While SHIELD and Hydra scrambled in every direction, the man responsible for the chaos couldn’t have cared less.
Evenson had never expected this stunt to cripple Hydra.
At best, it would force them to divert attention and manpower.
That was enough.
As long as they were too busy fighting fires to come looking for him, he’d consider the operation a complete success.
As for taking on Hydra single-handedly...
It was a pleasant fantasy.
One best left in the fantasy category.
Hydra’s greatest strength had never been its soldiers.
It was its secrecy.
No one knew how many members the organization truly had.
No one knew who those members were.
Not even Alexander Pierce, one of Hydra’s highest-ranking leaders, possessed the full picture.
How were you supposed to eliminate an enemy when you couldn’t even identify the targets?
For all you knew, the elderly sanitation worker collecting trash outside your apartment could be Hydra.
Today he smiled and waved.
Tomorrow he might pull a pistol from beneath his coat and start shooting.
It wasn’t impossible.
So, if Evenson ever seriously intended to eradicate Hydra by himself...
There was really only one practical solution.
Open a nice little portal and let the Burning Legion conquer Earth.
Problem solved.
Fortunately, he had no intention of doing anything that dramatic.
He had more pressing concerns.
Like bookkeeping.
Two days after SHIELD dismantled the Dead End Gang, Brooklyn had become noticeably safer.
The neighborhood’s criminal ecosystem had reacted with remarkable speed.
Local thugs who had dreamed of claiming the Dead End Gang’s territory suddenly found themselves reconsidering their career choices.
Out-of-town gangs looking to expand into Brooklyn also developed an abrupt appreciation for staying where they already were.
News spread through America’s criminal underworld almost overnight.
The entire Dead End Gang had vanished.
Every member.
From the lowest street punk to the boss himself.
Nobody came back.
Naturally...
Rumors flourished.
The boss of Chicago’s Bulls Gang took the rational approach.
"The Dead End Gang must’ve been collaborating with hostile foreign powers," he declared.
"The government finally cracked down."
"We all need to lie low."
The leader of Houston’s Rockets Gang preferred conspiracy theories.
"They’ve all been thrown into some secret gladiator arena."
"Rich politicians are probably betting on chainsaw death matches."
The head of Los Angeles’s Lakers Gang dismissed both ideas.
"No."
"It’s aliens."
"They landed on Earth."
"They eat people."
"The government sacrificed the Dead End Gang to save everyone else."
Meanwhile, the leader of Toronto’s Raptors Gang was convinced humanity itself had become the problem.
"The United Nations has begun population reduction."
"The Dead End Gang was just first."
"We’re next."
Human imagination truly knew no limits.
Every theory differed.
Every conclusion remained the same.
The Dead End Gang wasn’t coming back.
Gangsters across the country suddenly became model citizens.
They stopped extorting businesses.
They stopped robbing people.
Some even started helping elderly women cross the street.
The especially timid organizations disbanded outright.
Tattoos disappeared beneath laser treatments.
Piercings came out.
Years later, one former hoodlum would build a successful business from scratch and occasionally sigh with heartfelt gratitude.
"Thank you, SHIELD."
"Thank you, Dead End Gang."
"You accidentally saved my life."
The only consequence Evenson actually cared about was much simpler.
Business.
With Brooklyn becoming safer, more people were willing to visit the neighborhood.
Foot traffic increased.
So did sales at Richter’s Curio Shop.
In just two days...
His average number of customers had risen from five a day...
...to seven.
Two whole extra customers.
What a glorious achievement.
Absolutely worth celebrating.
Except it wasn’t.
Two extra customers meant he could finally afford to add a pair of hot dogs to his instant noodles.
That was hardly the path to financial freedom.
Especially considering how many mouths he was feeding.
Leaning over the counter, Evenson surveyed the collection of supernatural freeloaders occupying his shop.
His dream of a comfortable middle-class life seemed to be drifting farther away by the day.
The ghost, Truppsi, floated beneath the shelves, endlessly dusting them with a feather duster while muttering to himself.
Doomguard Dumen still stood motionless in the corner.
The big fellow had recently devoured seven souls and apparently considered digestion something that happened automatically.
Habs lounged by the front door, basking in the afternoon sun.
Occasionally, the felhound would tilt his head at passing Chihuahuas with an expression suspiciously close to flirting.
The only one displaying anything resembling healthy habits was the Doomguard Tyler.
He was lifting dumbbells.
Evenson stared.
"I’ve seen plenty of Doomguards."
"You’re the first one I’ve met who’s trying to build muscle."
Tyler shot him a flat look.
"What do you know?"
"Ever since I came here, you won’t let me fight."
"You won’t let me kill anyone."
"If I don’t exercise, what happens if I get fat?"
"When I return to the Twisting Nether, I’ll be laughed out of existence."
Evenson considered the image.
A Doomguard with a beer belly.
Somehow...
That mental picture was devastating.
He wouldn’t want to be seen in public with him either.
"But seriously," Evenson said, "lifting a car wouldn’t even count as a workout for you."
"How are a couple of dumbbells helping?"
Tyler dropped both weights onto the floor with a clang.
"You’d let me lift a car?"
"I offered to earn money fighting in underground boxing matches."
"You refused."
"You think you’d suddenly approve of me tossing cars around downtown?"
Evenson rolled his eyes.
Underground fight clubs already attracted enough trouble.
A seven-foot demon who accidentally killed a dozen opponents in one evening would attract far more than gamblers.
Hydra might arrive before SHIELD did.
"Boss!"
A voice rang out from deeper inside the shop.
"Fantastic news!"
Sarah came running around the corner at full speed, nearly bouncing with excitement.
Without another word, she shoved a newspaper into Evenson’s hands.
He accepted it...
...but instead of reading it, he stared at her.
"Sarah."
"What happened to your horns?"
Normally, all of his demons maintained human disguises.
Well...
Except Habs.
The felhound disguised himself as a husky.
Sarah, however, had apparently decided subtlety was overrated.
Her elegant black horns were on full display.
She casually reached up and stroked one.
"No big deal."
"I let them out for some fresh air."
"Thought I’d polish them while I was at it."
Evenson looked closer.
She wasn’t kidding.
The horns actually gleamed.
Their tips reflected the light with almost jewel-like brilliance.
Then again...
Among demons, horns ranked far above breasts in the beauty hierarchy.
Everyone had different priorities.
Shaking his head at infernal fashion standards, Evenson finally unfolded the newspaper.
His eyes scanned the front page.
Then they widened.
"...Well."
"I’ll be damned."
"This really is good news."
Visit and read more novel to help us update chapter quickly. Thank you so much!
Use arrow keys (or A / D) to PREV/NEXT chapter