. After that, he stopped mentioning him altogether, as if silence was the highest form of respect.
Even Xavier's school had quietly issued instructions: Do not attempt contact. Do not theorize about his origins. Watch the churches but do not engage.
Markus had said nothing about the Initiative.
And that, more than anything, put them on edge.
He watched. That much was clear. Surveillance satellites reported anomalies over Arx Seraphim. Massive pulse shadows that distorted magnetic sensors. Sometimes drones sent for weather scans never returned. Sometimes they did.
Yet Eden Industries said nothing. Not a protest. Not a complaint. Just silence.
It was suffocating.
When the Mind Stone made its way into orbit on a scepter, held by a man who wasn't quite himself. Fury knew the time had come.
Markus would move.
The only question was: when?
And more worryingly, how?