Chapter 362

Zhi! Zhi!

In a barren stretch of wilderness, two black pickup trucks were parked on the rugged ground. Overhead, five small red machines—microrobots about the size of a baby's hand—floated in a controlled formation, each emitting pure white laser beams down toward the earth. The drones whirled around in a tight circle, their lasers cutting through the overgrown grass and loose dirt below, slowly etching out a circular opening about three meters in diameter.

As the high-intensity lasers continued their work, the ground began to loosen, a tremor rippling through the soil. Coulson, watching the progress from a short distance away, raised his hand in a quick signal. His team immediately grew tense, expressions hardening as they prepared for the next move.

Beside him, Tony Stark had closed the faceplate of his armor, the suit's sensors humming with anticipation. Tony descended toward the newly created opening, ready to lead the descent.

Boom!

With a loud crash, the ring of earth finally gave way, collapsing inward to reveal a massive hole that yawned into darkness below. Tony took immediate control, deploying the microrobots down into the pit, using them to scout and map the underground base. A live feed of the dimly lit interior projected itself onto his display, revealing long, empty corridors and occasional flickers from dormant lights.

"Tony, what's the situation down there?" Coulson called out, his voice tense. He was clad in a black tactical vest, a submachine gun in hand. "Any signs of life?"

"Nothing yet, but it's eerie down there. Too quiet," Tony replied, his tone clipped.

As a precaution, Coulson had brought additional S.H.I.E.L.D. agents for backup, but he knew they would be relying heavily on Tony's firepower if they ran into trouble. Still, Coulson couldn't shake the unease gnawing at him; an underground base, deserted and silent, hinted at a lurking danger.

Tony's faceplate slid up, revealing a complex mixture of emotions—shock, disbelief, and a hint of something akin to fear.

"Let's head down and see for ourselves," he said, his voice grim.

Without waiting, Tony activated his suit's thrusters, guiding himself into the hollowed-out entrance. Coulson and the others exchanged glances before following him, their expressions wary and their grips tightening on their weapons.

Whoosh! White airwaves burst from Tony's armor thrusters as he descended slowly into the depths of the base. The space below was well-lit, though the light cast a cold, sterile glow, making the quiet corridors feel almost surreal. The metallic surfaces gleamed under the fluorescent lighting, yet there was a strange, unsettling stillness that hung in the air.

Clank. Clank. Tony's armored footsteps echoed through the empty corridors as he strode forward, his expression resolute. Behind him, Coulson and the other agents moved with practiced caution, their submachine guns raised, eyes scanning every corner. A thin layer of dust coated the silver-grey floor, hinting that no one had walked these halls for a while.

The hidden cameras in each agent's chest transmitted every detail back to S.H.I.E.L.D. headquarters. They were building a record, gathering the first pieces of what promised to be an unsettling mystery.

Reaching the end of the passage, they pushed open a slightly ajar door, revealing a sight that made every one of them recoil.

Beyond the door was a large hall, and as they stepped inside, a strong smell of blood hung in the air, thick and metallic. Coulson and his team instinctively covered their noses, but Tony, prepared for the horror, simply closed his mask.

The floor was a morbid tableau of red stains, slick white fluid, and bodies strewn everywhere. The lifeless forms sprawled across the hall told a story of tragedy and violence, yet their deaths bore a disturbing uniformity. Some had bullet wounds in their foreheads, others had gunshot wounds to the chin, and several still held guns lodged in their mouths. Each one had taken their own life.

There was a ghastly pallor to their faces, skin shrunken and almost mummified.

One of the S.H.I.E.L.D. agents knelt beside a body, lifting its eyelids to reveal pale, clouded pupils. His voice wavered slightly as he reported, "Director, these bodies have been dead for approximately two days, maybe a little more. But judging by the state of decomposition, it should be at least ten days…"

The agent examined the man's hands and the gun clutched between his stiff fingers. "This one died by his own hand. No signs of struggle."

Coulson felt a chill settle over him. One suicide was understandable. But an entire room, a whole base of people driven to such an end? It was deeply unsettling, a mystery that hinted at something dark and unnatural.

The team continued deeper into the base, moving from one room to another. They passed the cafeteria, training rooms, research labs—all filled with bodies in the same condition, lying in the same grotesque silence. Everywhere they turned, the dead stared back at them with hollow, lifeless expressions, as though some unseen force had sucked the very will to live out of them.

Their initial shock turned to quiet horror, and they spoke less with each step, a heavy, oppressive silence blanketing their every move.

"Sir, we've breached the base's security systems," Jarvis's voice cut through the quiet, filling Tony's ears. "I'm accessing the surveillance records now."

"Find out what caused this mass suicide," Tony instructed. "I want to know what triggered it and if the ghost we saw is connected."

Soon, Jarvis projected footage onto Tony's display. Tony and Coulson watched, transfixed, as images of Hydra researchers flashed by—discussions of experiments on human subjects, gruesome combat drills, even tense meetings where they plotted Lockhart's downfall. It was business as usual for Hydra, coldly calculating in their methods.

Then, as Jarvis cycled through the footage, something strange began to unfold. The researchers, who had been working diligently, suddenly froze. Their faces drained of emotion, eyes turning glassy and unfocused. Without warning, each one slowly reached for a gun or sharp object and ended their lives. Those without weapons improvised with whatever was nearby, succumbing in eerie synchronization.

The final footage showed the ghostly figure they had followed earlier drifting over one of the bodies. As the ghost passed, the corpse withered further, the skin drawing tight over bones as though some vital essence had been drained. In turn, the ghost appeared to grow more defined, its form sharpening with newfound strength. Each lifeless body became nourishment for this spectral entity.

Tony's expression darkened as he pieced it together. The ghost was feeding, becoming more substantial with each death.

"Jarvis, any insight into what caused this?" Tony asked, his voice low.

"Analysis indicates the phenomenon originated in the base conference room. From there, it radiated outward, affecting each individual in waves," Jarvis reported.

Tony clenched his jaw, his mind racing with the implications. Whatever had triggered this was no ordinary technology; it was dark magic, the kind that left behind scars invisible to the human eye. His thoughts drifted to Lockhart—was this his doing? The cold, calculated revenge against Hydra seemed like his handiwork.

Lockhart, Tony thought, shaking his head in a mix of respect and trepidation. If anyone could make such a statement, it was him.

Breaking out of his thoughts, Tony turned to Coulson, who was watching him with an expression of growing unease. "Coulson, I'm heading back," he said quietly. "You'll need to finish the investigation yourself."

Coulson's brow furrowed, but he nodded. He watched as Tony disappeared down the corridor, armor thrusters propelling him back toward the surface. Out of sight, out of mind, Tony thought to himself, hoping that leaving would ease the turmoil within him.

He had mixed feelings—these were Hydra operatives, people who had caused unimaginable harm and plotted against him more than once. But even so, the scale of this massacre disturbed him. And the knowledge that it was likely Lockhart's doing left him deeply unsettled.

Coulson, standing alone in the eerie silence, glanced around at the hall of corpses. He took a steadying breath and motioned for his team to press on, gathering every scrap of data they could find. Whatever secrets lay buried here, they would uncover them.

Far away, in Kamar Taj, Lockhart felt a faint ripple, a whisper from the darkness. A satisfied smile curled at the corner of his mouth. The five ghosts he had crafted from Hydra's own leaders were taking root, spreading his curse through the organization. Each one had been refined through complex black magic, an intricate weave of curses and fate, designed for one purpose: to eradicate Hydra from within.

Hydra had wronged him, harassed him, and even dared to ally with Dormammu's followers. They had tried to destroy him with every weapon they could muster, even nuclear threats. Now, Lockhart was merely settling the score in his own way, severing the Hydra network while feeding his newly created specters, preparing them for what was to come.

These ghosts weren't just his revenge—they were a precaution. Lockhart knew Dormammu's hatred for him had only grown, and that darker forces were aligning. His ghosts would act as both a warning and a weapon, a reminder that Hydra's arrogance came at a steep cost.

But the ripple effect extended far beyond Hydra.

S.H.I.E.L.D. Headquarters, Trident Building

"Director, we've uncovered fifteen Hydra underground bases across North America, from the U.S. to Canada. None of them had survivors."

Coulson's voice came through Fury's earpiece as he reviewed the data. "The analysis department has confirmed that all Hydra leaders in those bases are dead. Alexander Pierce's identity has been re-verified. He was Hydra, and we now believe even his substitute perished. Magic structures found at these sites bear a 62% similarity to Lockhart's energy signature."

Nick Fury pressed his hand against the table, knuckles whitening with anger. He understood what Lockhart's "revenge" meant, the warning it sent to anyone who dared cross him. But Fury knew he was left with few options.

With Hydra decimated, Fury's frustration turned to an even deeper fear. There was a power in the world he couldn't control—one that had sent a clear message, painted in blood.

"Coulson," Fury's voice dropped low. "Activate the Insight Program. Begin loyalty screenings on all agents."

"And prepare weapons," he added, his gaze hardening. "Weapons powered by the Cosmic Cube."

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