Chapter 8: Postmortem
Coulson's team were not first on the scene. By the time they touched down near the small forest clearing, it had already been surrounded by what looked like a small army of agents, SHIELD on the inside, regular police on the outside.
It was also an unbelievable mess.
Several other patrols in the same forest had heard the shots, and sped to the scene. A nearby police cruiser had simultaneously radioed in an active shooter situation in the forest. Unfortunately for the SHIELD agents, said forest happened to border a well-known suburb, home to more than one prominent local political figure.
A truly dismaying amount of time prior to Coulson's arrival had been spent arguing over jurisdiction. It turned out that while SHIELD did have permission to operate in Japan, nobody had ever notified this specific police department of the forest sweep operation, nor of the fact that the members of this specific team were even in the country. Rather pointed questions were being asked about the SHIELD presence as a result of this.
Thankfully to Coulson's mind, that messy business was being dealt with by headquarters. Being a level eight SHIELD operative had its perks, and one of them was a surprising efficiency at cutting through local red tape. At first, local police would not even let him through the cordon, despite waving his shield badge, until one of the local agents came over and physically lifted the tape for his team.
It took a further call to HQ, though, for the local police to actually start co-operating, and cede full control of the scene to the SHIELD agents. The Japanese police force wasn't especially trusting of outsiders, but even they recognized that, when the equivalent of a small SHIELD task force was on site investigating the murders of some of their own, it was best to stay out of the way. Nothing said official task force quite like a high-level agent ID card attached to a take-no-nonsense team leader.
Coulson took one look at the scene, complete with its almost-untouched bodies, bullet-holes in the scenery, and miffed-looking Japanese police, then took charge.
"Fitz, work the forensics on the scene. Figure out what happened, and how the hostile got the drop on our team. Jemma, examine the bodies. Autopsy them if you have to. Figure out what killed them. Ward, patrol the perimeter. If whatever did this comes back, I don't want to be caught with our pants down. Skye, you're on damage control. Find someone in the local PD who speaks English, and co-ordinate whatever story we're giving to the press. We don't need to be on the news right now. May, you're on comms. I want taps into all local police channels, including their national counter-terrorism unit. Any other incidents in a twenty-mile radius, you call us immediately. This may not be the only case. Go!"
It was at this point the glowing orange portal materialized only a few feet from Coulson.
From it quickly appeared an elderly gentleman, wearing gray and teal robes, with a beard shaped into three prongs. He was carrying a book in his hand, which he wisely chose to place into his robes at the sight of dozens of SHIELD agents pointing automatic weapons at him, and shouting "down on the ground!", "freeze!" and "hands in the air!" all at the same time. The local police were also well-represented in the yelling, but between the dozens of people shouting at once, and the fact most of what they said was in Japanese, even the bilingual SHIELD agents struggled to make it out.
Coulson managed to make himself heard above the din, yelling "HOLD FIRE!" and then "WEAPONS DOWN!" with surprising speed. Then he bowed.
It took those assembled a second to process what he had just said, but, within moments, the SHIELD agents were grumpily re-holstering their weapons. The local police, however, were not. That required a few more moments for an enterprising agent in the crowd to make use of their bilingual talents and relay Coulson's orders.
Surveying the scene around him, the elderly gentleman stood with a calm grace, his expression giving away nothing. Once all the guns were no longer pointed at him, he cleared his throat, and gestured to Coulson.
"I am Hamir, master of the mystic arts. I was informed that SHIELD agents have fallen in battle against..." - he paused, looking around at the many non-SHIELD agents present - "... our common foe. I have been sent by the Sorcerer Supreme to aid you."
Coulson nodded. The whispers of "He's with us!" and "Check out that beard!" were already spreading around the clearing. Coulson had not previously interacted much with the Sorcerers, but their robes were very distinctive, if not all as garish as those of the Sorcerer Supreme. He had been wondering when a Sorcerer would be assigned to his team. A pity it had taken the deaths of shield agents to make it happen.
"Alright people, we have a job to do. Let's stay focused and get it done. Hamir, I need you to check the bodies, then the clearing, for signs of hostile magic. I am going to be in the bus. The, err, airship over there. Everyone, attend to your duties. I'll expect initial reports from everyone in half an hour. MOVE!"
He had somber news to deliver, and a request to make.
"With all due respect, Director, Hamir is very advanced in years. While I appreciate the assignment of a Sorcerer to aid my team, I am concerned that when we have to go on the road again, and continue our recon efforts, he may slow us down. He does not look like he can cover ground quickly."
Coulson was inside the bus, on a private video call to headquarters. His initial report was very brief, as they knew nothing substantial yet, and his main goal was simply to ensure that HQ knew about the deaths, and that all other SHIELD teams in the area were informed of the potential threat. That had been swift and easy. His conversation with Director Fury, however, was quickly turning into anything but.
"Agent Coulson, did Hamir introduce himself, before you all almost shot him?"
He was never quite sure whether Fury's questions like this were rhetorical or not. He was also unsure how Fury managed to find about the confrontation in the time it took him to walk from the clearing to the bus, and plug in his comms headset.
"Yes Sir. Hamir, master of the mystic arts, I believe."
"Quite so. Do you know how many masters of the mystic arts there are?"
"I... do not know. I thought it a standard though impressive-sounding title, much like most of our operatives use the title 'agent'."
Fury shook his head. From the looks of things, he was restraining the urge to give Coulson a full-on lecture.
"Strange never told us the full extent of their forces. From what we have been able to piece together, we estimate that, in addition to the Sorcerer Supreme, their entire order numbers less than a thousand. Very possibly, less than a hundred. In any case, as far as we can tell, the number of 'masters' in their order may number less than ten."
Coulson was catching on rapidly. "My apologies, Sir. I had not realized..."
Fury merely held up his hand. "The Sorcerer Supreme is still working on trying to improve our portal detection grid. Aside from him, there may be perhaps 8 true masters in the order. Of those, at least four are known to have positions that preclude them leaving the Sorcerers' training camps. Instructors, librarians, and the like. Truly, even that may be an underestimate. You could probably count the number of true arcane masters Earth has available for defense in the field on one hand. I believe the Sorcerer Supreme assigned us four, and even that may stretching the limits of what their organization can do. One of them is working here at HQ. One has been assigned to protect important international events where world leaders are gathering. The remaining two have been assigned to Japan, since that appears to be the front line. Of the dozens of SHIELD teams in Japan, only two got master-level Sorcerers assigned to them. Yours is one of those two. So, I ask you again... do you have a problem with the assignment of Master Hamir to aid you?"
Coulson flinched. The Director was not commonly given to asking questions like this. It usually meant whoever was on the receiving end was about to get their ass kicked.
"No Sir!" was his prompt reply. He hoped it would be enough. It wasn't.
"Master Hamir is apparently one of the oldest, and thus most learned, arcane experts that the Sorcerers have. You WILL be positively honored to have him assisting you. The fact is, Coulson, that the Sorcerers have been operating in secret, secret from us and our forebears anyway, for thousands of years. It is only recently, in the face of overwhelming threats from beyond our world, that they have taken what seems to be a radical departure from convention, for them, anyway, and volunteered to work with us. This alliance is a fragile one. We have diametrically opposed philosophies. SHIELD values science, teamwork, and a very modern approach to dealing with threats. They value magic, often act alone, and their traditions date back thousands of years. Under absolutely NO account are you to do ANYTHING that risks our alliance. You are to afford Hamir every courtesy. You are NOT to presume he cannot handle himself on account of his age. You are most certainly NOT to ever imply to him that you are judging him on his age, or on his inability to physically keep up with SHIELD agents who have many years of physical combat training. You are to ensure that he remains safe, as this is a magical invasion, and he is one of the very, very few high-level magical defenders we have. Do I make myself absolutely clear?"
Fury was giving him the evil eye again. One of the nerdier parts of himself wondered if, being a cyclops, Fury got some sort of innate bonus to intimidate, or at least, intimidating stares. He nodded. "Yes, Director. Out of curiosity, which team was the other master in Japan assigned to?"
"Your friend Garrett. Now quit wasting time! Get back out there, and find out what the hell killed our people!"
With all the chaos surrounding the crime scene, it was a full 50 minutes before everyone was ready to reconvene for that initial briefing. Skye, in particular, was hard to pin down. Running back and forth constantly between representatives of the local police, the national police, and the gaggle of reporters beyond the outer cordon, she looked, and felt, constantly out of breath. In the end, it was Ward who dragged her out of a meeting with someone from the Japanese Ministry of Forests, Fish and Wildlife and steered her abruptly in the direction of the small tent where the team was gathering.
It was an impromptu morgue, the dead agents laid out before them.
Fitz spoke first.
"Right. So, we knew whatever we are facing is magic, but this encounter has confirmed that conventional tactics seem to be worse than useless. Our guys' were almost out of ammo. More remote teams reported hearing an almost constant stream of gunfire for over thirty seconds. Yet, there were no enemy casualties on the scene. Not even any blood. This indicates that whatever they were facing could face down a well-armed SHIELD team without breaking a sweat. So far as we know, there were no signs it was even injured. Despite the hail of lead, and some AP rounds, that were fired at it."
He looked around the room. Ward was nodding, appreciating the lethal efficiency of something that could do this. Hamir still looked impassive, arms folded in his robes. Skye looked worried, her forehead creased. Coulson was leaning against the side of a table, seemingly unable to take his eyes off the bodies of his fellow agents for more than a few seconds at a time. It was Jemma, though, who looked worst. She had that nervous energy that she sometimes had when she was working on a particularly tough problem, and, he knew from experience, felt lost. He hoped her news was better than his, but the odds did not look good.
He continued.
"The situation just gets worse from there, I am afraid. I initially thought that what we were facing might simply be moving too fast for them to hit. We've seen hostiles that can move almost faster than you can blink. So... I asked Ward for a second opinion on this, and we agree on all the points. Ward?"
Ward straightened up. For all his appreciation of this thing's lethal efficiency, it was his job to kill it, not admire it.
"By far the greatest concentration of bullet impacts was on this tree", stated Ward calmly, pointing at a 'T' marked on a hastily-drawn map of the crime scene that someone had placed on a whiteboard.
"There is, quite simply, no reason to continue shooting at a tree for this long. Nothing we know of stays still and functional that long under concentrated fire. If it was moving, there is no reason to think that our agents could not compensate. Agents are trained to lead their targets. Hitting a moving target, especially when you can saturate the area with firepower, is not that difficult. One of the downed agents had a combat shotgun for specifically this purpose. Yet, as far as we can tell, none of their bullets hit their attacker, or attackers. From this, I can only conclude that whatever attacked them wasn't moving too fast to hit. Nor, given the lack of impacts on the surrounding trees, was it using them as cover. Instead, it convinced them to target this tree. Perhaps some kind of misdirection magic, or combat decoy. Whatever it was, it was very effective, the entire team laid into this tree with everything they had, as if it was the greatest threat in the world."
He noticed some of his team glance outside, through the parted curtains of the tent, towards the shot-to-pieces tree, as if verifying that it was still there, and still, in fact, quite dead. Just to be safe.
"My tactical analysis is that whatever we are facing has spectacular misdirection abilities. Something so potent that it can distract a whole team of agents at once, make them empty their weapons at thin air, and then use unknown means to take them all out. Fitz?"
Fitz grimaced. "Sounds accurate. That was my impression as well, but, well, it seemed a little implausible, so I wanted an opinion from a tactics expert."
Coulson interrupted. "I don't mind you asked for help on your homework assignment, Fitz. The number of agents we have around the perimeter now, Ward wasn't needed on patrol anymore. Especially as my calls with HQ took longer than I thought. In future though, ask first before borrowing our lookout."
"Right", answered Fitz. He looked expectantly to Jemma. He was still hoping her news was better than his.
Ward was taking this opportunity to slink back into the background of the tent, blending in as years of operations training had taught him. His tactical analysis had left out one critical component, but it was a component he would have to wait to deliver.
He recognized at least two of the dead SHIELD operatives as covert HYDRA agents. He knew it was standard protocol to try to form at least some teams within SHIELD that were all, or mostly all, HYDRA under the surface. It was part of their long term plan to have at least some teams they could truly trust. It also made sense that such a team would be one of the first to be sent on a dangerous mission like this, first contact with a new foe could give HYDRA critical intelligence, after all.
Problem was, that worked both ways. If this foe figured out that there was a man behind the man, as it were, and came after them, HYDRA was in for a world of pain. If any of these agents were revealed to be HYDRA during cleanup, some very uncomfortable questions would be asked. In his professional estimation, such gambles were not worth it. Better to let SHIELD do the dirty work and swoop in to steal their prize at the last moment. No sense rushing matters when SHIELD agents could be risked instead of HYDRA ones. Still, he wasn't in the upper echelons of Hydra leadership, for the moment, anyway, so it was not his decision to make.
Jemma had started with her findings. He shifted his attention to her.
"... The bodies obviously have no entry or exit wounds, so whatever killed them was not a physical bullet of any kind we're familiar with. Nor do they display and kind of burning or cellular damage, so it probably wasn't any kind of laser or directed energy weapon. In fact, their bodies appear to be almost entirely intact from the outside, albeit of course, dead, so I started my investigation by assuming that whatever killed them, killed them from the inside out.
In their brains, I noticed that the level of neurotransmitters in their visual cortex was extremely high. Far beyond normal, as if they died whilst admiring a laser light show, or in the middle of a brightly lit rave that was overstimulating the visual part of their brains. Examining the link between brain and body in more detail, I discovered that some of their muscles are torn, deep within the muscle tissue, which is an injury that you see most often in victims of severe seizures. Their nervous systems also seem to have an excessive amount of free ions, which is not something I've seen before, but could hypothetically happen if their nervous systems became dangerously overactive, and effectively burnt themselves out.
My best guess for how they died is that they were hit with some sort of light, or light-based attack, which triggers seizures, brain and/or nervous system overload, and very quick death. The death may be accompanied by extremely sharp muscle contractions, or muscle twitching, like a seizure."
Ward frowned. This was not good news. A weapon that could introduce instant, life-threatening seizures in its targets, and target multiple people at once, was potent indeed. Not to mention, it suggested a truly alarming knowledge of human biology for an invader that had only been here a short time.
"Based on the fact they couldn't seem to properly identify what was attacking them, I'm further speculating that whatever it was, it may have been some kind of trap, or ambush. First, it lures them, with some sort of decoy or distraction. They shoot at the decoy, but hit nothing, because they decoy is just a decoy planted there to draw their attention. Then, it engages them, using its visual attack to confuse and disorient them, quickly elevating to death by seizures as it overloads their brains. This is the most concise explanation I can think of, biologically, for why they fired but hit nothing, whilst at the same time suffering what amounted to a lethal brain overload in their visual cortex. The fact that they were found with their eyes wide open, as if staring as something, supports this hypothesis. My recommendation is that, if we encounter whatever we suspect did this, we avoid looking at it directly, in case I'm right about it emitting some form of killer light-show."
"If we can't look at it, how do we fight it?", asked Coulson.
It was a fair question, and one they had all been pondering, on some level, as Jemma proceeded with her explanation.
"We could use cameras?" volunteered Fitz.
Jemma nodded, though she looked less than convinced. "It may help", she admitted. "Though I am not sure if they would block whatever this is. Its worth a shot, though. Rig up some cameras mounted in glasses. Have the insides of the glasses display a view from the camera. Potentially harmful visual effects, or really, anything unusual, filtered out."
Fitz smiled. Finally, a challenge that might really turn the tide. "I'll get right on it!" he said, sounding much cheerier than they all felt. Coulson held up his hand, though, to stop him before he had even finished getting up.
"Let's see what Hamir has to say, first" he volunteered with a well-concealed skepticism. He was still not entirely sure what to expect with the old Sorcerer, but he supposed, it was certainly better than having rookie magic user on their team.
Hamir silently approached one of the bodies, standing over it and placing one arm directly over what remained of its head, after Jemma had opened its skull.
A few seconds ticked by. Even Ward, seeming to blend into the back of the tent, took a few steps forward for a closer look.
Suddenly, multicolored orbs appeared on the corpse' stomach, and head. Both were translucent, almost like glass in places, but the similarities ended there. The one floating quickly upwards from the remains of the corpse's skull was orange, the color of a passionate fire, and spiky, like a fireball from hell. It continually twisted and turned, spikes forming, melting and reforming, as if it could never settle on one shape.
The other ball rose slowly from the stomach, and, though less obviously threatening, was far more foreboding. It was the color of ash, or perhaps a tombstone. Dull gray, with a featureless plain spherical surface to match. Even where the light shone on it, it gave no shine, as if it was the ultimate matte surface. The only clue that it was not a mere abstract hologram was the thin line, a cord, almost, which tethered it to the solar plexus of the body it had risen from.
Hamir gave them all a few moments to examine the orbs, before he pointed at the orange one.
"There are two different magic residues here. The first is like fire on the wind. Bright, passionate, eager. It moves at the speed of light, but it is fleeting. It burns, it blinds, and it scorches from the inside. It chews you up and spits you out like old rice. It is dangerous, but it is dangerous in the same way a gout of fire is dangerous. Horrific if you are caught by it, but, by comparison, easy to avoid.
The second magic is like the slow creep of mortality. Dark. Cold. Eager only to suck the life out of you. It moves hardly at all, but it is incredibly persistent. It doesn't hurt, it isn't even visible to most people without a lot of magical training. But it creeps up on you, stealing your life, your vitality, little bits of your soul, one piece at a time, until there is nothing left. It too is dangerous, but it is dangerous the same way a leech is dangerous. It sucks you dry without you even noticing. It promises a slow and unkind death, but the truly nasty thing about it is that it can attach without you noticing."
Skye reached out, pointing at the now fading motes of orange light that the first ball was disintegrating into. "Are you saying these are two different spells?", she asked.
Hamir shook his head. "I am not saying that. All I am saying is that there are two kinds of magic here. I cannot tell if they were part of the same spell. All I can tell is that the dead suffered from both. One has the marks of a bright, flashy spell that might be a wonder to behold. The other has the mark of something far more subtle, but also, potentially, far more dangerous. Something that steals your life-force without you even knowing. Something, perhaps, that could snuff out the life force of a healthy person in moments, or drain their life slowly over a longer period of time. Either way, high-level necromancy of a sort it would be unwise for any human to use."
"So... we're fighting something from H.P. Lovecraft?" piped up Fitz. Nobody laughed.
"Is there any way to block these, magically speaking?" asked Coulson.
"Not that a non-sorcerer could do quickly", came the reply. "Still, if you encounter any bright flashing lights, I would urge you to look away, lest you lose your soul. Still, that is not our greatest problem."
Coulson suppressed another grimace. The news just kept getting worse and worse.
"What is our greatest problem?"
"Life-stealing magic like this can be used to empower those who practice the dark arts", observed Hamir quietly. "In this case, it could be used to empower the spell's caster. Potentially, every time they kill with this spell, they could gain more power, proportionate to how strong the life force of their victims was. Essentially... blood sacrifice magic, with the strength depending on the victim's life force. Every sacrifice, every victim, could make them more powerful, and harder to kill. The more, and stronger, their victims, the stronger the caster gets. Assuming they steal the life-force for themselves."
Coulson surveyed the bodies of his fellow agents, laid out under white sheets, many with their brains removed from their skulls. "The life force of SHIELD agents?", he asked.
"Quite strong", replied Hamir. "Life-force is connected to will. The stronger the will, the stronger the life-force. Typically. SHIELD agents would be... a juicy meal for a spell like this. Particularly a group of them. You'd also have to be quite powerful already, to even cast a spell like this."
Coulson was quiet as he digested this news for a moment. He really did not like the idea that whoever did this regarded agents of SHIELD as an all-you-can-eat buffet. Nobody ever takes just one bite from the buffet. He did not want to be a walking menu item. For a moment, he imagined teams of SHIELD agents, running through the woods, and wearing food costumes instead of tactical gear. One was dressed in a hot dog costume, another, looked like a milkshake. It was not a comforting thought.
"You mentioned an assumption. That they keep the life-force for themselves. What's the alternative? What if they are not keeping it for themselves?", he asked, hoping that this answer was less grim.
Hamir sighed. It was a tired sigh, born of decades spent helping defend the world.
"There are things in the dark dimensions, also called the horror dimensions, that consider human life force to be a tasty snack.
With some life-force, you can try attracting them to an area. It is the supernatural equivalent of spilling blood in the water to attract sharks.
With more life-force, you can trade with them. Think... doing a deal with the devil. Or a contract summoning. Either way, you get the services of a powerful supernatural entity – for as long as you can feed it a constant stream of human life-force.
With a great deal of life force, you can open a portal to one of these dimensions. Think... fall of Atlantis and the ancient Atlanteans."
Skye perked up again at this point. "But... Atlantis isn't real? Neither are the 'Atlanteans'?"
Hamir nodded seriously. "Not anymore, no."