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Texas—also known colloquially as the Lone Star State.
Nestled along the Rio Grande River and perpetually drenched in rain and humidity, the town of Basel sat in a small coastal region where several neighboring towns converged. Its terrain resembled a fragmented archipelago—lakes and rivers intertwined, with dense forests and rugged mountains hemming it in on all sides. Only one narrow road connected Basel to the outside world.
Ordinarily, it would be a peaceful place, a picturesque scene of European-style countryside homes tucked into serene woodlands. The waters shimmered under soft sunlight, and wildflowers bloomed freely along winding paths.
But not anymore.
Now, an ominous black mist blanketed the land like a burial shroud. Its dense mass rolled like smoke over treetops, spilling across the roads and swamps with unnatural speed. From within the fog came occasional glimpses—dilapidated houses swallowed by rot, trees curling inward as if strangled, flowers turning black.
What had once been paradise now resembled hell.
The fog stretched across hundreds of kilometers. An eerie, sorrowful wail echoed from within it, punctuated by screams that would send a chill down even the bravest spine.
S.H.I.E.L.D. had established a temporary base 150 kilometers away—an abandoned town hastily converted into a forward operating site. It was once a modest settlement covering ten square kilometers, now fully evacuated and reinforced with defensive equipment and personnel.
And on the rooftop of a three-story country house at the edge of that base, Bella stood alone.
Clad in her signature black outfit, polished Oxford shoes, and the iconic white V-shaped mask, she gazed silently into the distance. Behind her, the last rays of evening sunlight bathed her figure in amber glow. Ahead of her, the black mist loomed like a monstrous tide.
She didn't move. She didn't blink.
A flicker of golden light danced in her eyes.
"So many demons…" she murmured, her voice cold and contemplative. "Who opened the gate of hell this time?"
She'd known the mission would involve darkness. But not like this.
She hadn't expected the scale to be so catastrophic.
The mist was filled with demons—feral, ancient things born of hatred, agony, and corrupted souls. And the towns once inhabited by humans? They had been devoured entirely. The bodies had been torn apart, the souls consumed.
No one was spared.
She felt a flicker of sympathy. But Bella was no saint. She wasn't here to be anyone's savior. She didn't fight to redeem the world—she fought to purge it.
She could avenge the fallen. She could cut down the monsters that feasted on the innocent. But she would not carry the burden of salvation.
That wasn't her path.
As Bella stood watching the roiling fog, a group of figures began to assemble below near the base.
Tony Stark had arrived.
Freshly minted as Iron Man, Stark was still adjusting to his new identity. At his side was James Rhodes, dressed in a full combat uniform. Blade—the vampire hunter draped in black and shaded by his ever-present sunglasses—stood off to the side with his sword slung over his back. The Defenders, a loose alliance from Hell's Kitchen, clustered nearby: Luke Cage, Daredevil, Jessica Jones, and Iron Fist.
Hawkeye—S.H.I.E.L.D.'s elite archer—stood beside the Punisher, both silent and grim.
A handful of priests and demon hunters in ceremonial robes rounded out the unusual assembly. Some conversed in hushed tones, while others stood stone-faced, eyes fixed on the horizon.
Tony removed his sunglasses, revealing bloodshot eyes from a sleepless night. He followed the group's gaze toward the rooftop, where Bella stood, unmoving.
He let out a low whistle. "Man, I'd kill to know what she looks like under that mask. I bet she's prettier than most cover girls."
Rhodes glanced at him sideways. "Tony, say that to her face, and I'll buy you a month's supply of Flame Pizza."
Tony snorted. "That's your favorite, not mine. Besides, I'm not suicidal. She could fold my Mk-armor like a soda can."
Rhodes chuckled but said nothing more. His gaze returned to Bella, a quiet sense of admiration in his eyes. As a soldier, he respected power. And Bella radiated it.
He couldn't help but feel small in comparison.
Tony caught the look but refrained from his usual teasing. If it weren't for Pepper's insistence that he turn his life around, he might've tried his luck with the masked vigilante already. Instead, he sighed and led Rhodes to join the others.
Fury, always one step ahead, approached with his usual sharpness.
"The best team on the planet is here, Stark," he said. "Time for your analysis."
Tony exhaled, shifting into professional mode. "Bad news first. The frequency waves coming from the fog are… alien. Uncharted. It's not something we've encountered before—no consistent electromagnetic field, no discernible signal. Just a chaos of data."
"The fog itself is saturated with positional anomalies," he added. "High corrosion levels, psychological interference, and possibly a latent compulsion effect. Something's in there. And it's messing with reality."
The group fell quiet.
The demon hunters and priests exchanged glances. What Tony described in technical jargon, they had long since learned by experience.
Tony continued, gesturing toward a nearby table. "Now for the good news. The Holy Light Stone you supplied is effective. We've used it to forge specialized weapons—two are already in Bella's hands. More are in production."
He turned to Saprius, one of the lead demon hunters. "You won't lack firepower."
"Really?" Saprius raised an eyebrow. "Because last I heard, you just announced you were getting out of the arms business."
Tony grinned. "Yeah, well… if the press finds out about this, I'll just buy a few media companies. Problem solved."
Laughter rippled through the group.
Even Fury allowed himself a faint smirk. The Holy Light Stone was a rare, sacred artifact used by the Holy See—an object that could harm, even kill, demonic entities. Crafting weapons from it was no small feat.
The problem?
It was almost impossible to replicate.
Even with S.H.I.E.L.D.'s resources, they had only managed to acquire one. And mass-producing it took time.
Tony's genius helped speed up the process, but even he had limits.
"Outside of Bella's two personal weapons and a prototype motorcycle unit," Tony warned, "everything else will take at least two hours to finish—even with S.H.I.E.L.D. and military factories working together."
Everyone sobered.
"Unfortunately, that means the weapons will be ready by nightfall. That's when the fog reaches peak intensity," he added.
"How about we wait until morning?" Hawkeye suggested with a shrug.
The idea gained traction among some of the heroes. The demon hunters and priests didn't object.
Just as Fury was about to respond, a cold voice echoed from the rooftop.
"It's too late."
Boom.
The entire group fell silent.
Bella's voice cut through the air like a blade. Her golden eyes flared with power, and the wind around her stirred with unnatural energy. The mist in the distance thickened—as if hearing her words.
Whatever was out there… it was already moving.
And it wouldn't wait for sunrise.
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