Marvel: Shadow Monarch

Three days had passed since we'd arrived at Murphy's Last Stop, and I had gotten used to the new daily quest requirements.

My feet pounded rhythmically against the asphalt as I ran along the highway's shoulder, the early morning air crisp against my skin.

The increased workout demands had been irritating at first, especially since the rewards remained exactly the same as before.

Three stat points, a random loot box, and full status recovery—no scaling whatsoever despite doubling the requirements. It was like the system was testing my dedication rather than rewarding my progress.

Still, I'd adapted my strategy. If I was going to do the work anyway, I might as well maximize the benefits.

So I'd been doing four hundred of each exercise and running twenty kilometers instead of the required ten. The extra effort earned me additional rewards from pushing past the minimums, just like before.

At least something good comes from this extra work. Plus even this feels pretty easy.

The routine had become second nature. Wake up at dawn, complete the exercises in the forest behind the motel where no one could see, then take my extended run along the highway.

The physical improvements were noticeable—my stamina had increased significantly, and my already enhanced strength felt more refined, more controlled.

Jeff had been surprisingly good at staying hidden whenever Grandma Murphy came around.

The little guy seemed to understand the need for secrecy, quickly diving under the bed or into the closet whenever he heard her approaching. Sometimes I'd catch him peeking out from his hiding spots with those big eyes, waiting for the all-clear before emerging again.

Fortunately, Grandma Murphy wasn't the type to snoop around the room. She respected privacy and stuck to her business, which made keeping Jeff secret much easier than it could have been.

The past two days had been eventful in their own way.

Anna and I had taken over the night shifts, allowing the motel to operate many more hours instead of closing at nine in the evening. The extra income had made Grandma Murphy happy, and it gave us something productive to do besides just hiding.

Working the night shift had its advantages too. Fewer people around, less chance of awkward questions, and Anna seemed more comfortable interacting with the occasional late-night travelers than dealing with crowds during busy periods.

There had been one incident with a biker gang whose leader thought Anna looked like easy prey.

The guy had made some crude comments and tried to grab her arm while she was cleaning tables in the attached diner. That had been a mistake.

The confrontation had ended with the entire gang getting a beating they wouldn't soon forget, and their leader nursing a broken finger after I'd very carefully applied just enough pressure to crack the bone without pulverizing his entire hand.

I'd had to restrain myself significantly—my strength could have easily killed them all, but that would have created more problems than it solved. 

Control, I reminded myself. Always control.

He would have suffered if he touched her arm, but I would rather cut off his hand than him touch her.

The gang had left quickly after that, spreading word that Murphy's Last Stop wasn't a place to cause trouble. Grandma Murphy had just smiled when she heard about it later, muttering something about "boys who don't know how to respect women getting what they deserve."

I was about fifteen kilometers into my run when I heard something that made me slow down. Footsteps—but not normal ones.

These were too fast, too rhythmic, like someone running at superhuman speeds through the underbrush. And there was another sound too, a strange whooshing noise that came in regular intervals, like someone swinging through the trees on ropes or cables.

Both sounds were coming from the forest we'd emerged from three days ago, and they were getting closer.

That's not normal.

I came to a stop, my perception automatically focusing on the sounds. Whatever was happening in those woods, it involved people with abilities. People like me. And given our recent escape from a government facility, that could mean either potential allies or serious trouble.

The running footsteps were erratic, desperate—someone fleeing rather than pursuing. The swinging sounds, however, had a predatory quality to them, methodical and patient like a hunter tracking prey.

Someone's being chased.

I changed direction, leaving the highway and heading into the forest toward the sounds.

I easily navigated through the dense undergrowth as my perception let me track the movement patterns even through the thick canopy and led to the right direction.

The chase was heading roughly in the direction of the highway, which meant it might spill out into the open soon. That could be bad for everyone involved, especially if it attracted unwanted attention to our area. I preferred to stay low while I can.

Better to intercept it before it becomes a public spectacle.

.....

James Buchanan Barnes crashed through another cluster of branches, his super soldier physique allowing him to maintain a speed that would have been impossible for a normal human.

But even his enhanced stamina had limits, and the multiple cuts across his body were slowing him down with each step.

The stab wound in his right side was the worst—a jagged tear that looked like someone had tried to rip a chunk out of his torso.

Blood soaked through his dark tactical shirt, and every jarring step sent fresh spikes of pain through his core. His left arm, the metal one, was fine but there were some occasional sparks coming from it.

How the hell did it come to this?

SHIELD had detected unusual energy signatures twice this week from this area—two distinct sources that warranted investigation.

He and his partner had been sent to check them out, splitting up to cover more ground efficiently.

The first signature had led to an abandoned research facility filled with corpses, broken Sentinel Guard Units and signs of a violent breakout. Security footage showed a boy and a girl escaping, but the trail had gone cold.

The second signature had brought them here, to this forest. That's when everything had gone sideways.

His partner had suddenly turned on him and attacked him.

No warning, no explanation—just a sudden, vicious assault that had caught him completely off guard. The betrayal had been swift and brutal, leaving him wounded and confused about what had triggered it.

Was it mind control? Impersonation? Or had he been compromised from the start?

No, he's just a kid with a good heart. Its probably mind control, but who did it?

He'd managed to escape the initial attack, but his pursuer had followed relentlessly, showing abilities that shouldn't have been possible.

The chase had been going on for over half an hour now, and Bucky was running out of options.

A web line suddenly wrapped around his ankles, and Bucky went down hard, rolling across the forest floor before slamming into a tree trunk with enough force to rattle his teeth. He tried to get back up, but the webbing held firm—stronger than any rope he'd ever encountered.

His pursuer dropped from the canopy above, landing with characteristic grace just a few feet away.

The red and blue costume was unmistakable, iconic even, but there was something wrong with the way this figure moved—something cold and predatory that didn't match the hero everyone knew.

"You like running, huh?" the masked figure said, his voice distorted but carrying a tone that sent chills down Bucky's spine. There was amusement there, but it was the wrong kind—cruel rather than playful. "Let's see how you do that when I break every bone in your legs."

"I don't exactly need you walking for my experiments after all."

This wasn't the quip-filled hero from the news reports. This was something else entirely—something dangerous wearing a familiar face.

Bucky reached for his knife with his free hand, but his pursuer was faster than humanly possible.

Another web shot caught his wrist, pinning his hand to the ground before he could draw the weapon. The webbing was impossibly strong, like being wrapped in steel cables.

"Now, now," the figure said, stepping closer with deliberate slowness. The iconic spider emblem on his chest caught the filtered sunlight streaming through the canopy. "We're going to have a nice, long chat. A chat where I get to cut you open and you get to scream all you want."

The friendly neighborhood Spider-Man had never sounded so terrifying.

.....

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