Chapter 93: Chapter 93: Death Walks the Halls

Some time earlier

Arthur stood before the mirror in his London manor, making final preparations for the assault. He had returned from the island for a strategic wardrobe change—this attack required the right equipment.

The Kree armor hugged his enhanced physique like liquid metal, its alien technology humming with barely contained power. Over this advanced battle suit, he draped layers of black cloth, transforming the extraterrestrial armor into something resembling traditional ninja garb.

He’d initially planned extensive disguise, but after reviewing his attack strategy, Arthur decided such secrecy was unnecessary. A simple mask covering his mouth would suffice.

Satisfied with his preparations, Arthur draped the invisibility cloak around himself and Apparated back to the windswept island fortress.

—

The North Atlantic wind howled across the rocky outcropping where Arthur materialized, invisible to the fortress’s sophisticated surveillance systems. The fortress loomed before him, its defensive systems active and alert, guard towers sweeping approaches with searchlights that cut through darkness like silver blades.

The invisible Arthur moved ghost-like through the perimeter, past countless guards and cameras, until he reached the fortress’s main wall.

To any hypothetical observer capable of seeing through his concealment, what happened next would have seemed bizarre—Arthur simply lay down on the cold stone and closed his eyes, as if taking a nap in the middle of a military operation.

The explanation became clear moments later when Arthur’s astral form separated from his physical body.

Astral projection was perfectly suited for infiltrating sealed facilities. Once he’d mapped the interior from his spiritual vantage point, he could Apparate or portal directly to any location within.

The advantages were overwhelming in astral form, Arthur could pass through any barrier, observe without detection, and gather intelligence with complete impunity.

He drifted through the fortress wall like smoke through glass.

The interior was a marvel of military engineering. Corridors branched in efficient patterns, designed to channel intruders into kill zones while providing defenders with overlapping fields of fire. Arthur counted the opposition as he moved deeper into the complex.

Over sixty armed guards with automatic weapons patrolled in coordinated patterns. Their equipment was military grade—body armor, night vision goggles, communication systems that would have impressed special forces operators. These weren’t hired thugs; they were professionals.

But the guards were merely the first layer of defense.

Arthur’s astral form passed through a training area where figures moved with inhuman grace. Ninjas—most likely trained by the Hand—practiced deadly kata behind traditional masks. He counted twenty of them, their movements fluid as water, precise as clockwork.

In another section, Arthur discovered something that gave him pause. Five individuals who appeared ordinary at first glance, but radiated an unmistakable aura of barely contained violence. Their muscular frames suggested chemical or technological enhancement, and they carried themselves like predators constantly on the edge of explosive action.

Failed super-soldiers, Arthur concluded. Probably products of Hydra’s endless attempts to recreate the super-soldier serum. The fortress was exceptionally well defended.

Finally, Arthur’s astral form reached the facility’s heart—the secure conference room where his targets waited. There he also found the wizards he’d expected after sensing the magical wards protecting the complex.

Three black-robed figures occupied the chamber. Two sat silently behind their apparent leader, who was actually engaged in conversation with Arthur’s targets when the astral form arrived.

Arthur listened with growing amusement as the three lords attempted to rationalize why he hadn’t attacked yet and what his motivations might be. The fact that they’d narrowed their suspicions to him so quickly was mildly surprising—given their extensive criminal careers.

The three should have accumulated numerous enemies, any number of whom could have been Muggle-born wizards seeking revenge. But their deductive accuracy wouldn’t save them.

They suspected him, but they had no conception of what he had become.

From his astral vantage point, Arthur possessed complete intelligence about the stronghold’s layout and defenses. If he chose, he could end everything in minutes—return to his body, Apparate into the weapons storage he’d observed, acquire some explosive charges, and reduce the fortress to rubble with precisely placed detonations.

The lords wouldn’t even have time to notice anything or feel pain.

This was the reality. With his current abilities, unless Arthur faced cosmic-level threats, there was genuinely no challenge.

But Arthur deliberately rejected that efficient approach. Where would be the satisfaction in that?

He had waited years for this revenge, denied a target until recently. Now that justice was finally within reach, he intended to savor every moment. These men had destroyed his family, murdered countless innocents, and built empires on systematic suffering.

They deserved more than a quick death—they deserved to experience the full emotional journey of their destruction. Confidence, denial, then growing fear, and finally agonizing death. Only that progression would constitute worthy justice.

Time to provide them with a proper demonstration.

—

Arthur’s astral form snapped back to his physical body with jarring suddenness. He opened his eyes, pulled himself upright, and Apparated directly into the fortress’s weapons storage.

The room resembled a terrorist’s fever dream—assault rifles, explosives, ammunition, and equipment that belonged in military armories rather than private collections. Arthur extracted one of his enlargeable pouches and began systematically looting everything useful. This was like raiding a military facility, but better equipped and without any risk.

Items that would prove immediately useful went into a separate, easily accessible pouch. Grenades disappeared into the convenient storage, followed by various swords that caught his attention. Arthur had trained extensively with bladed weapons at Kamar-Taj—not from necessity, but because he’d always found swordplay more to his liking. He preferred it to bare-handed combat.

Now that training would serve a practical purpose.

With the weapons secured, Arthur Apparated to his next target: the security room.

Two guards sat before banks of monitors showing feeds from throughout the fortress. They were professionals, alert and ready, but they were also human. Arthur materialized behind them with two katanas already in hand.

The kills were swift and silent. Before either guard could cry out, steel found flesh, and they slumped forward over their controls.

Arthur pulled pins from several grenades and tossed them around the room, then Apparated to the adjacent data storage facility where all the security recordings were kept. More grenades followed, ensuring that any documentation of the coming massacre would be completely destroyed.

The explosions echoed through the fortress like thunder, and alarms began screaming immediately.

Arthur smiled as he Apparated one final time, materializing in the fortress’s main entrance hall just as emergency lights bathed everything in hellish red.

Time for the fun part.

—

Guards poured into the entrance hall from three different corridors, weapons raised and ready. When Arthur suddenly appeared in their midst—a black-clad figure wielding twin katanas—their training kicked in immediately.

To their credit, they recovered from surprise quickly. Someone had briefed them about supernatural threats.

Unfortunately for them, being prepared and being capable were two very different things.

Arthur moved like liquid death. His first strike took down the nearest guard before the man could squeeze his trigger. The second katana found another target as Arthur spun, the blade cutting through tactical armor like tissue paper.

Gunfire erupted, but Arthur was already gone.

He reappeared behind a cluster of guards, steel singing as it carved through flesh and bone. The months of sword training at Kamar-Taj, combined with his enhanced reflexes and the ability to teleport at will, created a fighting style that was both elegant and absolutely lethal.

Arthur had always admired the ninja techniques from the Naruto anime of his previous life. He was inspired by their methods of appearing anywhere on the battlefield, striking like lightning before vanishing again. Now Arthur was living that fantasy, and it exceeded even his ambitious expectations.

The one-sided massacre continued as Arthur fought his way deeper into the fortress. Guards fell before his blades like wheat before a scythe, their superior numbers meaning nothing when their enemy could appear anywhere, strike without warning, and vanish before they could retaliate. They couldn’t even fire indiscriminately, as their own personnel were constantly in the line of fire.

Arthur’s path was clear—he knew exactly where the lords were hiding, and nothing was going to stop him from reaching them. The increasing number of corpses littering his wake didn’t faze him in the slightest.

—

In the secure conference room, the four conspirators listened to the sounds of battle echoing through the fortress’s corridors.

“What is happening out there?” Ashridge demanded, his usual composure finally cracking. “Is it the wizard?”

Ravenscar stared at the blank television screen that should have been showing security feeds. “Can’t tell. It looks like the cameras were taken out first. We were right—this wizard doesn’t want to break the Covenant. He’s trying to hide everything.”

“What I want to know is how he found us so quickly,” Greycairn said, his aristocratic features tight with worry. “Do wizards have tracking spells that sophisticated?”

North shifted uncomfortably in his chair. “Not that I know of. Most advanced magic is closely guarded, never shared. But there might be specialized tracking methods I’m not familiar with.”

“That’s not encouraging,” Greycairn muttered. “We’re dealing with a very dangerous enemy. Perhaps we should evacuate with North’s help and let the guards handle this intruder. If he proves too difficult, we can seek protection from the wizarding authorities—it’s their responsibility to police their own.”

North shook his head grimly. “I’ve already tried. Our intruder has done something clever—he’s modified the protective wards I placed around this facility. They’ve been turned into anti-Apparition barriers. We’re trapped until he’s dealt with.”

“Then let’s use the escape tunnel,” Ashridge suggested.

“That’s a last resort option, and there’s no need to panic yet,” Ravenscar said, though his voice carried significantly less confidence than usual. “My guards can handle any lone wizard. We also have the enhanced operatives and the ninjas as backup.”

“Exactly,” North agreed. “No wizard can walk through a storm of bullets and survive. And the enhanced individuals… well, I can tell you that if I’m not careful, they could kill me before I cast my first spell.”

“Then we wait and see,” Greycairn decided, though his tone suggested he didn’t like their options. “I just wish we knew what was happening out there.”

The sounds of gunfire had ceased, replaced by an ominous silence that was somehow more frightening than the chaos that had preceded it.

—

Arthur stood in a corridor lined with the bodies of the fortress’s remaining guards, katanas dripping crimson in the emergency lighting. The armed resistance had been eliminated with surgical efficiency.

Then the lights went out.

Arthur sensed movement in the darkness—multiple figures approaching with predatory silence. His enhanced hearing picked up the whisper of cloth against stone, the barely audible sound of controlled breathing.

The ninjas had finally entered the fight.

Darts whistled through the air where Arthur had been standing, but he was already gone, teleporting to safety as projectiles struck empty space.

Arthur quickly activated his Kree suit’s night vision system. The helmet’s visor slid into place, and suddenly the darkened corridor became perfectly clear. Twenty figures in traditional ninja garb moved with inhuman grace, their positions calculated to trap any normal opponent.

Unfortunately for them, Arthur was anything but normal.

The massacre that followed was swift and decisive. Without the advantage of stealth, the ninjas found themselves outmatched by an opponent who could see them perfectly while teleporting at will. Arthur’s katanas found their marks with mechanical precision, and within minutes, the Hand’s elite operatives were scattered across the corridor floor.

Arthur continued his inexorable advance toward the conference room, stepping over the bodies of those who’d tried to stop him.

He was almost there when five figures emerged from a side corridor to block his path.

Arthur paused, studying his final obstacles. They were as massive as he had seen them in the astral form. Easily six and a half feet tall, with muscle mass that spoke of serious enhancement. But it was their eyes that caught his attention. Bloodshot. Dilated. Desperate.

As Arthur watched, all five produced syringes and injected themselves with a substance that made their veins bulge black against their skin. They began to convulse, their already impressive frames swelling further as whatever they’d taken coursed through their systems.

Arthur observed their transformation into a frenzied state following the injections. They were dying though—the injections were clearly a last resort that would burn out their enhanced metabolisms within minutes

But for those few minutes, they would be incredibly dangerous.

The first enhanced soldier charged with inhuman speed. Arthur sidestepped and brought his katana around in a perfect arc, aiming for the man’s neck.

However, to Arthur’s surprise, the soldier punched the blade with his bare hand.

The impact sent the katana flying, and Arthur barely teleported away in time to avoid another punch that would have caved in his ribcage.

Arthur discarded his remaining katana and drew a heavier sword from his pouch—a knight’s blade designed for cutting through armor. These opponents required more substantial weapons.

The fight that followed was brutal but brief. The enhanced soldiers had gained incredible strength and pain immunity, but they’d also lost most of their reasoning capacity. They attacked with berserker fury, leaving themselves open to counterattacks.

Arthur’s enhanced physique—a product of both rigorous training and the magical ritual—proved equal to their chemical enhancements. And he was faster, smarter, and infinitely more skilled. They stood no chance.

One by one, he cut them down, his blade finding the gaps in their guard while he danced away from their clumsy retaliation.

When the last enhanced soldier fell, Arthur stood alone in the corridor, breathing slightly heavily but with a lot of stamina left and uninjured.

Ahead lay a single reinforced door.

Behind it waited the three men who had destroyed his family.

Arthur wiped his blade clean and smiled coldly. It was time for vengeance.

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