Chapter 72: The Nurturing Series—"Black Void" Erika

Five minutes later, the police arrived. Twenty minutes after that, Black Widow and Hawkeye finally made it to the scene.

“Director George? Good evening. We’re from the Strategic Homeland Intervention, Enforcement, and Logistics Division. I’m Agent Clint Barton, and this is Agent Natasha Romanoff. This situation is beyond your department’s capabilities. From now on, we’re taking over…” Hawkeye approached to negotiate.

Director George, slightly overweight with a sullen expression, finally broke into a smile, his face beaming as he extended his left hand. “Thank you for your hard work!”

As the police chief, he knew all the basic information about New York’s gangs, and was even aware of the existence of the Hand. These gangs ruled the city's underworld, infiltrating even the police department. Freshly graduated rookie cops weren’t necessarily his own men; a certain “Wilson Fisk” was the true police chief in every sense. His long tenure wasn’t due to arresting hundreds or thousands of criminals, but precisely because he hadn't arrested many, always striving to avoid trouble.

Columbia University, a world-class institution, was brimming with connections; many government and military leaders were alumni. The school’s administration exerted direct pressure on him, leaving him in a difficult position—he couldn’t afford to offend either the university or the gangs.

Now that S.H.I.E.L.D. was taking over, no one was happier than he was—both his position and his head were safe.

Natasha surveyed the scene before her: corpses strewn everywhere, blood pooling across the floor. She felt no discomfort.

Her mood, however, was foul.

Anyone abruptly awakened from a deep sleep, with dreams still lingering, by a phone call would be in a bad mood.

“Cleaning up your mess again… Master Wang, just you wait… If you don’t give me some essence, I won’t let this go!”

She recalled the essence liquor given by Old Wang and couldn’t help but feel irritated.

At first, the man mixed in so much water—how outrageous? Later, he stopped adding water, but started mixing in liquor. Simmons had said the active ingredients were only twice as potent as last time; the rest was just alcohol.

And not even good alcohol. Master Wang, your stinginess knows no bounds. Shall I propose S.H.I.E.L.D. gifts you a few bottles of fine wine or Maotai?

The science division had already named the active ingredient “Azeroth Essence.”

This time, no matter what, she had to get more of it, and drive the price down as much as possible.

Black Widow thought for a moment, then called the Egg.

“Sir, this is an opportunity—a chance for full cooperation with Iron Fist and K’un-Lun. The Hand and Wilson Fisk control all New York gangs. No matter how powerful Iron Fist is, he can’t fight every gang alone. If S.H.I.E.L.D. offers more comprehensive support, I’m confident we can get more Azeroth Essence at a much lower price…”

On the other end, the Egg was holding a research report and application from the science division, frowning.

“Azeroth Essence” was extremely valuable; the project team needed more for research, but it was prohibitively expensive—even more so than Vibranium.

S.H.I.E.L.D.’s expenses had been high lately; no matter how wealthy, this was unsustainable.

As if sensing his concerns, Black Widow quickly reminded him, “There are hundreds of archived 084 items, some of which have been researched for decades with no results…”

The Egg’s eyes lit up.

084 items—“mysterious artifacts”—some related to aliens, some to myth and legend, others to scientific experiments. The first “084 item” originated from Hydra, an obelisk of unknown material.

S.H.I.E.L.D. had studied it for over sixty years, with little to show for it.

Keeping them was pointless—it would be better to trade them for something worthwhile!

Besides, K’un-Lun was said to exist in an extra-dimensional realm, not part of this universe. Surely, Azeroth Essence wasn’t their only treasure.

If they were to cooperate, it had to be thorough and multi-faceted.

The Egg pondered, then spoke in a low, resonant voice, “You don’t need to handle this. I’ll negotiate with him myself.”

He hung up and signed off the documents.

The application for Azeroth Essence was set aside.

Next was another application: materials for making titanium alloy staves and titanium alloy gauntlets.

Glancing over the list of familiar and unfamiliar materials, then at the final page’s budget, the Egg felt as though his eyes were deceiving him.

How many digits was that? Was the decimal point misplaced?

…

…

Night had deepened.

Skye disabled the surveillance cameras along the route. Old Wang, leading three wounded companions, slipped silently through the darkness to the Azeroth Specialty Shop.

On the way, they occasionally passed solitary men and women sneaking through alleys. Old Wang, with his face covered, had nothing to fear.

Matt, the Stick, and Erica had already been exposed at Columbia University, with so many witnesses watching. That was unavoidable.

Old Wang knew all too well: no matter how cautious, they couldn’t escape the notice of those intent on finding them. New York was densely populated, with plenty of people wandering the streets late at night. He couldn’t club every passerby—and there was no need.

“Skye, lock the door.”

Old Wang dropped the Stick onto the floor and raised his hand.

A green healing orb appeared, merging into the Stick’s body.

The wounds that had nearly healed now closed completely. Even his internal injuries began to mend, though Old Wang couldn’t restore his blood, so the old man’s face remained pale and ghastly.

Having survived so many years, the Stick’s life was saved. With some rest, he should recover fully.

Monks were adept healers; Old Wang was even more renowned—a Grandmaster Mistweaver from World of Warcraft, whose mistweaving technique had saved countless lives. The elite and high-ranking members of both the Alliance and Horde were among his loyal patients.

If Old Wang issued a call, both the High King of the Alliance and the Warchief of the Horde would tremble—he was the only man in Azeroth who could become the planet’s Supreme King, since he had earned the planet’s own recognition…

The worldview of the young lady was shaped by him; from innocence to her current maiden form, it was a flawless cultivation!

“Master Wang, please save Erica!”

Matt carefully placed Erica on the only bed, watching as the sheets became soaked in blood, feeling deeply distressed.

So much blood lost, her heartbeat nearly gone—could she be saved?

“She won’t die… And if she does, it doesn’t matter; resurrection is always possible.”

Old Wang raised his hand, this time not a healing orb, but the more potent Revival Mist and Soothing Mist.

A haze of green gathered at the wound, acting like platelets to stop the bleeding. The wound writhed and closed, then the internal injuries began to heal.

Matt was visibly moved.

He heard Erica’s heartbeat growing stronger, her breathing more steady—the injury had stabilized, she’d survived.

If not for seeing Master Wang’s intense concentration as he fixed his gaze on Erica, sweat beading on his brow from the effort, Matt would have thanked him immediately.

During the process, Old Wang took the opportunity to examine Erica’s body carefully.

He cared nothing for height, weight, or measurements—she couldn’t compare to the Azeroth young lady anyway. What mattered to him were Erica’s physical condition and mental state.

The Pandaren lived on the Pandaria continent, saturated with the lingering power of the Old God “Y’Shaarj.” Any negative emotion would spawn Sha demons; thus, Pandaren were always optimistic, and their Monk tradition upheld this—internal and external cultivation, mental resilience.

He used qi to examine Erica’s body, and her spirit to gauge her mental state.

Erica’s body was no different from a normal human; the “Beast’s” power clearly hadn’t descended yet, otherwise she wouldn’t be so weak.

Even a newly awakened “Black Void” like Erica would have greatly enhanced abilities, far surpassing Daredevil, the Stick, and others combined.

The problem lay in her spirit.

Without a full descent, the “Beast’s” influence on the host’s mind wasn’t as direct or effective as the “Spirit of Vengeance.” This made it impossible for Old Wang to thoroughly study the “Beast,” and he didn’t know how its methods differed from those of Old Gods and Dreadlords.

Since he’d decided to cultivate her, Old Wang would take responsibility for Erica.

He certainly didn’t want his protégé to turn out as some random evil deity, instead of a well-mannered, charming girl.

Robbie could reach an agreement with the Spirit of Vengeance and restrain it to a degree; Erica might be able to do the same.

But she needed training.

Such training wasn’t something the Stick, a half-baked teacher, could provide.

Perhaps K’un-Lun had ways, but it was too far.

In the end, he’d have to rely on himself.

“Columbia University—you can’t go back. The Hand won’t let you off.”

Old Wang stroked his chin. “How about I find you somewhere to stay?”