Access my P@treon for my new John Wick Fanfic titled [Gotham Under Boogeyman], a Trigon SI in Marvel titled [Trigon Unleashed] and a Darkseid Fic titled, [Word Soul: DARKSEID] which is semi-complete.
P@treon.com/Saintbarbido.
4/4
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-Germany. 1947.-
Inside a cold, grey office built into the heart of a concentration camp turned fortress, Sebastian Shaw leaned back in his chair, eyes focused on the boy standing in front of his desk.
The boy was thin, pale, and shivering despite the heat of the room. His fists were clenched at his sides, and his eyes darted from the floor to the heavy desk, never meeting Shaw's gaze.
Shaw, dressed in a dark military coat, smiled faintly.
"What's your name?" he asked.
The boy hesitated, then answered softly, "Erik."
Shaw stood and walked around the desk, crouching to Erik's level. He reached out and gently took the boy's trembling hands in his own.
"You shouldn't cower like a mouse, Erik," Shaw said. "There are others who were born to be mice. Like your mother."
Erik flinched, eyes snapping up.
Shaw continued, voice calm. "She was weak. Fragile. That's why the soldiers killed her. But you? You're not like her. You're something else. Something more."
He stood up, brushing off his coat. As if on cue, a red mist erupted in the corner of the room. With a soft pop, Azazel appeared—tall, demonic in appearance, his yellow eyes gleaming beneath crimson skin. Beside him, he held the shoulder of a young blonde woman in an elegant white dress. She looked calm, detached, as if she'd done this many times before.
Shaw gestured toward them.
"They are like you. With claws. With teeth. With power."
He turned back to Erik, stepping closer.
"Show us yours."
Erik looked up, confused.
Shaw knelt again, placing his hands on the boy's shoulders.
"Do that, and I'll give you the men who killed your mother."
Azazel's grin widened.
The woman in white said nothing.
Erik stared at Shaw, fear mixing with something else—rage.
A metal coin on Shaw's desk began to rattle.
And Shaw smiled.
On a hill overlooking the converted concentration camp, a Wakandan stealth craft hovered silently beneath the cloudline. Hidden beneath its adaptive camouflage, the ship projected no sound, no heat—just stillness.
Below the craft, Bond, Sw'Thandi, and Peggy stood at the edge of the hilltop, surveying the facility below.
Down on the compound, outside his office, Shaw and his entourage were openly visible. His black coat distinct even from the distance. The camp had been restructured—less barbed wire and more bunker fortifications, reinforced towers, searchlights, mounted turrets. But the true threat wasn't in the structure. It was in the company Shaw kept.
"There," Peggy pointed, narrowing her eyes at the woman in white standing beside him. "That's her. Emma Frost. Newest addition to the Hellfire Club."
Sw'Thandi frowned. "The suspected telepath?"
"Officially? She turns into a diamond form. Near-indestructible. But..." Peggy shook her head. "The agents I sent to investigate her—seasoned SSR men—committed suicide within twenty-four hours of contact. No visible signs of torture or poisoning."
Sw'Thandi drew in a breath. "Then she may have a secondary mutation. Psychic hijack. Mental domination."
"Exactly," Peggy nodded. "We take her out from a distance. We can't risk her seeing us first."
Bond continued staring down at the camp, his arms crossed, silent. Then he finally spoke.
"No need to risk anything. I'll go in alone."
Peggy turned sharply. "James—"
He raised a hand. "I've seen what Shaw does. I've felt it. He's not going to stop unless someone like me makes him. You handle the rescue. I'll handle them."
Sw'Thandi didn't argue. He met Bond's eyes, and after a long pause, nodded.
"May Bast guide your fists," the Panther said.
Peggy sighed, then reached into her coat and handed Bond a small transponder. "Just in case. I'd rather not lose you twice."
Bond gave a half-smile. "Then I'll make it quick."
He turned, stepping to the end of the hill. The air around him began to shimmer. Pebbles and leaves rose into the air, caught in the static of his building power. A faint violet glow of his BondForce began to rise from his skin, coalescing into swirling power.
With one final nod to the other two, he launched into the air, tearing through the sky like a comet.
As he disappeared into the clouds above the camp, Peggy let out a breath she hadn't realized she was holding.
"I thought you'd want to go after Azazel, Panther." she said softly to Sw'thandi. "For revenge."
The Black Panther shook his masked head. "Like Bond's duty is to the world, mine is to Wakanda. We find the Vibranium Shaw stole. That comes first."
"And we get the prisoners out," Peggy added.
Panther nodded, then raised a hand. All around them, from the brush and shadows, Dora Milaje warriors emerged, spears and rifles ready.
In the distance, a thunderous boom echoed from the heart of the compound.
A plume of dust rose. Guards scattered. Alarms blared.
Bond had landed.
Sw'Thandi slid his claws from their sheath and pointed forward.
"That was the signal."
The shockwave of Bond's landing had thrown trucks on their sides and scattered crates of weapons across the yard. Concrete cracked beneath his boots. Dust and smoke billowed.
Seconds later, the entire courtyard erupted in movement.
German soldiers poured in from every direction, weapons raised, barking orders.
"Runter! Hände hoch!"
"Stehen bleiben oder wir feuern!"
Bond didn't move. He stepped forward through the haze and slowly extended both arms, palms open.
"Take your best shot," he said.
A command was yelled. The soldiers didn't hesitate.
The air split with gunfire.
Bullets tore through the yard, smashing through crates, walls, and the concrete at Bond's feet. The sheer volume of fire was deafening. Sparks flew. Shell casings rained.
Behind Bond, prisoners cowered behind a chain-link fence, screaming and diving for cover. Their cells and shelters were shredded by crossfire.
But none of the bullets touched them.
A shimmering purple field stretched behind Bond—silent, smooth, perfect. The rounds struck and stuck in mid-air, frozen in a layer of telekinetic containment.
Shaw, Emma Frost, and Azazel emerged from the direction of the offices. Left behind, the young Erik Lehnsherr peeked from behind a door.
"Cease fire!" Shaw barked. "CEASE FIRE!"
The courtyard fell into silence. Smoke and dust hung in the air.
Then the haze began to clear.
And Bond stood there.
Arms still spread. Eyes glowing. Hair wild, lifted by invisible currents of energy. The only movement came from the dozens of bullets suspended mid-air around him, caught in the moment like flies in amber.
A gasp rippled across the camp.
Erik's eyes widened in awe as he noticed the fence protecting the prisoners...shimmering in purple. All those bullets, Thousands of them had been easily intercepted.
By Bond.
'So...strong.' The young boy thought.
Shaw's expression faltered upon seeing Bond. He stepped back once. Then again.
"Kill him!" Shaw barked. "Use everything! Bring him down! Now!"
The soldiers readied their weapons again.
But Bond was faster.
With a flick of his wrist, the bullets still hovering around him snapped backward, reversed in flight.
Hundreds of headshots. Flawless. Simultaneous.
Every soldier dropped. Blood pooled around their helmets before their weapons even hit the ground.
Shaw flinched. Azazel and Emma tensed. The yard was silent but for the wind.
Bond lowered his arm, staring straight at Shaw.
"My turn."
He began to float forward.
Each step hovered a few inches off the ground. He glided, not walked. The ground crackled with stray arcs of violet static.
Shaw's jaw clenched. "Azazel!"
With a muted oomph, the devil-like teleporter vanished.
A second later, he reappeared in a blur, a dozen feet behind Bond—then again, to the side—then again, above. With each teleport, he dropped grenades. Pins gone. Every one primed.
Grenades clinked to the ground. They rolled across the cracked concrete. Dozens.
Then—BOOOM.
A series of blasts ripped through the yard, a chain reaction of eruptions. Smoke and flame surged into the sky. Prisoners screamed again, ducking behind what little shelter they had left. The shockwaves rattled the metal beams of the compound.
Shaw absorbed the brunt of the explosion, his body glowing red-hot as kinetic and thermal energy poured into him. Emma activated her diamond form while Azazel stood grinning in the flames like a demon.
The dust settled—again.
And Bond remained standing.
Unburned.
A barrier of violet fire surrounded him. Behind him, the prisoners remained untouched.
Another wave of stunned silence swept the courtyard.
No one cheered. No one screamed.
They just stared.
Bond lowered his gaze to Shaw, his voice cold. "You made a mistake staying on this planet. You must have known I wouldn't die so easily. That I would be coming for you."
Despite Bond's low and dangerous tone, Shaw didn't flinch. He had faced worse and lived. He still believed he had a chance.
And so Shaw raised both arms, palms open, and summoned everything he had stored from the grenades. A beam shot forward—thin, compact, but radiant with blinding yellow energy. It struck Bond straight in the chest mid-air, pushing him back across the camp.
"And you should've said yes two years ago!" Shaw shouted, voice echoing. "You turned me down! And now you come here thinking you're a savior? Some kind of Sentry of Justice?! Don't make me vomit!"
Bond grunted. The force pressed against his core, but the glow of the BondForce flared brighter, anchoring him mid-air. The beam held him back—but didn't break through.
Shaw frowned. He clenched his fists and poured more energy into the stream. The light intensified. The ground trembled. Bond's feet dragged small rifts in the air as the push of the beam fought his resistance.
Then Bond raised his own hand.
From his palm, a spiraling stream of violet energy surged forward.
It pushed back Shaw's beam—and overpowered it.
The violet began consuming the yellow, chewing through the stream of destruction. Shaw braced. Just before the beam reached him, Emma Frost stepped in front of him, her diamond body glinting as it blocked the attack
However, the BondForce beam changed. Adapted and became a purple hand—massive, glowing, solid energy.
It wrapped around Emma like a cage and squeezed.
Cracks spiderwebbed through her diamond body. She screamed as her form fractured under the crushing pressure. Her body shimmered back into flesh before she passed out in Bond's grip. The hand vanished and she crumpled to the ground, unconscious.
Shaw's eyes widened.
"Azazel!" he yelled.
He turned—but Azazel never moved.
In the blink of an eye, Bond had vanished and reappeared before the teleporter—his hand clamped around Azazel's throat.
Azazel's pupils flickered. His hands clawed at Bond's wrist. He tried to blink out, but failed.
Bond spoke calmly. "I've locked your molecular pattern in place. No more escapes."
He didn't even glance at Azazel. His eyes were locked on Shaw, who stood frozen, breathing hard.
"This is for Panther." Bond said.
Azazel gasped one last time—then his neck snapped in Bond's grip.
The latter dropped him without ceremony.
Shaw's voice trembled, gazing around at his fallen men. "Even if you kill me... you can't stop what's coming."
Bond looked at him coldly. "You're right. Evil will always exist. But so will people who rise to stop it."
Shaw snarled and threw an energy filled punch.
It landed on Bond's jaw with everything Shaw had.
Boooom! A wave of energy rippled out, ruffling Bond's hair and military jacket but that was all.
He didn't move. Not an inch.
Bond raised one hand—and conjured a small, dense purple sun above his palm, no bigger than a fruit.
Shaw instinctively backed up—but couldn't move. Bond reached forward, grabbed him by the jaw, and pried it open.
"You absorb energy, right?" The sergent asked the leader of the Hellfire club. "Let's see you absorb this."
And he shoved the sun into Shaw's mouth.
Shaw stumbled backward, the glow spreading down his throat and into his chest. His skin turned translucent, his veins glowing with the BondForce, giving him access to more power than he had ever felt.
He laughed. "You idiot. You've just given me the power boost to end you!"
But then... the laughter faltered.
Shaw staggered, eyes wide. His grin turned to panic.
"No... No—this—this isn't right—!"
The BondForce filled him faster than his mutation could process. His cells expanded and combusted under the strain.
Energy poured from his eyes, his ears, every pore. His skin bubbled. Then his body caught fire from the inside.
"No!"
He exploded into ash. No fire. Just instant, incinerating release. The only sound was the gentle rustle of his remains hitting the dirt.
Silence fell over the camp.
From the shadows, Erik stepped out, cautiously walking up to Bond. His small hands clenched.
"Who are you?" he asked.
Bond looked at the boy, seeing something familiar in the eyes—grief, rage, a desire for control.
For a moment, Bond opened his mouth to speak his real name.
But then he remembered Erskine's words. His doubts. His journey.
And the second chance.
What did Shaw call him again? Oh yeah.
Bond knelt.
"You can call me... The Sentry," he said. "Not the protector the world wanted. But the one it got."
Erik stared at him, nodding slowly.
"Thank you, Sentry," he repeated, gratitude mixed with hope filled in his voice.
And in that name, something new began.
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Title for Chapter 30: THE SENTRY.
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The End.
Thank you for reading.