Daredevil

"This has been the second large-scale attack dealt against our beautiful homeland by the Asgardians! No more, I say, no more! It's time to fight back! My son, Colonel John Jameson, as you all know, is an extraordinary astronaut, he could lead our offensive!"

"Mr. Jameson, there is no evidence that the Asgardians are behind this—"

"Then who was it?! The Chinese?!" There was a pause. "No, it would be too obvious, the Chinese attacking with a Chinese dragon. Hah! Don't be naïve. This was an Asgardian ploy, to make us dependent on them. They think of this world as an Asgardian colony. Well, we already showed the Brits what happens when they mess with us, didn't we?! It's time for another Independence!"

With a bit of effort — because the absurdity of the radio broadcast was weirdly entertaining —, Clark tuned the distant sounds out, focusing on what he was doing.

The metal groaned under its own weight when Clark lifted the steel beam, tossing it to the side as carefully as he could as he dug through the debris of the collapsed warehouse that previously hid the Lazarus Pit; not too long ago, that entire place had been covered in ice, looking more like a piece of the Arctic than New York.

Clark sighed, looking around for a moment, enjoying the warmth of the sun that had eventually melted all that ice after Thor finally put an end to Ao Shun's winter.

Things had gone a lot better than he thought they would, especially considering the violence of the Hand's attack. There were civilian casualties, there was costly damage all over the city and there were a lot of panicked people, from the public to the governments around the world, demanding answers and looking for people to blame.

A supposedly mythological creature appearing out of nowhere and freezing an entire city tended to cause alarm, apparently.

But despite the fear Ao Shun caused, the deaths and destruction weren't nearly as bad as they feared at first. The temperature dropped, certainly, and fast, but Thor had managed to stop the blizzard before it became unbearable. The snow covered the streets, collapsed some buildings, blocked the path of ambulances and law enforcement, but SHIELD had acted fast, directing police officers, paramedics, firefighters and the National Guard and Army to where they were needed the most, reducing significantly the number of injuries and deaths.

More importantly, Tony's Iron Hope project had been a tremendous success, proving once more that once he put his mind into it, Tony could achieve miraculous things.

The specialized suits flew all over New York, rescuing people from collapsed buildings and from under the snow, performing first-aid and even small emergency surgeries, putting out fires — that somehow happened even when with the blizzard raging on —, transporting injured people directly to the hospitals by flight and even clearing some important roads.

Iron Man himself directed the Iron Hope project, several times doing what needed to be done in person.

The project worked so well that the Mayor was even considering making it a permanent feature; that was how successful it was and how many people it had saved. Clark could honestly say he was proud to call Tony a friend.

Thor had done more than simply stop the blizzard. He had restored the warm weather slowly and gradually, careful not to simply melt all that snow and flood the city. The God of Thunder had made sure to direct the melted snow to the right places, even draining it with Mjölnir-made hurricanes when there was simply too much, and then he also joined Tony to help everyone.

Clark noticed with amusement that Thor made sure to leave some snow behind, generally in places full of kids, like parks and playgrounds; he could hear the boys and girls playing from afar, their laughter as they tossed snowballs around sounding even more precious after everything that happened.

The Sanctums, thank all the gods, were safe as well, defended by the Sorcerer Supreme and her sorcerers.

Apparently, the Hand's pet demon, the Beast, had sent his legions against them, so they could distract the Ancient One long enough for him to try to capture Raven; they had failed on both fronts. The Ancient One mopped the floor with his demonic soldiers, destroying a whole lot of dangerous entities as consequence.

And Raven and Bruce had defeated the Beast of the Hand by themselves.

Clark was pretty certain that if he could have a heart attack, he would have had one when Raven informed him of that little tidbit. He hadn't known the severity of the Hand's attack against the Avengers Tower, as they sent dozens of possessed people and the Beast himself to try to reach Raven, otherwise he would have done something, but it was a relief to know that Raven found in herself the strength to fight.

The same could be said about Bruce, even if the poor man ended up with severe pain all over his body after the violent fight; he would be fine, though, and they all knew Bruce wouldn't have done anything differently if he could.

Natasha, Clint, Jessica and Matt had defended the Avengers Tower against the Hand; and against Madame Gao herself, as she tried to reach Vladimir and Leland.

He was shocked beyond words when he saw the aftermath of the battle, unable to believe how evil the Hand was, how utterly insignificant a life was to them. They had sacrificed dozens of people, used them as disposable bodies for their army of demons and then sent them to kill innocents. It had a been a nightmare to identify the victims; most of them belonged to criminal organizations — most likely Fisk's men —, and the ones that didn't were connected to them somehow. Families, friends, neighbors… The Hand had simply captured everyone they could to bolster their numbers and then unleashed them against the Avengers.

And they had failed.

Gao was dead. The Beast was dead, or at the very least, banished. Ao Shun was trapped in the Astral Dimension, without a body to return. The Hand had lost, and while that was excellent, it put into perspective how much they were willing to sacrifice for their goals.

The fact that they were still out there made Clark uneasy.

Thor hadn't been able to find the location of all the dragon tombs on Asgard, even after scouring the libraries. According to what he learned, that knowledge had been destroyed to be kept a secret, and the few who knew about it were in K'un-Lun, out of their reach for now. Asgard had the location of some, and Clark asked the Ancient One to send her sorcerers to deal with them, so those would be safe from the Hand.

But the others? They were still lost, and the Hand was after them. The only consolation is that they didn't have a Black Sky to summon another Lazarus Pit, even if they could dig up another dragon.

That was, frankly, a big relief.

A day and a half had passed since the Hand's attack, and New York was getting back to its feet. Little by little, things started to go back to normal, everyone helping anyway they could; even Steve was there, arriving not even an hour after Ao Shun was defeated. According to him, once SHIELD informed him what was going on, he immediately took off with STRIKE team to help, but the weather made it impossible for their jet to land in the city.

Steve's answer to that was to jump out and run the rest of the way; the fight ended before he could arrive — like the Incident and Black Zero Event, the actual battle felt far longer than it actually was —, but he arrived just in time to help the civilians deal with the aftermath.

The sight of Captain America was, at the very least, excellent for morale.

The streets were clear of snow, people were getting back to work, schools were opened, and life was returning to normal, as people finally processed the fact that their city had been attacked by a dragon.

There was still much to be done, however, which was why Clark had gone back to the spot where Ao Shun was resurrected.

"So, see anything?" Natasha asked, walking to Clark, as SHIELD agents worked around the destroyed warehouse, isolating the place.

Superman looked again, using his x-ray vision to look underground, searching for any signs of the Lazarus Pit; there was none. Both the Ancient One and Raven had guaranteed him that the Pit was gone, every trace of its energy spent on Ao Shun's resurrection, but even so, Clark advised SHIELD to close the place.

Better safe than sorry, especially when dealing with magic.

"Nothing," he finally answered, ignoring the covertly marveled looks the agents working around them sent him. "If it was still here, we would feel it, believe me."

"One less thing to worry about, then," Natasha replied, simply.

She watched her coworkers for a moment, and Clark used the time to study her; more accurately, to study her injuries. Natasha had fading bruises on her face, and he could tell that three of her ribs were cracked, even when her movements revealed little of her wounds. He pursed his lips, frustrated; Clark hated to see people getting hurt, especially his friends.

But it could have been a lot worse, by what they told him. Madame Gao had been a dangerous foe.

"Still, it's best to keep this place isolated," Natasha continued, after a moment. "I'll recommend they treat this like a case of radiation leak." She tilted her head. "Who knows what the Hand could have left behind here, anyway. Maybe we can find something that lead us to the rest of them."

Clark nodded in agreement. That was the other reason he was there, to see if he could find any clues about the Hand's whereabouts. He doubted they left much behind, but a leader of the Hand had spent a significant amount of time there, while waiting for Ao Shun to come back to life. If there was a place where they could find something, it would be there.

It was worth a try.

In silence, he lifted another piece of debris, part of a wall it seemed, uncovering what looked to be the top of a metal container. Frowning, he started to dig around it, finally pulling it from the collapsed warehouse.

An entire shipping container. Bent and crushed, yes, but mostly intact.

Sensing his excitement, Natasha approached, watching as Clark opened the container as carefully as he could, checking into it.

There was some kind of dust inside it, too little for anyone to notice or care about, but Clark smiled widely.

"We got something," Clark said to her, pointing at the dust; Natasha raised a single eyebrow. "How much do you want to bet that if we compare a sample of that dust with a sample of one of those claws Ao Shun left embedded in the Avengers Tower, we'll have a match?"

Natasha was much more interested in the dust now.

"You think they used this container to transport the dragon's bones?" she asked.

"Yep," he answered, popping the 'p'.

"Alright," she agreed, turning to him. "But how does that help us?"

Clark smiled and pointed at the name printed on the side of the container: Union Allied.

"Maybe it won't lead us to the Hand, but it might lead us to Fisk," he said, seeing the realization dawning on her face.

Union Allied, the construction company that Fisk, the Russians, Leland, the Yakuza and the Chinese had used to hide and move their money. The money uncovered by Karen when she worked there, which pretty much started all this.

More importantly, it was a company that they could link to Fisk, using the evidence provided by Leland and Vladimir.

And now, with proof that the Hand had used Union Allied to transport the dragon to New York, they had a link between Union Allied, the Hand and Fisk.

This was huge. Before, even with all the evidence Leland provided, they could only tie Fisk to a handful of financial crimes — if Leland and Vladimir's testimony was believed —, and nothing else. It wasn't nearly enough to make SHIELD start an investigation, which would probably fall into the lap of the FBI or the police, both full of people bought by Fisk.

But ties to a criminal organization that proved itself to be a global threat, responsible for the very recent attack that almost decimated New York? That would do it.

"Do you think it's enough?" Clark asked, looking at Natasha. "To make SHIELD pick Fisk's case?"

Natasha grinned. "It might just be. Especially if the public opinion forces their hand."

"What do you mean?" Clark asked, confused.

She opened her arms. "Everybody is looking for someone to blame for this. Terrorists? Aliens? Gods? The Avengers? Superman? Why don't we give them someone else, someone actually responsible for this attack?" Natasha got closer, whispering in Clark's ear. "Write a story, Clark. Tell the world what really happened. Provide the evidence that Fisk brought the Hand and the dragon to New York. Turn the public against Fisk, and SHIELD will have no option but to take the case and follow through with it until Fisk and his entire organization is locked behind bars."

Clark's eyebrows shot up, surprised at Natasha's suggestion. It hadn't occurred to him that Clark Kent, journalist, could be more useful than Superman in bringing Fisk to justice.

"No one will print a story like that," he argued, distracted, his mind working fast to find solutions. "Fisk owns the media."

Natasha rolled her eyes.

"We have the internet. You don't need anything else. You are a famous and accomplished journalist already, you have evidence to back up your accusations." Natasha shrugged. "Make a blog, put your story there, and I'll make sure it reaches all corners of the world."

She got even closer.

"You remember what Murdock said about Al Capone? That he was arrested because everyone wanted him arrested? Make that happen with Fisk, and he's done."

He smiled, the story already writing itself in his mind. Superman had saved the day against the dragon's attack, but Clark Kent, journalist, would be the one to save the day against Fisk.

The Daily Planet, by Clark Kent.

Wilson Fisk: Kingpin of Crime responsible for the Siege of the Avengers Tower

"You get what you deserve". It's an old saying, one that survived the years because it's true. For the most part. But not for everyone. Some get more than they deserve. Some are hailed as heroes, as saviors and philanthropists even when they are anything but, their true selves hidden in the shadows while a friendly face greets the public in the light.

Wilson Fisk is such a man.

The good deeds and the kind words were nothing but a mask that…"

Fisk couldn't bear to read the article once again, his rage taking him entirely; with a growl, he tossed the computer away, smashing it against the wall.

It was over. His life's work, everything he built, everything he fought for, everything he sacrificed… Destroyed after a single story.

After Gao's defeat, Fisk actually believed things would be okay. The Hand's influence over New York was gone, Gao was dead, her monstrosities — including the dragon — were destroyed, and for a brief moment everything was right in the world.

Until this Clark Kent released this story.

A single journalist, using a fucking blog, had accomplished what the law, criminal organizations, mobsters, vigilantes and even the Avengers couldn't: it dealt a fatal blow against him and his organization, exposing his crimes to the world.

He had no idea where that damn journalist got his evidence — could he be working with the Avengers? — or how he could know so much about his organization and even the Hand, but it didn't matter. Once his story was published, the entire world saw it. It spread like wildfire, quickly translated to several languages, replicated by other medias — news channels and newspapers beyond his control — and before Fisk could do anything, in a matter of hours, everyone was talking about it.

His "friends" in the government were quick to distance themselves, most of the people he bought had also been exposed by Clark Kent and were being arrested — which made it even more likely that he was working with the Avengers, because only Leland had that kind of information —, and the ones he threatened into working for him saw this as a sign of weakness and took the opportunity to turn it to their advantage. His public image was torn apart beyond repair, as his name became irrevocably tied to the attack against New York.

"Siege of the Avengers Tower", the media called; it was ironic, because Fisk distinctively remembered having refused Gao when she asked for his help to attack the Avengers. But now, liking it or not, he was the only one left to be blamed for it.

And everything else, since there was no one willing to stand by him anymore, not after this.

There was nothing Fisk could do to avoid being arrested now, other than to run.

"Sir, the helicopter is ready," Wesley said, entering his office, his expression filled with worry. "Our people inside warned that the police is coming to make an arrest, we don't have much time. Miss Marianna is—"

"Ready as well," Vanessa said, appearing from behind him. She walked to Fisk, grabbing his hands. "Let's go."

He had no other choice, and it pained him to admit that. Fisk had promised he would take care of Vanessa and now… Now they were on the run, about to leave the country to escape the law. His empire, his entire organization, were done, and a great part of what he had out of the country was about to be destroyed as well.

His dream to fix his city was over; but he still had Vanessa.

Grabbing her hand, Fisk kissed her and guided her out, walking fast to the elevator, Wesley and his bodyguards following. They had a helicopter on the top of the building, ready to take them to a plane in a hidden location, a plane that would take them out of the country. It was the only way to avoid prison right now.

The elevator took them up and when the doors opened, Fisk walked with Vanessa, going to the helicopter already about to take off, the night sky cloudy like his mood.

That was when one of his guards fell down, a metallic CLANG echoing. Without hesitating, Fisk pushed Vanessa towards the helicopter.

"Go! Go!" he yelled, turning in time to see another of his guards fall.

Wesley drew his gun, ready to fight and defend him, only to be disarmed and knocked out by a red blur.

The Devil of Hell's Kitchen.

Fisk snarled, seeing one of the men responsible for all that was happening to him, his fury growing. But no matter how angry he was, how much he would like to just attack that man, his priority was Vanessa.

"Take off!" he yelled to the pilot. "I will join you later!"

"Wilson?!" Vanessa screamed back, her voice barely reaching him with all the noise of the helicopter.

"I will join you later!" Fisk repeated, seeing his men dragging Vanessa inside the helicopter, as she fought them every step of the way.

Then he turned to the Devil of Hell's Kitchen, studying his opponent, making sure he couldn't reach the helicopter; the Devil simply stared back, without moving, unconcerned with the helicopter about to take off.

Vanessa was still screaming his name when the helicopter finally flew up, distancing itself from the building, and Fisk had to stop himself from turning to watch, knowing very well that he couldn't take his eyes off the Devil of Hell's Kitchen.

Any thought about the inevitable fight, however, was promptly forgotten when Fisk heard a loud metallic noise coming from the helicopter.

Panicked, he turned fast, his face going pale in despair when he saw Superman appear out of nowhere and break the rotor blades with his body. For a moment, the helicopter stopped midair; then it began to fall.

"NOOOO!" Fisk yelled, forgetting all about the Devil as he run to the edge of the building.

He nearly fell too when he arrived at the edge, almost throwing himself over in his despair to reach Vanessa, even rationally knowing that there was absolutely nothing he could do about it. He stopped to breathe.

Only to feel relief flooding his entire being when he saw Superman carrying the helicopter down, gently, taking the aircraft to the street full of police cars.

The relief was short lived, however, when Fisk finally understood what was happening.

"She doesn't have anything to do with this!" Fisk yelled, turning at the Devil at his back, the only person there to hear him. "Vanessa is innocent!"

The Devil of Hell's Kitchen simply stared at him, his red eyes fixed on his.

"Since when does the fate of innocent people matter to you?" he answered, simply.

Matt didn't know if he considered Vanessa to be innocent. In the eyes of the law? Probably. He doubted that the woman took any part in Fisk's crimes, or even knew enough about his organization.

In his — no pun intended — eyes? Not so much.

Vanessa knew who Fisk was, what he could do, what he had done, even if not specifics. She knew the kind of people Fisk had allied himself to, the kind of people he brought to the city he constantly said he loved. And she still stood by him and watched.

Was it out of love? Maybe. But love or not, Vanessa knew what she was doing when she decided to stay with Fisk while he did what he did.

The police would probably get nothing useful out of her, and it was doubtful Vanessa would even step inside a prison cell, but after considering the matter for a long time, Matt didn't really think she should escape justice.

In the end, however, it didn't matter. The Devil of Hell's Kitchen wasn't there for her.

He was there for Fisk. It was time to put an end to this.

"You are surrounded," Matt said, his senses nearly overwhelmed by Fisk's agitation. "Give up."

Fisk was walking from one side to the other, like a cornered furious animal, his muscles tense, his blood filled with adrenalin, his heart beating like crazy. Matt already knew this wouldn't end peacefully.

And the Devil inside him rejoiced in that.

"I wanted to make this city something better than it is!" Fisk yelled, spitting all over, his face red. "Something beautiful! YOU TOOK THAT AWAY FROM ME! YOU TOOK EVERYTHING! I'M GONNA KILL YOU!"

Matt holstered his billy clubs and grinned.

"Take your shot," he challenged.

"AAARGGHH!" Fisk screamed, lunging against him like a rhino.

The weight and sheer power behind that attack would be enough to break a man and Matt knew that; still, he waited, until Fisk was about to clash.

Then he flipped over him, using the momentum to kick Fisk's back and throw him down. And it was his turn to attack.

Matt started to punch Fisk's face while he was down, putting all his strength on the blows, feeling his fists hurt after each hit, but he didn't stop, the blood splattering all over his red suit. Fisk apparently just got angrier, getting up fast despite the blows, yelling nonstop as he punched, swinging his heavy arms around like a crazy man.

Fisk's fists flew around as Matt dodged, jabbing his sides and face as he did so, feeling like he was hitting a brick wall. The "Kingpin" was just too strong, too big, and too enraged to feel anything.

He demonstrated that by diving towards Matt and grabbing him; then simply lifting him as if Matt didn't weight anything and throwing him away.

Matt fell painfully on the ground and before he was barely up, Fisk was on him like a berserker, unleashing a barrage of punches that even his new suit couldn't completely block, his body feeling each and every single one of them.

"This city doesn't deserve a better tomorrow!" Fisk yelled, punching him nonstop. "It deserves to drown in its filth! It deserves people like my father! People like you!"

No, it didn't.

It didn't deserve the Hand, it didn't deserve Fisk, it didn't deserve all that evil. It didn't deserve to need the Devil of Hell's Kitchen. There were good, innocent people living there, people like Karen and Foggy, people who deserved nothing but good things.

Feeling his entire being filled with wrath, Matt blocked the next punch with a headbutt, using his helmet to hurt Fisk's hand.

Then he unleashed the Devil.

"This is my city!" Matt screamed back, punching and kicking and elbowing Fisk with such violence and speed that the man was overwhelmed. "My family!"

Each blow sent Fisk back, Matt's fists raining on him like a volley of fire, breaking his nose, cracking his teeth, hitting his throat, the stomach, liver, until he finished with one last punch, jumping high up and putting his entire power behind it.

The Devil's fist knocked out the Kingpin.

Fisk fell heavily, completely out, his head bouncing on the ground. Matt panted, allowing the rage inside him to fade little by little, while he listened to the blood dripping from Fisk's face, drenching the ground.

It was finally over.

Matt walked to the edge of the building, listening to the approaching footsteps of the police officers about to arrive through the stairs. He turned back, staring at Fisk, when the door opened, and the police finally got there to make an arrest.

"Police!" yelled the first man on the scene, pointing his gun at him.

Sergeant Brett Mahoney, Matt grinned. Who would have thought?

"Show me your hands!" Brett ordered, checking Fisk, his gun still pointed at Matt.

Slowly, Matt obeyed; then he leaped over the edge, quickly grabbing his billy club and unleashing the grappling hook to swing to safety.

The Devil of Hell's Kitchen did what he set out to do. It was time to go home.

Josie's Bar was noisy, full of drunk people celebrating Fisk's capture the very next night it happened. It was a big deal: the man responsible for the dragon had been caught.

Well, that was the abridged version, of course, but that was what most people were saying.

It was good enough for Matt, Foggy and Karen.

"Daredevil dethrones Kingpin, by Clark Kent," Foggy read on his phone, a wide smile on his face. "So this is what they're calling our beloved local vigilante now?"

"Well, 'Devil of Hell's Kitchen' is a mouthful," Matt said, smirking, sipping his beer.

"They say he jumped out of the building after beating Fisk to a pulp," Karen added, a pleasant red on her face after so many tequila shots. "That probably has something to do with the name."

Foggy eyed him with an expression that, without a doubt, meant: "Really?"

Matt couldn't exactly blame him for that. His best friend had only recently found out about his nighttime activities, he still hadn't the time to process what it really meant; though he wasn't above yelling at him, a lot, when they talked about this for the first time, luckily in private.

His ears were still ringing from the angry lecture, but deep down, Matt was happy Foggy finally found out. And that he accepted him, despite worrying to death.

It still didn't mean he forgave Matt for keeping that from him, obviously, and Foggy was happy to demonstrate just that.

"Well, Superman was there as well," Foggy started, eyes still on Matt. "It's very likely he just carried Daredevil bridal style after he jumped."

Karen spat her drink in a fit of laughter, as Foggy grinned cheekily at him.

"I don't think so, Foggy," Matt defended Daredevil — trying to make it look that he wasn't defending himself —, the very thought of being carried away in Clark's arms bothering him.

"How would you know?" Foggy demanded, raising his eyebrows as if daring him to explain. "You never met the guy. I did."

"I just, well, from what Karen said, he seemed like a very serious, dignified kind of person," Matt argued. "A professional. He most likely had some kind of tool, a grappling hook maybe, and used it to swing to a lower floor of the building. Then it would be a simple matter to go down the stairs and leave." He turned to Karen. "What do you think, Karen?"

"Maybe," she admitted, sounding oddly disappointed. Then she snapped her fingers, excited. "Or maybe he surfed on Superman's back!"

Matt paused. "That I can believe."

That sent a ripple of laughter through the three of them, a carefree kind of laughter that Matt hadn't heard in a long while. He missed it. It was wonderful to see Karen so relaxed after this whole ordeal.

"We'll have to ask if Clark knows something about this the next time we see him," Karen finally said, still chuckling.

"Man, Clark's new blog is on fire!" Foggy exclaimed, happy. "Did you guys see how many views he already has?"

"The Daily Planet," Karen enunciated, her voice a little slurred, giving them a sly smile. "He invited me to work with him, you know?"

"What?! He's trying to steal you from us?" Foggy asked, jokingly, but a little bit alarmed.

Karen just laughed, then kissed Foggy tenderly; that was another recent development, Matt silently pointed out, one that made him smile. It was good to know that both of his friends found happiness together.

Foggy had been pining for a long time.

"Nobody is stealing anyone," Karen reassured him. "Clark just said that I could write my own pieces if I wanted, when I wanted." She shrugged. "I mentioned I like to write. He's going to give Ben Urich a call too, if he already hasn't."

"The guy who exposed the Italian mob back in the day?" Matt asked, interested. "You know him?"

"Hmm," Karen nodded, drinking her beer. "I actually went to him first with my Union Allied story. He was the one who pointed me to Clark. He couldn't risk his job, because of his sick wife's health insurance…" Then she opened a big smile. "Which was the other great news of the day that Clark told me: apparently when he found out about Ben's wife he asked around and found a new treatment they're doing, with a new drug for that disease. It's experimental, but according to him Mr. Stark got in contact with the lab and managed to secure a spot for Ben's wife. So who knows? Ben might work with Clark too!"

Karen grinned at them.

"What I'm saying is, maybe you guys should give me a raise," she joked.

"Why not?" Matt said, startling Karen. "We'll get plenty of work now, helping to prepare the case against Fisk. And SHIELD pays well."

"It's good to be an Avenger, isn't it?" Foggy asked, kissing Karen again.

Matt smiled, happy for his friends. They deserved a little bit of joy, especially after everything they went through in the Siege of the Avengers Tower. In the end, though, things had worked out.

New York was safe. His friends were safe. The Hand was beaten, at least for now. Fisk was behind bars.

And they were drinking at Josie's. Matt raised his glass.

"To us!" he toasted.

"To us!" Foggy and Karen exclaimed.

Clark walked through the elevator doors and stopped, standing like a hero.

"Pizza time!" he announced, balancing two gigantic piles of pizza boxes on his two hands.

Everyone in the Avengers Tower party hall stopped to talk at the same time, and Clark took the chance to look around. Tony and Bruce were sitting in front of a computer, running some kind of simulation for some reason. Natasha and Clint were playing cards, betting what seemed to be old war trophies as they sipped Tony's expensive drinks. Thor, Steve and Raven were sitting on a couch, watching some movie; both the Captain and the Asgardian seemed a bit confused, he noticed.

At the moment they realized that he had arrived, however, they turned to welcome him, everyone with big smiles on their faces; Clark honestly couldn't remember being greeted with such enthusiasm before, and he had helped to save the world a couple of times already.

"There's the man of the hour!" Tony exclaimed, opening his arms as he left the table where he was talking to Bruce. "I leave for a few days, and when I get back we have dragons, demons, a few million dollars of damage all over the building, and you're suddenly an internationally famous journalist. I'm feeling a bit left out, to be honest."

Clark grimaced, quickly looking around the Avengers Tower with his x-ray vision.

"Is the insurance company going to cover this?" he asked, feeling a little bit guilty; he was the one who brought Raven there, after all.

Tony just waved off his concerns. "Who cares, I can brag about living in a place that withstood a dragon attack. How many people can say that?"

How many people would want to?

He was distracted from the conversation when Thor approached, grabbing an entire pile of pizzas from his hands.

"Kal, consider your debt settled!" Thor boomed, closing his eyes and smelling the food. "You Midgardians have the best food."

Without delay, Thor walked back to the couch, where Raven and Steve were also sitting, and started to eat.

Silently, Clark wondered how much did Asgardians need to eat to actually get fat and out of shape, as he watched Thor demolish three entire pizzas in a matter of seconds, leaving behind a single slice because Raven — quite literally — magicked it out of his hands.

Steve, apparently wise enough not to get between an Asgardian and his food, got up to welcome him too.

"Hey, Steve," Clark greeted, smiling at him. He looked at the pizzas and took the one on top. "Natasha told me you were a fan of Hawaiian pizza, with extra pineapple, so I got you one." He paused. "I really can't tell if she was joking or not, to be honest, so if it's not your thing, I can fly back to the pizzeria pretty quick. I mean it, it wouldn't take even a minute."

"I can't tell if she's serious most of the time either," Steve admitted, "but Natasha's right, I like it," Cap was quick to explain, grabbing the pizza.

"Told you," Natasha interjected, rolling her eyes, throwing a card on the table.

"I've been trying some new things," Steve explained. "It's weird, but not in a bad way."

"Look at you, Future Boy," Tony said, smirking at him. "Not too long ago you couldn't even turn the TV on, and now you got a taste for pineapple pizza." He wiped a fake tear from his eyes. "They grow up so fast."

Steve just sighed, knowing by now that it would be useless to argue with Tony, so he just agreed and sat back down to watch the movie.

"So, how is fame treating you?" Tony asked as they walked to the table. Clark tapped Bruce's shoulder as he put the pile of pizzas down, making sure to place a few next to Natasha and Clint's table too. "Do you have groupies already?"

"I don't think journalists have groupies," Clark answered, grabbing a slice of pizza. "When we get really famous, people just put bombs under our cars."

"Or they send men with hammers to break your knees," Clint pipped up.

"Throw them through windows," Natasha added.

"Poison," Clint retorted.

"Car crashes," Natasha replied.

"Plane crashes," Clint countered.

"Drowning," Natasha went on.

"All of the above, really," Clark interrupted before they could go on forever; he knew enough about them to be certain that they would. He shrugged, completely unbothered. "It should be fun."

Ma Kent had a copy of Kelex with her, ready to warn him if there was need, and more than able to protect her if anyone was stupid enough to try anything before he got there; given the things Tony invented on a daily basis, something like that wouldn't even draw attention. And his other friends, well, they were there in the same room — with the exception of Jessica and Matt —, all of them probably more violent inclined than he was.

The criminal who decided to try to intimidate him would get the surprise of a lifetime.

All this talk about criminals reminded Clark of Fisk; he looked at Natasha and Clint. "Everything going alright with our new friend?"

"The Kingpin? I liked the name," Natasha smirked. "And yes, everything is going well. Fury will make sure the investigation goes perfectly."

"He was not happy about the dragon, let me tell you that much," Clint said, grimacing. "Or the Hand, for that matter. I swear, you could see veins popping out all over his head while we told him, it was scary as hell. Fisk is going to answer for a lot."

And he would deserve every bit, Clark added silently, glad that they could finally put the man behind bars, where he couldn't hurt anymore innocents.

"Well, keep me posted," Clark asked. "And if you need any help, just ask."

"Will do, Supes," Clint answered.

Clark allowed the two of them go back to their game, turning back to Tony and Bruce.

"What are you two doing?" Clark finally asked, unable to guess what the numbers running on the screen meant.

"We are trying to calculate the locations where the veil between our dimension and the Mirror Dimension is weaker, to run some tests," Bruce answered, typing fast, without raising his eyes; Clark's eyebrows shot up. "If we succeed, maybe we can develop some kind of tech that emits the right frequency to open them without magic."

"Like the Kryptonians did with the Phantom Zone," Clark exclaimed, surprised. "That's… Not actually a bad idea. It could avoid a lot of unnecessary collateral damage."

"That's what we're hoping," Tony said. "I mean, from what Bruce told me, the benefits would be incredible. Imagine if we could just take the fight there, any time we wanted."

"I would have stayed there for years, back when I couldn't properly control when the Big Guy wanted to come out," Bruce admitted, finally looking at them. "A place where I don't have to worry about breaking anything or killing people… That's heaven."

In a way, Clark could understand what Bruce said, but just up to a point. While he was often bothered by how fragile the world was when compared to him, Clark still had a degree of control that Bruce would never have.

It was the difference between breaking a door handle when trying to leave a house, and suddenly losing control and destroying the entire building, alongside everyone in it.

"That would be a tremendously bad idea," Raven suddenly said, without turning away from her movie. They all looked at her, surprised. "The Mirror Dimension is good for quick, limited visits. Staying there for too much time is dangerous."

"Why?" Bruce asked, confused, taking off his glasses.

Slowly, Raven turned and looked at him.

"The Mirror Dimension is, as the name implies, a mirror," she answered. "The only reason it copies our world so perfectly is because it's metaphysically close to our realm. In reality, the Mirror Dimension is capable of copying anything. Stay there for enough time, and it will copy you too."

Raven looked into their eyes, serious.

"The last thing you want, is a mirror-image of yourself taking form and hunting you down, trying to take your place in the real world. That would be… bizarre."

Bruce put his glasses over the table, sighing. Tony tapped his shoulder and opened a pizza box for him.

"Better than nothing," Tony said, as Bruce picked a slice. "If we get somewhere, maybe we can still implement it to Veronica."

That seemed to cheer up Bruce for some reason.

"Well, I'll leave you to your work," Clark said, moving towards the couch, curious about what movie Raven, Captain America and the God of Thunder were so interested on.

Star Wars. The prequels, more accurately. That was a weird sight.

"I think I could form a lightsaber using lightning if I tried," Thor mused, as he watched the big battle between Jedi and droids during the end of Attack of the Clones.

He raised his hand and Clark, Raven and Steve were already about to jump him, when Natasha said, without even looking at him: "Thor, if you summon a bolt of lightning here, pizza night is over. Forever."

The threat worked swiftly, it seemed; it was weird to see Thor scared.

"So, Star Wars?" Clark said, eventually, still feeling Natasha's powerful aura looming. "How are you liking it?"

"Not as good as the original trilogy," Raven answered, immediately. A purist. "But enjoyable."

"I'm… A bit confused," Steve admitted.

"I told you, Cap," Tony spoke, "that happened during the Cold War. The Soviets had a robot army and the Americans had a special force called 'Jedi'. It was a far more civilized age."

Steve just rolled his eyes.

Clark watched in silence for a while, smiling at how focused Raven was.

"I always had a crush on Padmé," he admitted, seeing the senator firing her blaster.

"She is beautiful," Thor agreed, cheerfully. "Not as beautiful as my Jane, however."

The God of Thunder smiled, smitten, eyes still on the screen as Padmé fought. Then he frowned for a moment, looking from Padmé to Clark, then back to Padmé. But before he could explain his weird behavior, Clint said:

"Am I the only one who thinks Mace Windu looks exactly like Fury? I mean, put an eyepatch over his eye, and they could be twins!"

They all turned to the TV.

"Nah," said Tony.

"Not that much," agreed Bruce.

"Maybe it's the shaved head?" Steve suggested.

"Probably," Clark replied.

"I do not see it," Thor disagreed.

"You need to check your eyes, Clint," Natasha retorted.

"Oh, come on! They are identical!" Clint complained.

Both of them went back to their usual banter, poking fun at each other, and Clark tapped Raven's shoulder; the girl looked at him, puzzled.

"Hey, could you pause the movie for a moment? I got something for you," he said.

"There is no need, I've already watched it," Raven answered, curious.

Clark sat by her side, grabbing the small box from inside his jacket: the latest Starkphone. Smiling, he opened the box and gave Raven the smartphone.

"Tony gave me a huge discount," he told her. "I already added my number, and it's all paid for, no need to worry about anything. Perks of knowing the owner of the company," Clark joked.

Slowly, Raven took the phone, handling it with extreme care.

"I know you'll be leaving to Kamar-Taj soon," Clark continued, "to continue your magical training. I can visit you anytime, it's a quick flight for me, but I want you to call me if you need me. Not just if you are in trouble, for anything, anytime you want. If you need to speak to someone, if you want to talk about your day, if you want to complain, if you want me to take you out for some waffles… Anything. Okay?"

For a long time, Raven just stared at the phone in silence; then she put it down and hugged him. Shocked by the sudden move, Clark took a moment to hug her back, pulling her even closer to him.

He would miss her a lot, Clark admitted to himself.

Clark had no idea how long they remained like that, the voices and the movie like a background noise to him. Eventually, however, Raven let him go, and stared at him; her face was carefully emotionless, even if her eyes were a bit red.

"You know I can contact you via Astral Projection anytime I want, right?" Raven said, finally.

"Well, technically yes, but what if I'm the shower or something like that? You wouldn't want that to happen, would you? Easier to just call me."

There was a brief blush on her cheeks.

"Yes, of course, I hadn't considered that," Raven answered after a moment, looking away.

Clark enjoyed the closeness for a moment, as they went back to watch the movie still sitting side by side. Neither of them was really paying attention, though.

"Hey," Clark called, his voice soft. "Everything is going to be okay." He smiled. "We killed a dragon and a Demon Lord. I think the worst has passed."

Raven smiled back at him; a tiny, shy smile that Clark would remember fondly.

No matter what the future held for them, everything would be okay.

Baron Wolfgang von Strucker watched as the images and numbers danced on the screens, his focus absolute.

This was his lifework, the reason why he trained his body and mind, both as a SHIELD agent and as a HYDRA operative — not that there was a difference between the two, even if most didn't know about that — to the absolute limit. The world needed them, now more than ever. What he was seeing on the screens proved that.

New York had been attacked once again. And once again they could do nothing but watch as a chosen few fought for their planet, two of them not even humans.

This was unacceptable. If humanity couldn't defend itself, did it even deserve to keep existing?

This chaos had to end. Order had to be established. Humanity could not keep fighting each other, hindering their advancement for petty reasons, not when there were real threats out there, more than willing to wipe off their species from the universe.

HYDRA needed to take control, otherwise there wouldn't be a future for humanity.

No war, however, was without casualties. There were those who would fight them, and they needed to be prepared, they needed an army. That was von Strucker's mission.

Sokovia was the perfect location for this. The country was in the middle of a civil war, and as such they had the perfect excuse to send in agents posing as peacekeepers, establish a secure and hidden base, and then work without interruptions. Thus, HYDRA Research Base was founded.

A base that existed with the sole purpose of creating an army powerful enough to defeat the Avengers and anyone else that stood in their way.

And the key for that was Loki's Scepter.

As they found out immediately, the Scepter was much more than a simple weapon, or even a tool to control minds. It stored knowledge inside it, almost as if it had a mind of its own; an ancient mind, possessing secrets, technology and information about the entire universe. Thousands upon thousands of years of acquired data about everything they could possibly imagine, from species that didn't even exist anymore, to planets that were still part of powerful galactic empires.

Suddenly, it wasn't a matter of developing knowledge, but a matter of mining it. Every bit of information they were able to extract and decode, advanced their technology years, to the point that they could understand and even, to a degree, modify Asgardian, Chitauri, Kryptonian and Dark Elven technology, whereas before they were like cavemen, beating them with sticks and stones to see what would happen.

Relocating the Scepter from SHIELD to the HYDRA Research Base had been one of the most important decisions they made, one that could attract the wrong kind of attention, but one that would secure HYDRA's power over the world in time.

The Scepter would elevate humanity to their rightful place in the universe, and HYDRA would guide them.

But first, they needed to take Earth.

Baron von Strucker's eyes moved from one screen to the other, studying, learning, watching as Superman battled the dragon, footages that they acquired from every camera and satellites they could put their hands on.

Their computers were running calculations, measuring the Kryptonian's strength, speed and durability, much like they had already done with the Asgardian and with Dr. Banner. He took notes of everything that happened during that battle, as the images showed Superman being frozen for several minutes, hit with enough strength to send him flying, electrocuted, burned… At the same time, they estimated his total speed and physical strength, the power behind his energy beams, the temperature of his freezing breath, comparing all that new data with the Kryptonian's previous battles and appearances.

And little by little, the question wasn't if they could defeat Superman, but how they could do it.

Adjusting his monocle, von Strucker looked at another screen, the only one that wasn't displaying Superman's battle. Instead, it contained a list of his own experiments, soldiers enhanced with the ancient knowledge and unique energy of the Scepter:

Subject Scarlet Witch.

Subject Quicksilver.

Subject Livewire.

Subject Killer Frost.

Subject Atomic Skull.

Project Insight would be the first bullet to be fired in the war, but far from being the last. There were several HYDRA cells such as his working on their own projects: Project Destroyer, Project Abomination, Project Sentinel…

His was called Project Spear of Destiny.

HYDRA would soon take its rightful place in the world, and those who refused to accept the new order would fall.

Baron Wolfgang von Strucker had work to do.

Alexandra Reid — or at least that was the name she chose for herself during the last few years — stared at the round table in front of her, as three others sat down, slowly.

One of the chairs remained vacant.

For the first time in years, the leaders of the Hand were reunited, to talk about the death of one of them.

To her right sat Murakami, the one responsible for their operations in Japan and a good portion of Eastern Asia. The mere fact that he was there was enough proof of the seriousness of the moment, because Murakami despised people and often acted from the shadows.

Nobu Yoshioka was usually the one he sent to deal with matters, but like Gao, he had also faced the final death.

To her left sat Sowande, the leader of their operations in Africa. In other circumstances, Alexandra would worry about his presence, not because of his loyalty, but because the warlord was excessively violent in his dealings, something that tended to draw attention.

As it was, however, after the Siege of the Avengers Tower, they needed power more than they needed to maintain secrecy.

To the warlord's other side, sat Bakuto, the one responsible for their dealings in the New World; also, the one responsible for recruiting and training their soldiers. A master with the sword and with words.

They were in silence for a long time, their eyes going from each other to the vacant chair, where Gao should have been, if not for her failure. She decided to begin.

"We all know why we are here," Alexandra said, speaking in their native tongue, K'un-Lunan, meeting their eyes.

"Oh, yes, we know," Bakuto retorted. "Hard not to notice when we lose, in a single day, Gao, Master Ao Shun, and the Beast." He swallowed, always staring at her. "And gained nothing in return."

She held his stare without flinching, but the gravity of what he said also weighted heavily on her mind. It had been a very long time since they suffered a defeat such as this. The Hand was unmatched for centuries, but now?

Now Gods walked the Earth again, and there was a new age of heroes.

"If there is anything you want to say, Bakuto, say it," Alexandra ordered.

"It was your plan that led to this disaster, Alexandra," Bakuto went on. "Your obsession with acquiring a Black Sky that have gained us new enemies — powerful enemies —, squandered our resources, destroyed our foothold in New York, and lost Gao and Master Ao Shun!"

Murakami and Sowande remained in silence, but were both looking at her. Alexandra was not intimidated in the least by the outburst.

"I suppose you had another plan?" she asked. Bakuto opened his mouth, then closed it again. She looked at Murakami. "Did you?" She turned to Sowande. "What about you?"

Alexandra looked around the room, barely noticing the opulent decoration.

"Let me be clear: we are dying," she declared, forceful. "Chi, magic and the hundreds of other ways we found throughout the world can only extend our life for so long. We need to awaken our masters and amass enough power to take K'un-Lun before the Gates to the Heavenly Cities open — which will be soon —, otherwise we will all die!"

She punched the table, flaring her chi, shattering the wood beneath her fist.

"Gao's death was a tragedy, so was Master Ao Shun's, but they achieved at least a part of our plan: we have control of the buildings above the tomb where Master Chiantang was buried."

The last deal they made with the Beast, a deal that had cost them nearly a thousand sacrifices. Luckily for them, Gao's blind followers were nothing if not loyal.

"And no Black Sky to summon a Lazarus Pit," Murakami talked for the first time. He looked at her. "We do not have the means to retrieve her, not after losing the Beast. Not when she is under the protection of the Sorcerer Supreme."

"Maybe if Nobu hadn't lost her in the first place, we would not be in this situation," Sowande retorted.

Murakami just stared at him, without blinking, for a long moment.

"Yes," he agreed. "And if he weren't already dead, I would have killed him myself for his failure. But that changes nothing. We have the tomb, but we do not have the means to resurrect Master Chiantang."

"Raven is not the only Black Sky in existence," Alexandra announced, pleased by their surprises. "There is another."

They leaned forward, waiting, hopeful.

"Well?" Bakuto asked, impatient. "Where?"

Alexandra just smiled.

Stick kneeled down, allowing the incense smoke to calm his mind for a moment.

In front of him, meditating but aware of his surroundings, was Stone, one of his best pupils in the Chaste; a warrior like few others, full of scars to prove his mettle in battle. They remained in silence for a moment, then Stick finally said:

"It's done. The dragon is dead, the Beast is banished, and the old bitch is dead."

He could barely believe the power of the Hand's attack against the Avengers Tower, as they tried to recapture Black Sky. The last time they did something like that was during their last Civil War, and it was out of character for them to act this recklessly.

That meant they were growing desperate. The Gates to K'un-Lun were about to open and they did not have their dragons to fight. If they missed that chance, well… No one could live forever.

"Black Sky?" Stone asked.

"Safe, under the protection of the Sorcerer Supreme," Stick grumbled. It wouldn't be his first choice, the girl was a danger to all, but it meant she was out of the Hand's reach. "The Ancient One will deal with her if she acts up, and keep the Hand away." He shrugged. "It's the best we're getting."

"We were lucky," Stone pointed out.

"Yeah, yeah, I fucked up. But it worked out." Who knew they could save the girl from that poison? "The Black Sky is no longer a threat."

Neither of them were, Stick added silently.

"What about Murdock?" Stone asked, his deep voice echoing in the closed room. "He joined quite the group of warriors."

Stick chuckled.

"Stubborn, immature, still a real pain in the ass."

There was a long silence.

"Will they be ready when the Gates open?"

He waited a long time to answer.

"I have no fucking idea."

Time and space lost all meaning once the borders of the Multiverse were breached.

He fell for an eternity, his very essence ripped apart by the constant maelstrom of darkness, fire and blood, reality itself adapting only to the degree that he could perceive, ever changing, an infinite universe appearing around him.

The Beast crashed painfully against the ground, the land of bones and flesh growing out of nothingness under him.

Slowly, the Demon Lord got up, overwhelmed by the screams of the damned souls, the laughter of the evil entities, the storm of blood and flames that filled the skies as far as his eyes could see. An entire realm of existence took form from the emptiness, his perception shaping what he could see, hear, touch, smell and taste.

Everything was torment.

The Beast's realm was often referred to as hell, but it might as well have been Heaven itself when compared to this. The very act of existing there was torture. The air burned the skin, lungs and eyes, the sounds were so loud that they drew blood, carving the flesh, and everything his eyes could see was horror.

Such an indescribable horror that even his Demon mind was nearly shattering.

The views and the sounds and the feelings shifted endlessly, as his mind conjured new nightmares to fill the void. There were bones and blood, then a thunderstorm of fire, complete darkness, unbearable cold… Reality itself seemed to be an amalgam of countless merged universes — both torn from the inside of the Multiverse, as well as other higher dimensions —, souls stitched together, mortals hailing from infinite different worlds, timelines and realities, old deities, creatures of the abyss, elder gods and demons, all conquered, beaten, corrupted and deformed, suffering beyond anything he had ever witnessed before.

A suffering so eternal and absolute that even the Beast could not bear to feed on it.

Shaking, his very spirit nearly breaking, the Beast fell to his knees, clutching his head, begging for a reprieve, for one moment of mercy and serenity. Did he even have a body anymore? A physical form? Had he been stripped of shape, his soul and essence bared to the world? Was he even alive anymore? Was there life in such a place?

The Beast did not know. And any questions he might have, any fading hope, was immediately shattered when four gigantic red eyes lit up in the sky, covering the entire realm in a blaze.

Then, there was only pain.

He was destroyed and remade, shredded and stitched back together, his very soul torn apart by the mere presence of the ruler of this higher dimension: Trigon.

The Beast could do nothing, because he was nothing. His mind was stormed, raided, raped, as every thought he ever had, every experience he lived since he first took form, was taken from him. Images danced in his eyes, his memories ripped from him, laid bare for Trigon's pleasure, as he went through them as if reading a book.

He could feel flares of what Trigon felt, helplessly observing as everything he was, everything he did, was revealed. The four red eyes watched with amusement as the Beast was bound by the accursed sorceress Morgaine le Fey and pitched against Merlin and Etrigan. He witnessed every deal the Beast struck, every soul he bought, every atrocity he committed, every agony he consumed.

It barely interested Trigon; to a being such as him, the Beast was inconsequential, a bacteria compared to an omnipotent god.

That was, until he finally reached the memories of his battle against the Black Sky.

For the first time, Trigon's attention was fully on him and the Beast was nearly unmade by it; it was as if a thousand suns lit up right in front of him, at the same time, and he felt his entire essence about to shatter, only to be held together by Trigon himself. He looked for what seemed to be an eternity, delighted by his daughter's power as she faced him.

Trigon's gaze forced everything out of the Beast, including all the thoughts he spied when he touched the Black Sky's mind.

Raven's torment when Azarath was destroyed by no other than Trigon, her despair, her fear to be consumed by her father's evil, her capture by the Hand… The relief she felt when she was rescued by Superman, the hope filling her being bit by bit every time the Kryptonian talked to her, new friends that did not fear her.

Most of all, Trigon was interested in the purest love Raven felt for the Kryptonian: to her, Superman was family.

And she would kill Trigon with her bare hands for him.

There was a flare of rage, perhaps jealously, and all at once, the Beast felt the powerful presence leaving him. He fell down, spent, barely coherent as his mind dangled on the edge of madness; it was a new feeling for him. Powerful demonic entities such as the Beast were known to be the cause of insanity in some mortals, their essence often proving too much for their feeble minds to take.

The Beast had never once considered that he would suffer from that.

Trying to control his wild thoughts, the Beast willed himself back to sanity — or at least the closer he could — and kneeled, not daring to look into the four gigantic eyes that took the entire sky.

"Let me serve you," the Beast begged, barely believing that those words would ever leave his mouth. "Grant me permission to go back, and I will make sure that your daughter fulfils her destiny."

"You?" Trigon asked, entertained, his voice making the entire realm quake. "The one who was torn to pieces by my daughter and her pet mortal? The one who was banished from the Multiverse? You do not even possess the power to cross Agamotto's barrier and return, weakling."

"I have servants in the mortal world. They—"

"The Hand is as incompetent and weak as you are," Trigon interrupted. "They had my daughter and they lost her."

"Then allow me to punish them!" the Beast requested, growing more and more desperate. "Allow me to conquer that world in your name, to open the gates for you to enter, to prepare your heir to welcome you with the deference your station deserves!"

Trigon seemed to consider his suggestion and the Beast felt a trickle of hope.

"Perhaps you could act as my herald," Trigon pondered. "The enforcer of my will in the mortal world…"

The trickle of hope grew, and the Beast dared to look up to the sky and meet Trigon's eyes.

"Then again, I would be a poor excuse of a father if I ignored my daughter's wishes," Trigon finally said, his voice betraying his delight. "Raven sent you here to be punished, did she not?"

Absolute terror filled the Beast, in a way he never even considered he was able to feel.

"No, I beg of—"

The pressure of Trigon's raw power nearly turned him to ashes, scattering half of his form through the skies, like dust. Whatever words he was about to utter were lost, as the waves of power decimated the world around him, a mere consequence of Trigon's strength.

"Tell me, have you grown fond of the mortal world?" Trigon asked, his tone mocking. "You spent a good while there. Enough to get used to their ridiculous universal laws, I imagine, such as Time. So I will be generous and grant you a gift, something for you to remember your days amongst mortals."

The Beast was lifted from the ground, his body torn apart bit by bit, no different than what Black Sky did to him before banishing him. His existence was pain and he could not even scream to relieve it.

"How long have you lived in the mortal world? Centuries? A few thousand years?" Trigon went on, as he sliced the Beast's body with his thoughts. "For every second you stayed there, I will torture you for a millennium."

The Demon Lord was screaming now, or trying to, his entire being filled with the combined torment of every soul he hurt, but worse. There weren't words in any language to describe what he was experiencing, the suffering inflicted directly to his soul, tearing it apart beyond recognition.

And it would not end, not for a very long time.

"What a wonderful gift, daughter. Be well!" Trigon thundered, laughing.

That laughter was the last thing the Beast heard before the world disappeared to him, replaced by fire and blood; the last thing aside from his own screams of indescribable agony.