Chapter 23:
[Spartan POV]
[SHIELD Mages Division, New York City]
[Training-ground.] I decided to explore the facility out of pure curiosity. Never been to this division of SHIELD. Hell, never even aware of its existence. Not too different from any other HQs, aside from the folks using magic in the training-area. The world is getting stranger and stranger by the day. I stand in front of a display case, head tilts to the side, studying the weapons. A lot of them were very medieval. Swords, staffs, bows, and arrows. Honestly, I half expected weaponized wands. Unfortunately, no such luck. The other case house the more modern sets yet strange devices I've never seen before. Each of them has markings engraved on them. 'Alien tech? Asgardians or Chitauri? No.'
"The mages title them Casters," Auron announces, walking over to stand next to me, hands clapped behind his back, "Hardison is stable. He's being moved to another facility for proper care. Mainly to one of Dr. Cho's labs to bio-graft him a new arm." I nod to the mage, "Thanks for the status update." My eyes shift back to the display of the odd apparatuses. "Caster is a type of weapon that harnesses mana. Not the type of item simply acquired from a local shop," Auron continues the explanation of the weapon, "Mana?" I state, perplexed at the word. "It's a subset of energy, the spiritual fuel that makes functional magic work," he tells me, "In short, it helps mages channel their magic."
Reach out and take one of the mana shells to inspect it. Auron doesn't object. The shell is coated in markings. It pules a faint glow. Next, I check out the apparatus. Wristband-like equipment. "Standard weapons and tech have very little to no effect on demons," the mage tells me. "Yeah, I'm aware," I say dryly, thinking about the previous encounter. I put the items back in their place.
"May I ask you an odd question?" Auron asks. I nod, "Sure." He studies me, eyes scanning me up and down, "Are you native?" A brow arches up at his query. It's also a question I don't have a solid answer to, "Don't know. Might be. According to my SHIELD file, I'm interracial." "You strike me as Comanche," he tells me. I fold my arms with a slight shrug, "Possibly. Hell, I don't know anything about my cultural background. That's the ultimate downside of being an orphan/foundling. No baseline." Auron nods his head understandingly. Roaming through the comlink, still no call back from any of the other AVENGERS. All I could do was leave a message on our status. Stow the phone back in my pocket, then I turn my head toward Auron, "Where's the armory located? I need to resupply my gear." He points a thumb, "Level-5. Past the elevators."
[DeGuzman POV]
[Penthouse, New York City]
A shadow among shadows, I slowly enter the penthouse apartment. My arm was still lightly bleeding. A stray shot I sustained by the hand of that nuisance SHIELD operator. Spartan, I think the witch called him. I heal the wound using my magic. Suddenly a sharp pain grips my skull. Drop to my knees, hands clutching at my head. The pain is great and unbearable. Even though no words are spoken, the sharp pain is enough to convey the message. The shadows belittle me for my failure; their whispers are harsh and menacing growls. "It was a minor setback! The mage was an unexpected encounter," I yell out inside the apartment. The pain intensifies and holds. A squeezing sensation pressed between two dull needles slowly sinking into the skull. The pulsing pain stops. I take a moment to gather myself. The display was a final strike; there would be no more chances.
At that very moment, my plan B enters the apartment. It took some time to locate and break them, but it was achieved with the Darkhold's power. A phone buzzes. It's coming from the individual standing next to the one uniformed in blue. I stroll toward the masked individual and grab the buzzing phone. The screen shows one missed call from Spartan. With a growing smile, I leer at the phone's owner. Karai. Now it's the perfect time to strike.
[Wanda Maxim POV]
[SHIELD Mages Division, New York City]
I lean forward, perched on the bed's edge. I'm alone in the room. Expected to find Spartan still with me, but he was nowhere in sight. A pinch of disappointment strikes me. I push the feeling out. Not the time or place, despite wanting to have him close by. The door swings open, and Auron enters with a plate of food in hand. "Hungry?" he asks, placing the food on a nearby table. I shoot him a thankful smile. "Where's Spartan?" I question, taking a cut sandwich. "Armory," is all Auron says. I stare out into space, "Can it be stopped?" The man peers at me, already knowing what I'm referring to, "Not permanently. Only imprison. Can't kill something that's an essence of the universe. And chaos is that essence."
Auron's shoulders drop. An expression of guilt paints his face, "Still paying the price of sins past." I tilt my head at his words, stupefied, "What do you mean?" For a moment, he was going to consider dropping the subject, but I wasn't going to allow him to do it. I was getting tired of half-truths. With a reluctant breath, Auron starts talking, "Centuries ago, there once was a nomadic tribe. Scholars. Like any other scholars, they wanted to spread knowledge and enlightenment. Due to their lifestyle, they were feared and persecuted, believing they were practitioners of magic and worshippers of malevolent deities. One day they entered a kingdom; the name is long forgotten by the sands of time. The king ruling the place was a hardcore god-fearing zealot who did not take kindly to any form of challenge. Under the misguided notion of exercising God's will, the king ordered a purge. Every man, woman, and child was slaughtered."
My eyes gape in shock and anger. Auron continues the tail, "Only one survivor escaped the massacre. A young woman. Stricken with grief, anger, and hate, she vowed vengeance on the kingdom." "How did she enact her vendetta?" I ask, genuinely curious. "With a book," he tells me plainly. A line etches between my brows, "A book?" The man nods grimly, "The tribes were the keepers and guardians of a powerful magical book. Tasked to ensure it is kept locked away. Never let it fall into the wrong hands. Across the ages, the book is known by many names. Book of sins, black-bible, darkhold. The book's true title can not be spoken in human tongue. The closest translation is Necronomicon. The origins of the Necronomicon varies, though most state that it was written by one of The Dark Ones long ago, back when they ruled the Earth. It contained pages made from human skin and inked in human blood. According to one account, the book's cover comes from the flesh of a powerful demon. Anyway, using the book, she summoned an entity of pure chaos and unleashed it on the kingdom. In the quest for revenge, that girl's action broke the lock of the gate guardianing our realm from monsters that should only exist in nightmares."
In my mind's eyes, I imagine the story played out. Me being in the girl's place. Strangely similar life circumstances. After my family's death, I wanted to hurt those who took everything. Hurt them the same way they hurt me, maybe even more. But couldn't because I did not have the means or the resources. Plus, I was only a child. Auron's phone buzzes. Checking it, his brows knit, "I gotta go. You'll be alright here." The man sets a reassuring hand on my shoulder and then makes his leave out the door. Taking one last bite of the sandwich, I stretch myself back onto the bed. Despite the relative safety, I couldn't shake off the sense of dread.
[Spartan POV]
[Armoy.] Slap a fresh mag into the pistol, rack the slide, then store it in the holster. Feel utterly useless in this whole situation. Being out of my element with all this magic shit doesn't help matters. I take a long controlled breath. Just going to have to adapt. This op is no different from any other crazy shit I've dealt with. In the back of my mind, my thought is on Wanda. From her perspective, everything was moving at a rapid pace. Surprise, she hasn't cracked from all the pressure. There I go again, thinking the girl is some type of delicate flower. At this point, she's proven herself to be tougher than she looks.
Getting back to the task at hand. Still, no return calls from the others. Unusual. Someone would've made contact by now, especially a priority flag. There's an uneasy feeling sinking into my stomach. Before I put any more thought into it, a loud crash is heard. "What the hell?" I voice out loud. Everything goes dead silent for a moment. After a few heartbeats, the first gunfire echoed. I sprint toward the door; out in the hallway, several agents converge toward the source of the gunshots.
[Hallway.] Pistol at the ready, I move through the halls trying to make my way back to Wanda. Bodies lay sprawled on the floor, pooled in blood. Screams and gunfire can be heard in every direction. It's moving that much, is for sure. Room by room, floor by floor. I cut into a stairway.
[Wanda Maximoff POV]
[Safe-room.] I'm jerked awake by a thunderous crash followed by the unmistakable sound of gunfire. The sea of apprehension was now switching into full alarm. I peek out into the hallway. The sounds of gunshots roar through the walls. Auron appears from around the corner, making me jump back in surprise. He jams a pistol in my hand, "Stay here. Don't leave the room." The man rushes off before I can get a single word out in protest. I peer down at the gun in hand, a Glock-45; despite knowing how to use the weapon, I never actually used it. Acting automatically, do a quick check of the gun. '20 rounds. 1 already in the chamber.' Suddenly the lights go out. I try the switch but nothing. Only darkness. All over the base, agents are running about, guns out. Each shouting questions. The sounds of gunfire triggered their worst nightmares. One they couldn't wake up from. Gunfire has increased in number and volume.
Someone or something slams onto the door and attempts to get it open. I take a step back, pistol aimed, ready for a possible fight. The door is pushed open hard. Spartan rushes in, shouting my name. Without a moment's hesitation, I lower the gun and sprint toward the masked crusader. He's more relieved than I am. The super-soldier grabs my hand. Together we race into the hall. We flash through the bullet-shattered halls, keeping out of the open. That's where all the bodies are and the threat laming about.
[Spartan POV]
[Outside.] We burst out the back entrance of the facility. Wanda and I stop in our stride. Up ahead stands three individuals. The AVENGERS. I move to approach them, but Wanda grapples my arm, "Something is wrong. I sense a dark aura." I arch a perplexed brow, "What?" An arrow pierces my ley. With a scream of surprised pain, I drop to one knee. Perched on a building fire escape is Hawkeye, bow trained on me. Before I can work my way to my feet, a circular object strikes me in the face, sending me sprawling to the ground. "Spartan!" Wanda yells out my name, a voice full of concern. Captain America stalks forward. "Cap, what are you doing? We're on the same side," I groan, forcing myself up. Cold steel presses on the side of my head. Rain starts coming down. It distorts a near-invisible shadow. 'Stealth-camo.' It switches off, revealing an all-too-familiar person. Karai. On the wet ground lays Auron's blooded and beaten form, along with a few others. It's then I realize the AVENGERS are the attacking threat.
Wanda wraps Karai in a hex field and flings her away. Another arrow comes flying, striking Wanda. It discharges an electrical shock throughout her body. The girl drops to the ground, smoke steaming off of her figure. I quick-drawn the pistol and fired at the others, but not before setting it on stun. Cap dashes, zig-zagging side to side, dodging the line of fire. In one smooth motion, he sweeps my leg out from under me. While in mid-air, Natasha Romanov, AKA Black Widow, comes flying over Cap's shoulder, striking out a drop-kick. The attack sends me crashing onto a nearby parked car. "The AVENGERS. Earthrealm's mightiest defenders. Now slave under my power," Cap says. I tilt my head, observing the voice. It isn't Cap's but DeGuzman's. My eyes gape when I note the eyes. It holds the same dead gaze as the acolytes from the Yevon cult. Sick fuck has them under his control, stringing them along like puppets. "I'm going to hunt you down and kill you," I threaten through gritted teeth. DeGuzman grins wickedly, amused at my threat, "You are not the first to make such a promise. I'll give you credit, though. You're the most resilient one I've crossed in a very long time."
I force myself to rise. Gun aimed, I try to get a shot at Cap, but the 40s super-soldier is already on me. He grabs the gun, smacks it out of my grip, palms my face, and slams me to the ground with enough force to crack the surface. On my feet again, I throw a hay-maker punch. Cap blocks it, grabs me in a clinch, knees me in the gut, head-lock-throws me to the ground. I start to get back up, but a kick sends me down again. On the ground, only inches away, lays my pistol. I jump for it, take it in my hand, direct it toward Cap. The man sees it coming, dashes in close, breaks the slide off the gun, pushes me back. I go in for an attack. Cap stops the blow with his shield, tags me with a quick cross, takes control of my arm, and jams an elbow down onto the joint, breaking it. I let out a howl of pain. Natasha trains her gun on me, fires four shoots into my chest. Everything goes black.
[Wanda Maximoff POV]
[Wundagore Castle, Pocket Dimension]
[Prison-cell.] I wake up in a cell. Cold and musty. Stone walls surround me on all sides. A square barren stone room with just a single barred window set into the wall above the small hard-looking bed I'm currently laying in. A hinged iron door completes the set. Memories of the engagement come flooding back to me like a wave. 'SPARTAN!' Before losing consciousness, I saw Spartan being shot in the chest by Natasha. Panic and worry force me to my feet. Though I know the cell door must be locked, I can't help but try it. I sprint across the floor and seize the knob. Searing pain shoots through my hand. I yell, jerking my arm back, staring. Thin wisps of smoke rose from his burned palm; an intricate design had been charred into the skin. Runes.
I attempt to blast the door with a hex bolt, but nothing happens. Another try, but again nothing. Why weren't my powers working? "You really know nothing about magic. Not even the basics," an unseen voice speaks. I snap my head up, eyes searching the room. Mounted on the wall is a surveillance camera along with a one-way speaker. A mocking laugh comes through the device, "If it isn't more of a clear indication, your magic is no good here. Did you not notice the runes. Basic protection spell. In a given space, only the mage that cast the runes in a given space can use their magic." "Why are you doing this?! What the hell do you want from me?!" I yell at the camera.
Another laugh, "I already told you, witch. You have been chosen for a glorious purpose. A vessel for my master." I glare into the camera, "Fuck you. I will not be a slave!" "Bravado will do very little for you, witch," he says, "Save your strength. You are going to need every bit of it later." For some reason, the realization stripped away the last of my self-possession. I sink down onto the bed, resting my head on my knees. Even though I am afraid, I remain steadfast, but my main concern and thoughts are on Spartan. I pray to whatever god that was listening that he's alright.
[Spartan POV]
[SHIELD Mages Division, New York City, Earth]
[Medbay.] Coming back from the dead or something close to it can be rough. In SHIELD, I once trained under an Ex-marine Raider. He taught me to stick myself in neutral and float before any op. It's one of the first lessons I've ever learned as an operator. Hard-eyed Vincent. Said, "Don't worry about anything. Just run with the flow. Be like water." Easter said than done.
I come to thrashing, one hand plastered on my chest, searching for the wounds, the other clutching at a nonexistent weapon. The weight hit me like a hammer, and I collapsed back into the bed. My body heaved violently. My arm has a strong grip on it, and I'm hauled into an upright position. For about half a minute, I stayed seated, head down, trying to work out why everything weighed so much. A hard yet tired voice starts to speak. Auron's. "Wanda? Where's Wanda?" I ask, not really paying attention to what he is saying. The man's face turns grim, "They took her." 'Damn it,' I chastised myself for failing to protect the woman.
I force myself out of bed and make my way down a long white corridor whose floor bores the scuff marks of rubber-wheeled gurneys. The docs and nurses are moving quickly, barely stopping for anything. "How many?" I suddenly question Auron. He quickly understands the meaning of the inquiry. "Thirty-five," the man tells me. I stop walking, "I'm sorry for your people. The AVENGERS wasn't-" Auron holds his hand up, cutting me off, "Wasn't in control of their actions. I know."
[Armoy.] Walking into the armory, I start grabbing everything that'll be useful for the op. A pistol, an AR, grenades, and other pieces of equipment. Auron quickly rushes into the armory after me, "What are you doing?" "What does it look like?" I voice, stowing a pistol into the holster. "It's suicide," the man argues. "Probably. Better than doing nothing," I remark. "You won't get far going in ill-prepared. Super-soldier or not. You are vastly out of your element," Auron states in a tone of utter seriousness. I couldn't make a counter-argument. Everything he said was on point. I don't know a damn thing about magic, and Auron is the only asset with the knowledge and skill to counter it. An equalizer. "Okay. What's the plan?" I ask.
Auron places a hand on his chin, thinking, "First, we got to find their location. I can work a tracking spell, but I need a personal item of the person." "Like what?" I question. "It can be anything as long it's considered theirs." "I might have something that'll work," I say, "Going to need a portal to get it." A portal binks into existence. I quickly cross the threshold and return with Wanda's necklace. "Yeah, that'll do just fine," Auron states, taking the necklace off my hand. He claps his palms around the necklace and begins chanting in a language completely unfamiliar to me. 'I don't think I'll ever understand magic.' After a moment, Auron's eyes start to glow, "They're not located within our plane of reality but a pocket dimension." I fold my arms on top of my chest, "Insertion options?" "Portal is the only way to get to the locale," Auron tells me. The man interlocks-arms, "The enemy's strength force is the real concern." I share the perturbation. With four of the most skilled and dangerous AVENGERS under DeGuzman's control, this op will be insanely difficult.