Chapter 71: The Final Battle (Part One)

The spatial gate—no, the Originator—did not disappoint. As the energy reached its zenith, his figure instantly emerged from within the portal. In that single instant, every gaze was drawn toward him.

Today’s spectacle was simply too overwhelming. Even those who felt it had nothing to do with them were compelled to see just what sort of being had prompted Hydra, these madmen, to such elaborate lengths.

He was a man standing at least four meters tall, the founder of Hydra, also known as Hydra itself. His eyes were a berry-like shade of purplish-red, devoid of pupils. His body was covered in scales akin to those of a snake, and from behind him trailed a long serpent's tail, lending him an aura of profound wickedness.

Yet, the most bizarre feature was the eight serpentine heads that sprouted along his spine, starting from the nape and extending down his back, each growing outward to the sides. They writhed and twisted behind him like two grotesque, malformed wings.

His amethyst gaze swept slowly across the city below. Then, in a voice that seemed to echo with divine resonance, he uttered several incomprehensible words—strange, ancient syllables that no one could decipher.

No one could say exactly what tongue he spoke. Perhaps it was a language lost to time, spoken by mutants or beings from centuries or millennia past. Perhaps it was the cryptic cant of his inhuman race, or even some alien speech. But whatever the case, not a single linguist on Earth could understand him.

One could only wonder if Hydra's own agents had considered this complication. Judging by the bodies strewn about, it seemed likely that these foot soldiers had never truly known the grand designs of their superiors.

Hydra—though his true name might well have been something as outlandish as Dalabonba Bande Bedi Bubdobi Ruong—will be called Hydra here for simplicity’s sake. As he gazed down at the city, his confusion was as palpable as that of any other soul present.

Though his words were lost, the bewilderment upon his features was plain to see. After all, just a moment ago, he had been on some desolate world, light-years away, engaged in unknown pursuits—only to be abruptly summoned here.

Jos had always been deeply curious about the act of summoning. It was one thing to call forth mindless monsters, but what of those who summoned demons or angels? Did they never consider that their mighty guest might be in the midst of a meal, relieving themselves, or otherwise preoccupied—only to be rudely yanked away at the height of their engagement? If so, the summoner ought to count themselves lucky not to be swatted into a smear for their impudence.

Hydra’s muttering gradually rose into a furious bellow, but with no one able to comprehend his language, his rage was lost on the crowd.

Yet everyone present could sense his intent—he was about to attack.

Whether or not Hydra had once possessed intelligence and reason, centuries of exile had stripped him of all such faculties. He was now nothing more than a savage beast.

His first victims were the Hydra operatives who had known of the plan and rushed forth to greet their "Originator." The eight serpent heads behind him lashed out, tearing through all within reach, heedless of friend or foe. No one could say what kind of existence he had endured all those years, but one thing became clear to all: once he tasted blood and flesh, he fell into a frenzy of violent ecstasy.

Driven by this bloodlust, Hydra’s movements grew even swifter. The eight serpent heads twisted and struck, leveling the surroundings with brute force alone, no supernatural powers required.

“So strong... At least thirty eagles of power, I’d wager,” Jos murmured, eyeing the concrete pillars snapped in half. Hydra’s strength was no joke. According to the vague power scale of the Marvel universe, Hydra’s might was easily rank four—between five hundred kilos and three tons. Jos had never cared for such a crude system, but regardless of the metric, Hydra was not an opponent to be dispatched lightly.

“Good, the tougher the fight, the more exhilarating it is.” With a dry chuckle, Jos ignored the voices of Steve and the others coming through his earpiece. Sword in hand, he charged directly at Hydra.

Whatever chaos Hydra might yet cause, if he drew the ire of the true powers that be, his destruction would be instantaneous.

Jos’s aim was to defeat his foe before that could happen. After all, this system wasn’t some insipid mobile game designed to force teamwork. Anyone could see that soloing a boss promised far greater rewards than sharing the kill.

Dragging his greatsword behind him with one hand, Jos advanced unflinchingly, a stark contrast to the panicked masses fleeing from Hydra. He was like a man moving against the tide, his sheer presence parting the crowd before him.

Anyone could see it: to stand between these two monsters was to be crushed to pulp. The shockwaves alone from their clash would be enough to obliterate lesser superhumans.

With a dozen or so meters to go, Jos suddenly lashed out with his foot, kicking up a storm of gravel and sand toward Hydra. Propelled by his current strength, the stones struck with the force of a small-caliber bullet, drawing bursts of blood from Hydra’s body and giving Jos the upper hand.

With a roar, Hydra charged from the dust cloud—only to find Jos nowhere in sight.

“Looking for me?” Jos suddenly descended from above, his Mercy greatsword coming down in a fierce cleave. The searing, vibrating blade sliced off one of Hydra’s arms and half a serpent head in an instant.

A guttural exclamation escaped Hydra as he staggered back, pain and calculation flashing in his eyes, as if scheming some counterattack.

“What’s on your mind? Eat shit!” Unlike those who fought in grim silence, Jos wielded trash talk as a weapon. Even facing someone who couldn’t understand him, he deployed the ultimate taunt without hesitation.

As expected, his words reignited the crimson fury in Hydra’s eyes. The seven remaining serpent heads lunged at Jos with murderous intent.