Rowan produced the small case and sealed the transformed block of wood inside.
A nuclear weapon was still a weapon built from metal, and metal answered to him. Long before this moment, others had demonstrated that principle. Once the missile entered the range of his abilities, it had already ceased to be a threat. The transfiguration was simply insurance. With his new wand, the altered state would remain stable for a very long time. If he ever wished, he could reverse it and restore the warhead to its original form.
A weapon like that was never useless.
With the missile dealt with, Rowan turned back toward the sky.
Three Helicarriers hovered above Washington, engines roaring, energy cannons charged. They were Hydra's last hope.
"Feel it," Rowan said softly. "Despair."
He brought his hands together, then pulled them apart.
A torrent of compressed plasma erupted forward, ripping through the nearest Helicarrier from bow to stern. The beam didn't stop. Rowan shifted sideways in midair, carving cleanly through the vessel until it split in two and plunged toward the lake below. Without pausing, the attack swept across the remaining two carriers.
They reacted instantly, energy batteries locking onto him.
Bolts of concentrated fire streaked toward Rowan.
Behind him, golden sigils flared into existence, forming a radiant defensive array. The incoming blasts struck the barrier and vanished without leaving a mark. The plasma stream never faltered. In seconds, the remaining Helicarriers were sliced apart and sent crashing into the water.
Less than ten seconds.
That was all it took for Hydra's vision of global domination to collapse.
To Rowan, the carriers were little more than oversized targets. No shielding. No meaningful structural resilience. Even conventional weapons had nearly brought them down before. Against him, they had never stood a chance.
"Oh my God… who is he?"
"That has to be an angel."
"He stopped the missile. He saved the city."
"He saved all of us."
Across the country and around the world, viewers stared at their screens in stunned silence. Captain America, Wolverine, Iron Man, those they understood. Enhanced soldiers. Mutants. Advanced technology.
Rowan Mercer defied every category.
He appeared out of nowhere, unfurled wings, halted a nuclear strike with a gesture, and erased three flying fortresses in moments. The image burned itself into the public consciousness.
Not a weapon.
Not a hero.
Something else entirely.
In Washington, gratitude drowned out fear. People knew exactly what would have happened if the missile had detonated. Whatever Hydra's weapons might have done, a nuclear blast was something everyone understood.
And it had been stopped.
In the secure chambers of the World Security Council, no one spoke for several seconds.
"Who is that?" one member finally demanded. "Why was he never mentioned?"
Fury had spoken of rebuilding a school. Of Logan. Of gifted children. No one had paid much attention.
Now they watched a man casually dismantle the most powerful weapons on Earth.
"That," someone said quietly, "is far more dangerous than Hydra."
Because if Rowan Mercer ever turned against them, they had nothing. No deterrent. No defense.
Below, Tony stared upward, his mouth slightly open.
"So," he muttered, "I'm upgrading again."
His golden armor suddenly felt very small.
Logan exhaled slowly. "Figures. The guy disappears for weeks and comes back like this."
Steve didn't linger on it. He saw Gordon regain consciousness, saw several enhanced operatives vanish in a flash of teleportation.
"They're retreating," he said. "Inside. Now."
The three of them charged the Triskelion. Without the enhanced operatives holding the line, the remaining Hydra forces folded almost instantly. Robots fell. Soldiers scattered. The entrance was breached in moments.
Inside the director's office, Alexander Pierce stood frozen, staring at the wreckage outside.
Years of planning. Decades of manipulation. Gone.
"How… how can he be that strong?" Pierce whispered.
His ideology crumbled with the carriers. For the first time, doubt crept in. Maybe he had chosen the wrong path. Maybe power didn't come from systems, or control, or algorithms.
Then the anger returned.
"Kill them," Pierce snapped. "All of them!"
No one answered.
A finger pressed lightly to his forehead.
"Enough," Rowan said calmly.
Information flooded into Rowan's mind. Plans. Names. Accounts. Safehouses. When he withdrew his hand, Pierce's fate was already sealed.
Pierce turned, eyes wide. "How are you—"
A whisper of motion passed through the air.
Pierce's body collapsed, his head striking the floor a heartbeat later.
Silence followed.
Hydra was finished.