The Multiverse Hunter

Fury stepped into the war room, his presence commanding immediate attention. The tension in the air was suffocating, a dark cloud of unease hanging over the room.

Inside, two members of the Avengers were already waiting—Clint Barton, better known as Hawkeye, stood rigidly near the large observation window, his sharp eyes staring out at the swirling clouds outside the massive warship. He wasn't speaking, but his clenched fists betrayed the storm raging within him.

Bruce Banner, however, was seated on the long couch, his head buried in his hands. His body was trembling—not from fear, but from the sheer effort it took to suppress the monster within. Fury knew the moment he saw Bruce's shaking shoulders that the scientist was teetering on the edge.

"Fury… please tell us you know who did this," Bruce muttered, lifting his head. His face was pale, his eyes sunken with exhaustion, but beneath that fragile exterior, there was something boiling.

Fury didn't answer right away. Instead, he exhaled sharply and stepped toward the war table in the centre of the room. With steady hands, he reached for his phone, his one good eye locked onto the screen as he made the call.

RING.

The dial tone filled the room, echoing like a death knell.

Queens, New York – A Hospital Room

The emergency ward of the hospital was drowning in grief.

The cries of Mary Jane's parents echoed through the sterile hallways, their wails a haunting melody of unbearable loss. Peter Parker's aunt, May, was inconsolable, her frail body held up only by the comforting embrace of the nurses who struggled to calm her sobs.

The bodies of the young couple lay motionless on two hospital beds, their faces eerily peaceful, as if they were merely asleep. But the gruesome gunshot wounds told another story.

Outside the room, in the dimly lit hallway, Tony Stark stood alone.

His normally sharp and witty demeanour was gone, replaced by something hollow. His face was gaunt, eyes red from unshed tears, his hands gripping the edge of his phone so tightly that his knuckles turned white..

Then, the phone in his hand vibrated.

Fury.

Tony took a breath, trying to steady himself before answering.

"Fury…" His voice was hoarse, almost unrecognisable.

Fury, on the other end, hesitated for a fraction of a second. He knew Stark, and he knew how to handle him. But there was no good way to deliver what he was about to say.

"Stark, I don't know how to say this but…" Fury's voice was unusually low, weighted with something Tony immediately recognised—grief.

Tony's grip on the phone tightened. "What now?"

Fury exhaled slowly and raised his gaze to Bruce and Hawkeye, who were watching him with expressions of barely contained dread. They were already bracing for the worst, and Fury could feel the walls of the room closing in around them.

"We found Captain America and Agent Romanoff," Fury said finally. "They were found dead in a hotel suite. Murdered."

The silence that followed was deafening.

Bruce's hands, which had been gripping his knees, suddenly tensed. His breathing became erratic. His skin darkened, green veins crawling up his neck like a spreading disease.

"Bruce, control your—" Fury's voice cut off as Bruce let out a deafening roar.

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!

The entire warship shook as Bruce transformed, the force of his rage sending shockwaves through the room. The thick reinforced glass shattered as the Hulk lunged forward, his massive green form bursting through the observation deck.

Within seconds, the Hulk was gone, leaping from the ship, soaring through the air like a cannonball. He didn't need directions. He already knew exactly where to go.

Fury stood there, unfazed, rubbing his temple as shards of glass crunched beneath his boots.

Tony, on the other end of the line, exhaled slowly. His voice was ice.

"Who did it?"

Fury didn't hesitate this time.

"His name is Ali."

A foul stench clung to the air inside the dimly lit apartment. The source of the smell was obvious—the heavy presence of death, sweat, and burnt incense lingered like an unshakable presence. The room was filled with an eerie purple glow, strange symbols drawn onto the wooden floor, still radiating the remnants of a dark spell.

Seated on an old, tattered couch, an elderly woman struggled to catch her breath. Her wrinkled face was slick with sweat, her frail body trembling from exhaustion. She exhaled, her limbs barely able to support her weight.

'They're dead. Both of them. I can feel it,' she thought. 'My Spirit… it's gone.'

The cost of summoning the two goblins had been enormous. If they succeeded, she would only lose a fraction of her power. But if they failed…

Her fingers twitched as she reached into her inventory, pulling out a small vial filled with a glowing blue liquid. She popped the cork and drank it in one desperate gulp, gasping as warmth spread through her chest. She closed her eyes, feeling her depleted Spirit slowly begin to replenish itself.

She had barely finished exhaling when—

KNOCK. KNOCK.

Her eyes snapped open, her breath catching in her throat.

A cold shiver ran down her spine.

She wasn't expecting anyone.

Outside the Apartment

On the rooftop across from the building, a lone figure stood.

The man was silent, barely moving, the only light coming from the crimson glow of the cylindrical hilt in his grip. A single second passed, and then—he was gone.

Inside the Apartment

The old woman turned, her trembling hands gripping the armrest of the couch as she forced herself upright.

"I should get new bodies…" she muttered, shaking off the last remnants of her fatigue. She pushed herself to stand—

"Sit down."

A deep, commanding voice sliced through the air behind her.

Her heart nearly stopped.

Before she could even process what was happening, a massive hand pressed against her frail shoulder and shoved her back down onto the couch.

VVVVVVVVVVVVVV

A glowing red blade ignited just inches from her throat.

She barely dared to breathe.

Cold sweat dripped down her temples as she felt the heat radiating from the plasma edge of the lightsaber. The acrid scent of burning fabric filled her nostrils as the hem of her robe began to smoulder.

"W-Wait," she stammered, her voice shaky with desperation. "We can make a deal—"

Ali's voice was devoid of emotion.

"You ruined what could have been a great time for me."

The lightsaber deactivated. The handle dropped into her lap.

For a split second, she felt relief.

Then—

BURN.

SPLASH.

AAAAAAAAAAAAAH!

She screamed, the sound raw and filled with unbearable agony as both of her legs fell to the floor, severed at the thighs. Blood poured in thick, steaming pools onto the wooden boards.

Her body convulsed, wracked with pain. She tried to move, but the shock was already shutting her body down.

Ali watched in silence, his face void of any sympathy.

He sat down in an empty chair across from her, elbows resting on his knees, observing with cold detachment as she writhed in her final moments.

Her screams grew weaker. She gasped, her vision darkening. She felt the life draining out of her, the world slipping away.

And then—

Nothing.

The room fell silent.

Then—

KNOCK. KNOCK.

Ali didn't move, but his hand instantly went to his inventory, pulling out a Desert Eagle. He aimed it toward the door.

"Who?"

A soft voice answered.

"Evelyn. Madam of the Death Guild."

Ali's grip on the gun tightened.

"And what are you here for?"

"Just here to collect something that belongs to my guild."

CROACK

Ali opened the door with the gun now back in his inventory, he looked at the beautiful women who was in a black coat and jeans.

"Nice to meet you again", Evelyn said as Ali stepped aside before closing the door behind her.

"Any wrong moves and you'll die.", Ali said with his cold voice to Evelyn who simply smiled and walked over to the corpse missing it's legs.

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