The Wolf God was gone. He had slipped through the rift in space without hesitation, leaving destruction in his wake. Yet, in his departure, he had not bothered to take Loki or his allies with him. It was as if they had been forgotten, abandoned, left to crumble in this broken realm.
"Almost dead…"
Arakawa Zenkichi's expression softened as he looked over the battlefield.
Scattered across the ground were heroes and villains alike, their bodies battered and their breathing shallow. Foaming at the mouth, they looked as though they might wither away at any moment.
Zenkichi raised his hand. From his palm, a gentle power began to gather—light blue in color, shimmering with the aura of life itself. It was his Wood Release, a force capable of nurturing and healing all living things.
The glow expanded as energy condensed in his hand. After a few moments, Zenkichi waved his arm across the field.
"Swish… swish… swish…"
A subtle sound echoed, barely audible. Streams of light danced across the wounded, weaving through their bodies like threads of life. Slowly, the color began to return to their faces, their labored breaths grew steadier, and the foam that clung to their lips began to vanish.
But not all.
Though many recovered under his healing power, there were some who remained untouched. Loki and his followers writhed on the ground, still broken, still bleeding.
Zenkichi's gaze passed over them coldly. He had no intention of saving them. His healing was for his allies, not for enemies who would only rise again to cause more chaos.
A groan broke the silence.
"My… S.H.I.E.L.D.…"
Nick Fury stirred first. Perhaps because his body was weaker than the others, he was the quickest to awaken. His one eye fluttered open, and as he caught sight of the devastation around him, his expression collapsed. His voice cracked with grief as he cried out, the weight of loss heavy in his words.
Zenkichi's brow twitched. He turned his head toward Fury, confused at the reaction. To him, it didn't make sense. Why despair over something that could be replaced?
"Director, what's with the crying? Why do you weep as if you've lost your parents?"
More groans followed as the other heroes began to awaken. Blinking against the haze of battle, they glanced toward Fury, confusion flickering in their eyes. To them, his grief was almost surreal.
"Director Fury?" someone muttered.
"The headquarters…" Fury's voice trembled with bitterness. His gaze swept across the broken steel and shattered foundation where the S.H.I.E.L.D. base once stood. "…It's gone. Even if we sold off everything, even if we melted the iron and rebuilt from scraps, we couldn't bring it back."
Tony Stark finally pushed himself up, his voice tinged with sarcasm to mask his own unease. "Relax, Director. I'll help rebuild it. In fact, I'll make you a new one myself." He forced a smirk. "That should be fair enough, right?"
Fury's head snapped toward him, his face twisted with frustration. "Do you even understand? Stark Industries would need to give up at least ten years' worth of profits just to restore what we lost—and that would only cover part of it."
The weight of his words hung in the air.
Tony's grin faded. Ten years. Even for him, even for Stark Industries, that was an astronomical cost. He wasn't sure if he could make such a decision—even he wasn't reckless enough to commit to it on the spot.
"…"
He fell silent. For once, Iron Man had no witty remark, no quick fix, no clever retort.
In the ruins of S.H.I.E.L.D., even Stark felt small.
And in the midst of it all, Zenkichi stood quietly, his power still glowing faintly in his hand as he looked upon the heroes who had survived.
The battlefield was silent once more.