⚫ Chapter — The Price of Speed (Mercury's Fate) ⚫
The wind screamed across the scorched landscape, rubble and twisted metal strewn like forgotten toys of a cosmic child. Sokovia — ground zero for human arrogance and superhero antics — floated, a fractured island in the sky, crumbling under its own defiance of gravity.
Hovering above the chaos, unseen by any mortal eye, I observed.
Death 2.0. Upgraded. Untraceable. Not a whisper in the wind, not a shimmer of distortion. Cameras? Worthless. Sensors? Blinded. If I didn't want to be seen, I wasn't.
And tonight? I was only watching. For now.
Below, the final act of the Avengers' desperate ballet played out. Stark's armor hissed and sparked. Thor's hammer cracked the skies. Captain America barked orders, blood staining his iconic shield. But my eyes? They were locked on him.
Pietro Maximoff, codename: Quicksilver. Faster than sound, cocky as hell, and blissfully unaware that his ticket was about to be punched.
Not by me directly — no, no. Fate had its woven threads, and tonight, I was just the collector. But I'd admit… watching it unfold? There was a twisted poetry in it.
"Funny," I muttered to myself, perched midair like a ghost in tailored black. "Magneto's boy. Shame he doesn't even know his father's in the picture yet."
The chaos crescendoed. Civilians screamed. Chitauri scrap rained down like molten confetti. And then she entered my field of view.
Wanda Maximoff — Scarlet Witch.
Red energy crackled at her fingertips, eyes ablaze with grief and rage. Her magic, still raw, unpredictable, pulsed in time with her heartbeat — a heartbeat I could feel across planes of existence.
For a brief second, I smirked. "Careful, Daniel," I whispered to myself, "play with fire, you might get burned… but damn, some fires are worth it."
BOOM!
Ultron's drones descended, swarming like locusts. Pietro darted through the battlefield, a silver blur, pulling civilians from harm's way, taunting bullets like a daredevil drunk on his own velocity.
It was heroic. Noble. Foolish.
Because I held the list — the celestial ledger, names etched in cosmic ink. And Pietro Maximoff's time was up.
"Gabriel's going to love this one," I mused, tapping my wrist where the interface glowed faintly with the soul manifest queue. "Speedsters… they never see it coming."
The air thickened. I drifted lower, invisible, intangible, threading through the debris like smoke.
Hawkeye, cornered, shielding a child.
A quinjet overhead, its guns misfiring.
Ultron, monologuing like every second-rate AI villain before him.
It all converged — a perfect storm of arrogance and inevitability.
Pietro dashed in, a blur of silver and adrenaline. Bullets sliced the air. Time slowed, as it always did for them — the fast ones. But tonight, speed wasn't enough.
Bang. Bang. Bang.
The rounds punctured flesh. His eyes widened, disbelief etched across his features. He stumbled, momentum failing him for the first and final time.
Blood bloomed, vibrant against the ashen backdrop.
Wanda screamed.
The world seemed to hold its breath.
And I? I stepped forward, fully visible to the dying — because death always makes itself known at the end.
Pietro's gaze locked with mine. Pain. Shock. The realization that, no matter how fast you run, you can't outrun the inevitable.
"Hey, kid," I greeted casually, crouching beside him as he collapsed beside the wreckage. "Hell of a run."
His lips twitched, struggling between a grimace and a smirk. "Who… are you?"
I flashed the faintest grin. "Name's Daniel. Most call me Death, though. Upgraded model — long story."
His breathing faltered. Time, so precious to him, slipping through fingers like sand.
"Listen," I continued, voice low, eyes flicking to where Wanda knelt, cradling his body, crimson magic surging in grief. "You're not done… not entirely. You got options. But fair warning — resurrection packages? Complicated. Cosmic HR loves their paperwork."
Pietro's eyes fluttered, life dimming.
Wanda's scream cracked reality itself — a psychic shockwave rippling across the ruins.
"I'll give you a moment," I said, standing, letting his soul linger between states.
I turned to the girl — the chaos incarnate, her power spiraling out of control, grief-fueled magic distorting the air.
Beautiful. Dangerous. Absolutely my type.
"Careful, Scarlet," I whispered, though she couldn't hear me yet, "keep burning like that, and you'll attract things far worse than me."
A ripple stirred reality beside me — a faint, divine shimmer. Gabriel's presence, subtle, observing.
"Watching me, feather boy?" I asked without turning.
His voice drifted through realms. "Death with a sense of humor. How quaint."
"Occupational hazard," I quipped, eyes never leaving Wanda's silhouette.
The battlefield faded. Ultron's defeat. Sokovia's fall. The Avengers' fractured triumph.
And I drifted, unseen, unrecorded — only appearing when I chose. No cameras. No evidence. Only whispers, rumors of a suited man at the edge of disaster.
Later that night, as I hovered over the world, cosmic interface glowing with pending departures, I reviewed the list.
Pietro Maximoff — processing.
Wanda Maximoff — pending… volatile… interesting.
A smirk curled my lips.
"Let's see how hot the fire burns."