Chapter 377

Steve also stepped on the pebbles and walked to the shoreline. He and Stark stood shoulder to shoulder, watching the receding tide, the layers of white waves surging continuously, leaving behind marvelous patterns. Both were silent, yet they both seemed to know what the other was thinking.

At this moment, Strange flew over and said: "What on earth are you two doing? Stark, didn't I just go to a spaceship to secretly conduct two experiments? Is it necessary for you to blow this place up like this?"

"And you, Steve, you knew that the person holding the dagger was so dangerous, why didn't you knock him out immediately? What is the relationship between you two?"

"And what's going on with that person glowing with yellow light? I was having a great time fighting him and was about to subdue him, but he actually ran away?"

"Peter? Why are you lying here? Why are you covered in blood? Oh, my god..."

At this moment, hearing the commotion, Stark and Steve turned their heads at the same time, both looking at Strange.

Strange was stunned by their gazes and said: "Why are you looking at me? Is there something on my face?... Hey, wait, why are you opening your muzzle?!"

With a "whoosh," the circular shield flew toward Strange, followed by the pattering sound of bullets and continuous explosions. While being chased by the two, Strange shouted: "You two are arguing, why take it out on me?! You bunch of lunatics!! Stop it now!!! I am the Sorcerer Supreme!!!!"

Just after the few had run far away, Peter, lying on the ground, slowly turned his head, then gently pushed away the medical robot Stark had left behind, and said to Red Bee in his mind: "Even if you blocked my pain, this hit was pretty bad, right?"

"You humans are simply the most self-destructive race I have ever seen. You knew his dagger was so sharp, yet you dared to risk getting close?!" Red Bee said helplessly: "The symbiote has an obligation to stop the host from doing such dangerous things. Cooperating with your actions made me violate at least 400 parasitic guidelines. If Blue Spirit finds out, I'm going to have a hard time..."

"But the plan went smoothly, didn't it? Wait, let me see... They don't seem to have noticed me. Where is that earpiece? Where did you put it?"

Just as Peter finished asking, a small red slime tentacle reached into the pocket of his Spider-Suit, pulled out a micro-earpiece, and stuffed it into Peter's ear.

In the S. H. I. E. L. D. base, Schiller put down the communicator. Nick looked at him and asked: "Who called you? It doesn't seem to be that Grant?"

"It is indeed not him; it is another informant."

As they spoke, they walked inside to an office. Waiting there was not a S. H. I. E. L. D. agent, but a man dressed in a rather peculiar fashion. He wore a formal suit, had long hair, and two sharp goat horns growing from his forehead.

Seeing Nick and Schiller walk in, he pulled a misty ball of light from somewhere and handed it to Schiller, saying: "This is the full final payment. Our transaction is over."

"How are those Hydra souls? They should be quite good, right?" Schiller looked at him and asked.

"Indeed good. Whether it's their vitality or the power that can be extracted from them, they are far better than ordinary people. After finishing this deal, I won't have to waste effort tricking those weak and stupid ordinary humans for at least 20 years..."

"But come to think of it, can't you give me another discount? In case there is such a cooperation next time, I am your big client..."

"Mephisto, your greed is truly the greatest I have ever seen." Nick crossed his arms and looked at the man, saying: "Just because of your stinginess, we revised the contract 16 times, and we haven't even asked you for a drafting fee yet."

156n.

"Alright, I can unilaterally guarantee to you that if there is such a thing again, you will definitely be our first choice." Schiller held the ball of light and looked at Mephisto.

The content of the transaction between Schiller, Nick, and Mephisto was very simple: it was actually the souls of certain Hydra members.

Ever since Schiller turned Arkham Asylum into a stronghold for housing important Hydra agents, he first turned these agents into free labor and then fleeced a sum of money from those clients of the immortality factor.

Then, because he took over all Hydra work in New York State, the major snakeheads around paid him protection fees, requesting him to use the safe house to preserve their direct forces. Schiller took the money and, of course, conscientiously got the people into the asylum. Although there was a lot of attrition in the process, at least one-fifth of the people arrived at the asylum.

The area of the asylum was limited. This old bank building located not far from Wall Street was not as big as imagined; once a few hundred people were stuffed in, there was no place left to stand.

So, the asylum was full; where should the agents be sent?

Schiller's answer was, of course, to sell them to S. H. I. E. L. D.

But S. H. I. E. L. D.'s space was also limited, while Hydra agents were endless. When S. H. I. E. L. D.'s space was also full, where should the agents be sent?

Schiller and Nick's answer was, of course, to sell them to Mephisto.

It was truly a case of killing one sheep and shearing it three times.

The dimensional realm managed by Mephisto was a dimension with special properties. To maintain the existence of this dimension, Mephisto needed to draw power from souls. In the universe, human souls carried an exceptionally large amount of energy and were exceptionally precious; therefore, he spared no effort to trick humans into signing contracts.

Some might wonder, why didn't he just create a disaster and harvest a large number of human souls?

Not to mention the power of Odin and the Ancient One—actually, their power was not inferior to Mephisto's—the more important reason was that after humans died, what should return was not Hell, nor Heaven, but "Death," that is, "Death," one of the five founding gods.

No one could violate this theorem. Even if Mephisto could create a great disaster, the people who died would all go to "Death," and it would have nothing to do with him.

The only way to intercept souls from Death's hands was to let humans voluntarily sign contracts and sell their souls to him. That was why he spared no effort to spend a lot of time and energy tricking and ambushing them one by one.

But now, Schiller and Nick proposed a new way of trading. As the Lord of Hell who was busy with a thousand things, why bother coming to Earth to trick people sneakily yourself? Leave the tricking to us; you just sit in Hell and wait to be fed.

Of course, a tiny bit of errand fee needed to be collected in the process. After all, S. H. I. E. L. D. had to pry information out of the mouths of those die-hard Hydra members and then force them to sign demonic contracts, which also took some effort.

Also, Mephisto's criteria for judging the richness of soul energy were "sin" and "suffering," which happened to match Nick and Schiller's goal of screening important Hydra members.

After contacting Mephisto, Schiller took him for a tour of Arkham Asylum. Mephisto would say whose soul tasted good, and Nick would take the person away directly. To be considered by a devil to have a soul full of energy, how sinful must this person be? The information in their brain must be substantial.

Relying on this method, Nick even caught two snakeheads hidden among ordinary agents. These two played a trick of "a cicada shedding its skin," saying they wanted to let their subordinates take refuge, but actually, they were hiding themselves among these ordinary agents to use Schiller's safe house to avoid the purge.

S. H. I. E. L. D. obtained a lot of useful information from them, including the location of the stronghold where the Winter Soldier was stored.

The deposit paid by Mephisto was given to S. H. I. E. L. D., while the final payment was collected by Schiller. Having obtained the soul energy refined by Mephisto, Schiller returned to his office satisfied, and then... took out his umbrella.

He held the handle of the umbrella and looked left and right, the more he looked, the more satisfied he became. Then he placed the mass of energy on the tip of the umbrella and said to his new umbrella: "I don't know what you like to eat, but I think this thing is good; you can have a taste."

After speaking, he glanced at the security personnel list on his desk and continued: "If you think it's delicious, there will be plenty more in the future."

Before the cursed soul residing in the umbrella could answer, the gray mist in Schiller's brain sent a series of dissatisfied emotions. Schiller appeased him: "Do you eat this?... What? You even eat this? Aren't you only supposed to eat emotions?"

"You want to taste it too? Alright, you two can split it in half; don't say I'm biased..."

As he spoke, a small tentacle made of gray mist stretched out from his arm. After the gray mist took a sip, it made a "pfft, pfft, pfft" sound. Schiller smiled and said: "It seems the symbiote can't eat this. Be careful not to get a stomachache. I'll find you something else to eat another day."

The gray mist hummed in Schiller's mind, and Schiller could only say: "Alright, you can drink a little alcohol, but you can't drink too much."

The gray mist let out a "Yay!" and then went off happily to drink alcohol, seemingly not caring at all about the mass of soul energy in Schiller's hand.

Schiller shook his head helplessly, and then he saw a trace of black energy appear on the tip of the umbrella, which then gradually seeped into the soul ball in his hand. Before long, the ball of light shrank by a circle.

"It seems you quite like eating this. This makes me breathe a sigh of relief. If you were as picky as the gray mist and stole alcohol every day, I would have a headache."

The cursed soul did not seem to have a particularly clear consciousness, so it did not respond to Schiller; it just followed its instinct and continuously absorbed power.

Just then, the door to Schiller's office was knocked on. Peter, carrying his schoolbag, walked in. There seemed to be a lingering smell of blood on him, but his expression was very happy. He put his schoolbag on the sofa and said to Schiller.

"The plan went smoothly, Professor."

"Did the two of them make up?" Schiller asked.

"More or less, but they were both beating up Mr. Strange together. Is this really okay?"

"It's fine, he is the Sorcerer Supreme, after all."