Author's Note: I usually don't do pre-chapter author's notes, but I do give warnings in rare cases when appropriate. The Patron version of this chapter contains Explicit Sexual Content and is labeled and completely skippable if you're not interested.
Chapter 122
Avengers
Arc 8 - Ch 14: Mistress
Wednesday, May 02, 2012.
Location: 114 Solenski Plaza, Moscow, Russia
Inside the weathered exterior of an abandoned warehouse, sitting across from unfinished railroad tracks, the air hung heavy with the acrid scent of sweat. General Georgi Luchkov paced the room. Two thugs flanked a chair in the center, where a woman with fiery red hair sat bound, her black tank top damp with perspiration. The taller of the two men pulled back his fist, landing another blow that snapped her head to the side.
"This is not how I wanted the evening to go."
The woman lifted her head slowly. Her eyes flashed with defiance as she responded in Russian. "I know how you wanted this evening to go. Believe me, this is better."
A flicker of annoyance crossed Luchkov's face at the insult. He stepped closer, looming over her. "I'd like to know why they sent you to carry out a stained glass and other random items."
At his nod, the taller thug gripped Natasha's chair. With a grunt, he tilted it backward, the legs scraping against the floor until she found herself suspended over the edge of a multi-story drop.
She allowed her captors to see the fear on her face. Despite her precarious position, she ventured, "I thought General Solohob was in charge of the export business."
Luchkov's laugh was harsh and humorless. His eyes raked over her form as he answered, "Solohob? Your reputation is quite a progression. The famous Black Widow." He paused, his lip curling in disdain. "Nothing but a pretty face."
Natasha's amusement was clear as she asked, "You really think I'm pretty?"
Her captor's face darkened at Natasha's flippant response, his hand clenching into a fist at his side. The warehouse fell silent, save for the distant sounds of construction filtering through the grimy windows. The two thugs exchanged glances, uncertain whether to be amused or concerned by the prisoner's boldness.
Natasha remained perfectly still in her tilted chair. The faux-fear in her face faded, replaced with a smug confidence. Her eyes never left Luchkov's face. She watched him carefully, gauging his reaction. The general's jaw worked as he considered his next move. He had expected fear, perhaps even begging, from the infamous Black Widow. Instead, he found himself facing a woman who seemed almost bored by her dire circumstances. It was unsettling, and it made him wonder if he had underestimated her. Instead of second-guessing himself, he walked to a table laden with an array of sinister tools. His hand hovered over the implements before settling on a pair of rusted pliers. He turned, smiling cruelly as he approached Natasha.
With a nod, the tall thug's meaty hands gripped her jaw, forcing it open.
"We do not need the Lermontov to transfer the tanks," Luchkov sneered, switching to English. "Tell him, well..." He paused, savoring the moment. "You may have to write it down."
Luchkov raised the pliers, ready to begin his grisly work.
Suddenly, a shrill ring interrupted the incoming torture.
The weaselly thug fumbled in his pocket, pulling out a cell phone. He glanced at the screen with confusion.
"Ya?" he answered hesitantly. After a moment, he looked to Luchkov. "It's for you."
Irritation flashed across Luchkov's face as he snatched the phone. "Who the fuck is-"
A calm, authoritative voice cut him off. "You're at 114 Solenski Plaza, 3rd floor. We have an F-22 exactly 8 miles out. Put the woman on the phone, or I will blow up the block before you can make the lobby."
The color drained from Luchkov's face. His eyes darted around the room, as if searching for the unseen threat. Sweat beaded on his forehead as he realized the gravity of the situation. With trembling hands, he pressed the phone against Natasha's ear, mindful of her bound position.
"We need you to come in," the voice on the phone stated matter-of-factly.
Natasha's eyebrows shot up in disbelief. "Are you kidding? I'm working!"
"This takes precedence," the voice insisted.
Natasha rolled her eyes, her tone dripping with sarcasm. "I'm in the middle of an interrogation, and this moron is giving me everything."
Luchkov's face contorted in confusion and indignation. "I don't give everything," he protested.
Natasha shot him a withering glare before returning her attention to the phone. "Look, you can't pull me out of this right now."
The voice on the other end paused before delivering the news that would change everything. "Natasha. Fury and Barton have been compromised. Tyson is MIA."
The words hit Natasha like a physical blow. Her carefully constructed facade cracked, genuine shock and concern flashing across her face. The blood drained from her cheeks as the implications of the message sank in.
Tyson.
The name brought with it a flood of memories and emotions. Their last conversation replayed in her head. His nervous babbling, the barely concealed fear at knowing he'd be fighting one of the strongest mutants on the planet. The Battle in Times Square. The mutant fight that had made headlines and broadcasts around the world. She had watched it live, analyzed the replays on television, as had most everyone. She saw the outcome and mourned Jubilee's death. But with Magneto's power, she trusted that Tyson could handle whatever came his way.
But now...
MIA.
The three letters carried a weight that threatened to crush her. In their line of work, "missing in action" rarely ended well. And if Fury and Barton were compromised too, the situation was dire indeed. A chill ran down Natasha's spine as the pieces fell into place. There was only one explanation that made sense, one threat that could cause this level of chaos and destruction.
Loki had arrived.
The name of the Asgardian trickster god brought with it a surge of anger. Tyson had warned her this would happen. He'd told her what Loki had planned. She promised to play her role, and she had. But this wasn't part of the plan. Tyson wasn't supposed to go missing. Fury wasn't supposed to be compromised.
It was time for her to stop messing around. Loki had done something to Tyson, and the others needed her help.
Luchkov and his thugs watched in confusion as emotions played across Natasha's face. They had expected fear, pain, perhaps even begging. Instead, they saw a transformation. The vulnerable prisoner vanished before their eyes. When she spoke again, her voice was calm and controlled, betraying none of the turmoil within.
"Let me put you on hold."
With a powerful twist of her body, Natasha used the momentum of the tilted chair to her advantage. As she moved, she used her superstrength to tear through the ropes binding her wrists, and she kicked out with both legs.
Her feet connected solidly with the chest of the taller thug, sending him flying backward. The chair clattered to the floor, and Natasha rolled with the impact, coming up in a crouch. The second thug lunged for her, but she was ready. She pivoted on one foot, using his own momentum to send him careening into the wall.
Luchkov reached for his weapon, but Natasha was faster. She closed the distance between them in two quick strides, her fist connecting with his solar plexus. As he doubled over, gasping for air, she brought her knee up, catching him squarely in the face. The general crumpled to the floor, unconscious before he hit the ground.
The warehouse fell silent once more, broken only by the labored breathing of the two thugs as they struggled to regain their feet. Natasha fired webbing from her wrist, tying them all up.
Her tone was clipped and urgent as she spoke into the phone. "I need an extraction. I'll be stopping at my apartment first to collect a few essentials. Then I require immediate pickup."
"Copy that," came Coulson's swift reply. "The extraction team is already en route."
Natasha wasted no time, grabbing her bag resting in the corner. Hidden within its nondescript exterior was a compartment concealing one of her specialized suits along with a black mask. She had learned early on in this business to always have a contingency plan.
Ignoring the trio still bound and groaning behind her, Natasha quickly slipped into the curve-hugging suit, along with the mask. The suit clung to her athletic frame, allowing for maximum flexibility and ease of movement.
With her identity now concealed, she moved toward the gaping hole in the warehouse wall. As Natasha peered down at the alley four stories below before leaping from the opening, firing a webline from her wrist as she sailed downward. The webline went taut, launching her into an exhilarating swing.
— Rogue Redemption —
Tyson jerked awake with a start as consciousness flooded back. He was alive? The last thing he remembered was getting the Fantastic Four into space, then turning back toward Earth. Had he made it back? He couldn't recall, wondering if oxygen deprivation had caused some memory loss.
As his senses sharpened, Tyson realized he wasn't in a hospital or any familiar setting. Instead, he found himself in a tiny studio apartment that reminded him more of his previous life than his current one. The living space contained only the bare essentials, a stark contrast to the luxurious accommodations he'd grown accustomed to.
A small kitchenette occupied one corner, furnished with a miniature refrigerator and a dated two-burner stove. He looked up to see if there was a hole in the ceiling from where he crashed through.
There wasn't.
Curiosity piqued, he walked over to the living area of the studio. The bedroom section consisted of a lone twin bed pushed against one wall and a single wooden dresser on the opposite side. He approached the dresser, hoping to find a clue about whose place this was or where he might be.
Opening the top drawer, Tyson found it filled with clothes. He grabbed what he thought was a small folded handkerchief and unfolded it, only to discover it was a pair of delicate panties. He held them up, confused.
So he was in a woman's apartment?
As Tyson stood there, perplexed, the sound of jingling keys broke the silence. Someone was unlocking the door. Panic surged through him as he realized he might be caught trespassing. Acting on instinct, Tyson quickly molded his adamantium clothing. He always wore a bulkier, layered outfit in case he needed to create something on the fly. This time, he created a mask that hid his features. If he was breaking and entering, he didn't want anyone to know it was him. The makeshift disguise covered him from head to toe, leaving no trace of his identity visible.
The door swung open, revealing a figure clad entirely in black. She wore a skintight outfit that accentuated her curves, and a mask that obscured her features. Tyson stood there, equally hidden behind his hastily crafted adamantium mask and outfit.
However, in his rush to create a disguise, Tyson had forgotten one crucial detail.
He was still holding the panties in his hand.
The masked woman tilted her head, her body language screaming confusion and disbelief. Even without seeing her face, Tyson could imagine the look of utter bewilderment behind that mask.
For a moment, time seemed to stand still. Tyson, the powerful mutant capable of manipulating metal and creating illusions, stood frozen in place, caught red-handed, holding a pair of women's underwear. The absurdity of the situation wasn't lost on him, but as he dwelled on it, the masked woman's posture shifted. Without a word, she charged at Tyson, closing the distance between them in a heartbeat.
Tyson tossed his hostage. The panties flew through the air, a comical projectile in the midst of a tense standoff. But the masked woman paid them no heed, her focus laser-sharp on the intruder before her. A blur of black, she launched into her attack.
The woman's movements spoke of years of training and experience. Her strength caught him off guard. She was far from the pushover he might have expected. Each blow she landed carried weight, forcing him to reassess his initial assumptions. As they traded strikes, Tyson became acutely aware of a disconcerting absence.
His spider-sense was eerily silent.
No warning tingles, no premonitions of incoming strikes. It was as if he were fighting blind, relying solely on his eyes and reflexes. In his experience, only other individuals with spider-powers could bypass his danger sense in this manner. For a fleeting moment, he wondered if this could be Jessica beneath the mask. But as they grappled, he felt the woman's build beneath her suit; it was a little more solidly built than Jessica's lithe frame. It wasn't Gwen either. Could it be Cindy Moon? Pushing the speculation aside, he focused on the fight at hand. He called upon his martial arts training, meeting the woman's attacks with blocks and counters of his own. They each sought an opening, a moment of weakness to exploit.
The tiny apartment became their arena. They crashed into the kitchenette, sending pots and pans clattering to the floor. The rickety table groaned under their combined weight as they grappled across its surface. Picture frames shattered as they slammed into walls.
The woman matched him move for move, her skill level seemingly on par with his own. It was a stalemate, neither able to overpower the other through martial prowess alone.
As the fight dragged on, Tyson realized he needed to change tactics. He had been holding back, relying solely on his martial abilities, but it was clear that wouldn't be enough. Reluctantly, he tapped into his enhanced physical abilities, his movements becoming faster, his strikes more powerful. To his surprise, or not, the woman seemed to sense the shift and adapted seamlessly, her own speed and strength increasing to match his. What had started as a test of skill was rapidly evolving into a superhuman brawl.
Tyson's fist whistled through the air, moving faster than any normal human could avoid. Yet, the woman ducked under it, retaliating with a kick that would have shattered concrete. He barely managed to block it, the impact reverberating through his metal bones. He unleashed a flurry of punches, each carrying enough force to bend steel. The woman weaved through them. She countered with a series of strikes that forced Tyson on the defensive.
Who was this woman? How was she also a spider-person? Even as he pushed himself, using more and more of his enhanced abilities, she kept pace. Her counterattacks came with bone-crushing force. Despite the intensity of their battle, neither seemed able to gain a decisive advantage. For every powerful blow Tyson landed, the woman returned one of equal force. It was a stalemate of superhuman proportions, and neither showed signs of tiring.
The woman launched into a series of rapid-fire kicks that Tyson blocked and dodged, feeling the air displacement from each near miss. He retaliated with a combination of punches, but she slipped past them with preternatural agility.
The tiny apartment now resembled a war zone.
As the fight pressed on, Tyson's enhanced senses began to pick up on subtle cues he had initially overlooked. The woman's scent wafted through the air, tickling his nostrils with a tantalizingly familiar aroma. It was a scent he knew well, yet something about it seemed slightly off. For a fleeting moment, he wondered if he might be facing Mystique, the shape-shifting mutant known for her ability to perfectly mimic others. But he quickly dismissed the thought. While Mystique was a formidable opponent, she lacked the raw strength and speed this woman possessed. Still, the scent tugged at his memory, bringing his thoughts to Gwen Stacy, recalling his surprise when he discovered she had developed spider-powers of her own.
But then, like a bolt of lightning, realization struck.
Tyson's eyes widened behind his makeshift mask as the pieces fell into place. The scent, while similar to Gwen's, carried subtle notes that belonged to someone else entirely. Exotic spices, gunpowder, leather, and a cool wisp of winter air were all trademarks of someone who had also been in his apartment that fateful night when Gwen was bitten. A smile spread across his face, hidden beneath his metal disguise. He mentally chastised himself for not recognizing it sooner. The scent, the fighting style he had sparred against countless times in high school, it all pointed to one person.
With this newfound knowledge, Tyson decided to have a bit of fun.
He recalled a technique his opponent had always favored, one she had used to best him during their training sessions. It was time to see if she still relied on her old tricks.
Deliberately, Tyson overextended on one of his punches, creating a perfect opening. It was a rookie mistake, one he would never make unintentionally, but he knew she wouldn't be able to resist capitalizing on it.
Just as he predicted, the woman seized the opportunity. With lightning-fast reflexes, she leapt into the air, her body twisting gracefully. Her powerful legs wrapped around his neck in a move he knew all too well. Using the momentum of her jump and the strength of her lower body, she threw her weight backward.
Tyson felt himself being lifted off his feet, the world spinning around him as he was flipped through the air. He could have resisted, could have used his own strength to counter the move, but he allowed it to play out. His back slammed into the floor, the impact reverberating through his adamantium-laced bones.
Before he could even pretend to recover, the woman was on him. She straddled his waist, her weight settling on his abdomen as she pinned his arms above his head. It was a compromising position, one that mirrored how she had defeated him early in his training, back when he was still learning to fight at Chikara Dojo.
Tyson let his head fall back against the floor, feigning defeat. The fight had come full circle, ending exactly as it had so many times last year.
For the first time since their fight began, one of them spoke.
"New suit, same femme fatale. But who the hell does a hurricanrana in an actual fight?" Tyson asked. As he spoke, his metal mask retracted, revealing his face to his opponent. The woman above him gasped. With trembling hands, she reached up and ripped off her own mask, confirming what Tyson had already deduced.
Natasha Romanoff's face came into view, her red hair tousled from the fight, her green eyes wide with shock. For a moment, she simply stared at him, her expression a whirlwind of emotions; relief, joy, and a hint of lingering worry.
"I got your letter. I love you, too."
As if a dam had broken, she leaned down and captured his lips in a passionate kiss. All the fear and concern she had harbored for his safety poured into that single, intense moment of connection. Her lips moved against his with desperate fervor, conveying without words all that she had felt during her absence. Tyson responded in kind, his arms wrapping around her waist to pull her closer. The kiss deepened, expressing the relief they both felt at being reunited. The destruction around them faded into insignificance as they lost themselves in each other's embrace.
When they finally parted, both breathing heavily, Natasha rested her forehead against Tyson's. Her eyes searched his face, as if reassuring herself that he was really there, safe and whole.
"I thought I'd lost you," she whispered. "When Coulson told me you were MIA..."
Tyson reached up, gently cupping her cheek. "It'll take more than a little spacewalk to get rid of me."
Natasha's smile was bittersweet. "Well, this is a surprise. Since when can we kiss without it hurting me? Has it got something to do with me being like this now?" She gestured at herself, referring to her new spider abilities.
"Nah, it's all me. I learned how to control my power absorption. A lot has happened since you left and since we last talked. Speaking of which—" He raised an eyebrow. "Did you purposefully take that spider-bite when I offered it without telling me? Or was it something that happened during your last night in my apartment with Gwen?"
She brushed off the questions. "It was with Gwen. Right now, we need to focus on the mission… How did you even get here?"
Tyson's brow furrowed as he tried to piece together his fragmented memories. "I'm not entirely sure," he admitted. "The last thing I remember clearly is getting the Marvel-1 into orbit. After that, it's all a blur."
Natasha nodded, her expression turning serious. "We need to get you debriefed. And with Loki on the loose..."
At the mention of Loki, Tyson tensed. "Damnit, I should have known. It's happening, and I'm missing it."
"We've got a situation on our hands, and we need you." Tyson nodded, but as he looked around at the destroyed apartment, he smiled wryly. A soft laugh escaped her lips. "I suppose we did get a bit carried away," she admitted. "Although, in my defense, I thought you were an intruder. An intruder with a penchant for women's underwear, apparently," Natasha quipped, raising an eyebrow at the compromising position he'd been in when she first entered. "Care to explain that one?"
Tyson groaned. "Would you believe me if I said it was all a big misunderstanding?"
"Not a chance. But I'm looking forward to hearing you try to talk your way out of this one."
Their reunion was interrupted when someone cleared their throat.
Neither Tyson nor Natasha jumped, because their spider senses revealed they weren't in danger, but both looked up to see a statuesque blonde looking down on them. The woman was so beautiful it was almost intimidating.
Natasha stared at her for a moment, her eyes narrowing slightly as she took in the newcomer's appearance. "I'm guessing this is… Amora?" she said warily.
Tyson mumbled, "Good guess," his voice tinged with a hint of embarrassment at being caught in such a compromising position.
Amora sighed wistfully. "I set up this scenario. Two lovers separated for months by circumstance. Heightened emotions, a chance meeting, a fight turned lovers' quarrel… That became an emotionally-charged reunion." Her voice took on an almost dreamy quality as she described the scene.
Natasha mumbled under her breath, "She's serious?"
"Alas," Amora confirmed.
Tyson couldn't help but laugh at the absurdity. The tension that had built up during their fight and subsequent reunion dissipated, replaced by a strange amusement. Natasha, seeming to suddenly remember their compromising position, crawled off Tyson, trying to regain some semblance of composure.
He followed suit, getting to his feet and turning to Amora. "Thank you for saving me," he said sincerely despite the awkwardness of the situation.
Amora's expression softened slightly at his gratitude. "Your mistress petitioned to use your favor," she explained. "I have fulfilled my promise, teleporting you to your other Mistress, the Spider. Please inform the necessary parties of your safety. I await your request to use your final favor."
"I'm not following," Natasha admitted.
Amora's lips curved into a knowing smile. She gestured towards Tyson. "It was his plan."
Natasha turned to him, her eyes demanding an explanation.
Sighing, he knew he couldn't avoid their situation or procrastinate any longer. "She's right," he admitted, "I need to get Thor from Asgard, and you need to get Banner."
Understanding dawned on her face. Amora watched the exchange with interest.
Natasha's body language changed from that of a reunited lover to that of a skilled agent ready for action. Her eyes met Tyson's, and a silent communication passed between them. Despite the months of separation and the unexpected nature of their meeting, they fell back into sync with ease. The joy of their reunion, and their love, was still there, but the weight of responsibility now tempered it. They both knew that their personal feelings would have to take a backseat to the greater good.
Amora couldn't help but be impressed by the dedication and sense of duty displayed by both.
Tyson waved his hand in a seemingly meaningless gesture, causing Natasha to furrow her brow in confusion. But then, his adamantium clothing flowed around him, reforming perfectly, save for a ball which flowed to hover above his hand. Using his ferrokinetic abilities, he began shaping the mass of metal.
Natasha watched, impressed despite herself, commenting, "That's new."
As he worked, he began to explain his plan, his voice taking on a more serious tone. "Odin will send Thor to Earth, but he'll use dark magic to do it, weakening himself in the process. Amora owes me a favor. She'll boost my power, allowing me to gain Azazel's ability and retrieve Thor so Odin doesn't have to exhaust himself. I'll be weakened for a time, but it's a worthy sacrifice."
His hands were busy, the gestures helping him focus to mold the adamantium into tiny rings, fashioning what to Natasha looked like a suit. He shaped the links around her body, the metal seeming to come alive under his touch. The pieces locked into place, forming seams and snaps that fit her form perfectly.
She admired the outfit, running her fingers along the dull silver surface. It bore a striking resemblance to her SHIELD outfit but with additional webbing patterns interspersed, reminiscent of Spider-Man's iconic suit. The craftsmanship was exquisite, surprisingly soft, and a perfect blend of functionality and aesthetics.
"It's beautiful," Natasha commented.
"Adamantium," he explained. "It feels nice, but it's still the strongest armor on the planet, outside Captain America's shield. I've had lots of practice to get to this point."
Amora looked on with undisguised envy. Natasha, noticing this, turned a questioning look on Tyson. "She didn't get armor?"
Before Tyson could respond, Amora answered, "He provides armor to his mistresses."
Natasha's eyebrow shot up at this revelation. She turned to Tyson. "How many mistresses do you have exactly?" she asked, somewhere between teasing and genuinely curious.
Amora, seemingly eager to answer, spoke before Tyson could respond. Her voice carried a touch of humor as she said, "The Demoness says he's a slut."
Tyson's face scrunched up in mock offense. "I resent that," he said indignantly. Though the corners of his mouth twitched, betraying his attempt at seriousness.
Natasha rolled her eyes. Her phone vibrated, interrupting the moment. She pulled it out, quickly scanning the message that appeared on the screen.
"My extraction will be arriving in minutes," she announced. She looked up at Tyson, her eyes searching his face. "Should I delay them?"
His gaze moved to Amora, silently seeking her input on the situation. The Asgardian sorceress shook her head. "Loki masks his movements and blocks magical scrying," she explained. "But Heimdall may be following his activities and is certainly aware of his presence on Earth."
"We should move."
Natasha understood the urgency. Without another word, she turned and headed towards the bathroom to freshen up and change. As she walked away, Tyson couldn't help but admire how seamlessly she switched between the passionate woman he had just been reunited with and the efficient agent ready for action.
In the bathroom, Natasha looked at herself in the mirror, noting the slight flush in her cheeks. After a quick shower, she slipped back into her new armor.
Meanwhile, in the main room, Tyson and Amora stood in an awkward silence. The Enchantress, for her part, seemed content to watch him, her eyes tracing the lines of worry on his face.
"You care for her deeply," Amora observed. It wasn't a question.
Tyson looked at her, surprised by the comment. He opened his mouth to respond, but found himself at a loss for words. How could he explain the complexity of his feelings for Natasha? How could he articulate the depth of their connection?
Before he could formulate a response, the bathroom door opened, and Natasha emerged dressed in her armor.
"Ready," she announced. But as her eyes met Tyson's, there was a softness there, a silent acknowledgment of what had transpired between them and what was yet to come.
She walked to the window, opened it up, and knelt in the frame for a moment, her position reminiscent of Spider-Man's iconic pose. The similarity wasn't lost on him.
She turned back to face the room and smiled cheekily. "Well, I'm off," she said, her voice light despite the weight of the situation. "I'll see you when I see you."
Tyson couldn't help but grin at her casual farewell. "Stop stealing my lines," he quipped back affectionately. "Get going, you goof."
Natasha's smile widened at his words. She winked at him, her green eyes sparkling at him, playing along. "Miss you already, love you," she said softly, and then, without another word, she leapt out the window.
Tyson stood there, staring at the empty space where Natasha had been just moments ago. The room felt suddenly emptier without her presence. He continued to gaze out the window, thinking of what was to come and the dangers they would face.
When he turned around, he was shocked at what he saw.
Amora had shed a single tear.
Even she, the Enchantress of Asgard, seemed touched by the moment they had shared, and her expression, too, was thoughtful.
After a minute of silence, Amora spoke, her voice uncharacteristically gentle. "If your vision holds..." she began, but Tyson cut her off abruptly.
"It can't happen," he said firmly. "It won't happen."
Amora fell silent at his interruption. She could see the pain and determination in his eyes, the set of his jaw speaking volumes about his resolve.
After a moment, she simply nodded. "As you say," she replied.
He could sense her reluctance to push him on what was clearly a sensitive subject. The tension in his shoulders eased slightly at her restraint.
"Forgive my terseness," Tyson said, his voice softer now. "It is a sore subject."
"Understandable," she replied, her voice carrying a note of sympathy.
A heavy silence fell between them. Finally, Tyson turned to face Amora fully. The time for reminiscing and worrying was over. Now, they had a job to do.
"Amora, the Enchantress," he began in a formal tone. "I request the last of your gifted favors. Please boost my power, so that we may return to Asgard."
Her eyes glowed as his words invoked the power of the pact between them. She raised her hands, and the air around them began to shimmer with an ethereal green light, energy swirling around her fingers as she prepared to fulfill her promise. The power of her magic crackled through the room, raising the hairs on his arms. She took a step towards Tyson, her eyes locked on his with an intensity that made his heart rate quicken in anticipation. They stood face to face. Despite her impressive height, she still had to tilt her head back slightly to meet Tyson's eyes. Her proximity was intoxicating, and the scent of exotic incense filled his senses.
With deliberate slowness, she reached behind his neck and guided his head down towards hers. There was a moment of hesitation, a breath where time seemed to stand still.
Then, their lips met.
The kiss was not gentle or tentative. It was passionate, almost desperate in its intensity. Amora poured everything into it. Her desires, her frustrations. Tyson responded in kind, swept up in the moment and the raw power surging through him. As they kissed, the green energy that had been swirling around her began to flow into him. He could feel it seeping into his very being, filling him with an incredible surge of power. Her fingers tightened on the back of his neck, pulling him closer as she deepened the kiss.
Just as Tyson thought Amora had abandoned the spell and their kiss would lead to more, she released the working. The surge of energy hit him like a tidal wave, flooding every cell in his body. His vision began to blur, and the room around him faded away.
Then, everything went white.