James Bond In WW2(MCU x DC Comics)

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(General P.O.V)

The Safe-house was a nondescript cabin tucked away in the dense forest, an ideal hideout for an operative on the run.

Bond slammed the jeep to a stop outside the wooden structure, the stolen documents clutched tightly under his arm.

His chest heaved as he leapt out, scanning the area. All was quiet except for the whisper of the trees in the wind.

He stormed inside, throwing the papers onto a rickety table. A single radio sat on the corner, its dial glowing faintly in the darkness.

Bond turned the knob and adjusted the frequency until a familiar voice crackled through the static.

"Commander Barlow," Bond said, his voice clipped with urgency. "I have intelligence on the Nazis' plans. They're developing chemical weapons, far deadlier than anything we've encountered. London is their primary target. The documents with me carry information on the time and locations of deployment, other weapon research facilities and transport routes. We've struck gold, sir."

There was a pause before Barlow's voice responded, steady but tinged with unease. "Good work, Bond. We'll debrief when you're back. An extraction team is en route. ETA 30 minutes."

Bond leaned against the wall, relief threatening to soften the edge of his focus. But he wasn't finished.

"Have you heard from Evelyn?"

He'd thought he'd find her in the safe house but she must have gone on ahead to the extraction point a short distance away.

Another pause, this one colder. Bond's fingers tightened around the edge of the table.

"Evelyn?" Barlow said slowly. "I assumed she was with you."

The words hit him like a blow to the gut. His mind raced, replaying every detail of their mission, every moment since the power went out at the castle.

"She stayed behind," Bond muttered, realization dawning. "She... she must've stayed to cover my retreat."

The fleeting sense of relief dissolved into anger and guilt. The relatively light resistance he'd faced during his escape made sense now. It wasn't luck, or even a testament of his skills, Evelyn had bought him time, risking herself in the process.

"Bond," Barlow's voice interrupted his thoughts, "you need to wait for the extraction team. If she's been captured, going back alone is suicide."

Bond's knuckles turned white as he gripped the table. His jaw tightened, and he let out a string of curses, one fist slamming against the cabin wall.

"You don't understand," he growled. "She's out there because of me. I made a promise, Commander."

"Damn it, Bond," Barlow snapped. "Listen to me—if you go back and get caught, we'll have no choice but to deny your existence. Remember protocol! The British Army cannot afford the fallout of your defiance to follow the chain of command!"

Bond ignored him, his mind already made up. He wasn't waiting for a team, and he sure as hell wasn't abandoning Evelyn.

"Damn protocol and damn your chain of command." he said, his voice like steel. "This is a personal matter now. So do what you want, and I'll do the same."

"Bond the documents—"

The radio clicked off as Bond turned it off sharply. He grabbed his gear, two rifles excluding his sniper rifle and the last grenade from his Nazi jacket.

Lastly, he stashed the information folder somewhere it could be found in case he didn't make it back.

The stolen jeep's engine roared back to life as he sped down the path, retracing his route toward Château du Sangreal.

It hadn't been a hour since his escape. There was still time to save her.

(Bond's P.O.V)

I drove like a man possessed. The jeep tore through the winding forest path, its engine screaming as I pushed it harder and harder, branches clawing at the sides.

My knuckles were white against the wheel, my mind racing faster than the machine I commanded. Evelyn was still in that castle. Maybe getting tor-

"Gah! Hold on, Evelyn," I muttered through gritted teeth, the words more a plea than a promise.

Ahead, the Château du Sangreal loomed, its stone walls a dark silhouette under the fading moonlight.

My headlights caught the gleam of the main gates and the guards patrolling them. I didn't slow down.

The jeep hurtled toward the gates, and I braced myself.

Metal groaned and shattered as I smashed through them for the second time, the vehicle skidding across the cobblestone courtyard. I leapt out just before it slammed into a stone column.

I barely hit the ground when the blast erupted.

The explosives I'd packed in the jeep ignited, shaking the earth and throwing flames into the night. Shrapnel whistled through the air, cutting down the guards on compound in a hailstorm of fire and steel.

The chaos was renewed.

Panicked screams echoed as partygoers—elegant aristocrats, Nazi officers, servants—fled the castle in droves, shoving and stumbling over one another.

I pushed through them, moving against the current, with single-minded determination, weapons cocked and ready.

The first soldier saw me and raised his weapon.

He never got the chance to fire. My rifle spat lead, the shots ripping through him before he hit the ground.

More guards poured out of the castle's entrance.

Taking cover behind a column, I hurled the grenade into their midst, the explosion sending bodies flying. The heat and pressure battered me as I pressed on into the castle, steps echoing across the now empty ball room, going deeper in.

After the stairway, I came across a hallway and ducked into a room to avoid another wave of Nazis. It was a kitchen.

Pressed to the door, a sudden movement caught my eye from the side—a fat chef lunging at me, twin machetes flashing under the flickering lights.

He moved fast, slashing with vicious precision.

I sidestepped the first swing and drove the butt of my rifle into his face. He crumpled, blood splattering the pristine white of his coat.

There was no time to stop. No time to think.

I moved like a storm through the castle, relentless and unyielding, taking down anyone who stood between me and Evelyn.

My rifle barked again and again, the staccato of gunfire drowning out the chaos around me.

Still, it was clear that I needed to find out where she was, otherwise I'd be moving around the castle in circles.

Fortunately, I found two guards in a narrow servant's corridor, their uniforms streaked with sweat and dirt as they checked the rooms for me.

I drew out a knife and threw it, stabbing one on the chest, before quickly closing the distance and disarming the other. The sharp crack of his arm breaking, was followed by a muffled cry silenced by the pistol pressed onto his temple.

"Where is she?" I demanded in German, my voice low and venomous.

The guard's eyes widened in confusion. "Who are you talking about?" he stammered.

The answer wasn't worth waiting for. I fired, the shot silencing him forever.

The second guard flinched, trying to stop the bleeding from the knife on his chest.

"The Count," he stammered. "He has her—in his personal chambers upstairs!"

"Where exactly?" I growled, showing him the smoking barrel.

He rattled off the directions, then smirked, his bloodied lips curling in cruel amusement. "But you're too late. The Count is a cruel man—"

I shot him before he could finish and plundered the corpse.

The final line of defense came at the entrance to the Count's chambers.

Six soldiers, heavily armed and ready for a fight. I didn't hesitate. The guard's grenade left my hand in a perfect arc, landing squarely in their midst.

The blast tore through them, the shockwave rattling the walls. Dust and debris filled the air as I surged forward, stepping over their broken bodies.

My hand found the door, and I kicked it open with every ounce of strength I had left.

The sight that met me stopped me cold.

Evelyn.

She was chained to the bedposts, her arms and legs bound with heavy iron. Her body was battered and bloodied, her clothes torn, her skin marred with burns and cuts.

On the floor, coughing and struggling to rise, was the Count. His once-pristine suit was streaked with dirt and sweat, his face twisted in a mix of pain and malice.

Torture instruments lay scattered around him—pliers, scalpels, wires, each one stained with blood. Evelyn's blood.

"You're too late, Englishman." he wheezed, his voice thick with smug triumph. "Your precious Britain will fall. And once France discovers your little unsanctioned operation, they'll—"

I didn't let him finish. I leveled my rifle and fired. My finger didn't stop pressing on the trigger.

The bullets tore into him, one after another, my rage driving each shot. His screams turned to gurgles, then to silence as his body collapsed into a pulped mess.

But my eyes never left Evelyn.

---

I approached her, hands trembling as I holstered my weapon. The chains had cut into her wrists and ankles, leaving angry red marks against her pale skin.

"Evelyn," I whispered, my voice cracking. "I'm here."

She stirred faintly at the sound of my voice, her head lolling to the side.

"James..." Her voice was so faint, I barely heard it.

I shot off the chains carefully, each clink of metal hitting the floor feeling like a hammer against my chest. Wrapping her fragile form in a sheet, I cradled her against me.

"You're going to be okay," I whispered, the words catching in my throat. "I've got you now."

Her mutilated eyes fluttered open, searching for me. "James," she said again, her lips trembling.

"I'm here," I said, tears streaming down my face. "I'm so sorry. I should've—"

"Don't," she interrupted, her voice barely more than a whisper. "Don't blame yourself."

Her hand weakly brushed against my cheek. "I'm glad I knew you. You made... everything worth it."

"I love you, James," she murmured, her voice fading.

Then she went still.

"No," I whispered, my heart stopping. "Evelyn?"

I shook her gently. "Evelyn, stay with me. Please."

But she was gone.

"No. No, no, no!" My voice cracked as I clutched her lifeless body, the weight of her death crushing me.

I screamed her name, the sound raw and broken, echoing through the ruined chamber.

For the first time since the war began, I wept openly.

When the first light of dawn broke through the shattered windows, I stood alone.

Evelyn's bloodstained sheet covered her form, her face hidden from view.

I looked down at my trembling hands, stained with blood—hers, Nazis, mine. It didn't matter anymore.

Through the window, A helicopter landed on the Castle's courtyard, and a rescue team poured out. Probably sent by Barlow. What was the point?

Nothing mattered anymore.

Just like Marcus, just like Captain Royce, Evelyn was gone.

And another part of me had died with her.