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*****
Then suddenly—
BOOM!!!
Luke's chair exploded underneath him, wooden splinters and tal bolts shooting across the restaurant floor. The shockwave rattled the glasses and plates on nearby tables, and startled civilians scread before Hydra agents shoved them aside.
A thick hissssssss filled the air as white smoke burst upward, engulfing Luke's seat in a choking cloud. Unlike gunpowder, the smoke was oddly cold, carrying a chemical sting—this was no ordinary smoke bomb. It was nerve gas, formulated to drop a human instantly.
All n stood up at once, the chairs scraping loudly against the floor. From beneath their tables, they pulled out rifles—sleek, matte-black, each one fitted with dart magazines instead of bullets.
Their goal is clear: to capture the target.
Every gun locked onto Luke's position, the muzzles steady and unshaking.
"Target down!" one Hydra soldier barked.
"All units, surround the smoke!" another ordered, raising his weapon.
They moved with coordinated precision, like trained wolves circling prey. Every soldier had their rifle trained on the swirling smoke cloud where Luke had been sitting.
"Maintain formation. He's not getting out of this alive," muttered one, keeping his mask tight against his face.
The agent closest to the smoke squinted, trying to see through the dense white haze. "Confirm the body. We need to capture him out before anyone gets the gist. "
Step by cautious step, the front soldier crept forward, rifle pressed against his shoulder, safety off. The others ford a periter around him, every muzzle aid into the smoke.
The man knelt, lowering his head to peer through the fog. "He's not moving. Yeah, he's finished. All that hype and—"
Suddenly, a hand shot out of the smoke like a steel trap—clamping down on his throat.
"Wha—?!" he managed to choke before—
CRACK!
His neck snapped in one brutal twist. His rifle clattered against the tiles as his body collapsed lifelessly.
The other soldiers recoiled in shock.
"Contact! Contact!" one scread.
"Impossible—he should be unconscious!" another yelled, fumbling with his trigger. That nerve gas was powerful enough to paralyze a human for a month.
From inside the choking white smoke, Luke's silhouette slowly rose. His outline shimred faintly, blue mana coursing across his skin like an ethereal armor.
At the last second, he had wrapped himself in it—shielding his lungs, forcing his body to hold on even as dizziness tugged at his mind.
"You bastards really thought I'd go down that easy?" Luke's voice cut through the haze, low and sharp, laced with a dangerous edge.
The Hydra soldiers froze mid-step, rifles steady but breaths stuttering. Training told them to move forward—instinct scread to retreat.
"Open fire!" their commander barked, though his voice cracked under pressure.
Bullets scread into the smoke, a deafening RATATATATAT! echoing across the restaurant. Glass shattered, tables splintered, and walls sparked from the impact of high-velocity rounds.
But Luke wasn't there.
"Do you think I would just stand there and watch?" his voice ca again—this ti behind them.
The nearest agent's eyes went wide, catching a blur in his peripheral vision before it vanished. Luke's body, boosted with mana, was moving at five tis his natural speed—too fast for their eyes, too fast for their reflexes.
"Behind us—!" one soldier tried to shout, but his words choked off.
Luke's leg slamd against the ground.
'Stone Spike.'
The floor answered. A violent CRACK-CRACK-CRACK split the tiles as jagged, molten-tipped rock speared upward like fangs from the earth itself.
The spikes punched through armored vests and ribcages alike, hoisting soldiers screaming into the air before silencing them. Their rifles clattered uselessly to the floor, fingers twitching in their final spasms.
Blood ran down the stone pillars in dark streaks, dripping onto shattered plates and broken glass.
In seconds, the restaurant was silent except for the hiss of smoke dispersing. The Hydra squad was no more—bodies skewered, lifeless, suspended above the wreckage like grim warnings.
No one was left alive.
***
After ten minutes,
Natasha pushed the restaurant door open, her shoes clicking softly against the ruined floor. The stench of blood and burnt stone hit her nose imdiately.
On her way here, her thoughts had been tangled. This morning she received a strange order through her comms—mission complete, return to headquarters. Clean, simple. Too simple.
But then, thirty minutes ago, Fury himself had called her for a report. That had sent alarms ringing in her mind. Soone had tampered with her orders. Soone inside S.H.I.E.L.D.
That was why she ignored the "return" command and tracked Luke's signal back here. And now she understood her gut had been right.
Her sharp eyes scanned the carnage.
Luke was sitting calmly in a chair at the center of the dining hall, slouched back like a man who had just finished a al instead of a massacre.
Around him, blood pooled across the shattered floorboards. Dozens of Hydra operatives were hanging motionless, their bodies pierced through by jagged stone spikes that jutted up like grotesque stems.
It looked like a flower field—if flowers were made of human corpses. A bloody garden, and Luke sat in the middle as its gardener.
"...What the hell happened here?" She muttered under her breath. Her voice was low but edged with disbelief.
Luke tilted his head slightly, finally noticing her. His eyes were still burning with anger, but a crooked smile tugged at his lips.
"Natasha, be a good girl and call Fury for . I have a proposal for him," said Luke, his tone casual but carrying that dangerous edge that made the blood-soaked room feel even heavier.
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