Chapter 22:
[Spartan POV]
[1 day later, AVENGERS HQ, New York City]
[Library.] At a workstation, I research the Templars. Most of what I gathered is nothing new that a normal person couldn't dig up by reading a textbook or a five-minute search on the internet. But rummaging through the book, I commandeered from the priest's apartment. A journal. According to it, the templars are an order of guardians tasked to protect the world from demonic forces by any means necessary. Anything they deem touched by a corrupting force must burn. "So they are a gang of lunatics," Wanda states over my shoulder behind me. "More like zealots," I say. Swing my chair around to face her, "How are you holding up?" "Pretty good, all things considering," Wanda voices, rubbing a hand across her arm. Words of Wanda's attack hit the wire. Cap ordered a security detail be placed on her. An assignment he assigned to me.
This whole op is starting to frustrate me. I'm essentially running blind. First DeGuzman, now these Templars nutjobs. I'm way out of my element and don't like it. Feels like jumping into a fight half prepared. My eyes shift around and come to a stop on Wanda. It's strange despite the chaos of the situation. Having her close by makes things not so chaotic, like a guide through a dangerous, impossible maze of mirrors. One missed up will cost you everything. In spite of what she said, I can see the stress of the situation was affecting Wanda. Until the crisis is fully resolved, there isn't much I can do on that front.
[DeGuzman POV]
[National Museum of History, New York City]
Within a parked car, I watch as the police clear out of the museum along with other emergency responders. The air is still potent with magic use. Two, in fact. One from the witch, the other from another source. "Templars," I say in a bored tone. It appears they're also on the hunt for the witch. I'll have to deal with the matter personally. Draw the witch out by force. The master is getting restless, and his patience is wearing thin. Pondering on it now, I have crossed paths with many powerful magical beings in my years, but none of them have come close to this particular witch. It's actually frightening, this level of raw power, yet beautiful. I can see now why the master has chosen her as a perfect candidate for a vessel. A direct confrontation would not be a wise course of action. The Templars' failed assassination attempt undoubtedly put the witch and her allies on high alert. The best move is to divide them than strike.
[Spartan POV]
[AVENGERS HQ, New York City]
[Living-area.] Wanda and I catch the morning news. They reported on the museum incident followed by the assassin's murder at the hospital. NYPD is still investigating. Left Wanda's name out. I switch off the TV then head into the kitchen to make a cup of coffee for Wanda and myself. Wanda, on her end, sets down two plates of french toast. I raise a brow in a question, "Is it poison?" Wanda shoots me a glare. "I'm joking. I'm joking," I say, my hands raised defensively. The woman rolls her eyes as she takes a seat next to me at the table. I playfully bump my shoulder toward her. She smiles in return. The food was amazing. Jokes aside, Wanda is a far better cook than me. Self-taught is even more impressive. I cook out of survival, so it's not meant to be tasty. A habit gained as a SHIELD operator. "Where are the others?" Wanda asks. I raise my head to face her, "On an op. It's just you and me," I inform her.
Staring at Wanda, I can see she's deep in thought. "You alright?" I question. She drags a hand through her hair, "A little stress. Nothing I can't handle." Place a hand on her shoulder, "With everything that happened, who wouldn't be stressed out? I'm here if you need me for anything." Wanda takes my hand and squeezes it softly, "Thank you, Spartan." "Corvo," I correct. Wanda studies me with a questioning gaze. "We're not on an op. Call me Corvo," I clarify. "Corvo," she tests the name out through her own lips. At that moment, EPYON tags an op.
[Wanda Maxeimoff POV]
[New York City]
[Quintjet.] The emergency call is an out-of-control fire engulfing an apartment complex in Chelsea. Spartan switches the quinjet to autopilot. Moving to the sliding, Spartan punches the control button, and the door slides open. On the ground, firefighters are hard at work trying put the flame out. Through the wailing siren, I can hear the people trapped inside screaming for help. I note a woman yelling to one of the firefighters, frantically explaining that her baby was still in the building on the 10th floor. She tries to go back in, but the firefighter stops her. A man within the crowd points skyward, "It's the AVENGERS!" As soon as he spoke those words. Everyone follows his line of sight. Even the panicked mother. She and I lock eyes. For a slit second, the woman's memories of her time with her child flash before my eyes. Without hesitation, I activate my powers and leap into the building through the window.
[Building.] Once in, I quickly place on the respirator mask. The heat is intense, almost unbearable. Thick smoke makes it hard to see. Via HUD, I pinpoint the baby's location in a room at the far end of the hall. Sprint forward and kick open the door. The baby's cry fills the room. I cross my way toward the crib, scoop the infant into my arms. Just as I'm about to backtrack, the ceiling collapse, blocking off the only way out. See no other option; the window is the only remaining alternative. "So be it," I voice to myself. I blast the window, making a big enough hole to fit through. I hold the baby tightly against my body and charge.
In mid-fall, I thrust a hand out, forming a protective shield around the both of us to slow our rapid descent. We hit the ground unscathed. Cracks vein the ground surface from the impact. Everyone who occupies the street stares jaw-slacked. A few steps back in fear. "I don't know if I should be impressed or scared," one says. "Damn freak," another voice in their mind. The baby's mother pushes past the firefighter and darts toward me. Gently, I place the child in the woman's arms. "Thank you. Thank you," she expresses, cradling the baby firmly. I turn my attention back to the burning building. The emergency exit door bursts open; Spartan steers a group of panicked people out of the blazing structure as quickly as possible. "Last one out!" he yells. Hearing the all-clear, the firefighters centralize their efforts solely to extinguish the fire. Five minutes in, the flames are finally put out.
We helped out in the clean-up effort. Getting people medical attention or food and water. Spartan plants a hand on my shoulder, "You did good work." I flash a thankful smile but shift my eyes toward the woman and her baby; a paramedic is attending to them. "Honestly, it was pure luck. I didn't go in with a plan. Didn't even have one." Spartan crosses his arms over his chest, "In certain situations, we don't have the luxury or the time to plan things out. Only a slit second to make two choices. Act or don't act. Take the win, Wanda." I motion a nod, "Right." At that moment, my phone buzzes. A text message from Hardison. The display shows an address.
[Brooklyn docks, New York City]
Leaving Manhattan, Spartan and I drive across the bridge. At first, I felt I had a decent idea of Brooklyn due to how much Steve Rogers speaks about the place. A picture that was quickly wiped clean. Modern-day Brooklyn is vastly different from Steve's Brooklyn. Grit, grime, and brown. At least around the dock area. Layers of dirt mix with abandoned wooden pallets repurposed into makeshift furniture for the day workers. City cut-back forced a lot of local small businesses to close down. Homelessness was on the subtle rise. Despite the presence of those who linger, it's quiet as we approach the dock's gate.
[Warehouse.] Inside, the large gray warehouse is as typical as outside. Concrete and steel walls meet the concrete floor. Up ahead, I spot Hardison with a squad of SHIELD agents. In the center of all the activity lay multiple dead bodies sprawled across the floor. All of them butchered and mutilated. "Took your sweet time," Hardison comments. "Busy putting out a fire. What's the sitrep?" Spartan states, scanning the surrounding area, taking in the scene. I stop walking and stare at one of the dead bodies, "That man. He's the one who attacked me at the museum. Templars…"
Spartan kneels down, examining what's left of the man. Deep laceration riddled the man's body; two limbs, an arm, and a leg, were ripped out from the socket. "Damn., Did a real number him. An excruciatingly painful death," Spartan states. They have been stationed here for a short while from the equipment stored here. "Do we know who or what did this to them?" I question. Hardison shakes his head, "Nope." Swiftly a cold icy chill fills the air. I straighten sharply, sensing a malevolent presence. My eyes sight movement in the shadows, something unnatural lurks within it. In a flash, a creature lunges at one of the SHIELD agents from behind and pulls him into the darkness while viciously clawing at the man. Acting fast, Spartan clears his pistol from its holster, opens fire on the creature in an attempt to save the agent. The man's deathly scream is heard throughout the warehouse.
"Fuck was that thing?!" Hardison yells. Every agent ready their weapons. A half-mutilated body is thrown to our feet. Enraged, one blind-fire at the directions the body was pitched from, hitting nothing. Within the darkness comes flying out three projectiles, striking at the agent's heads, killing all of them instantly. A humanoid figure wearing armor appears. It wields a large energy battle axe. A strap around the hip and leg houses a large pistol. Its skin is pale-white, and the visible facial features resemble a humanoid skull with a set of upwards-curving horns on the top of its head. The eyes glow a deep yellow.
It lets out a dangerous growl. Behind the hulking terror, a portal opens, and DeGuzman emerges to our shock. It doesn't take long to put together; he's responsible for all this. His eyes locks-on me, lips twist into a sinister grin, "Hello, Wanda. I have come to collect you. The master has chosen you for a glorious purpose." I tilt my head; for some reason, images of the figure in my nightmare flash before my eyes. Chthon. "Master? Who is this master you serve?" I question. The man's grin widens, "You've already met in your nightmares." DeGuzman shifts toward the demon, "Kill them all. Bring the witch's lifeless corp once it done."
The demon readies itself into a combat-stance. Spartan and I do the same. A swing from its axe sends a shockwave, knocking the three of us to the ground. Recovering fast, Spartan aims his pistol, fires multiple shots toward the demon's chest. The bullets harmlessly an energy barrier surrounding its body. "Why can't it ever be easy?" Spartan remarks. While Spartan is getting back to his feet, the demon rushes toward him and shoulder-bashes him to a wall. "SPARTAN!" I yell out. The demon turns its attention to me. It flings its axe at me. I leap to the side and scramble to my feet, but the thing is too fast. It jumps ahead, grabs the handle of its axe, then swings it down on me. A scarlet energy barricade protected me from the deadly blow. It growls, showing a row of fanged teeth. The demon presses all its weight on the axe, forcing me to drop to one knee.
Suddenly, multiple gunshots from Hardison strike at the demon from behind. It roars in rage. With a swift smack, the demon bashes me away, then stalks toward Hardison. As the demon moves on Hardison, he continuously fires his gun until his ammo count goes empty. He tries to quickly change mag, but the demon is already on him and slices Hardison's arm clean off with his axe. Hardison stares dumbfounded at his bloody stump, then lets a painful blood-curdling scream. Spartan tosses multiple explosive charges at the monster's back; each device detonates on impact. It barely fazes the walking abomination.
DeGuzman laughs at the display in front of him. The Demon dashes at Spartan, swinging its axe. Spartan ducks under the attacking arm, equip the shock-knuckle, and punishes the demon with a combo of punches. Blocking the last strike, the demon grabs hold of Spartan by the collar, slams him to the ground, knocking all the air out of his body. It raises its leg, intending to stump in Spartan's head. "Get alway from him!" I shout, firing a hex blast, sending the monster flying across the warehouse. Recovering fast, the demon is back on its feet. It scowls at me with hate-filled eyes. From an ascended hand, it fires a blast toward us. I swiftly conjured up an energy field to protect the three of us. By the corner of my eye, I note Hardison is struggling to place on a tourniquet, but he manages. It did little to stop the bleeding. He will bleed to death if he doesn't get medical attention soon.
Spartan slides over to the agent's side; in his hand is a flair stick. The two lock eyes. Hardison nods, understanding what needs to be done. Spartan pops open the flair, places the blaze onto the wound, cauterizing it. "AARRRRAA! FUCK!" the man cries out in agony. A powerful impact rips my attention back to the demon. It bashes its fist against the barrier, endeavoring to break through. With every blow, the shield weakens. "I can't hold much longer!" I yell to Spartan and Hardison. The demon augments its physical strength with magic. Punches with enough power to start cracking it. Suddenly, a blast hits the demon, sending it flying. Everyone turns their eyes to the source of the shot. On the other end of the warehouse stands Auron, hands raised at the ready, an open portal behind him. Taking advantage of the situation, I enhance my physical speed with magic, bolt in close range toward the demon, place a hand on its head, and charge an explosive hex blast, blowing the demon's head clear off its shoulders.
A flash of rage crosses DeGuzman's features. He eyes each of us with a scowl. With a wave of his hands, multiple portals open with other demons materializing from them. "Time for us to leave!" Auron shouts. Picking up Hardison, Spartan and I dart toward Auron. Together all four of us escape the warehouse via a portal.
[SHIELD Mages Division, New York City]
Crossing the entryway of the portal, we emerge on the other end. I bend over, hands clapped on my knees. Let out a breath, taking in the momentary feeling of safety. "Medic!" Spartan yells, still carrying Hardison on his shoulders. A group of agents approach them and hauls Hardison quickly to med-bay. "Thanks for the save," I state to Auron, "How did you know we were in trouble?" "An agent sent out a distress call," he tells me. Over my shoulder, I stare at the door Hardison disappeared behind. "Care to fill me in on what the hell went down?" Auron demands.
[Auron's office.] Several minutes go past, explaining the details of what transpired leading to the incident at the warehouse. "DeGuzman," Auron voices under his breath, pacing back and forth in the office, a hand on his chin. "You know the guy?" Spartan questions. He faces the masked SHIELD operator, "Not personally, but the man's name has gone around a lot in the mage community's circle. A warlock with great skills and power. A servant of a great evil." "Chthon," I whisper the name under my breath. Auron and Spartan hear it.
A flash of fear appears in Auron's eyes, "How do you know that name?" I did not know how to explain it without coming off as insane, but there was no other way. "A dream. The other night I had a nightmare of a monster going after me," I tell them, rubbing my arm, "Why? Who is Chthon?" Auron stays quiet for a short moment, considering me, "Chthon is a cosmic archdemon. A harbinger of chaos and destruction." Spartan crosses his arms, seemingly lost in thought, "The Templar assassin I tangled with mentioned a demon was going to break free from its prison. That a vessel was chosen," he shifts his gaze toward me. A sense of dread runs throughout my spine. "You're that chosen vessel," Auron finishes with realization. The whole room goes silent.
[Hallway.] After the long conversation, Auron instructs us to follow him. We walk with the man into the library and then into a back-room. A storage space. The walls are filled with multiple artifacts from different cultures across the world. Spartan focuses his eyes on a spear station behind a glass window. "The spear of destiny," Auron voices, "The blade used to pierce Christ's heart. If the legend is true." "You don't believe in legends?" Spartan presses. "I may be a mage who deals in magic, seen things that defy the imagination. But above all else, I'm a man who prefers fact and hard evidence." "Fair enough," Spartan states.
[Safe-Room.] Walking a corridor, we stop at a large door. Auron opens it, and we all step inside. The room is a living quarter. Completely furnished with everything a person needs. Appears like a studio apartment. "What is this?" I demand. "A safe place to stay to lay low," Auron tells both Spartan and me. We voice against it, arguing that we should be out searching for DeGuzman to take him down. Auron counters by saying we would be playing into the warlock's hands. As of right now, DeGuzman has the advantage. Reluctantly we give in, seeing the logic. Auron takes his leave. It's only the two of us alone in the room. I drop down onto the one bed, mentally and physically exhausted. Under my breath, I say a small prayer for each of the agents who died before falling to sleep.