Pierce struggled several times but was horrified to discover that while he could move the rest of his body, his right arm remained completely immobilized as if bound by invisible ropes, suspended in mid-air. No matter what he tried, the arm wouldn't budge.
To make matters worse, his gun had already been effortlessly pulled away by William with just a gesture.
Realizing he was at the mercy of someone holding all the power, Pierce panicked for a moment before forcing himself to calm down. The memory of William mentioning "a talk" came to mind. In this situation, what choice did he have but to talk?
If negotiations were possible, then there was still a chance to salvage something. Pierce knew he had no hope of reclaiming the Tesseract now—not after witnessing William's mastery of space manipulation and his ability to appear and disappear at will.
Using force was out of the question. Even if Hydra had the manpower to fight, they had no means to capture someone capable of spatial teleportation. Moreover, William wasn't a weak opponent. He had single-handedly orchestrated the annihilation of thousands of werewolves in a single night. That was no small feat.
Pierce recalled how even with combined intelligence efforts from both S.H.I.E.L.D. and Hydra, gathering detailed information on most of Europe's werewolf camps within a month would have been a monumental task. Executing coordinated attacks on dozens—possibly hundreds—of these camps in a single night would require tens of thousands of operatives and an extraordinary level of secrecy. Yet William had achieved it.
The scariest part? Not a single piece of intelligence had leaked before the operation. Even the countries where the attacks took place had no prior warning.
As for the aftermath, there were no traces of any wounded personnel from William's side. Either his injuries were negligible enough to be airlifted out, or he had powerful allies in European governments who helped cover up the evidence. Some even speculated that William's forces might have been composed of combat robots, though most preferred to believe that his troops wore advanced Devonshire Mark III combat suits.
After all, acknowledging the existence of combat robots with intelligence and skills far surpassing elite special forces was a terrifying prospect. If confirmed, it would change the nature of warfare forever—reducing battles to contests of resources and manufacturing power. And when it came to resources, no one could compete with someone like William, who could already mine on Mars.
Even the Moon was within easy reach for William's ships, with round trips taking only about four hours. If necessary, he could build a base or city there, turning himself into a constant threat hanging over every nation on Earth.
In contrast, if any nation wanted to strike back, launching a simple lunar probe would take over twenty days, not to mention the astronomical costs involved—costs that only one or two countries might afford.
Faced with such an unreachable and invincible opponent, Pierce knew that starting a confrontation would be suicidal. His ability to control S.H.I.E.L.D. for so many years was due to his patience and pragmatism, not recklessness.
What made the situation even more unbearable was that Hydra operated in secrecy. If William publicly exposed their infiltration of S.H.I.E.L.D., decades of effort would be ruined overnight.
Pierce's thoughts drifted to a report he had read in the past—one concerning a project known as the Insight Initiative. Today's events made him realize the importance of accelerating the plan. Identifying potential threats to Hydra would now be more critical than ever. However, the plan would need revisions. Instead of solely targeting threats for elimination, individuals with immense potential might also need to be recruited.
Having made peace with the situation, Pierce's expression gradually returned to normal. He nodded at William and said, "Since you don't want to kill me, how about you release me so we can sit down and talk?"
"No problem."
With that, William spoke a word, and Pierce's immobilized arm regained mobility.
Pierce inspected his arm, flexing it for a moment. Aside from some poor blood circulation, there didn't seem to be any real damage.
"If you're still worried, I have something for you."
Pierce looked up to see a jade medallion slowly floating toward him from William's side.
"This is called a Healing Talisman," William explained. "It's a magical artifact. It works on any injury—though not on illnesses."
Pierce reached out and caught the talisman. He had barely examined it when he noticed William snap his fingers again.
A faint, almost imperceptible ripple spread through the office. William raised the M1911 handgun he had taken earlier and fired at Pierce without warning.
"Bang!"
Pierce's instincts, honed through decades as a spy, kicked in immediately. He tried to dodge, but that immobilizing sensation returned. To his shock, time itself seemed to slow down. He could see the bullet emerging from the barrel in excruciating detail, spiraling outward with rings of compressed air waves.
The bullet crawled through the air toward him. Pierce's neck stiffly turned, his eyes tracking the bullet as it approached his abdomen.
He briefly felt relieved, recalling that his suit and vest were made from William's own company's bulletproof material. But that relief turned to dread as the suit's buttons unfastened themselves. One by one, the shirt's buttons opened just in time for the bullet to pierce his unprotected abdomen.
The mirror dimension faded, and time returned to normal. Pierce staggered back, slamming into his desk as pain exploded through his body.
Meanwhile, William casually walked over to the liquor cabinet, placing the gun on a nearby table. As he searched for a drink, he spoke calmly to the wounded Pierce.
"Relax. That bullet passed cleanly between your organs. If I were you, I'd snap that jade talisman in half."
Finding a bottle of 65-year-old Macallan whisky, William turned and smiled. "That talisman is worth thirty million dollars. It can even save you if you get shot through the heart—assuming you're still conscious enough to activate it."
Carrying the bottle and two glasses, William seated himself on a nearby sofa. He glanced at Pierce, who was still hesitating, and sighed impatiently.
"Or," William offered, "I could shoot you in the heart and settle your indecision for you."
"Damn you, Devonshire!" Pierce cursed internally. He knew that if William wanted him dead, there was no need for such theatrics. His real concern was whether the talisman had some form of mind-controlling magic embedded in it. Still, with his life on the line, he had little choice.
(End of Chapter)
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