"A Shield in the Storm: The Captain’s Oath"

The Venomous Path

The swamps stretched endlessly, their waters thick with moss, decay, and unseen dangers. Twisted trees reached toward the sky like skeletal fingers, their roots tangled in a labyrinth of shadow.

Steve Rogers—Soldier, Witcher, and a Man Unyielding—walked carefully, his every step measured, deliberate.

The Bears had forged his endurance, but this was different.

This was the path of the Vipers.

A place where strength meant nothing. Where the clever survived, and the foolish died.

The Vipers did not wait for him.

They struck.

Lesson One: The World Is a Lie

A dagger whistled through the air.

Steve ducked, twisting just in time to see a figure melt into the shadows.

Another blade came from behind—he barely deflected it with his gauntlet before rolling forward, evading a third.

The Vipers surrounded him, their forms slipping in and out of the darkness like ghosts.

They did not wear armor.

They did not carry shields.

They carried death.

A voice whispered from the dark—sharp, mocking.

"You trust your eyes too much, Captain."

Steve's jaw clenched. He shifted his stance, listening.

The air. The water. The silence.

Then—movement.

He struck first, his fist catching a Viper mid-step. The assassin tumbled, but before Steve could follow up, a dozen others replaced him.

Their laughter was cold as steel.

Lesson Two: Poison Is More Than Venom

For weeks, the Vipers taught him the art of deception, assassination, and illusion.

They poisoned his meals, forcing him to recognize the taste of death on his tongue before it took hold.

They blinded his eyes, forcing him to fight by sound alone.

They bound his arms, making him fight with only his feet, then bound his legs to teach him the strength of his mind.

Every day, he adapted.

Every day, he grew sharper.

But he never changed.

One night, as he sat sharpening his dagger, a Viper approached—Nyssa the Hollow, a woman as silent as the wind.

She studied him, her amber eyes unreadable.

"You do not embrace the shadows, Captain."

Steve smirked. "I've had enough of people telling me to become something I'm not."

She tilted her head. "Even if it makes you stronger?"

"Strength means nothing if I lose who I am."

For the first time, Nyssa smiled.

Lesson Three: The Final Venom

When the time for the final trial arrived, the Vipers led Steve deep into the swamp's heart, where the air was thick with poison.

A silver chalice sat before him, its contents swirling with black and violet liquid.

"Drink," Nyssa commanded.

Steve knew what this was—a poison so potent it could either kill or transform him.

He exhaled.

He had fought wars, faced gods, died once already.

Fear had no hold on him.

He drank.

The world burned.

His veins became fire, his mind drenched in darkness. Visions clawed at his soul, memories warped and twisted.

Brooklyn in flames.

His mother crying in the dark.

Bucky falling endlessly into nothing.

A throne of ice. A king with no face.

Steve gritted his teeth, his hands clenching into fists.

He would not break.

He forced himself to remember who he was.

Not a killer.

Not a shadow.

Not a viper.

A soldier. A leader. A man who stood in the light.

When the darkness faded, he stood tall.

The Vipers watched in silence.

Nyssa stepped forward, her gaze filled with something almost like admiration.

"You dance with the shadows, but you do not belong to them."

She handed him a dagger, black as night, the blade curved like a fang.

"Take this, Soldier. A Viper's fang for a man who walks his own path."

And with that, Steve Rogers—the Witcher who refused to fall into darkness—walked toward his final trial.

The Trial of the Manticore.