Chapter Fifty: Kyle’s Whereabouts

Early 1944.

The Hydra organization, which had ravaged all of Europe, was finally eradicated. Its founder, Schmidt, was brought to justice by Kyle and Steve, and pronounced dead on the spot.

This crucial victory was swiftly relayed back to the United States, sparking a grand national celebration. Countless soldiers recovering in hospitals or newly returned from the front lines gathered together, raising their glasses in exuberant toasts.

“To victory! To Major Kyle and Captain Steve!”

“To our heroes! May the world soon see peace…”

In countless bars across the great cities, cheers like these echoed through the night until dawn.

That same month, the loss of their manufacturing facilities dealt a crippling blow to the German army, forcing them into a large-scale retreat from the front lines—an omen of Germany’s imminent surrender.

Yet amidst the jubilation over the Allied triumph in Western Europe, the two principal heroes—Kyle and Steve—vanished like the fading sparks at the end of a battle’s fireworks, leaving no trace behind.

It was reported that Lieutenant Steve, in his final moments, managed to contact the American base via radio from the enemy’s out-of-control warplane, but the signal was quickly lost. Only fragments of his message remained: “I’m sending the rogue aircraft into the Atlantic. It must not reach New York.”

As for Major Kyle, he too disappeared entirely, as if following that doomed plane into oblivion.

Half a month passed.

On the open Atlantic, the early morning sun spilled its warm light across the surface, gilding the rolling waves and foam with a shimmering golden edge.

A modern white, two-tiered yacht drifted leisurely across the sea, resembling a small leaf carried by the wind and surf.

On the yacht’s open deck, a blond youth reclined lazily on a sun lounger, sunglasses shielding his eyes, hands folded behind his head—utterly at ease and relaxed.

He wore nothing but a pair of beach shorts, his bare torso sculpted with perfect, steel-hard abs, basking freely in the sunlight.

Beside him, on a small round table shaded by a parasol, a strange creature—black and liquid in form—shifted restlessly, clearly displeased by the sweltering heat.

“It’s been so long since I’ve felt this relaxed,” Kyle murmured, unable to keep the sigh from his lips.

Since his rebirth into the Marvel world during World War II, every day had been consumed by endless warfare. Even his super-soldier physique required him to remain on constant alert, always ready for combat.

At any moment, an energy blast, a high-explosive grenade, a sniper’s shell, or even a carpet-bombing could have sent him straight to his grave.

The prolonged strain of war had conditioned Kyle’s body to react instantly to any approach, even in the depths of sleep—subduing whoever dared draw near before fully awakening. Fury, Steve, and even Carter had all fallen victim to this reflex at one time or another.

Thinking back, he mused, “Perhaps I should have taken Bryant’s advice, resigned my commission, and gone back to New York to live as an ordinary civilian.”

But that thought passed quickly. With his card-drawing abilities, how could he ever accept cowering in a seemingly safe city, hiding from the world? He would despise himself for such weakness.

Better to walk the razor’s edge, embracing both risk and opportunity, constantly strengthening his abilities, raising his status and fame—until he could face any adversary without fear.

If he hadn’t fought on the front lines, how would he have gained all those resources for draws? If not for fighting shoulder to shoulder with Steve, how would he have acquired the super-soldier’s power?

This was Kyle’s true conviction. He was less a hero fighting for America than a warrior battling for his own future.

And in the process, he had forged genuine friendships with Steve, Joseph, Fury, Howard, and Carter—something that brought him great comfort.

While he let his thoughts wander, a sharp eagle’s cry suddenly pierced the sky. A vast shadow swept across the yacht, cast by a great pair of wings.

“You’re back…” Kyle sat up, watching as the blue eagle swooped down to the sea, its powerful wings stirring the waves and sending spray flying.

He called out, “How did it go? Any sign?”

The blue eagle chirped softly, shaking its head from side to side in a distinctly human gesture.

Kyle frowned and waved his hand, “Keep searching in this direction—cover a twenty-mile radius.”

With a nod of its sharp beak, the eagle beat its wings and soared high, soon vanishing into the clouds.

Since Steve had piloted the rogue aircraft away, Kyle had sent the blue eagle—after it had helped neutralize the nuclear plane—hoping to track the aircraft’s trail. But half a month had passed with not a single clue.

The Atlantic was vast and boundless. If, as in the original movie, the plane was frozen and sunk, finding it would be like searching for a needle in the ocean’s depths.

“It seems I’ll have to give up,” Kyle sighed, preparing to chart a course back to the military base. But just then, a faint shadow appeared beneath the water near the yacht.

With a sudden splash, a great white shark breached the surface, half its body emerging as it circled the yacht, blowing bubbles as if seeking praise from Kyle.

Kyle’s heart skipped a beat. He raised his voice to confirm, “You mean you really found it?”

The great white leapt again, slapping the water in affirmation.

“Venom, go with Little Shark and fetch it up,” Kyle said after a moment’s thought, glancing at the languid Venom on the table.

With a reluctant gurgle, Venom dissolved into countless black tendrils and leaped down. It had little fondness for the simple-minded shark, but since Kyle had commanded it, there was no choice but to comply.

The black tendrils entwined the shark, swiftly coating its body in a hard, dark chitinous layer. Even the shark’s eyes turned crimson and its jaws grew more fearsome.

With Venom now in control, the shark became its vessel.

“Hurry back—and don’t touch it directly,” Kyle warned, wedging two planks between the shark’s teeth. “Clamp it and bring it up.”

With a flick of its tail, the Venom-shark dove into the sea.

Moments later, the creature resurfaced, blue radiance shimmering through the water as it drew near.

The shark’s head emerged, and Kyle’s gaze fixed on its mouth—where, gripped between the wooden planks, was a glowing blue cube, exuding an aura of enigmatic power.

The Cosmic Cube!