The healing effect of the Overlord-class regenerative serum was beyond Shen He's expectations.
Though he didn't fully understand why a translucent emerald glow shimmered over the serum's surface when it was absorbed, the result spoke for itself: vitality surged through Lockjaw's body, mending torn muscles and even restoring the luster to his once-singed fur.
Even the patches of burnt hair grew back.
"Good boy. Take us home," Jeanne said gently, patting Lockjaw's massive neck. "You've been there before—and your master's waiting. Crystal needs treatment immediately."
When they first encountered Crystal in the Arctic facility—a turning point for the Inhuman faction—it had been Jeanne d'Arc who healed Lockjaw using her divine-infused mana. Thanks to that bond, and her natural saintly presence, the giant dog had since accepted her as someone he could follow. In fact, he obeyed her teleportation commands almost as readily as Crystal's.
Shen He and Jeanne returned with the unconscious Crystal to the Chaldea-affiliated Stark Foundation's VR-tech base, handing her over to Dr. Helen Cho, the world's foremost regenerative biologist.
Once the transfer was complete, Shen He tapped into his Chaldean communicator.
"Qi Mu, what's your status?" he asked.
"All enemy agents neutralized," came Qi Mu Nanzi's composed voice. "None were allowed to send distress signals."
Handling a few stray Hydra-aligned Inhuman pursuers was a trivial matter for someone of Qi Mu's caliber, especially when backed by Chaldean counterintelligence.
"Good. We recovered Lockjaw too. From here, it should be straightforward." Shen He's tone darkened slightly. "Jeanne and I will rendezvous with you. Let's try to resolve all of this before sundown."
The situation wasn't just about Attilan anymore.
It involved Garrett. Maximus. And the Moon itself.
When Shen He and Jeanne regrouped with Qi Mu Nanzi and Steve Rogers at the secure Chaldean outpost, the pieces began to fall into place.
Steve had arrived moments earlier with S.H.I.E.L.D. support and detained the remaining hybrid agents—those persecuted and misled by Hydra experiments, rogue Attilan loyalists, and unregistered Earth-based Inhumans.
Now, in one location, stood representatives from every corner of the conflict: prisoners from Hydra's genetic engineering labs, rebel Inhumans loyal to Maximus, and ideological radicals from Attilan itself.
Shen He wasted no time.
"Garrett's bio-signal has been locked via Stark's satellite grid," he explained quickly. "We can't intercept him immediately, but he'll be touching down in Tahiti in about three hours."
Then his eyes turned to the solemn figure cloaked in obsidian, face mostly hidden behind his customary tuning fork insignia.
"Blackagar," Shen He addressed the king of Attilan directly. "You've seen the result of your brother's influence. What will you do now—with Maximus, and with those who've betrayed your rule?"
Blackagar Boltagon—Black Bolt, King of the Inhumans—stiffened.
The question tore into him.
The burden of kingship was not new. But the guilt that came with it had always lingered. He had accidentally annihilated his own parents with the first uncontrolled surge of his sonic powers. Since then, his voice had remained his most destructive weapon—and his silence, a lifelong penance.
And Maximus… Maximus had always been there. The only family Black Bolt had left.
He knew his brother's ambition, his hunger to rule. But he had allowed it to fester, tolerated it out of attachment—and now, this was the result.
"From Chaldea's standpoint," Shen He continued, "Maximus is not just your brother. He is a destabilizing figure who has weaponized his rejection of his own powers into a toxic ideology. He preaches dominance of Inhumans over humans. That's no longer just an Attilan internal matter."
In any other setting, someone like Maximus would've already been removed—cleanly, efficiently, and permanently.
But this wasn't just about expediency. There were political lines, psychological fractures, and cultural history involved.
Black Bolt signed with practiced hands: "I understand. But he has followers. If some now believe he is more fit to rule than me… force alone won't restore order. I must expose him—to the public. Only then can I reclaim Attilan with minimal bloodshed."
He still believed his people could be reasoned with.
That Maximus' appeal was built on misinformation, not true belief.
Shen He exhaled.
"Blackagar," he said, deliberately using the full royal name. "We've watched this for months now. As outsiders, Chaldea can see patterns more clearly. Are you sure… your people are following Maximus only because they were deceived?"
Attilan's societal structure was brittle, dangerously outdated.
After Terrigenesis, the Inhumans were assigned status based solely on their mutation results. Those who developed "useless" or non-combative powers were shunned to labor sectors or underground industries. Even among Inhumans, a caste system thrived.
Maximus was an anomaly—a royal with no powers.
But to the disenfranchised, he was a mirror. Their messiah.
"Why do you say that?" Black Bolt asked with a gesture.
Shen He didn't answer directly. Instead, he turned toward the group of prisoners and pulled one woman forward—an Inhuman with short violet hair and pale teal markings across her forehead.
She lifted her head and stared directly into Black Bolt's eyes.
"You," the king signed, surprised. "Aren't you one of our Royal Seekers?"
"Yes," she replied calmly. "Before Terrigenesis, I wanted to be a doctor. But after I mutated with passive empathic vision, the system forced me into clerical service. Maximus… saw us. Heard us. Cared."
"Weren't you coerced?" Black Bolt signed. "Forced into this rebellion?"
"No," she said, voice firm. "Not forced. Enlightened. We were born into a kingdom that promised unity, but gave silence. How many times have I seen you, my king? Eight. Seven of those after I became your subordinate. Not once did your presence make a difference in my parents' lives—they died laborers beneath your palace."
Black Bolt's hands paused, mid-sign. His thoughts spiraled.
He had wanted to change things.
But he had not acted.
Shen He gently motioned the captive back to the group.
"I think it's clear now," Shen He said, voice low but steady. "You tried to change. But your people never knew. Now it's too late for words. The only way to reduce the bloodshed… is to neutralize the core of the rebellion. Cut off Maximus. Then—and only then—tell your people what you wanted to change."
From Shen He's perspective—Chaldea's perspective—Black Bolt had failed not because he ruled unjustly, but because he ruled in silence.
A king cut off from the people can never hope to guide them.
Yet neither could he embrace tyranny.
And now, standing between justice and sentiment, Black Bolt felt the weight of his crown crushing his soul.
Blackagar had lost the hearts of his people.
There was no irony crueler than that.
"Blackagar," Shen He said more softly this time, resting a hand on the king's shoulder. "We at Chaldea don't want war. We believe in your intentions. We'll stand with you. But make no mistake—if Inhumans are to remain our allies, Maximus must answer for his crimes. That's our condition. I hope you understand."
In politics, there are no absolute friendships.
Only aligned interests. Mutual respect. And unwavering boundaries.
And this… was Chaldea's.