Blood-red flames flickered across Reed Richards' body, consuming what little remained of his strength. Though his form had transformed into elastic flesh, what coursed through his veins was still blood — not oil. Under the relentless burn of Marcus's Bloodflame, the once-malleable body began to twist and deform until it finally melted into a shapeless, motionless mass.
"Reed!" The Thing roared in grief, shoving aside both Juggernaut and Killian with a desperate surge of strength. He ignored the blows raining upon him and charged toward where Reed's body had fallen.
But Marcus wasn't about to give them a chance to reunite. As Ben Grimm sprinted forward, Marcus ignited his thrusters, launching himself from above. With a burst of flame and speed, he drove his Adamantium katana straight toward Ben's forehead.
The full-force strike landed with deadly precision. The blade's tip pierced directly into Ben's brow ridge, sparks erupting as Adamantium ground against stone. Marcus's weight, the Bloodflame thrusters, and gravity combined into a single devastating impact.
The Thing's rock-like skin, nearly impenetrable by any conventional means, was finally breached. A single droplet of blood welled from the crack between the blade and his stony flesh.
Marcus pressed his palm against the flat of the blade, channeling his metallic blood into the weapon. The katana blazed crimson as the Bloodflame surged down the blade, flooding into Ben's skull.
No matter how strong or resilient, anyone who still possessed a human body had a fatal weakness inside. Beneath that shell of rock was living tissue—and the intense internal heat soon turned Ben Grimm's brain into charred ruin.
Even after his mind was gone, his body refused to yield. The great hero stood tall to the end, shoulders squared, his stance unbroken even in death.
Reed, too, could only watch helplessly as his body continued to dissolve, unable to save the last of his family. Both men fell together, taking the legacy of the Fantastic Four with them.
---
[Virus Touch activated — Target: Mr. Fantastic. Zombie virus successfully injected... Infection confirmed. Superpowered individual undergoing mutation.
Target deceased — mutation accelerating. Mr. Fantastic will fully mutate within one hour, retaining fragments of human consciousness. Caution advised: subdue or erase consciousness immediately.]
[Virus Touch activated — Target: The thing...]
[Virus Touch activated — Target: Invisible Woman...]
[Target: The Human Torch — infection confirmed (previously deceased).
Thus, the Fantastic Four were annihilated in their entirety. The mysterious being known as Mist was now safe, and Marcus's control over Queens was finally secure.
Yet Marcus's gaze soon drifted toward the horizon — to the U.S. Navy's carrier battle group arrayed across the Atlantic, and to the faint silhouette of the S.H.I.E.L.D. Helicarrier hovering above, cloaked and ready for war.
The battle wasn't over — but the end was drawing near. The enemy was running out of cards to play. It was time to strike the final blow.
Sliding his Adamantium katana back into its sheath, Marcus cast one last glance at the bodies of the fallen heroes. A faint smile crossed his lips before he turned away, Bloodflame flickering around his boots as he launched toward the final battleground — the southern front of Queens.
There, Captain America and the remaining superheroes were gathering for humanity's last stand against the infected army.
---
New York Landing Zone
Captain America led what was left of the Avengers, covering the retreat of U.S. soldiers fleeing through the fog-drenched ruins of the city. They escorted the survivors — those lucky few who had escaped the undead tide — to the beaches, helping them board hovercraft landing vessels that would ferry them away from the hell that New York had become.
At the same time, several heavily armored transport trucks rolled onto the sand. Their engines thundered like beasts, and their reinforced exteriors were plated with steel thick enough to withstand tank fire. Whatever was inside was being guarded as though it were the President himself.
Even Nick Fury, who was supposed to be coordinating operations from the Helicarrier, had personally flown down in a maglev combat jet. His expression was grim as he watched the trucks advance toward the fog-shrouded city.
"Why did you call us back so suddenly?" Captain America demanded, his tone edged with frustration. Their mission had been to hold the line — and Steve Rogers still believed they could push forward and turn the tide.
Fury turned to face him, his single eye cold and weary. "Because to win this war, Rogers, we need something stronger than heroism. We need a weapon."
He hesitated before continuing, "The X-Men have gone dark. The Fantastic Four have… gone silent. We believe they've fallen."
"What!?" Captain America grabbed Fury by the collar, his voice breaking with fury. "Then why didn't you send me to help them!?"
Fury didn't flinch. "Could you have spared the manpower? You were protecting our only evacuation corridor. If you'd left, no one would've made it out alive. You follow orders, Captain — that's your duty. Don't let your pride cloud your judgment."
For a long moment, the two men stared at each other — Fury's jaw set in grim restraint, Rogers' hand still gripping his collar. Then Steve saw it: Fury's clenched fist trembling, veins bulging beneath the skin. It wasn't anger—it was grief.
Slowly, Captain America let go.
"They were killed by Hydra, weren't they?" he asked quietly.
Fury's voice dropped. "No. According to the field reports… they were killed by Marcus's brother."
Steve froze.
Fury's gaze hardened. "He's not like Marcus. He's something else. Something worse. A true monster."
"I'll handle him," Steve said flatly, turning toward the fog-draped skyline. "And Fury—don't tell Marcus. I don't want him burdened with guilt over his brother's death."
"…Understood."
The armored convoy rumbled past them, their massive wheels crushing the sand. Each truck bore the insignia of Trask Industries, escorted by the towering forms of first-generation Sentinel robots. The mechanical giants lumbered forward, their weapons systems primed, forming a defensive perimeter around the transports.
Captain America frowned, eyeing the convoy. "What's in those trucks? What could possibly be worth risking so many lives to deliver?"
Fury turned away, his expression unreadable. For a moment, it looked like he wouldn't answer. But then, he faced Steve again, his voice steady and absolute.
"Yes," he said simply. "This is the final mission."
The words were true — and yet, to Fury, they felt heavier than any lie he had ever told.