Deep within a remote mountain forest, where life should have been flourishing, an eerie silence reigned. No birds flew, no beasts prowled, not even the faintest chirping of insects could be heard.
At the very heart of the forest lay a strange clearing. The brown earth had been stained a dark red-black — red for the color of fresh blood, black for blood long dried.
Amid the broken corpses of more than a dozen bodies stood Asura, his entire form shrouded in murderous energy. One hand clutched the throat of a monk, lifting him effortlessly off the ground.
"So this is the power you traded your souls for? Hmph… not very impressive," Asura said coldly, his expression unreadable.
"Y-you… A… Asura… let me… go…" The monk struggled, clawing at the iron grip around his neck, but Asura's hand was as immovable as steel.
"I wonder," Asura murmured, his voice sharp with mockery, "if the Medicine Buddha or Amitabha could see you now, would they be disappointed?" He tightened his grip, and the monk's face twisted and darkened, veins bulging as he gasped for air.
"I'll give you one last chance. Where did the others run off to?" Asura demanded.
"Mmm… mmph… mmphhh…"
"No answer? Then go join them."
"Wai—"
Crack!
Before the monk could finish, Asura's hand clenched. The man's neck snapped like a twig, his head torn clean from his shoulders. Terror and despair froze upon his face as Asura tossed the severed head lightly in his palm, playing with it like a ball.
"Tch, whoops, slipped. Guess I lost my chance to get information again… kidding. These idiots can't even lie properly with their Cosmos flaring all over the place."
He caught the head midair and crushed it in his palm. It burst like a melon, spraying red and white across his body. He stood amidst the carnage like a god of destruction.
"I really don't like liars."
With that, he waved his hand, summoning black-and-gold holy demonic flames that consumed the corpses, blood, and even the filth clinging to his body. When the flames faded, not only was the land cleansed — it bloomed anew with life.
"Tsk tsk, this move never gets old. Cleans up and looks cool doing it. Melin really knows his stuff," Asura chuckled before vanishing from sight.
The moment he disappeared, the forest returned to life — grass sprouted, animals crept from hiding, and the world regained its natural rhythm.
…
In Melin's home, a flash of golden light appeared, and Asura arrived, now dressed in stylish modern clothing.
"You… are you sure you went searching for traces of the Buddhists and not walking a fashion runway?" Melin asked, eyeing him. With his refined, rugged looks and impeccable style, Asura looked less like a demonic warlord and more like a high-end model.
"Tch, you don't get it. The girls love this look," Asura said with a smirk.
"Heh, so you've decided to stop being the Lord of Asura and become a human fashion bomb instead?"
"That's called skill. You jealous?"
"Ahem. So? What did you find?" Melin quickly changed the subject.
Jealous? Maybe. But daring to admit it? Never.
"Heh, that face of yours when you're flustered is priceless," Asura teased.
"Out with it or get out."
"Alright, alright, no sense of humor. I found them, but they spotted me and ran."
"Heh, typical of them," Melin sneered. "Judging by your mood, though, you didn't come back empty-handed?"
"The ones left behind as bait — I killed them all. A dozen monks, arhats, and even a bodhisattva or two. Consider it interest on what they owe us."
"Not bad. This time, even Shakyamuni should feel that one."
"He'll feel nothing," Asura said with disdain. "He's not the same Buddha as before. As long as he survives, he won't care how many of his followers die."
"True enough. Keep tracking them. Next time, don't attack right away — call for backup."
"Got it."
Asura nodded. He had gained a whole new level of contempt for the modern Buddhist sect — cowardly rats hiding in sewers, abandoning their pride, always running instead of fighting.
"I heard the boss lady woke up recently?" Asura asked.
"Temporarily," Melin said with a faint smile. "But the process from zero to one is complete. The rest won't take long."
"If you ask me, you should just bring her here and raise her yourself. Why make it so complicated?"
"This life is a rare opportunity, Asura," Melin replied. "This peaceful, human life is what Athena and I once wished for. If she can experience it even for a while, who am I to take that away? She'd be angry if I did."
"And after she awakens? What about her current parents?"
It wasn't an idle question. Even if she was the reincarnation of the goddess Athena, the Archibalds were her parents in this life — that bond couldn't just vanish.
"I'll do whatever she wants," Melin said, shrugging. He didn't care that his words made him sound like a doting parent — everyone already knew he was one.
"Heh, that's the Melin I know. Alright, I'm off. Those rats won't chase themselves."
"I'll have Shaka go with you."
"…Better not. Thanks to your reforms, most of the Twelve Temples are empty. Aren't you worried someone might just walk in?"
"The more the merrier. Ares and Poseidon could use the company."
"… You're insane."
Asura left once again. Melin didn't worry — Asura's fusion of holy and demonic power had reached its peak. Even if Shakyamuni himself appeared, Asura could still escape unscathed.
After Asura departed, there came a knock at the door. Melin sighed when he sensed who it was.
"Hey! Long time no see, Melin. How've you been lately?"
Holding several large bags of groceries, Hank Pym stood in the doorway, smiling sheepishly.
"I'll admit my cooking's good, but don't tell me you flew all the way from San Francisco just to mooch a meal?" Melin said, amused.
"Come on! I've got serious business — and maybe a little dinner," Hank said, blushing.
"So you are here to mooch."
"I flew all the way here, and you won't even invite me in?"
"Fine, fine. For the sake of the food, get in."
"You're still as annoying as ever, Melin."
"Thank you. I try."
Once inside, after they'd put down the groceries, Hank got to the point. No one doubted Melin's cooking, but Hank Pym wasn't the type to travel across the country for just that.
"Melin, shouldn't you call him back? He's supposed to be your bodyguard — and he's also the CEO of Stark Industries. Keeping him in San Francisco isn't ideal."
"You still haven't approved it?" Melin asked, chuckling.
"Of course not! My daughter Hope's a young beauty in her twenties, and Garon's what — seventy? He could be her grandfather! How could I possibly accept that? Look, I might not be on great terms with Hope, but she's still my daughter — my little girl! I can't just let her fall into the fire pit!"
Hank launched into a long, emotional rant. Melin just smiled and stayed silent.
In truth, Hank had no problem with Garon — he actually liked him. He was just a grumbling father who didn't like seeing his "little cabbage" being stolen by a pig. His constant objections were little more than emotional venting.
And Melin could tell — the fact that Hank was here meant he'd already accepted it. He just wanted to formalize things.
When Hank finally finished and took a sip of tea, Melin asked, "So, did they set a date?"
"Yes. The tenth of the month after next. Location: Sanctuary," Hank replied.
"I'll have Shion handle the arrangements."
"I'll be there on time. It's just… a shame Janet…"
"Don't worry, Hank. You'll find her. Trust me."
"I know. Though if you'd tell me her exact coordinates, I could probably make it back in time for the wedding."
"Ah, so that's what this is about."
"Heh, you're not easy to trick, are you?"
"You already know the answer."
"Yeah, yeah…"
Though slightly disappointed, Hank wasn't surprised. He was used to it — Melin always had his reasons.
And besides, Hank was proud. He believed he could bring his wife back from the Quantum Realm on his own.
After they finished talking wedding business, it was time for the long-awaited meal. Even though it was midday, the two old friends saw no reason not to celebrate with a feast.
But then — another knock came at the door.
"What's going on today?" Melin muttered. "Usually no one shows up, and now everyone decides to drop by at once."
"I'll get it," Hank said, stepping up — and immediately regretted it.
"Hank Pym? You're here?"
"Hmph. Of course it's you. Just my luck."
"Hey, don't be like that, Hank. Meeting me should be your honor — plenty of people would kill for the chance."
"Ugh. You ruin my appetite…"
Hank turned away, storming back inside, and Tony Stark — smiling as always — followed him in without hesitation. Hank's disdain for the Starks was legendary, but Tony never seemed to mind.
"Aren't you supposed to be working on your armor upgrades? What brings you here?" Melin asked as he wiped his hands.
"I'm here to deliver an invitation. There's a race in Monaco next month — I want you to come."
"Me? I'm not exactly into racing."
"Think of it as a vacation. Garon's been gone for ages, and you barely leave the house. People might think you're some kind of hermit."
"Fine. I could use a change of scenery…"
"She'll be there too. Besides the race, Monaco's hosting a global summit for top corporations and foundations. The Archibald Foundation got an invite — she'll be attending."
"Then count me in. Come pick me up when it's time."
"It's a deal."
"Wait a second," Hank interrupted, looking between them. "Who's this 'she' you two keep talking about?"
"Yes, her," Tony said with a sly grin.
"Oh? Seems I've missed quite the story. Come on, spill it."
Turns out, when it came to gossip, men were no worse than women.