"Your reward."
Natasha giggled softly.
The anger and anxiety that had consumed Lynch vanished, replaced by a joyful smile as he held Natasha even tighter.
"Hmph."
Unexpectedly, this embrace touched Natasha's wound, causing her to let out a pained grunt.
Lynch anxiously glanced at the wound, realizing it was in bad shape.
"Let's go."
As he spoke, Lynch cast a cold glance at Namor, whom he had punched away. His expression turned icy.
He regretted it.
He should've either not mentioned the Atlantic earthquake at all or dealt with this potential threat directly.
Namor seemed no different from the impression he had of him—just as arrogant, just as foolish, and just as lecherous.
Namor, originally Marvel's first famous superhero, had fallen into irrelevance, nowhere near the level of DC's Aquaman. Of course, there were reasons for that.
Both were half-human, half-Atlantean. But while Aquaman leaned towards humanity, Namor only cared about his Atlantean people.
Both were shirtless, fierce men, but Aquaman gave off a sincere, honest vibe, whereas Namor appeared wicked and sinister.
And in terms of companions, Aquaman and his wife Mera were a perfect match, living in happiness. Namor, on the other hand, spent his days trying to seduce married women.
Who could like a character like that?
Even if Namor was slightly stronger than Aquaman, with his ability to fly and his powerful weapon, he lost in every other aspect.
A character like this would've been written out of Marvel's universe ages ago if not for being introduced early and necessary for the universe's lore.
With just one glance, Lynch confirmed that Namor was gravely injured and didn't bother with him any longer.
First, he had to take Natasha away. After all, this was Namor's home turf, and fighting here might hurt her.
"Close your eyes."
Lynch gently covered Natasha's eyes, fearing that the high-speed motion might make her feel uncomfortable.
Then, using his telekinetic powers, Lynch enveloped Natasha in a protective field.
With a slight bend of his legs, Lynch, carrying Natasha, shot out of the ocean and headed toward New York.
Unleashed, Lynch's speed was like lightning, crossing a thousand miles in an instant. Even passengers on passing planes couldn't see what had just flashed by them.
Soon, they arrived at a special hospital.
This was a secret hospital under S.H.I.E.L.D., specifically used for treating agents involved in high-risk missions. It was secure, and the medical level was top-notch.
Natasha was quickly examined, treated, and sent to a room, while Lynch quietly stood guard by her side.
…
Back in Atlantis, the area where Natasha had been held was now in ruins.
With his fury unchecked, Lynch had showcased his devastating power. From the moment he stormed in, struck Namor, and then flew out, the surrounding hundred miles were reduced to rubble.
The spot where Lynch had stood had collapsed into a crater, and the nearby buildings had crumbled outward.
Namor had been sent flying by Lynch's punch, smashing through countless walls and columns, landing a hundred meters away, unconscious and bleeding.
It wasn't until long after Lynch had left that the panicked Atlanteans arrived and dug out their king from the wreckage.
They were terrified and completely at a loss as to why their king was lying gravely injured in his own palace.
Fortunately, they weren't entirely clueless. A few Atlanteans gathered around Namor, gesticulating wildly and, after some time, decided to take him for treatment.
Atlantis' technology was incredibly advanced, though often in ways that seemed pointless.
For example, in just a few minutes, they managed to pull Namor back from the brink of death.
But when it came to fighting enemies, most advanced civilizations in the Marvel universe seemed less impressive. Their soldiers, clad in high-tech suits and wielding advanced weapons, often charged at enemies like primitive warriors.
Who could understand that?
Anyway, after treatment, Namor's life force began to stabilize, and he regained consciousness.
He opened his eyes, which were now filled with hatred and fear, as if Lynch were standing right in front of him.
Unfortunately, only a few blue-skinned, anxious-looking Atlanteans were there.
"What happened? Why are you so badly injured?"
One of the Atlanteans couldn't help but ask.
Namor, hearing him bring up the worst topic, glared at him angrily.
The poor Atlantean, unable to withstand Namor's deathly glare, shivered and took two steps back, silently closing his mouth.
"I will kill you. I'll kill you!"
Namor roared, baring his teeth, as his mind flashed back to...
Wait, he hadn't even seen Lynch's face.
In his memory, from the moment his trident was about to pierce Natasha, it was as if an invisible hand had grabbed him, freezing every part of his body like he was encased in ice.
He had barely managed to suppress his terror and summon all his strength to break free from the hold.
Luckily, the horror didn't last long.
Soon after, Lynch's punch knocked him unconscious, sending him flying.
Damn it!
Namor was both furious and afraid; he wanted revenge but also regretted his actions.
He was furious because, as the arrogant king of the ancient and powerful Atlantean civilization, the ruler of the Seven Seas with vast territories and countless subjects, he had nearly died without even seeing his enemy. What a disgrace!
He was afraid because that enemy clearly had the power to kill him, and he had come so close to death.
Namor, known for his vengefulness and petty nature, certainly wanted revenge against Lynch. But the consequence? He'd probably be walking into his own death.
So, he was also filled with regret. He regretted provoking these humans and, especially, that overly beautiful woman.
But what good was regret now?
In his agitated state, Namor's sudden movements worsened his injuries, causing him to grimace in pain.
At that moment, four Atlanteans hurried over to him.
One of them, an older and more experienced Atlantean, saw the state Namor was in and, with a serious expression, said to him:
"My king, were you ambushed by enemies from the surface?"
Namor reined in his anger and gave the speaker a cold look.
This was Namor's most powerful minister, someone who had greatly aided him, essentially his right-hand man.
After all, Namor was the first Atlantean-human hybrid to become the king of Atlantis.
It was as unlikely as a white or black person becoming the king of China, full of unimaginable difficulties.
Without this minister's help, Namor might not have reached his current position.
So, Namor didn't ignore his question. In a chilling tone, he replied:
"Yes, that bastard is very powerful."
A flicker of surprise crossed the minister's well-hidden expression.
In his memory, Namor had never described anyone as "very powerful."
Given the situation, the minister quickly deduced that this enemy who had invaded Atlantis might be a serious problem.
With a plan forming in his mind, the minister slightly bowed his head and confidently said:
"You need not worry. This time, we were caught off guard. Next time, he won't win."
"Hah…"
Namor, however, let out a cold laugh, his gaze full of displeasure.
The Atlanteans around him fell silent in embarrassment, realizing that their king had been beaten in his own palace without their knowledge, let alone their help.
After a while, a younger, strong Atlantean stepped forward and said in a deep voice:
"I'm willing to follow our king and take revenge on the surface dwellers, to cleanse Atlantis of this humiliation."
The two other Atlanteans, catching on, quickly voiced their willingness, each louder than the other.
Faced with such declarations, Namor swept a scrutinizing gaze over them, his expression remaining unchanged.
Known for his cruelty, Namor was not swayed by such displays of loyalty. Instead, he began to suspect they might have ulterior motives.
After all, to become the king of Atlantis wasn't just a matter of strength or luck—Namor's intellect and cunning were formidable too.
The pure-blooded Atlanteans, living deep in the ocean, had always, in some way, resented their half-human king.
Even after he ascended the throne, their disdain and rejection didn't disappear, only moving from overt to covert.
Naturally, Namor couldn't help but wonder…
Were these traitors trying to get rid of him?
Did they not see that he almost died?
And now, they wanted to incite him to seek revenge?
"And what about you?"
Namor asked coldly, turning to his minister, wanting to hear his opinion.
The minister hesitated for a moment before slowly saying:
"I don't think we need to seek revenge… They will come again. We just need to be ready."
"Oh?"
Hearing this, Namor felt a bit relieved.
Maybe he was just being overly suspicious?
Be ready?
Not striking first—was he just supposed to wait and be killed?
If he could use some ordinary humans as leverage, maybe he'd have a chance.
Gritting his teeth, Namor made a bold decision to take the risk and act.
The next second, Namor's expression twisted into a ferocious snarl.
He tore off the medical equipment, grabbed his trident, and raised it high above his head.
"Prepare the troops! Let's flood their land!"
…
In the hospital room, Lynch held Natasha's hand as he watched her slowly fall asleep.
Suddenly, he turned sharply, sensing a commotion from afar.
Massive waves rose up, with Namor leading hundreds of strange-looking blue-skinned Atlanteans, surging toward Lynch with great momentum.
Nearby, countless citizens in New York began to cry out in fear as they witnessed this apocalyptic scene unfold.
"Intruder of Atlantis, come out and face your death! Or endless tsunamis will drown your city and kill your people!"