Pain, Draco Malfoy decided, was a curious thing. He had once thought he knew pain, before the Dark Lord's resurrection. Draco had grown up with the sensation, as his father always punished him harshly any time he did something which might be considered a failure. One wrong word, one false step, and Draco would once again be greeted by a switch, belt, or fist-Lucius believed his wand was too noble to be sullied with such petty tasks as discipline-and he learned a new side to the word, a new meaning. Even after he started attending Hogwarts, when news of a grade that wasn't quite perfect, or one of his failed antics-which were many-reached home, he knew to expect a re-acquaintance with his old companion at the next holiday. So, when Lord Voldemort rose once again and took up residence at Malfoy Manor, Draco assumed there was nothing the man could teach him of the word. He was wrong.
The first time Draco suffered under the Dark Lord's cruciatus, a test and greeting all at once, he was left weeping when the fire that writhed under his skin and tore at his mind faded, something which hadn't happened since he was six years old. At the second, a punishment for waking Voldemort from his afternoon nap as the teenager worked on summer homework, Draco didn't cry. He didn't have the strength. The third, however… the third time Draco was struck by the curse-for seemingly no other reason than the Dark Lord was bored-he broke.
Why? Draco wondered, even as his body burned. Why must I suffer like this? I am a Malfoy. But somehow, the name, which he had once revered as a bastion of worth and measure under the tutelage of his father, didn't seem all that important now. It lay, instead, a broken and tarnished thing, and the ideals it had stood for beside it. After all, what could a Muggleborn do that is worse than this?
The question rang hollow in the pain-wracked confines of his mind, utterly answerless. There was nothing they could do. The worst Draco had ever seen from a muggleborn was when Hermione Granger punched him in the nose, and quite justifiably as well. Looking back, he actually thought the bushy-haired witch had shown quite a bit of restraint. As for muggles themselves… well, Draco hadn't ever met one in person. Who was he to judge their worth?
These thoughts and more ran through his fevered mind as he writhed on the cold marble floors of Malfoy Manor, and when finally the pain stopped, it was all Draco could do to hold onto them. He lay there, gasping for breath, and stared up at the ceiling, his eyes on the house sigil carved into it. A dragon, fangs bared as it coiled itself around an ancient iron sword, and the Malfoy words beneath it. Semper Vincent Puritas: Purity will always Prevail.
Draco scoffed silently, the motion sending him into a hacking fit as the last remnants of pain slithered over his skin. By the time he had finished, The Dark Lord's attention was elsewhere, and Draco retreated to his room hastily. Once there, he collapsed onto his bed, again staring at the ceiling. Here too was a dragon, but one born of stars, and without any words beneath it.
Why? His mind asked again, now that Draco was free of the cruciatus. Why do we-no, I- scrape and bow at the feet of this man, this monster, for an ideal I don't even believe in anymore?Why allow myself to be tortured for his amusement?
Because anyone who stands against him perishes. A quiet, poisonous part of his mind whispered. Draco frowned at the thought. It was true, wasn't it? The Dark Lord was powerful, inhumanly so. Nothing survived when he decided to kill it…
Almost as if to challenge the fear that was coiling around his heart, a flash of something crossed his mind. Green eyes burned with passion and determination in Draco's thoughts, matched by wildly cascading black hair that danced like shadows. The image flooded him with shock, and he stiffened in his bed.
"Potter." He breathed, feeling the slight tug of a grin at his lips. Yes, Potter had survived Voldemort's wrath, both as a child and recently, at the Dark Lord's resurrection. At least once, and more as well, if the rumors were to be believed, during their early years at Hogwarts. But what good does that do me? She's not here, and going scampering to her for protection would just be pathetic. Again Draco frowned. No, that wouldn't work… but maybe something else would. Potter was bound to place herself in Voldemort's path, whether willingly or not. Perhaps… perhaps he could help her with that. Fight by her side, and make something of himself and his name. Something that mattered. It would be dangerous, and likely to get him killed, but somehow, that didn't bother Draco. I might as well be dead anyways, chained to that maniac as I am.
Finally, Draco closed his eyes, thoughts drifting to the two dragons on the ceiling of Malfoy Manor, similar yet separate. One, bound to a rusted duty and poisonous words, and the other, a fate written in the stars but still undecided. He smiled.
XXX
Knock. Knock. Knock.
"Go away!" Percy mumbled as he fought to ignore the insistent sounds intruding into his sleep. For a few seconds, there was silence.
Knock. Knock. Knock.
"Oh for the love of-" with a loud groan, the seventeen-year-old boy pushed himself up from his comfy bed to glare at the door to his cabin. What in the name of Olympus could someone be bothering him for at this time of night? Actually, he didn't even know what time it was, except late. That was testament itself to how messed up it was. Still, as yet another round of the quiet, but insistent knocking sounded, Percy had no choice but to stumble out of bed and over to the door, before throwing it wide open.
"What is it- huh?" For a second, Percy was stupefied. There was nothing there. Cabin Two's doorway was utterly empty, except for himself, of course. As the thought coalesced in his brain, Percy felt something starting to build in him, an anger that had become depressingly familiar over the last month. He was not in the mood for some perverted version of ding-dong-ditchers-
"Oh come on, Move out of the bloody way!" Percy froze as a voice, quiet and hissing, emanated from what seemed to be empty air. He blinked at the spot, but before he could do much else, something brushed against him, shoving the demigod aside. As he stumbled and caught himself on a wall, he watched, amazed, as the door-seemingly by itself-swung shut. Percy gaped. What in Hades? Soon enough his unspoken question was answered as two girls appeared in the middle of the cabin, like someone had lifted a veil from around them.
"Hello there. You must be Jackson." Percy, to shocked to answer, simply stared at the intruders. One he knew, a new camper in the Hecate cabin if he remembered correctly. The other, however, was utterly foreign to him. With the sharp features of a warrior, raven black hair that was even messier than his and cascaded down her back like a waterfall of darkness, she was utterly beautiful. Her eyes, the green of wildfire, danced as they met his, sparkling with some unknown mirth. There was a feral edge to them as well, something that set Percy on edge, and with a sharp frown, he turned to the other girl, who was trying to hide behind her companion and failing miserably.
"I'm sorry, I just woke up. So I hope you don't mind if I ask what in Hades you're doing in my cabin at…" he paused, glancing at his watch. "six-thirty in the morning?" The two girls glanced at each other, before the brown-haired one cleared her throat.
"Er, well, that's a bit complicated." Percy, his aggravation only mounting higher, frowned deeper.
"Uncomplicate it then." Again, she tried to speak, but the other girl stopped her, placing a hand on the demigoddess' arm. She turned to him, mirth gone from her eyes. Instead, there was a sharp fire in them, serious as she regarded Percy, and again he felt a shiver go down his spine
"To put a long story short, I'm the half-asgardian daughter of Loki, god of mischief, and when I snuck in to see Hermione tonight," With this the girl gestured to the brown haired girl, who waved shyly, "I apparently broke some ancient treaty between our peoples. Now we have to go on this quest thingy to convince the Asgardians to renegotiate before someone learns I was here and starts a war that could destroy a lot of shit. Sound good?" The dark-haired girl ended her short speech with a grin, sharp and fake. Percy took a moment to register the words. The girls watched him, Hermione appearing to hold her breath.
"So…. you're Loki's daughter? As in, the guy who trashed Manhattan Loki?" He asked, finally, making the green-eyed girl wince.
"To be fair, he was brain-washed at the time, but yes."
"And that makes you Asgardian." She nodded, meeting his eyes steadily.
"Is that a problem?" Percy looked at her for a moment, sea-foam staring into wildfire, and for some reason, felt like smiling. There was a resolve in this girl's eyes, the kind he'd only ever seen in the mirror. He could see the pain there, that of someone who had been outcast and ridiculed, even as they fought against the darkness and evil others were too afraid to stand up to. Sure, she was Asgardian, the daughter of Loki, and even as something deep inside him told Percy that this girl was dangerous, something even deeper told him she was trustworthy as well. That this was someone he could put at his back without fear. It was almost like meeting an old friend for the first time, he mused as his lips split into a small grin.
"Not at all. Actually, I've only got one question." For a second, surprise passed over her face, but she buried it under a grin to match Percy's.
"Shoot." She said, a playful smile in her voice. "Maybe I'll even answer." Percy blinked at the sudden demeanor change. Before he could make a fool of himself, however, the demigod caught the thankful light in her eyes. He chuckled, nodding slightly.
What's your name?" For a short second, the girl raised an eyebrow at him, as if just realizing she hadn't yet introduced herself. It disappeared, however, and she offered a feral grin.
"That one's easy." She said, extending a hand and looking Percy dead in the eye. "I'm Hariel Potter, but my friends call me Harry. Lovely to meet you." He took the hand easily, eyes widening when he felt the strength of her grip.
"Perseus Jackson." The boy replied. "But my friends just call me Percy." Again, the two children of princes locked gazes, understanding passing between them. They stood like that for a long second, until the sudden sound of a clearing throat shook them both, snapping two sharp gazes of green to the third, nearly-forgotten occupant of the cabin.
"Yes well, now we've that sorted out, we really should be going. I have one more stop before we can start our quest." Hermione, a terrifying glare on her face, stated, and both Harry and Percy winced at her frigid tone.
"Right." Hariel said, taking a subtle step away from Percy. "What's that, exactly?"
"The Oracle's cave," Percy intersected, giving Hermione a stern look. "You haven't gone yet?"
"It seemed more prudent to get you first." She answered, anger dissipating as she slipped into a sheepish expression. "Chiron already decreed that you would be the third member and we were supposed to get out of camp without being spotted. The cave is closer to Half-Blood HIll, so…"
"So going back and forth would be bad." He finished for her, even as an odd sense of nostalgia washed over him. He pushed it away, however. No need to think of that now. He had a quest to go on; depression could wait. "So, how are we getting there?" He asked. Unsurprisingly, Hariel was the one who answered, grinning as she pulled a small bundle of cloth from her pocket.
"With my invisibility cloak, of course."
XXX
"Rachel? You up?" Percy called into the dimly lit cave, stretching as he stood from under Hariel's invisibility cloak. With three teenagers, two of whom were exceptionally tall for their respective ages, the demigods-both Norse and Greek- had been forced to crouch to fit underneath the enchanted material. Still, what was done was done, and they made it to the Oracle's cave undetected.
"In here," Answered a faint, but familiar voice, and with a wide smile, Percy pushed his way through the heavy curtains that marked the cave's entrance and led his two companions deeper. Inside they found a sight Percy knew intimately, having spent much of the last month there and somewhat more intermittent periods for the year before. In short, the space resembled nothing more than what most would call a bachelor pad. Plush couches, armchairs, and entertainment systems were scattered haphazardly around the large sitting room. The only things which might have seemed out of place were the large easels and vast amount of art supplies mixed in, but somehow they fit, and Percy wore a small grin as he glanced around the place.
"Hey there Rache. How're you doing?" The young woman he addressed, a surprisingly beautiful redhead with hair that rivaled Harry's for messiness, turned away from the half-finished painting she was working on with a wide smile.
"Percy! Wow, I never thought I'd see you up before noon, given a choice." Percy, blushing at her words, rubbed his neck sheepishly. A short glance back to the two girls who had followed him, however, killed the expression.
"I actually wasn't, Rache. Sorry to disappoint." He tried to flash his friend- practically best friend these days- a grin, but it was weak. Rachel, her eyes following his to Hariel and Hermione, reacted just about as he expected, face darkening as she settled on the darker-haired girl in particular.
"No, you weren't." Her voice, hard and cold, made Percy's eyes widen, and he took a sharp step backwards. Rachel was usually a warm and bright person, even when acting as Oracle. Percy only knew of one thing that could make her so angry, and the red-head's father was nowhere near them.
"Uh, Rache, are you alright?" he asked hesitantly. Yet more unease filled him as her forest green eyes, normally sparkling with joy, slid to him, sharper than shattered glass.
"You're here for a prophecy." It wasn't a question, but Percy nodded all the same. He was still too unsure of why his friend was acting like this to trust himself speaking. Slowly, she closed her eyes, taking a deep breath. After a long second of silence, she opened them once again, focusing upon Harry.
"You, Hariel. Come forward." The voice that spoke was not Rachel's, but rather the wispy, ancient speech of the oracle, and her eyes shone with a ghostly green light. Harry, caught off guard by the sudden summons, stepped forward slowly. When she came to a stop in front of Rachel, the redhead's hands shot out, grasping her by the shoulder tightly.
As soon as the two girls touched, something changed. Rachel's eyes, where before they had been green, shifted suddenly, becoming the cold grey of fog, and her mouth shot open to spill out a cloud of similar color. Percy, who had seen this kind of thing before, albeit in green, reached out a hand to Hermione, stopping the bushy-haired demigod from panicking. Harry, he could do nothing to help, but she had frozen in place rather than try to run, still caught in the Oracle's grip.
Slowly, the thick fog coalesced into three forms, each a blonde women of varying age and with eyes that burned like blue stars as they regarded the three teenagers. The first, a little girl who couldn't possibly be older than eight, spoke first, looking at Hermione with a piercing gaze.
Touched by lightning, child of the sea,
And daughter of magic's heart make three.
The daughter of Hecate shivered as the words washed over her, but didn't respond. A moment later, Percy stiffened as he felt a feather-light touch on his cheek. Turning his concerned gaze from the girl, he found himself staring straight into the eyes of the second woman, a ghostly smile on her lips. She was not quite as young as her compatriot, closer to adulthood and with a beauty that would have set his jaw dropping at any other time. Her hand stroked down his cheek, softer than silk, as she spoke.
Tread the path through starry night,
of Liar's blood, do not fright.
Even as the ghostly figure withdrew, Percy found himself blinking at the intimacy of her actions. He had interacted with the Oracle's spirit on several occasions, but this was… strange, to say the least. Never before had she directly touched him, and on every occasion the mist she produced was green, and lighter than this. Before he could contemplate further, however, he was distracted as all three spirit women gathered around Hariel, and the third, an ancient crone whose crooked smile held no shortage of mischief, finished speaking.
Broken faith shall disappear
When the Aether's call you hear.
There was a breeze, the short rushing of air as if someone had just opened a sealed door, and the three fog was gone. Rachel, standing as if held up by strings, suddenly collapsed, and only Percy's rushed catch prevented her from crashing into the floor.
"Whoa, hey there. I've got you." The demigod said, lowering his friend gently to the floor. Slowly, her eyes fluttered open, and he smiled to see them returned to their natural forest green.
"Percy?" She mumbled tiredly.
"The one and only." He answered, brushing the hair out of her eyes. "Are you gonna be alright? What happened?" Rachel, seeming to push past her grogginess, shook her head, pushing herself up to a sitting position.
"Something hijacked the Oracle." She said, in a tone of equal parts awe and fear. "Something far older, and much, much more powerful." She turned to look at Hariel, who was standing to the side uncertainly. "They came for you." Rachel said with utter conviction.
"I'm… sorry?" The younger girl answered, confusion crossing her features. "I don't really know what that was either."
"It's okay." Rachel said after a short moment of studying Harry, her previous hostility seeming to disappear. "I'm sure we'll figure it out eventually." Her smile, while weak, was genuine, and Percy wore one of his one as he saw Hariel return it. The son of Poseidon wasn't entirely sure what had just happened, but at least his friends were getting along. The three were interrupted a moment later, however, by the sudden noise of a clearing throat.
"Yes well, that might have to wait. We should really get going." Percy groaned as he turned to meet Hermione's stern features. Somehow, he got the feeling that this would be a regular thing with her.
"MIone's right." Harry added, though she sounded somewhat reluctant about it. Percy had no doubt the girl had long suffered under her friend's iron fist. It was at least comforting to know he wouldn't suffer alone.
"Right." He said, to appease Hermione. "Rachel, are you okay here?" He asked, a hint of concern slipping into his tone. The redhead smiled at him, accepting his hand to help her up.
"I'll be fine, Percy." She replied, before darting forward to press a kiss to his cheek. "Thanks for worrying. Now go. You have a quest to complete. And give me a call soon, alright?" Percy, stunned and blushing fiercely from the sudden gesture, could only nod dumbly as Rachel returned to the painting she had been working on when they entered. Only Harry, grabbing his arm shook the boy out of his stupor.
"Come on, cupid." She said, rolling her eyes. "We can return to woo the fair maiden later." The flush worsened, but Percy allowed himself to be led out by his new quest-mate. Right before they stepped out of the room, however, he threw a quick glance back at Rachel, and the image she was working on. It had become a habit of his, this past month, to at least give his thoughts on her works. This one, however, he found himself glad he didn't have a chance to comment on. Utterly beautiful and haunting, it chilled his core to look at as It depicted a broken and twisted angel with wings of glass, weeping over the shattered remains of a dying world. And somehow, Percy felt it wasn't just a picture.
XXX
Nicol Bolas was utterly furious. His tail whipped around the forest he hid in, an ancient, secluded space deep in the heartlands of Wales. He had chosen it as his refuge for the magic seeped into the very bones of the earth, resonating with that flavor of power so very unique to the plane of Yggdrasil. Now, the Elder Dragon cared little for such details as he wreaked his wanton destruction.
"Nicol Bolas, destroying an ancient forest out of impotent rage. How the mighty have fallen." As the voice, an ancient rumble spoken in a language Bolas hadn't heard in a millennia, the wyrm paused in his destruction, looking to the sky for its owner. And there he saw him; the Spirit Dragon, silver feathers glistening with power and majesty, utterly as Bolas remembered.
"Ugin." The spat name was all the warning Nicol gave before launching himself skyward, eager to sink his claws into an enemy who could fight back. Rage burned in his veins, enough so that he did not question the appearance of his long-dead enemy. The instant he struck, however, Bolas knew something was wrong. His claws passed through the older dragon without resistance, as if he had never been there in the first place. Once in the air, Bolas stopped, turning to face the apparition.
"So. It would seem you truly are a Spirit Dragon now, old worm." Ugin, or the image of him, at least, raised a draconic eyebrow, amusement crossing his features.
"An illusion." He stated, as if in answer to an unspoken question. "We have much to speak of, Nicol, and I would prefer to do so without violence." Bolas, as his rage slowly drained and mind cleared, crossed his arms, contemplating the rival dragon. He had slain Ugin on Tarkir, a thousand years ago- or so he thought. To see even a projection of his fellow Elder Dragon before him was quite a surprise, and not at all pleasant.
"A pity." Bolas stated finally, looking Ugin up and down. "I would have enjoyed killing you again."
"Your joy shall have to wait, Nicol." The spirit said, settling to land upon the wreckage of Bolas's fury. The golden dragon did not deign to land as well, instead remaining aloft with minimal effort. "We must speak upon the fate of the child." Instantly, Bolas's eyes, pits of molten gold that burned with malice, narrowed. So the Spirit Dragon knew.
"There is nothing to speak of." He said, finally allowing himself to descend. He remained crouched upon two legs, however, with his forearms crossed in contempt. "I can claim her any time I want, and there is little you can do to stop me." Normally, Bolas wasn't one to state his plans so boldly, but in this it mattered little. If Ugin truly had risen from the dead, though the golden dragon had only a few guesses as to how it might have happened, he had still been at rest for over a millenium. What influence he might have had on Yggdrasil would have withered and died long ago, while Bolas had carefully cultivated his own all that time. Ugin, however, seemed to disagree.
"Yet you haven't." the silver dragon stated, sitting back upon his own haunches and looking at Bolas with an equal amount of contempt. "Because, like I, you respect the might of Yggdrasil's inhabitants. And so, you rage." Ugin swept his gaze around the destroyed forest, before returning to Bolas, who glowered in hatred.
"What is it you want, Ugin?" He asked, not bothering to hide the distaste in his voice. How dare a dragon he had slain look at him with such judgement? The coward was too terrified to even show his face. He had no right.
"There is a man, to whom our fledgling Planeswalker's fate is tied to." Ugin stated simply, snapping Bolas's attention to him. That was not something he had been expecting. "He is a creature of great darkness and cunning, set to oppose the child's own light." The silver dragon looked into Bolas's eyes, glistening silver meeting gold over a vicious, deadly grin that could only be found on the face of a dragon. "If she is to ever achieve a greater destiny, the girl must face her darker half." For once in his long life, Bolas was left speechless as he stared at Ugin. Even his mind, far more vast and powerful than any of the pitiful lesser races, was left to stutter as he contemplated Ugin's words, and their meaning.
"You would orchestrate a war." The Elder Dragon finally concluded, a new measure of respect in his voice. He would not have suspected such devious cunning from his counterpart. He had known, of course, that the child who shook the Blind Eternities when her spark ignited was important. The blood of ancient royalty sang in her veins, and she was surrounded by powerful beings, any two or three of whom could make even Nicol Bolas think twice about confronting them. With her spark, born in the heart of the multiverse and blazing with power, the child herself might have been a threat to him in the fullness of time. Such beings, the ancient dragon knew from experience, attracted allies and enemies in equal measure. But for Ugin, who in all the centuries Bolas had known and fought him always espoused some ridiculous notion of nobility, to manipulate and take advantage of such, surprised him.
"A game, as it were, with all of Yggdrasil as our board." Ugin replied, his draconic grin widening. "I remember you were quite fond of them once." Bolas barely deigned to acknowledge that comment with a snort.
"Putting a pretty name on it changes nothing. You wish for war." Ugin, not at all perturbed by Bolas's statement, regarded the golden dragon with a disturbing ease.
"I have need for Riddle to be removed, and by the child's hand. You must strip her of her allies before making your move. And we are far from the only beings to have designs on either of them. War was inevitable." Bolas, to his own surprise, chuckled at the wisdom of this statement. It was true enough, but never had he thought to be agreeing with Ugin. Still, there was one tiny matter he could not understand.
"And why do you not simply try to destroy me yourself? Even if you win your little game, there is little guarantee of slaying me in the process." In an instant, all of Ugin's humor drained away, and Bolas blinked as he was suddenly faced with the Spirit Dragon's stoic face once again.
"We are the last of our kind, Nicol." He said quietly, the soft tone making Bolas's eyes narrow. "I have no desire for the Elder Dragon race to end." Bolas opened his mouth to speak, a scathing comment on his tongue, but before he could say anything, the apparition faded, leaving him alone in the devastated forest.
XXX
"I met an interesting person last night." Nicholas J. Fury, Director of SHIELD, looked up from the various reports scattered across his desk at the sudden voice. Only the fact that he recognized it kept him from going for one of the numerous guns both on his person and hidden around the office, not that any of them would have helped him against the voice's owner.
"Is there a reason I care about your personal life, Parthenopaeus?" The Director asked, his single eye giving Acheron a disapproving glare. He had asked the man-if you could even call him that- not to pop into places without warning. Especially not his personal areas, but as suggested by the anarchy symbol on his black backpack, Acheron Parthenopaeus didn't take orders from anyone.
"When she has enough power to give even me the shivers and an apparent knack for trouble, I should think so." Immediately, Fury straightened. Acheron Parthenopaeus was one of the most powerful beings he knew, classified as a high Alpha threat when on his own. Counting the various forces and allies that the atlantean god commanded, that rating shot so far into the Omega range it damn near rivaled Loki and Thor. Someone who could scare a man like that was worthy of great interest.
"Do you have a name?" Fury asked, trying not to sound too interested. Judging by the smirk on Acheron's face, it didn't work very well.
"I do." He said with a slow nod, dropping into the seat across from Fury and throwing his boots up onto the desk. Again, Fury's hand twitched for a gun. "But I'm more interested in what you can tell me."
"What makes you think I know her?" Fury asked carefully, watching the god's sun-glassed face. Acheron's head tilted at him curiously, a small smirk playing across his lips.
"SHIELD has a better-than-working relationship with MI13. the girl in question happens to be a British witch." That froze Fury, and for a long second, the Director was silent.
"Her name wouldn't happen to be Hariel, would it?" He asked slowly, eyeing Acheron for reactions. All he got was a raised eyebrow, but in his experience that was as sure a sign of surprise as any.
"You know her?" The god's voice was curious, but there was an edge of something that set Fury's warning bell's off. It sounded almost like concern.
"Of her, mostly." he said in answer, sitting back in his chair. "You said you met her. How?" That, at least, got a reaction, even if it was Acheron's face going stone cold. Fury suspected the god had heard the duplicity in his statement.
"I found the kid wandering New York. Kept her company for the night to stave off unsavories." Acheron shrugged, but Fury could tell there was more to the story. He let it go, however. He trusted Acheron, as much as one could trust a being with the ability to end them in an instant, and chances were Potter had gotten home fine. The Atlantean god had a chivalry streak a mile wide when he took an interest, and considering the man had by all accounts dedicated his life to fighting evil, that was quite often.
"Why bring it to me, then?" Fury asked, with just a hint of confusion.
"I was curious." Acheron shrugged, but there was a tension to him that belied his words.
"And why didn't you just use your jedi mind powers?" Fury could practically hear Stark laughing him silly at using such a term, but it was the only way the giant god would ever describe his abilities. He made a mental note to leave viruses in place for the next time the billionaire hacked Shield as revenge. He was distracted from such thoughts, however, when it became Acheron's turn to freeze, going completely stiff.
"They didn't work on her." He said finally, tone utterly flat. "I couldn't get anything." Fury blinked at the statement. He didn't think he had ever heard of Acheron not being able to read someone. The atlantean's omnipotence was practically a law of the universe.
"What does that mean?" For a second, there was silence, as if Parthenopaeus was contemplating the question. Finally, however, he stood, walking over to the window. It was a small thing, a simple square looking out the side of the Helicarrier. Most days, Fury kept it shut to blend into the ship's hull, but every once in awhile, he had felt like a view. Now, the Director wondered if that was Acheron's fault.
"It means, Director, that Hariel Potter is important." The god said finally, turning back to look at Fury with a deathly serious expression. "Things are starting to change, Fury. The old things hiding in the dark corners of our universe are stirring. And many of those will covet someone as powerful as that girl." Fury, who had joined Acheron at the window in his silence, frowned.
"She is well protected." He said, thoughts of Avenger Tower coming to the forefront of his mind. If the Earth's Mightiest Heroes couldn't keep one girl safe, after all, who could? The words didn't seem to reassure Acheron, however.
"You don't understand, Director." the god said, shaking his head. "There is a war coming, one that will shake the very foundations of our universe. I've been feeling it for a while now, but after last year…" he trailed off, staring out at the window again. "The Avengers changed things. Their appearance shook up the grand order of the universe, and they weren't the only ones." Acheron turned back to Fury, and the Director could have sworn that beneath those predator glasses, the man was practically glaring at him. "Hariel Potter will play an important part in the things to come. Of that, I am certain."
Fury met his gaze steadily, steel apparent in his own eyes. "We will do what we can. As we always do. And if war comes for us… then we'll give whatever bastards come looking for a fight exactly that. And one hell of one too." For several long seconds, the two men stared at each other, each a commander in their own right. Both had lived through wars, and neither had any doubt as to the gravity of their situation. Fury understood perfectly. War was coming. People would die, shit would go down, and chances were they woudn't stand a chance against whatever was coming. But he had faith in Humanity. And even if Earth went down, they would sure as hell take someone with them.
"Allies are a good first step." Acheron finally broke the silence, giving Fury a sharp nod. "I'll leave you to your work." The man turned, before disappearing as if he had never been there in the first place. Fury, a sudden flood of tension leaving him, collapsed into his chair. Well. That had been interesting.
XXX
So… that happened. I expect a veritable storm of reviews from you all for this, so don't disappoint.
Also… SHIP MATERIAL!
(Dives into Nuclear Bunker and slams door shut)
Have fun!