Chapter 163: Taking You to End All This (Extended Chapter, Two-in-One)

Little Red. What a lovely name.

Fresh, elegant, yet wonderfully straightforward, it perfectly captured the color and essence of the Crimson Bands of Cyttorak.

It also vividly reflected Old Wang’s exceptional talent for naming things.

This choice was unanimously approved by Skye, Fitz, and the others. It was simple, easy to remember, and much shorter than "The Crimson Bands of Cyttorak."

Everyone outside the loop thought it was a great name, except for the magical bands themselves.

A faint wave of grievance and displeasure cautiously drifted into Old Wang’s mind, before decisively retreating the moment Old Wang noticed it and abruptly severing the connection. The Crimson Bands stopped playing around and shot off toward the distant horizon.

Gordon had long since teleported away to God knows where, and since they couldn't catch him, there was nothing they could do. Having finally escaped the display cases of the New York Sanctum, the bands naturally wanted to have some fun. They certainly didn't want to return to Old Wang’s waist to disguise themselves as a tacky, ultra-cheap calfskin belt.

Hearing Old Wang’s command, the bands quickly spotted the five missiles and trembled with eager excitement.

Such fragile guidance systems, such magnificent explosive power—what wonderful toys!

"Leave it to me!"

The bands had originally wanted to negotiate terms with Old Wang, such as, "If I handle these five missiles for you, how much Titan Essence will you give me?" However, time was tight, and it was clearly too late now. Besides, they were afraid he might fly into a rage and cut off their supply altogether.

That would be a true tragedy.

Transformed by the Heart of Azeroth, the Blood of Azeroth became a much gentler Titan Essence under the effect of "Azeroth's Eternal Patronage." It was effective on all of Old Wang's equipment, enhancing their performance to varying degrees.

The Crimson Bands had always been powerful, but previously they were just standard-issue strong. Now, their speed alone had doubled, and that was just from a tiny fraction of Titan Essence.

Having tasted the sweetness of Titan Essence, Little Red turned up its nose at any energy source other than Cyttorak. It had long since become an addict.

The mere thought of a life without Titan Essence filled it with a profound sense of despair.

Daring not utter another word, Little Red reluctantly tore through the air. From a distance, it looked precisely like a red infrared laser.

Although its speed couldn't match Gordon’s teleportation, nor could it rival a true beam of light, it easily surpassed any missile—it was supersonic beyond supersonic.

In less than two seconds, it reached the first missile, then abruptly lengthened and thickened to wrap tightly around the warhead.

Though not an authentic artifact handled personally by Cyttorak, it was still connected to that Crimson Lord. Not only could it transform at will, but it could also stretch freely. As long as there was enough energy, it could become as thick or as long as desired.

The Cloak of Levitation boasted that when driven to its absolute limit, it could wrap around the entire solar system. How could the Crimson Bands possibly fall short?

The bands continued to extend, wrapping around the remaining four missiles before pulling back with tremendous force.

The missiles, which had been far apart, were forcibly jerked at their warheads, deflecting wildly from their original trajectory.

Drawn together by love, they grew closer and warmer, crackling with arcs of electricity, before detonating after a brief moment of hesitation.

Snuggling together.

BOOM!

At that exact moment, the Crimson Bands shrank and thinned in an instant, resembling an exhausted, deflating sponge. They dragged themselves away from the scene just before the explosion, pausing in mid-air to form a neat little heart shape.

"My mission is complete!"

Delighted, Little Red flew toward a certain bathhouse in San Juan.

It had scouted the location earlier; the young women there were quite pretty, and disguising itself as a bath towel or hand towel would feel rather nice.

"Get back here," Old Wang's voice echoed.

Little Red stalled abruptly, forming a reluctant, broken-heart pattern.

***

Azeroth Laboratory.

Sensing the disturbance in the distant sky, Old Wang’s lips curved into a cold smile.

"My friends in Hydra, the show is about to begin!"

Calculating the coordinates, he opened a portal.

Not to Washington, but to the exact location from which the missiles had been launched.

Ever since the previous missile strike, Old Wang had instructed Skye to hack into the Puerto Rican military networks to pinpoint the exact location of the military base. He hadn't retaliated immediately simply because he had been too busy and tied up with other matters.

Moreover, picking a fight with the military was never a clean business. While Old Wang wasn't afraid, he preferred to avoid unnecessary trouble.

There was simply no need.

Days had passed, and Old Wang had almost forgotten about the incident. He hadn't expected them to launch another strike now, and five missiles all at once, no less!

Hydra clearly had no intention of letting the Azeroth Laboratory or him off the hook. These five missiles were merely the beginning; failure wouldn't stop them, and subsequent attacks were guaranteed. The entire laboratory was facing imminent destruction.

Under these circumstances, leaving before completely neutralizing the threat was out of the question. Nick Fury would just have to wait a little longer.

He trusted that the King of Spies possessed enough skill not to die so easily.

A swirling orange portal materialized.

Old Wang stepped through and arrived at the military camp.

***

Southern San Juan, a certain military base.

The newly appointed supreme commander, Neo Robinson, stared intently at the screen, watching the missile trajectories as they tracked steadily toward the Azeroth Laboratory. Finally, he let out a sigh of relief.

Launching five at once to blanket the entire laboratory—even if the Iron Fist was truly made of iron, he would never survive this!

After today, he certainly couldn't stay in this post much longer. However, with Minister Pierce helping to pull strings, he could transfer elsewhere to continue serving Hydra. In a few years, he should be able to secure another promotion in rank.

At only fifty-three, he was still young and had a bright future. Perhaps he could even make General; that would complete his life's ambitions.

Unlike his predecessor, who had botched everything and dragged Pierce and the entire Hydra organization into a passive mess, leaving himself with zero prospects.

"Call Pierce and tell him my mission is accomplished."

Neo pulled out his phone, preparing to dial.

Suddenly, he heard a gasp of alarm.

"Good God... what is that?"

Neo paused slightly and looked up.

On the screen, the five red dots representing the missiles suddenly changed direction and detonated sequentially in less than a second.

The blossoming sea of fire in the sky looked like the most magnificent fireworks, decorating the heavens, yet casting a dark shadow over Neo's heart.

"Can anyone tell me what the hell just happened?"

He raged, "Guidance system malfunction? Defective missiles? Or did they detonate early?"

"Probably... none of those."

The launch operator swallowed hard, speaking with difficulty. "It looks like... they hit something."

Hit something?

Heh. These were missiles, not airplanes!

Hearing what sounded like the most absurd joke in the world, Neo barked, "Is this what Stark Industries calls precision guidance? Safe and efficient? Tell me, did they hit an eagle or a sparrow? Don't tell me they collided with a S.H.I.E.L.D. Quinjet!"

"N—none of those."

Pulling up the satellite feed, the operator pointed at the screen and whispered, "General, look!"

Neo hurriedly leaned in.

The screen displayed an unidentified object—wide, thick, and long—resembling a red silk ribbon magnified countless times, which had somehow entangled all five missiles simultaneously.

The next instant, the five missiles were jerked slightly off-course by the pull of the ribbon and slammed directly into one another!

"Th—this is impossible!"

"It's magic, it has to be magic!" someone muttered under their breath.

*Slap!*

Neo struck the man across the face, his voice chillingly cold. "Let me state this again: there is no magic in this world, only science!"

The man’s face flushed red with humiliation and grievances.

I feel like there's no magic either, but how do you explain *that* thing?!

"Perhaps I can offer you an explanation."

A slightly amused voice suddenly sounded from behind him.

Neo’s breathing halted for a split second as he turned with stiff movements.

A slightly plump figure had appeared right before his eyes.

***

"Who are you?"

Neo demanded loudly, a primal sense of danger gripping him.

An absolute stranger had somehow appeared inside the base's command center without triggering a single alarm. Was he invisible?

This harmless-looking fellow stood right in front of him. Even though everyone in the room had drawn their weapons and aimed at him, the intruder's expression remained completely unchanged—

Well, that was just an assumption, since it was impossible to see the man's face at all.

A red cloth mask covered his face, and he didn't even carry a weapon. No gun, no dagger—pal, are you seriously here to assassinate me?

Drawing his own firearm, Neo aimed squarely at the intruder and barked once more, "How did you sneak in here? Speak!"

For some reason, he couldn't shake the feeling that the mask on this man's face looked awfully strange. Why did it faintly resemble a red silk ribbon?

"Me?"

Reminded of a certain young rogue seeking vengeance for her father, Old Wang said softly, "I am Edwin VanCleef... Victory belongs to the Defias Brotherhood!"

Edwin VanCleef?

The Defias Brotherhood?

What kind of nonsense was that?

Neo froze for a moment. Realizing he was being mocked, the anger surged within him, and he roared, "Open fire!"

*Whoosh!*

*Swish, swish!*

Everyone pulled their triggers, sending a hail of bullets hurtling toward Old Wang.

The firing rate of military-grade handguns was undoubtedly extremely rapid. Yet, within Old Wang’s spiritual perception, the projectiles moved with the agonizing leisure of elderly women practicing Tai Chi next door—so slow they insulted gravity, driving snails to despair and leaving turtles looking like speed demons.

His golden Qi transformed into the Golden Bell罩. Reluctantly, Old Wang wasted a tiny fraction of his energy to protect this expensive outfit that cost a full hundred dollars.

Besides, this modest amount of Qi would recover in the next second.

For someone whose total reserve of Qi already qualified him as a "Grandmaster," this expenditure was negligible.

The bullets struck the Golden Bell shield, meeting immense resistance. They decelerated rapidly before hanging suspended in the air right beside Old Wang.

At that moment, time seemed to freeze.

Suddenly, every single bullet flew backward in reverse, just like rewinding an old celluloid film.

Before anyone could react, the bullets retraced their exact paths—with just a slight adjustment to their trajectories.

They embedded themselves straight into living flesh, piercing hot, pumping hearts.

Neo stared with wide eyes, feeling his heartbeat grow weaker and weaker. He lowered his gaze.

A patch of crimson stained his chest.

His life force was draining away rapidly. Neo knew he had finally reached the end of his road, and before his grand ambitions could even be realized.

He reached up toward the sky, as if trying to grasp something.

Ultimately, his hand closed on empty air, seizing nothing—the bullets had flown back faster than they were fired, piercing his heart and extinguishing his life completely.

"Hail... Hydra!"

Neo murmured faintly before collapsing slowly to the floor.

***

"May the Light be with you, Amen."

Old Wang drew a full moon in the air with his mind, offering a prayer to the Moon Goddess Elune on behalf of the general whose name he hadn't even bothered to remember, then waved his hand.

Arcs of turquoise lightning surged, destroying the power grid.

Amidst the crackling, short-circuiting electricity, the entire command center was completely paralyzed.

The crimson mask peeled off his face automatically, transforming back into a silk ribbon that coiled itself neatly around Old Wang’s waist. It tightened slightly, testing Old Wang's skin resistance, before carefully loosening to just the right fit.

"I wasted about a minute. Nick, you better not have turned into a fried time-bomb or scrambled eggs."

Old Wang checked his wristwatch and opened a portal once more.

Arriving in Washington.

***

From the moment of the initial attack, less than two minutes had passed.

For Nick Fury, these were two minutes that decided life and death. Never before had he felt so close to God, as though he could already gaze upon the Almighty's benevolent face—

Though after encountering aliens, he believed less and less in the existence of a literal God, trusting only in the god within his own heart:

Morality and conscience.

"Pierce, you ruthless bastard!"

Surveying the multiplying vehicles closing in around him, Fury completely abandoned all thoughts of escape.

The decisive battle had erupted. This wasn't merely an assassination attempt targeting him personally; it was a total annihilation operation aimed at S.H.I.E.L.D. itself. Disregarding all collateral consequences, Pierce had deployed over twenty vehicles to trap his car in a ring of steel from which escape was utterly impossible.

He tried to puzzle it out, yet still failed to comprehend why Pierce would ever join Hydra.

As the Secretary of the Department of Homeland Security, his status was second only to the President and the Secretary of State. Simultaneously serving as a member of the UN Security Council, his unique position placed him almost at the very pinnacle of political power—

Did he want to be President?

President of the United States, or president of the entire world?

*Whoosh!*

*Swish, swish!*

Bullets pierced through his vehicle. Fury constantly shifted his posture, utilizing every means at his disposal to evade incoming fire as multiple contingency plans flashed through his mind, only to be rejected one by one.

Pulling out the off-world pager, Fury found himself thinking not of the tardy Iron Fist at the final threshold of his life, but of Carol Danvers—Captain Marvel—whose whereabouts remained entirely unknown.

Carol’s words echoed clearly in his ears:

*Only use it in absolute emergencies.*

"I'm about to die anyway. Is it too late to call?"

"Still, if Hydra's conspiracy succeeds, countless lives across the world will be lost. Surely this qualifies as an absolute emergency?"

Fury's finger hovered over the button, about to press it down, when a red silk ribbon suddenly wrapped around his hand, firmly and forcefully pulling it away before wrapping around the pager itself.

A flash of light crossed his vision, and the device vanished.

The gunfire suddenly intensified, though the shots were no longer aimed in his direction.

Accompanied by terrified screams and angry roars.

Guessing roughly what had transpired, Fury thought, *You finally made it.* The sudden relief made him nearly lose consciousness altogether.

"I can't die yet!"

Struggling upward, he turned his head and saw the red ribbon darting back and forth through the air, intercepting bullets and wrapping around Hydra agents one by one.

Snapping their necks effortlessly.

When did Master Wang acquire such a formidable new ability?

Could it be related to Kamar-Taj?

The image of the Iron Fist, which had been growing clearer in his mind, blurred once more. Fury realized he had never truly seen through Master Wang at all.

Everyone else on the street had long since fled, leaving behind only Hydra operatives.

And now, every single one of those operatives was falling, not a single one spared.

The entire street fell deathly silent; even the screams had ceased. The red silk ribbon executed its task with ruthless precision—fatalities on every strike.

After taking nearly a hundred lives, the red ribbon flew back toward a familiar spot.

Following that direction, Fury finally laid eyes on the man he had been thinking about for the past two minutes.

Light footsteps sounded as Old Wang walked forward slowly. The Crimson Bands placed the pager into his palm before coiling back around his waist.

"Is this contraption the one Captain Marvel gave you?"

Old Wang inspected the seemingly ultra-cheap pager closely. No matter how he looked at it, it resembled an ancient handheld game console.

A sweep of spiritual energy revealed an internal structure of staggering complexity—its technological sophistication potentially surpassing even the Arc Reactor.

Any device capable of interstellar communication was bound to be extraordinary.

"Wang... *cough, cough*... Master... *cough, cough*."

Fury coughed a few times and weakly extended a hand. "Give it back!"

"As if I care for this junk!"

Tossing it back into Fury's lap with a flick of his wrist, Old Wang casually summoned a sphere of Mists of Rejuvenation to pull the spy back from the brink of death. "Let's go."

"Where to?" Fury climbed out of the car with great difficulty and asked.

"To put an end to all of this, of course."

Old Wang opened a portal once more. On the other side of the gateway stood a cluster of futuristic architecture.