Author's Notes: Thanks for the lovely review, guys! The support is so appreciated. :)
Disclaimer: Ultimate Spider-Man is not mine. Nor are any of its characters. That's Marvel's job. Any Original Characters and art you note, however, are all me. No. I'm not making money. Don't rub it in.
Chapter 17 - Strange
Zeelan blinked. Was she floating? It sure felt like it, with her weightless limbs and bobbing head. Did that mean she was in space? Ludicrous. She wouldn't be able to breathe then. So where was she? She glanced at her feet, noting a change of clothes as well as…nothingness. Only a white as stark as her simple nightgown surrounded her, and her equilibrium felt off not knowing if she were upright, upside-down, or sideways. Perhaps she was even diagonal. With no reference point, she couldn't tell, and a rise of panic swelled within her chest at the thought of falling.
Pop! There went a force-field just below her bare toes. Pop! There went another by her side. And others followed suit—growing in strength with each passing one. They crowded her, suffocating the white with blemishes of purple. She never hated the color so much before.
An intense gale then whirled from all directions, thrashing her toned body in its wake. Up. Down. Left. Right. She spun, flipped, and bounced from every stable force-field as she sought balance in the void. Pop! Pop! Pop! One force-field—after expanding beyond her height—busted. Its pressure beat against her vulnerable back like an explosion and thrust her forward with a pained scream when her own words filled her ears.
What if I just hurt him instead?
Pop! She changed direction.
They're a poison to my rational thinking
Her body slammed hard against another force-field.
I'm no hero.
That one popped, too.
"Stop it!" she cried over the whipping winds and symphony of encroaching force-fields. "I can't take it anymore!"
"Then perhaps it is time you let it all go."
Who was that? Zeelan didn't recognize the voice. It sounded deep, soothing. Yet something about it held an air of whimsy. Strange.
The last word was drawled into a whisper and by the time it ended, Z stood upright in a vast, empty room of blinding white; she realized this once she opened her squinted eyes. There was no way she could deny a sense of comfort—like words spoken to her by her Papa after a long nightmare—so as she wandered about the space, she drifted to her thoughts.
Let it go? Was she really capable of doing such? Facts and logic had been her comforter from childhood to now. You could always rely on facts; books had taught her this. The good ones, anyhow. The others…well, those were just a break from reality for when she truly needed it. Like after a stern scolding by her mother or when K would have to leave for a bonding weekend with their Papa. Now those times truly required knights, and princesses, and chosen ones.
She had grown out of such stories when she was eleven, though. After her mother snapped and she moved with her brother and father, she vowed never to ignore facts ever again. If she had known better, saw the signs, not fantasized of the mother she wished she had—then she could have saved her brother from a deep scar. She could've warned someone. Maybe her father would have listened to her more if she had sounded more knowledgeable.
Stick to the facts, Z. Watch for logic, which this room currently lacked. No matter how far she ventured, she never neared the end where one simple door remained shut. She halted, glancing behind. Huh, it didn't look like she had gotten anywhere, though she had walked a long ways.
Brows furrowed, the mutant faced forward once more. As she took a step, a soft click sounded. She turned again. And saw nothing—only the bare white walls that stretched yards behind her. Strange.
Stop it, Z; you're alone. So the young woman headed for the door. More clicks sounded in tandem with her footsteps, but she refused to suggest that her bare feet against the cool, seamless floor would make such a sound. She pushed the noise from her head then blinked when the door suddenly disappeared.
"What…?" Zeelan whispered. She paused then glanced towards the left, jumping at how close she now stood by the wall. Or, well, a bookshelf.
Like the room, it glowed with whiteness, which made it difficult to determine if it were empty or full. It was full. The young woman perused its shelves, but they all looked the same, despite their different spine widths. With a small curse, she blindly picked one and opened it up.
The pages were empty—from hard cover, to content, to hard cover. She frowned as she flipped back and forth between its pages then sought another one. It looked exactly the same. Books three, four, five, and six followed the same pattern, and by then Zeelan tossed the books on the ground in critical anger.
"Where's the logic in having blank books?" she cried while glaring at the empty spots on the shelves.
Her eyes caught a glimpse of yellow near the middle, appearing as suddenly as the door had left. It called to her with warmth like the sun's rays. But that sounded silly, coming from a book. She still stepped forward, grasping its thick spin of gold between her tanned fingers. It felt warm to the touch and didn't reveal a title until one etched itself between its ornate, golden borders on the cover. The deep orange glowed like hot iron as the ornate calligraphy formed. When it finished, Zeelan felt her whole body grow rigid.
"The Power of Belief?" she read bitterly. "Is this supposed to be a joke?"
Sometimes, for one to believe, they must first be believed in.
I believe that no matter what, trials bring about growth.
The only failure is when one gives up… As I have said, any goal can be achieved through belief. Goals only fail when you decide they fail.
With teeth grinding at Danny's echoing words, Zeelan twisted and chucked the book towards the wall she knew it would never hit. It flopped to the ground as expected, just a yard away. In hindsight, her arm wasn't all that strong. Ironic.
She wanted to leave this place. She didn't want to be trapped in the maddening white any longer—not with the one thing she couldn't bring herself to wield. It sat on the floor, its page spread upwards, only she sat far enough away that she couldn't see what was written in it. It would only be nonsense…right?
How can you know if you aren't willing to try?
White Tiger. She didn't admit it to herself then, but the heroine's words had struck her. If notable men in history hadn't tried, society wouldn't have any of the great inventions they had now. They weren't like her. They weren't afraid of failing. That's what made them powerful and successful. Even so, she liked playing things safe. Failing too many times was…
The path to success is paved with failure.
Zeelan frowned. Danny had trust she could do it—his whole aura told the story in glimpses of greens, browns, and blues.
That's right. He was sick now, dying. She was supposed to help him. Or try. Was this her first step in that? Hadn't part of the poison crept into her mind? Could this be its trick, forcing her to face this book? Well, it wouldn't win. She couldn't stay here and help Danny. She needed to return. To do that she was willing to believe she could make it.
So, expression stern, Zeelan knelt forward, heading for the book. Her hand stretched towards it and the glow brightened whilst its warmth increased. Almost there. Her fingers brushed the soft page. Then, everything grew white.
Zeelan woke up with huff. Her upper torso shot up like a catapult and she wheezed, seeking breath as her blurred vision focused. At the foot of her bed, two tall figures spoke in a reasonably-lit environment. Their voices were garbled, but one undoubtedly was Director Fury. The other…a magician? The mutant blinked her eyes to ensure she wasn't still dreaming. Or mistaken. Neither held true.
The man in a high-collar red cape turned to her along with Fury. She quickly noted his shaggy black hair that fell into his pale face and over his thin, pointed mustache and divided goatee. His black uniform and sash were acceptable, given the attire of heroes and villains alike. The clasp that kept his cloak together, however? That couldn't easily be overlooked since its golden eyelids and narrowed red eye felt…real. She found herself staring at it, wearily, as the man approached.
"I see you have noticed my Eye of Agamotto," he said as he stopped beside her bed.
"Your eye of wha?" she asked, eye brow arched.
"Agamotto," he answered, strong. "It's an immensely powerful artifact that aids me—Sorcerer Supreme—in protecting the world from mystic turmoil!" The grand man spread his arm and draped himself in his cloak before undoing it all with one swoop of his hands, which he raised.
Zeelan blinked at him, watching his cape's hem flutter against the ground. "And…you are?"
"Strange. Doctor Strange."
Z believed that. She could actually believe that was the name given by his mother. The woman must of harbored intuition. Or damaged brain cells.
"Alright, now why are you here?"
"I called him," Fury answered while rounding the other side of her bed. He didn't wear a trench coat, but that hardly called for attention. "Do you have any idea what you just woke up from?" he asked, though not as severe.
"Um…"
"You procured this first-rate bed in the Medical Ward because you preformed an unauthorized reading of Rand's aura."
"Unauthorized?" Zeelan's eyes narrowed at Fury's glare. "Why would I need permission for that?"
"Because Rand is sick and people, particularly those of psychic affiliations—like you—are highly susceptible to the poison's effects. Why do you think I wanted to keep you at arm's length from him?"
"That doesn't make any sense. I thought the poison was delivered through the blade."
"It was."
Slowly, Z knit her brows. "Then how—"
"Psychic association," Fury interjected with his arms behind his back. "Think of the poison like a leech that sucks away any psyche energy it can grasp. The stronger your spiritual or mystical powers are, the stronger the hold it has on you. It reaches for it. So when you gave into White Tiger's goading, you nearly wound up in very hot water."
"She wasn't goading," grumbled Zeelan, solemn. "She was just…Where is everyone, anyway?"
"School."
"So I was out for, what, twelve hours?"
"Try twenty nine. It's Friday."
"It's what?" The mutant's voice rose sharply, yet Fury didn't flinch.
"You're lucky you woke up at all," the one-eyed man remarked blandly.
"Fury is right," added Doctor Strange with a flick of his cloak. "I have kept my distance while identifying the poison for Fury. Now that we know, it is of the up-most importance that we handle Danny's ailment carefully."
"What poison is it?" Z asked, soft.
"It is called Swilla Iku."
"Iku…isn't Iku an African deity of death?"
Subtle in its intrigue, one of Strange's thick brows rose. "Young kids such as you are not often knowledgeable of such under-published information."
"Yeah, well"—the teen shrugged—"I read a lot."
"Excellent!" Such a sudden, stern boom left Zeelan jumping in bed. She froze under his ambiguous smile, not quite sure how to react. But the man didn't pause long before continuing, "Students that read are always more pleasant to handle. That is, so long as they listen."
"St—students?"
Fury grunted in acknowledgement. "Correct, Miss Weir."
"What am I studying?"
"The mystic arts."
Was it inappropriate to laugh? It probably was, especially in the presence of Fury's all-serious expression and a man who called himself Sorcerer Supreme. But it was so hard; she could barely keep the giggles down.
"I'm serious, Miss Weir," added Fury in a strained tone. "This poison will eat at Rand until there's nothing salvageable left of his mind. To reach him, we need a psychic power stronger than the poison's hold. That's why I thought about you when Strange mentioned projecting into Rand's mind to defeat the poison."
"But, I—I—"
"You don't know how strong you are because you haven't tried. Now you should count yourself lucky to have Strange as a mentor, however brief it may be. He's just the right character for your powers and a very busy man. Like me. He'll explain things in further detail. Meanwhile, I have a hunt to return to."
The Director didn't wait for a reply, as per usual. Had he did, he would have been met with narrowed dark eyes. Not that they couldn't be felt from a distance, for sure. Hunt. Her brother was no animal!
"Miss Weir?" questioned Doctor Strange over her soft growl. She twisted towards him. "I ask that you take this seriously. Danny"—the man faltered a fraction in his composure—"Danny was a valued pupil of mine. Though his tutelage with me has ended, I regard him highly. Which is why I am here."
"Me too," the white-haired mutant countered indignantly. She frowned then slid back in her bed until her back arched against the pillows. "Trust me, I do. But I have to ask. If Fury already called you, Sorcerer Supreme, then…why am I even needed? Didn't Fury say you can project into his mind?"
Notable darkness fell over the middle-aged man's face as he folded his arms, saying, "That is only part of the battle. Whoever enters Danny's mind will have to fend off the poison while simultaneously reaching for his materialized consciousness before the poison can be exorcised. Without that, all our efforts would be for naught."
"Because right now the poison has his consciousness prisoner? And…if we destroyed that, we would destroy Danny as well?"
"Perceptive girl," Strange remarked with a nod.
"And you can't do that?" Z asked with a waver in her words.
"I can fend off the poison for a time. That will take all my concentration, however. I need another Astral Projector to accompany me into the realm of Danny's mind."
"And I'm it."
"I will protect us both while you search for Danny's consciousness. That is the plan Fury has made for you. Will you do it?"
Zeelan stiffened under the sorcerer's stern eyes. Good news? He could help develop her skills. Bad news? This was a lot of pressure to put on one small town girl. But, strangely, all the doubt, facts, and 'what if' situations that would usually run through her mind never once entered it. She thought only of Danny and what he had done for her. He deserved a chance, so an iron force crept within her, melting her uncertainly into determination.
She gave a definite nod. "I'll do it. I'll learn. So what—"
"Not that one, Agent Milton!" Fury's static-impaired cry sounded over the PA system. There was a clear distress in it that felt out of place, and Z keenly listened for the speakers hidden in the medical ward's ceiling, frowning as he added, "He's—"
"Hello, Fury."
Zeelan sized. That voice. Was that really him? No doubt; she would know his deep voice anywhere.
"K…"
"It's been past a week," Kevin said over Zeelan's whisper. Strange, he sounded so…menacing. When did that happen? "I've been patient, but I'm done now. I want my sister, so we can leave this damn city. You have one more day. If she isn't released"—her brother's tone dropped dangerously into a growl that sunk her stomach—"I'll be leaving your dead agent on the doorstep of this city. Got it? You have a good day now."
Then the line went dead.
Author's Notes: Because Z didn't have enough stress in her life. :D Review, please!