Michael appeared beside him, crouching low. "You already have."
And with a simple gesture, the mist surged down like a tidal wave, swallowing Varnak whole. His last scream was cut short as his body was consumed, leaving behind only silence and a faint, dark stain on the ground.
Michael stood slowly, dusting off his hands. "One down."
At the far side of the ruined church, Taskmaster staggered out of the rubble, bloodied and wide-eyed, watching the mist curl like a living beast around Michael.
"Shit… what are you?"
Taskmaster muttered.
Michael turned to him, expression unreadable.
"You sure you wanna find out?"
Taskmaster gritted his teeth, weighing his options.
He slowly raised his hands. "I'm good. We're good."
Michael smirked.
"Smart man."
Taskmaster muttered under his breath as he stumbled out of the church ruins, nursing a cracked rib.
"The money's not worth this shit..."
Without another word, he vanished into the mist, leaving nothing but his footprints in the dust.
Michael turned his attention back to Felicia, a sly grin playing on his face.
"Now, shall we talk business?"
Felicia Hardy crossed her arms, wary but intrigued.
"Depends. What kind of business are we talking about?"
Michael stepped closer, his voice calm but edged with something darker.
"Will you give me anything I want?"
he asked, his eyes studying her every reaction.
Felicia instinctively took a step back, her body tensing.
"You're insane if you think I'm agreeing to something like that," she snapped.
Michael chuckled softly, raising his hands in mock surrender. "Not like that. Relax, Kitty. I'm not here for your soul."
He paused, his expression turning serious.
"I want the Super Soldier Serum. The one they used to enhance you — the Black Cat variant. The formula that made you ten times stronger, faster, more agile than a normal human."
Felicia's eyes widened, genuinely caught off guard. "How the hell do you even know about that?"
she whispered.
Michael's grin widened.
"Let's just say… I've got eyes in places most people don't. So — can you get it, or not?"
Felicia hesitated, biting her lip.
"It's… complicated. The people who made it for me are gone. But…"
she sighed.
"I know where a backup vial is. Problem is — it's in one of Hammerhead's vaults."
Michael's eyes gleamed.
"Perfect. Then consider this your new job, Felicia."
She scowled but didn't refuse.
"What's in it for me?"
"Simple," Michael said, stepping so close she could feel the mist brush against her skin.
"You get to live. And if you do well, I'll owe you one. Could be useful, don't you think?"
Felicia Hardy smirked, despite herself.
"Guess I don't have much of a choice, do I?"
"Nope."
Felicia sighed, brushing a stray lock of white hair from her face.
"Fine. But I'm not doing this alone. If I'm hitting one of Hammerhead's vaults, I'll need my crew."
Michael nodded, leaning back against a broken pillar.
"Do what you need to. But if you double-cross me…"
The mist thickened around his figure, his eyes flashing a cold, unnatural glow.
"I'll know."
Felicia gave a crooked smile.
"Duly noted, Mist Man."
She turned toward the exit, her heels clicking softly against cracked stone.
"I'll be in touch."
Michael gave a small nod as Felicia disappeared into the night.
He muttered under his breath, "Crew? What crew…?"
But he shrugged it off. Whatever kind of small-time squad she planned to gather, it wasn't his concern.
Turning back toward the altar, he let the mist settle around him. From beneath his coat, he pulled out a small, sleek tracker — a thin, tracking device — and placed it delicately on the old, dust-covered wood.
"Now… I don't need you."
A wicked grin tugged at Michael's lips.
This whole thing — the skirmish with Taskmaster, Felicia Hardy's little stunt, and Varek's clumsy bravado — had all been part of his plan. None of them realized it, but he hadn't come here to hide the Darkhold… he came to see who else would crawl out of the shadows for it.
The truth was, when Michael first hijacked the Darkhold from that military convoy, one of the agents had managed to slip a tracker onto him. He'd sensed it immediately. Instead of ditching it, though… he left it there.
Why? Because he wanted to see **who was brave — or stupid — enough to follow it.
And the abandoned factory near his old hideout? It wasn't random. It was bait. A perfect dead end.
"That's why I came here," Michael muttered to himself as mist coiled around his feet.
"Let the vultures circle… I'll see who's hungry enough."
As if on cue, the hairs on the back of Michael's neck stood on end. A presence. No… two. Fast. Powerful.
"Hmph, I thought those were the last of 'em," he mumbled, turning toward the entrance.
The walls burst inward as two figures crashed through — one in gleaming red and gold armor, the other in bulkier, dark gray plating.
Iron Man and War Machine.
Michael's grin didn't fade. "Well damn… guess it's my lucky night."
"It's him," Rhodey muttered, his visor locking onto Michael. "That's the guy who stole the Darkhold. We came to retrieve it."
Tony floated a little closer, scanners running, though something in his face showed hesitation.
"Kid… what the hell are you doing here?" Stark asked, his voice carrying more curiosity than threat.
Michael raised a brow. "Funny… didn't think anyone still called me 'kid.'"
He smirked, hands still casually in his pockets.
"Especially after I walked into a fortified military convoy and strolled out with the Darkhold."
Tony's eyes narrowed behind the faceplate. "Cute." He leveled his repulsor at Michael's chest.
"Guess I get to be the one to put you down."
"Big words, Stark," Michael said, tilting his head, unbothered by the glowing cannon inches from his heart.
"But you're not ready for this fight."
Rhodey shifted into position beside Tony, targeting Michael. "You really think you're walking out of here with that book?"
"Already did," Michael replied with a grin.
"And you clowns are late to the party."
A low mist began to creep around the floor again. Michael didn't need to raise a hand, didn't even blink.
"You sure you wanna do this?" he asked, voice calm as stone.
"'Cause the last guy who pulled a weapon on me? I'm still scraping pieces of him off my boot."
Tony's repulsor hummed louder.
"Enough talk." He fired.
A burst of blue light shot toward Michael — but by the time it hit, he was gone. A wisp of mist where he'd stood.
"What the hell—" Rhodey started, spinning around just in time to see Michael standing behind them both.
"Told you," Michael whispered. "You weren't ready."
He shot a palm forward — and a blast of concussive mist sent both suits crashing through the rotting pews.
Michael sighed, flexing his fingers.
"Man, I miss subtlety."
He turned toward the exit.
"You two think on this before you come back. And next time, bring someone interesting."
With a final shimmer of mist, Michael vanished, leaving the place in eerie silence.
*******
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