Marvel: The Villain-Chapter 259 Dead Stop

Outside the mall, Alex lay on the asphalt, struggling.

His arms were shattered, blood gushed like an open tap, and the searing pain twisted his features into a grotesque mask. He had been too young and arrogant. He had genuinely believed that Captain America wasn’t that strong—that he was just a prop the government used to promote patriotism and individual heroism, his deeds and strength inflated through propaganda.

But now, he saw the truth clearly. History books hadn’t exaggerated Cap’s strength; if anything, they had left out how terrifying he actually was. Alex knew exactly where he stood: his physical metrics reached the peak of human capability. Yet, even so, he had been essentially one-shotted by the Captain.

This meant that Steve Rogers didn’t just edge him out; he completely crushed him in every category. If they faced off head-on again, Alex was a dead man.

After lying on the ground for a short while, his writhing flesh fully restored the injured areas. Alex scrambled to his feet, crawling before he could run, and bolted into the distance. His only hope now was to use his shapeshifting to blend in as a civilian and vanish—but before that, he needed to eat properly to refuel.

Having heard Agent Coulson’s final words, Steve quickly retrieved his shield from the pillar and ran outside.

The road was empty. Aside from glittering shards of glass and a pool of blood, there were no tracks—not even a bloody footprint. Steve was a warrior, but he was not an expert tracker, especially when his target was a meta-human who could change faces at will.

He pulled the wireless earpiece given to him by the SHIELD agents from his pocket, clumsily fitted it, and pressed the comms button.

"Target has vanished."

"Captain, are there no tracks left?"

"Just a pool of blood. And Agent Coulson told me before he passed... the suspect has the ability to shapeshift."

"What! Agent Coulson... he’s..."

"Dead men don’t come back to life," Steve said, his voice hard. "The priority now is finding the killer and getting justice for him. This guy’s shapeshifting isn’t just a mask; he mimics appearance, physique, voice, clothing, and even memories."

"That’s a nightmare. To be honest, the Joker Organization’s lifelike masks were already giving us headaches."

"Is there any other way?"

"I’m not sure, but the NYPD SWAT teams are out in force. They’ve completely locked down the surrounding blocks. We’re uploading the intel now. We won’t sleep until we find this bastard."

"Good. I’m going to help."

The call ended, and the Quinjet circling above soon hovered over his position. It was packed with advanced sensory equipment, sweeping the area Alex had fled toward at low altitude. Steve, unable to assist with the high-tech search, kept pace with the jet on foot. He checked every dark corner and alley he came across, but found nothing.

Fifteen minutes of frantic searching yielded no results for the jet, but the patrolling SWAT units finally sent in a lead. Or rather, a grim discovery.

In a coffee shop about five hundred meters from the mall, they found a massive amount of fresh blood. The police suspected Alex had changed there, hoping to slip away in the crowd. Steve had expected as much; if he were in the killer’s shoes, he would have done the same.

The problem remained: even knowing he had changed faces, how do you pick him out of a city of millions?

The agents explained that SHIELD had developed two primary strategies based on the current intel.

First: According to the audio logs from the fallen agents, the suspect carries a heavy scent of blood—a smell that can’t be washed away or covered with perfume.

Second: While Alex can change shape, he must consume the target first, meaning his available disguises are limited to the people in his immediate vicinity.

SHIELD responded accordingly:

Agents and K9 units were dispatched to conduct door-to-door sweeps within the perimeter, sniffing for the permanent scent of blood and detaining any suspicious targets.

They were cross-referencing recent missing persons reports to create a gallery of potential faces and running DNA tests on blood found at the scenes to identify who he had become.

It was a slow, brute-force method, but it was their best shot. Steve had no objections. He stopped wandering the streets and boarded the Quinjet to stay mobile and updated.

"Captain, have some coffee. Tonight isn’t going to end early. You need to stay sharp."

Steve took the cup. "What’s the status?"

The agent shook his head, discouraged. "We’ve only cleared a third of the search zone and we’ve already found over twenty pools of suspicious blood. That means the bastard has killed at least twenty more people. We’ve detained several suspects with a scent of blood, but none of them resisted—they’re all just sitting in holding."

Steve gripped the coffee cup tight and nodded slowly.

"Captain, you fought him. How strong is he?"

Steve thought back. "In terms of raw combat skill, he’s average—but for a normal person, he’s a nightmare. His real threat is that insane regeneration and shapeshifting."

The agent let out a long sigh of relief. The superhumans they had encountered before were all freakishly powerful. To a normal human, they were gods—beings for whom even a miracle wouldn’t grant a victory. Hearing Steve describe him as average in combat made them feel like they were finally dealing with a normal monster for once.

"That’s a relief. With a hero like you here, we feel a lot better."

Steve’s lips twitched into a small smile, accepting the praise.

"We have a situation!" An agent barked suddenly.

The team crowded around the monitors. "We found a suspicious target with a matching facial structure. Over there!"

The pilot followed the agent’s pointing finger, banking the jet sharply toward the location.

BOOM!

Before they could even close the distance, a loud explosion rocked a ten-story apartment building. Steve rushed into the cockpit. Through the transparent glass, he saw a black shadow leap from an apartment balcony onto a lower roof across the way.

"That’s him! Open the hatch and keep your eyes on him!"

The pilot hit the controls with confidence. "Don’t worry! If he’s on my sensors, he’s not going anywhere."

The bay door hissed open. Shield in hand, Steve vaulted out, plummeting onto the roof of a nearby building. He rolled to absorb the impact and spotted the man in the black hoodie again.

"Not this time!"

Steve gritted his teeth and hurled the shield with everything he had. The vibranium disc whistled through the air with immense force, its trajectory calculated perfectly to intercept the runner’s path. The target had two choices: stop, or be sliced in half.

In the dark of the night, Alex heard the scream of the wind and the heavy footfalls behind him. He didn’t stop. Instead, he reached out with his right hand.

CLANG!

With a heavy thud, he caught the shield in a dead stop.

.

.

.

.

You can read advance Chapters and view R-18 images of the characters on pat reon page.

pat reon.com/GreenBlue17

500 power stones.

Top 100. All time.