Bucky's fall shocked Tony Stark most, not Steve.
Stark Industries, the top arms dealer, was tied to countless deaths, but Tony had never killed. "I didn't mean it! Call an ambulance!" he shouted.
"Bucky!" Steve cried, kneeling beside him, grief-stricken. He'd imagined Tony might kill for revenge, but not like this—an accident.
"Dead," Burkasso said, tossing Kasilius to Harrogath, instructing idle ancestors to watch the unlucky mage until he could deal with him. Bucky was a stranger; Burkasso stayed out of revenge.
Bucky's soul rose, a mix of guilt and pain like a sour stench. Veterans carried death's weight, but Bucky's regret-soaked sins didn't stir Burkasso's pity. Even Constantine's balanced mix of good and evil was more tolerable.
"Regret's useless. Wrong is wrong," Burkasso thought. If Talic and Mokot hadn't intervened, Rumlow would've died by Bucky's hand. A lifetime of evil wasn't erased by last-minute remorse, nor a good life undone by mistakes. He couldn't forgive a stranger for victims.
"Tony, maybe this is Bucky's fate. I'm taking him to S.H.I.E.L.D.," Steve said, his initial anger faded. His honor held; he didn't blame Tony.
Bucky died by Howard's son, as he'd accepted.
"I killed someone?" Tony stared at his hands, reeling. Learning his father's death wasn't an accident, meeting the killer—Peggy's news drove him mad. Armed with a gun, he chose to forgo vengeance, aiming for justice. Yet, his enemy died by his hand, hopeful in his final moment—a cruel twist.
Steve carried Bucky's body, riding to S.H.I.E.L.D. It was his only refuge.
"Can I swap this?" Rumlow asked, holding the Endless Chaos Potion.
"Find another yourself. You know where," Burkasso replied, chugging Frank's liquor.
"It's your fault! I wouldn't have killed him!" Tony yelled at both, raging at fate, dodging accountability.
"Not my gun," Rumlow snapped, feeling slight guilt for the accident but unmoved. Revenge was just.
"Enough, Rumlow," Burkasso said, tossing Tony a bottle. "You need this, kid."
Burkasso gazed outside, bored. These dramas were trivial. His stoic look seemed wise, calming Tony, who caught the bottle and drank, mistaking Burkasso's daze for sagacity.
"I need a moment," Tony said, sitting, breathing deeply.
"Scared of revenge? Weird," Rumlow scoffed, drinking. He didn't get Tony's choice to spare Bucky.
Vengeance was a warrior's justice. The room's blood scent turned to liquor.
"I gave up revenge," Tony muttered, too drained to argue, forgetting Rumlow's beating.
He choked on another swig, unused to chugging despite his playboy ways.
A screech and crash sounded outside—Tony's car was hit.
"Tony!" a shaky female voice called.
"Pepper?" Tony slurred, liquor hitting hard.
Pepper Potts, poised but trembling, entered, shaken by the blood and Tony's wrecked car. She'd seen him grab a gun and storm out, fearing the worst.
"Strong will," Burkasso noted. Facing fear made her a warrior.
"Reviving barbarians?" Rumlow asked, curious about Burkasso's goals.
"Sounds good," Burkasso mused.
Nick Fury woke sweating in a new Life Model Decoy, haunted by John Wick's furious face. Despite his skill, his injuries—limited arm and leg—left him vulnerable. Wick's bullet pierced his skull in ten seconds.
Now, in a cold bed, he wanted to do nothing. Blade was hunted by Hydra, the Howling Commandos were cut off, Hellboy would demand answers for Amphibian Man, and Rumlow's hang-up stung.
Fury trudged to S.H.I.E.L.D. headquarters, resources thin. Entering, he saw Steve with Bucky's body.
"What happened?" Fury asked, unnerved by Steve's calm.
"Tony took revenge. Bucky's dead," Steve said, laying the body on a couch, leaning close to Fury. "Can S.H.I.E.L.D. revive someone?"
"Motherfucker, what?" Fury, confused, knew Bucky but not his link to Tony.
"Can you do it?" Steve pressed.
"Yes! Why?" Fury flinched under Steve's gaze.
"Do it. I'll explain," Steve said, yanking Fury up, ignoring his injuries.
"You know what you're doing?" Fury sensed Steve's turmoil.
"Bucky, under Hydra's control, killed Howard and Maria," Steve said, fists clenched, fury at Hydra reignited.
"Why tell Tony?" Fury asked, baffled. He'd have hidden it.
"Bucky's choice," Steve said, releasing Fury, cradling Bucky. "Lead the way."
"Tony just shot him?" Fury asked, skeptical, as they walked.
"Accident," Steve said, torn. Neither blamed Tony, but S.H.I.E.L.D.'s revival tech tempted him. Justice was served, but he indulged a selfish hope.
"He knows Hydra intel. Redemption through service?" Fury offered, sensing Steve's conflict. Bucky's info was valuable, and Steve was his best fighter. He'd send him with Hawkeye and Natasha to the lost base, hoping it wasn't too late.
John Wick sat by Fury's decoy corpse, clutching his dog, silent. A cigarette-lit man approached—Constantine, drawn by the ominous aura of two cars he'd encountered.
"Hey, can I help?" Constantine asked, eyeing the wrecks, unable to flip them.
Wick didn't look up, cradling his dog's body.
"Cute dog," Constantine said, seeing its soul licking Wick's face.
"Want to die?" Wick growled.
"Paranormal expert John Constantine, at your service," he said, offering a card. Wick's murderous eyes met his. "No relatives in Liverpool?"
Wick raised his gun. "I can let you see your dog. It's licking you. No Liverpool kin?" Constantine rambled, hands up.
Wick pointed at Fury's body. "Lie, and you join him."
"Rough," Constantine said, noting no soul in Fury's body—odd, given the dog's soul lingered.
"Grab my hand," Constantine said. Wick, gun in right hand, took it with his left.
"Milu hulu…" Constantine mumbled fake chants, sharing power to let Wick see his dog's soul rubbing his leg.
"No Liverpool kin? Not human, maybe an old friend?" Constantine pressed, suspicious. No soul in Fury's body wasn't normal; he suspected a demon.
Wick hugged his dog's soul, still gripping Constantine.
"You want your dog back—oh, you again!" an old man's voice—Mephisto—snapped, furious.
Mephisto, wounded from Father Anderson's attack, needed souls. Drawn by despair, he appeared without scouting, a rare slip for his cautious avatar.
"Hey, Mephisto, long time no see," Constantine said, hand stuck.
Wick stood, rubbing the dog's soul. "Is it true?" he asked Mephisto, whose face twitched harder seeing Wick's resemblance to Constantine.
Another Constantine-like foe, after losing Carter Slade's soul.
"Constantine, fooling me again?" Mephisto roared, sky dimming briefly, cut off from hell's power.
"I'm asking, is it true?" Wick demanded.
Constantine whistled eerily, dodging.
"John, no tricks?" Mephisto asked.
Constantine kept whistling. Wick paused—he hadn't shared his name.
"I'm not fooling you, but are you fooling me?" Wick said.
Mephisto glared at Constantine, recalling a marker trick. "Devils don't cheat in deals, unlike your friend."
"I honored the contract," Constantine countered, known for "trustworthy" deals.
(End of Chapter)
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