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Chapter 63 Black Braised Egg Nick Fury
🕑 Added 2025-09-13 16:24:48 +0000 UTCThe former Avengers Tower had become a ruin. In front of the wreckage, the surviving Avengers stood battered and exhausted, like frost-bitten plants with no life left in them. Even after such a battle, they still didn’t know who their enemy was, or what the purpose of the attack had been.
During the three-hour rescue operation by Stark Industries, all those trapped under the rubble were pulled out—but most were already dead. Falcon Sam Wilson and Colonel James “Rhodey” Rhodes of the War Machine armor were both critically injured and had been rushed to Stark’s top medical facilities for treatment.
Tony Stark, still clad in a shattered Iron Man suit, stood amid the debris. At his feet lay the wreckage of the Iron Legion, scattered everywhere. But Tony had no attention to spare for that. His gaze was fixed on the scanner in his hands—and on the lifeless body of an old man at his feet.
Di—
“Boss, DNA analysis complete,” Friday reported. “The corpse before you has been confirmed to be Steve Rogers, Captain America.”
The screen displayed two DNA strands, seamlessly matched.
“F*k… what the hell is going on?”
Bruised and limping, another Steve Rogers—alive, but badly beaten—walked over, snatched the instrument from Tony’s hand, and stared at the results in shock.
“Tony… any word from Banner?” Natasha Romanoff asked, pressing her ribs in pain. Despite her own injuries, her first concern was Bruce Banner—her connection to him stronger than she’d admit.
“No sign of him,” Tony replied grimly.
Hawkeye and Thor stood nearby, equally solemn. Thor glanced down at Mjolnir in his grip, his expression unreadable.
“Whoever this man is,” Thor said after a long silence, “he could lift Mjolnir. That means he is worthy. A person with that qualification cannot be an ordinary criminal.”
Just as the heavy silence pressed down on them, a figure appeared.
He wore a black trench coat, dark skin, bald head, a single eye sharp and cold under his eyepatch. His very presence carried authority. Nick Fury—the long-hidden Director of S.H.I.E.L.D., the man of Level 10 clearance and keeper of countless secrets—had returned.
“I know you have questions,” Fury said, his voice grave. “And I know the fear in your hearts. But now is not the time for fear. You are the Avengers. You carry the weight of the world on your shoulders.”
He approached Tony, knelt beside the fallen, elderly Steve Rogers, and gently closed the old soldier’s eyes. Sadness flickered across his hard face as he pulled a square device from his pocket.
Swish.
A beam of light projected from the device, enveloping the old Captain America’s body. In seconds, the corpse shrank and was absorbed into the device.
“The world still waits for its salvation,” Fury said, rising to his feet. “Avengers, get up. It’s time I tell you the truth.”
A sudden rush of air filled the scene. A Quinjet descended from the sky. Fury stepped aboard first, the others exchanging uneasy glances before following him in silence.
The aircraft soared away, heading toward a hidden base.
In Washington, D.C., a Christian church with a circular roof opened from above. The Quinjet descended straight through, landing inside.
The Avengers stepped out, bewildered.
“Fury,” Tony muttered, raising a brow. “This is your secret base? What, you going to have us all pray for world peace now?”
Fury ignored the sarcasm, walking to the altar. He pulled out a pager and began typing.
Tony snorted. “Really? The world’s ending and you’re still stuck in the ‘90s?”
Before he could say more, the ground rumbled. The floor beneath them dropped rapidly, carrying them down into the depths until it stopped on a glowing metal platform.
“Welcome to my base, Avengers,” Fury said with a rare smile.
The team looked around in awe. The facility stretched out in silver and steel. Training chambers floated in suspension. Rows of advanced laboratories lined the floor. At the very center, a massive spaceship—larger than any Quinjet—dominated the hangar.
But what shocked them most were the people. Everywhere, researchers bustled… and every single one of them had Nick Fury’s face. In one chamber, a Fury with explosive muscles was sparring against combat drones.
“…WTF,” Hawkeye muttered, eyes wide. “Sir, is this really S.H.I.E.L.D.?”
“No,” Fury said firmly. “I told you. This is my base.”
He raised his right hand and stripped away the glove. The skin peeled back, revealing mechanical plating beneath. A light-screen interface blinked with shifting data.
“Are you… really our director?” Natasha asked cautiously, shaken. Fury’s secret cybernetic hand made her wonder if this was even the real man—or some alien impostor.
“Agent Romanoff,” Fury replied coldly. “I know you doubt me. But there are things you don’t yet understand. Allow me, first, to preserve the Captain’s body.”
He tapped his cybernetic wrist. A holographic projection flared to life, revealing the elderly Steve Rogers’ corpse once again.
“Nick 1023, report.”
“Nick 1023, standing by, sir. Awaiting instructions.”
Another platform rose from below. On it stood yet another Nick Fury. He saluted the director, awaiting orders.
“Secure the Captain’s body,” Fury commanded.
“Yes, sir.”
The duplicate Fury stepped forward.
“Wait… sir.” His expression faltered as he looked down at the old man’s corpse. “The Captain’s… dead?”
His voice cracked, disbelief clouding his face as he stared at the lifeless body of Steve Rogers.
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