Chapter 53:
– Blake –
"...Ara, I wonder… what that reward should be…?" Akeno's voice was pitched low and sinful as she asked that question, her fingers still threading lazily through my hair. The way she drew out each syllable made the words feel less like a question and more like a promise. A dangerous one.
I could feel my own heartbeat speeding up in my chest, the rhythm growing loud enough that I swore she must have been able to hear it too. We were approaching territory that no longer bordered on pure sibling behavior. Hell, we'd crossed that border somewhere around the time she'd pulled my head into her lap and started running her fingers through my hair.
But even as that thought flickered through my mind, I found myself unable to look away from Akeno's violet eyes. They were half-lidded now, darker than usual, and the genuine desire I saw reflected in them made my breath catch. This wasn't her usual teasing. This wasn't the playful onee-san routine she'd adopted since our reunion. This was something rawer. Something that had been building beneath the surface for weeks, maybe longer.
She wants me. Actually wants me.
The realization hit me like a bolt of my own holy lightning. What I saw staring back at me was genuine, unfiltered desire.
That's your sister.
I know.
She's looking at you like Tsunade or Shizune look at you. Like Pepper looks at you. Like—
I know!
I didn't look away. I should have. Some functioning, rational part of my brain was screaming at me to sit up, crack a joke, defuse the moment, be a good brother. That part of my brain had been outvoted.
Akeno's lips parted. Just slightly. Just enough for me to see the soft pink of her tongue dart across her lower lip before she took a shaky gulp of air that made her chest rise against the thin fabric of her sleep shirt.
"Ara… it's getting a bit hot in here, isn't it, Rias?" Akeno said. Her voice was still pitched in that sinful register, but there was a tremor underneath it now. A vulnerability. She was putting herself out there and using Rias as a lifeline at the same time, testing the waters while giving herself plausible deniability if I pulled away.
I turned my head just enough to look at Rias across the room. She was sitting on her own bed with her legs tucked beneath her, watching us with those blue eyes that always saw too much. There was no surprise on her face. No jealousy. Just a calm, knowing expression.
"It certainly is, Akeno," Rias agreed with only a slight pause. And then she reached down, grabbed the hem of her shirt with both hands, and pulled it off over her head in one smooth motion.
My brain did that thing it does around beautiful women when they take off their clothes…
Rias sat there in a red bra that was fighting a war it was losing spectacularly. The lace cups strained against the sheer volume of her breasts, the fabric pulled taut across soft, pale flesh that swelled over the edges like it was actively trying to escape. The bra had been engineered for a generous bust. Rias's bust was beyond generous. It was an act of divine excess.
You're still lying in your sister's lap.
I'm aware.
Rias smiled at me. Her hands reached behind her back, fingers finding the clasp with practiced ease.
Click. The bra went slack. She pulled it away from her body and tossed it casually onto the floor beside her bed like it was a used tissue.
Her breasts fell free, and "fell" was doing a lot of heavy lifting as a verb because gravity barely seemed to apply. They were massive. I'd known that intellectually, I'd felt them pressed against my arm dozens of times when Rias "accidentally" leaned into me but seeing them bare was an entirely different experience. Pale, flawless skin. Full and round, heavy enough to sway slightly with her breathing but firm enough to hold their shape beautifully. Her nipples were a soft rosy pink, slightly stiff, sitting perfectly centered on wide areolae that darkened just a shade from the surrounding skin.
I gulped. Audibly. Loud enough that both women definitely heard it.
Rias's smile widened. She sat there, topless, watching me watch her, and the satisfaction radiating off her was almost tangible. She'd wanted me to see her like this. She'd been waiting for me to see her like this, probably since the day we met and she decided she wanted to be with me instead of Riser.
My cock was hard. Painfully, undeniably hard, straining against my jeans in a way that I was absolutely certain Akeno could see since I was laying with my head on her lap. There was no hiding it. I didn't even try.
"Ara ara," Akeno's voice came from directly above me, pulling my attention back to her. "It's a bit hot. I wonder if I should lose some clothes too."
I gulped again, harder this time. My throat felt like sandpaper. I tilted my head back to look up at Akeno, and the angle gave me a perfect view of her face hovering above mine—her parted lips, her flushed cheeks, her half-lidded violet eyes burning with barely restrained desire. From this position, I could also see the impressive swell of her own chest straining against her loose sleep shirt. The thin fabric did nothing to hide the fact that she wasn't wearing a bra underneath, and I could make out the faint shadows of her nipples through the white cotton.
My sister is about to strip in front of me. And I want her to. What the fuck is wrong with me?
But nothing was wrong with me. Or maybe everything was? Maybe this was just natural for Fallen Angels?
All I knew was that Akeno was looking at me like I was the only thing in the world that mattered, and Rias was sitting topless across from us with an expectant look on her gorgeous face, and my body was responding to both of them in ways that should have felt wrong but didn't.
Akeno's fingers curled around the hem of her shirt, and the fabric lifted just enough to expose a strip of smooth, pale stomach—toned and soft at the same time, the kind of skin that begged to be touched.
This is happening. This is actually—
KNOCK. KNOCK. KNOCK. Three sharp knocks rattled the dorm room door.
Every muscle in my body locked up. Akeno's fingers froze on her shirt. Rias's expression shifted from sultry satisfaction to pure, undiluted annoyance in the span of a single heartbeat.
"Blake? Hey, Blake! Are you in there visiting your sister?" Peter's voice. Cheerful, oblivious, completely unaware that his timing ranked somewhere between "horrible" and "amazing."
Akeno's hand withdrew from her shirt.
"Yeah, man. I'm in here," I called out, and even I could hear the rough, strained edge in my voice. I cleared my throat. "Just hanging out with Rias and Akeno…"
Rias pouted. She snatched her shirt off the bed and pulled it back over her head with significantly less grace than she'd removed it with, yanking the fabric down over her chest. The shirt settled back into place, but without the bra underneath, it did absolutely nothing to hide the shape of her. Her nipples pressed visibly against the fabric, two stiff points that might as well have been broadcasting in neon.
I sat up from Akeno's lap. The blood rushed in my head as I shifted to the edge of the bed, planting my feet on the floor and trying to will my erection into submission through sheer force of personality. It wasn't working. I adjusted my jeans as subtly as I could manage.
Cold thoughts. Ice. Snow. Riser Phenex freezing his dick off in Antarctica. That's helping a little...
I glanced at Akeno. I could see the disappointment written clearly across her face. Her violet eyes had dimmed, the hungry desire replaced by frustration. Her lips were pressed together in a thin line, and her hands had fallen to rest on her bare thighs, fingers curling against the fabric of her shorts like she was restraining herself from doing something drastic.
She's disappointed. Really disappointed.
And so was I, if I was being honest with myself. Which was a whole other problem I was going to have to deal with probably tomorrow.
What the hell am I going to do about this?
But that was a problem for future Blake.
Rias stood up from her bed and walked toward the door, her hips swaying with each step. Without her bra, her massive breasts bounced noticeably with every movement, the thin fabric of her shirt doing nothing to conceal them. She hadn't bothered to grab her bra from the floor. I wasn't sure if that was an oversight or deliberate, but knowing Rias, it was almost certainly deliberate.
She reached the door and pulled it open. "Yes? What do you need?" Rias asked, her voice perfectly composed despite her state of undress.
I couldn't see Peter's face from my position on Akeno's bed, but I could hear him perfectly clearly. First came the sharp intake of breath. Then a strangled sound that might have been an attempt at words. Then silence. "I—um—I was—" Peter's voice cracked mid-sentence. I could picture him perfectly: eyes wide, face red, trying desperately to look anywhere except at the very obvious nipples poking through Rias's shirt. "I was looking for Blake. I wanted to—to hang out. Is he—"
"He's here," Rias said, and I could hear the amusement in her voice. She knew exactly what she was doing. "Visiting his sister. Did you need something urgent?"
"No! I mean, not urgent, just—I wanted to—we could hang out, maybe? If Blake's free?" Peter's voice had risen to a near-squeak. "Study group? Video games? Something?"
I stood up from Akeno's bed, very aware that I needed a moment to... compose myself before walking anywhere. "Yeah, sure, man. Just give me a second."
"Cool! Great! I'll just—I'll wait out here. In the hallway. That's fine." Peter's words tumbled out in a rush, and I heard his footsteps quickly retreating from the doorway.
Rias closed the door with a soft click and turned back to face me and Akeno. Her expression was a mix of amusement and lingering frustration.
"Your friend has unfortunate timing," she observed.
"Yeah." I ran a hand through my hair, still trying to process everything that had just happened. And everything that had almost happened. "That's Peter."
Akeno had risen from the bed as well, standing beside me. She was close enough that I could feel the warmth radiating off her body, could smell her shampoo—something floral and sweet. When I glanced at her, she met my eyes with a look that promised this conversation was far from over. "We should continue this another time," she said softly. Her voice had returned to its usual melodic quality, but there was an undercurrent to it now. A weight that hadn't been there before. "When we won't be interrupted."
It wasn't a question.
I swallowed hard. "Yeah. Another time."
Akeno smiled softly and leaned in to press a soft kiss to my cheek. Her lips lingered against my skin for just a moment too long, and I felt her warm breath ghost across my ear as she whispered, "I'll hold you to that, otouto." Then she stepped back, and the moment was over.
I was left standing in the middle of my sister's dorm room with a racing heart, confused feelings, and the distinct impression that my already complicated life had just gotten a hell of a lot more complicated.
What am I going to do?
I didn't have an answer. But as I walked toward the door to meet Peter, I glanced back one more time. Akeno had settled back onto her bed, watching me go with those violet eyes that now held secrets I wasn't sure I was ready to understand.
Rias had retrieved her bra but hadn't put it on, just tossed it onto her desk chair. She gave me a small wave and a knowing smile. "See you later, Blake. Don't think I'm done with you either. You will be getting a reward for what you pulled with Riser."
I opened the door and stepped into the hallway, where Peter was waiting with a face that could have rivaled a tomato and a very determined effort to look at absolutely anything except the door I'd just come through.
"So," he said, his voice still slightly strangled, "video games? Apparently there's a whole club and they've got like every console ever made!"
"Hm, that sounds pretty cool," I replied and we started walking.
Peter was still red. He was staring straight ahead with the thousand-yard stare of a man who had witnessed something beyond his comprehension. "Dude," he said quietly as we walked. "Was Rias not wearing a bra…?"
…A short walk across campus later.
"So anyway, I saw from a few of our former classmates online that Flash is apparently in the hospital after someone beat him up or something," Peter said as we walked down the corridor of the student activities building. "Couldn't have happened to a nicer guy."
I snorted knowingly, fighting to keep my expression neutral. The memory of Tsunade's three invisible gut punches flashed through my mind, each one delivered with super speed surgical precision while she smiled sweetly at Flash's face. He'd probably be shitting blood for a week.
Couldn't have happened to a nicer guy indeed.
"Yeah, real tragedy," I said, my voice dripping with the same sarcasm Peter had used.
We'd been casually talking like this for the past few minutes, just shooting the shit as we wandered through the building looking for the room number Peter had pulled up on his phone. After the intensity of what had almost happened in Akeno and Rias's dorm room, I appreciated the normalcy of it. Just two guys walking and talking, making fun of a bully who got what was coming to him. No complicated feelings about sisters. No topless devil heiresses. No questions I didn't have answers to.
"Should be right here," Peter said, stopping in front of a door marked Room 107. A hand-written sign had been taped to the door that read "SIT Gaming & Hobby Society" in surprisingly neat calligraphy. Someone had drawn little controller icons and dice around the border.
"You sure about this?" I asked, eyeing the sign. "Gaming society sounds like it could go either way. Could be chill. Could be..."
"Could be what?"
"You know." I gestured vaguely. "Intense."
Peter rolled his eyes. "It's a gaming club, Blake. Not a cult. What's the worst that could happen?"
Famous last words.
Peter grabbed the handle and pushed the door open, and we stepped inside.
My first thought was that we had accidentally walked into some kind of nerd Valhalla.
The room was massive, way bigger than I expected for a student club space. Giant screens lined the walls, each one connected to high-end gaming PCs that looked like they cost more than most cars. RGB lighting pulsed in synchronized waves across the setups, casting the room in shifting hues of blue, purple, and green. Multiple gaming consoles were arranged on custom entertainment centers, controllers neatly organized on charging stations. Bean bag chairs and ergonomic gaming seats were scattered throughout, and there was even a mini-fridge in the corner with a sign that read "Mountain Dew Only. Violators Will Be Banned."
But what really caught my eye was the massive table in the center of the room, covered in what I immediately recognized as a full Warhammer 40K setup. Intricately painted miniatures were arranged across an elaborate terrain board complete with ruined buildings, craters, and what looked like a crashed spaceship. The detail was insane. Whoever had painted those figures had serious talent.
I let out a small giggle before I could stop myself. Not at the setup itself, which was genuinely impressive, but at Peter's reaction to it.
My best friend had gone completely still beside me. His jaw had actually dropped open, and I could practically see the cartoon hearts forming in his eyes as he took in the room. He looked like a man who had just discovered the meaning of life, and that meaning was RGB lighting and collectible miniatures.
This is definitely Peter's kind of place.
I'd never been as big a nerd as Peter growing up. The foster system didn't exactly leave a lot of room for hobbies that required expensive equipment or stable living situations. No gaming PCs when you're bouncing between homes every few months. No miniature collections when you might have to pack everything you own into a single garbage bag at a moment's notice. I'd picked up bits and pieces over the years, enough to hold my own in conversations about games and comics, but Peter had always been the true believer.
Still, a guy was a guy. And even I could appreciate the sheer dedication on display here. Someone had put serious money and serious love into creating this space.
"Welcome, new members!" A nasally but genuinely excited voice cut through my observations. I turned to see a lanky guy with thick glasses and a faded Star Wars t-shirt waving enthusiastically at us from behind one of the PC setups. He had the kind of pale complexion that suggested he didn't see natural sunlight very often, and his smile was so wide it was almost manic. "Come in, come in!" He gestured broadly at the room. "I'm Gerald, vice president of the Gaming & Hobby Society. We're always excited to see fresh faces!"
Peter practically bounced forward, his earlier cool demeanor completely forgotten. "Dude, is that a full Kill Team board? With the Octarius terrain set?"
Gerald's eyes lit up like Peter had just spoken the secret password. "You know Kill Team? Oh man, we are going to be best friends. Do you play Orks or Kommandos? Please say Kommandos, I need someone to practice against who actually understands the faction mechanics."
They immediately launched into a rapid-fire conversation about something called "operative activations" and "strategic ploys" that went completely over my head. I smiled and let them have their moment, wandering further into the room to check out the console setups.
Good for Peter. He deserves more friends than just me.
There were about a dozen other guys scattered around the room, most of them focused on their screens or their miniature painting stations. It seemed like a solid group.
I was examining a display case full of vintage console controllers when I heard the conversation behind me shift.
"Hey, hold on a second!" The voice was different from Gerald's, sharper and more suspicious. I turned to see a stocky guy with a patchy beard pointing directly at me. He'd stood up from his gaming chair and was squinting at my face like he was trying to place me. "That guy." He jabbed his finger in my direction. "He can't be allowed to join our club!"
"What?" Peter broke off his Kill Team discussion, confusion clear in his voice. "Why not?"
Huh? What did I do to this guy?
The stocky guy stepped closer, still pointing at me accusingly. "I've seen him around campus. Multiple times. That's the playboy everyone is talking about!"
A ripple of recognition went through the room. Heads turned. Chairs swiveled. Suddenly I had about a dozen pairs of eyes locked onto me, and none of them looked friendly anymore.
"Oh shit, you're right!"
"It's him!"
"The pretty boy with all the women!"
The accusations came rapid-fire from different corners of the room. I stood there with my hands in my pockets, watching as the mood shifted from welcoming to openly hostile in the span of about five seconds.
So much for normal…
"Every single time I've seen this guy on campus," the stocky guy continued, his voice rising with righteous indignation, "he's been walking with a different hot girl! And they're always all over him! Holding his hand, hanging on his arm, kissing him in public!"
"I saw him with that redhead by the engineering building!"
"I saw him with the beautiful glasses girl at the coffee shop!"
"I saw him with two older looking hotties at the same time near the library!"
Okay, that one was probably Tsunade and Shizune…
Gerald, who moments ago had been ready to embrace Peter as his new best friend, was now looking at me like I'd personally insulted his mother. "A guy like him would ruin our paradise here at SIT. This is supposed to be a safe space. A refuge from... from..."
"From guys who actually talk to women?" I offered dryly.
That was apparently the wrong thing to say.
"You see?!" The stocky guy threw his hands up. "You see that attitude? That's exactly what I'm talking about! This club is about brotherhood. About shared interests. About creating a space where we don't have to feel inferior to guys like him who just waltz around campus collecting girlfriends like Pokemon!"
I mean, he's not entirely wrong about that last part.
"One of those girls is Emma Frost!" Another voice chimed in, and I turned to see a skinny guy with an anime girl printed on his shirt clutching his chest like he was having a heart attack. "Emma Frost! The Emma Frost! She's my goddess, and this... this playboy is two-timing her!"
"I don't think it's two-timing if everyone involved knows about each other," I said, which in retrospect was definitely not helping my case.
"KNOWS ABOUT EACH OTHER?!" The anime shirt guy looked like he was about to faint.
Gerald had to grab his arm to keep him steady. Several other members were now openly glaring at me with the kind of intense hatred usually reserved for people who spoiled major movie plot points.
"This is exactly why we have the rule," Gerald said, shaking his head sadly. "No Chads allowed. It's right there in the bylaws."
"You have a bylaw specifically banning people you consider attractive?"
"We have a bylaw banning anyone whose presence would make other members feel inadequate about their romantic prospects," Gerald corrected primly. "It's about maintaining a psychologically safe environment."
I looked around the room at the hostile faces. The stocky guy had his arms crossed. The anime shirt guy was being fanned by another member who'd produced a small Japanese folding fan from somewhere. Even the guys who'd nodded at me earlier were avoiding eye contact now, staring intently at their screens like I might stop existing if they just ignored me hard enough.
You know what? Fair enough… I thought with a small sigh.
Peter stepped forward, positioning himself between me and the crowd. "Okay, you know what? Screw this. If you guys don't want Blake here, then I won't stay either. Come on, man, let's get out of here."
I appreciated the loyalty. I really did. Peter was ready to walk away from his personal nerd heaven, complete with Kill Team boards and a vice president who shared his exact faction preferences, just because some gatekeepers had decided I was too threatening to their safe space. That was real friendship.
But I also saw the way Peter had looked at this place when we first walked in. The joy on his face. The excitement. He'd found his people, even if those people apparently had issues with me.
I put my hand on Peter's shoulder. "It's fine, man."
"Blake..."
"Seriously. It's fine." I shook my head and gave him a genuine smile. "You have fun here. This is your thing. Don't let my apparently perfect good looks and irresistible charm ruin it for you."
"Did you just compliment yourself while being kicked out of a nerd club?"
"I have to salvage my dignity somehow."
Peter snorted, but I could see the conflict on his face. He wanted to stay. I could tell. But he also didn't want to abandon me.
"Go on," I said, jerking my head toward Gerald and the others. "Seriously. I'll catch up with you later. Go argue about Space Marines or whatever."
"Kill Team doesn't use Space Marines, it uses smaller operative-based squads that allow for more tactical gameplay with reduced model counts and streamlined rules that—" Peter caught himself mid-ramble and had the decency to look sheepish. "Right. Yeah. You sure you're okay?"
"I'm sure."
Peter hesitated for another moment, then nodded. "Okay. But we're hanging out later. Video games in our room. No club required."
"Deal." I gave a little wave to the room at large, which was not returned by anyone, and turned to walk out. As I reached the door, I heard the stocky guy mutter something to Gerald about "narrowly avoiding disaster" and "maintaining the integrity of their mission statement."
The integrity of their mission statement. Jesus Christ…
The door closed behind me with a soft click, cutting off the sounds of the club returning to normal, minus one apparent threat to their collective self-esteem. I stood in the hallway for a moment, processing what had just happened.
I'd just been rejected from a college gaming club because I had too many girlfriends.
What is my life?
…So yeah, I had somehow ended up in one of the campus nurse's offices.
Not just any nurse's office, mind you. This particular office happened to be staffed by a former Russian spy turned SHIELD agent who was currently deep undercover as a medical professional named "Natalie Rushman." It also happened to be the workplace of her adopted daughter, a sweet blonde nun with the ability to heal any injury through the power of her sacred gear.
My life had gotten very weird over the past few months.
The office itself was deceptively normal. White walls, anatomical posters, a desk covered in paperwork, a couple of examination beds with that crinkly paper cover that always stuck to your legs. There was a small waiting area with uncomfortable plastic chairs and a coffee table covered in outdated magazines. A mini fridge hummed in the corner, and the faint smell of antiseptic hung in the air. If you didn't know better, you'd think it was just another mundane campus health center.
But I did know better. And I knew that behind the filing cabinet was a hidden panel containing an emergency weapons cache, that the "decorative plant" on the windowsill concealed a surveillance device, and that the woman currently sitting across from me could kill a man with a paperclip and make it look like natural causes.
Natasha Romanoff crossed her legs over her swivel chair and snorted, the sound completely at odds with her professional nurse persona.
I had just finished recounting my experience at the Gaming & Hobby Society. The rejection. The accusations of being a playboy. The actual written bylaw against people like me. The whole ridiculous affair.
"They had a bylaw," Natasha repeated, her green eyes sparkling with amusement. "An actual bylaw."
"An actual bylaw," I confirmed. "Gerald was very clear about it. 'No Chads allowed.' Direct quote."
"And they called you a Chad?" She looked like she was doing her best not to laugh.
"Among other things. 'Playboy' was the preferred terminology. One guy called Emma Frost his goddess and accused me of two-timing her." I paused. "Which is technically not inaccurate, I guess, except everyone involved knows about everyone else, so it's more like... poly-timing?"
"That's not a word."
"It should be…" I mumbled.
Natasha shook her head slowly, but the smile on her face was genuine.
Asia had been hovering nearby during my story, her big green eyes growing progressively wider with each detail. She was wearing a pink sweater over a modest white blouse, her blonde hair tied back with a ribbon that matched her sweater. Everything about her radiated innocence and kindness, from the way she stood with her hands clasped in front of her to the genuine concern on her face as she listened.
Now she walked over to where I was sitting on the examination bed and gently patted me on the head. Her touch was soft and comforting, like being petted by a particularly caring golden retriever in human form. "There, there," she said, her voice sweet and soothing. "People can be mean sometimes. But it'll be okay. I'm sure they didn't really mean all those hurtful things."
This girl has never had a bad thought in her entire life.
"Thank you, Asia. You're sweet," I said, and I meant it. Her earnest attempt to comfort me over something so trivial was oddly touching.
Asia's cheeks flushed pink at the compliment, and she ducked her head with a pleased little smile. "I just don't like seeing people sad. Even over silly things like clubs." She paused, then added more quietly, "I never got to join any clubs when I was growing up. The Church didn't allow it. So I think it's extra mean when people exclude others from things that should be fun."
And now I feel like an asshole for even bringing it up.
"You can join any club you want now," I reminded her. "That's the whole point of being here. Fresh start, remember?"
Her face lit up like I'd just told her Christmas was coming early. "Do you think there's a baking club? I've always wanted to learn to bake. Sister Margaret used to make the most wonderful bread, and she promised to teach me someday, but then..." She trailed off, the light dimming slightly as old memories surfaced.
"I'm sure there's a baking club," Natasha said, her voice warm in a way I rarely heard from her. The deadly spy had completely vanished, replaced by a protective mother who looked at Asia like she hung the moon. "We'll look into it later."
"Really?!" Asia clasped her hands together, practically bouncing on her heels. "Oh, that would be wonderful! I could learn to make cookies and cakes and maybe even those fancy French pastries with all the layers!"
"Croissants," I supplied.
"Yes! Croissants!" She said the word like it was magical. "I've never had a croissant. Are they as good as people say?"
"Better. I'll take you to a bakery sometime. There's a good French place a few blocks from here."
Asia looked like she might actually cry from happiness. Natasha shot me a look that was part gratitude, part warning. The gratitude was for being kind to her daughter. The warning was probably about not getting any ideas.
Natasha cleared her throat and shifted in her chair, recrossing her legs in the opposite direction. The motion drew my eyes for a moment before I forced them back to her face. Her smirk told me she'd noticed. "So," she said, her tone shifting from maternal warmth back to her usual playful sharpness. "Not that I don't enjoy the company, but why exactly are you visiting again? We just sparred a few hours ago." She tilted her head, green eyes glinting dangerously. "Couldn't wait to see me again?"
I opened my mouth to respond, but she continued before I could.
"Or maybe..." She leaned forward slightly, her voice dropping to something low and teasing. "Maybe you're here to try and steal my darling daughter Asia from me?" Her eyes narrowed in mock suspicion. "Well, I won't let you have her. She's too innocent for a playboy like you."
"Mom!" Asia's face had gone from pink to full crimson. She covered her cheeks with her hands, looking mortified. "You can't just say things like that!"
"I'm a spy, sweetheart. I can say whatever I want."
"That's not how that works!"
"It's exactly how that works."
I held up my hands in surrender. "I promise I'm not here to steal anyone. Innocent or otherwise." I gestured vaguely at the door behind me. "I didn't really have a particular reason for coming here, honestly. This room was just close to the club, and I didn't feel like wandering around campus after getting kicked out by a bunch of guys who think I'm a threat to their romantic prospects."
I didn't want to go to Emma or Jean either because I didn't want them reading my thoughts until I actually had those thoughts settled.
Natasha studied me for a moment. Those green eyes saw too much. It was easy to forget that this woman had been trained from childhood to manipulate and deceive. She noticed things. Subtle things. Things you didn't even know you were revealing. "Well," she said finally, "I appreciate being the first pick." She uncrossed her legs and stood up, walking toward her desk with a sway in her hips that I was pretty sure was deliberate. "Although playing therapist twice in one day is strange for a woman like me. I'm usually more the 'cause problems' type than the 'solve problems' type."
"You're very good at causing problems," I agreed.
"Years of practice." She sat on the edge of her desk, facing me. "But your timing is actually good."
"Yeah?"
"Yeah." Her expression shifted, the playfulness fading into something more serious. "Earlier, we were talking about you needing to focus on more important issues. Global-scale threats. Things that actually match your power level instead of punching muggers through walls."
I winced slightly at the reminder. The mugger incident was still fresh in my mind. The way his bones had crunched under my grip. The way the woman I'd been trying to save had screamed at me like I was the monster. "I remember," I said quietly.
"Well." Natasha reached over to her computer and started typing. "I have something very interesting for you."
That made me curious, but also wary. "Interesting" coming from a SHIELD agent could mean a lot of things, and most of them involved violence, explosions, or both.
"Before you get too excited," I said, "I should remind you that I only have this weekend. I'm not skipping out on my classes unless I want my Kunoichi mom to hunt me down…"
"Won't be an issue," Natasha said, still typing. "All the violence and explosions have already happened."
I blinked. "Huh?" That didn't sound ominous or anything…
Instead of answering, Natasha turned her monitor so I could see the screen. The image displayed made me sit up straighter on the examination bed. It was a town. Or rather, it was what was left of a town. The main street looked like it had been hit by a localized apocalypse. Buildings were smashed, windows shattered, cars overturned and crushed. Scorch marks blackened the asphalt in strange patterns. A massive crater dominated what looked like it used to be a gas station.
And in the center of the destruction, barely visible in the photo, was some kind of massive mechanical construct. It was hard to make out the details from the image quality, but it looked vaguely humanoid. Like a giant metal statue that had decided to go on a rampage.
"What the hell happened?" I asked.
"That's what SHIELD is trying to figure out." Natasha zoomed in on the mechanical figure. "This is Puente Antiguo. Small town in New Mexico. Population was about three thousand before... whatever this was decided to have a battle against a blonde guy that was throwing around lighting almost as impressive as you and your older sister…."
Asia had been listening quietly to our conversation, her eyes wide as she looked at the images on the screen. "That poor town," she murmured. "All those people lost their homes."
"They'll rebuild," Natasha said, her voice gentle when she addressed her daughter. "Insurance will cover most of it, and SHIELD is providing additional support. The important thing is that everyone got out safely."
"Can I help?" Asia asked. "With my healing? If anyone was hurt..."
"The injured have already been transported to proper medical facilities, sweetheart. But that's very kind of you to offer." Natasha reached out and tucked a strand of blonde hair behind Asia's ear. "You stay here and hold down the fort while I take Blake to investigate. We'll be back in a few hours."
"Okay." Asia nodded seriously, accepting her assignment. Then she looked at me with those big earnest eyes. "Be careful, Blake. Evil robots sound scary."
"I'll be careful," I promised.Famous last words, probably. I hopped off the examination bed and stretched, rolling my shoulders to loosen up. "Alright. New Mexico? I can do that." I focused on my power, feeling the familiar warmth building in my chest.
The air in front of me rippled, reality folding in on itself like paper being creased. A portal tore open with a sound like fabric ripping, revealing a circle of clear blue sky at night time and brown desert sand on the other side. Hot, dry air wafted through the opening, a stark contrast to the climate-controlled comfort of the nurse's office.
"That's still really cool," Natasha said appreciatively. She grabbed a jacket from behind her chair and slung it on, then tucked a small handgun into a holster I hadn't noticed her wearing. Because of course she was armed. This was Natasha. She walked toward the portal, then paused and looked back at Asia. "Remember, if anyone asks, I'm at a medical conference in Boston. Dr. Rushman will be back Monday morning."
"Got it!" Asia gave a little salute that was adorable in its earnestness. "Good luck investigating the robots and lighting guy!"
– The Ancient One –
At least some parts of the timeline have been staying on course.
The Ancient One stood in the Mirror Dimension, her yellow robes billowing slightly in a wind that didn't exist in the physical world. The fractured, crystalline landscape of the Mirror Dimension overlaid the ruins of Puente Antiguo like a transparent filter, allowing her to observe everything happening in the mortal realm without any risk of being detected. It was a useful trick, one she had perfected over centuries of watching humanity stumble through its existence.
I've stood in this dimension more times than I can count. Watching. Waiting. Guiding where I can, and accepting what I cannot change.
The small New Mexico town had seen better days. Much better days. Buildings lay in ruins, their facades crumbled and their windows shattered. Cars had been overturned like children's toys, some of them bearing massive impact craters that spoke to the incredible force that had been unleashed here. Scorch marks decorated the streets in patterns that no human weapon could have produced.
And in the center of it all, the remains of the Destroyer lay scattered like a broken metal giant.
Thor Odinson had done well. Better than she had expected, honestly, given his initial arrogance and the humbling journey he had been forced to undertake. Stripped of his powers by his own father, cast down to Earth as a mortal, forced to learn the lessons of humility and sacrifice that Odin had deemed necessary for his heir to understand.
It had been a fascinating transformation to witness, even from a distance.
The God of Thunder learned to be worthy. And in doing so, he reclaimed Mjolnir and destroyed the weapon his brother sent to kill him.
She had watched the final battle unfold. Thor, newly empowered, lightning crackling around his restored form as he faced the Destroyer. The construct had been relentless, a weapon of Asgardian make designed for one purpose: annihilation. But Thor had risen to the challenge. He had summoned a tornado, channeled the storm itself, and torn the Destroyer apart with the kind of raw divine power that reminded the Ancient One why she generally preferred to avoid direct confrontation with Asgardians.
Now Thor was gone, returned to Asgard via the Bifrost to confront his brother Loki. That particular family drama was beyond her purview. Asgardian politics were messy, complicated, and frankly not her problem. She had enough to worry about with Earth.
At least some things are going the way I saw when I used the Time Stone.
That thought brought her a measure of comfort, though it was tempered by frustration. Because while Thor's arc had proceeded more or less as expected, other elements of the timeline had gone completely sideways in ways she still couldn't fully track.
Tony Stark, for instance.
The man was supposed to be a reckless, self-destructive genius who would eventually find his way to heroism through a combination of trauma and stubborn determination. That part had happened. He'd built the Iron Man suit, announced himself to the world, started the slow process of becoming something more than a weapons dealer with a guilty conscience. All according to the visions she had seen.
What she had not seen was him getting married to some ninja woman from Japan.
A ninja... An actual Kunoichi not affiliated with the Hand—who also happens to be the mother of the one being I am absolutely forbidden from interfering with.
Shuri Himejima. That was the woman's name. The Ancient One had done her research after the incident in Kamar-Taj, when that overwhelming presence had slammed both her and Mordo to the floor with a single word. The memory still made her shudder. She had faced Dormammu's influence. She had bargained with cosmic entities. She had stared into the void of the Dark Dimension and emerged with her sanity intact.
None of it compared to the sheer weight of that "NO."
Whatever being protects the Nephilim, it is beyond anything I have ever encountered. Beyond Dormammu. Beyond the Vishanti. Beyond anything I can name or categorize.
And because of that being's protection, Blake Himejima was completely off limits. She couldn't observe him directly without risking another intervention. She couldn't interfere with his path, couldn't guide him, couldn't even use the Time Stone to glimpse his future without the visions dissolving into static and chaos. He was a blind spot in her carefully maintained understanding of the timeline.
An incredibly annoying blind spot.
The Ancient One sighed, a rare display of emotion that she typically kept suppressed. She wasn't some kind of evil mastermind. She didn't scheme and plot for personal gain or power. She had been watching over this world for centuries, guiding it through countless threats and crises, doing her best to ensure that humanity survived long enough to reach its potential. Her methods were sometimes questionable. Her choices were sometimes morally gray. But her intentions had always been rooted in protection.
I just don't want everything to go off the rails when I die.
And that was coming sooner rather than later. She had seen her own death. Multiple times, in multiple ways, each vision showing a different path but the same ultimate destination. The date wasn't fixed, the circumstances could change, but the outcome was inevitable. The Sorcerer Supreme would fall, and someone else would have to take her place.
She had made peace with that. Centuries of life taught you to accept mortality, even when you had the power to postpone it indefinitely. Drawing from the Dark Dimension had extended her existence far beyond its natural span, but she had always known it was borrowed time.
I just need to make sure the world is ready for what comes after.
Below her, in the physical realm, SHIELD agents swarmed through the ruins of Puente Antiguo like ants picking clean a carcass. They were efficient, she had to admit. Within hours of Thor's departure, they had cordoned off the area, evacuated the remaining civilians, and begun the painstaking process of collecting every piece of the Destroyer they could find. Flatbed trucks were being loaded with chunks of Asgardian metal. Scientists in hazmat suits were taking readings with instruments that beeped and whirred importantly without actually understanding what they were measuring.
They'll study that metal for years and barely scratch the surface of what it is. Mortal science is so charmingly limited.
The Ancient One was about to vanish, to slip away through the Mirror Dimension and return to Kamar-Taj without anyone ever knowing she had been there. She had seen what she came to see. Thor's arc was proceeding. The Destroyer was neutralized. Earth had survived another brush with cosmic forces beyond its understanding.
Then a blue portal tore open in the middle of the town square.
The Ancient One froze.
What is that…? A BLUE portal…?
And stepping through that doorway was Blake Himejima.
"You've got to be fucking kidding me," the Ancient One grumbled, knowing that whatever happened next was probably going to mess up the timeline once again.
– Blake –
After the climate controlled comfort of the campus nurse's office, the dry desert heat was almost overwhelming, even at night. The air tasted like dust and ozone, with an underlying metallic tang that I couldn't quite identify.
Natasha stepped through behind me.
I had maybe half a second to take in our surroundings before everything went sideways.
"FREEZE! HANDS IN THE AIR!"
"DON'T MOVE!"
"ON YOUR KNEES, NOW!"
A swarm of SHIELD agents materialized around us like they'd been waiting for exactly this moment. Black tactical gear, automatic weapons raised, laser sights painting red dots across my chest and face. There had to be at least a dozen of them, maybe more, all shouting conflicting commands while their fingers hovered dangerously close to triggers.
Well, this is a warm welcome.
I slowly raised my hands, palms out, making sure not to make any sudden movements. Getting shot wouldn't kill me or even hurt me, but it would ruin my shirt. And Pepper picked this one out for me. Natasha had already assumed an expression that was annoyed rather than concerned.
"Stand down!" A new voice cut in. "I said stand down, that's Agent Romanoff!"
Weapons lowered. Laser sights vanished from my chest. The crowd of agents parted, and a man in a slightly rumpled suit walked through the gap. He was average height, average build, with thinning hair and a face that projected calm competence. The kind of face you'd forget five minutes after meeting him, which I suspected was entirely intentional.
"Romanoff," he said, his tone perfectly neutral.
"Coulson," Natasha replied, matching his energy exactly.
I watched the two of them square each other up like gunslingers in an old Western movie. We were in the perfect setting for it.
"Mind telling me what you're doing in my jurisdiction?" Coulson asked.
Natasha shrugged. "I got some of the reports. Didn't know much beyond the basics. Figured I could bring my friend Blake here to investigate, see if he could pick up on anything your standard equipment might have missed."
Coulson's eyes flicked to me, assessing. "Blake Himejima. Tony Stark's new stepson." It wasn't a question.
"That's me," I said, offering a small wave.
Coulson nodded slowly. Then he turned his attention back to Natasha. I hadn't realized until this exact moment that Natasha had been jumping rank by bringing me here.
The silence stretched for several long seconds. Coulson stared at Natasha. Natasha stared right back. I contemplated whether it would be appropriate to whistle or make a joke.
Finally, Coulson sighed. It was the sigh of a man who had been dealing with difficult people his entire career and had learned to pick his battles. "Fine," he said, the word heavy with resignation. "But this is still my operation, Romanoff. You're here as a courtesy, nothing more."
"Wouldn't dream of stepping on your toes, Phil."
The use of his first name was deliberate, I could tell. A tiny power play, a reminder that they knew each other well enough for informality even in a professional setting. Coulson's eye twitched almost imperceptibly.
These two definitely have history.
"So," I said, deciding it was probably safe to speak now that the territorial dispute seemed resolved. "What exactly happened here? Natasha showed me some photos, but photos don't really capture the whole..." I gestured at the devastation surrounding us. "...Vibe."
Coulson turned to face me fully, and I got the sense he was grateful for the subject change. "Honestly? There's not much left to investigate. The main event is over. The hostile was neutralized, the civilians have been evacuated, and we're in cleanup mode now." He paused, considering something. "But maybe you can make something out of the teleportation thingy burnt into the ground over there."
I blinked. "The teleportation thingy?"
"Technical term." Coulson's expression didn't change, but I could swear I saw a glimmer of humor in his eyes. "It's from something called a Bifrost. Some kind of sky laser beam thing."
Natasha snorted. "Very eloquent, Phil."
"You had to be there to see it in action," Coulson replied dryly. He turned and pointed toward the edge of town, where I could see a cluster of agents gathered around something on the ground. "It came down from the sky, deposited a giant metal robot, and then vanished. Left that mark behind. We've been taking readings, but our equipment isn't really designed for... whatever this is."
Sky laser beam that drops off giant robots. Sure. Why not? That's completely normal.
I started walking in the direction Coulson had indicated, Natasha falling into step beside me. The other agents watched us pass with expressions ranging from curiosity to suspicion to outright hostility. I tried not to take it personally. They'd just been pointing guns at me thirty seconds ago. A little lingering animosity was to be expected.
"You could have warned me you were stepping on toes," I muttered to Natasha under my breath.
She smiled, the expression sharp and unapologetic. "Where's the fun in that?"
"I could have been shot."
"Oh please…" the redheaded spy rolled her eyes playfully at me as she swayed her hips.
I walked along the perimeter of the circle burned into the ground, my eyes tracing the intricate patterns that had been seared into the desert sand and stone. The mark was massive, at least thirty feet in diameter, and the level of detail was staggering. Geometric shapes interlocked with flowing lines that curved and spiraled in ways that seemed to follow rules I couldn't quite grasp. At regular intervals around the circumference, strange symbols had been branded into the earth with such precision that they looked almost mechanical in their perfection.
"Hm," I said, stroking my chin thoughtfully as I crouched down to examine one of the symbols more closely. "Interesting. Very interesting." The symbol glowed faintly when I leaned in, residual energy still pulsing through it even hours after whatever event had created it. "This is an amazing combination of runic magic," I said sagely, standing back up and nodding to myself with what I hoped was an expression of scholarly authority. "The interplay between the geometric foundations and the symbolic overlays suggests a highly sophisticated understanding of dimensional transference. Truly remarkable craftsmanship."
I had no idea what any of those words meant in this context. I was pulling them directly from my ass.
"You don't understand anything about this, do you?" Natasha asked flatly from behind me.
Damn. She's good.
"Not at all," I admitted honestly, dropping the pretense. "I've never seen anything like this before. The closest comparison I can think of is some of the sealing arrays from the Elemental Nations, and I didn't understand shit about those either. How do people store entire arsenals inside pieces of paper? Fuck if I know… Magic Chakra bullshit."
Natasha snorted, the sound carrying a mix of amusement and something that might have been affection. She'd moved to stand beside me, her arms crossed over her chest as she surveyed the Bifrost mark with the analytical eye of a professional. "So," she said, turning to face me with a raised eyebrow, "are you getting anything useful out of being here? Or did we waste our time with this little field trip?"
I opened my mouth to respond, but she continued before I could.
"Because if that's the case..." Her voice dropped to something lower, more intimate. She took a step closer, close enough that I could smell her perfume mixing with the dust and ozone in the air. Her green eyes held mine with an intensity that made my pulse quicken. "Maybe we can find some other fun to have tonight instead."
Is she... is she actually propositioning me right now? In the middle of a SHIELD crime scene?
The worst part was I couldn't tell if she was serious or just messing with me. With Natasha, it could easily be either. Or both. The woman was an enigma wrapped in a riddle wrapped in a skintight catsuit that left very little to the imagination.
I gulped audibly.
"I, uh..." My voice came out slightly strangled. I cleared my throat and tried again. "I might be feeling something, actually."
Natasha's lips curved into a knowing smirk. "Oh? And what exactly are you feeling?"
She's definitely messing with me. Mostly. Probably…?
I turned back to the circle, partly to actually examine it more closely and partly to hide the flush I could feel creeping up my neck. "The energy signature here. It's not completely faded. There's still a connection, like... like a thread stretching off into the distance. Whoever teleported from here, they left a trail."
That got Natasha's attention. Her flirtatious demeanor shifted instantly to professional focus, the transition so seamless it was almost jarring. "A trail you can follow?"
"Maybe." I held up my hand, letting a flicker of blue portal energy dance across my fingertips. "My power works by creating connections between two points in space. Sometimes across dimensions. If I can piggyback off this existing signal, I might be able to open a portal to wherever this Bifrost thing sent its passenger." I paused, considering the potential ramifications of what I was suggesting. "Maybe," I repeated, less certainly this time.
Natasha was quiet for a moment. Then she shrugged. "That sounds reckless and dangerous," she said matter-of-factly. "Coulson would definitely tell you not to do it." A pause. Her smirk returned. "Which means you should absolutely do it!"
I snorted despite myself. "That's your professional advice? Do the dangerous thing because the authority figure would disapprove?"
"I'm a spy, Blake. Doing dangerous things that authority figures disapprove of is literally my job description."
She's not wrong.
I took a deep breath and stepped closer to the center of the Bifrost mark. The energy was stronger here, that cosmic static building into something that felt almost like a heartbeat.
Okay. Here goes nothing.
I reached out with my portal power, just a tiny bit, barely a trickle of energy compared to what I used for full dimensional travel. I wasn't trying to force open a gateway. I was just... listening. Feeling for that thread of connection, trying to understand where it led.
The moment my power touched the Bifrost mark, everything went wrong.
The runes exploded with light!
Every single symbol burned into the ground blazed to life simultaneously, flaring with a brilliant golden radiance that was almost blinding. Energy crackled and sparked between the geometric patterns like lightning arcing between conductors. The air filled with a sound like thunder and bells and something else I couldn't identify, a resonance that seemed to vibrate through my bones.
"What the—"
I didn't get to finish the sentence.
The pull hit me like a bus. One moment I was standing at the edge of the circle. The next, I was being dragged toward the center by a force that felt like gravity had suddenly decided I was its new favorite target. My feet scraped across the sand, leaving furrows in the dirt as I tried desperately to resist. I spread my wings, all eight of them bursting from my back in a shower of black feathers, but even the full strength of my flight ability couldn't counteract whatever was happening!
This wasn't supposed to happen. I barely touched it. Why is it reacting like this?
I could feel my own portal power resonating with the Bifrost energy, the two forces intertwining and amplifying each other in ways I hadn't anticipated. It was like I'd accidentally completed a circuit, and now all that stored power was discharging directly through me.
"Blake!"
Natasha's voice cut through the chaos. I turned my head to see her running toward me, her hand outstretched, but she was too far away and I was moving too fast. The center of the circle loomed beneath me, and I could see reality beginning to tear open, a swirling vortex of rainbow light and impossible colors forming where solid ground should have been.
"Natasha, don't—"
And then I was falling. The portal swallowed me whole, and the world dissolved into light and motion and the sensation of being stretched across infinity.
This feels familiar.
The thought drifted through my mind as I tumbled through whatever space existed between spaces. Colors I couldn't name streaked past my vision. Sounds that weren't sounds echoed through my being. Time seemed to lose all meaning, stretching and compressing in ways that made my head spin.
This is exactly what it felt like the first time. When I was dying in that New York street and my power activated on its own. When I got pulled to the Elemental Nations. At least I'm not bleeding out this time. That's an improvement.
Small mercies.
The journey through the dimensional void lasted only a few seconds…
The portal spat me out like a cat rejecting a hairball, and I stumbled forward onto solid ground with all the grace of a newborn deer learning to walk. My wings flared instinctively to catch my balance, and I managed to avoid faceplanting through sheer luck more than skill. The swirling vortex behind me collapsed with a sound like a thunderclap, leaving nothing but empty air where it had been.
I stood there for a moment, breathing hard. My eyes were squeezed shut against the disorientation.
Okay. Okay. I'm alive. I'm in one piece. That's good. Now figure out where the hell you are.
I opened my eyes.
And immediately realized I was not on Earth anymore.
The first thing I noticed was the architecture. I was standing in what appeared to be a town square, surrounded by buildings made of stone and timber in a style that belonged in a medieval fantasy novel rather than the modern world. Cobblestone streets stretched off in multiple directions, lined with shops and stalls selling goods I couldn't identify from this distance. Lanterns hung from iron posts, their flames flickering despite the fact that it was still daylight, and I could see signs with symbols instead of letters marking various establishments.
The second thing I noticed was the people. Lots of them had animal features. Regular humans, but also people who were not. Cat ears? Dog ears? Holy shit, is that an Elf!?
And a lot of them were looking at me. Which, fair enough. I had just appeared out of nowhere in a flash of light with eight massive black wings sprouting from my back. That tended to attract attention.
But here was the weird part: after a few seconds of staring, most of them just... shrugged and went back to what they were doing. Like I wasn't the most interesting thing they'd seen today.
What?
A group of young men and women walked past me, their outfits a bizarre mix of practical traveling gear and what I could only describe as fantasy armor. One guy was wearing a full set of plate mail with a massive sword strapped to his back. A woman beside him had pointed ears and carried a staff topped with a glowing crystal. Another figure, gender indeterminate under their hooded cloak, had a tail poking out from beneath the fabric.
They glanced at me, glanced at my wings, exchanged a few words I couldn't hear, and then continued on their way like interdimensional travelers with angelic appendages were a perfectly normal part of their daily commute.
Okay. So wherever I am, weird is apparently the baseline.
I took a few deep breaths, forcing my racing heart to slow down. Panic wasn't going to help. I needed to assess the situation, figure out where I was, and find a way back home. Standard isekai protocol, except this was now my second involuntary trip to another world.
I did a slow rotation, taking in my surroundings more carefully. The town was bustling with activity despite the strangeness of its inhabitants. I could see what looked like a marketplace in one direction, adventurer-types trading weapons and armor. In another direction, a large building with a crossed sword and shield on its sign seemed to be some kind of guild hall. The smell of cooking food wafted from somewhere nearby, mixing with less pleasant odors that suggested medieval sanitation practices.
And then I looked up.
My breath caught in my throat.
Rising from the center of the town, extending so far into the sky that its top was lost in the clouds, was a tower. But calling it a tower felt like calling the sun a lightbulb. The structure was massive, impossibly massive, a circular pillar of white stone and gleaming metal that dominated the entire landscape. It had to be miles wide at its base and stretched upward with a slight taper until it vanished into the heavens.
What the actual fuck is that thing?
This was a structure that shouldn't exist, couldn't exist according to any engineering principles I understood. It was a monument to ambition on a scale that made human achievements look like sandcastles.
"Damn," I muttered to myself, still staring up at the impossible tower. "I don't think I'm on Earth anymore."
No shit, Sherlock. We already established that fact with the cat girls.
A passing adventurer, a stocky man with a battleaxe over his shoulder, heard me and let out a gruff laugh.
"First time seeing Babel, friend?" he asked in a language I somehow understood despite never having heard it before. Having All Speak as a Fallen Angel was really helpful. "Don't worry, you get used to it. Everyone does eventually!"
Babel. The tower is called Babel. Like the Biblical tower that was supposed to reach heaven?
"Where..." I swallowed, trying to get my bearings. "Where exactly am I?"
The man looked at me like I'd asked which direction was up.
"Orario, of course," he said. "The Labyrinth City. Home of the Dungeon." He squinted at me, taking in my wings and my obvious confusion. "Well—Good luck…" The man shrugged, apparently deciding that my situation wasn't his problem, and continued on his way. I was left standing alone in the middle of a fantasy city in another dimension, staring up at a tower that touched the sky, with no idea how I was going to get home.
I let out a long, slow breath and retracted my wings back inside. I needed information. I needed to understand where I was and how things worked here.
I could feel that my portal power might take a few days to recharge before I could go back to Earth. That meant I'd be slumming it in this fantasy world for the next couple days and this time there weren't any beautiful women showing up in the middle of the road to help me out…
"...Excuse me? You look distressed. Do you need any help?" A gentle voice called out behind me.
– Natasha –
Natasha bit her lip as she paced back and forth outside the perimeter of the magic circle thing that had just kidnapped Blake Himejima. Agent Coulson was standing nearby with a look of disappointment on his face.
He then shook his head. "You know I'm going to have to call this in, right?"
"Fuck… His girlfriends and his mom are going to kill me…" Natasha said. She almost wished she made it to the portal fast enough and got sucked in with him. That would have probably just made things worse though… "He'll be fine. I'm sure he'll be fine…"
XXX