It was a perfect tool. They could control high-risk individuals and neutralize threats before agents even arrived. If they could scale it, they could turn the Asgardian warriors into obedient sheep.
It was the "best" solution Fury could devise. The Asgardians were war refugees; in the eyes of the powers-that-be, they had no rights. But because the power was so dangerous, only Fury had the authorization to use it. He had even exposed himself to the substance, confident that because the "source" was dead, he was safe.
Suddenly, the alarms blared.
"Grade A Combat Alert! Warning! Unidentified flying object approaching base!"
"Motherf—!?" Fury's LMD barked his signature phrase. He turned to head for his office to coordinate.
Ding!
His private communicator chirped. He answered immediately. This channel was only for secrets that couldn't be broadcast over SHIELD's internal lines.
"Director, where are you?" Agent Hill's voice came through. She was a workaholic, but the exhaustion and the weekly mandatory psychiatric sessions were taking their toll on her.
"Eleventh-floor lab. Why?"
"Warning: The UFO is targeting the area between the 11th and 12th floors. Impact in thirty seconds!"
Fury realized why Hill was checking his position. Even though she knew he was an LMD, he couldn't "die" in front of the other agents. Suspicion was a disease in the intelligence world. If the agents realized their boss was never physically present, it would invite unwanted oversight from the World Security Council.
"I'm moving. If anything happens, keep everyone away from my location!" Fury ordered.
He didn't want to lose this LMD—SHIELD's budget was tight, and "the landlord had no spare grain," so to speak. Unfortunately, Fury's soul hadn't fully recovered from his previous injuries, making a quick escape difficult.
He braced for the destruction of the shell. As long as his soul wasn't harmed, he could transfer to the backup LMD in his office's hidden chamber.
Before he could reach the door, the object smashed into the lab.
The security cameras went dark instantly. In the final moments before the blast knocked his LMD offline, Fury saw a streak of fire heading straight for the Purple Man's corpse on the table. The researchers in the room didn't even have time to scream; they were reduced to ash in a microsecond.
Fury caught a glimpse of the object. His last thought before the connection severed was: Is that a hammer? Do I have a curse with hammers?
Fury didn't wake up in his backup body immediately. The explosion had apparently carried a soul-rattling force, delaying his transition. When he finally opened his eyes, Agent Hill was standing over him with grim news.
"The 11th floor is gone," she said.
SHIELD had taken a massive hit. The research department, including the weapons division, had been gutted. Dozens of top scientists were dead. But that was just the beginning.
"The agents who secured the site are showing signs of hypnosis," Hill continued. "We've had several suicides. Even with physical restraints, they're finding ways to end it. Our medical team can't explain it."
"How long was I out?" Fury asked, his voice gravelly. He already knew the Purple Man's body was gone. That "hammer" had been a targeted strike.
"Three hours. It's night now. The whole base is on high alert."
Hill's face was a mask, but the dark circles under her eyes betrayed her stress.
Who wanted the body? Hydra remnants? Fury rubbed his head. He had no intention of telling Hill about the research they were doing on Killgrave. Ever since his "lesson" from Bul-Kathos, he had become even more secretive.
"We have nothing," Hill said. "All surveillance within a mile was fried on impact. No one is claiming responsibility."
She informed him that all agents were being subjected to truth serum interrogations, but so far, they had found nothing. The strike was too precise, too fast. The radar had only picked it up seconds before impact, as if it had simply appeared out of thin air.
"When will the screening be done?"
"A day, at least. Even the interrogators have to be screened."
Fury watched a video Hill played—a blur of fire and speed. He couldn't see the object in the footage, but his memory was clear. It was a hammer. It reminded him of the mess in New Mexico. First two hammers, then five aliens, then ten thousand.
Yes, he definitely had a hammer curse.
"What now?" Hill asked. She wanted Fury to make the calls. She didn't want to be the scapegoat again. The fallout from Bul-Kathos's last visit to SHIELD still haunted her.
"Keep investigating. Track the Purple Man's pheromone signature," Fury ordered, sitting up. If Hydra had that technology and those samples, the world was in trouble. What if they controlled the President and ordered a nuclear strike? The thought made his skin crawl.
"Purple Man? Killgrave?" Hill asked, confused. "He's dead. His head was crushed into paste."
"He was dead. Now his body is missing," Fury snapped.
"I see. Another secret I wasn't cleared for," Hill said, her voice dripping with sarcasm. She was tired of the "Fury-style" secrets. "Just like how you divert funds to build secret bunkers. Next time, you explain the budget to the Council!"
She was shouting now, her psychological trauma bubbling to the surface.
"Get Coulson to find Bul-Kathos again," Fury said, ignoring her outburst. "See if they know anything. And... tell that woman, Jessica Jones. Tell her the Purple Man's body is gone."
For the "safety" of the world, Fury had no room for pity. He only cared about the result.
In a dilapidated bar on the outskirts of the city, a man stood perfectly still.
He had no head.
The headless body of Zebediah Killgrave stood upright, swinging a two-handed hammer that looked more like a giant mason's chisel. He moved with eerie fluidity, smashing everything in sight. The floor was slick with blood, and the sight of the headless torso moving with purpose was the stuff of nightmares.
The Spirit Breaker — Killgrave.
Normally, losing a head meant losing the ability to think. But with SHIELD's "synthetic life" treatments, Killgrave's soul hadn't moved on. He had lost his voice, his eyes, and his brain—he should have been unable to use his "command" powers.
But the Sky-Hammer in his hands gave him the power of telepathic will. He could now hypnotize through thought alone. Altering the consciousness of an ordinary human was now as easy as breathing.
Infused with the god-flesh of Cul Borson and transformed into a zealot of Diablo, the Lord of Terror, he had been reborn.
Killgrave's new power was perfectly suited for spreading fear. A victim could only watch in horror as their own body moved against their will—a terror that never faded.
The Sky-Hammer had made his physical form incredibly powerful, yet it blocked all sensations of pain from reaching his soul. To kill this monster, one would need powerful soul-rending magic—or they would have to destroy the Sky-Hammer itself.
But the Spirit Breaker possessed a final, cruel gift: his aura nullified all magic in his immediate vicinity.
To stop this man who had cheated death, there was only one path left: total annihilation.
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