Jingle Bell!
The shrill alarm echoed through the Red Room base.
Fenric advanced steadily, his expression calm. Every guard who rushed at him collapsed without a fight—necks twisted, bodies falling like broken dolls. He hadn't even lifted a hand. With the power of his mind alone, killing ordinary people was effortless.
When little girls, barely trained, attempted to ambush him, Fenric merely knocked them unconscious.
The underground base wasn't large. With Quicksilver clearing rooms ahead of him, Fenric barely encountered resistance.
Quicksilver's strikes might not have scratched Fenric himself—his defense was simply too overwhelming—but against ordinary soldiers, his super speed turned every blow into a fatal weapon.
Yet something puzzled Fenric. He hadn't seen the so-called Taskmaster.
Meanwhile, in a storage room nearby, a petite figure slipped in.
She immediately grabbed a can of meat, tearing it open and devouring the contents. Bite after bite, she stuffed her face, then grabbed another, along with a dagger, before slipping out into the chaos.
She chewed as she walked, her eyes sharp despite the food.
It looked like gluttony—but in truth, she was restoring energy for the fight she knew was coming.
In the monitoring room, she stunned the guards with quick, practiced strikes, then settled herself into a chair. A bag of potato chips crinkled in her hands as she watched the cameras.
On the screens, a blur streaked past again and again—an afterimage too fast for the eye to follow. Only when he stopped could she make out the figure of a man.
"What a monster," Yelena Belova muttered around a mouthful of chips.
Switching feeds, she caught sight of another intruder: Fenric.
He didn't move with speed like the blur. Instead, he walked leisurely, fearless, like someone untouchable. On the surface, he seemed the easier target.
But Yelena wasn't reckless. She kept watching.
One of her fellow trainees, one of the strongest among them, stalked Fenric from the shadows. The girl crept behind him like a cat, bare feet tapping lightly, an improvised blade in hand.
Yelena held her breath. Could she succeed?
Her gut said no. Anyone bold enough to walk so openly in the Red Room had to have confidence—or overwhelming power.
Her prediction proved true.
The trainee lunged, driving the sharp iron shard into Fenric's back.
Nothing. He didn't even flinch.
As her companion recoiled in horror, Fenric lazily raised his hand. The girl's body was yanked toward him as if dragged by an invisible magnet. Her terrified face filled the monitor just before Fenric tapped her neck, rendering her unconscious in an instant.
"Another monster…" Yelena whispered, sweat breaking across her brow. The speedster was terrifying enough, but this man—he could control everything.
This Red Room is finished. Even if the instructor—Taskmaster—were here, they couldn't win against these two. And the instructor isn't even present today… I need to escape.
She crammed the last of her food into her mouth, then glanced at the ceiling vent.
The main exits are lost. Luckily, I know where the secret one is.
Without hesitation, Yelena climbed into the ventilation shaft.
Fenric, meanwhile, stalked through the corridors. The Red Room wasn't much larger than a shopping mall, and he had yet to find Taskmaster—or even the so-called third generation of Black Widows.
A sudden gust of wind tore past him. Quicksilver skidded to a stop at his side.
"Master, it's done," Pietro reported.
Fenric's eyes narrowed. "Did you encounter anyone strong?"
"Strong?" Quicksilver scratched his cheek. "Hard to say. One punch each, they all went down."
Fenric gave him a long look. Showing off, are you? Believe it or not, I could floor you with one punch.
"Let's go. Time to regroup with Natasha."
They followed the path Natasha had mentioned, toward the hidden exit.
The chamber opened into a wide hall—and Fenric couldn't help but smile at the scene before him.
Natasha was locked in combat with a young girl.
The two moved with blinding speed and lethal grace, limbs entwining, breaking apart, striking again. Arm locks, leg sweeps, chokes, counters—every martial art Fenric recognized flashed in their movements: Wing Chun, Muay Thai, Brazilian Jiu-Jitsu.
It was a duel of equals, vicious and beautiful all at once.
"Master!"
Wanda spotted Fenric immediately and ran to his side, her face lighting up.
Fenric smirked. "Why didn't you step in?"
She hesitated. "Natasha wouldn't let me. That girl… she called Natasha a traitor. It made her furious."
"Oh?" Fenric chuckled.
He remembered the comics. Yelena Belova, the third-generation Black Widow. And just like in those pages, she had branded Natasha a traitor.
It all made sense.
Only sixteen or seventeen, and already fighting Natasha—who was at the peak of her ability—on even ground. Yelena's talent was undeniable.
Natasha had decades of experience, stamina, and maturity. Yet Yelena, still so young, matched her blow for blow. No wonder she would one day surpass Natasha's records, earning her place as the next Black Widow. But due to her use of white tactical suit instead of Natasha's iconic black one, many called her White Widow.
In the official accounts, Yelena was enhanced, her physique equal to peak human perfection—on par with Captain America himself. Eventually, she would even absorb the Sentry's power, lose control, and become nearly unstoppable.
Fenric's mind turned. Is she worth one of my slots?
He had already taken a gamble on Doctor Strange. Should he risk another on Yelena Belova?
Wham!
Natasha grabbed Yelena and hurled her across the room. Both women staggered back, gasping for breath, yet neither had claimed victory.
The battle was still deadlocked.