Elias sat in his dimly lit study, the soft hum of the city outside seeping through the half-closed blinds.
The last of his servant's flaps had disappeared into the night, bound to carry out its silent directive.
He leaned back in his chair, fingers brushing over the edge of the wooden desk as his system interface blinked softly.
[Villain System
Status
Name: Elias Mercer
Level: 1
Designation: Villain — Novice
Experience: 0/2
Abilities:
Telekinesis — Level 1 (new)
• Ability to move objects using mental force
• Current Limit: 10 kg
Skills:
Unforgivable Curses (HP world)
- Imperius (maxed)
- Crucio (maxed)
- Avada Kedavra (maxed)
Charms (HP world)
- Obliviate (maxed)
Inventory
Slots: 30
Occupied: 1 / 30
Slot 1: Facehugger Eggs ×2
Slot 2: Empty
… ]
Beneath the status, a new window had appeared, glowing faintly.
[REWARD UNLOCKED
Ability: Summon
Description: Allows the host to summon or unsummon servants either at the host's location or at the point where they were last unsummoned.]
Elias stared at the interface, taking it all in.
A small guilty smile tugged at the corner of his lips.
Was he even doing the right thing? Looking at his rewards.
Another tool, another step in preparing for the unknown.
He could only sigh.
He leaned back, letting his mind relax, though the thought of his servant executing its mission still lingered.
Even as he crawled into bed, sleep didn't come immediately.
His mind churned with possibilities, contingencies, and strategies, only allowing the exhaustion of thought to finally drag him into slumber.
.
.
.
For the past few days, Mercer's Hearth had fallen into a quiet rhythm.
Customers came and went, the scent of freshly baked bread and pastries filled the air, and Elias walked home each night without incident.
The SHIELD operatives no longer shadowed him, and even the new base had gone silent.
Whatever experiments might be ongoing in the shadows were unknown to Fury—if anything, it would be HYDRA using discarded xenomorph and facehugger bodies for their own clandestine projects.
One night, as Elias scrubbed the last plates in the dimly lit kitchen, the system blinked.
[PROMPT: Watch your servant.]
The system's vision sharpened.
Elias stood frozen at his sink, water still running over a forgotten plate, as the world shifted to his servant's location.
A sterile room. Cold lights. Metal and glass.
Emil Blonsky sat restrained to a reinforced chair, ready to be injected with more Hulk blood.
Although Ross's work is already coursing through him, he was still unsatisfied.
Across from him, Dr. Samuel Sterns adjusted equipment, hands trembling with restrained excitement.
Neither of them noticed the shadow clinging to the ceiling.
The facehugger remained perfectly still, wings folded tight, every instinct restrained.
It waited—not for opportunity, but for inevitability.
And it was now!
That was when his servant dropped.
It didn't fall.
It pounced.
Blonsky barely had time to turn his head before something slammed into his chest, knocking the air from his lungs.
He roared, thrashing violently, restraints screaming as metal protested.
"What the hell is that?!" Sterns shouted, stumbling back.
The facehugger skittered across Blonsky's torso, claws digging in, tail snapping around his waist as it lunged for his face.
Blonsky caught it midair, one of his hands already free from the restraint.
For one heartbeat, there was hope.
His hands closed around its slick body, muscles bulging as he slammed it against the chair arm.
The creature screeched, limbs flailing wildly.
"I've got it!" Blonsky snarled. "I've—"
A finger snapped.
Not cleanly—torn.
The severed digit burst like a ruptured vein.
Acid sprayed.
Blonsky screamed as the liquid burned into his forearm, flesh smoking instantly.
His grip loosened by instinct, pain overriding training.
That was all the facehugger needed.
It surged upward, tail whipping around his throat like a steel cable.
Before Blonsky could scream again, it latched onto his face.
Hard.
Its grip was absolute.
Claws locked behind his skull.
The tail constricted, cutting off airflow.
Blonsky clawed at it, smashing his head back against the chair, bucking violently.
Sterns rushed forward in panic, grabbing a metal tool, trying to pry it loose—
Another splash of acid.
He screamed as it ate through his glove and scorched his sleeve, forcing him to retreat, clutching his arm.
Blonsky's struggles grew frantic, then desperate.
Veins bulged. Eyes widened.
Then—relief.
The tail loosened.
The grip slackened.
With a furious roar, Blonsky tore the creature off his face and hurled it against the wall.
It hit with a wet crack, collapsing to the floor in a twitching heap.
He fell forward, gasping violently, coughing, retching.
"I—got it off," he rasped, laughing hoarsely through the pain. "I beat the damn thing."
He didn't see it.
Didn't feel it.
Because it had already happened.
While he'd been choking, while his vision blurred and his body convulsed—the facehugger had completed its task.
Its elongated appendage had slipped past teeth and tongue, delivering its essence deep within him before withdrawing unnoticed in the chaos.
The relief was real.
The victory was not.
Blonsky shot the creature with his pistol moments later, its acidic blood ewting the floor.
"Whatever that thing was," he snarled, turning to Sterns, "it doesn't matter. I want more."
Sterns stared at the corpse—not with fear, but fascination.
"Your physiology handled the exposure better than anticipated," he said slowly.
"If we increase the gamma saturation—"
"Do it," Blonsky snapped.
"Now."
As the syringe pierced his skin once more, the system interface flared before Elias's eyes.
[SERVANT STATUS UPDATE
Host: Emil Blonsky
Implantation: SUCCESSFUL
Embryonic state: MUTATING
External factor detected: GAMMA RADIATION
-Development altered
-Rupture delayed ]
Inside Blonsky, something ancient and terrible stirred—no longer purely xenomorph, no longer entirely alien.
It was adapting.
And Elias knew, with chilling certainty, that when it finally emerged…
…it would not be ordinary.
.
.
.
The transformation ended with a sound like the world breaking its teeth.
Concrete split. Steel screamed.
Emil Blonsky rose from the crater in a shape no longer human—Abomination—his roar shaking the streetlights into sparks.
For half a second, the soldiers froze.
Then training kicked in and Radios crackled.
"Command, this is Hammer Two—engaging Banner!" a voice shouted over the radio.
"Repeat—engaging Banner! Hostile is green, no brown, eight feet tall and—Jesus Christ—bigger than before!"
In the command helicopter, General Ross stiffened
.
"What do you mean you're engaging Banner?" he snapped.
Bruce Banner was standing right beside him.
Very much human.
Very much pale.
Ross's eyes widened.
"…Say that again."
Back with the soldiers, Abomination roared again and slammed a squad into a storefront.
Radios screamed with overlapping panic.
Ross slammed his fist against the console.
"Bring us back. Now."
The helicopter banked hard, circling lower.
Bruce stared through the open side door, his breath hitching.
He didn't need to ask who it was.
He already knew.
Bruce followed Ross's gaze, then looked back at him.
"That's not me," he said quietly.
Ross didn't answer.
Betty turned on him, anger cutting through shock.
"You did this," she said.
"You pushed him. You made this."
Ross's jaw tightened, but the slaughter below stripped him of excuses.
Bruce stepped toward the open door.
"Let me stop him," he said.
"Before he kills anyone else."
Ross hesitated—one long, bitter second—then nodded.
"Do it."
The jump cracked the street.
The Hulk rose in Bruce's place, green fury meeting grotesque imitation as the two titans collided.
Buildings shattered. Cars flew. The fight rolled through Harlem like an avalanche.
Abomination grinned, blood running down his chin.
"Is that it?" he taunted, spitting red onto the asphalt.
Then he faltered.
His hand snapped to his chest.
The pain wasn't gamma. It wasn't familiar. It was wrong.
Bystanders screamed and ran, but some couldn't tear their eyes away.
Hulk paused, confused by the sudden shift.
Abomination staggered. "No—!"
His chest bulged once.
Twice.
A third time.
Then it ruptured.
Blood sprayed. Acid hissed where it struck the ground.
A black, elongated head burst free with a shriek that cut through every other sound.
The newborn xenomorph screamed its arrival as Abomination collapsed behind it, a dead giant.
For a heartbeat, the city forgot how to breathe.
People retched. Others screamed prayers. Some simply stared, minds blank.
In the helicopter, Betty turned away and vomited.
Ross stared forward, face rigid, cataloging horror even as it unfolded.
On the street, Hulk snarled—but the creature was already moving, faster than anyone could react to.
Far away, in a quiet kitchen, Elias felt the command crystallize.
[Hide. Now.]
The xenomorph vanished into the urban maze with impossible speed.
Only when Elias felt the city swallow it whole did he whisper the next word.
[Unsummon.]
The presence vanished.
Back in Harlem, SHIELD arrived fast.
Black SUVs skidded to a stop.
Agents fanned out.
And at their center walked Nick Fury, coat immaculate, expression lethal.
He didn't waste time.
He stepped straight up to Ross and shoved a thick folder into his chest.
"Full cooperation," Fury said flatly.
"Now."
Ross opened his mouth.
Fury cut him off.
"That thing that crawled out of your asset?" Fury continued.
"Not alien. Not random. Engineered. I've got physiology, lifecycle, acid blood, gestation timelines, and worst-case projections in that folder."
Ross stiffened.
Fury leaned in, voice low and sharp.
"And it's still out there."
Agents were already sealing the perimeter.
Harlem was locked down block by block.
Soldiers swept the ruins.
Sterns was arrested nearby, still muttering, eyes shining with obsession.
Fury didn't look at him.
His gaze stayed on Ross.
"You made this mess," Fury said.
"Now you're going to help me clean it up—before whatever that thing is decides this city is a nest."
Miles away, Elias watched the news feed go dark.
And guilt finally settled in, heavy and inescapable.
He had tried to prevent a massacre.
Instead, he had shown the world a nightmare it wasn't ready to name.
The news broadcast cut to a looping aerial shot of Harlem under quarantine that night.
Elias stood in his living room, the glow of the television washing his face in cold blue.
Sirens wailed faintly through the speakers.
Words like unknown organism, classified threat, SHIELD intervention scrolled endlessly at the bottom of the screen.
He turned away.
The system responded instantly.
[Level: 1
Experience: 1 / 2 ]
He frowned at the fraction.
Unclassified… the old rules had been simple.
One level. One experience.
Now—
Novice.
Double the weight.
Level 1 required 2
Level 2 required 4
Level 3 required 8
And so on.
Elias exhaled slowly.
So that's the price of stepping forward.
The system pulsed again.
[SYSTEM PROMPT
Objective Completed: Establishment of First Servant
World Impact Registered: Public Manifestation Detected
Evaluation: Successful
Congratulations.
You have been rewarded for showing the world your servant's transformation.
You have 2 rewards. ]
The first appeared.
[REWARD 1 ACQUIRED
Super Soldier Strength
Description:
• Physical strength enhanced to super-soldier tier
• Comparable to Captain America
• Strength factor only
• No regeneration, endurance, or reflex amplification included ]
Elias stared at it, jaw tight.
Strength.
After everything that had happened… after the screams, the blood, the thing clawing its way into history—
This doesn't fix anything, he thought.
The guilt stayed.
Then the second reward materialized.
His breath caught.
[Lightsaber — Corrupted Variant (Red / Crimson)
Properties:
• Plasma blade composed of corrupted kyber-energy
• Blade length adjustable via mental command
• Cuts through conventional matter, reinforced alloys, and most energy shields
• Emits destabilizing resonance against biological targets
• Prolonged exposure induces fear, pressure, and psychological unease in nearby entities
• Responds exclusively to wielder's intent
• Cannot be replicated or wielded by non-authorized users
• Corruption state: Stable
• Alignment: Neutral (User-influenced)
° Current User: Elias Mercer ]
Silence filled the room.
Elias blinked once.
Twice.
"…No way," he whispered.
The guilt didn't vanish—but it cracked.
Just a little.
He moved on instinct.
The television went dark.
Windows shut.
Curtains drawn tight.
Click.
The door locked.
His house sank into complete darkness. He even wore his blanket as robe and have his hed bowed.
Then—
SNAP.
A crimson blade ignited with a low, hungry hum, flooding the room with red light.
Shadows leapt across the walls as Elias lifted it, eyes wide, grin breaking through despite himself.
He swung it experimentally.
Too fast.
Too clean.
"Oh come on," he muttered, laughing under his breath.
"Tell me this isn't the coolest thing ever."
The red glow danced as he spun it again, completely, undeniably—
A total geek.
And for the first time since Harlem burned, the weight on his chest eased—if only for a moment.