"You still don't understand, Liliruca."
Luthar's words hung in the cold air of the Sanctum's heart, devoid of warmth, devoid of humanity. "Life holds value only in proportion to its utility. Whether flesh or machine, all things exist to serve a function."
Liliruca stood motionless, her hands clenched into trembling fists at her sides. She had known this answer would co. It was inevitable with soone like Luthar. Yet hearing it voiced aloud shattered the fragile hope she had dared to nurture. There was no changing him. No convincing him of rcy. No future where kindness factored into his calculations.
And yet… to her surprise, Luthar did not simply turn away.
"However, your concerns are noted. I will not turn all civilians into mindless servitors—provided they demonstrate value in other forms."
Liliruca blinked. "…You're sparing them?"
"I will allow them to serve. Labor. Maintenance. Logistics. So will beco caretakers. That is the only compromise I can offer."
For Lily, this was enough. A sliver of humanity preserved amid the machinery of conquest.
Liliruca exhaled slowly, releasing a breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding. For now, that would have to be enough.
Across the city, preparations moved with chanical precision. SHIELD's operational teams finalized their movents in shadowed silence. Across digital screens and encrypted channels, orders were given. No leaks. No hesitation.
Hell's Kitchen had been marked for harvesting.
PMC convoys rolled in first: black-armored, well-ard, and chosen for their expendability. Behind them, SHIELD's own specialized units waited in silence, poised for the simultaneous assault on Luthar's Sanctum. Director Fury stood at the center of this operation, his gaze hard beneath the dim lights of the command center, watching as maps updated and feeds flickered to life.
This was no longer about containnt.
This was retaliation.
This was escalation.
"This is it," Maria Hill said beside him, her tone clipped and professional. "Two waves. Hell's Kitchen to draw him out. The Sanctum to cripple his infrastructure. Clean. Surgical."
"Nothing about this is going to stay clean," Fury replied. His eye remained fixed on the red-lit screens where outlines of buildings were already being marked as war zones. "We're not playing chess. We're kicking over the whole damn board."
---
Hell's Kitchen—Ground Zero
Rumlow's unit moved first, leading the charge with brutal efficiency. Servitors in crimson-marked armor advanced beside him, their heavy boots pounding against cracked pavent, skull-faced helms glowing with infernal light. Civilian screams echoed through the alleys as containnt transports followed in grim procession, their cages yawning open in silent promise.
Prothium weapons hissed with suppressed heat, ready to turn resistance into ash.
"Secure the district," Rumlow ordered, his voice clipped beneath his rebreather. "Fast. Clean."
He didn't need to say more. The servitors moved without hesitation, tal monstrosities bound by code and cruelty.
The PMCs, believing themselves prepared for any threat, opened fire as panic spread through the streets. Bullets tore through the night. For a mont, it seed a battle might take shape.
But they hadn't co prepared for this.
Servitors did not fall. Their bodies absorbed gunfire with chanical indifference. Limbs reforged with steel and sinew shrugged off small arms fire as though it were dust in a storm.
Then the flars roared.
Prothium spilled in hungry waves, igniting streets, buildings, and n alike. Fire blood through alleys with terrifying speed. Civilians who didn't fall quickly enough were dragged screaming into the containnt transports.
From above, SHIELD's surveillance drones recorded everything: the brutality, the precision, and the horrifying efficiency of it all. Fury watched the footage feed in with clenched teeth. He had seen warzones, atrocities, human monsters. But this was sothing else. Burning soldiers alive—this was sothing the world had abandoned after World War II. Yet these people—these monsters—just pulled out flathrowers and used them like water guns.
This was worse.
"Reports coming in," Coulson said, not looking away from his monitor. "PMC casualties are already exceeding projections. Conflict is also spreading to civilians; the fire cannot be contained. This will result in mass casualties."
"It's better than getting captured by Luthar," Hill said darkly, recording the screens. In her mind, she was certain: death was more rciful than being captured by Luthar.
---
While Hell's Kitchen burned, SHIELD's infiltration teams began their own silent war. Under cover of night, cloaked transports and specialized squads breached the periter of Luthar's Sanctum. For a heartbeat, it seed the gamble might succeed.
Silent entry. Minimal resistance. Perhaps Luthar had overlooked this vector. Perhaps arrogance had made him sloppy.
Then the walls ca alive.
Automated turrets erupted from hidden panels, spewing plasma bursts and radiation-charged rounds into narrow corridors. Portals shimred open in the darkness, warping reality itself to disgorge servitors into flanking positions with predatory precision.
The halls beca a slaughterhouse.
Steel tore through flesh. Plasma burned through armor. Screams echoed in confined spaces, swallowed almost instantly by static and silence.
One soldier managed to scream into his comms before disappearing beneath a tide of chanical limbs. His data stream ended in blood and interference.
Fury watched the feeds cut out, one by one, replaced with red warnings and mission failure codes. His jaw tightened.
"We lost the Sanctum team." Coulson's tone remained professional, but there was an edge of tension beneath it. "Complete blackout."
Hill didn't speak. There was nothing left to say.
"This wasn't a battle," Fury said quietly, his gaze still fixed on the empty screens. "It was bait. And we bit."
Hill folded her arms. "What's the call?"
Fury's eye narrowed. "We wait. Stark's moving. Let's see if he can hit harder than we did."
On the monitors, Hell's Kitchen burned. Above it all, containnt transports began retreating, heavy with human cargo.
Below, in the Sanctum's depths, Luthar watched the progress unfold. His calculations confird success. Civilian stock secured. Military assets collected. Combat effectiveness recorded. Servitor losses are acceptable within paraters.
The next phase was ready.
---
To be continued:
Author's note: The first ti this chapter 116 was written, there was only one part in 1k words, but after reading, I realized it was more like a summary of the events, so I split the chapter and then edited to improve the situation. but I still forget it was supposed to be about Servitors vs. soldiers. 😣
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