"Just out of curiosity," Phil began, his voice a bit more cautious, "how powerful is Chthon exactly?"
Dave peered out the window of the corridor as they walked, his tone unusually calm. "Hmm... Chthon was actually one of the original Elder Gods of Earth. One of the most powerful, in fact. But for so unknown reason, he eventually degenerated—corrupted—and transford into sothing demonic."
Phil followed closely, listening intently as Dave continued.
"The other Elder Gods saw what he was becoming and banished him. Not just from Earth, but from this entire universe. They sealed him away, beyond dinsional barriers."
He paused, glancing back at Phil. "But Chthon wasn't about to accept exile. So, he created the Darkhold—the Book of the Damned, the Book of Sins... whatever na people want to give it. That book isn't just a collection of spells; it's a fragnt of Chthon's own will. A beacon. A key. A weapon. Through it, he's been slowly trying to regain his grip on Earth."
Phil's expression darkened. "So this book is more than just cursed magic... it's a foothold."
Dave nodded. "Exactly. Chthon aims to reclaim what was taken from him. Earth. Power. Worship."
Phil frowned. "Then why hasn't he co through already?"
Dave stopped at the large blast door ahead and placed a hand on it. "Because he can't. The Elder Gods didn't just exile him—they placed a powerful seal, a bastion that keeps him out of this realm. But cracks form over ti... especially when people ss with things they don't understand."
Phil swallowed hard. "And if he does break through?"
Dave looked him dead in the eyes. "If Chthon truly returns... his power is beyond comprehension. He doesn't just use black magic—he is black magic. Entire universes could unravel under his will. He doesn't conquer kingdoms... he corrupts realities."
Silence fell between them.
Phil glanced at the vault door. "So... we're not just stopping demons. We're preventing the apocalypse."
Dave smirked faintly. "Welco to the deep end."
"Though that was a joke," Dave added with a light chuckle as Phil glanced at him, deadpan.
"You've got a twisted sense of humor," Phil muttered. "Especially when apocalypse-level threats are involved."
Dave smirked. "The barrier can't be broken easily. At most, Chthon can influence those who've used the Darkhold. Possess them, maybe. Wreak so havoc here and there. That much, I can handle."
They approached a heavy security gate inside the facility. Red sensors scanned them as two ard guards checked their IDs and biotrics.
"You should joke a little less, especially about stuff like this," Phil said under his breath. "I've already died once, rember?"
Dave gave a nonchalant shrug as he passed the checkpoint. If only you knew, he thought. At my current level... I might actually be able to fight Chthon.
They entered the main observation wing, where sleek tech, arcane runes, and containnt barriers shed together like science fiction colliding with dark fantasy. Monitors buzzed with distorted readings.
Waiting at the far end was a familiar figure—Director Nick Fury, wearing a black tactical coat and his ever-present eye-patch.
Dave arched an eyebrow. "This place feels a little different."
Fury turned and nodded. "That's because it's not SHIELD."
He gestured around the strange, high-tech facility with magical sigils embedded in the walls.
"This is S.W.O.R.D."
"Hmm, how is it different from SHIELD—which is useless, in my opinion?" Dave said casually.
Fury's lips twitched slightly at the jab, but he didn't say anything. Instead, the Director of S.W.O.R.D., a sharp-eyed woman with short black hair and a no-nonsense deanor, stepped forward.
"That's because SHIELD was built to protect Earth from threats it could understand," she said, crossing her arms. "S.W.O.R.D. exists to deal with threats Earth doesn't want to understand—extraterrestrial, interdinsional, magical, or otherwise."
Dave looked her over and smirked. "Cute speech. But I still don't see how that makes you more competent."
She didn't flinch. "You don't have to. You just need to know we've kept things off your radar long before you decided to start flexing your demonic half."
Phil coughed quietly in the background, already regretting being in the middle of this conversation.
Fury finally spoke. "Enough. This isn't about who's more useful—SHIELD, S.W.O.R.D., or Dave Garcia."
He walked toward the containnt chamber, motioning them to follow.
"We intercepted a magical surge three nights ago—strong enough to light up five of our detectors across different realms. Soone used the Darkhold... and didn't just read a page or cast a spell. They opened sothing."
Dave's eyes narrowed as the air grew heavier.
"Opened what exactly?"
Fury stopped in front of a reinforced glass wall. Behind it was a sealed room with a woman floating mid-air, glowing with red and black tendrils swirling around her. Her face was calm, but her soul radiated chaos.
"She's a civilian. No history of magic, cri, or powers," Fury said. "Until she touched a fragnt of the Darkhold in a library basent in Prague."
Dave exhaled slowly. "So this is how it begins..."
The S.W.O.R.D. Director nodded. "And why we called you."
"In our protocols, we would have reduced her to oblivion—by any ans. Acids, fire, or even aetheric containnt," the S.W.O.R.D. Director said coldly. "But then Phil inford Fury, and Fury told us about you. That we have a half-demon who might actually be able to help."
She gave Dave a firm glance as if weighing him with her eyes.
"We don't understand what's inside her, aside from the small aura of energy resembling the Darkhold. And from ti to ti, she speaks... in a language no one recognizes."
As if on cue, the woman inside the containnt room opened her eyes—pitch black with faint glowing glyphs circling her irises—and began muttering sothing strange and guttural, a voice layered with multiple tones.
Phil tensed slightly. "There it is again..."
Dave, however, didn't flinch. He listened for a mont before casually translating.
"That's demon language," he said, arms crossed. "She's saying: 'Release , or I'll eat your soul while you're still alive.'"
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