MARVEL : Starts From Zombie universe

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"Alright, just focus. Deep breath. Your aim is still as sharp as it used to be," Clint Barton muttered to himself, lying prone on a slope. His bowstring stretched taut as he aimed at the glowing Moonstone nestled in the chest of the old woman at the bottom of the hill.

"You're Hawkeye," Clint whispered, trying to psyche himself up. But he knew better. The bow in his hands wasn't the one he wielded during his time with the Avengers, and his eyesight wasn't as sharp as it once was.

Down below, the old woman, her body faintly emitting radiation, reached out to touch her frenzied followers. Each touch caused the tumors on their heads to swell grotesquely, their forms pulsating with sickly vitality. The zealots wept tears of joy, bowing and prostrating themselves in worship, the grotesque fluid and blood from their growths soaking the ground.

"For Sam!" Clint growled, releasing the string. The arrow whistled through the air with a powerful hiss, but it missed its mark, embedding itself instead in the waist of a male worshiper kneeling ten meters away from the Moonstone.

The man screamed, clutching at the arrow before an explosion erupted from the shaft. The blast tore him apart, scattering flaming debris and knocking back several of his fellow believers.

The explosion's shock wave caused the gathered crowd to stagger, and for a moment, all eyes turned to the source of the chaos.

"Dammit," Clint cursed, smacking his forehead. "I really screwed it up." His face twisted in frustration. This was supposed to be his moment—the revenge he had waited for so long.

Adrian, standing a few paces behind, smirked and patted Clint on the shoulder. "Good thing we came prepared. Frank?"

Frank Castle, stationed nearby with a sniper rifle, nodded without a word. The rifle's scope reflected the fiery chaos below as he slowly pulled the trigger.

The old woman, standing tall in her tattered robes, tried to maintain her regal image. "My children!" she bellowed, pushing her white hair back. "Evil is upon us! Find them—kill them in the name of your Moon Mother!"

Her rallying cry had barely left her lips before a .50 caliber bullet ripped through the air, shattering the glowing Moonstone embedded in her chest.

"No! No!" she howled, clutching at her chest. Her trembling fingers tried desperately to gather the fragments of the gemstone, but the energy within had already begun to unravel.

The remnants of the shattered Moonstone emitted a sickly yellow glow, crackling with violent energy that caused the tumors on her body to swell grotesquely. Her white hair fell in clumps, and her decrepit form twisted under the immense strain.

"The Moon Mother is in trouble!" shouted one of the fanatics, breaking the momentary silence.

The believers surged forward, scrambling to reach their goddess. They screamed, cried, and stumbled over each other, desperate to save her—or at least touch the remaining warmth radiating from her failing body.

"Idiots! Get back!" the old woman screeched, her voice hoarse with rage. She unleashed a blast of energy, disintegrating two of her followers who had gotten too close.

But the gemstone fragments in her chest began to glow brighter, their hum drowning out her screams. The unstable energy spiraled out of control, and her frail body was lifted into the air, leaving a blazing trail of light in its wake.

The remaining followers were consumed with ecstasy, reaching out for their goddess despite the chaos.

"Take us with you, Moon Mother!" they cried.

"Your warmth is the only salvation in this frozen hell!"

Their outstretched hands caught the glowing fragments of the gemstone. For a moment, the light enveloped them.

Then, with a deafening explosion, the Moonstone detonated. Flames, energy, and debris engulfed the entire village. The force of the blast shook the surrounding forest, toppling trees and leaving a smoldering crater where the settlement once stood.

As the smoke cleared, a horrific sight came into view: charred bodies lay scattered across the ruins, their twisted forms frozen in grotesque poses. At the center of the devastation, the old woman's remains sat atop the pile, arms outstretched in a futile attempt to push her followers away.

"Damn," Adrian muttered, surveying the destruction. "Now that's one way to end a cult. Artful, in its own gruesome way."

Clint slid down the slope, his bow slung over his shoulder. "Not how I imagined this going," he admitted. "Thought it'd be more... theatrical. You know, Stark Tower-style. A big fight, some dramatic last words, and me walking away with a cool silhouette in the background."

Adrian raised an eyebrow. "What are you, a movie director? Revenge is messy, old man. If you wanted a Hollywood ending, you're in the wrong universe."

"Fair point," Clint sighed.

Frank Castle, already packing up his sniper rifle, grunted. "Enough talk. Let's find that sentry bot's head. The black box should be intact—it might have Zemo's location."

"Right," Adrian agreed, adjusting his coat. "If I remember correctly, those bots are designed to withstand explosions. It should be around here somewhere."

Clint squinted at Adrian. "What do you mean, 'if you remember'? Are you guessing?"

Adrian smirked. "I'm a prophet, didn't you know?"

Behind him, Wanda and Frank silently nodded, as if it were the most natural thing in the world.