An ultimatum of overwhelming force, stripping mortal leaders of their sense of security
On the Throne, Lynn's lips curled slightly upward, and that faint smile was clearly reflected in Nick Fury's single, Scarlet pupil through billions of hijacked Data Stream.
Then he spoke.
The sound was soft, without any added energy, like the most ordinary greeting between friends, yet it carried an undeniable penetrating power, echoing in every corner of the Triskelion command center and penetrating the eardrums of every agent.
Good evening, Director Fury.
Just seven words, yet they caused the air in the command center, which had been frozen by fear, to suddenly tighten.
Nick Fury clenched his teeth, feeling his heart pounding like a broken drum being struck by a heavy hammer, each beat sending shivers down his spine. He tried to speak, to question, to retaliate with an aura that could put even the president under pressure.
But he couldn't make a sound.
Because the man on the screen seemed to see through all his thoughts, and chuckled again, a chuckle filled with the tolerance and... contempt of an adult looking at a child's mischief.
"I know you have a lot of questions right now. Like, who am I? Why am I doing this? And why is your most trusted dog hanging here like trash?"
Lynn leaned forward slightly, his deep eyes seemingly piercing through the barriers of space as he met Fury's gaze. Every word he uttered was like a cold Scalpel, precisely dissecting Fury's proud composure.
"But unfortunately..." Lynn leaned back on his Throne, his tone becoming languid yet cruel, "You mortals have lost the right to ask questions."
The moment the words fell, the viewpoint on the screen began to slowly pull back.
The Throne, built of shadows and withered bones, finally revealed its full form.
On either side and behind the Throne, three figures stood silently like the most loyal guards, their presence making the Hell background pale in comparison.
On the left is Hela, clad in dark green War Armor and wearing a ferocious antler helmet. Her exquisitely beautiful face no longer displays the arrogance of Deity; instead, it shows an almost morbid, absolute submission to the man on the Throne. Her gaze sweeps coldly across the screen, as if scrutinizing a group of souls ready to be harvested at any moment.
On the right is Wanda, the Scarlet Witch, clad in Scarlet leather outfit, her fingertips wreathed in Chaos Energy. She stares intently at Lynn's profile, her Scarlet eyes burning with a possessiveness capable of incinerating the universe. Her gaze occasionally sweeps across the screen, a wary and murderous look directed at a "rival," as if anyone in front of the screen would be committing a desecration by glancing at Lynn even once.
Behind the Throne, Dark Gold Phoenix flames, like a magnificent cloak, slowly burned behind the Red-haired Woman. Jean Grey, her head bowed, was extremely humble, a fanatical and twisted devotion that could only be possessed after completely sacrificing her soul and dignity.
Inside the command center of Triskelion, there was a deathly silence.
The moment a seasoned Level 7 Agent recognized the three women, his tactical tablet shattered on the floor with a crash. His lips trembled, but he couldn't utter a single word.
Hela! The Goddess of Death in Asgard! That terrifying being who stirred up bloodshed in mythology!
Scarlet Witch! That madwoman who recently tore down the entire S.H.I.E.L.D. Building!
And... that Phoenix that ravaged the skies over New York!
Any one of these three beings, if appearing alone, would be considered a terrifying "world-ending" threat. Yet, at this moment, they stood quietly and obediently beside the man, like three tamed hunting dogs!
Nick Fury felt a chill run down his spine and up to the top of his head.
His "Avengers Initiative," which he had painstakingly created with his entire life's savings and countless resources, was as fragile as a joke in the face of these three women!
However, the real despair has only just begun.
As the camera zoomed out, a large, dark mass of figures knelt below the Throne.
They wore different X-Men uniforms, and the "X" symbol that once symbolized hope and glory now seemed like a mark of shame.
Cyclops Scott Summers, Storm Ororo, Colossus, Shadowcat... even the unruly Wolverine Logan, was like a wild dog with its spine broken, kneeling on the ground, head bowed low, body trembling slightly with fear.
They are still alive.
But their eyes were dead.
It was a hollow feeling of having one's will utterly shattered, all thoughts erased, leaving only the most primal fear and obedience to one's master.
"My God..." The technical director looked at the familiar faces on the screen, let out a desperate groan, and collapsed to the ground.
The X-Men... the leaders of Mutants... this powerful force, capable of rivaling any nation, was... just like that, silently and completely enslaved?
Nick Fury's one eye was fixed intently on the screen.
He finally understood.
This is neither intimidation nor a demonstration.
This is... a Dimensionality-Reduction Strike!
Lynn didn't treat him, S.H.I.E.L.D.., or any of the forces on Earth on the same level in their dialogue.
In his eyes, they were all ants.
On the screen, Lynn's illusory figure slowly stood up, looking down as if he were looking down on the entire command center, and on every pale-faced mortal in front of the screen.
His voice rang out once more, carrying a mocking, cold quality, as if stating a fact.
"Fury, you've spent your whole life pursuing control. You thought you'd laid an inescapable trap, and you thought the ' Avengers ' in your hands were your ultimate trump card."
But look.
Lynn casually raised his hand, pointing to the three goddesses behind him and the X-Men kneeling at his feet.
"Your pride in your military might is nothing but a few stepping stones beneath my Throne."
"The order upon which you depend for survival is nothing more than building blocks that I can knock down at any time."
"You guys... are too weak."
Humiliation!
A blatant and undisguised humiliation!
In front of the world's top agents, Lynn trampled their life's work and pride underfoot, crushing them to dust!
Nick Fury's fists clenched so tightly under the table that they cracked, his nails digging deep into his palms, yet he felt no pain.
His mind was racing, trying to find any possible way to break the deadlock.
But no.
Faced with absolute power, all schemes and tricks seem so pale and powerless.
It was a feeling of utter powerlessness, a despair where even struggling seemed laughable. For the first time, he felt that he was not a chess player, not even a chess piece, but just a speck of dust on the chessboard that could be blown away at any moment.
"So, Fury, this game against mortals is over."
On the screen, Lynn seemed to have grown tired of this one-sided crushing defeat. He changed the subject, and a cold, unfathomable glint flashed in his deep eyes.
"Next..."
"It's time to have a private chat with some old friends who've been hiding in the gutter."
These words startled Fury.
Old friend?
In the gutter?
Who is he referring to?
Before he could even figure it out, Lynn on the screen slowly raised a finger, pointing it at the camera, or rather, at some hidden presence, and uttered a fatal code that baffled the entire S.H.I.E.L.D.., yet sent Alexander Pierce, in his top-floor office, tumbling into an icy abyss...
Tell Pierce...
A devilish smile curled at the corners of Lynn's mouth.
"The aircraft carrier for Project Insight is ready to be launched."