Peggy Carter collapsed to one knee, bracing herself against the shattered pavement as she struggled to catch her breath.
"What... just happened?"
Only moments ago she had been fighting for her life.
No Chitauri warrior had been able to match her one-on-one, but there were simply too many of them. Even with the demonic power she had borrowed, exhaustion had finally caught up to her.
She had accepted that this would be where she died.
Oddly enough, she hadn’t regretted it.
At least this time she wouldn’t have to watch Steve sacrifice himself while she stood helplessly by, powerless to save him.
If she had to fall beside him instead...
Perhaps that wasn’t the worst ending.
But fate had a strange sense of humor.
Sometimes people clung desperately to life and died in an instant.
Other times they made peace with death, only for a miracle to snatch them back.
Golden-orange energy swept across Manhattan like divine judgment.
Every Chitauri near her collapsed where they stood.
Peggy looked up.
She wasn’t going to die after all.
Hidden inside the ruins of a nearby building, Dottie watched Chitauri warriors tumble from the sky like leaves caught in a storm.
"So..."
"That’s his real power."
For the first time in a long while, she felt something dangerously close to uncertainty.
She had always known Evenson wasn’t ordinary.
She had never imagined he was this powerful.
One thought settled firmly into her mind.
I’ve chosen an excellent employer.
And definitely not one I should ever betray.
The spell had lived up to its reputation.
Hand of Death, Archimonde’s signature technique, was every bit as terrifying as Warcraft’s legends claimed.
Evenson couldn’t unleash it with the overwhelming might of the Defiler himself. He had merely imitated its principles, fueling it with the fractured souls of fallen Chitauri.
Even so...
The results were catastrophic.
Nearly every Chitauri invader in New York had been erased in a single casting.
Only scattered survivors remained.
Once the portal was closed and reinforcements stopped arriving, those remnants would pose little threat.
"The fading of life..."
Evenson stared across the silent battlefield.
"...is beautiful."
His voice carried a strange fascination.
"I never realized it could be so... vibrant."
Thor looked over the city where countless enemy corpses had fallen from the sky moments earlier.
Even he couldn’t deny what he’d witnessed.
"You’ve done well."
"There are few warriors capable of such destruction."
Then, after a brief pause, he added with characteristic pride,
"...Though if I were given enough time to prepare, I could probably do something similar."
Evenson didn’t seem to hear him.
His right hand tightened around Ulthalesh.
"This..."
"My power..."
"This is how it should have been."
"This..."
"This is the strength I was always meant to possess..."
Thor frowned.
"What are you saying?"
The language wasn’t one he recognized.
Not Asgardian.
Not any Midgard tongue.
Eredun.
Concern replaced curiosity.
"Are you all right?"
He stepped forward and placed a hand on Evenson’s shoulder.
The reaction was immediate.
"GRAAAAH!"
Evenson let out a savage roar like a beast cornered by hunters.
Thor instinctively stepped back.
Then the roar dissolved into a cry of agony.
The runes branded along Evenson’s arms suddenly flared with blinding light.
They hissed against his skin.
Smoke rose from the glowing symbols as though flesh itself were being seared.
Thor stared.
His first completely unhelpful thought was that the smell suggested the situation needed seasoning more than heroics.
"You pathetic fool."
"When did you convince yourself that power belonged to you?"
"You think you’re worthy of wielding strength like this?"
"You’re making a mockery of yourself."
"We refuse to call someone like you our partner."
"Put Ulthalesh down, idiot."
"Put it down!"
The familiar voices of the Eredar Twins exploded inside Evenson’s mind.
Pain burned through both arms.
Even so...
He refused to loosen his grip.
"Damn succubi..."
He gritted his teeth through the agony.
"Are you afraid?"
"Afraid of what I’ve become?"
"Fine."
"One day..."
"I’ll put both of you in your place."
The twins answered without missing a beat.
"Oh?"
"We’re looking forward to that."
"But we’d much rather meet you..."
"...than whatever puppet that weapon is trying to turn you into."
Inside the Nether Legacy Nightclub, the citywide destruction felt strangely distant.
While explosions had devastated much of Manhattan, the club remained completely untouched.
The Eredar Twins had layered dozens of concealed defensive wards throughout the building long ago.
A Chitauri assault was insignificant.
Even a nuclear blast would have struggled to breach those protections.
Aurecess frowned.
"Something’s wrong with the boy."
"I noticed it when he tried to cast Darkness of a Thousand Souls."
"His spells are becoming stronger," Saloras replied through clenched teeth.
"Idiot."
"Has he really spent all this time without learning how Ulthalesh corrupts its owners?"
"He barely communicates with the thing," Aurecess said with obvious frustration.
"How could he know?"
She grabbed a bronze control disc mounted inside their private chamber and twisted it.
Crimson runes immediately spread across its surface before racing into the ceiling.
Saloras seized a second bronze disc.
Dark energy flooded through intricate channels.
"I honestly don’t know who taught him Warlock magic."
"His fundamentals are remarkably solid."
"But he somehow skipped every warning about wielding an Artifact Weapon."
She snorted.
"Doesn’t he realize that stubborn old scythe never asks anyone for anything?"
"Fortunately..."
Aurecess smiled coldly.
"We prepared for this."
"The marks we placed on him weren’t just decorations."
"It’s time to activate the countermeasures."
Ulthalesh had never relied on whispered temptations.
That was a misunderstanding born from lesser cursed artifacts.
The scythe’s methods were far more elegant.
It told its wielder exactly what it wanted from the very beginning.
No deception.
No manipulation.
If refused...
It simply waited.
Because Ulthalesh understood something fundamental about mortals.
Power, once grasped, was almost impossible to surrender.
Anyone who had stood atop a mountain would struggle to return willingly to the valley below.
Anyone who had tasted the ability to reshape the world would inevitably crave more.
That was the artifact’s true snare.
It freely lent its power because it knew the experience itself would become the addiction.
Sooner or later...
Most Warlocks willingly knelt before it, begging to become its servant.
No tricks were necessary.
Human nature did the work.
Saloras glanced sideways at her sister.
"Do you remember which hand he favors?"
Aurecess gave her a knowing smile.
"His right."
She chuckled softly.
"’I’ll put both of you in your place.’"
"What a wonderfully depraved ambition."
"I’d wager that’s also the hand he usually uses to indulge his more... private hobbies."
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