Hands up and ready, I focus on the stanced figure of Natasha, looking for openings but finding none obvious, her mastery leaving no exploitable weaknesses. Holding her gaze, peering into her eyes, she gives me a smirk, a taunting beckon of her fingers, prompting me to make the first move. With my Chi pulled back and my superior physique carefully controlled, the spar one of testing skill, I flow forward incrementally, my foot gliding across the mat.
Hoping to fake her out, but knowing success to be more than unlikely, I shift my weight, hinting at a strike from the right, to no regard. Tucking in and spinning, I whip out a leg in a high kick, aiming for her head, but she ducks, evading. My reaction speed uncontrollable, I sense as she goes for a takedown, so follow through on my motion, completing my twirl to face her, then hop off my standing leg and kick it out. The attack connects, meeting her blocking arms, Natasha rolling back with it and stopping in a crouch, one hand braced in front.
Her dyed-blonde hair braided behind her, she lifts her head to me and narrows her eyes as I steady, a smirk of my own greeting her, a beckoning of my fingers wiggling. She stands with a huff, shaking her arms out and rotating her neck, then locking onto me as she settles into position, hands raised and loose. The time of taunts and tests passed, I breath out and lower slightly, falling into readiness, then nod, prepared for engagement. Natasha slowly approaches, closing the distance, nearing, then quickly punches out.
Anticipating her action, catching the smallest of movements, I step back, dodging the attack, knuckles brushing past my nose. Countering, I follow the retreat of the fist, getting in close and hitting, aiming for her chest, wanting to create space, but miss, Natasha swerving out the way. Fearing her retaliation, I attempt to move away, widening the gap, only to be second too late, gasping softly as a strike impacts a kidney. Suppressing the radiating pain, not allowing it to distract me, I push away her next move, the instilled teachings of my master guiding me.
Choosing to take the defensive option, flowing around her assault and evading, deflecting when needed, I wait for the opportune moment, leaning away from a kick. A gap in her process, a minute overreach, sees my body reacting before my mind, my subconscious noticing, reaching and catching her wrist, flinging it up at speed and faltering her stance. Her eyes widen marginally at her mistake, at my swift response, before grimacing as I bend and rush her, catching her around her centre and toppling her.
We fall together, my weight on hers as I clutch her, my arms circling her waist as I gain the advantage, her upper back slamming into the cushioned flooring. A grunt leaves Natasha as I crawl up her, pinning her arms and mounting her, knees on either side. Bending down and coming face-to-face, my loosened hair falling over and covering us, I whisper, asking, "...Wanna continue?" Her face flush with exertion, her breath barely quickened, she raises her eyebrows and answers, a quirk to her lips as she wonders,
"Is that an invitation?"
Chuckling, I sit up and stare down at her, a smile on my face as I clarify, "You know what I mean." Rolling off her, falling on my back and laying out beside her, I continue, "Besides, I have a partner." turning my head to her, finding her looking back, I say, "A little flirting is alright in my eyes, but anything further is a no go, I'm afraid." Natasha takes in my words, her expression softening faintly, answering me,
"Fair enough." She turns away, content to stare at the wooden, painted-red ceiling as she rests, causing me to join her, my mind drifting. The past two weeks, fifteen days since the assembly of the Avengers and of the revelation, have passed too quickly for my liking, our remaining time draining rapidly. Their reactions to my startling information, of Thanos and his Order, of his quest and his coming invasion of Earth, were calmer than I expected.
While there was a fair share of reasonable, expected panic and concern, especially from Tony, we all quickly started preparing in our own way. From what I've gathered, little conversations here and there as we all pass by, rushed meetups arranged and over in minutes, the big three have been having talks with their own connections. Tony's been surveilling the government networks and setting up an early warning system, while all the same rebuilding previously abandoned infrastructure, recreating his Iron Legion.
They was slight pushback by the team, opinions and warning issued, along with Tony's personal misgivings on the project, but they came to an understanding on its necessity. His ongoing PTSD in regards to his suits and the first Chitauri invasion also prompted a recollection in me, helping me to discern his reaction to the upcoming war. If I remember correctly, during the whole affair with Ultron, what with the AI wanting to wipe out humanity, they came into conflict with the Maximoff siblings.
Her powers as they are, in addition to her past hatred of Tony, led her to manipulate his mind and surface his deepest fears, which, for some reason, manifested as an altered vision of the future. I've gone over what I can recall, and I'm pretty sure he was shown a potential, but unlikely to come to pass, result to their resistance against Thanos. In the vision, Tony found himself standing over the corpses of his defeated, murdered team, their bodies littering the ground as he looked on in horror, a barely alive Steve blaming him for their failure.
This prompted the creation of the Iron Legion, a 'suit of armour around the world', an autonomous collective of robots equipped with Iron Man tech. As this resulted in the accidental birth of the charismatic Ultron, his natural abilities allowing him to gain control over the bots and turn them into his army, Tony decided to destroy them, for the sake of collective safety. Now, the need outweighing the risks, he's been working on rebuilding and retrofitting them, installing tech specifically designed to eradicate Thanos' alien forces.
While Tony's been working on the big picture, aids and bodies to throw at the grinder, Steve's been taking advantage of the instantaneous travel of the sorcerers. I'm unaware of the specifics, though I'm sure that will change once the details have been ironed out, but he's been meeting with T'Challa, king of Wakanda and current Black Panther. I think he's trying to secure assistance from the nation, especially their technology and armies, but I also suspect he wants to use their land as the station of the battle.
The idea is sound, and he has more experience than most anyone when it comes to fighting a war, but I doubt Thanos will follow his whims and plans. The fucker commands a great army of spaceships, enabling him to arrive unobstructed literally anywhere on Earth. An idea to funnel his forces using the energy signatures of our Infinity Stones has been bouncing around my skull, but I'm not knowledgable enough on the subject to be able to actually go about that.
Even then, there's no way that any of the stones should be allowed to enter the field, maybe bar the Time Stone, the power of Stephen potentially enough to safeguard it. The Space Stone will probably be shipped off, stored away in some distant, lifeless dimension out of reach, while the Mind Stone… that's a whole nother problem. Vision is wise enough to realise that while he is an important combatant, he is not instrumental to the effort. It's a conversation we need to have, all of us, if it's not a conclusion he's already come to himself, which I can see happening.
Beyond those two, their efforts on controlling the field, Thor's spent most of his time aboard the Statesman, preparing the battle-ready Asgardians, the warriors, for battle. Under the examining, relentless, and strict instruction of Brunnhilde, the last remaining Valkyrie and future queen of New Asgard, the survivors have been readying and training. Progress seems to be going well, their helplessness under the domineering reign of Thor's older sister, Hela, Goddess of Death, and during the destruction of their world seeming to have lit a fire under them.
He's also sent a small delegation to the cosmic city of Knowhere to negotiate for possession of the Reality Stone, the Asgardians having placed it there following their conflict with the Dark Elves. Currently, it's in the hold of the Collector, Taneleer Tivian, one of the Elders of the Universe, who controls Knowhere through his criminal enterprise, the Tivian Group. Going by what I know of the Collector, his immortality tied to his obsession with collecting artefact and living beings, I doubt it's going well.
Outside of them, the Masters have been monitoring the planes, their strange inhabitants, with their own methods of perception, providing information to us; at least, those who've allied with us. My own efforts have been focused on honing my combat skills, expanding my repertoire of martial arts, with plans regarding potential enchantments forming. While I'm entirely superhuman, an overall, complete step above the upper limits of mortal humanity, that doesn't mean that I'm invincible.
I'm more than aware of my limits, both magical and physical, which led me to come to Natasha for tutelage. I initially thought of asking Steve, our physiques comparable, but he more aligns with forceful, in-your-face combat, whereas Nat's skills, from what I remember, are similar to my own. I'm certain Steve's skill set would better suit me in the long run, but I know his time to be better spent on the war effort, not on training me. After explaining my comprehension to Nat, and of my expertise in one form, she initiated sparring sessions, all to give me primers on her mastered arts.
Now, with a bit over a month until the predicted arrival of Thanos, my varying, newly acquired martial arts have been tallied by my panel, which chose to combine and collate them as such,
[Martial Arts (Proficient): Beginning under the watchful, caring guidance of your master, learning her arts and gradually climbing towards expertise, you've worked your way onwards. Your dedicated efforts, along with training from combat masters, has all culminated in a certain level of skill in wide range of martial schools. From the ancient art of Baguazhang, to the more modern, specialised arts of a war-torn, blood-soaked world, you're now a well-rounded combatant.
As you gain more experience, challenging both personal and external, the world and the antagonistic, specific technique will fade into irrelevance. One movement will flow into the next, mindless responding any situation with ease, a state of no-thought, of instinctive certainty answering any attack. That's not to say that you should ever stop improving; there are infinite scenarios waiting to challenge you, who knows what will strike next, of how you will retaliate?
Your assorted proficiencies in martial arts has aided you in understanding the current limits of your body, of how far you can push it and of what is possible. The training of Black Widow, the greatest unenhanced fighter amongst the current mortals of earth, has augmented the speed at which you've learned, feeding back and augment your battle senses.
Wax on, wax off.]
A small wince from the woman beside brings my thoughts back to the present, turning to see her sitting up, rubbing the visibly forming bruising on her arms. Joining her, place my legs over one another, my arms behind me bracing my weight, I examine the damage, a faint, red mark crossing over both wrists, matching up. Sighing, I sit up fully, cross-legged, and lean forward, offering, "You want me to heal you?" She turns and looks at me, a curious glint in her eyes as she asks,
"Magic?"
Shaking my head, I clarify, "Not quite. Eldritch magic, what we sorcerers use, is limited in that aspect. My offer of healing is cast through my own power, separate from my studies under the Masters." Raising my hands to her, I channel Chi to one, its green emitting, while summoning Sun-Kissed in the other, the orange fire licking my fingers, "Which would you prefer?" Natasha stares cautiously at the Dao fire, then questions,
"...What's the difference?"
Nodding at my Chi, I explain, "This one, a method that utilised my Chi, heals, repairing physical damage. It's also capable of regrowing limbs, but only when used on myself, for now, hopefully. While the fire," I lift it to her, waving it slowly, "restores. It accesses your spirit, the emanations of your soul, to rebuild you according to how you are meant to be. The difference seems small, I know, a simple change in wording, but they operate in fundamentally distinct ways."
I watch as Natasha looks between my hands, a thoughtful expression donning her face, when a flash of realisation flickers in her eyes, which she swiftly attempts to hide. A small smile grows on my lips as she reaches the correct conclusion, my purposeful, chosen words leading her to an answer. She subconsciously slides her hand down her belly, settling just below and stroking as she gets lost in though, before stilling, catching herself and searching my face.
A fleeting glance downwards, acknowledgement of her action and awareness of her stolen ability, sees me giving her a small nod, confirming. Natasha lowers her hands, her eyes intense and sharp as she enquires, needing certainty, "Is it safe?" Releasing a small laugh, I pull back my Chi, alighting my bare arms in Sun-Kissed, my cracks visible beneath, shining, and promise,
"The safest method in the universe."
Moving onto my knees, I indicate for Natasha to lay down, then wait as she hesitantly follows my instruction, spread flat, her arms by her sides, hands clenched into fists. Shuffling forward, my exposed knees scraping along the ground, I hover over her, placing my palms over her midsection, reassuring, "This might feel a bit funny, but there's no danger, I promise." Staring into her eyes, I smile, "The fire will grow to encompass you, but that's normal, so try not to panic, okay?" She breaths out, relaxing, as I probe, "You ready?"
Natasha doesn't respond for a moment, the seconds passing in silence, before she closes her eyes and nods. With all the consent I need given, I fall into instant meditation, my concentration maximised, them press my palms down, laying them over her black tank top. A shift occurs in my vision as Revelation looks deep, searching and centring on the focal of my interest, documenting. My will manipulates the fire, pushing through her skin and warming flesh, sweeping along with the accelerating pump of her blood, infusing and mending.
I allow it to work its wonder, gently manoeuvring it when needed, but taking a majority backseat, checking its progress and inspecting the results. A lifetime of micro-damage, tears and fractures, riddle her body, shortening her lifespan and lessening her prowess, is gradually erased. Reminders, both internal and external, by bullet or blade, are smoothed over, their time rewound to a perfect state. Neurological damage and the accumulated effects of ageing, back pain and reduced senses, are weakened to a measured fix; until my attention rest on my main target.
Her training as a Black Widow, a childhood in the Red Room, has left her numerous scars, be they mental or physical, with none greater then the gift bestowed on her upon her graduation. The how, the why, are irrelevant, the reasoning her masters used to convinced themselves of the perceived necessity cruel and vile. Peering through Sun-Kissed to the frowning Natasha, I grow hopeful of her life beyond the coming months, a need settling in my heart to not allow her to sacrifice herself, her soul capable of so much more.
Keeping my sight on her, taking in her features, glowing under the light of the Dao, I find the fear she keeps hidden, laying just under her skin, electric and dominant. Removing one hand from her, the healing underway regardless, I reach down and hold her own hand, feeling her fingers grip back, tightening. Smiling, I close my eyes, pushing Sun-Kissed along, a final burst of will clearing away impurities and restoring function, a flash of light and a blanket of warmth running over skin.
Opening my eyes, staring at the now unmarred body of Natasha, I lean down close to her face, sensing her fluctuating, chaotic emotions and whisper, "Born anew." Her eyelids flutter open, her puffy eyes looking up at me, no words needed as her appreciation is conveyed, held-back tears threatening to form. Cupping her cheek, I brush a thumb over and comfort, softly saying, "I'll give you some space." Releasing her, I start to stand, leaving her where she lays, a final sentence left behind as I step away,
"Come find me soon enough, I'd like your help with something."
…
Hours later, as the rays of the daylight sun lower below the horizon, I find myself in the undercroft, sitting before the open door to the Crossroads, Purpose laid across my lap. I watch the slow going of the repair, the starlit backdrop contrasting the rainbow of broken roads, each and every one overlapping and gravitating towards an unseen centre. My sight fixed on the still-present hand of Gaea, her green-tipped, wheatish-coloured fingers moving to an unheard rhythm, a question threatens to burst from me.
Running my digits over my the blade of Purpose, a hum greeting me as I feel along its runes, I realise I have to air my curiosity, my words sounding before I can stop myself, "Great Mother." My voice is small but strong, tiny in comparison to the realm, but I know it reaches the senses of the Elder Goddess. I wait, wanting, but not demanding, for a response, the minutes passing. When none comes, I sigh, the lack within expectation, then continue, figuring she's allowing me to observe for a reason,
"You must know of what's coming, who's coming. Why do the gods ignore us in this time of great crisis?" Beyond the more physical gods such as Thor, their alignment more inline with the material realm, the greater, spiritual, conceptual entities, be they deities or abstracts, have remained silent. My current self has had a single interaction with Death itself, when I journeyed with future Sarah, so I know some are paying attention, are present. Stephen himself, the fucking Sorcerer Supreme, has voiced his confusion in regards to their non-interference.
We'd have thought that, even if they don't play a direct role, they would've at least offered guidance, or even simple knowledge. But no, so far we've suffered radio-silence, with even the lesser principalities staying oddly silent. They still provide power to their artefacts, and assist in the casting of spells in their names, so the fact that they aren't interacting, is really weird. It's as if they've all come to some form of an agreement, a pact to allow the war to happen, regardless of the outcome.
Even the demons, Hell Lords and Old Ones, have shown a reduced presence, pulling back to their Hells and dimensions, risking a reduction in their earthly influence. It's had us, the sorcerers, and even those with the slightest inkling of spiritual awareness, on edge, the situation making no fucking sense. How have all these greater powers, including those that have warred against each other since before time and creation, come to a quiet accord? Dialogue with Stephen, theories put forth, has left us feeling as if we're in the eye of a storm, blind to greater happenings elsewhere.
The predictable lack of reply causes no heightened emotion, the goddess choosing not answer. With disappointment in heart, I tap Purpose and go to stand, when a youngish, female voice speaks from the open door, "Hold for a moment!" Shocked, alert, I rush to my feet and fire off a message to Stephen, then wield my sword at the ready, summoning my spiked shield and holding it before me in preparation. I shuffle back, hiding behind my shield, and focus, searching for the source.
The slap of a small hand, human-looking fingers pressed white as they support weight, sounds as it grasps the edge of the doorway. A second soon joins it, a shoulders width separating them, before gasps of effort reach me, the top of a head, covered by black hair, adorned by a golden band, rising into view. With a final pull, a strained grunt reaching me, a flushed, teenage face, framed by a bob-style haircut, its tips gathered in a fray of golden holds, appears, a wide smile on its face.
The girls blue eyes widen with happiness as she sees me, a joyous note to her voice as she exclaims, "Sarah Worthington, at last we meet!" My grip on Purpose tightens as my name is invoked, the knowledge not exactly hidden, but foreign to this timeline, bar few. She begins to pull herself up, her arms shaking with effort, before laying her blue-dress covered chest of the ledge. Kicking her legs, her sandalled feet flailing, she flops into the room and rolls onto her back.
The girl gazes up at me as Revelation attempts to divine her identity, only for her to wave a tired limb, her hand slapping away the invisible probe, saying, "Please don't; a woman deserves her secrets, no?" Now somewhat understanding the power of this strange newcomer, her casual display proving her to be beyond the current me, along with her lack of open hostility, I lower Purpose. Keeping my shield covering my majority, just in case, I examine the staring girl, a note of unfamiliar recognition sparking, causing me to ask,
"...Do I know you?" A light of glee flashes in her eyes as she sits up, looking up as I tower over her, when she replies,
"You will, someday. Our first meeting yet to happen. Or is this it, maybe? Who knows." Her head tilts to the side, laughter leaving her as she continues, "Oh! That's right, I do!" She lightly knocks on her skull with a fist, her tongue sticking out to the side, her humour dragging out, before a greater voice passes through the doorway, a hint of warning contained,
"Daughter." The girl lowers her hand as she peers over her shoulder, her face hidden from me as she apologises,
"Sorry, Mother."
She turns back to me, a small roll of her eyes offered as she points a thumb over, gesturing behind her, her head rolling to the side. I ignore her antics, her personality matching her chosen appearance, as the hint at the divine relationship brings realisation, her name surfacing from the depths of memory, "...Neith?" The girl smiles at me and raises her hands, clutching suddenly appearing golden strings, then uses them to pull herself up, standing equal with my chest and replying,
"Sometimes." Eyeing the string with curiosity, their form strikingly familiar, yet lacking in a certain depth, I look down at the now named Neith and question,
"What's going on?"
Neith blinks up at me, her hands on her hips, placed atop the red band around her waist, then responds, "You had questions, yes? Given who you will grow to be, I though it best we have a chat. Especially when the answers involve yourself, no?" Her allusion to my future doesn't come as a shock, not now, but the hints at me having any relation with the silence of the gods causes a trail of fear to crawl up my spine. Trying to calm myself, I go to reply, when Neith grabs my arm and raises it, turning over my hand.
She rest the tips of her fingers on my skyward palm, tickling, as she starts to speak, limited explanation given over, "I can't tell you the details, but an order was issued from on high, see? I'm talking the tippity-top, the real movers and shakers, right?" Her fingers begin to run a circle, a powerful, divine energy searching under skin, as I enquire, confused,
"Why? For what reason?" Neith stops her probing, whatever she's looking for unfound, and glances up at me, her eyes clear as she informs me,
"Because of this." She lifts my palm, putting it between our heights, a faint, golden circle visible on its surface, and carries on, "Whatever future you created here has truly unsettled the big guys. Usually they'd respond, take at least some action, you know? If some big threat comes into existence. Instead, they've imposed a quiet period. Even some of the real bad folk are listening." I listen with rapt attention, internalising and dissecting the information hidden in the absence, then pull my hand from her grasp.
Looking it over, I avoid thinking on the implications for the moment, instead gazing at the seal on my palm, its weight feeling heavier then ever. Taking a breath, cycling my Chi to flood my being, my nerves electrifying with pure life, I shift to look at Neith, my eyes narrowed, and query, "And you got to be the one to tell me? You, a Goddess of Destiny?" Neith smiles disarmingly, her hands held up in surrender, before she glances towards my shield, telling,
"I though it only appropriate, no? Three generations gathered in the same location, each circling the same woman? How could I resist?" I follow her gaze, looking at the spiked cover in hand, my eyes widening as I recall, stating,
"Sobek is your son." Neith extends a hand, laying it on the shield, her movements caring, replying,
"One of many, but no lesser than any other." The shield vibrates in my hold, the will of its patron present. Pulling it from my hold, sliding over and off my arm, I go to offer it to her, for a period, when Neith stills. She looks over my shoulder, in the direction of the entrance, to the stairs up, and sighs. Curious, I join her, finding the figure of Stephen standing a distance away, his yellow-gloved hands clasped before him, his expression calm. Offering him a nod of greeting, I turn back to continue, only to find Neith gone, her presence vanishing between seconds.
Surprised, and a little annoyed that she just up and left, I move to join Stephen, who wonders, "What did the Weaver want with you?"
Deactivating my shield, feeling it settle around my finger, I store Purpose in its Dantian and begin to explain, my answers hopefully clearing away our confusion.