Marvel: A Journey Begins From the Zombieverse

As Hank trudged along a path littered with charred corpses, zombies, and ruins, regret gnawed at him. Perhaps he shouldn't have devoured that demolition crew member whole while in his gigantic form.

It was his first time as a zombie, and he wasn't experienced yet. Eating creatures that had been dead for more than ten minutes felt like chewing mud, and chomping on zombies? That was like eating excrement.

The zombie heroes were an insatiable bunch, consuming everything with reckless abandon. They would grab someone, take two bites, and then toss them aside to attack the next victim. This haphazard feasting left them perpetually hungry, despite attacking dozens of people.

"Damn it," Hank cursed inwardly. 'I wasn't wrong—at this rate, there'll be nothing left to eat soon.'

His thoughts turned to T'Challa, locked away in the basement. A blood-stained grin spread across Hank's face. Good thing I'm smart enough to have stocked up on food. When these idiots have nothing left to eat, I'll be sneaking down there for a feast.

And better yet, he could shrink to ant-size, making T'Challa's meager flesh last even longer. The thought made his body tremble with excitement. Eating in secret, away from the others, was a pleasure that satisfied both body and soul.

Still, he couldn't afford to look suspicious. Nobody could know he had stashed some food—not even Janet.

Reaching Avengers Mansion, Hank shrank down to his normal size and pushed open the door. If there were a mirror in front of him, he'd have seen his gaunt, hollow-eyed face staring back.

"Anyone here? Jarvis?"

He called out loudly, his voice tinged with an odd raspiness he couldn't suppress.

Unlike the movies, some comic universes depicted Tony Stark with a human butler named Jarvis, much like Batman's Alfred. Jarvis wasn't as popular or frequently seen, but he existed nonetheless.

Right now, Hank wasn't interested in a history lesson. He wanted Jarvis—for dinner.

Noticing bloodstains on the floor, he felt an instinctive pull urging him to follow the trail. Step by shuffling step, he advanced through the mansion, his movements unnervingly quick despite their unnatural gait.

The grandeur of Avengers Mansion was gone, replaced by a macabre stage of dismembered limbs and remnants of the dead. The blood trail led him through corridors, rooms, and staircases, until finally, he stood before a partially open door.

Staring at the door, his drooling mouth reeked of rot.

"Ha-ha-ha! If I didn't get my fill outside, I'll just eat to my heart's content here!"

With a crazed laugh, Hank kicked the door open, expecting a feast of fresh meat waiting inside.

But the scene that greeted him was far from satisfying. Colonel America, Luke Cage, and a few others were already feasting together.

Colonel America turned, his decayed eyes gleaming with excitement and hunger. Stretching out a rotting arm, he grabbed a chunk of meat and shoved it into his mouth.

His hoarse, desperate voice growled, "Pym! You're late, but there's still fresh meat! Join the feast—we'll save you a piece!"

Nearby, Wasp turned to him with a bloody grin. "Welcome home, honey. As I chewed on that juicy morsel, I knew you'd come back to us eventually."

Hank hesitated. Instead of rushing forward, he scratched his head with bloodied hands and muttered, "So…what's next? Shouldn't we…uh…come up with a plan or something? Like a…revenge plan?"

"Hah! Look at us—we've slaughtered so many people already. What's the point of redeeming ourselves now?"

Hawkeye, initially solemn, briefly looked melancholic before reverting to his ravenous state. "Wait…are you saying you're not hungry anymore?"

"No, no, no!" Hank waved his hands frantically. "I'm starving. I'm just saying, things aren't too bad as they are."

"Agreed!" the other zombies chorused.

Soon, the group finished their meal, sitting back with bloated stomachs and chatting idly. The conversations weren't about saving lives or heroic deeds anymore; they revolved around the tenderest cuts of flesh and the best techniques for eating humans.

"You mentioned a plan earlier, Pym?" Colonel America stood, wobbling slightly, and patted his distended stomach. "I actually have one."

"Uh, what?"

Hank, busy picking meat out of his teeth, looked up. Surely the Colonel wasn't thinking about finding a cure or becoming human again? That would be ridiculous, considering everything they'd done.

But the zombie clad in the tattered Stars and Stripes grinned malevolently, his rotting jaw twisting into a ghastly smirk. His breath reeked of decay as he rasped:

"We haven't seen Fury yet, have we? S.H.I.E.L.D.'s been sending teams to block us, trying to stop us from spreading this gift."

"Hah! They're just giving me extra snacks. What else can they do?" Luke Cage boasted, laughing and slapping his chest.

And he wasn't wrong. Fury had deployed three heavily armed squads to stop Luke Cage, but their heavy weaponry barely scratched him.

"Exactly. They haven't been much trouble so far, but they're annoying. Nobody wants to get hit by a rocket while eating, right?"

Colonel America's cold smile widened as the other zombies nodded in agreement.

"But what if Fury realizes the city's out of food and decides to drop a few nukes on us? How many of you are confident you'd survive that?"

The room fell silent. Luke Cage's bulletproof skin had withstood countless attacks, but a nuke? Even he wasn't eager to test that.

"So, what's the plan, Colonel? We're listening!" Hawkeye, now standing, clenched his fists and shouted.

Even as zombies, the Avengers retained their hierarchy, and Colonel America remained their leader.

"Find Nightcrawler. I saw him eating in Central Park earlier. And round up everyone who can fly or fight. Tell them it's time."

The Colonel bent down slowly, grasping his shield with rotting fingers. The once-vibrant red, white, and blue paint had mostly peeled away, revealing gleaming metal underneath. As he lifted it, the shield scraped against the ground with a heavy, defiant sound.

"Avengers…assemble!"