(AN: Going to be busy, so the chapter for today is early. Happy Holidays Everyone!)
Mercer's Hearth opened earlier than usual.
The ovens were already warm, the scent of butter and sugar drifting into the street long before the sign flipped to OPEN.
Elias stood at his usual station, sleeves rolled up, hands dusted with flour—not because he needed to be there, but because it helped.
Being present steadied the rhythm of the shop.
Everyone had a role now.
Not rigid—fluid.
Mara ran the front with practiced ease, greeting regulars by name, reading moods as easily as menus.
She handled customers who needed comfort more than food.
Caleb worked the ovens, timing everything down to instinct. He barely spoke, but nothing ever burned under his watch.
Rhea and Lina floated between prep and plating, fast hands, faster mind—they see mistakes before they became problems.
Noah handled logistics: supplies, deliveries, numbers. If something went missing, he already knew why.
And Elias—Elias filled the gaps.
When hands were short, he stepped in. When tension rose, he lowered it.
When the pace threatened to break, he slowed it just enough to breathe.
It worked.
But something was different.
Natasha wasn't in her usual seat.
The small table by the window—coffee untouched, eyes casually scanning the room—was empty.
Every one of his staff noticed.
One by one, they glanced at Elias as they passed him, curiosity written plainly on their faces.
What happened?
Elias didn't answer because he didn't have one.
Truth was, Natasha was still there.
Just not inside.
She watched from across the street, posture relaxed, sunglasses on, distance carefully measured.
Today wasn't about proximity. Today was about observation.
Time, as always, refused to wait.
The morning rush hit hard. Orders stacked. Voices overlapped.
Even Elias had to move—hands shaping dough, sliding trays, answering questions without missing a beat.
Lunch came and went.
The crowd thinned.
Late afternoon settled in.
That was when the motorcycle arrived.
The engine cut cleanly. Controlled. Familiar.
Steve Rogers stepped inside.
He paused—not in surprise, but recognition.
The warmth, the quiet hum beneath conversation, the feeling of a place that didn't demand anything from him.
"Yeah," he murmured to himself. "This feels right."
Mara still remembered him so he didn't have to day much ordering hus usual and took a seat.
Before his plate arrived, a car pulled into the lot.
Bruce Banner entered hesitantly, shoulders tight, eyes scanning for exits without meaning to.
He approached the counter, voice low.
"Do you… have anything that helps calm people down?"
Mara didn't even hesitate.
"Oh. You want the signature."
She smiled—the kind that didn't pry.
"It's why people come back."
Bruce nodded. Trusted that.
By chance—or something else—he sat directly behind Steve.
Back to back.
Neither noticed.
Their orders arrived almost together.
Another vehicle pulled in.
The bell chimed.
Happy Hogan stepped in first, holding the door wide as Tony Stark and Pepper Potts followed.
Elias looked up from his station and froze for half a second—then smirked.
"Well, well, well," he called, crossing his arms. "Look who decided he still remembered my humble shop."
Tony didn't like hugs.
Everyone knew that.
But the man whose pie had indirectly led him to a new element?
That was different.
"Don't make it weird," Tony said, already stepping in.
Elias didn't pretend this time. He hugged back.
Pepper got one too—warm, familiar.
Happy settled for a firm handshake, though his expression suggested he'd happily take a hug if offered.
"Usual?" Elias asked. "Or do you want to wait?"
Tony grinned. "Fresh."
"Thought so."
With ingredients already prepped, it would only take minutes.
Tony and Pepper sat together. Happy remained near the door, habit ingrained too deep to shake.
Across the street, Natasha was already on the line.
She didn't interrupt. She observed. Then she reported.
Inside SHIELD, alarms didn't sound—but attention sharpened.
They knew Bruce Banner lived quietly now, assumed control had been achieved. What they didn't know was why the Hulk stayed away.
Hulk remembered.
The chest bursting open.
The thing that crawled out.
The wrongness of it.
Hulk was many things.
And like all children—he learned fear quickly.
Fury dispatched three teams.
Quiet.
Contained. Ready.
Inside Mercer's Hearth, no one noticed the absence of new customers.
Why would they?
Food was good. The moment was calm.
Only Elias frowned.
His mini-map pulsed faintly at the edge of his awareness.
Natasha—neutral. Watching.
But others…
Thirty signatures.
Eighteen were hostile.
Positioned. Encircling.
The rest—neutral like Natasha.
His hands stilled for a fraction of a second.
There was only one explanation that made sense.
"…HYDRA," Elias thought quietly, eyes lifting toward the front windows.
"They're making a move."
Elias was contemplating hard.
What do I do? What do I do?
For the first time since the shop opened that morning, his hands stopped moving.
Dough rested unfinished beneath his palms, the warmth of it grounding him even as his thoughts spiraled.
HYDRA didn't move like street gangs. They didn't announce themselves.
They surrounded, tested, waited for reactions.
And right now, Mercer's Hearth was a very visible, very soft target.
He resisted the urge to act.
No summons.
No displays.
No escalation.
Instead, he did the one thing he'd been avoiding—something that felt far too villain-like for his taste.
He opened his system.
The familiar interface unfolded in his vision, cold and impartial.
[Villain System
Status
Name: Elias Mercer
Level: 8
Experience: 6 / 16
Designation: Villain — Novice
Abilities:
Telekinesis — Level 8
• Current Limit: 100M Kg
Summon:
• Xenomorph
° Evolved (Hulk Blood)
• Yautja Hunters ×2
Tactical Mini-Map (Passive)
(AN: My bad. It's supposed to be 100M Kg which 100,000 Tons, i forgot to delete the M LOL, i just corrected it. Thanks for understanding. Here's how it came to be:
Level 1 = 10 kg
Level 2 = 100kg
Level 8 = 100,000,000kg
Notice that each level adds a zero.
Which means Level 10= 10,000,000,000kg which is 10M tons)
Skills:
•Aprraisal - Maxed
Unforgivable Curses (HP World)
• Imperius — Maxed
• Crucio — Maxed
• Avada Kedavra — Maxed
Charms (HP World)
• Obliviate — Maxed
Inventory
Slots: 30
Occupied: 2 / 30
Slot 1: Facehugger Eggs ×2
Slot 2: Lightsaber — Corrupted Variant (Red / Crimson)... ]
He exhaled slowly.
So much destructive potential.
So many lines he refused to cross.
His gaze drifted lower—and then he froze.
There it was.
A skill he had skimmed past dozens of times. Not ignored—overlooked.
Not flashy.
Not violent.
Not loud.
[Appraisal - (Maxed)]
His pulse steadied.
[Appraisal — Maxed
• View detailed information of any individual.
• Disposition (can be designated):
– Partner
– General
– Royal Guard
– Guard
– Soldier
– Slave
– Friendly
– Neutral
– Rival
– Hostile
– Victim
– Enemy
– Archenemy
– Mortal Enemy ]
"…Of course," Elias muttered under his breath.
He'd been so focused on what he could do that he'd forgotten the most important part of surviving as a so-called villain—
Knowing who was who.
His eyes lifted naturally, not drawing attention, movements no different from a baker checking his shop.
The skill activated silently.
The world changed.
Invisible labels flickered into existence, overlaying reality like a second truth only he could see.
[ Mara — Friendly
Rhea — Friendly
Jonah — Friendly
Lena — Friendly
Theo — Friendly ]
That eased something tight in his chest.
Then—
[ Steve Rogers — Neutral (General Candidate)
Bruce Banner — Neutral (General Candidate)
Tony Stark — Friendly (Highly recommend: General Candidate)
Pepper Potts — Friendly
Happy Hogan — Friendly ]
Natasha.
Across the street, watching from behind her sunglasses.
[Natasha Romanoff — Neutral (Highly recommend:Royal Guard Candidate)]
No hostility. No intent to harm.
Good.
Then his gaze slid outward.
He couldn't see them but they glowed brightly on his mini-map.
Red markers bloomed across his vision.
Hostile.
Hostile.
Hostile.
Eighteen of them.
HYDRA operatives, agents, assets—whatever names they preferred this decade.
Disciplined. Patient. Armed, though not visibly.
The rest? Very neutral.
Earlier, Elias had thought he'd found the answer.
But now—another question pressed down on him.
What's next?
Does he send out the Yautja?
Or
God forbid—does he unleash the evolved
Xenomorph?
His stomach twisted. He went to the wash room and saw his reflection.
"No," he muttered under his breath, fingers tightening against the counter.
"That's insane."
His mind raced, grasping for any alternative that didn't end with civilians screaming or SHIELD descending like a guillotine.
Then, half sarcastic, half desperate, the thought slipped out:
It's not like I can make a trial for general candidates and have them apprehend HYDRA and save civilians from monsters… while I pretend to be one of the civilians, right?
Silence.
Then—
The system chimed.
Elias swore inwardly for 4th time.
Holy shit.
[Detected Host Desire!]
[CORE SYSTEM LAW:
THE HOST'S DESIRE IS SUPREME]
[General Candidate Test Approved!]
"What—no, wait—" Elias hissed.
Too late.
[Please designate your title as a villain to be introduced to the candidates.]
Villain Name: _________
Auto-name in: Diabolic Deity]
Elias smacked his forehead lightly with the heel of his palm.
"Of course," he muttered. "You decide that for me too."
The system wasn't asking if.
It was asking how.
At least this time, he had a choice.
His thoughts scrambled, latching onto the first thing familiar—games, stories, names that carried weight without being real.
Warcraft.
Villains.
Names flashed through his mind:
Arthas Menethil.
N'Zoth.
Yogg-Saron.
Gul'dan.
Garrosh Hellscream.
Sylvanas Windrunner.
Illidan Stormrage.
No time to debate.
Elias made a decision and entered the name.
The system accepted it instantly.
Another prompt replaced the last.
[Please choose the disposable judges (test for the general candidates) for the 18 hostile targets.
(Designated Targets: 18 Hostiles)
1. 500 aliens
• Includes:
300 Xenomorphs
200 Facehuggers
(Aliens)
2. 500 Zombie Horde
• Includes:
– 5 Hunters
– 5 Smokers
– 5 Spitters
– 5 Jockeys
– 5 Chargers
– 5 Boomer
– 5 Witch
– 5 Tank
– 460 Normal Infected
(Left 4 Dead)
3. 500 Insectoids
• Includes:
– 5 Brain Bugs
– 5 Tanker Bugs
– 5 Plasma Bugs
– 5 Hopper Bugs
– 480 Arachnids (Warrior Bugs)
(Starship Troopers)
Auto-select Option 3 in: 30 seconds ]
Elias' blood ran cold.
"No. No, no, no—are you kidding me?!"
None of this—none—was what he wanted.
His eyes darted through the options, heart pounding.
Although it was shocking, this was really not his first Rodeo, his first and second had no options now he has one.
Xenomorphs were a nightmare scenario.
Insectoids were outright war-level threats, no, planet-level even!
Zombies—
Zombies could be handled.
Modern weapons. Containment. Familiar patterns. Controlled chaos.
His jaw clenched.
"Option two," he said sharply.
"Choose option two!"
[The Host has chosen Option 2!
500 Zombie Horde
• Includes:
– 5 Hunters
– 5 Smokers
– 5 Spitters
– 5 Jockeys
– 5 Chargers
– 5 Boomer
– 5 Witch
– 5 Tank
– 460 Normal Infected
(Left 4 Dead) ]
[Mercer's Hearth is now designated as the Host's 2nd Base.]
[Status: SAFE ZONE
• No infected will be attracted within a meter radius of the shop. ]
[The Test is now being updated!]
[Time Stop Initiated
• Purpose: Allow candidates to prepare.]
The world froze.
Steam hung unmoving above coffee cups.
Crumbs paused mid-fall.
Sound itself died.
Elias tried to move—
And couldn't.
His fingers wouldn't respond. His breath wouldn't change pace.
Only four figures remained unstopped.
Steve Rogers.
Bruce Banner.
Tony Stark.
Natasha Romanoff.
Elias stared, heart hammering, as the weight of what he had just triggered settled over him.
This wasn't subtle anymore.
This wasn't avoidance.
This was a test.
And somewhere in the city, eighteen hostiles were about to learn what it meant to be NPCs, luckily they've got weapons.
End of chapter 19