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Marvelous Meditations #74
🕑 Added 2025-03-14 09:58:20 +0000 UTCInside the state-of-the-art laboratory at Stark Industries, the soft hum of high-powered machinery filled the air. Sleek monitors displayed intricate DNA strands, glowing in a golden hue against the dim lighting.
Tony Stark leaned back from a high-powered microscope, exhaling a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding.
His gaze flicked to the digital overlay, comparing a magnified sample of Pepper's blood to a detailed genetic chart. The numbers didn't lie.
He turned to Nathan, shaking his head in something between disbelief and reluctant admiration.
"I can’t believe it... but your cure worked."
His words carried a hint of reluctant respect, like it physically pained him to say it out loud. He swiveled toward Pepper, his expression softening just slightly.
"You get to keep all the perks of Extremis—enhanced healing, strength, all that fun stuff—without, you know, spontaneously combusting."
Pepper let out a quiet breath, nodding as she processed the weight of those words. Meanwhile, Tony turned his attention back to Nathan, rubbing his jaw before muttering, "Whoever adjusted the serum is a damn genius..."
Nathan smirked, crossing his arms. "That’s high praise coming from you." He paused, then added with a hint of amusement, "Though I’m not sure the guy responsible would take it as a compliment."
His mind briefly conjured up an Image of Stern's face with an extremely affronted expression at having someone evaluate his genius—let alone needing validation from someone like Tony Stark. He could almost hear the dry, unimpressed response that would follow.
Shaking off the thought, Nathan’s posture shifted into something more businesslike.
"Now then, about my payment."
Tony let out a quiet sigh, clearly still not thrilled about this part of the deal. He gestured toward a sleek, black suitcase sitting on a nearby table.
"Blueprint’s in there," he said flatly, his voice tinged with resignation. Then, with a pointed look, he added, "I just hope you don’t choke on it."
Nathan’s smirk deepened as he picked up the case, feeling its weight in his hand. "I never bite off more than I can chew."
He turned, ready to make his exit, but before he could take a step, Tony’s voice cut through the lab.
"Not so fast."
Nathan stopped, glancing over his shoulder with mild curiosity.
Tony folded his arms, eyes narrowing slightly. "Curing Pep wasn’t the only thing you agreed to do."
Nathan halted mid-step, though he didn’t bother turning around. His voice was casual, almost indifferent, as he spoke.
"I've already pulled some strings. Your pal Rhodes is getting off with a slap on the wrist." He let the words hang for a beat before adding, "Well... a slap on the wrist compared to the absolute hell they were planning to put him through for losing the president."
Tony didn't respond, his jaw tightening slightly at the reminder of just how bad things could have gotten. Nathan, meanwhile, continued as if discussing the weather.
"As for the credit for catching the shooter..." He tilted his head slightly. "Rhodes will have it soon. My men are already on the hunt, and trust me, it’s only a matter of time."
He allowed himself a small smirk, a flicker of amusement crossing his face.
"Finally," he went on, shifting the weight of the suitcase in his hand, "I’ll send some people over to negotiate a price for those Stark Industries shares under my name. I'm not much of a businessman, you see…"
Tony gave him a brief look before returning his focus to the glowing gene chart on the monitor.
"Yeah, well, don’t let the door hit you on the way out." His voice was dry, but there was no real venom behind it—just a weary exasperation.
Nathan merely chuckled, shaking his head as he resumed his stride.
Those shares were something he had purchased years ago, back when Stark first announced his company was done with weapons manufacturing.
It had been a calculated move—an insurance policy in case he ever needed quick leverage. He’d held onto them all this time, untouched. Would he need them now? Unlikely. But that didn’t mean he’d just hand them over without making Stark sweat a little.
As these thoughts ran through his mind, Pepper Potts suddenly fell into step beside him, her heels clicking softly against the floor.
Nathan turned to her with a quizzical look, one brow arching slightly.
"Is there something else you need?"
Pepper Potts fell into step beside Nathan, matching his pace with practiced ease.
"I'll walk you out," she said, her voice steady, though there was something measured about her tone. "I just have a few questions, if you don’t mind."
Nathan gave a slight nod but didn’t slow his stride. "Ask away."
For a moment, she hesitated, then took a deep breath and raised her hand. The sleek, silver injector device gleamed under the fluorescent lights, its purpose clear.
"Are you absolutely sure this can remove Extremis and all of its effects from my body?"
Nathan glanced at the device, then at her.
"As sure as I can be." He shrugged. "But you don’t have to take my word for it. If you really want confirmation, I’m sure Stark would be happy to tear it apart and analyze it a thousand different ways."
Pepper exhaled a quiet laugh, shaking her head.
"I’m sure he will—even if I don’t ask him to."
She fell silent for a beat, her gaze drifting downward before she sighed.
"I just need to be sure…" She rolled the injector between her fingers, as if weighing its significance. "Extremis gives much, but it also takes much."
Her voice softened as she turned her head slightly, glancing back toward Stark.
"And I’d like to keep my options open."
Nathan made a low, thoughtful sound but didn’t respond. He already had a good idea of what she meant.
The Extremis Serum had rewritten her down to her very DNA, making her something... more. But that "more" came at a cost. It had altered her biology so drastically that she wasn’t even sure if she could still have children.
Not just with Tony—with anyone.
It wasn’t even clear whether two Extremis-enhanced individuals could reproduce together, let alone a human and someone whose body had been fundamentally rewritten at the genetic level. For many, that would be too high a price to pay for power.
Superhuman strength, regeneration, and fire-wielding abilities in exchange for a future family? Some might take that deal. Others wouldn’t.
But in the end... did it even matter?
Nathan already knew how this story was supposed to go. Knew that Tony Stark would die to undo the mess Thanos would leave in his wake.
Still, was that fate set in stone?
He wasn't so sure.
Even a butterfly could start a hurricane with the flap of its wings.
And Nathan?
Nathan was no mere butterfly.
He'd been in this world for over two decades now, and he’d done a hell of a lot more than just flap his wings.
Despite Nathan's best attempts to cling to the scenario, he knew better than anyone how uncertain the future truly was, for him, and everyone else.
In the end, this was a world where everything was possible.
...
A dense, crimson mist slithered into the dimly lit chamber, curling along the cold stone floor like a living thing. The stale air carried the scent of ancient decay, mingled with the faint metallic tang of blood. Against the far wall, a coffin—blackened with age—stood upright, its polished surface reflecting the ghostly red glow of the mist as it thickened.
The vapor swirled violently, then condensed—coalescing into a twisted, mangled form.
Baron Blood.
He collapsed onto the ground with a ragged gasp, his right arm severed at the shoulder, his left leg ending in a raw, jagged stump. The pain was excruciating, but he had known worse.
Twice.
Gritting his fangs, he dragged himself forward, clawing at the floor with his remaining hand, inching toward the coffin.
He needed rest. Time to regenerate. And then?
Then, he’d get new limbs. And after that… he’d hunt down the bastard who had mutilated him not once, but twice.
Nathaniel Cross.
The thought sent a vicious snarl ripping from his throat, but before he could haul himself inside the coffin—
SHUNK.
Agony flared through his body as a silver blade impaled him, pinning him to the ground like a struggling insect. His eyes widened in shock, and he twisted his head around with a hiss.
A dark figure loomed behind him, gripping the hilt of the sword.
The coat. The shades. The cold, merciless smirk.
Blade.
The Daywalker.
“Not long ago, you lost an arm,” Blade remarked, tilting his head. “And now you’re down a leg, too?” He scoffed, his grip tightening on the sword. “Keep this up, Blood, and you’re gonna be nothing but a head rolling around in the dirt.”
Baron Blood snarled, struggling against the silver’s burning sting. “Damn you, Daywalker! Let me go!”
Blade pushed down on the blade, pressing him harder into the stone.
“Not happening.”
Baron gritted his fangs but forced himself to remain composed. Blade wasn't here just to gloat. He wanted something.
“What do you want?” he spat.
Blade crouched slightly, resting a forearm on his knee. “Been noticing some weird shit going down in vampire circles lately. Unusual movements, new alliances. Now, you’re a cockroach with a habit of surviving—so you’re gonna tell me what’s up.”
Baron Blood barked a bitter laugh. “And if I refuse?”
Blade’s expression didn’t change. He just twisted the sword.
“Then I get to see what kind of noises a vampire makes when he’s skewered like a kebab.”
A strangled growl tore from Baron’s throat, his remaining fingers digging into the floor. The silver was weakening him, burning his flesh from the inside out.
He could endure pain. But he wasn’t stupid.
"Fine." He spat blood onto the floor. "I work for HYDRA."
Blade’s expression sharpened.
“You’re joking.”
"Would that I were." Baron Blood exhaled sharply. "Ever since HYDRA was exposed, they’ve grown desperate—paranoid. They started looking for allies in the old vampire covens, offering them a stake in the world to come. They needed power, and we… well, we’ve always wanted more than scraps.” His lips curled into a dark smirk. “So we struck a deal. I’m the one who keeps the peace between them.”
Blade let out a low hum, considering the information.
“So Cross wasn’t lying about HYDRA…”
At the mention of the name, Baron Blood’s face twisted with fury. "Cross…?" He bared his fangs. “How do you know that name, Daywalker?!”
Blade grinned, pulling his sword free in one swift motion. “He was the one who cut you up, wasn’t he?”
Baron Blood snarled, his eyes blazing red with rage. "I’ll rip him apart!"
Blade just chuckled.
"No, you won’t."
Before Baron Blood could so much as blink, Blade swung his sword in a clean, effortless arc.
SCHLUK!
The vampire’s head tumbled to the ground, rolling a few feet before coming to a stop. His mouth opened and closed soundlessly, the last vestiges of undeath draining from his glowing red eyes.
Blade flicked his sword, sending droplets of vampire blood splattering onto the cold stone floor.
“You won't get the chance...”
Sliding the weapon back into its sheath, he turned on his heel and strode toward the exit. This was bigger than he thought.
Ancient vampires aligning themselves with a Nazi death cult?
Yeah.
This was gonna take serious backup.
Luckily, Blade knew just the guy to consult on Nazi death cults.
...
The glass doors of Stark Industries slid open with a soft hiss as Nathan stepped outside, the cool night air brushing against his face. The city's glow stretched out before him, neon lights reflecting off the damp pavement, the distant hum of traffic filling the air.
Just as he started down the steps, the low rumble of an engine drew his attention.
A black sedan with tinted windows rolled to a smooth stop right in front of him. The air felt heavier, more charged, as if the city itself knew something was about to unfold.
The driver’s side window lowered with a quiet whir.
Behind the wheel sat a man in a sharp black suit, his expression unreadable beneath dark shades. “Get in.” His voice was smooth, professional, the kind that left no room for argument.
Nathan gave him a dry look, slipping his free hand into his pocket. “The sisters at the orphanage always told me not to take rides from strangers.”
The response was met with silence—until the backseat door clicked open.
A familiar figure sat inside.
Broad shoulders. Bald head. A single eye, sharp and calculating, staring right at him.
Nick Fury.
A slow smirk tugged at the corner of Nathan’s lips. “Strangers, huh?” Fury’s expression remained flat as he leaned back slightly. “After all the games we’ve been playing, Cross, I think we’re well past that.”
Nathan let out a quiet chuckle and slid into the backseat, settling in beside Fury. The door shut behind him with a quiet thunk.
He placed the briefcase beside him and turned to Fury, his smirk never quite leaving. “That’s one way to put it.” His gaze flicked toward the spy chief, studying his features. “Still… I didn’t think you’d pay me a personal visit. What’s the occasion?”
Fury’s frown deepened. He exhaled slowly, then turned his head just enough to glance at the briefcase before his one eye met Nathan’s again.
“You didn’t leave me much of a choice.”
His voice was level, but there was an edge to it.
“First, you meddle with the X-Men. Then, you get cozy with soon-to-be President Rodriguez. And now, you shake down Stark for God knows what.” He paused, letting the weight of his words settle. “We need to talk. Now.”
Nathan merely shrugged, resting an arm against the door. “I don’t see why not.”
Then, with a faint smirk, he added, “But if we’re talking, I pick the location.”
Fury arched a brow. “That so?”
Nathan nodded. “There’s something I don’t want to miss.”
Fury studied him for a moment, then gave a small nod toward the driver.
The car pulled away from Stark Tower, merging smoothly into the traffic, disappearing into the night.
