Destroyer → yelena belova, marvel

Chapter 1: Bad Dreams Comes True

AN:
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Hedeon levels the revolver at the chest of his victim. There’s no emotion, no hesitation, just an emptiness that stretches deep and endless within him. A black void swallowing any shred of guilt or sorrow. “Hail the Red King,” he intones, voice cold and mechanical.

On the ground, a terrified man cowers, eyes wide and glistening with tears. His voice breaks into a soft plea. "Нет пожалуйста. Не делай этого. Умоляю вас. Моя дочь. У нее есть только я. Пожалуйста—" (No, please. Don't do this. I beg you. My daughter. She only has me. Please—)

Hedeon's voice is flat, devoid of any humanity as he responds, "Ваша дочь умерла первой, Михаил. Я убил ее голыми руками." (Your daughter was the first to die, Mikhail. I killed her with my bare hands.)

Before the man can even react, the shot cracks through the air, muffled as though underwater. The sound reaches Hedeon slowly, like it’s struggling to break through the heavy silence that settles in his mind. He watches with detached curiosity as his victim stumbles back, red blossoming on his chest before crumpling to the floor.

Hedeon steps forward, crouching beside the lifeless body. Blood pools across the cold ground, spreading outward to meet his gloved hand. He dips his fingers in the crimson liquid, staring at it with an almost sick fascination. His lips curl into a dark smile as he wipes the blood against the charcoal black fabric of his uniform—the symbol of his victory.

The memory fades as Hedeon snaps awake in a moving car, a jolt of panic shooting through him. His breaths come out ragged, and he can feel the clamminess of sweat clinging to his skin. A dim light flickers from the dashboard, casting shadows on the bruised lines of his face. He blinks, shaking off the haze of the nightmare, his eyes locking onto the figure beside him. Relief floods him as he realizes he’s not alone—Yelena’s at the wheel. Her presence is an anchor, pulling him back to the present.

She doesn’t seem to notice his momentary distress. Or maybe she does. Her brow creases in concern as she glances at him, eyes observing his every twitch and shiver. “Everything okay?” she asks, her voice steady, yet probing.

Hedeon exhales, rubbing a hand over his eyes. “Плохой сон,” (A bad dream) he murmurs, the words sounding heavy in his throat.

“Right,” Yelena says, though the look she gives him makes it clear she’s not buying it. Still, she lets it slide, keeping her attention on the road. “There’s a safe house not far from here. We’ll be there soon. You can have a bath and change into new clothes. You stink.”

An amused huff escapes him despite himself. “Am I now?”

“You do,” she smirks, eyes flashing with that familiar light before the car comes to a stop. She reaches into the backseat, grabbing two backpacks and tossing one onto his lap. “Come on, get your ass out.”

Hedeon pulls the backpack over his shoulder and steps out of the car, immediately wincing as pain lances up his leg. He bites back a curse, his stride awkward as he hurries to catch up with Yelena, who’s already heading for the building. The chill of the night air claws through his shirt, but he doesn’t shiver. He’s already numb.