Chapter 896

Blake’s body was sealed inside a black body bag. The medical personnel slowly zipped it shut before carrying him away.

Ward watched them go, then turned to Melinda May, whose expression had grown cold and distant.

"No one could have predicted this," he said, offering what he apparently considered comfort. "But you were lucky. You survived an encounter with that thing."

"But Blake didn’t." Melinda clenched her jaw. "I wouldn’t call that luck."

She turned and walked away.

Guilt gnawed at her. She had sensed something was wrong the moment they entered the care facility. If she had recognized the warning signs sooner—if she had realized the Ghost Rider was approaching—they might have avoided the entire encounter.

And when the Ghost Rider seized Blake, she had hesitated.

She had worried about revealing her abilities at the wrong moment instead of acting immediately. Perhaps she could have saved him if she had moved faster.

Perhaps.

But there was no point dwelling on what might have happened. Blake was dead, and nothing she did now could change that.

Someone, however, was going to pay for it.

Melinda headed straight for the conference room, where Victoria Hand had joined Coulson and the others to discuss whether their operation to capture the Clairvoyant should continue.

"This was an isolated incident!" John Garrett was arguing loudly when Melinda entered. "And from what I hear, the immediate threat has already been neutralized. The Ghost Rider is temporarily out of action."

If anyone was more desperate than Garrett to capture the Clairvoyant, it would have been difficult to tell.

He had spent who knew how long preparing for this operation. Countless schemes, careful arrangements, and even a convincing little performance in which he had risked his own safety to sell the illusion of a personal crisis.

Now, just as everything was coming together, the Ghost Rider had barged in and ruined the show.

If the entire operation fell apart because of that flaming lunatic, Garrett would have a great deal of explaining to do.

Worse, Alexander Pierce had recently begun treating him differently. There was an unmistakable hint of distrust in the man’s attitude.

Garrett had initially dismissed the strange questions John Garrett’s colleague Jasper Sitwell had raised during their last meeting before departing. Looking back, however, the conversation had felt suspiciously like an interrogation disguised as casual discussion.

Pierce had probably instructed Sitwell to test him.

The realization had left Garrett thoroughly unsettled. He still couldn’t determine what had prompted the sudden suspicion, but he had a theory: the people upstairs thought he had grown too close to Coulson.

Which made this mission more important than ever.

He needed to prove his loyalty, restore Pierce’s confidence, and demonstrate that he remained committed to the larger plan.

Everything depended on success.

Naturally.

"Can we even continue?" Hand shot back. "Our search has produced nothing. We haven’t even identified a confirmed suspect, and we’ve already lost a senior agent. Let’s stop pretending this operation is as flawless as you claim."

"The plan is flawless," Garrett insisted. "Agent Blake’s death was an unfortunate accident. It has nothing to do with the operation itself."

"She’s right."

The unexpected agreement came from Melinda, who had just entered the room.

Garrett looked at her, momentarily caught off guard.

"And I believe we’ve already identified our suspect," Melinda continued.

"The Ghost Rider attacked us. Your people detected his approach, although they misidentified him as a missile. Blake and I received the warning and prepared to evacuate immediately. If we’d managed to withdraw in time, we might never have encountered him."

"Then why didn’t you?" Hand asked.

"The Deathlok."

Melinda’s hands curled into fists.

"Just as we were preparing to leave, he appeared and intercepted Blake."

She spoke through clenched teeth, forcing herself to recount the events clearly.

"I already gave my report at the scene. Deathlok grabbed Blake first, preventing us from escaping. The Ghost Rider arrived afterward and killed him."

Hand frowned, considering the implications.

"Is that so?"

"The Ghost Rider might be a walking natural disaster, but Deathlok is the Clairvoyant’s bodyguard," Melinda said. "There’s only one reason he would suddenly appear at that location. We were getting close."

She looked around the room, her expression hardening.

"The man we were searching for—Thomas Nash—is the Clairvoyant. We need to find him. He has to answer for Blake’s death."

"And how exactly do you propose we find him?" Garrett asked, shaking his head. "For all we know, he’s sitting on some tropical island, fishing and enjoying the sunshine."

"I might be able to help."

Clare stepped forward.

Her expression was grim.

She had only just become the Chief Sorcerer, and already the Ghost Rider had made a very public mess of things. Worse, she had heard stories about Evenson Richter accompanying SHIELD on previous missions without a single friendly casualty.

Now she had taken his place, and someone had died almost immediately.

The comparison was painfully unfavorable.

If she returned home without turning this situation around, those two female demons would never let her hear the end of it.

Clare had no intention of giving them that satisfaction.

"I heard that this Deathlok fellow was injured by the Ghost Rider," she said.

"That’s right." Melinda nodded. "I saw him impale Deathlok’s arm with a spear."

"Then this should be straightforward."

Clare smiled.

"Wounds inflicted by Hellfire don’t heal. At least, not for ordinary mortals. The injury will remain, and the Hellfire will continue burning inside it. He’ll be suffering the entire time."

Garrett raised an eyebrow.

"I doubt that thing is capable of feeling pain. Whatever was done to Deathlok, I imagine his nervous system was among the first things they modified."

"Pain isn’t the point," Clare replied with a cold laugh. "Hellfire burns more than flesh. It burns the soul."

Her smile sharpened.

"As long as he has a soul, I can track the flames. Even if he cuts off the injured limb, the Hellfire will remain attached to his soul. Removing the wound won’t help him escape me."

Garrett gave a quiet, mocking chuckle before turning toward Coulson.

"If we find Deathlok..."

"Then we find the Clairvoyant," Coulson finished with a nod.

"Good. Now, would everyone give me some room?"

Clare waved the others back and closed her eyes.

The world fell silent.

The conference room disappeared, replaced by an endless expanse of darkness. Clare’s awareness spread outward, searching across a vast area for the distinctive signature of the Hellfire she had encountered during her recent battle with the Ghost Rider.

She remembered its scent, its unnatural heat, the peculiar residue it left behind.

That was enough.

A faint, dark-red glow appeared in the distance.

Clare reached toward it.

The tiny flame stretched into a crimson ribbon and swept toward her hand, allowing her to seize it.

There you are.

She smiled.

Tracking someone who knew absolutely nothing about magic and made no effort to conceal himself was almost embarrassingly easy.

Now for the next step.

Mind’s Eye.

Shadows surged around Clare.

Her eyes snapped open, but the perspective was no longer her own. Through her spell, she had shifted her awareness into Deathlok’s body.

She saw an old, dilapidated building.

Deathlok stood inside it, his right hand trembling as he endured the agony of his Hellfire wound. He approached a storage box and opened it, revealing a device resembling an electronic wristband.

He slipped it over his injured arm.

The device immediately expanded, unfolding into a complex assembly of mechanical components. Silver armor spread across his arm, covering the damaged area and restoring its functionality.

The repair was remarkably efficient.

Unfortunately for Deathlok, it did nothing to ease the pain.

The Hellfire continued burning beneath the new armor, tormenting him without pause.

Whoever controlled him clearly didn’t care. As long as their tool continued to function, its suffering was irrelevant.

Clare withdrew from the Mind’s Eye.

"I found him."

She opened her eyes and discovered that every agent in the room had retreated several steps. They were staring at her with expressions ranging from shock to outright alarm.

Clare blinked.

"What?"

A few agents exchanged uncertain glances. None seemed particularly eager to answer.

Melinda, who had seen more than most, finally spoke.

"It’s your appearance."

"Oh. That."

Clare glanced down at herself.

She was hovering several inches above the floor, black smoke curling around her body. Her previously pale skin had turned a deep blue, as had her hair. The ends of her hair had twisted into tangled, rope-like strands that shimmered with blue light.

At a glance, they looked less like hair and more like fleshy tentacles.

"Honestly, I didn’t mean to slip into this form."

The black smoke abruptly surged inward and vanished. Clare’s skin returned to normal, her hair settled, and her feet touched the floor.

"Sorry. I must have concentrated a little too hard and triggered a Void Surge."

She offered the room a reassuring smile.

"But you’re all senior agents. Surely it takes more than a little transformation to frighten you?"

"Of course," Hand replied, nodding.

The fine beads of sweat on her forehead suggested otherwise.

She had been standing directly in front of Clare when the transformation occurred. When Clare opened her eyes, their gazes had nearly met.

What Hand had seen was deeply unsettling.

Clare’s eyes had contained no pupils, no whites, and no recognizable features. They were hollow black voids, as though an endless abyss churned behind them.

For one terrible instant, Hand had felt as if she were looking at every truth in existence and an infinity of repeating cycles.

The sensation had been so overwhelming that she had nearly burst into ecstatic laughter.

She had almost wanted to surrender herself to it completely.

Then the vision had passed, leaving her shaken and desperately trying to understand what she had experienced.

Clare noticed her expression.

"You seem like a capable woman."

She reached out and gently touched Hand’s temple.

A wave of coolness spread through Hand’s head, soothing the restless thoughts that had begun spiraling out of control.

"But remember," Clare added, "don’t look directly into my eyes unless I invite you to."

Hand swallowed and nodded.

Clare turned toward the others.

"I’ve located Deathlok. Are we ready to move?"

"I’ll assemble the strike team," Hand replied.

She wiped the sweat from her forehead and hurried away, still struggling to make sense of what had happened.

For a moment, she had felt as if she had grasped something immense.

Something that explained everything.

Now she couldn’t even remember what the something was.

SHIELD arrived at the location Clare had identified a short time later.

The target was a sprawling, dilapidated building that looked as though it had been abandoned for years.

This time, however, SHIELD wasn’t sending a handful of agents to investigate. They had brought a substantial strike force, complete with fully equipped assault rifles and enough protective gear to make every operative look ready for a war zone.

Garrett addressed the assembled team.

"Our target is extremely well protected. He has access to an assortment of light and heavy weapons, along with electronic assistance systems that provide near-perfect targeting. Assume every shot he fires will hit its mark."

He paused to make sure everyone understood.

"Stay alert. No warnings. Open fire as soon as you have a clear shot."

"Near-perfect targeting?" Clare muttered beside him. "Automatic aiming? Sounds like someone installed an aimbot."

She pursed her lips.

"I hate cheaters."

Ward finished loading his rifle and glanced at Garrett.

"So, are we ringing the doorbell or knocking?"

"Knocking, obviously."

Garrett smirked.

In this context, ringing the doorbell meant announcing their presence and giving the occupants a chance to surrender. Knocking meant going straight through the door.

The demolition team moved toward the entrance.

Before they could begin setting their charges, however, Clare raised her sacred spear and swung it forward.

A violent black storm erupted from the weapon.

The entrance vanished in an instant, along with a substantial section of the ceiling above it. Debris crashed across the ground as the dust-filled air rolled through the opening.

Clare glanced back at the others.

"Wouldn’t it be easier to demolish the entire building?"

Garrett managed a strained smile.

"Very impressive."

Privately, he was far less enthusiastic.

He had no idea how Clare’s presence would affect his plans. Her power was formidable, her methods unpredictable, and her willingness to destroy property apparently limitless.

Still, events had already spiraled beyond his control. There was nothing to do now but adapt.

Fortunately, he had designed the operation with considerable care.

It was a trap from which there should be no escape.

"Prepare to breach," he ordered.

The strike team advanced through the opening in standard tactical formation.

This time, Coulson accompanied them at the front, rifle raised as he searched the interior. Melinda stayed close beside him, never allowing more than a few steps to separate them.

They didn’t have to search for long.

Deathlok appeared soon afterward.

He attacked briefly, forcing the agents to take cover, then abruptly turned and fled.

The team pursued him through the building, driving him deeper inside until they reached the lowest level.

It almost seemed as though Deathlok had deliberately led them there.

At the end of the pursuit, they discovered a concealed room.

The agents entered cautiously.

Inside, they found an elderly man wearing pajamas, reclining in a chair surrounded by television screens. His body was completely motionless, and a breathing tube extended from his mouth.

This was Thomas Nash.

The man they believed to be the Clairvoyant.

His paralysis was genuine. He couldn’t move his limbs or even turn his body. The only part of him that appeared capable of movement was his head.

A synthesized voice suddenly echoed through the room.

"You’ve finally arrived."

Coulson naturally assumed Nash was speaking through an assistive communication device.

"I foresaw all of this."

"Did you?" Coulson lowered his rifle slightly. "Then you should have seen where you’re going next. A dark little box with no windows. You’ll spend the rest of your life locked inside it, slowly rotting away."

"Yes. I saw that, too."

The electronic voice continued without a hint of emotion.

"Nothing in this world escapes my sight. Except you, Coulson."

Coulson’s expression tightened.

"I saw your death. But I couldn’t see what came afterward."

The voice paused briefly.

"Nevertheless, I’m grateful you came here in person. Facing you directly has allowed me to see more of your future."

Clare entered the room behind the agents, watching Nash with open curiosity.

The Clairvoyant continued.

"I will form an alliance with Raina inside your prison. I will regain my freedom, and I will rise again."

Clare tilted her head.

"You can see everything? Even the future?"

She stepped closer.

"There’s only one way to prove that."

Before Nash could respond, the synthesized voice spoke again.

"Clare Ludwig. Evenson Richter’s only partner."

Clare stopped.

"I know you. I’ve seen you before."

For a moment, she stared at him.

Then she burst out laughing.

"Oh, you really know how to flatter a woman."

His only partner.

Naturally, she looked like the sort of person who would inspire such a statement. And honestly, she was touched. The man was practically risking his life to compliment her.

Clare composed herself and adopted a solemn expression.

"Since you know so much about me, let me ask you something."

She leaned forward.

"When will the second Chapter of Fate/Grand Order’s second story arc be released?"

Nash fell silent.

Clare waited.

Nothing.

"And when does the third Chapter unlock? When will I finally get to summon the First Emperor?"

Silence.

Clare straightened and clicked her tongue.

"Pathetic. You claim to be an all-knowing prophet, but you can’t even answer the important questions."

Nash seemed entirely unmoved by the insult.

"Regardless of your skepticism, I have seen the future."

His synthesized voice turned toward Coulson.

"And in that future, you fail. You lose everything."

Coulson said nothing.

"I saw Melinda sacrifice herself to save you. She will take a fatal bullet meant for you and die in front of your eyes."

Your Melinda?

Melinda rolled her eyes.

She had to admit that the man had a talent for saying things that sounded flattering. Unfortunately for him, she was considerably harder to kill than he seemed to realize.

One bullet?

What was it supposed to be, a tactical nuke?

"You will hold the girl, Skye, in your arms as she lies dying in a pool of blood," Nash continued. "You will weep, knowing that none of this could have been avoided—"

BANG!

A gunshot shattered the room.

Nash’s head snapped back.

Ward stood with his weapon raised, his face twisted with anger.

"Shut up."

He lowered the rifle slightly, glaring at the dead man.

"Seriously. The longer he talked, the more suspicious he sounded."