Chapter Forty-Five: Kyle Arrives

Steve Rogers, known as Captain America.

As one of the most senior heroes in the original Marvel universe at this stage, he possesses the flawless physique of a super-soldier, exceptional tactical acumen in the heat of battle, mastery of over a dozen combat techniques, and the indestructible, versatile Adamantine Shield. In many ways, his strength was among the best during the entire Second World War, and he shone as the most heroic of warriors.

Unfortunately, the sudden appearance of Kael—a man with innate card-drawing abilities—left Steve in the awkward position of being perpetually overshadowed. After all, Kael's brilliance was simply too dazzling. Both were soldiers, both super-soldiers, yet in terms of personal power, battlefield achievements, military rank, or even his impact and deterrence as an American hero, Steve would always come second.

This only spurred Steve to work harder during missions; he wanted to prove himself worthy of the title "Captain," striving time and again to be the first to lead the way ahead of Kael.

A sharp metallic snap echoed.

Steve's expression was cold as he glanced at the rearview mirror, watching the enemy motorcycles rapidly closing in from behind. Accelerating, he pressed a button on his motorcycle, instantly launching steel cables from either side. The motorcycles leading the enemy pack were immediately ensnared; both riders and bikes tumbled and crashed violently into the snow.

The remaining enemy motorcycles managed to swerve past the cables and continued their pursuit, only to be met moments later by a burst of flames from Steve’s tailpipe. Wails rose as they fell amid a patch of burning snow, followed by a series of explosions.

Effortlessly shaking off the enemy motorcycles, Steve looked up to see the main gate of the Hydra base now looming ahead, with a horde of guards brandishing energy weapons pouring out to meet him. He unstrapped his shield from his back, positioning it in front of the bike for protection.

Under a barrage of energy tank shells and a hail of laser fire, Steve gunned the engine, charging headlong into the base at full throttle!

This motorcycle, after all, had been modified by Howard Stark and was equipped with numerous advanced gadgets: not just grappling cables and a flamethrower, but also a self-destruct device.

Just as Steve vaulted through the gates of Hydra’s base, he leapt clear of the bike. The motorcycle sped on and crashed into the main gate, its powerful explosion blasting a hole through the half-open steel doors and obliterating a dozen guards stationed nearby.

“Come on!” Steve roared, shield in hand, as he plunged alone and fearlessly into the ranks of the enemy, fighting dozens of guards with the tenacity of an army.

Meanwhile, less than a hundred meters away on the snowy mountain flank beside Hydra’s main gate, thousands of American soldiers lay in silent wait, poised for the planned attack.

At the front of the army, Kael and Fury crouched at the snowy edge, watching Steve’s bloody battle through binoculars.

Fury marveled, “Steve’s really just the bait, but I have to say—he’s fighting more and more like you these days.”

“No,” Kael replied softly, shaking his head, “this is what his true style should be.”

Because he symbolized justice and protection for America, people often underestimated Steve’s offensive capabilities. In truth, forever standing as a lonely vanguard at the front lines of war, defending all with his shield and striking down foes on every side—this was Captain America’s true bearing.

Soon, as the original plan dictated, Steve was inevitably overwhelmed by the endless waves of armed guards. He was subdued and dragged into the base.

Only when the base’s doors swung fully open again did Kael nod and issue his command: “Lieutenant Fury, lead the army and attack the main gate directly. Destroy everything inside. Surround the area at once, and let not a single Hydra operative escape.”

“Understood.” Fury nodded, then cast Kael a thoughtful look. “You’re planning to storm in with the grappling pulley, aren’t you?”

“Of course. If I’m too slow, that Red Skull will get away. I have to intercept him as soon as possible.” As Kael spoke, his blue eyes flashed with cold light, and an aura of killing intent seemed to emanate from him. “It’s time to settle some old scores.”

At that moment, inside Hydra’s final underground base, in the second-floor hall, Steve was being escorted by two armed guards. They marched him directly into the hall, stopping before a man with a hideous, scarlet skull for a face.

This was Schmidt—the founder of Hydra, known as Red Skull.

He stared at Steve with cold disdain and said, “You really have inherited American arrogance, and then some. To come here alone to die—how absurd.”

“Professor Erskine escaped from me, giving everything to you and that Kael,” Red Skull spat, his twisted expression growing even more grotesque with rage. He was also a super-soldier, yet he had not measured up to the other two, and had paid with his own disfigurement.

“The professor told me you’re nothing but a madman, unworthy of what he had to give,” Steve replied with a mocking smile.

“Shut up! He was just jealous of my natural genius! And what’s so special about you?” Red Skull snarled, clenching his fists and landing a vicious blow to Steve’s gut.

Steve coughed in pain, dropping to his knees on the floor.

Red Skull looked down at him, drawing a modified energy pistol from his belt. “Captain, let me put an end to your life.”

Facing death, Steve only laughed. “You want to know what’s special about me? Sorry to disappoint—I’m just a skinny kid from Brooklyn, New York. But I have a brother.”

No sooner had he spoken than a black-clad figure came hurtling through the second-floor window, swinging in on a cable and smashing through the glass into the hall.

The two guards at the window turned, but the young man in the black combat suit rolled upon landing, dissipating the impact, and sprang up. With a swift motion, he drew a sharp one-handed sword from behind and lunged, slashing diagonally.

In a single, fluid motion, both guards’ heads flew—severed as easily as slicing a watermelon.

It all happened so fast: from the moment the young man in black burst in to the instant he struck down the guards, barely half a second had passed.

As everyone in the hall turned in shock, all they saw was a cold, expressionless youth standing sword in hand, staring back at them, with the grisly remains of the guards lying headless behind him in a scene of carnage.

“It’s Kael! The American—Kael is here!” someone screamed in the hall, and a suffocating terror gripped the hearts of most present.

Hydra operatives had been thoroughly brainwashed, drilled into a state of absolute loyalty and fearlessness. But that did not mean they were immune to fear itself.

And in this world, there was only one enemy who could truly make them feel terror—the youth standing before them now.