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Chapter 633: The Hero's Funeral
2022-10-19 Author: Great Demon Spirit
Humans are born equal; many believe this statement to be true. Everyone, from birth, possesses the right to survive and grow; no one is an exception, all are born equal. Yet, human beings become unequal from birth. Each person embarks on their own developmental trajectory, following paths destined for inequality.
For deaths like Deathstrike's, no one had time to mourn, not even the heroes themselves. But the moment the blood splattered at the entrance of the Supreme Court, all disputes suddenly became meaningless. It was like a flock of ravenous vultures fighting over a piece of rotting flesh, truly defiling the meaning of the word 'superhero'.
Many people died, like autumn leaves in the wind. Their corpses had only one value: to make the autumn wind blow harder. But when Captain America died, the autumn wind itself was stilled by an invisible power.
The funeral was grand.
The entire New York City was engulfed in a white ocean of mourning. The procession stretched for over ten kilometers, the silent coffin borne by a group of soldiers, moving quietly through the hushed crowd, scattering white flowers along the way.
White flowers carpeted half of New York.
A group of bruised and battered heroes, indistinctly hidden in the crowd, silently watched the coffin pass before their eyes.
Johnny rode his motorcycle, not even bothering with his favorite stunt performances. He returned to New York overnight, silently watching the funeral, his gaze following the movement of the coffin.
"How could it turn out like this?" Johnny murmured.
He had specifically tidied up his appearance today, meticulously styling his slightly disheveled and casual hair multiple times, coming clean-cut to see Steve one last time.
"No one foresaw this outcome, not even the superheroes themselves."
Crane tossed a long-prepared flower towards the coffin, then pushed up his glasses, maintaining a gentle demeanor in his bright and cautious eyes.
Johnny fell silent.
Crane said blandly, "War is never a game, nor can it ever be blissful; that's the most ridiculous thing in the world. Everyone imagines themselves as the protagonist, and even when entering the battlefield, they still cling to a condescending, wishful thinking mindset. Such people always believe they are special, convinced they can become the protagonist in a fairy tale, enduring hardships yet always reaching a happy ending."
Johnny gave a bitter laugh. "I always feel like you're mocking me."
"If you truly feel that way... I am indeed mocking you. If I hadn't stopped you back then, you would have already joined the Avengers, and you'd have a hand in these deaths," Crane said blandly.
Johnny took a cigarette from his pocket, and just as he was about to light it, he was met with glares of blame and anger from around him. He sighed, then put the cigarette back into his pocket.
It seemed that smoking in such a solemn occasion, especially in front of the coffin, could easily incite public anger.
"Perhaps it's for the best. The war can finally end..." Johnny whispered.
Crane didn't respond. He adjusted his tie, took one last deep look at the cold coffin, then turned and left.
According to the intelligence he had gathered, many individuals suspected of being superheroes had rushed here, just to send Captain America off one last time.
"Mr. Crane."
Someone called out to Crane as he turned the corner.
"Is something wrong, Wayne?" Crane stopped and looked at him.
Bruce shoved his hands into his coat pockets, trying to preserve a little more warmth in the cold weather.
"The funeral is being held in the suburbs. If you arrive late, you'll lose your spot. Many people want to see Steve off," Crane said.
Bruce's expression was indifferent, a hint of irritation suppressed in his eyes. He couldn't even bother to put on his usual Playboy facade.
However, no one would doubt that if he still put on that act in such an occasion, even if he was the prominent entrepreneur Bruce Wayne, he would be mobbed by the angry crowd.
"I'm not going. Respect is held in the heart. Look at these people; who knows how many are secretly gloating behind their sad faces, just like the gunman who fired the shot," Bruce said, looking at the mourning people.
Crane suddenly smiled. "Like you instigated Steve? His life indeed became the catalyst to end everything, otherwise, many more would have died."
Bruce's expression hardened, and he glared at Crane with an irritated, slandered attitude. "Since when did A.R.G.U.S. get into the business of mudslinging? I always thought you only did mercenary work."
Crane chuckled softly, unable to say if it was mockery or something else. "I heard the gunman's identity has been confirmed: a remnant of Hydra. Steve truly had bad luck. Powerful as he was, he was killed by a single bullet."
Bruce glanced at Crane. "Red Skull, that villain, is quite cunning. He ultimately won, even while he's in prison."
"No, Red Skull lost completely long ago. The true winners are you, the Avengers, the Justice League, you, Bruce. Whether intentionally or unintentionally, you achieved it," Crane said, pushing up his glasses, his tone relaxed, as if chatting with an old friend he hadn't seen in a long time.
He was indeed an old friend of the man before him. Back when he was the Scarecrow in Gotham City, he was thrown into prison several times by The Bat, yet almost every time he managed to escape.
Until he jumped into Tony's 'prison,' he hasn't come out since.
Nor did he plan to.
"Perhaps there's been some misunderstanding between us," Bruce said, raising an eyebrow.
"Perhaps. I still have matters to attend to. We can talk next time we meet."
Crane smiled as he bid farewell, his manners impeccable, his flawless smile making one want to punch him.
Bruce watched Crane walk away with indifference, his tall figure standing at the corner. Only after Crane's figure vanished from the street did he seem to suddenly awaken, turning and walking in another direction, stepping into a sports car. Accompanied by the hum of the engine, Bruce left the mournful scene.
As for what the truth was, it would forever be buried in cursed history. There was nothing that time could not smooth over.
What mattered was now: a human life had bought the end of an almost endless and unpredictable war. From a purely rational and ruthless perspective, this was the most cost-effective outcome.
If it succeeded, it was a huge gain. If it didn't, it didn't matter.
After all, it was just a single human life. Many had already died, and now there was merely one more.
Some people noticed, but more did not. Yet, no one asked any more questions, because it was meaningless. The Hydra member who shot Captain America was also arrested. Whether it was an accident or a meticulously planned outcome, people merely listened numbly.
What mattered was now.
(end of chapter)
2022-10-19 Author: Great Demon Spirit
Humans are born equal; many believe this statement to be true. Everyone, from birth, possesses the right to survive and grow; no one is an exception, all are born equal. Yet, human beings become unequal from birth. Each person embarks on their own developmental trajectory, following paths destined for inequality.
For deaths like Deathstrike's, no one had time to mourn, not even the heroes themselves. But the moment the blood splattered at the entrance of the Supreme Court, all disputes suddenly became meaningless. It was like a flock of ravenous vultures fighting over a piece of rotting flesh, truly defiling the meaning of the word 'superhero'.
Many people died, like autumn leaves in the wind. Their corpses had only one value: to make the autumn wind blow harder. But when Captain America died, the autumn wind itself was stilled by an invisible power.
The funeral was grand.
The entire New York City was engulfed in a white ocean of mourning. The procession stretched for over ten kilometers, the silent coffin borne by a group of soldiers, moving quietly through the hushed crowd, scattering white flowers along the way.
White flowers carpeted half of New York.
A group of bruised and battered heroes, indistinctly hidden in the crowd, silently watched the coffin pass before their eyes.
Johnny rode his motorcycle, not even bothering with his favorite stunt performances. He returned to New York overnight, silently watching the funeral, his gaze following the movement of the coffin.
"How could it turn out like this?" Johnny murmured.
He had specifically tidied up his appearance today, meticulously styling his slightly disheveled and casual hair multiple times, coming clean-cut to see Steve one last time.
"No one foresaw this outcome, not even the superheroes themselves."
Crane tossed a long-prepared flower towards the coffin, then pushed up his glasses, maintaining a gentle demeanor in his bright and cautious eyes.
Johnny fell silent.
Crane said blandly, "War is never a game, nor can it ever be blissful; that's the most ridiculous thing in the world. Everyone imagines themselves as the protagonist, and even when entering the battlefield, they still cling to a condescending, wishful thinking mindset. Such people always believe they are special, convinced they can become the protagonist in a fairy tale, enduring hardships yet always reaching a happy ending."
Johnny gave a bitter laugh. "I always feel like you're mocking me."
"If you truly feel that way... I am indeed mocking you. If I hadn't stopped you back then, you would have already joined the Avengers, and you'd have a hand in these deaths," Crane said blandly.
Johnny took a cigarette from his pocket, and just as he was about to light it, he was met with glares of blame and anger from around him. He sighed, then put the cigarette back into his pocket.
It seemed that smoking in such a solemn occasion, especially in front of the coffin, could easily incite public anger.
"Perhaps it's for the best. The war can finally end..." Johnny whispered.
Crane didn't respond. He adjusted his tie, took one last deep look at the cold coffin, then turned and left.
According to the intelligence he had gathered, many individuals suspected of being superheroes had rushed here, just to send Captain America off one last time.
"Mr. Crane."
Someone called out to Crane as he turned the corner.
"Is something wrong, Wayne?" Crane stopped and looked at him.
Bruce shoved his hands into his coat pockets, trying to preserve a little more warmth in the cold weather.
"The funeral is being held in the suburbs. If you arrive late, you'll lose your spot. Many people want to see Steve off," Crane said.
Bruce's expression was indifferent, a hint of irritation suppressed in his eyes. He couldn't even bother to put on his usual Playboy facade.
However, no one would doubt that if he still put on that act in such an occasion, even if he was the prominent entrepreneur Bruce Wayne, he would be mobbed by the angry crowd.
"I'm not going. Respect is held in the heart. Look at these people; who knows how many are secretly gloating behind their sad faces, just like the gunman who fired the shot," Bruce said, looking at the mourning people.
Crane suddenly smiled. "Like you instigated Steve? His life indeed became the catalyst to end everything, otherwise, many more would have died."
Bruce's expression hardened, and he glared at Crane with an irritated, slandered attitude. "Since when did A.R.G.U.S. get into the business of mudslinging? I always thought you only did mercenary work."
Crane chuckled softly, unable to say if it was mockery or something else. "I heard the gunman's identity has been confirmed: a remnant of Hydra. Steve truly had bad luck. Powerful as he was, he was killed by a single bullet."
Bruce glanced at Crane. "Red Skull, that villain, is quite cunning. He ultimately won, even while he's in prison."
"No, Red Skull lost completely long ago. The true winners are you, the Avengers, the Justice League, you, Bruce. Whether intentionally or unintentionally, you achieved it," Crane said, pushing up his glasses, his tone relaxed, as if chatting with an old friend he hadn't seen in a long time.
He was indeed an old friend of the man before him. Back when he was the Scarecrow in Gotham City, he was thrown into prison several times by The Bat, yet almost every time he managed to escape.
Until he jumped into Tony's 'prison,' he hasn't come out since.
Nor did he plan to.
"Perhaps there's been some misunderstanding between us," Bruce said, raising an eyebrow.
"Perhaps. I still have matters to attend to. We can talk next time we meet."
Crane smiled as he bid farewell, his manners impeccable, his flawless smile making one want to punch him.
Bruce watched Crane walk away with indifference, his tall figure standing at the corner. Only after Crane's figure vanished from the street did he seem to suddenly awaken, turning and walking in another direction, stepping into a sports car. Accompanied by the hum of the engine, Bruce left the mournful scene.
As for what the truth was, it would forever be buried in cursed history. There was nothing that time could not smooth over.
What mattered was now: a human life had bought the end of an almost endless and unpredictable war. From a purely rational and ruthless perspective, this was the most cost-effective outcome.
If it succeeded, it was a huge gain. If it didn't, it didn't matter.
After all, it was just a single human life. Many had already died, and now there was merely one more.
Some people noticed, but more did not. Yet, no one asked any more questions, because it was meaningless. The Hydra member who shot Captain America was also arrested. Whether it was an accident or a meticulously planned outcome, people merely listened numbly.
What mattered was now.
(end of chapter)
