A serious expression comes over Natasha's face at my words, the atmosphere shifting as she takes me in; the gun in my hands and the contents of my words conveying motive. I watch the change in her eyes with a hint of anxiety, tapping a finger on the steel of the rifle as I wait for her response, nervous as to her reaction. A moment passes in silence, Natasha drawing in a small breath, before she steps away, rotating and walking over to her coffee table.
Stopping before it, she leans down and grabs the pistol from its wooden surface, then stands and turns. Staring at me as she pulls up the back of her black shirt, tucking the weapon into her jeans, she asks, her voice firm, "What do you need me to do?" Closing my eyes, I release a small sigh, building my resolve, then open them and gesture out to the side, a portal forming. Lowering my arm, I nod to it, the workroom I just left visible beyond, the bench covered in clutter, and instruct,
"If you would, please. I'd rather not drag this out." I don't wait for her reply, wanting to get this over with as quick as possible, as I step through. I cross the room to the thick, metal door, reinforced in case of accidents, and lay my free hand on its handleless surface. Unlocking it with a jolt of sorcery, the door unlatching and opening slightly, ajar in its frame, I push and hold it, hearing the approaching steps. I wait, turned towards her slightly, until she nears, surveying the room all the while, then continue on.
She follows close behind, quiet, an air of thought to her, as I lead her down the stairs, then past the closed rooms of the first floor, until we reach the entrance hall. We round the end of the banister and move to the basement door, hidden away under the stairs, where I place a hand on its frame. Another touch of magic sees it open up to us, the way down revealed, as Natasha voices, the steps creaking as we take them, "You guys are pretty security conscious here, huh?"
Glancing back at her as we reach the basement, cobwebs and appliances, junk and dust occupying it, I reply, "For good reason." She hums in agreement as pass the open end of the room and exit out into the empty stone chamber, taking the short stairs, between the rocks, down. The sounds of our steps echo as we cross the ground, staying centre on the straight, bordered path, the double door passage meters away. A third and final infusion of magic sees them slowly open with a grind, their tonnage scraping across surface.
The open gate to the Crossroads, visible on the other side of the undercroft, reachable down yet another set of stairs, lights the dark space. Natasha stands beside me, her eyes locked to the dimension beyond, it's multi-coloured paths constantly shifting, and exclaims, surprise in her voice, "Woah." Lightly smiling, the current beauty contrasting nicely against the coming act, I begin down, reaching the floor below, and hoist the rifle off my shoulder.
Crouching, I lay it down on the stone, bipod extended, its length pointed away from the door, muzzle aimed left at the far wall. Twisting, I look up at the waiting Natasha, her eyes fixed to the visible plane, and enquire, "I'm guessing you have experience with this thing?" She reluctantly tears her sight away, shifting it down to me, then the gun, and replies,
"Never had much use for these types in the past, but they're all the same in the end. Point and shoot, anyone can do it."
Snorting at her answer, I question her, the next, the final, step of my plan not allowing mistakes, the consequences worrisome, "Do ya need a warm-up? I can open a portal to some remote location, if you want? To make adjustments and get back into the groove?"
Natasha nods, saying, "Please." Then focuses on me, asking with a note of reasonable demand, "You gonna tell me what you grabbed me for?" Grabbing the handle of the rifle, over the scope, I stand and lift, not looking at her as I move it closer to the wall, hearing her repeat, "Sarah?" Kneeling and lining it up perpendicular with the stone, staying facing away from her, I finally reveal, my voice soft,
"I need you to assassinate someone for me."
A sickly feeling settles in my stomach as I voice my want, fixing it to fabric of reality, unable to be taken back, regardless of regret. I focus on the Chi in my system, feeling how it passively circulates, and use it as a crutch, leaning on it to stay level-headed as I rationalise. I've killed before, starting with monsters and demons, then corrupted humans, but it was always in self-defence; me or them. But... spreading blood, leaking across concrete from cracked skull, flashes in mind; the junkie.
I purposefully, intentionally, roamed the streets, looking for a suitable target, prey, uncaring as I stole from them, taking both their life and their belongings. I can say I was forced by circumstance, my lack of identity and means leading me to make a drastic choice, but it's one I made all the same. The reasons, in the end, don't matter; any justification irrelevant, the result irreversible. A man, nameless and faceless to me, still died, irregardless of his intention, by my own hand.
Now, beyond a matter of chance, the man being chosen because I happened on him first, I am actively seeking the murder of a specific individual. I've planned and prepared, have pulled a co-conspirator into my circle, asking of them, knowing their past, to kill for me, to take the life of my target. They've been chosen as a result of who they are, their death for the greater good, a necessity for the coming war, a vital step for victory; but all I feel is ill, all I want to do is throw up.
Deepening my meditative state, sinking deeper into the black, falling slowly and blanketing my emotions, I stand and turn to Natasha, my face carefully neutral, my eyes painfully dry. She takes a minute step back, seeing something in me that I can't focus on right now, before gathering herself and requesting, "...Who?" I reach into my Ring, pulling out my initial dossier on the invading forces, and open it, flipping to a blank page. Looking up at Natasha, I approach her and lay a hand on the paper, infusing it with my magic.
Stopping before her, glowing lines gradually appearing on the page, words and runes, previously hidden, coming into sight, I hold it out to her. She takes it in hand, her motion uncertain, as I turn away, starting to set the stage, describing, revealing, "Gamora Zen Whoberi Ben Titan, adopted daughter of Thanos." I stop before the open doors to the Crossroads, my sight on the still working hand of Gaea, and pull them close, activating the spell and fading it from view.
With the drawn chalk still visible, orange sorcery bordering it, I circle the room, running a hand over the wall and leaving a trail of inactive runes. Aware of the parallels in their upbringings, and hoping it won't influence her choice, I continue, "From what I've been able to gather; as a child, she was present when Thanos descended on her planet and wiped out half of all life. Where, for some reason, the why unknown, he spared her and took her as his own."
I add some alteration to the runes, catching a small mistake, "From then on, her childhood was spent training under various cruel teachers, her body being honed and carved into Thanos' ultimate weapon. As she grew, trained in a wide range of combat arts, with a focus on infiltration and assassination, she'd be sent out to eliminate Thanos' enemies, acting as one of his agents of terror. Should she fail for any reason, her skill insufficient or by just general error, he'd cybernetically alter her body, taking her flesh as reminder of her weakness."
Examining my work, checking its composition, finding nothing more to fix, I carry on, "Gradually, as her actions as his blade spread across the cosmos, she garnered the title of 'The Deadliest Woman in the Galaxy'" Turning back to Natasha, finding her reading along as I speak, having memorised my written words, I finish, "As recently as a couple years ago, after twenty years under his control, she betrayed Thanos and managed to escape his wrath, though I have no idea as to how."
Natasha remains quiet as I conclude my summarisation of Gamora's backstory, with a few omissions and alterations, staring into the book, her eyes on a small illusion of the green woman. I wait patiently for her response, a good guess as to what's running through her mind, not wanting her to refuse my request. She stays fixed, not speaking, a thoughtful shadow to her eyes as she weighs her decision. Finally, the silence stretching and the air full of expectation, she glances at me, lifting her head and locking eyes with me, searching, and probes, "...Why do you want her dead?"
Frowning, I explain, "Because she's one of three people that know the location of the Soul Stone." Natasha raises her eyebrows in surprise, before a look of realisation appears on her face as she wonders,
"So then...?" I nod, confirming what she's thinking, a small smile on my face,
"If she dies, Thanos is fucked. There'll be no way for him to carry out his plan."
A contemplative expression crosses her as she thinks, studying the open pages once more, when she looks back up and asks, worried but curious, "What about those other two, can he not get at it through them?"
I shake my head, saying, "One's the guardian of the Soul Stone, the Stonekeeper, who never leaves his station at the Stone's location, so he's nothing to worry about. Thanos won't be able to even find him; if he could, then he'd already have the stone, and we'd probably be dead. As for the other..." I tilt my head to the side, then attempt to hide any hint of truth from the master spy, "They've already been dealt with." As Natasha stares at me, startled, I tell, "They're not dead; we just got to them and removed their memories."
Natasha then states, having worked out the obvious question herself, "And you can't do the same to this Gamora, because she can still be used as the sacrifice?"
I reply, nodding, "Exactly. She needs to be removed from the board, or that possibility will always exist." Natasha closes the notebook with a snap, holding it down at her side as she gives me her answer, having gathered enough information,
"Alright, I'll do it." I feel the subtle tension leave my body as she agrees, while a hint of dread crawls up my spine and claws at the back of my mind; it's actually happening. Tucking my feelings away until later, filing them under 'Ignore For Now', I bow deeply to her, my hands cupped in front of me, and thank her.
Natasha's voice sounds above me, a tone of compassionate finality to her tone as she says, "For a request of this magnitude, we're even after this, alright?" Straightening, I move to her side and turn, facing the lying rifle, and refute,
"I never believed you owed me any debt, but okay." Lifting my hand, I pull two sets of black, stolen earmuffs, courtesy of the South African Army, from my storage, then motion to the gun, asking, "What do you wanna shoot at?"
...
I half-kneel behind the prone Natasha, her hair tied up, both our ears covered, sound hushed, as she places her eye near the scope of the rifle. One hand on the grip, finger clear of the trigger, the other holding the rear monopod, she aims out, through the open portal cast against the wall. I follow her sight, staring out with my binoculars and taking in the view, the heated wind of the desert shrublands warming the undercroft. A distant tree, one among many, stands centre of the portal, half a mile out, unaware of our presence.
Natasha makes some adjustments, getting comfortable, before looking back at me and giving a thumbs up. Catching the gesture, I lower my binoculars and return it, causing her to nod and retake her position, aiming. She takes a breath, her chest rising, then releases it slowly, voicing, shouting to be heard, "Firing!" She pulls the trigger, the muzzle flashing as the rifle kicks, digging into her shoulder and pushing against her, her body rocked by the motion.
A dull, muffled boom rattles my body, the sound travelling through my flesh and blood, my bones vibrating, as dust falls over me, the room trembling. My eyes widen, my fingers and toes numb, my hands tightening around the tool in my grip, as less then a second later, a branch of the tree simply vanishes. The cocking of the bolt pulls my attention back to Natasha, the clinking of ejected casing on stone ground sounding, as I softly exclaim, "Holy fuck."
She chambers another cartridge, sliding the bolt forward and readying, before pulling a cup from her ear and turning to me, musing, "That fired better than I'm used to." She taps a visible rune, atop the steel, and asks, "What did you do to it?" Putting my earmuffs round my neck, pushing up my cheeks, I answer,
"I don't know a lot about guns, having grown up in a culture that doesn't celebrate them, but I made some alterations I thought would help with... all this." Shuffling forward on my knees, I come to her side and start explaining, "I'm not that great at runes yet, though I'm getting better everyday, so I was limited in what I could do. For example, this," I point at a couple runes, lining the side of the barrel, "and this," then on top of the scope, "are linked together, feeding into each other.
"The scope marks what you're targeting by reading your sight and locking onto it, then relays that to the barrel, which makes some small internal corrections to airflow and the like. I hoped it would increase your chances, but I have a spare if you'd rather that?" Natasha give the gun a once over, here eyes full of appreciation, then shakes her head, denying,
"...This will do."
Smiling, I offer, "Great. If you want to keep it after, I'll write out a small booklet for you, detailing all the additions." Standing, I finish, "While you have your fun, I've got my part to play; I'll just be off to the side, if you need me." Pulling my earmuffs back on as she nods and refocuses down range, I get some distance, moving to the other side of the chamber, and take a seat. Centring my Self, rising from the depths of my meditation, my totality becoming clearer with every passing moment, I summon the jar of blood from my storage.
Popping open its lid, the concentrated smell of metal making my nose wrinkle, I rise a small amount into the air, floating it before me. Drawing in a breath, holding it, focusing on how it fills my lungs, I exhale, then repeat, cycling the world through me, preparing. Once I reach an equilibrium, the action becoming instinctual, operating in motion with my Chi, I close my eyes and reach into the depths of my spirit, tracing a previous tread path. I follow through lightless void, swimming through senseless space, until I find what I'm searching for.
I come to a stop before it, the ethereal barrier, formless yet present, protecting me from an overload of information, and lay a hand on it. The barrier remains firm, not giving to my touch, an infinite durability encompassing an unimaginable scope, but doesn't rebuff me. A gentle warning, a parent reminding not to overstep, flows against our connection, filling me with warmth, when I convey, a soft hue of spirit, 'I know.'
Destination reached, my body opens its eyes, laying them on the orb of blood. I peer into it, my Dao of Divination rising to prominence, my golden eyes revolving and heating, and activate Revelation,
[Revelation
Name – Blood of Jason Quill
Type – Blood (Human, A+)]
This information appears in mind and before my eyes, the runic notification forming and burning into my sight. With my breath in tune with the world, a layer thinning, I raise both arms, my hands stable, and reach out, grabbing the runes. They give off no impression, seemingly unreal, but a tiny feedback, the slightest pressure against my skin, confirms their existence. I don't react, having put myself in a peculiar state, and draw them in, holding them before my chest.
My Self before the barrier, still connected to its outer layer, presses forward, reaching in cautiously, aware of the danger, and conveys its intention. The barrier reacts instantly, the power behind aware of my choice before I made it, my section becoming clear, its edges fuzzy. The boundless strings beyond, never-ending and golden, come into sight, waiting for me. My body, the runes in hand, deepens Revelation, the gold of my eyes flowing as I search for that which I've once seen.
The structure of the runes start to blur, bleeding into each other and becoming indistinguishable, a pool of broken gold. My hands, set to the sides of the pool, acting as a boundary, begin to press in, the gold compressing at my action. Resistance pushes back against my palms, testing me, but I persevere, continuing to condense it, the gold warping and thinning. A last struggle, the final hurdle, strains my arms, the last inch an uncrossable divide, when I stop.
Changing tactics, my method feeling wrong, I rescind my force, and calm. I twitch my fingers, dipping them into the gold, and start again, moving with its natural undulations, the gap starting to close. My palms meet, a heat between them, a shine of deep gold emanating from the connection, when I part them, curling my digits into a grasp. Light, the peeking of the Sun over the horizon, dawn of the day as life stirs, radiates over my face, a golden sting held in hands.
A smile, relief and happiness, tries to interrupt my concentration, but I remain in control, my emotions subject to my current state. I hold the string, an achievement of comprehension and will, and follow its path, its length passing through the blood. It travels beyond, through stone and space, its end reaching out, the destination unknown, when I retreat my spirit from the void. It turns away from the barrier, the window fading, and starts to move, a message of pride from behind hugging its form.
It flows back, the path now familiar, until it rejoins the whole, its objective complete. Now complete, my Self in its full state, I cast Revelation a second time, this time on the string, its length brightening, an image appearing in my mind. A man, his hair dark-blonde, dressed in a red leather jacket, stands atop a snowy landscape, a group of varying beings situated around him, a heated conversation taking place. A dull pain growing behind my eyes, I quickly drop the divination, releasing the string from my grasp.
Job done, successfully and with no damage, I slowly rise from my state, carefully exiting from my meditation and changing breathing, becoming human again. I awaken, my skin soaked with sweat, my lungs tired and my chest aching, as I gasp, another firing of the rifle sounding. Cycling my Chi to heat my body, drying me, I calm down and look to the blood. I lower it to the jar and cancel my hold on it, then store it all away, never knowing if it might come in handy.
With that all sorted, I remain seated and look ahead, spinning a tiny portal at eye level, large enough to peek through, and peer beyond. The cold of a foreign planet chills my face as I catch sight of the group, the Guardians, over two hundred meters out, trekking through the snow, their footprints left behind. Having confirmed I can reach them, I close the portal and go to stand, stumbling on numb legs before recovering, and move to Natasha, looming over her.
She pulls back the bolt, preparing to fire again, having gone through who knows how many rounds, when I speak, interrupting her flow, "Natasha." She startles slightly and looks up, where I say, "I've found her." She slowly nods, sighing, and chambers her last round, sliding the bolt home. I observe, seeing the subtle changes that come over her as she prepares, and ask, "You ready?"
Natasha doesn't look to me, her sight focused down scope, but answers, "...Yeah." Staring at the top of her head, guilt in my chest, I hold out a hand to the side, eyes still on her, and close the portal. Twirling my fingers, two extended, Sling Ring adorning them, another opens, the snowy planet appearing. I finally look to it, needing to see, to engrave what I'm doing in my memory, and lay eyes on the distant target, a smile on her face as she argues with her friends.
Casting a small spell over Natasha, preventing any sound from leaving her area, I tell her, my voice hoarse, "...There she is." Before I even finish speaking, my breath leaves me, my mind blanking, as the ground under my feet vibrates, Natasha rocking back. In a single, instantaneous, irredeemable moment, between one second and the next, Gamora's head simply disappears. Her body catches up a moment later, falling to its knees and toppling to the ground, blood gushing and dyeing the pure white, a fan tainting.
Faint shouts of alarm and fear, her friends diving for cover, a clear scream from Peter Quill, his voice cracking with grief, a sobbing warble to the volume, reach me, impacting my heart. Reacting immediately, I whip out my hand and close the portal, its light swiftly fading, the chamber darkening, reflecting my emotions. I stare at the stone, unable to look away, an overwhelming sickness turning my stomach, when Natasha stirs. From the corner of my eye, I see as she pushes herself up, resting on her knees, and brushes down her front.
Slowly turning to her as she starts to disassemble the rifle, unscrewing the barrel and taking off the scope, I just watch. Her composure calming me somewhat, gathering my thoughts, I remember to cancel the spell, doing so with a gesture, her sound returning. Natasha grunts as she stands, the two halves of the gun weighing down her hands, and looks to me, her eyes full of a subtle emotion as she requests, "Could you send me home now?" On auto-pilot, I do as she says, mindlessly opening a way for her.
My eyes follow her as she leaves, stepping through, when she stops and turns back, "...You did good, Sarah, try not to forget that." I shut the gate, a divide of miles separating us, and hide in the dark, my head down. My thoughts circle, judging me, laughing as they tell me, reminding me; this wasn't battle, it was murder. I slowly crouch, tucking my face into my knees, and hug them, shaking, my soul heavy,
Wanting to die.