Chapter 81: Alexandra's Plan

Manhattan District, a luxurious villa.

As usual, Alexandra was enjoying a delicious breakfast.

Unlike Madame Gao, she had always maintained a passion for this world, savoring every day of her long life, indulging in the wonders of a prosperous world while squandering time: delectable food, beautiful landscapes, exquisite music, and charming men.

She had enjoyed every delight this world had to offer, yet it was never enough.

The recent emergence of the Immortal Iron Fist and the Ghost Rider had put her in a foul mood as never before. Fortunately, on this morning that was not yet entirely ruined, there was still something to be pleased about.

“Madam, Mr. Murakami has arrived.” The impeccably dressed butler announced with the utmost respect and perfect manners.

“Show him in.”

Alexandra set down her knife and fork, smoothed her dress, and rose gracefully to her feet.

As noble and elegant as ever.

The main door opened, and a young, robust Japanese man entered.

“My old friend, how long has it been since we last met?” Alexandra asked with a smile.

“Fifty years, or sixty? If it weren’t necessary, we wouldn’t see each other at all—just like before the First World War, my fearless leader, Lady Alexandra.”

Murakami handed his coat to the butler, as naturally as if he were at home. He rolled his shoulders, a half-smile on his lips. “Are you sure this meeting is important? You seem frail—much more so than I imagined. How much longer can you hold on?”

Alexandra did not answer immediately.

All these years, she and her companions had avoided combat, for their power was drawn from the dragon bone, not from the vitality of their own lives. Every use could not be replenished; every battle hastened their aging and the failure of their organs.

Once their power was exhausted, they would die.

They could experience in minutes, or even seconds, the aging that would take others decades—a phenomenon the Taoists called the Five Decays of Heaven and Man.

And now, her time was nearly at hand.

“I may only have a few years left. But if I die, how much longer do you think the rest of you can last?”

Alexandra sat with effortless elegance, gazing at Murakami. “The last piece of dragon bone is in my possession. It is my due, saved over the years. Madame Gao is the oldest among us—over a hundred when she acquired her dragon bone. Even avoiding battle as much as possible, her consumption outpaced all of ours. Sowanda, Botu, and you—each of you enjoys killing and fighting. Though younger than I, you’ve burned through your energy faster.”

“The dragon bone was taken from K’un-Lun by the five of us. It is a shared resource—the last of it does not belong to you alone, but to all,” Murakami replied curtly, glancing at Alexandra. “I believe Botu and Sowanda would agree. They’ve come as well, haven’t they?”

Alexandra smiled faintly, clearly unafraid of Murakami’s threat. “You’re all here, not because I am your leader, but because you’re all afraid. Madame Gao’s death has frightened you. The current Immortal Iron Fist may not be as powerful as those of our generation, but we are out of dragon bone—our strength is but a shadow of what it was. We cannot stand against him.”

“So?” Murakami arched an eyebrow.

“So, as I said before, we must borrow other powers—even the most terrifying and uncontrollable of all.”

Alexandra picked up a remote and clicked it. The home theater sprang to life, displaying a news broadcast.

“In eastern Missouri, a family of seven has been slaughtered on a farm—the killer is a mere fourteen-year-old boy?”

“The scene was so appalling that over ten officers were retching; reporters dared not approach.”

“One officer, speaking anonymously, declared it the most disgusting crime scene in his twenty-three years in law enforcement—bar none.”

“Several organs were missing from the victims; their bodies bore scratches and bite marks!”

...

Even with the images blurred, the horror of the scene and the killer’s savagery were evident.

Murakami, however, was unfazed, only frowning slightly. “The killer—is it ‘Black Void’? Has ‘the Beast’ descended?”

Alexandra nodded. “From the evidence at the scene, the Beast has completely overtaken the boy’s mind. With every killing, its power grows in this world. It is already formidable, but now it has attracted the attention of the police, S.H.I.E.L.D., and even Hydra. It needs our help now, just as we need its strength.”

Murakami pressed his fingers to his brow. “We can summon it, help it manifest its power more fully in our world, but we cannot control it.”

A mocking smile flickered across Alexandra’s lips. “Aside from Madame Gao, I was the one most opposed to letting it descend. The greatest proponent, however, was you. Are you afraid, Murakami? Only the Beast can defeat, perhaps even kill, the Immortal Iron Fist.”

“Afraid? You know me, Madam—I do not fear. Don’t provoke me. I simply don’t wish for us to be slain by the Beast before we can return to K’un-Lun.”

Murakami stared at the screen, his tone low. “You’re willing to take this risk—your time must be truly short. Have you arranged everything?”

Alexandra nodded. “Wilson Fisk has contacts in the police department; he’s working to conceal the Beast’s trail. My people will soon have it in custody. Then I’ll give the last of the dragon bone to it, conduct a ritual for the boy, strengthen him—and through him, the Beast.”

Murakami’s eyes narrowed. “That’s our only hope for resurrection! If we use the last of the dragon bone and one of us dies, there will be no coming back!”

Alexandra sneered. “The Immortal Iron Fist is no fool, nor is the Stick. If they decapitate us, or utterly destroy our bodies, even dragging Old Man Shu here to kill for us would not restore us.”

Murakami was silent for a full two minutes before finally speaking. “The details of the plan?”

Alexandra smiled.

The most difficult to persuade, Madame Gao, was dead. Murakami, who understood and feared the Beast most, had been convinced.

The plan could proceed!

...

...

By day, Old Wang lounged on a rattan chair, teaching Robbie and Gabe. At night, he sat on the sofa to instruct Matt, Erika, and Stick, returning to Azeroth Specialty Store around half past ten. In the dead of night, he lay in bed teaching Skye, going until dawn.

He had wanted to buy an apartment, but all his money had been commandeered by Skye to buy shares of Stark Industries.

Days had passed; Stark Industries’ stock had plummeted at first, then gradually rebounded with the efforts of its staff. Even if he sold now, Old Wang would make a tidy profit.

Judging by the time, the future Iron Man would soon be born. Once that news hit, the stock would skyrocket. Endure a little pain now for great comfort soon—Old Wang would not give up so easily. He pressed on, undeterred.

Skye’s van was unfit for habitation. The single bed in the apartment Old Wang rented was all there was; Skye refused to stay there. It didn’t seem right for a man and woman alone.

What Old Wang couldn’t understand was this: the Azeroth Specialty Store also had just one bed, and it was still just the two of them—how was that different?

Did this girl have a thing about beds?

If so, why not just buy another bed? Why squeeze onto the same one?

Especially since it was only a four-foot-wide bed.

Just like now.

Old Wang, broad and portly, took up most of the bed when he lay down.

Not much space left for Skye...

Fortunately, Old Wang had thought of a solution: “Skye, you could sleep on the rattan chair!”

It was already the early hours.

Exhausted, sweaty, and sleepy, Skye was just about to haul Old Wang off the bed and onto the rattan chair to make space for herself to catch a nap.

Suddenly, the phone rang. It was Black Widow.

“Master Wang, your equipment is ready.”

“And by the way, you’re a special consultant for S.H.I.E.L.D., drawing a bigger salary than I do. You haven’t shown up for work in a whole week… Don’t you feel the least bit guilty?”