Nick Fury was deeply tempted by Emrys's proposal, but he wasn't a fool. He was a veteran of a thousand political shadows, and he understood exactly what was happening.
To put it kindly, Emrys was offering a lifeline in the middle of a storm. To put it bluntly, he was executing a corporate takeover of Earth's primary defense agency during a planetary crisis.
Once S.H.I.E.L.D. accepted his "investment," there would be no going back. Without the mandate or funding of the World Security Council, they would be tethered to Emrys's chariot, bound to a man whose philosophy was as unyielding as iron.
Yet, Fury found himself admiring the logic. Emrys handled threats with a brutal clarity that the politicians in the Council lacked. While the chairmen haggled over optics and re-election cycles, Emrys focused on the survival of the species.
"We need to consider the terms," Fury said after a long silence, leaving just enough room for negotiation. He still wanted to see if the Council would blink, if only to save face for the thousands of agents under his command.
"I have no objections," Emrys said, shrugging with practiced indifference. "I'm only offering this as a courtesy to my own kind. If you refuse, I can simply fold my tent and leave this world to its fate. As for humanity... well, I can only wish you luck. You'll need it."
The conversation ended there. Emrys had laid his cards on the table. If Fury and the Avengers couldn't see the reality of the situation, he was content to let them handle the fallout until the sheer weight of their failure forced their hand.
That night, sleep was a luxury no one could afford. On the flight deck, Steve Rogers stood against the railing, letting the freezing high-altitude winds whip through his hair. Every word Emrys had spoken during the day echoed in his mind like a serrated blade.
A symbol, not a strategy.History is written by the common people who bleed.
"Can't sleep?"
Steve turned to see Coulson standing a few paces back. The agent looked tired, the usual fan-boy spark in his eyes replaced by a heavy, tactical weariness.
"I'm thinking about what he said," Steve admitted, his voice barely audible over the wind. "Coulson, was I really wrong? Is wanting to save everyone a weakness now?"
"I don't think the intention is wrong, Captain," Coulson said, walking up to join him at the rail. "Protecting people is the core of why we do this."
"So you agree with me?" Steve asked, a flicker of hope in his eyes.
Coulson looked away, staring out into the dark Pacific. "No. Personally... I agree with Emrys."
Steve's hands tightened on the railing. "Why? Does no one care about those people in the freeze?"
"Mr. Rogers, as a soldier, you are the best of us," Coulson said, his tone soft but firm. "But look at the board. Do we have the troops to secure the Casket? Do we have the intelligence to track Laufey? Do we have a counter-measure for the Casket's power? We have none of those things. If we walk into that trade, we fall into a trap we can't win. We lose the prisoner, we lose the artifact, and we lose the war."
Steve remained silent, his head bowed. It was the classic trolley problem, and no amount of "belief" could change the math.
"Emrys told Natasha something that stayed with me," Coulson added. "He said: There is no sacrifice too great to accept, and no betrayal too small to tolerate."
Steve stared at the horizon until the first grey light of dawn began to break. He thought of the trenches in France, the frozen forests of the Ardennes, and the millions who had died to stop the Nazis while he was leading raids on supply lines. He realized that victory had never been clean. It was built on the bones of those who were willing to pay the price.
By the time the sun rose, the knot in Steve's heart had hardened into a cold, sharp point.
"Mere courage isn't enough," Steve whispered to the rising sun. "Only sacrifice forges a path to victory. To protect the billions, we must be willing to lose the few."
When the team gathered in the conference room an hour later, the atmosphere was funereal. Fury looked exhausted, his hands trembling slightly as he held a tablet.
"The Council has issued their final directive," Fury said. "Loki is to be released within the hour. If we refuse, S.H.I.E.L.D. is officially disbanded and the Avengers are to be detained for insubordination."
The silence that followed was absolute. The Council's decision was effectively a surrender, a desperate attempt to appease a monster by handing him his favorite toy.
"There's nothing to discuss," a voice said.
Everyone turned to Steve. He was sitting upright, his face a mask of chilling resolve. The "Boy Scout" was gone; in his place was a commander who looked like he was ready to order a scorched-earth retreat.
"We are not releasing Loki," Steve said, his voice low and steady. "And since the Council has decided to abandon their post, we'll find someone who hasn't."
The room was stunned. Even Emrys looked surprised, his eyebrows arching in genuine curiosity.
Steve looked at Emrys and offered a grim, tight-lipped nod. "Don't look so shocked. I spent the night thinking about your words. Without sacrifice, there is no victory. It was true in '45, and it's true now."
"I'm in," Tony said immediately. He didn't need to hear more; he trusted Emrys and he sure as hell didn't trust the Council.
"I'm with the Captain," Barton added.
Natasha and Banner exchanged a long look, then slowly nodded. The choice was between a slow death by bureaucracy or a hard fight with a chance of survival.
"Well," Fury said, a ghost of a smile touching his lips. "It looks like I have a new 'Director' to report to."
He didn't care about the politics. He cared about the mission. And for the first time in years, the mission was clear.
"Since the chain of command is settled," Fury said, turning to Emrys, "what's the first move? We can't stay on the defensive forever."
Emrys stood up, his eyes flashing with a predatory light. He had his springboard. He had his army. Now, it was time to secure his base of operations.
"Before we engage Laufey, we need to secure a resource that the Council has been too timid to touch," Emrys said. "We're going to Africa."
"Where in Africa?" Steve asked.
"A place that hides its teeth behind a curtain of trees," Emrys replied. "Wakanda."