As if the universe had a twisted sense of humor, a colossal heap of space debris plummeted from the sky, crashing down not far from Johnny's perch on the mountain, sending clouds of dust billowing into the air.
Before Johnny could even blink, a thunderous roar ripped through the sky above him, seizing his attention like a vice.
"A spaceship?" Johnny mused aloud, squinting at the peculiar craft descending towards him. It was a bizarre sight, a mishmash of metal amalgamated together, adorned with four formidable power thrusters, and bearing the weathered appearance of age.
With a thud, the spacecraft landed squarely before Johnny, seemingly drawn to his presence like a magnet.
Johnny's nerves danced as he eyed the vessel. He was still grappling with the enigma of his surroundings and the looming threat before him. His time in the Asgard had taught him one thing for certain – diplomacy wasn't always on the table; sometimes, fists spoke louder than words.
As the spacecraft's door creaked open, Johnny's gaze locked onto a motley crew of humanoid figures clad in tattered garb and adorned with strange masks.
His brow furrowed slightly as he noticed the array of weapons clutched in their hands, their intentions written plainly in their eyes – greed and violence.
"Are you a fighter or just a food?" The leader demanded, brandishing his weapon and tossing aside his mask, revealing a visage that sent a shiver down Johnny's spine. The man's features were sharply defined, yet his pallid skin bore an unsettling resemblance to that of a specter.
"A fighter? Where the hell is this place," Johnny replied, his tone tinged with confusion.
"Food? Perfect! Dinner's served!" The leader's grin widened, his gaze flicking hungrily over Johnny.
"Kneel!" He barked, his voice dripping with arrogance, as his cohorts began to encircle Johnny.
At the mention of 'food,' Johnny sensed that peaceful resolution was a distant dream. Yet, facing this motley crew of misfits, fear didn't grip him; instead, an eagerness to test his mettle surged within.
"Great time for a feast," Johnny murmured to himself, his eyes steady as he addressed the looming confrontation.
Johnny's declaration was met with swift and savage action from the hungry Spectre, its patience worn thin from prolonged hunger.
The chosen victim, previously filled with greedy anticipation, found his excitement replaced by sheer terror as the undead lunged at him without hesitation.
"What in the world—!" His horrified cry was cut short as the Spectre's razor-sharp nails tore through flesh, painting the surroundings in a gruesome display of crimson. The once-eager onlookers now found themselves drenched in sticky blood, their expressions shifting from excitement to dread in an instant.
As chaos unfolded, Johnny seized the opportunity to act. His time spent devouring both soldiers of Asgard and prisoners had honed his physical prowess, while the divine energies of the Asgardians had infused him with newfound strength.
With a speed that surprised even himself, Johnny closed the distance between himself and his assailant in the blink of an eye. Before the man could react, Johnny's fist connected with a sickening crunch, sending him hurtling through the air to crash heavily onto the ground, blood gushing from his mouth in a grisly fountain.
The once-greedy gleam in his eyes extinguished along with his life, leaving confusion and panic in its wake among the remaining assailants.
"Stay calm! There's strength in numbers—charge!" The leader of the mob, though visibly shaken by the sudden turn of events, rallied his companions to press forward in the face of adversity.
But Johnny was prepared. With a steely glint in his eyes, he seized a peculiar weapon discarded by one of his fallen foes and smirked coldly at the approaching horde, ready to meet their onslaught head-on.
The intense clash erupted like wildfire, each move a dance of danger and determination. Johnny stood amidst the onslaught, a lone warrior against a horde. Yet, he seemed to glide through the chaos effortlessly, his strength and skill unmatched, holding his ground against the relentless assault from all sides. When an opening presented itself, he struck with precision, swiftly claiming another life in the fray.
But it was the Spectre who truly struck fear into the hearts of their enemies.
With stealth, the Spectre attacked, its form visible only at the moment of its deadly strike. For those unfortunate enough to glimpse the Spectre, it spelled instant doom.
The metallic tang of blood hung heavy in the air, a macabre perfume that only fueled Johnny's adrenaline. With each swing, his power surged, instilling fear in the eyes of those surrounding him.
The grim-faced leader, fueled by fury at the loss of his comrades, redoubled his assault. Yet even he couldn't shake the unease creeping into his heart as his men fell, torn apart by unseen forces.
If facing Johnny alone wasn't terrifying enough, these scavengers were no strangers to violence and cruelty. But the sudden, inexplicable deaths of their comrades sent shivers down their spines, fear gripping them as they awaited their own grisly fate.
Another terrified scream pierced the chaos as a scavenger was ripped apart from behind, his life snuffed out in an instant. Panic spread like wildfire among the group, whispers of devilry and damnation echoing in their minds.
"He's a demon!"
"Run for your lives!"
Fear, an infectious plague, spread among them. One by one, they broke rank, fleeing from the wrath of Johnny. Even the leader's commands fell on deaf ears as they scrambled to escape the looming specter of death.
But Johnny, amidst the chaos, refused to let them slip through his grasp so easily.
A sly grin curled at the corners of his lips as he conjured the power of fire, a newfound ability granted by his trials in the Asgard dungeon. With a flick of his wrist, two blazing fireballs materialized, one hurtling towards a fleeing scavenger with deadly accuracy.
Kaboom!
.....
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