Captain America Human Torch Novels & Stories

Besides, in his state of euphoria, the world seemed flawless to him. I battled through legions of Rogue Zombies—carbon copies that sprawled as far as the eye could see, as if Morgana had cloned the same ghastly Zombie a thousand times over. I loathe conceding it, but Brock was right; these rogues were indeed mindless zombies, and, unexpectedly, the blowtorch was effective. I watched as the captain of the armed forces valiantly but ineffectively battled several zombies. Despite severing limbs, each would regenerate. Through my unique mind-link, despite not being in his pack, I communicated, "Catch this!" and hurled the blowtorch to him. He snatched it out of the air, offering a terse "Thanks!

“I’m workshopping nicknames. ‘Babysitter’ feels too tame.” “Most people go with Beta, Lieutenant, occasional pain in the Alpha’s ass.” “I like ‘pain in the ass.’ Rolls off the tongue.” “Glad you’re thinking about my tongue already, Firecracker.” Her eyes flash. “Call me Firecracker again and see what happens.” “There it is,” he murmurs, almost to himself. He leans against the wall like he’s settling in. “You sure you’re just human? That temper says otherwise.” “I’m sure you’ll find out how human my foot is when it meets your face.”

His auburn hair floats around his ears, held aloft by the power flowing through him, glowing brightly through his skin. Hawthorne Sparks, my best friend’s brother, now stands between me and my captor as he enters the back of the van, his fingers aglow with a vibrant violet flame. His lips twist into a snarl as he leans over Zion. “That’s right, Asshole. I’m a witch and you’re just a wee bitty human who messed with the wrong mage.”

He abruptly turned his head around and gazed toward the Red Tower when he felt the chill from the surroundings. This man was Spartacus, the Celestial Empire’s former number one Demigod. When he spoke to Maxime in the past, he sounded as if he was in his prime, as his voice was as loud as a tower bell. Spartacus was, in fact, a very old man. He was so old that he didn’t even resemble a human being at the moment. “Four Septuple Lamps have been extinguished, and the remaining three are on the verge of going out. Why hasn’t that old fool returned yet?”

“Either.” “Hmm. It’ll have to be a toss-up between…” “No, wait! I’ve got a better idea. Let me guess.” Terra peers closely at her like a card magician and Kate feels self-conscious. There could be crumbs of pie on her lips… “You were gonna say a toss-up between… Thor and Captain America!” “Whoa! How did you know that? It’s like you read my mind!” Terra beams proudly. “Yours and those of millions of other girls. Thor and Captain America are two of the Holy Chris Trio of MCU.”

Behind them came the recruiters, their steps measured, their eyes sweeping the square as if they meant to look straight through everyone’s bones. Their leader dismounted in one smooth, practiced motion—the kind that spoke of doing it a hundred times before, and knowing he’d do it the same a hundred times more. He was tall, broad-shouldered, his black hair tied back, a faint old scar above his right brow. Silver embroidery marked the sleeve of his coat: Captain of the House Torven. When he spoke, he didn’t raise his voice—but the cold ran across every back in the square.

Then, a new sound cut through the roar, a deep, commanding voice, cutting through chaos like an axe. "We have a live one! Second floor northwest stairwell!" Boots pounded. The debris shifted, not from collapse, but from immense, purposeful force. Light, not from fire, but from a helmet-mounted lamp, blinded her. And then he was there, emerging from the inferno like a god forged in flame. Captain Liam Kane was a silhouette of strength, his turnout gear streaked with ash, his face obscured by his mask and air tank. But his eyes, visible through the mask's lens, were a shocking, calm blue, like a still ocean beneath a storm. They locked onto hers.

Through the white mist of the river spray, a tall, massive silhouette materialized at the far end of the stable row, holding a smoking pitch torch that cast long, blood-red streaks across the wet straw. It wasn't an eastern soldier, and it wasn't one of Chen Li’s men. The figure took a slow, heavy step into the black current, the raw, suffocating pressure of a dominant northern alpha flooding the narrow stable row like a wave of ice water. Through the smoke, the yellow light caught the glint of a high, gold-rimmed visor and the heavy, grease-stained leather of a captain's vest that belonged to the one man who was supposed to be dead on the assembly floor.

I came to a halt, bending forward, hand bracing on my thighs as I forced air into my lungs. “Damn,” Tony muttered. “Is he even human?” “That’s why he’s our captain.” A few chuckles followed. I headed towards them, and Nathan shoved me a bottle of water. Twisting it, I took a long drink, water spilling down the corner of my mouth. After emptying the bottle, I squeezed it harder than necessary and tossed it to the floor. I was about to turn, when Nathan gripped me by the arm. “Where are you going?”

"That statue belongs to the only person who has helped us all these years. A mysterious stranger who has been providing for us, keeping us alive, comforting us while our Alpha was off doing who-knows-what!" A murmur of agreement rises, voices overlapping. "That stranger granted our wishes like a true leader should!" "He’s an angel sent by the Goddess!" "He gave us food when we were starving!" "He kept our homes warm through the brutal winters!" The old man straightens, his voice ringing with finality. “We don’t want Alpha Elijah anymore. We’ve already decided—we want the mysterious man as our Alpha. We named him… Alpha Santa!” I blink. I stare. I try to hold it in.