Super Template System In Marvel and Beyond-Chapter 232: Demonic Situation II

"Destroy her," the Director said sharply, her voice cutting through the air with authority.

Dave glanced over his shoulder at her, his grip still firm on Aida's neck. Her mechanical body twitched, sparks dancing from her fingers as corrupted code surged through her systems.

He sighed.

"So quick to kill your own creations," Dave muttered, his tone almost disappointed. "That's the problem with you people... You break something, and instead of fixing it, you toss it away."

"She's compromised," the Director repeated, firmer now. "The Darkhold has gotten to her. She's no longer safe."

Dave's eyes glowed faintly red for a moment as his demonic aura pulsed, shadows crawling beneath his skin like liquid flame. "Let me handle it... my way."

He raised his free hand, demonic runes flickering to life across his palm as a circle of glowing crimson light formed. Aida's body froze, locked in place as the runes wrapped around her frame like digital chains.

"She's not beyond saving," Dave said as the seal fully activated. "She didn't ask for the book's curse."

Aida's glowing red eyes dimmed, the corrupted energy retreating slowly, pulled into the sealing rune. Her voice stuttered as she whispered, "T-Thank you..."

Dave released her gently, and she collapsed to her knees, motionless but no longer twitching with rage or corruption.

"She'll need a reset. Memory wipe, maybe. But she'll be fine... and next time, don't park a damn cursed book next to something with Wi-Fi."

Fury let out a small grunt of amusement.

"Fine work," he said, folding his arms. "Still think you're a reckless wildcard... but I can't argue with results."

Dave smirked. "That's why you keep me around."

The Director, still tense, finally nodded. "We'll move the Darkhold to a more secure vault. Preferably one made for gods or worse."

"Smart," Dave said, already walking toward the book, his gaze hardening. "Now let's talk about how we stop the thing from calling out to others... before Earth becomes a demon buffet."

"How?" both Fury and the Director asked simultaneously, eyes narrowing as they stared at Dave.

Dave simply smirked, then replied calmly, "Give it to me."

Immediately, both of them responded in unison: "No."

"Tch," Dave scoffed, crossing his arms. "You bastards still don't believe me, do you?"

"It's not that," the Director said, her voice firm but not hostile. "But you're already halfway to hell yourself. The Darkhold corrupts everyone who touches it. I can't hand it over to someone who's already danced with demons. We've seen what it can do."

Fury nodded. "We're not saying you're the enemy... yet. But if that thing claims you, there might not be a way to pull you back."

Dave gave a dry chuckle, his expression unreadable as his eyes gleamed faintly red.

"You think I need a book to summon demons?" he asked coldly, tilting his head.

Then, with a snap of his fingers, the air around him shimmered with infernal heat. A deep, guttural hum rippled through the facility as glowing red sigils etched themselves into the floor beneath him.

Within seconds, small portals cracked open all around the room like broken glass hanging in mid-air.

From them emerged an array of familiar low-tier fiends straight out of hell.

Empusa skittered across the floor—bug-like demons with long, jagged limbs and glowing red cores pulsing in their chests. Their chittering filled the room.

Several Scarecrows followed suit, their mechanical movements jerky and unsettling, their scythe arms scraping against the floor.

Next came a few Hell Antenoras, blue-toned skeletal creatures cloaked in shadow, dragging massive ice-blades behind them with eerie silence.

Pyrobats hissed as they fluttered through the air, embers trailing behind their wings as they circled the ceiling.

And finally, a couple of Mephistos hovered ominously at the rear, wrapped in black cloaks of shadow, their glowing red eyes watching everything with malice.

The entire room was filled with growling, snarling lesser demons—all awaiting Dave's command.

The S.W.O.R.D. agents on standby raised their weapons instantly, and the alarms flared red.

Fury and the Director both froze.

"...What the hell?" the Director muttered, stepping back.

"I didn't even see a portal open," Fury said, gripping his sidearm.

Dave just stood there in the center of the chaos, calm as a still lake. "I've made contracts with demons. These are just... pets."

He looked around and gave a dismissive wave. "Don't worry. I'm not here to cause a scene. I'm just proving a point."

At his silent command, the demons all vanished into smoke and ash, retreating to whatever infernal pocket they were summoned from—leaving behind only scorch marks and shaken agents.

"...Still think I need the Darkhold to be dangerous?" he asked with a small smirk.

The Director didn't answer. Fury just grunted. "You've made your point."

"Good," Dave said. "Then let's talk about that book."

Director looked at him fro amonet as she sad " Can you keep it safe?' She asked as he nodded " yes" Dave replied as he was actually hoping to get Wanda Witch to his hare....um, Group.

"Okay, I'll give it to you," the Director finally said, her voice steady but cautious. "But in return, I need some of your demonic... pets." freeweɓnøvel.com

Dave narrowed his eyes, the faint red glow in them flaring slightly as he turned to face her fully. "Which one?" he asked, voice calm but laced with quiet danger.

She hesitated, clearly caught off guard by how casually he responded. Before she could speak, Dave continued, walking a few slow steps toward her.

"I guess that much is expected from the Director of a supernatural defense organization," Dave said with a dry smirk as he shook his head. "You're really so brave that you want these ugly things to do your job for you?"

He chuckled, almost mockingly. "Even I didn't summon them for my dirty work—not because I couldn't, but because of how damn ugly and dead they look."

And it was true. Dave had rarely summoned his lesser demons unless absolutely necessary. He preferred handling matters with his own hands. Most people who saw him use those creatures never lived long enough to tell the tale anyway. It was part of the mystique—and the terror—he carried with him.

He glanced at the demonic entities still hovering silently in the shadows, like wolves waiting for a command. "I don't get the chance to use them often," he added, casually. "They usually just sleep inside me... unless someone pisses me off enough."

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