Pierce's jaw tightened. "Very well," he said at last. "Hydra will mobilize every connection and every resource. We'll acquire every Super-Soldier formula the world has ever produced. I trust, Evil God, that you will soon break your seal."
And so, the largest underground hunt for serums in history began.
It spread like a shadow network — Hydra splintering into dozens of fronts, scouring the globe for every scrap of research, every black-market vial, every counterfeit knockoff peddled by back-alley chemists. Whether brewed by corporate labs or mixed in secret workshops, no batch was turned away.
While S.H.I.E.L.D. scoured satellites and combed digital surveillance for Hydra activity, the real operation slipped quietly beneath their notice.
A month later, in a frozen Nordic base, alloy cases hissed open to reveal hundreds of cryogenic vials.
Pierce gestured toward the haul with reverence. "Your Excellency, we have gathered over three hundred strains and derivatives. Divided into tiers by potency. Which will you choose?"
Snakehead didn't answer. He simply flipped a lid open and plucked out a vial.
This much he had learned: the more he acted with arrogance, the more they mistook it for divine right.
Mist trailed from the vial as he raised it — and swallowed it whole.
"Your Excellency!" Pierce blurted. "That's… meant for injection!"
Snakehead turned toward him, eyes flushing red, veins crawling under his skin. The serum hit him like fire in the blood. His vision blurred, his pulse thundered. His muscles swelled until his shirt tore at the seams.
For the first time, Snakehead felt something close to power. His hand trembled as he struck the wall — stone and steel buckled with a hollow boom. Dust rained from the crack.
Stronger than before, yes — but nowhere near enough.
Not against S.H.I.E.L.D. Not against Lock.
Grinding his teeth, Snakehead seized another vial, swallowed, then another.
Then another.
And another.
The Hydra officers recoiled in horror as he consumed them one by one, bypassing every safeguard their scientists had ever enforced. Power flared wildly, energies of every color bleeding through his skin — red, green, blue, black — clashing violently in his veins.
A whirlwind stirred around him, faint at first, then growing into a raging storm.
Pierce paled. "General," he muttered, "in our experiments… how many strains can a subject survive?"
The general swallowed. "Three strains become unstable. Five is fatal."
Even Wanda and Pietro, Hydra's prized twins, had endured only three. Beyond that lay certain death.
But Snakehead kept drinking. And he did not burst.
Whether it was some freak mutation or the simple fact that he was consuming instead of injecting, no one could tell. What they saw was undeniable — the man devoured more than a dozen concoctions, and still lived.
Pierce's awe cracked into a grin. "The Evil God is truly an Evil God. Only one who endured Lock himself could wield this chaos."
But Snakehead felt none of the grandeur. Inside, his body screamed. Energy howled, violent and unfocused, demanding release.
With a guttural roar, he slashed his hand outward. The storm erupted — a swirling tornado of color that engulfed nearby soldiers.
They never even screamed properly. One moment, they stood; the next, blood and steel and shattered limbs spun in the maelstrom.
Wanda gagged and threw up a barrier of scarlet chaos magic.
Snakehead's gaze snapped toward her. The storm funneled into jagged bolts of light that lashed at her shield. "Heh… little girl," he rasped. "Come play with me."
Wanda's lips curled. Her hands wove intricate signs, crimson magic clashing with his unstable storm.
The detonation shook the compound to its foundations. Stone cracked, girders twisted. Pierce and the general were hurled back by the shockwave as half the chamber collapsed.
But Pierce only laughed. "Success! The Evil God's seal is broken!"
Snakehead staggered from the rubble, ringed by unruly energy he could no longer contain. His body was a silhouette wrapped in shrieking winds and fractured light.
He spread his arms wide, triumphant and deranged. "Bring me more!" he roared. "More men to kill!"
Pierce and the general exchanged a look. The carnage only confirmed it for them. An Evil God must be both evil and godlike. And before them stood the proof.
From that day, the "Evil God" was unleashed.
Using Northern Europe as their base, Hydra loosed Snakehead upon the world. U.S. installations across Europe fell one by one. Entire garrisons were obliterated in grotesque storms of color, leaving no survivors.
Every recorded feed carried the same nightmare image: a man wreathed in chaotic energy, tearing through steel and flesh alike.
Panic spread. Governments cried out for aid. Civilians demanded S.H.I.E.L.D. act.
Inside the Triskelion, General Ross slammed his fist onto Fury's desk.
"At this point, you still won't recall him?" Ross barked. "You call when you shouldn't, you hesitate when you must. What the hell are you playing at, Fury?!"
Fury ignored him, turning instead to Natasha, Hill, and Rogers. Their faces were grim.
Steve's voice was heavy. "Whatever this 'Evil God' was before… right now, Natasha and I couldn't stop him."
Natasha folded her arms. "His power is unstable — mismatched, messy. Against soldiers, it looks unstoppable. Against me, maybe… maybe I'd stand a chance. But Hydra still has the girl in red."
Her gaze flicked to the frozen video frame of Wanda Maximoff. "Someone like her… she's Hulk-level, with range. That's no ordinary threat."
Fury's single eye narrowed. He knew the roster. Stark couldn't risk it. Thor was bound to Asgard. Carol was far off-world, her existence still hidden as his last card.
That left only one option.
Fury exhaled. "Natasha. Call Heimdall. Tell him… tell him I'd rather not beg, but the world needs Lock back on Earth."
He had barely spoken when a familiar voice rang from the doorway, smooth and amused.
"Hah. And here I thought the first voice I'd hear after returning would be a warm welcome… not an old bald man grousing at fate."
Every head turned.
There stood Lock, the so-called King of Apocalypse, framed in the doorway with stormlight at his back.
And at his side, clad in the armor of Asgard, stood Daisy.
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