The very next second, Bella's eyes snapped open.
Golden light surged within her irises, glowing with divine brilliance. The light spilled outward in radiant streams, illuminating the devastated terrain like the promise of a new dawn.
At that moment, she didn't resemble a mortal woman.
She was like a vision of the future—brilliant, terrifying, inevitable.
Her arms extended outward, palms facing the sky. She crouched slightly, legs apart for balance, as she began gathering vast amounts of magic. From the very air itself, golden particles converged into her hands, compressing, condensing—twisting into two dense orbs of immense energy.
Rumbling...
The power crackled and sparked, churning like two miniature suns. Lightning danced across her arms, snapping and tearing at the air. The sheer volume of magical energy caused the earth beneath her to quake. Massive cracks spread beneath her feet, zigzagging outward, while the land warped and crumbled under the pressure.
Even the ground plates themselves started shifting—lifting into the air, rotating under the pull of her expanding force. Dust and debris spiraled around her in a maelstrom.
Then, she moved.
Boom!
Bella thrust both hands forward, releasing the energy in a colossal blast. The beam that erupted distorted the air in its path, forming concentric rings of invisible force. It screamed across the battlefield with a fury that bent reality, and when it struck the blood-red barrier, the world exploded.
A blinding white light flashed.
A second of silence—and then chaos.
The Punisher's eyes widened. He knew this kind of light, this kind of power. And he knew what came next.
"Get down!" he roared.
Without a second thought, he hit the ground, covering his head.
The others didn't need to be told twice. Everyone who had been summoned into this cursed fog was a warrior in their own right—superheroes, agents, demon hunters. They'd never personally witnessed a nuclear detonation, but they knew the signs. The sudden spike of light, the tremor in the air, the scream of displaced magic—it all pointed to one thing: an explosion beyond comprehension.
Even the normally unshakable Barton found his instincts flaring with alarm. "Oh, this is bad," he muttered, dropping low and bracing himself as tightly as he could.
Boom!
The shockwave hit.
An all-consuming roar tore across the battlefield, eclipsing every sound. White light washed over the land like a tidal wave, leveling everything in its path. Mountains trembled. Trees snapped like twigs. Buildings—if any remained—were reduced to ash.
Winds howled like demons as the air pressure surged in all directions. A massive plume of smoke and dust rose into the sky, thick enough to blot out the stars. The mist, once dark and suffocating, was forcefully pushed back.
Even the undead and demons lurking at a distance—watching the events unfold—were caught in the blast. The white brilliance reached them, and they screamed in agony as their forms dissolved. Nothing survived. Everything caught in the radius was turned to dust.
Rumble!
The energy beam split the heavens, rising like a divine sword through the thick fog and piercing the sky above. For a moment, it was as if the world had been reset—cleansed in white flame.
Far away, over a hundred kilometers from ground zero, the S.H.I.E.L.D. base went into full lockdown.
Red Alert.
Every console, every monitor, every emergency siren activated at once. Panic spread like wildfire.
Inside the command center, Director Nick Fury braced himself against the railing as the entire building trembled under the impact. Loose tiles fell from the ceiling. Sparks burst from nearby monitors. One light fixture tore free and crashed down near him.
"Hill!" he barked over the din, gripping the stabilizing bar beside him.
Agent Hill's voice crackled through the communicator. "Sir! Energy output just spiked again. It's—it's still rising! Current reading: over three million joules and climbing!"
"Three million?!" Fury swore and ducked as another shock ran through the structure.
He tried to keep his balance, but a stray tremor sent him crashing into the side railing. He grunted as he hit the ground, vision swimming.
Back on the battlefield, the storm still hadn't subsided.
The Punisher and others remained flat on the ground, barely holding on. They could feel the air screaming past them, carrying dust, rocks, and debris with enough force to tear limbs apart.
They were like ships caught in a hurricane—small, fragile, vulnerable. The vehicle they arrived in had been thrown into the air and was now lying overturned several dozen meters away. Bella's motorcycle had vanished from sight completely.
Chunks of broken buildings and shattered trees flew overhead. At any moment, a single piece could've spelled the end of someone's life.
Somewhere in the chaos, Barton found himself reciting silent prayers—not just for survival, but for dignity.
Please don't let me die like this, he thought. Let me at least go down fighting, not pancaked under my own SUV.
After what felt like an eternity, the sound finally began to fade.
The airwaves calmed. The blinding light dimmed. The trembling of the earth slowed to a quiet hum.
And then... silence.
Tentatively, Barton lifted his head, blinking through the haze.
"Is it... over?" someone muttered.
Slowly, others began rising as well. They coughed, wiped blood and soot from their faces, and stumbled to their feet. The once-pristine holy light armor was scratched, cracked, and coated in grime.
Jessica spat on the ground. "Pffft—Ugh, sand. There's sand in my mouth... and maybe demon ash. Gross."
She looked around. Everyone looked like a mess. Torn uniforms, wind-blown hair, expressions caught somewhere between awe and trauma.
No one cared about appearances anymore.
Then Barton noticed something.
"Hey... look."
Everyone followed his gaze.
Above them, the sky was... different.
Not just the sky—the fog. It was gone.
Where once there had been suffocating black mist stretching endlessly in every direction, now there was only the aftermath of destruction—and a clear sky overhead, streaked with gold and black from the lingering remnants of magic.
They stood frozen for a moment, taking in the impossible truth.
The fog that had plagued them for days—choking cities, raising the dead, corrupting the land—had vanished. Cleansed by Bella's explosion.
Then, footsteps.
Tread... tread... tread...
The sound cut through the silence like a knife.
Everyone immediately reached for their weapons, alert once more.
The lighting was still dim, and their vision hadn't fully recovered from the flash. Barton squinted into the shadows, trying to identify the approaching figure.
Just as someone was about to activate their suit's night vision, Daredevil spoke calmly.
"It's her."
A glow flickered ahead.
Barton cracked a light stick and tossed it forward.
The faint light revealed a tall figure in a black battle dress, walking calmly through the wreckage. Her golden hair shimmered faintly in the glow. The familiar V-shaped mask on her face was cracked on one side, showing a faint glimpse of the skin beneath—but otherwise, she was untouched.
No burns. No bruises. Not even a speck of dust.
In stark contrast to their wrecked appearances, Bella looked like she had just walked out of a dream.
They watched in awe, speechless.
The Punisher opened his mouth, about to say something—anything—but paused.
Bella didn't stop walking.
As she passed them, she spoke just one sentence:
"This matter is over."
And with that, she continued toward the remains of the S.H.I.E.L.D. outpost in the distance, not sparing a single glance behind.
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