People often push past their limits in moments of crisis.
This time, it took Luke less than 0.01 seconds to activate his teleportation magic. With a flick of his hand, he vanished into the dark rift.
Seconds later, the same swirling black hole appeared again. Luke stepped out, holding several heavy boxes stacked in his arms.
"Thank god it's still there," he muttered with a small breath of relief.
After grabbing the stash, Luke made his way home. Luckily, the battle hadn't reached this far. In fact, all of Queens had been untouched by the chaos.
Still, most of the residents had followed the emergency evacuation order. When Luke returned, the neighborhood was quiet—eerily so. Even the Parker family from next door had left.
Once inside, Luke tossed the new boxes into his room, right next to the ones from his last "adventure." Cash. Jewelry. All of it now formed a neat little mountain of wealth.
He smiled, satisfied.
Maybe in a past life he had been a squirrel, hoarding shiny things. Luke had a real obsession with collecting valuables. Not necessarily spending them—but definitely keeping them.
He could live without spending a single cent. But living without the hoard? No way.
...
Night fell quietly.
The news covered the demonic invasion in every headline. All the major networks were calling it the "Second Battle of New York."
But unlike the first battle, this one left a bitter taste in the public's mouth.
Public opinion turned fast.
"The Avengers were useless against the demons!"
"Where was Thor?!"
"If it weren't for that mysterious magician and that demon slayer, we'd all be dead!"
"Yeah, seriously. Where was Thor?!"
"And don't even get me started on Tony Stark. The guy's a billionaire playboy, not a hero."
"The Avengers should be doing more... or better yet, let the government do it."
The TV showed back-to-back interviews.
People were frustrated, angry.
Some even turned against the heroes they once worshipped.
Humanity had two favorite pastimes: building up heroes—and tearing them down.
This time, the Avengers just didn't meet expectations.
People questioned Captain America's leadership. They demanded to know why Thor didn't show up.
A few rational voices tried to defend the team—said they did their best, said the enemy was just too powerful.
Luke, lounging on the sofa, didn't care about any of that.
He only perked up at one part of the broadcast:
"They're calling me a... demon slayer?"
He squinted at the screen, unimpressed.
"Do I need something like Breathing Technique now? Well, the sword's already covered, there's that."
But let's be honest—when you've got a system that complete counters demons and the ability to become a demon itself, you'd expect a cooler title.
Luke didn't care about people's panic, or their debates, or their complaints.
That was their problem.
He had money, peace, and a goddamn good sofa.
He stretched out, crossing one leg over the other.
A flick of his finger summoned two shadows from the floor beside him.
They morphed into humanoid shapes—shadow soldiers.
Without a word, they moved behind the couch and began massaging his legs.
Yep.
He had to admit it, life is good...
The ability of the shadow demon was ridiculously useful.
While enjoying the massage from his summoned minions, Luke casually pulled out his phone, fingers moving like muscle memory. Time to grind some points.
Maybe because of the chaos earlier, the game servers were quiet tonight. Took him forever just to queue into a single match.
"Number one Batman in the U.S. server checking in. Yo, whoever's hogging third floor—move."
...
[Name: Luke]
[Origin: Unknown]
[Age: Unknown]
[Abilities: Insufficient data for analysis]
Phil Coulson stared at the file, eyebrows scrunched.
Apart from the name—if that even was his real name—everything else was a blank slate.
No background, no affiliations, nothing.
"Oh, also," Agent Hill said, handing over the folder, "Fury thinks this 'Luke' guy might be using a fake alias. Like the alias that he used from before Mordo. So, keep your eyes open. Everything else... you're on your own."
With that, she bolted out of the room like her heels were on fire.
"Geez," Coulson muttered, watching Hill vanish. "At times like this... death doesn't seem like the worst thing. At least the dead don't get stuck with impossible assignments."
"So, this is falling on our team now?" Grant Ward asked, glancing at the thin file.
He wasn't alone.
Standing nearby were Melinda May, always unreadable; researchers Jemma Simmons and Leo Fitz, already nerding out; and the newest addition, the sharp-tongued, tech-savvy hacker—Skye.
"No," Coulson replied, pulling the file back before Ward could read more. "This one's on me. Solo mission."
He looked back at the report.
Despite the mystery, one line did catch his eye:
—Hobbies: Gaming.
Coulson sighed. "Seriously? How did they even get this?"
Out of everything Coulson had seen in his career—terrorists, aliens, actual Norse gods—this might be the weirdest.
"Gamer? Oh, say no more! I know exactly how to deal with that kind of guy," Skye piped up, leaning forward excitedly.
With her smooth voice, hacker skills, and online experience, she was sure she could make the guy spill his entire backstory over Discord.
"Nope," Coulson said without hesitation. "Mission directive clearly says no honey traps or manipulative methods."
Skye sank back into her seat with a pout.
"But I've already got like three ways to slide into his DMs!"
"Appreciate the enthusiasm," Coulson said, standing and gathering the file. His expression shifted into something more confident, a plan already forming.
"I've got a better idea... I'm gonna use force—"
He smiled slightly.
"—to make him a friend."
...
Three days later.
Luke's climb to higher ranks in the game suddenly became smooth as butter.
For some reason, every match he queued into, he was always paired with the same user — someone with the ridiculous username 'your bald little baby.'
And they were always on the same team.
"Nice block, Bald Baby!" Luke laughed, clearly in a good mood. "That flash-save earlier? Legendary move."
His face lit up with a genuine smile. It felt good—having someone who took hits for you in team fights, shared buffs without complaint, gave up kills just to help you climb. For three straight days, Bald Baby had been like the ultimate support partner.
He was now officially a Glory-level player.
So naturally, he sent Bald Baby a friend request. They had great in-game chemistry, and Luke was curious.
When the friend request was accepted, Luke clicked into the profile—and froze.
In the 'About Me' section, it read:
[Real Name: Phil Coulson. Eighth-level agent of S.H.I.E.L.D., current leader of the Special Operations Team, based in New York.]
Luke blinked. "Is this... a joke?"
He stared at the screen. It was so detailed it felt like a prank. No real agent would be dumb enough to write their actual identity in a game profile.
But then he saw the name again.
"Phil Coulson? Wasn't this the guy Loki stabbed in Avengers 1?"
And then it hit him.
This world wasn't just the MCU movies—it included the TV series too. In Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D., Coulson had been resurrected through Project T.A.H.I.T.I. and was leading a whole new team.
Luke leaned back with a smirk.
"So SHIELD's trying to recruit me through games now? Really?"
Still, he couldn't be mad.
For three days, Coulson had made the game more fun than ever.
Even if the approach was obvious, Luke didn't really mind.
At least Coulson was being upfront... well, kind of.
The honesty (and weirdly good support skills) earned him a bit of respect.
But Luke did have one small complaint.
"Why send a bald old guy to recruit me? Where's Skye? Where's Black Widow? Even Nick Fury's assistant would've worked."
Yep, at this rate, there was no way SHIELD was ever getting him to join.
Still, Luke wasn't about to pass up the free carry.
He grabbed his phone and messaged Bald Baby:
"Queue up. Let's rank."
That's right.
Luke had zero plans to join SHIELD... but if they wanted to help him grind points, he wasn't gonna say no.
...
Elsewhere.
Coulson, still logged in as 'Bald Baby', had just won yet another game alongside the infamous No. 1 Batman on the US server.
Across from him, Skye was typing furiously on her keyboard, coding like lightning.
"Sir, that old script got flagged," she said without looking up. "I rewrote a cleaner one. Just... don't go overboard this time. Play it cool. If your account gets banned, you're on your own."
She glanced over at him as Coulson awkwardly tapped the screen at senior citizen speed.
This was possibly the weirdest mission they'd ever taken.
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