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The mathematics of modern slaughter are as simple as they are chilling. A single Vulcan cannon machine gun operates at a staggering theoretical rate of 7,200 rounds per minute, which translates to an incredible 120 bullets exiting the barrel every single second. On the vast plaza of the Celestial Industrial Park, Peter had deployed one hundred T-600 Terminator Robots simultaneously. This meant that the battlefield was governed by a brutal set of ballistic constants: the air was saturated with a terrifying total of 12,000 rounds of 7.62mm armor-piercing projectiles every heart-pounding second.
It wasn't a skirmish; it was a mechanical scouring. This scorching metal torrent formed an incredibly grand, albeit lethal, "Welcome Ceremony" for the invaders. Facing such a hail of lead, flesh and blood were entirely irrelevant. Even a statue cast in solid, reinforced steel would have been scoured into molten slag within moments under such concentrated fire.
The Hand ninjas and the Thin-Blood Clan vampires were caught in a state of absolute, paralyzed bewilderment. They had expected security guards and perhaps a few advanced drones; they had not prepared for a legion of skeletal metal nightmares. Before they could even begin to process the origin of these machines, the God of Death's giant scythe swung.
In a flash, dozens of the lead ninjas—those who had been fastest to charge—were riddled with holes on the open ground. Because they were bound by dark magic, they didn't even leave corpses behind; they simply dissolved into gray dust mid-stride, as if the world had decided to erase their very existence.
The vampires fared only slightly better, though "better" was a relative term. In less than a second, more than a dozen of the Thin-Bloods were reduced to literal slag. Even with their supernatural self-healing abilities, resurrection was an impossibility when there was no cohesive tissue left to knit. Those only grazed by the barrage were the "lucky" ones, suffering severed limbs and shattered bones. The night air was filled with a cacophony of pig-like screams and wails as the wounded scrambled across the concrete.
The self-healing of these vampires was indeed formidable, though not quite on the level of legendary regenerators like Wolverine. Their wounds stopped bleeding almost instantly, preventing fatal blood loss. In a scene both grotesque and absurd, disabled vampires crawled through the blood-slicked plaza, frantically picking up severed limbs. In their panic, they didn't even check if the parts were their own; they simply pressed the broken flesh against their stumps. Some grafted calves to their arm-sockets and forearms to their thighs, creating twisted, limping abominations of anatomy.
The Nitrate Counter-Strike
Deacon Frost, watching the carnage from the rear, was beyond furious. "You damned good-for-nothings! Use the grenades! Blow those hateful robots to hell!"
The surviving vampires finally snapped out of their shock. They had come prepared, backed by the deep pockets of Hammer Industries. Justin Hammer had provided more than just a 200-million-dollar paycheck; he had supplied a cache of Nitrate ammunition.
Nitrate is an explosive with a detonation intensity that dwarfs traditional TNT. The vampires pulled the specialized grenades from their gear—each tipped with a faint, malevolent orange glow. The intensity of that glow signaled the Nitrate concentration; the brighter the light, the more devastating the vacuum implosion.
They hurled the grenades toward the T-600 war formation. Though half were detonated prematurely by the robots' own bullet torrent, the remaining half landed with devastating precision.
Boom! Boom! Boom!
Dozens of orange fireballs bloomed like the eyes of a vengeful god. The energy waves didn't just explode outward; they created a vacuum implosion effect. Matter was first scorched by the heat and then violently sucked into a central singularity, crushed by atmospheric pressure into dense, solid iron balls. In an instant, over thirty T-600s were erased from the frontline, crushed into scrap metal.
Peter's Calculation
Inside Base One, Peter watched the feed through the giant blue orb, his brow furrowed. He recognized the signature of the weapon immediately. "A vacuum implosion bomb? This has to be the result of Howard Stark's old Nitrate research. Stark Industries would never build something this crude and lacking in aesthetic, so it must be Hammer Industries."
A cold light flickered in Peter's eyes. "It seems that after repelling these small fries, I'll need to collect some interest from Justin Hammer. Being disturbed repeatedly like this... even a Buddha would lose his temper."
He waved his hand toward the console. "Increase forces."
On the plaza, more square hatches hissed open. A second batch of T-600s rose from the depths, their Vulcan cannons spinning up to drown out the sound of the falling debris. But the Hand ninjas were ready. They drew longbows from their backs, nocking arrows tipped with that same orange Nitrate glow. A rain of arrows fell, and once again, the silver-white skeletons were sucked into implosion spheres.
The third batch of T-600s was deployed, acting as the final line of defense. The battle had reached a fever pitch of attrition that surprised even Peter. It was a testament to the raw, violent power of the combined Hand and Vampire forces.
The Arrival of the Guards
As the Nitrate supplies of the invaders finally began to dwindle, the battle shifted. The ninjas drew their katanas, and the vampires extended their gore-stained claws. They charged, closing the distance to engage the T-600s in close-quarters combat.
Seeing the intensity shift from explosive ordinance to cold weapons, Peter knew the "cannon fodder" phase was over. "Deep Blue! Get the Celestial Guard ready. As their first real combat, I hope they can deliver an impressive report card."
Deep within the facility, Jessica Jones and Elektra were already moving. Jessica was clad in the Prototype Powered Armor, a pitch-black, heavy-metal suit that looked like it had been ripped from the battlefields of a dark future. Thrusters on her back, elbows, and soles flared with a blue-white light, turning her heavy frame into a high-speed projectile.
In her hand, she gripped the Prototype Chain Saw Greatsword. It was a massive slab of metal the size of a door, but its edge was a high-speed, energy-driven chain saw.
Elektra, maintaining her role as a master of agility, wore only the boots and gloves of the power armor. Her gloves were designed to amplify her kinetic strikes, allowing her to shatter steel with her bare palms.
The Chainsaw's First Bite
A Vampire Viscount—a seasoned leader within the Thin-Blood Clan—lunged at a T-600, parrying its steel fist and shredding its neural seams with his blood-charged claws. As the robot slumped into a heap, the Viscount looked up and saw Jessica Jones charging toward him.
He saw her delicate features and youthful charm through the gaps in her armor and licked his fangs. "Finally! Top-tier food has appeared! She's mine!"
He lunged with the ferocity of a wolf, his red-glowing claws aiming for her throat. Jessica didn't flinch. She simply raised the massive slab of the greatsword and pressed the activation stud on the hilt.
BUZZZZZZZZ!
The high-torque engine roared to life. The chain saw edge became a blur of rotating teeth. The Viscount's eyes widened in the millisecond before impact. "What the f—"
The Greatsword didn't just hit him; it pulverized him. The spinning blades chewed through his hands, then his chest, erupting in a fountain of dark red liquid that sprayed across the plaza like a grotesque fountain. Jessica pressed down with both hands, the motor whining as it ground through supernatural bone and sinew.
When she finally retracted the weapon, the Viscount had been completely erased from the planet. The surrounding vampires froze. Their "strongman" had been sawed into dust in a single strike. The delicate girl they thought was prey had just revealed herself to be the ultimate predator.
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