I headed toward one of Hydra's surviving vehicles—an armored SUV with a shattered windshield but still functional. The door was locked, no issue; I tore it off its hinges.
Keys sat in the ignition. Convenient.
The engine roared to life on the first try—German engineering, reliable and powerful. I flicked on the headlights and eased out of the slaughter site, weaving around corpses and debris.
Dharavi's narrow alleys greeted me with their usual chaos. Faces peeked from windows and doorways, drawn by the explosion, but they ducked back upon seeing a blood-soaked driver in a military vehicle. In the slums, you learn not to ask questions.
I drove slowly, savoring victory. Kingo's blood pulsed in my veins, its cosmic energy sharpening every move. It was like a drug—pure, unfiltered power.
I'd need more soon.
The main road appeared ahead, a wide artery to Mumbai's heart. There, in the glass towers of the business district, new hunts awaited. Bankers, officials, tycoons—those who fancied themselves masters of this world.
I'd hunt them, but not yet.
It's more fun when they gather.
I turned onto the highway and floored it. The engine growled, pushing the heavy vehicle to a hundred kilometers an hour. Nighttime Mumbai blurred past—neon signs, sparse streetlights, dark building silhouettes.
The city slept, unaware a predator prowled its streets. Millions dreamt in their beds, oblivious that their Eternal protectors could no longer shield them. One lay under rubble; the others didn't yet sense the danger.
Not yet.
But they'd learn. They'd unite against the threat. As a team.
I smiled, picturing their faces when they realized the hunt had begun. Sersi, transmuting matter. Thena, wielding pure-energy weapons. Druig, bending minds. Each unique, each a challenge.
Each will die.
The business district's lights loomed—skyscrapers like glass spires, windows glinting in the dark. Somewhere in those towers, people shaped millions' fates.
Soon, they'd know what it means to be prey.
I parked in a dark alley between office buildings and killed the engine. Silence enveloped me, save for distant traffic and my pulse, amplified by Eternal blood.
Time to leave and find a new lair. Hydra surely knew their operation failed and was planning their next move. They'd need time. I'd rest.
I stepped out, asphalt damp with dew, air thick with exhaust and distant sea. A typical city night.
But something was wrong.
My heightened senses caught it—too deep a silence, an absence of urban hum. Even the wind stilled, as if nature held its breath.
I stopped two steps from the alley's exit, listening.
A heartbeat. Slow, too slow for a human. Controlled breathing, like a seasoned warrior. And… a mechanical hum. Faint servo whirs, barely audible but clear to me.
Not human. Something more.
I froze, assessing. Someone waited at the alley's mouth. Modified body, iron discipline. Not a standard Hydra soldier—something far deadlier.
A unique asset.
Silently, I crept to the building's edge and peered out.
A figure leaned against the office center's wall across the street. Tall, clad in dark gear, face masked except for eyes. A mechanical left arm, marked with a red star, gleamed under a streetlight.
The Winter Soldier.
I'd seen whispers of him in memories and tales. Hydra's legendary assassin, a living weapon with a scrubbed mind and a super-soldier serum-enhanced body. Some said he had hundreds of kills over seventy years. If Hydra sent him, they saw me as a real threat.
Flattering.
He didn't move, but I felt his focus. He knew I was here, maybe even saw me lurking. His enhanced senses rivaled a vampire's.
Almost.
We studied each other through walls and distance. Predator versus predator. Killer versus killer. This promised to be fun.
He broke the silence: "Come out. We need to talk."
I laughed, the sound echoing off alley walls. "Talk? How civilized. I thought you were here to kill me."
"That's an option," he replied, voice flat. "Depends on you."
Curious. The Winter Soldier didn't chat, per the stories. Orders in, job done, no questions. Yet he offered parley.
Either he'd changed, or Hydra gave special instructions.
"Fine," I said, stepping into the open. "Let's talk."
We faced each other across thirty meters of empty street, streetlights casting yellow pools between us, faces in shadow. A perfect duel setting. Cinematic. Kingo would've loved it.
"Hydra has an offer," the Soldier said, unmoving. "Join us. Your abilities could be useful."
I shook my head. "I've got other plans. Ones that don't involve wearing your silly badges."
"Then you die."
"Many have tried over tens of thousands of years," I stepped forward. "Kings, assassins, hunters, lords. Great warriors, heroes. They're all dead. I'm still here."
"I'm not 'many.'"
"True," I conceded. "You're special. A living weapon with a soldier's soul and a machine's body. But know what sets you apart from the others I've killed?"
He waited, silent.
"You're the second interesting prey in a while."
I lunged.
But the Winter Soldier was ready. An explosion.
Fire consumed my mind.
A blinding flash turned night to day for a split second, then a deafening roar. The shockwave hit like a freight train, hurling me like a ragdoll. The world spun—asphalt, sky, fire, darkness. A crunch.
I slammed into an office building's wall, back first. Concrete and rebar gave way, collapsing inward. My body smashed through one wall, then another, a third, before stopping deep inside, buried under tons of debris.
Silence. Ringing, deafening silence post-blast.
Then pain.
It crashed over me, searing, all-consuming. My left arm twisted impossibly, bone jutting through torn flesh. Half my ribs—shattered. Warm, sticky blood dripped from a gash on my forehead. Internal organs… best not to think about them.
But the pain was glorious.
I laughed, blood spraying onto gray concrete. The sound echoed off ruined walls, mad and exultant. Finally! A foe who doesn't just shoot or swarm but fights. Who can hurt me. Who planned. He'd calculated the ambush perfectly.
Regeneration kicked in.
A tingle in my fingertips, then burning, spreading. Cells divided rapidly, knitting tissue. I felt bones fuse—vertebrae snapping into place, ribs reforming.
My left arm twitched, bone retracting under skin, muscles weaving back. Each second brought agony and ecstasy.
I shoved aside a concrete slab pinning my chest and sat up. Debris fell from my shoulders. Blood still dripped, but wounds closed, leaving pink scars that would soon vanish.
"Impressive," I muttered, wiping blood from my lips. "Very impressive."
The Winter Soldier knew his craft. The blast wasn't to kill—to disable. Strong enough for serious damage, not to dust me. He'd studied my regeneration and acted accordingly. Not aiming to kill, but to test.
Clever. Very clever.
I stood, testing joints. Everything worked. Arm moved fine, ribs held, organs functioned. Full recovery in under twenty seconds.
Time to climb out and continue. But first, I manipulated the blood within, dampening my strength. Limiting my power was harder than expected.
After a minute, I navigated the rubble to the breach I'd made. Night air hit, carrying smoke and destruction. The street was pocked with craters, asphalt smoldering, streetlights flickering from damaged wiring. He hadn't skimped on explosives.
No sign of the Winter Soldier. But I felt him—cold, patient, watching, planning his next move. A predator.
Human killer versus true predator.
A shot from the left, a rooftop. A bullet whistled past my ear, sparking off the wall. Sniper rifle, high caliber, armor-piercing. A headshot would've slowed even my regeneration. Spider-sense saved me.
Another shot, right, from an office window. I dodged, the bullet missing my chest. He moved between positions with uncanny speed, using the urban maze.
I dove behind an overturned car. A third shot pierced its hood, missing me.
"Playing hide and seek?" I called, peeking out. "Cute!"
A grenade landed three meters away and exploded, flipping the car. I rolled, dodging metal shards. Fragments slashed my cheek and shoulder, wounds healing instantly.
A fourth shot tore through my left shoulder, shattering bone. It aimed for my heart, but I'd shifted. I hissed but kept moving. The wound closed faster than the pain registered.
He was circling, using the block as his hunting ground, creating the illusion of an army. But I sensed one heartbeat, one cold, focused blood.
Fifth shot. Sixth. Seventh.
Each hit, none lethal. Sometimes I dodged, sometimes I let them land. He wasn't aiming for a quick kill—wearing me down, forcing regeneration, testing my limits.
Tactical genius at work.
I darted between buildings, escaping his fire. The alley was dark, littered with trash. Perfect for an ambush.
And it was waiting.
Explosions hit from both sides. Charges in the walls turned the alley into a death trap. Bricks and concrete rained down.
But I'd adapted.
Instead of fleeing, I dove deeper, punching through a building's wall as the blasts collapsed the alley. Debris buried where I'd been.
Inside an office building, a maze of cubicles and corridors, his sniper advantage was null. My domain—close combat, hunting.
I froze, listening. Steps on a staircase, two floors up. Measured, cautious, near-silent. He'd switched tactics. Sniper duel over; the real hunt began.
I climbed the stairs silently, barefoot after the blast. Each step calculated. The hunter closed on his prey.
Or the prey on the hunter. Thrilling.
The second floor was silent—a long corridor of office doors, flickering fluorescents, carpet muffling sound. A corporate labyrinth turned battlefield.
I sensed him before I saw him. Cold metal slicing the air. A knife, thrown with surgical precision, aimed for my throat.
I dodged at the last second, the blade embedding in the wall. A perfect throw—any human would be dead.
The Winter Soldier emerged from the shadows. Tactical knife in his right hand, pistol in his mechanical left. His black gear blended with the dim light, only his eyes glinting coldly.
"Impressive regeneration," he said, toneless. "But everything has limits."
"Want to test mine?" I grinned, adrenaline surging. "Try."
He fired and struck simultaneously.
Three bullets to my chest as his knife arced for my throat. Perfect hand coordination.
I dodged the blade, grabbing his wrist, but the bullets hit. Two in my chest, one in my gut. Pain erupted, but I held his arm, fingers crushing at servos.
He didn't flinch. His mechanical arm smashed an elbow into my temple, sparking my vision. I staggered but held the knife.
He spun, kneeing my ribs. Bones cracked, pain flashed. They began healing, bullets pushing out.
I punched his solar plexus. He doubled over but recovered, landing a metal uppercut that lifted me off the floor.
We parted, assessing.
Blood dripped from my lips, wounds closing. His breathing was slightly heavier—the only sign of strain. His regeneration wasn't mine, even as a super-soldier.
"Super-soldier strength," I said, wiping blood. "Plus that arm. Impressive."
He was silent.
We clashed again.
Faster, harder, deadlier. His knife carved silver arcs, each swing demanding focus. Fighting him felt like battling a machine—flawless precision.
His blade slashed my chest, shoulder to gut. I slammed his arm into a wall, plaster crumbling, but his grip held.
His mechanical arm hammered my kidneys. Again. Again. Organs ruptured and healed in a cycle of pain.
I grabbed his throat, fingers crushing his windpipe. He endured, stabbing my ribs.
One. Two. Three. Four.
Each strike pierced between bones, shredding lungs and heart. I spat blood but didn't release.
"Die!" he growled.
"After you," I grinned, blood staining my teeth.
We hit the floor, rolling, wrecking everything. Doors splintered, walls cracked, glass shards bit our skin.
He pinned me, raising his knife for my eye—a blow even my regeneration couldn't instantly counter.
I caught his arm an inch from my face. Muscles strained against his mechanical force. The blade trembled, inching closer.
I headbutted his nose. Bone crunched, blood sprayed. He reeled, and I seized the moment.
Grabbing his shoulders, I hurled him through a wall into an office, smashing desks and computers.
I followed, ready to finish him. But he was up, dusting off, blood streaming from his nose, eyes still burning.
"Stubborn," I said, impressed.
He threw a steel desk fragment. I dodged, but he used it as a feint, his mechanical arm grabbing my throat, lifting me.
Titanium fingers crushed my larynx. I clawed at his shoulders, vision darkening.
I kneed his groin. Again. Again.
Even a super-soldier has weaknesses. His grip loosened. I broke free, pummeling his solar plexus.
He doubled over. I grabbed his head, ready to snap his neck. He slipped free, rolling, rising with a pistol.
A shot echoed. The bullet entered my left eye, exiting my skull, spraying blood and brain.
I collapsed, convulsing. Half my face gone, my remaining eye wild. Regeneration started, but brains take time. I was helpless.
He approached, aiming at my other eye. One more shot, and it'd be over. But I don't want to kill him…
"End," he said, pulling the trigger.
Click. Empty magazine.
I laughed, blood bubbling, face a ruin. "Can't… count… bullets?"
My eye reformed, skull knitting, brain regrowing. Seconds more, and I'd be whole.
He dropped the pistol, drawing another knife. Too late.
I rolled, sweeping his legs. He fell, and I pinned him, hands on his throat, thumbs on arteries.
"My turn," I whispered, staring into his eyes.
He didn't yield. His mechanical arm smashed my head against the floor. Once. Twice. Three times.
Skull cracked, consciousness wavered. I held his throat.
Four. Five. Six.
Blood flooded my eyes, the world red. A few more, and he'd crush my skull before I choked him. Let him try?
Seven. Eight.
His face blued, but his arm kept smashing.
Nine. Ten.
We'd die together. Ironic—two killers slaying each other in a filthy office. I'd rise. Him…
But he surprised me. Instead of another blow, he grabbed my shoulders, rolling us through a window.
Glass shattered. We fell from the third floor, locked in a deadly embrace. Asphalt rushed up.
The impact was cataclysmic.
We hit with our combined weight, cratering the pavement. Streetlights burst, car alarms wailed.
I lay broken, bleeding. Every bone shattered, organs pulped. Regeneration worked, slowly knitting critical damage. I'd rise in seconds.
The Winter Soldier stirred meters away. His mechanical arm was gone, sparking wires exposed. His face, sliced by glass, bled from countless cuts.
Yet he moved. Resilient.
Limping, he approached, a curved knife in his right hand, meant for finishing wounded prey.
"Well… fought," he panted. "Not… enough."
I tried to rise, ribs still broken. Lungs filled with blood, each breath agony. A minute more, and I'd be functional. I had no minute.
He raised the knife, aiming for my heart. Precise, methodical, lethal. Our duel's end.
But the world erupted in electric arcs.
A damaged transformer on a nearby pole gave out. High-voltage cables fell, turning the street into an electric field. Lightning danced, igniting everything.
The Soldier dodged a bolt, but too late. Electricity surrounded us, the crater a death trap.
He'd planned this—lured me to this faulty substation. Our fight, the fall, landing here—all calculated.
Even dying, he hunted.
A bolt hit me first.
Ten thousand volts seared my cells, boiling my blood, frying my nerves. I screamed—first time in millennia.
Regeneration fought the current. Cells rebuilt and burned in an endless cycle of death and rebirth, each moment an eternity.
Second bolt. Third. Fourth.
Consciousness faded, reality dissolving in electric flashes. I saw the Soldier writhing, his arm smoking. Yet he crawled from the crater, fighting to live. Stubborn.
The fifth bolt was my last.
Darkness took me, merciful and absolute. My final glimpse—the Soldier's eyes, rising at the crater's edge.
I lost.
Or did I win?