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The private elevator hummed softly as it ascended. Inside, Phil Coulson stood at the front, his expression unreadable, his hands calm at his sides. Behind him, five of SHIELD's elite strike force soldiers shifted uneasily in the cramped space, gripping their weapons with white-knuckled hands.
The air in the elevator was thick with tension. They had cleared floor after floor of Fisk Tower, gathering evidence, detaining survivors. But up here? Up at the very top? This was where the storm had settled. And they were about to step into its eye.
A soft ding signaled their arrival. The doors slid open. And what awaited them was nothing short of a massacre. The penthouse smelled of blood, sweat, and something deeper—something rotten.
Phil stepped out first, his sharp eyes scanning the scene before him. His gaze moved over the bodies scattered across the room.
Peter Stokes. His lips—gone. Exposed teeth locked in a rictus grin, the blood pooled beneath him long since dried.
Michael Adams. Lying on a luxurious sofa, posed as if sleeping. But his bulging eyes and frozen, suffocated face told the real story.
Dead. Both of them. But it was the man in the center of the room who commanded the most attention.
Wilson Fisk. The Kingpin. Or what was left of him. His left arm was barely attached, dangling at an unnatural angle as if it had been sliced through with something as thin as a playing card. His chest was caved in, his ribs broken beyond recognition, the massive bulk of his body distorted.
His legs… Twisted. Braided into each other like rope. He was unrecognizable. A pile of shattered bones, his flesh purple and black with bruises, yet… somehow… still breathing.
And standing above him, holding Fisk in his grip like a child dangling a broken toy—was Jack Hou.
Phil Coulson took a slow, steady breath. "I suggest you let go of him, Jack." The words were even. Calm. A man negotiating with something far beyond human comprehension.
Jack tilted his head, golden eyes gleaming under the dim penthouse lights. His lips curled into an almost lazy smirk.
"Oh?" he drawled, his voice rich with amusement. "I don't do commands, Agent."
Then—Everything shifted. The air became heavier. The room twisted. A force—an unseen, suffocating pressure—descended upon them.
The strike team gasped, their knees buckling beneath them as an invisible weight pressed down. Their breathing hitched. Their vision blurred. This wasn't fear. This wasn't intimidation. This was something primal. A force as natural as gravity, as inevitable as death.
Phil felt it. Not as a sensation, but as a certainty. This was Jack Hou at his full presence. This was what it meant to stand before a mountain, knowing it could crush you with the slightest shift.
Phil fell to one knee. The strike force followed. Their bodies simply—gave out.
Jack watched, expression unreadable. Then, he laughed. A sharp, wild, unhinged sound. "Kekekekekeke."
The weight lifted. The room snapped back into place, and suddenly, Phil could breathe again. Jack grinned, tilting his head at Coulson like a predator deciding if the hunt was worth it.
Then, he simply dropped Fisk. The mountain of a man hit the floor with a sickening, wet crunch. Jack stretched his arms, yawning as if he hadn't just shattered the most feared crime lord in New York. "Well," he mused, stepping over Fisk's barely-conscious body, "I did promise Fury I wouldn't kill him with my own hands."
Phil stared, his breath still steady despite the chaos.
Jack grinned. "But…" He reached for his earring. It shifted. Uncoiled. Grew. The legendary staff extended, stretching across the room. Its golden surface gleamed under the flickering penthouse lights.
And before Phil or his team could react—Jack brought it down. A single, earth-shaking crack. Wilson Fisk's skull caved in. Blood. Bone. Silence.
Jack leaned on his staff, tapping it against the floor as if he'd just finished a chore. Then, with a smirk, he looked back at Coulson. "Tell Fury I kept my word. I didn't kill him with my hands. I used my staff."
Phil could only stare. His team remained silent. For all their training, all their weapons, all their preparation—there was no countermeasure for this.
Jack turned. Stepped onto the balcony. The golden glow of Hell's Kitchen stretched out before him. He hummed a tune to himself, then—Leapt. Into the night. Into his kingdom. Into history. And the agents of SHIELD, kneeling in the ruin of a king's throne room, could do nothing but watch.
The city stretched beneath him, bathed in the golden glow of his barrier. Jack leapt through the sky, the wind cutting across his blood-streaked face, his robe billowing like a banner of victory.
His territory—his kingdom—lay below, wrapped in the chaotic joy of Halloween. Children in costumes laughed, their buckets of candy overflowing. Street performers entertained drunken crowds, while the businesses flourished under the celebration.
It was his domain now. His Golden Peach. But as Jack soared over Hell's Kitchen, his golden gaze flickered, sharpening.
Something felt… off. His barrier had connected. The entire district was his. But the moment it had solidified, something within him had shifted. A growth long neglected had surged forward, a new piece of himself awakening.
Like a seed suddenly bursting through the soil after centuries underground. Jack hovered mid-air, contemplating. "Tch. I'll meditate later."
A commotion in the streets below caught his attention. His territory. His problem. With a smirk, Jack tilted his staff and plummeted toward the scene.
…
Elsewhere—Above the mortal realm, beyond the touch of time and decay—was Olympus. A kingdom of ivory and gold, perched upon the highest peak of existence. And within its halls, the gods gathered.
The council chamber was vast, with a ceiling of shifting constellations and marble thrones carved from the bones of forgotten titans. In the center, a massive magic hologram hovered—an image of Earth, spinning slowly like a neglected trinket.
A single spot glowed on its surface. New York. And in the heart of that glow—Jack Hou.
Seated at the head of the pantheon, Zeus scowled, his fingers tapping against the armrest of his throne. His golden beard bristled as he leaned forward, studying the glowing map.
"We abandoned their world, left them to their own devices, and this is what happens?" He gestured at the image with a dismissive wave. "A hatchling god playing warlord, as if the days of divine conquest still matter."
To his right, Poseidon rested his chin on his fist, his sea-green eyes watching the image with curiosity rather than concern. "Calm yourself, brother."
He chuckled, his voice as deep as the ocean. "The boy is nothing. A flicker of divinity, perhaps, but hardly a threat. Hades himself has not spoken against him. Why should we concern ourselves with a mortal playing king?"
Zeus slammed his fist against the armrest. The throne room rumbled with the sound of thunder. "Hades—" He spat the name like venom.
"—is waiting. Biding his time. Mark my words, he sees an opportunity here, just as he did with the Underworld. Do you truly think he would let a new god rise without reason? He is planning something. He always is."
The other gods exchanged glances, some nodding in agreement, others rolling their eyes.
Athena, her silver armor gleaming under the ethereal glow of the chamber, sighed and adjusted her spear. "Then instead of bickering like fools, we should observe. See what this so-called god does next."
She tilted her head, watching the projection with sharp, calculating eyes. "And perhaps… find a way to turn it to our advantage."
Zeus gritted his teeth but said nothing.
Apollo chuckled from his seat, golden lyre resting on his lap. "So dramatic. It's been centuries since we had any entertainment. Let's see what the boy does next."
Zeus huffed, his anger simmering beneath his skin. "Fine. We watch."
He narrowed his eyes, watching Jack descend toward the streets of his kingdom. And as the image of New York flickered in the chamber's magical display—Olympus turned its gaze toward the Golden Peach.
…
The golden halls of Asgard shimmered beneath the celestial glow of Yggdrasil's branches. Standing at the Bifrost, Heimdall exhaled as he lowered his sword. He had just finished his report to the All-Father. And his words weighed heavily upon the golden realm.
Behind him, the grand throne room of Asgard loomed, its intricate carvings whispering stories of ancient victories.
Inside, Odin sat upon his mighty throne, his singular eye locked upon a floating magical projection of Midgard. The image wavered in the air, showing a figure draped in crimson, his staff raised high as golden energy surged through an entire city.
The Golden Peach.
Beside him, Frigga stood, her presence as steady as the roots of Yggdrasil itself. Odin's voice boomed through the vast chamber. "Leave us."
At his command, the guards and servants immediately bowed and exited, leaving only the King and Queen of Asgard.
Once they were alone, the weight of command seemed to slip from Odin's shoulders. His fingers, worn from centuries of wielding Gungnir, flexed as he clenched the throne's armrests.
Frigga, ever watchful, stepped closer and placed her hand over his—gentle, yet firm. "My love," she whispered. "I see the burden upon your brow. What troubles you?"
Odin let out a heavy sigh. "It seems I must hasten my plans."
Frigga's thumb brushed over his calloused knuckles, offering the silent comfort of a wife who had seen him at his highest and his lowest. "You have had your glory days, my love. If Thor is to lead, let him lead as he desires."
Odin's jaw tightened. "Thor is not ready." His voice was laced with frustration. "I had hoped having a brother would make him more responsible. That the weight of companionship would temper his arrogance. But it seems my wisdom has faded upon the battlefield."
Frigga chuckled softly. "You, the man who once stood against the might of Olympus, now hesitate against a single fledgling god?"
Odin smirked, shaking his head. "Thank you. I needed to hear that."
Frigga's eyes shone with knowing amusement. "You always do."
Odin turned his gaze back to the floating projection, watching as Jack's golden light engulfed Hell's Kitchen. "I just hope this new god can teach Thor the lesson I could not."
Frigga's eyes softened. "Perhaps he will. But only if Thor learns to listen."
Together, they watched as Jack's silhouette stood atop his staff, commanding the skies.
…
Deep within the highest heavens, beyond the mortal realm, above even the Celestial Bureaucracy, stood the magnificent Jade Palace—the seat of the Jade Emperor, ruler of the Daoist Pantheon and supreme sovereign of the Thirty-Six Heavens.
Tonight, the golden walls of the palace trembled. The immortal attendants, draped in flowing robes of celestial silk, paused in their tasks, sensing the disturbance that rippled through the fabric of reality.
Inside the grand Hall of Divine Judgement, beneath towering jade pillars carved with the names of ancient rulers, the Jade Emperor sat upon his Dragon Throne, his divine presence looming over the assembled gods, sages, and celestial officials.
Yet tonight, even his expression darkened. A power—wild, untamed, and brazen—had surged from Earth, disrupting the carefully maintained balance of divine authority. And every god in the Daoist Pantheon had felt it.
Seated below the Jade Emperor were the Four Heavenly Kings—the great guardians of the celestial realm.
Mo Li Qing, the East King, tapped his green pagoda anxiously.
Mo Li Hai, the West King, stroked his long beard in contemplation.
Mo Li Hong, the South King, clenched his spear tightly.
Mo Li Shou, the North King, muttered mantras under his breath, seeking divine insight.
Standing to the side, the great war god, Guan Yu, his red face unreadable, glanced at the Heavenly Kings before speaking in his deep, commanding voice. "We must verify the seal."
A hush fell over the grand hall. The word hung in the air like an unsheathed blade. The seal. The one thing that should never be disturbed. The one thing that kept a certain divine troublemaker bound.
From the ranks of celestial scholars, Taibai Jinxing, the Grand Minister of Heaven, nodded, his silver beard quivering. "I agree. If we are feeling this energy… then surely, it can mean only one thing."
The gods turned their heads toward a golden-robed figure seated to the right of the Jade Emperor. The Supreme Elder Lord—Laozi, the Great Daoist Immortal and founder of Daoism itself—opened his ancient eyes, their depths swirling with cosmic wisdom. "Go." His voice, both soft and boundless, sent ripples through the air. "Verify the seal of the Monkey."
A golden-armored celestial attendant instantly bowed and vanished in a streak of divine light. For several agonizing moments, the gods sat in silence, waiting. Then—A thunderous return.
The attendant reappeared, falling to his knees, forehead pressed against the divine jade floor. "Your Majesty!" he gasped. "The seal remains untouched!"
The hall erupted into chaos. The Gods of Heaven—warriors, scholars, and immortals alike—spoke over one another.
"Impossible!" shouted Nezha, the Third Lotus Prince, gripping his Fire-Tipped Spear.
"Then how can this power exist!?" demanded Erlang Shen, his celestial third eye flashing with golden light.
"If the seal is intact, then who… what… are we dealing with!?" murmured Zhang Daoling, the first Celestial Master of Daoism.
The Jade Emperor lifted his hand, and silence fell like a crashing wave. His face was carved from celestial stone, his eyes cold as the cosmos. "Tighten the security around the seal." The celestial scribes immediately took note.
The Jade Emperor exhaled slowly, rubbing his temple. He was already tired. He had ruled the Three Realms for millennia, had defeated the demons of the past, had witnessed the rise and fall of empires.
Yet, this? This was the headache he had been hoping to avoid. He turned his gaze toward Laozi, who remained impassive, as if he had already seen this coming. "If the seal is untouched," the Jade Emperor muttered, "then how can he incarnate into the mortal realm again?"
Laozi remained silent for a moment, then, finally, smiled. A cryptic, knowing smile. "Perhaps, my Emperor… this is merely fate at work."
The Jade Emperor scowled. "Then fate is a damn nuisance."
A collective sigh passed through the celestial court. "If only we had sealed the fragments of his soul outside Earth," the Jade Emperor muttered, "this wouldn't be such a headache."
Nezha leaned toward Erlang Shen. "What's the chance this doesn't become a massive problem?" he whispered.
Erlang Shen rubbed his temple. "Considering our track record? Zero."
…
The Daoist Pantheon was not alone in its concerns. And not only Asgard that turned its gaze toward Midgard. Every pantheon, every realm of gods, stirred at the same time.
Across the divine planes, the power that surged from Earth had caught the attention of beings who had long been silent.
The Hindu Devas stirred within the celestial halls of Indra's paradise.
The African Orishas watched, intrigued, as the balance of power shifted.
The Abrahamic Thrones, Dominions, and Archangels turned their eyes toward the shifting tide.
It was as if an ancient bell had rung across the cosmos, shaking the foundations of divine order. For centuries, the old gods had faded into the background, content to let mortals shape their own destinies.
But this—this was different. This was conquest. And it was done in the oldest way possible. Sudden. Decisive. Absolute.
In the golden sands of Egypt, beneath the shadow of the pyramids, Osiris and Anubis sat upon their thrones, watching from the Duat. The god of death and the god of the afterlife merely observed.
Osiris sipped from a golden goblet and murmured, "Not our concern."
Anubis nodded. "The dead still find their way to us."
From the depths of Yomi, the Japanese underworld, Izanami lay reclined upon her throne of decay. The goddess of death yawned, resting her cheek upon her palm. "A child throwing a tantrum. Let him be. If he crosses the veil, then we will act."
From Helheim, the domain of Hel, the fragments of Hella herself, the Queen of the Dead merely chuckled. "Ah. So the living gods play their games again. How amusing."
But not all gods were so indifferent.
Hades sat upon his throne in the Underworld, unbothered. Persephone, lounging beside him, plucked a pomegranate seed and popped it into her mouth. "Your brothers are losing their minds."
Hades exhaled, pinching the bridge of his nose. "I expected as much."
Persephone tilted her head, watching him. "And what of you? Will you intervene?"
Hades leaned back, a smirk ghosting his lips. "As long as he does not interfere with the souls of the dead, I have no quarrel with him."
Persephone arched a brow. "And if he does?"
Hades chuckled. "Then we'll have a very interesting conversation."
…
And on a mountain far beyond the sight of men, a single golden band hummed, bound to an unmovable stone. The world had changed. And the heavens were watching.
**A/N**
This one is a long one, but I want to let you know a few things: there will be changes in gods' terms on this fic. I've been watching several gods in MCU, and from what I see, it's confusing. Some are just straight-up alien, like in Thor movie, especially in Thor: Love and Thunder, they did Zeus and the other gods really weird. And then there is Moon Knight, the superhero that Dracula owes 5 dollars to. In the series, the gods felt like gods. The fact that the Egyptian gods made a pact not to intervene with mortal life, but then there is a Norse god slamming his hammer left and right nonchalantly felt inconsistent to me. So yeah, I will try to make it make sense in my head, and this will be the first step.
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~🧣KujoW
**A/N**