Crimson Hand

A Xenocide Production

A/N: Well. Been a long time, hasn't it? Recent fic by a fellow author, Meinos Kein, jumpstarted my interest in this fic. Took me a while to bang it out, but bang it out I did. I'm rather satisfied with the dialogue in this chapter, because I've always felt that dialogue is my one weakness; hence, my tendency to write prose more than having my characters actually speak. There might be a fifth chapter. But don't expect it anytime soon.

--asdfasgh-- Japanese

Summary: More often than not, a hero's most epic battle is the one you never see. It's the battle that goes on within him or herself. Not all of these battles are won. But neither are they all lost. A crossover with Marvel.

Disclaimer: I own neither Marvel nor Naruto.

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Chapter Four: Stranger in a Strange Land part 2

"Mother of God. What happened to this boy?" A soft voice asked, but he couldn't see who spoke, for the blood and the pain had dimmed his eyesight considerably. The gentle hands that cradled his broken body seemed to tighten, and Naruto winced ever so slightly.

"I'll explain later, Richards. Right now, you've got to help him." The hands shifted, and gently laid him down on a hard, cold surface. He wanted to cry aloud from those terribly gentle motions, but the excruciating agony prevented any thought or action.

"Why did you bring him here? Avenger Tower is not a civilian hospital, Spiderman. You should have taken—"

"I'll explain later. All you need to do is get your ass over here and fix him!!"

A sigh. And then, a creak of metal as someone got out of a chair.

A blurry figure stood over him. He tried to open his mouth, but a fresh wave of pain overcame him and all he knew was oblivion.

T-T-T-T-T-T

Drip. Drip.

He was standing in a corridor, dank with the smell of sour water and illuminated with the dusky light of twilight.

This place was familiar, almost seeming to be a part of himself just as much as his own beating heart. Without really knowing how, he knew that this place was himself, and the very floor that he tread was a physical manifestation of his existence.

A deep rumble rolled through the corridor, causing ripples to form on the surface of numerous puddles and causing a sharp thrill to race up the boy's spine. The very airseemed to inhale, stirring his hair and clothes and pulling him gently in the direction of the crimson glow that crept along the walls. Without really knowing the reason why, only able to unresistingly heed the call of—

CRIMSON

—he began to make his way down the hallway of stone, trailing his fingers across the rough surface of the walls and absentmindedly testing the texture of the dampness there. As he continued on, the crimson glow grew stronger and seemed to beat in time with his own mortal heart, eager to consume him and ensnare the very recesses of his soul.

Suddenly, there was a door in front of him, with a simple doorknob and lock adorning it.

The—

CRIMSON

—seethed from the cracks, oozed from the lock, and beckoned him to open the door.

With nary a thought, he reached out to turn the knob. Only an inch, and the truth that was behind this door would be set free, and in turn, set him free as well.
Only, what the boy didn't know was that freedom for the thing behind the door meant utter ruination for the boy opening it.

"Stop."

It was only a word, so softly spoken that it drowned out the crimson and silenced it the roar of a whisper. So filled with power was that word that the boy froze instantly, free of the seductive spell that had been woven about him.
He dropped his hand to his side and turned to face the origin of the voice.

"I know you." The boy spoke simply.

"So you should."The voice was ever so slightly tinged wit amusement. Green balefire flickered."I am now as much a part of you as what lies behind that door."

The boy considered this, then shrugged nonchalantly. It was what he had agreed to, after all. "What's up with this door? It…doesn't feel right—like it doesn't belong."

"What lies behind this door are your remaining memories before you cast off your mortal shell in your previous life. They are forbidden to you, as they are to every mortal who passes."

"And the—" But he's cut off by the steel in the other's voice.

"That need not concern you. What lies behind that door is dead to you, and it will remain so. You have your name, and you have me. That will be enough for you to serve me."

As if in response to the cloaked figure's words, the door seemed to pulse in amusement, and crimson trails flickered hungrily from the cracks.

The boy quailed slightly under the cold glare and harsh words. He nodded in silent assent.

"Good. When you recover, you will go see a man called Strange. He is a powerful being of magic, and he is sensitive enough to know that something is terribly wrong with the balance of things."

The green flickered once more and began to fade.

"Seek him out and learn what he knows. I suspect that he already has an idea of what is to be done."

With that simple command, the green fire faded, and the boy was left alone with the Door and the crimson. He turned to face it.

After a moment's hesitation, he knelt down to peek cautiously through the keyhole.

There was only darkness. He strained to see beyond it, but his efforts were to no avail. The crimson still seethed under the cracks, but there was nothing to be seen.

Suddenly, an Eye appeared, and it fixed its gaze upon him with terrible intent.

The boy froze as he gazed into the sight of boundless malice, cruelty without
measure, and the deep amusement of a god as looked upon an insect.

It spoke.

"PUNY MORTAL. I WILL HAVE YOU, ONE WAY OR ANOTHER. AND YOU WILL KNOW FEAR AND PAIN AS IT HAS NEVER BEFORE BEEN KNOWN."

There no malice, no threats in the words. There was only a deep sense of truth, as if it were relating some trivial fact that was true no matter how one spoke it.

The crimson would claim him and there would be no escape from its clutches.

T-T-T-T-T-T

The white glare of the computer screen glinted off Reed Richard's glasses and bathed his face in a soft glow. He was muttering under his breath and frantically typing strings of diagnostic equations into the Medlab's database. As was routine medical procedure, he had drawn a vial of blood from the boy to check for any allergies to medication or viral contagions that may have lain dormant in him. The boy had been on the brink of death, his body broken so badly that he could hear the grinding and soft crackling of shattered bones as Spiderman had lain him ever so gently onto the examination table.

But then, a miraculous, astounding thing began to happen.

As soon as Reed withdrew the needle from the crook of the boy's arm, there was a soft sizzling sound, and the small hole closed up entirely, leaving his skin undamaged and with no trace of a needle mark. As if that were a hidden cue, the rest of the boy's body began to follow suit. First, the bones began knitting together; some even forcibly retracted back under the skin and jammed together for the healing process to begin. His lower vertebrae snapped together with a sharp crack, sounding as if someone had simply snapped him back together as one would button up a coat. The muscles were next, viscous fluid raced to cover the few exposed portions of human flesh, leaving it glistening and pure as the day he had been born. But what was most fascinating was the skin. The skin was pulled together by invisible hands and closed with soft hisses from bottom to top leaving small bits of steam or smoke that dissipated instantly. Within approximately 5 minutes and 33 seconds, the strange boy went from looking like roadkill to looking as if he had never suffered a hard knock in his life.

Reed stood there frozen, needle in hand, mouth slightly agape and Spiderman was so startled that he was speechless.

"Uh…Richards?"

But of course that didn't last long.

Before the wallcrawler could articulate his query, the stretchiest of the Fantastic Four was storming into the Medlab's research station, adjacent to the actual examination room, vial in hand and a determined expression on his face. "I'm way ahead of you, Spiderman. Keep an eye on our guest while I run a few tests."

He fumbled around the desk for one of his many mini-disks that he kept at Avenger Tower. It was a matter of security that he didn't take Tony up on his offer to link up the server at the Four Freedoms Plaza and the one at Avenger HQ, but he always preferred his own software. It's not that he didn't trust Tony Stark's own programming, but he was far more familiar and comfortable with his own design. Admittedly, it was also out of a desire to test his new DNA analysis program. Reed was first and foremost a scientist. If he could find an excuse to utilize every single thing he had created, you can be sure he'd do so. Ben Grimm had once had the misfortune to be the guinea pig for Reed's newest version of the fake skin topical applicant. Unfortunately, the latest compounds had a tendency to constrict very tightly after setting…

Reed was jolted out of his reverie by a smooth, impersonal voice emanating from the computer in front of him.

"What can I do for you, Dr. Richards?"

Typing with one hand and staring engrossed at the screen with another, his right arm stretched across the room to place the vial of the boy's blood in a grooved slot between two slowly rotating scanners.

"Hello, IRMA. I need a cross-section scan of the DNA I just placed in the analyzer. Look for any anomalies or inconsistencies when compared with normal human DNA." Reed powered up the machine and the vial began to rotate slowly in between the two scanners.

"Acknowledged. Will a routine examination suffice?"

Reed hesitated. Then went on. "Actually, include a scan for the X gene or any variation of it."

"Acknowledged. Scan commencing."

The soft whir of the scanners signaled an intense scrutiny of the blood sample he'd taken.

"You think he's a mutant, Dr. Richards?" Spiderman's voice floated from the doorway where he stood leaning nonchalantly against the frame. Reed swiveled the chair around to face his comrade. "I gotta admit, that healing factor is something else. Not to mention that his reflexes and strength are definitely above your average human's."

"There's a very high probability that he is. I believe that his healing factor is far too similar to that of Wolverine to be a mere coincidence." Reed stroked his chin absentmindedly, lost in thought.

Spiderman cocked his head. "Contrary to popular belief, the grumpy old man doesn't possess the only healing factor in the world. I mean, look at Cap for instance. I've seen his body shrug off blows that would have put me in some serious traction."

Reed nodded in assent. "That's true, but it never hurts to be sure. If the boy is indeed a mutant, I dare say that Ms. Frost and Mr. Summers will be eager to learn of him. Mutants are very much an endangered species these days."

There was a soft chirping noise followed by an equally bland announcement—"Scan complete."—and the results of the analysis displayed themselves in all their pixilated glory on the screen. Reed began poring over the words, murmuring softly to himself from time to time, while Spiderman strolled over and began to read himself over his friend's shoulder.

For a short time, both forgot the existence of a small boy who was not quite as dead to the world as they had supposed.

T-T-T-T-T-T

I'm the best at what I do, but what I do isn't very nice.

The smell of gasoline, mixed in with oppressive smog and tangy summer scent, makes for a very interesting jumble that assaults my nostrils. The crush of humanity that flows to either side of me on the sidewalk doesn't give me a second glance, either too caught up in their own lives to care or somehow instinctively recognizing me as something to be avoided. And I wouldn't blame them if they did.

I'm a natural predator, the kind you find in a jungle of concrete and spun glass, not jungle shrubbery and dank forests. I gotta admit, there's a challenge and a sort of appeal to be at the top of the food chain in a city. Cause that's just it—you never know when you'll walk around a corner and run smack dab into something bigger, meaner, and nastier than you who's all too willing to take your place at the very top of the pyramid.

I live for that kind of thing. It's what I was made to be, to do. And over the years, I've come to enjoy it, to revel in the exhilarating feeling of combat. You're not really alive unless you're fighting for your life. I'd tried the pursuing peace thing once or twice. It never turned out too well.

I can say with truth, and no small amount of arrogance, that I can count on one hand, maybe two, the people in the world that can kill me. If I'm not immortal, then I'm something pretty damn close to it. I've been disemboweled, dismembered, beheaded, shot, stabbed, poisoned, crushed, burnt, melted, drowned, and even lobotomized. But I still didn't die. Some days, on those dark, self-reflective days, I think of it as a curse, something to rail and rant at God for. I never asked for power and yet I was given it. Or maybe I had asked, and found the taste of it bitter to me. On others, I feel that perhaps there was I reason I'm like this. If you believe what the Preach tells you, God has a plan for everyone, and not just the good folk, but the baddies too. Personally, I've never been religious. God and I get along just fine so long as He keeps His nose out of my affairs. I only believe in what I can rip apart and what I can't.

I'm in town on business. Personal business, actually.

I'm affiliated with a number of teams, groups, and organizations, some less glamorous than others. Whenever I happen to be in the general vicinity of the nearest HQ, I try to make a point of stopping by to keep myself abreast with current affairs. It's a personal rule I've made for myself, though more often than not, I break it. I'm stopping by Avengers Headquarters only because I've neglected to stick my head in the last 3 times I've been in New York. I'll shake a few hands, ask Mr. Fantastic how his wife and children are doing (if he's not holed up in his own lab at the Four Freedoms Plaza), and maybe get to glare at Webhead a bit. The kid has always been too fond of jokes, if you ask me. It's unprofessional and one of these days it'll come back and take a big chunk out his ass. After the usual pleasantries, I'll be off to a particular little bar on the lower side of Manhattan, where I'll be paying an acquaintance of mine a visit. Things have been feeling…off these days. I can't really put it into words, but it's like that feeling you get right before you step into the trap and the steel teeth bite raggedly into your leg. This acquaintance of mine has always been unusually good at sensing the mood of things. The underworld usually gets wind of bad things long before anyone else does, probably because most of the time the underworld and its inhabitants are the originators of it. He's a character, but I trust what he tells me.

Until the day he lies. Then he and I will have a little…talk. A fatal talk and certainly not fatal to me.

I make my way across the paved courtyard, where a few of Stark's employees are loitering about on lunch or impromptu meetings. Tony has always had a flair for the dramatic, and the large fountain cast in his company's logo shows it. People are used to seeing strangers come and go at all hours of the day. Usually, they don't take the front door like I tend to do, but it happens often enough for people to be comfortable with it.

The automatic doors slide open with a small hiss as I approach them.

As I step over the threshold, two armed security guards nod slightly at me. They were mostly for decoration, though I doubt any non-super powered human would think so. I nod back. Professional courtesy and all that.

I stride up to a large desk, where a small, mousy looking girl resided. Her long, beautiful hair was tied back in a simple ponytail and though her attire was professional it also exuded an aura of confidence and spoke loudly of her feminine charms. Her name tag read "Sophia" in blocky, impersonal text. She looked up from her paperwork.

"Hello, Mr. Logan. It's been some time."

I shrug and give her my most roguish grin. "Really? I hadn't noticed." Sophia was beautiful when she smiled, but she only had eyes for one of the slender guards who always seemed to conveniently be on the same shift as her. It was a shame, really.

She studied me for a moment, tapped a few buttons on her console, and then went back to her paperwork without word or glance. I scowled, a little annoyed. I'm not in the habit of womanizing, but I enjoy flirting every now and then. To be outright ignored was very irritating. But…another time.

I picked up my security clearance card, which was protruding from a small slot on the desk, and made my way to the elevators.

Avengers, assemble.

T-T-T-T-T-T

"I'm no slouch when it comes to genetics, but maybe you'd better explain what I'm seeing here." Spiderman was certainly a capable scientist as Peter Parker. One might go so far as to put him a step or so below Reed Richards himself, who is arguably the greatest scientific mind of his time, setting aside other great intellectuals such as Tony Stark and Bruce Banner. Unfortunately, being Spiderman had left him little time to apply himself to his studies as he would have liked to. Oh, he could read DNA diagnostics as well as the next man, but his knowledge was distinctly lacking in some areas.

Mr. Fantastic was seemingly perplexed as well. Half of what was on the display screen seemed to be contradicting itself! "I'm a bit confused myself. Maybe there's a glitch in the program?" He muttered nonsensically, tapping a few keys which showed no discernable effect on the information displayed. "IRMA? Run a self-diagnostics routine, please. Take careful note of any irregularities in your programming."

"Acknowledged. Executing internal scan."

IRMA (Internal Retrovirus Mapping Application), Reed's new pet AI for all things medical, was extremely impersonal, which Spiderman thought odd. Even Tony's AI had a bit of spunk to it. Reed had always gone for the more quirky personalities. Perhaps it was because IRMA was so new that it hadn't had time to form a personality, much less a gender. A few moments later, IRMA warbled a negative search result. Reed was talking animatedly with IRMA, posing questions and dissecting the analysis it had just performed.

The webslinger sighed in slight annoyance. He respected Reed Richards as a scientist and a fellow crimefighter, but did he have to be so absentminded as to forget that other people were actually in the room with him? "Reed," he reminded the man gently, "what were the results of the scan?"

Reed swiveled his head behind him, seemingly surprised to see someone else there. "Oh. Yes. The scans—ah, let's see. Nothing overtly out of the ordinary, when taking it in at first glance. He has all the necessary requirements to be categorized as human." Spiderman wasn't sure if he was joking or completely serious. It was hard to tell, sometimes. "But there is where anything 'ordinary' ends. Take a look at his cell regeneration rate." Reed highlighted a string of text and Spiderman leaned in to take a closer look.

A beat.

"Holy crap! Is this for real?"

Reed nodded in the affirmative. "Indeed it is. Apparently, his healing factor doesn't just activate when he is injured. It's constantly working in the background, preventing cellular decay."

Spidey shook his head in amazement. "So what, he's immortal?"

"No, no." Reed waved that off impatiently. "Not immortal. Merely extremely long lived. I wouldn't hesitate to estimate his longevity at several centuries."

"What's the extent of his regeneration abilities?"

Reed leaned back in his office chair, looking thoughtful. "Without more precise testing, I can't be entirely sure. I don't believe that he can regenerate a limb. Perhaps if said limb were reattached to his body, but from scratch? No, I think not. As it is, nothing short of cutting off his head and burying it would kill him. So long as something fully resembling a body remains, he will eventually be able to regenerate it."

Spiderman crossed his arms across his chest. "I'm having a hard time believing this kid isn't a mutant already. I take it he has the X-gene?"

Reed's response was surprising. "No. Not a trace of it to be found. However, his mitochondria possess some very intriguing qualities. IRMA?"

The AI brought up two schematics: the cell of a normal human and that of their patient's.

The image on the left glowed softly, pulsing with a neon green glow Reed tapped the screen and IRMA zoomed in on the cell, highlighting small, block-like figures. "This is a normal human being's mitochondria. If you'll recall, the mitochondria is what powers the cell, processing and distributing energy throughout the cell so it may perform its basic functions. Call it the battery, if you will." A small animation showed what Spiderman presumed to be energy for the cell being passed through the tiny figures in a small, manageable stream The image zoomed out, displaying the two cells once again, then focused on the cell on the right. "Now, this is the boy's mitochondria."

Spiderman blinked behind the confines of his mask. The kid's mitochondria had practically taken over half of the cell! While there was a small trickle of energy still being processed, a large bulk of the energy was being stored in the cell. "That's impossible! Mitochondria aren't designed to store that much energy or to be that large. He should be suffering catastrophic cellular damage!"

Reed nodded emphatically. "Now you see my problem? In all respects, he's human and not a mutant, yet I can't see how his basic cellular structure could be so twisted without some sign of tampering or genetic mutation. But according to the test results, it's as if he's been born like this. Contradictory."

Spiderman sighed and scratched the back of his head. "Could it be his healing factor that's keeping his cells from breaking down completely?"

"I wouldn't be surprised if that's the case. However, it would take me a least a week of intensive testing to determine if that's so." Reed stretched his arm across the room and gently lifted the vial of blood out of the groove it rested in. He then reached into the cabinet behind the scanner, producing a small storage container for biohazardous materials. "In the meantime, I'll keep this in a safe place. Perhaps Tony or Pym can shed some light on this mystery."

Spiderman suddenly pounded his fist into his palm with exaggerated excitement. "I've got it! I know exactly what's wrong with this kid!" It was painfully obvious that Spiderman was attempting to pull one over Reed Richards. Well, painfully obvious except to our blue spandex clad hero.

Reed jumped out of his chair hastily, fumbling with the container and a tangible eagerness shining from his face. He really did love solving unexplained mysteries, even if it weren't he who had done the solving. Sometimes, he was far too childish for his own good. "Excellent! I was afraid I'd have to spend several weeks in my lab to unravel the problem. Not that I'd mind, you understand, but Sue gets extremely grouchy whenever I hole myself up like that. She equates it to an ostrich burying its head into the sand, but that analogy is really quite inadequate. A much better one would be— "

"Reed." Spiderman spoke loudly and firmly. It was best that he head off this rant before Reed could build steam. The last time he'd been too nice to cut Mr. Fantastic off, he'd been forced to endure a four hour lecture on the hierarchical structure of honey bees versus ants.

Reed jumped in surprise, blinking rapidly, much like a small, dazed bird who'd run smack dab into a clear window. "Oh. Yes, sorry. What were you saying?"

Spiderman sighed in mock defeat. "You ruined a perfectly good Energizer Bunny joke, Richards. You just keep going, and going, and going."

Reed stood in thoughtful silence for a moment, then a satisfied smile bloomed across his face. "Aha! I've grasped the nature of the joke! You were referring to our guest's mitochondria, which seems to be acting in the nature of an over-powered battery. Thus, drawing from an entertaining American cultural reference, you made an amusing anecdote comparing our guest to a mascot for a prominent battery producer!"

The masked jokester shook his head. "You really know how to suck the fun out of a joke, don't you Reed?"

"Johnny tells me that all the time, and I still have no idea why having a thorough understanding of a joke detracts from its effectiveness."

Spiderman just patted Reed on the shoulder. "I have a newfound respect for your wife. She must be very patient."

T-T-T-T-T-T

Naruto swam to wakefulness through a haze of dizziness and flashing lights.

He opened his eyes and they came to rest on an unfamiliar ceiling.

He blinked once, twice, and the blurriness disappeared from his sight.

He shifted his body slightly, noting that although he was weak, he was fast recovering his strength. His memory of the last hour or so was hazy. There was a desperate race through a small wood with an enemy, and a successful escape from the enemy's clutches. Though freedom was within his grasp, it was suddenly snatched from him in the assault of a large, shiny beast on the black road.

Voices drifted in from his left and Naruto slowly tilted his head to catch a glimpse of his captor in red and blue, and yet another oddly clad man in what seemed to be a jumpsuit of darker blue.

They were distracted, talking animatedly in soft tones in a language he'd never heard before. He chanced another shift of his body and found that he could move near to normally.

Be silent. Be quick. There's a time for being loud and brash, but one day your life may depend on being quiet and fleet of foot.

It was something that had been drilled into his head long ago, by a teacher that had neither a name nor a face, only a voice. But Naruto couldn't be bothered to reflect on this. There was only now, and escape. He would listen to the voice, only because it gave such sensible advice.

He sat up, only marginally surprised to see himself clothed with orange skin-tight shorts. He slipped off the cold, hard table with and stood up with only a slight buckling of his knees. Cold radiated from the sterile tiles up through the soles of his feet to the base of his spine, eliciting a shiver. He glanced through the doorway. Good. They were still distracted. Crouching slightly, he softly padded across the room to the only other doorway, presumably the exit. He reached out to push it open, only to jump slightly when it opened horizontally on its own with a soft hiss.

Not letting surprise get the better of him, he went through the doorway. A few steps behind him, the door hissed closed just as softly as it had opened. He was in a small hallway, with a set of metal doors at the end. He began to make his way down the hallway, heart pulsing rapidly in his throat. He was nearly there—nearly free!

Shouts broke out behind him, muffled faintly by the thick door, but there was no mistake of the meaning behind them.

Without a backwards glance, Naruto sped to the doors, halting in front of them, expecting to be granted passage with ease. He reached out as he had with the other door. There was no response. Desperate, he beat on the unyielding doors.

--Open up, goddammit!--

White light spilled out from the doorway behind him and Naruto whirled to see the enemy, the masked man standing behind the middle aged one.

The older man raised his hand up slowly and uttered something in a soft, soothing tone. Naruto wasn't fooled. Only the dumbest of people would fall for something so obvious.

There was a soft ding behind him, but he didn't dare take his eyes from the two men in front of him who were advancing slowly. He bared his teeth in a show of defiance, slipped into a fighting stance that felt comfortingly familiar, and backed up against the door. Cold metal at his back and enemies to his front.

He been in worse situations, surely.

Suddenly, the doors opened behind him and he lost his footing, stumbling back into a wall of musky clothing and hardened muscle.

There was a loud snikt, and three blades tickled his throat. "Well now, who went and started the party without me?"

Naruto swallowed. He was fucked.

--

Ain't I a stinker? If you've got criticism, offer it.