Those Who Favor Fire

by The.A.I.1502

In a universe reeling from the Blip, Isabelle Collins is shattered by her brother's death. But humanity's intent on colonizing the stars reveals an undeniable truth - Thanos was the harbinger of something much worse. Isabelle must peel back the layers of her new reality, because this time, the stakes are much higher than half of all life.

22. Heroes! Your Deathless Souls Roam

A week after I posted the earlier iteration of this chapter, I looked back on it and realized that it was, for the lack of a better word, crap. I rushed through publishing because I prioritized celebrating the anniversary of the fic more than producing quality content. It was a draft that should've never seen the light of day.

Frankly, it was an embarrassment.

So, I deleted it and began again. It took me a lot longer than I was expecting, especially because events in real life demotivated me into putting the story on ice for a while, but finally, finally, I've come up with something I really like.

I've shuffled around scenes, removed unnecessary characters and plotlines, and overall tightened the narrative. This is how the chapter should've gone.

It's sad, because all the revelations are over now, and the surprises are already blown wide open. At this point, I'm just doing damage control, and I've accepted that. Better late than never.

As a further apology, I will also upload the next chapter in a week.

---

Beloved heroes! your deathless souls roam

In the joy breathing isles of the blest;

Where the mighty of old have their home

Where Achilles and Diomed rest

- Hymn to Aristogeiton and Harmodius; Edgar Allan Poe

2047 CE

Omega Nebula

The last thing she hears before her comms die is the scream of her name.

Silence descends, deafening in its intensity. A presence just as physical as the stars around her, or the gravitation of the icy, mottled world below.

Watching her starship explode in the surreal, she allows herself to believe for just one moment that she will make it out of this.

Then the shockwave hits.

Warning. Multiple suit breaches. Seek shelter immediately.

Oxygen flees from her suit. Sheer pressure cartwheels her through emptiness. She spins, frantically clutching at the ruptured hardseal of her helmet.

But the call of the vacuum is too powerful. It creeps into the spaces between her breaths and multiplies until she's drowning in it.

The last thing she sees, caught in the heat of re-entry, is orange.

---

April 11th, 2027

Stark Residence

"Tell me about Soul World."

Gabriel Reyes sets down the tea he'd insisted on preparing. Watching the household chafe under their powerlessness, he'd thrust the chamomile concoction on them all in an attempt to reduce the rapidly mounting stress.

Isabelle's cup is cool, untouched.

"I know very little. The Asgardians believe the Norns dwell there - three entities who observe the threads of fate. It has never interfered in mortal affairs - until the Decimation."

She no longer has the luxury to ignore patterns she's been trained to spot. "It's connected to the Infinity Stones. Soul in particular."

Isabelle had never been particularly close to Natasha Romanoff; their shared background in shifting loyalties driving a wedge in any potential relationship they might have had. So the loss hadn't registered. "So why did it reach out now?"

"It didn't. Morgan did."

Silence falls in the hallway, broken only by the thunder. Pepper stirs from her corner, eyes ebony hard. "Explain."

"Morgan somehow managed to not just find, but knock on a window that only the dead have glimpsed before. Demanding to be let in - for years on end if the night terrors are anything to go by - until the realm had no choice but to obey." He grimaces. "Since she instigated the connection, she alone can dissolve it."

"She's not gonna wanna leave after putting so much effort trying to get in." Isabelle's jaw sets. "What's happening to her there?"

"Her life force is becoming the stabilizer for a breach. If the anchor isn't broken before the gateway is formed, whatever creatures reside in that dimension will pour out into this one." He hesitates. "Through her."

Pepper sucks in a quick, sharp breath. "All I'm hearing is a lecture, not a solution."

"I'm trying to come up with one. If we can find the why, we'll know the how."

"Real question is -," Peter says, " - why can only the Decimated see the orange in her eyes?"

Something unnameable flickers across the sorcerer's face.

"Where do you think the souls of the Decimated went to?"

It feels like all the air has been sucked out of the room.

Muffled sound flows around her as though she's underwater. Her own body feels foreign, unreal as though it's just a facade holding her soul together. While her real body - the body she'd been born with - is little more than ash scattered in the fields of Wakanda.

A tangerine landscape. Ghostly whispers. A blood-curdling screech. A mechanical whine.

Isabelle slams into her body with a rush. A violent tremor jolts her head to toe as she feels Pepper's silent stare.

Pepper, who she'd whispered the truth to in the early hours of one foggy morning. "This is it, isn't it? The night terrors, the afterlife. All of it."

Pepper, who hasn't yet come to the final, devastating truth.

"What's going on?" Peter demands.

Pepper tells them. Isabelle doesn't stop her. She doesn't have the right.

After, she feels the weight of their gaze - their bewildered accusation.

"The realm was trying to communicate," Reyes wonders. "Through your dreams - and then through Morgan. But then why - ?"

"Dendrotoxin." Pepper's shoes clack against the wooden floor. "It lets Isabelle sleep without dreaming. So when it couldn't find you… it took my daughter instead."

The air feels charged; static making goosebumps rise on her skin. Or maybe it's the Extremis, sparking at the ends of Pepper's hair, flashing within her veins. "You did this," she whispers. "You're the why."

Isabelle is mute, terror thickening in her blood.

"But that's not the worst of it." Blood drains from Peter's face as he makes the hidden leaps of logic. "The Soul World takes all Snapped souls. But we weren't the only ones to be Snapped."

"What are you talking about - the only ones? I saw half of all life turning to ash in an instant. Who else...?"

Her brother's widow staggers.

Tony, her baby brother - who had done the impossible and solved time itself in a desperate attempt to bring her and Peter back, to bring them all back. Tony - who had sacrificed everything to save his family, old and new. Tony - who had borne the impact of six Infinity Stones to Snap his enemy out of existence.

Not the only ones to be Decimated.

Not the only ones to find themselves in the Soul World.

And if half the universe had ended up in there, then...

"No," Pepper whispers. "No, no, no - not again."

If the anchor isn't broken before the gateway is formed, whatever creatures reside in that dimension will pour out into this one.

Not creatures. Not some random, nameless entity.

The only ones to currently occupy the Soul World.

Chitauri.

Sharing one mind, a hive mind - but there's only one mind that commands them.

Isabelle voices the words no one else can.

"Thanos is coming."

---

She's the eye of the storm, watching from a great distance as her family reels in horror.

The same detachment is reflected in Reyes' gaze. "That which is touched by the Stones is forevermore changed by the Stones."

"Like Jane," Isabelle breathes. "With the Aether. Can you widen the connection?"

"Yes. But it's a distress beacon. I don't know what you'll find down there."

"I'll improvise."

Pepper's fingers curl vice-like around her bicep. "What are you going to do?"

Isabelle exhales. "She's still alive, so he doesn't have her yet." Her bones creak as she stumbles towards the kitchen. For the first time, she's reminded of her actual age. She's just turned - oh, god - sixty-one in February. Terrigenesis may have slowed her aging, but something of humanity must have rubbed off if she'd contemplated retirement.

As though she deserves such simple peace.

On the back shelf, there's a false wall. F.R.I.D.A.Y. anticipates her actions, and a wooden panel slides out to reveal a hidden drawer. Within is a small, transparent box.

Peter's hand snaps up when she tosses the Iron-Spider nanite compartment. "Man of the house," she orders. He hasn't used it since the Battle of Earth, but she's done being gentle - Morgan needs them all to put aside their issues tonight. "Keep them safe, Parker."

"You can't take him on your own!" he exclaims, springing up.

"Not planning on it. This is an infiltration. Go in, get Morgan, get out, no one's the wiser."

She doubts it'd be that easy - when is it ever. But she always falls back on mission parameters when everything else becomes too overwhelming.

---

Morgan's never looked so delicate. Isabelle easily slips in beside her. "How do we do this?"

"I send your astral form into the Soul World," Reyes says. "It'll feel real because it is real. Don't take chances. Injuries won't carry over, but if you die down there, you die here."

"Izzy," There's a look in Pepper's eyes that she directs only to those people she loathes - Obadiah Stane, Aldrich Killian, Thanos. "Bring her home. Or don't come back."

"Never."

Pepper's breath hitches at the hidden promise in those words. That familiar, beloved exchange now tainted by the truth - just like their relationship.

She places a hand on Morgan's heart. Her eyes drift shut.

Reyes's palm slams onto her chest.

Isabelle falls into darkness.

---

TIME: INDETERMINABLE

LOCATION: UNKNOWN

Few things are as nightmarish as the vision of Chitauri bathed in a familiar blue glow. But Daisy abandons the notion of this being another horrific product of her subconscious when the first one draws blood.

Fueled by a strange, possessive rage, she finishes them off with little difficulty. Nothing further moves in the dark passages in the network of caves. Inhaling stale air, she cranes her neck upwards, towards the source of the glow.

Structures hang from the rock ceiling. Easy to mistake for stalactites; but some are clustered together in hollow cavities, like geodes lined with blue crystals.

She cups one tentatively in her fingers. A tremor runs through her tightly coiled fist. The crystal breaks off with a sound like shattering glass, expelling a thick mist down her throat.

Daisy inhales, feeling the familiar tickle in the back of her throat. The mist will probe her cells, undoubtedly finding what it's looking for, before dissipating through her skin.

Terrigen.

She has no idea how she got here.

The last memory she has is of an explosion. A starship, shattering in waves of fiery blue. Moments later, she wakes up underground and unarmed. Almost as soon as she'd noticed the crystals, she'd been set upon by creatures she's encountered twice and has never wanted to encounter again.

Uninterested in figuring out the consequences of Chitauri interest in Terrigen crystals, Daisy comes up with a plan.

She disables an isolated footsoldier, dragging it to a dark corner. Grimacing, Daisy delves through the creature's innards for cybernetic implants, detaching as many of them before the violation finally becomes fatal.

It takes her half a dozen tries to procure a semi-usable pile of alien tech. Her arms are caked with slime. But in a few moments, she has cobbled together a primitive omni-tool from a repurposed standard-issue Chitauri gun, redesigning the tech from the optics into a screen.

The most promising find is a partially burnt memory core. She interfaces with it, and scrolls down the data. Most of it is in a coding language impossible to decrypt. But occasionally readable data strings emerge.

… balance the scales…

… disordered time…

… Soul World…

A shiver of familiarity runs down her spine. She racks her brains but comes up empty.

Digging deeper, she soon finds a list of objectives, heaving a sigh of relief when she finds no mention of Terrigen. Priority is the image of an underground lake, rendered in grey-green halftone, code-named Water of Sights.

Doesn't ring any bells.

But there's an unwritten SOP when dealing with Chitauri - if they want something, don't let 'em have it.

---

TIME: INDETERMINABLE

Soul World

Freezing wetness jolts her awake.

The current is strong, hauling her body downriver at breakneck speed. Isabelle instinctively reaches out with her senses to decelerate the flow.

But for the first time, her unearthly gift ignores her.

Water closes over her head, stealing the breath from her lungs. She plunges into unfamiliar darkness. Water clogs her ears, almost drowning out the roar of a rapidly approaching waterfall.

Fingers scrabble to find purchase on the algae-slick rocks. When that doesn't work, she fights the pull and tries to swim ashore. Panic digs in when she finds she's hardly moved.

She surfaces long enough to inhale shallowly.

With a final lurch, the river tosses her over the crest.

Desperate fingers reach out, snagging onto something sharp and rough - the overhanging branch of a tree clinging to the cliff. Her body swings, slams into the frothy cascade.

She chokes and coughs out the mouthful of freezing water. Blinking rapidly, she makes the mistake of looking down.

A thick mist partially obscures the deep plunge pool, which leads to smaller, secondary waterfalls in the distance. Cliff walls surrender to a narrow shoreline, where lush grasses and multicolored pebbles glint in the midday sun.

Fingers tighten around her precarious handhold when she realizes she can't feel the flow.

She rummages for the part of herself that has been around since she was a teen.

Silence.

Deep, terrifying silence - the silence of the absent, of the non-existent.

She doesn't have her powers.

Hanging there from a twisted branch, sopping and shivering, Isabelle Collins feels more naked than ever.

Her horror is cut short by a low, mechanical growl coming from. Squinting into the swirling mist, she makes out boat-like shapes shooting out from a cave behind the curtain of water. Streaking a frothy path down the pool, the boat - no, a skiff - puts on a burst of acceleration.

But instead of pitching down the smaller, but no less deadly waterfall, it shoots into the air, disappearing into thick, fluffy clouds a few seconds later, followed by many more of its kind.

Okay, then. A dimension where boats fly, and Aquamarine isn't hydrokinetic.

She's going to have to work with that.

Ledges and crevices line the cliff walls that she can use to climb down. But without her powers, water is more dangerous to her than it would be to a normal human. Her instincts are not trained to treat it as a destructive force of nature. One attempt to breathe underwater, and she's done for.

Water, she thinks with a pang, is her enemy here.

Isabelle eyes the skiffs. They exit the cave in an orderly formation. A clear pattern emerges, and she roughly estimates the depth of the plunge pool. Her mind throws increasingly terrifying numbers as she has to readjust for her current - and hopefully temporary - disability.

If her calculations are off by even a few seconds, and if gravity doesn't work the same way here, she'll miss the mark. The water would rush to meet her like concrete.

Isabelle lets go.

Her stomach drops. Wind slaps her face, loud like static from a microphone. Her vision blurs, - for a microsecond, she's certain she's gotten it all wrong - oh god, Morgan...

Hitting the deck of the skiff isn't much different than hitting the water would've been.

Her breath escapes in a rush. A fierce agony seizes her back. There's a shout.

She is yanked to her feet, coming face to face with a glaring warrior. He's flanked by two more, armored in silver plates.

Fierce, bushy eyebrows relax when he spots her disheveled, soaked status. Not someone to miss a clear opportunity, she shoves at him with everything she has.

Caught off guard, he topples overboard.

The remaining couple swiftly withdraws their swords. She rolls underneath a swing. Reaching for the till, she yanks it to the side, veering it away from the queue of skiffs. The soldiers manage to grab onto the edge for a moment before following their captain into the water.

With an effort, Isabelle rights the vessel before it capsizes, then pulls at the till until it starts to rise, heading towards the sky. Cold wind breaks goosebumps across her wet skin. The other skiffs ignore her, doggedly continuing their rapid pursuit of something beyond the mist. She follows their approach, breaks through the gray clouds.

Her stomach sinks.

At this height, she would've been able to see the curve of the Earth had she been back home. But here, a sea overflows from the horizon into something she'd last seen on Svartalfheim.

Dark Dimension, Wong had called it. An expanse of purplish-black, lit with malformed bolides and planetoids. Reaching out from below the unusually flat asteroid.

Out of it pour an army of Chitauri on their Chariots. Humongous serpentine forms of Leviathans follow, their whale-like groans sending shivers down her spine. They engage with the skiffs who rush to meet them.

In seconds, the air flares with energy bolts.

Behind a shimmering forcefield is a golden city nestled within snow-peaked mountains. The largest structure - a palace - is shaped oddly like a longship, with metallic 'sails' that brush against clouds, far above the defensive 'hull' fortification. A gilded bridge shoots out to a dome-shaped structure built in the middle of the sea.

She has dreamt of this. Up on Gagarin; a Chitauri screech had jolted her awake.

How long has this battle been raging?

Her eyes are drawn to a lone Leviathan. Gliding past the outskirts of the city, it is leveling entire blocks with powerful laser cannons, but is still, for some reason, surrounded by a cluster of Chariots.

As though the Chitauri - creatures not known for their communal disposition - are defending their cousin. Since when does a better-armored and equipped Leviathan need that level of escort?

When it's got something important inside it.

The weapons are on the other end; she can't fire and steer, so she depresses the till. The skiff whirs mechanically beneath her feet.

As she watches, the large creature rams into the forcefield. Amidst a storm of colorful flares, the shield tears. Inch by inch, the Leviathan squeezes further through the narrow gap, screeching horrifically. Halfway through, the anterior airlocks open. Dozens of Chitauri rappel down into the city with weapons hot.

The shielding is already starting to repair itself; embracing the Leviathan tightly. It can't stop the beast, but it can prevent others from following. Enraged, the Chariots switch targets.

Isabelle puts on a burst of speed, bludgeoning through the volley. Inspiration strikes, and she angles the skiff steeply, soaring above the Chariots. In the moments before the vessel is blasted apart, she leaps over the side and lands with a soft roll on the dorsal surface of the Leviathan.

Up close, the shield feels like an inferno. She slides down the beast's scaly hide, swinging herself into an airlock just as it clears the forcefield.

---

TIME: INDETERMINABLE

LOCATION: UNKNOWN

It's impossible to pin down a single landmark in a labyrinth when all you've got to go on is an indistinct image.

She's long since lost the trail of the Chitauri. Buggers can be deadly silent when they want to be. While Daisy, for all her training, is a city girl through and through and makes enough clatter to wake the dead.

So there she is, with a fist of stone poking her in the back, contemplating her next move, when she hears it.

A chain of staccato sounds, wet and layered. It takes her a moment to recognize it as laughter, echoing through the walls.

Oh, yes. Come closer, my prey.

Well. That's not creepy at all.

Curiosity trumps common sense, however. She follows the voice to a high ledge overlooking a grotto. A shocking gust of cold shoves her into a pocket of shadow, from where she can safely watch the procession below.

Shafts of orange light stream through a hole in the arched ceiling, illuminating a lake in the middle of the hollow. What she can see of the sky outside is painted a similar hue. Veins of Terrigen crystals branch along the walls, erupting into clusters at the edge of the lake. A troop of Chitauri has gathered around in loose formation.

A footsoldier steps forward.

The water ripples in invitation.

Walk into the Waters, little minion. Does fate favor you today?

A shiver runs down her spine.

The voice is coming from within the lake.

She tamps down on a sudden urge to call out a warning to the Chitauri.

Because whatever is in that lake is a lot worse than the twisted creature disappearing into it.

For a few moments, there's breathless silence. Then, as though an invisible wave has passed over them, the remaining Chitauri convulse in eerie sync. There's no sign of the footsoldier.

Another horrifying cackle resounds in the cavern, water rippling in its wake. The aliens scream and rage in response. But after a few moments, another one wades in, with identical results.

It takes Daisy a few moments to get it.

Hive mind; limited transmission of sensory experience through the neural networks. The Chitauri are becoming increasingly unstable with the loss of their comrades, their dwindling numbers feeding the insanity behind the invisible laughter.

She's not going to get answers hiding.

Withdrawing the crystal she'd pocketed earlier, she deliberately tosses it down. It makes a lovely clatter as it drops down the shelf, attracting the attention of every Chitauri present.

They screech, drawing their rifles and firing at her. She takes a running leap from the ledge, a Quake cushioning her landing.

With single-minded determination, she throws herself into the fray.

---

Leviathan

Squeezing through the spongy airlock feels like being digested.

Isabelle stumbles at the sudden exit. Her flailing hands encounter cold, smooth walls.

Her eyes adjust to the darkness, aided by dark green strips of light running along the walls. The airlock is one of many oblong alcoves, opening into a vast chamber.

Instead of guts and slime, the interior of the Leviathan is surprisingly artificial.

Paneled metal walls - some ripped off to reveal rusted piping. Thick wires litter the floor, leading deeper into the creature. There's a strange, rhythmic bulging that echoes throughout. With a distant horror, she recognizes it as respiration, but somehow artificial - as though the Leviathan is hooked onto a ventilator.

The whole structure feels cobbled together. A strange, monstrous amalgamation of organic and synthetic.

A line of Chitauri walks by; she ducks into a dark alcove. They don't seem to be in a hurry or on a hunt - the enemy outside must've assumed she'd been blasted apart along with her skiff. An unexpected stroke of luck.

She inches towards a shadowed corner. Then freezes as a sharp sound echoes through the chamber.

A violently fast projectile whistles past her ear, striking the Chitauri that rounds the corner.

Chaos erupts almost instantly. She ducks into the adjacent corridor, tracing the path of the round to a balcony high above.

Energy bolts illuminate a figure, clad in matte black armor. They stare back at Isabelle, holding her gaze for a long moment, before turning and sprinting into the darkness.

The Chitauri follow the soldier, until the chamber, once again, falls into oppressive silence.

She crouches near the corpse. A clean headshot; but she'd recognized the staccato bark of an assault rifle. There's no sign of a bullet.

Sniping is incredibly difficult with such a weapon. The recoil alone would've been hell. A short, controlled burst of fire, she imagines, compounded with a crouching stance. The killer would've fired through the rails on the sides of the balcony.

In the dubious peace, Isabelle is finally able to comprehend the killer's actions. The round had been a warning rolled into defense, bundled into a distraction. Alerting her to the presence of the Chitauri footsoldier she'd have given herself away otherwise. While luring the rest of them away from the chamber. Away from Isabelle.

The question is - why?

---

Water of Sights

The shores of the underground lake are littered with a satisfying spread of corpses.

Daisy catches her breath, mindful of the waters lapping just beyond her feet. Some of the crystals had broken during the fight; her chest tightens at the loss. She approaches an intact cluster, taps it with a fingernail. "Bucketload of pure Terrigen crystals, just growing out of the walls," she says loudly. "Didn't know they did that."

There's a pause, long enough that it takes a sheer force of will to reject the awkwardness of talking out loud while alone. Then -

That which you do not know would fill oceans.

"Still, it makes me wonder. So much potential in the crystals, and the Chitauri opted for a swim?" She exhales. "Must be something incredibly valuable about the Water of Sights. What are you, the guardian?"

And she proves our point! This is our domain, flower. The enemy seeks knowledge, certainty where he will find none.

Flower? She's not surprised that they know her. "And the Terrigen?"

Mere fragments of fate, our windows to the world.

"Your windows?"

It was our will that made your genesis possible.

For a moment, she's blissfully stumped. And then it hits.

Not her genesis. But that of her entire species.

Terrigenesis has remained one of the mysteries of the universe. A consequence of Kree experiments that had failed everywhere but on Earth - granting individuals devastating abilities specifically tailored to them.

Most chalk these coincidences to inherent genetic quirks of humanity, but Inhumans have a theory.

A theory she has seen come to life. "What are you?"

Names are trifling, though we have many. Destiny. Time. A pause. The Norns.

A Norse legend, Daisy recalls. Three powerful female creatures observing the tapestry of fate. Each representing the past, present, and future. But she knows them differently.

The specters in the corner of her eye, lingering since Terrigenesis. The mind behind the prophecies of Raina and Charles Hinton. The thing that yanks the strings of all Inhumans.

The Chitauri were never interested in the crystals. They were interested in the source. "You."

She remembers! Their laughter is cruel. Oh, how mortals twist themselves upon our gifts! You long to know what the future brings. Yet, that very knowledge drives you insane.

"I have zero interest in knowing the future."

It's not a lie. Their prophecies are cruel, crushingly self-fulfilling, and exponentially worse with every iteration. The sample size of three was enough.

Her presence is no coincidence. "Why did you bring me here?"

Because you understand the importance of the tapestry of time. Without Time, there's nothing. Endless, excruciating existence.

Comprehension descends like a lightning bolt.

"So that's what this is about. The end of Time. Because if Time goes... so do you. Your knowledge of the future, all reduced to ash." Daisy laughs. Chillingly, it's an echo of theirs. "Survival instinct, at its finest."

Having leverage over the ultimate creatures in the universe is never a wise thing. Because this knowledge - that They're shaken at the thought of Their own rapidly approaching demise - isn't something she was meant to know.

But They'd done their job too well. Charles Hinton's visions had given her a deeper understanding of the universe and of Time than even Fitz could claim.

The room darkens. Something like thunder booms through her bones, shoving her to her knees. She feels Them - three looming presences. Even Their long, frayed shadows have more might than she can ever hope to comprehend.

No, it's not wise to try and dominate Them. Because she's nothing, nothing, compared to the force behind the fates of uncountable souls.

She can do little more than breathe as They remind her of that. Until Their presence bleeds away into the edges of her vision.

"What do you want from me?" Her voice is hoarse.

There is a future where the end of Time does not win. There is a future where nothingness doesn't await. And you must know if we are to win.

Daisy closes her eyes. She understands - how could she not?

A vision of a future, purposely vague until the very last second. Or the end of Time, whatever that means - a prospect that scares even the Norns.

One option, where she suffers. The other, where the universe does.

In the end, it's not a choice at all. The Norns will shove the future at her whether she likes it or not.

As she wades into the water, an alien voice rings in her head - does fate favor you today?

---

Leviathan

Tracking the soldier is easy. She just has to follow the sounds of battle.

A firefight rages across a long hallway. Chitauri steadily bear down on a lone figure taking cover at the far end.

Crouched in her dark corner, Isabelle watches as the soldier deals with them in a brutal yet graceful fashion. The frequent muzzle flashes reveal a red-and-white stripe running down the right shoulder guard, with a similar splash on the helmet.

It's only when the battle is over does she spot the N7 logo beneath guts and slime smearing the chestplate. "You're not a local," Isabelle states, slipping out of her nook.

The soldier doesn't seem startled. "Neither are you." A woman's voice. Her breathing is unlabored despite just taking on a dozen monsters. "What are you doing here?"

"Besides being easy pickings?" Isabelle eyes the stock of the assault rifle peeking out from behind the armor.

"If I wanted you dead, I wouldn't have missed. I distinctly remember telling the Asgardians not to send reinforcements."

Suddenly the juxtaposition of advanced technology and medieval aesthetic makes a lot more sense. But Thor had waxed enough poetry about his homeworld for her to recognize the subtle differences. Further amplified by the reality of the remnants of an alien population in Tønsberg, Norway.

A mystery for another day. "Judging by the barrage on the Leviathan's hide, they disagree. This isn't a one-man job."

"… the exit strategy is literally tailor-made for an individual."

"Well, that's sloppy planning for a rescue op."

"Rescue - ?" Static crackles through the soldier's comms.

Isabelle can only make out a low, urgent voice and starts to get the feeling that she might've miscalculated a bit.

The chatter finally dies down.

"The Asgardians didn't send you, did they?" The soldier asks.

"I only just arrived here." Isabelle hesitates. Chitauri is a low bar for 'enemy of my enemy'. But Morgan's already slipped through her fingers because she tried to go about this alone. "I'm looking for someone."

There's a long, loaded pause. "You took a wrong turn somewhere," the soldier says finally. "There's no one here but us and the enemy."

Helplessness rears its ugly head. Where in this blasted space rock is she gonna find Morgan?

More comm chatter. The soldier doesn't seem thrilled with whoever's on the other end. Not a superior officer, then; she doesn't seem deferential enough. "Our goals might be different, but they're not conflicting," she says. "I propose a deal. You help me find what I'm looking for... I'll return the favor."

She sounds as though the words are being pulled out of her mouth with pliers. A familiar shriek in the distance punctuates the fact that Isabelle doesn't have any other options. But first -

"I'd like to know who it is I'm dealing with."

There's a barely discernible hesitation. Then, with a sigh, heavy gauntlets reach out to peel off the helmet, revealing a young face - in her late twenties at the most - framed by brown, sweaty hair that would shine a deep red under a midday sun. There's something familiar about her eyes.

Soul-orange flickers beneath pools of dark brown.

"Commander Shepard, Systems Alliance."

---

April 11th, 2027

Stark Residence

Peter has Morgan's and Izzy's wrists clutched in both hands, counting their sluggish beats, when his spider-sense screams.

He bolts upright so fast his chair topples. Pepper and Gabe are immediately on the alert.

"Something big's coming," he says, snatching the nanite compartment from the nightstand. Gabe makes a portal to the front porch.

Pepper springs up, her face a mask of fierce determination. But Peter shakes his head, gestures to the occupied bed as he steps through.

A crystal-clear gesture. You're the last line of defense.

He's soaked to the bone as soon as the portal snaps shut. By unspoken consent, they split up - Gabe towards the back, unaffected by the lake that had almost swallowed Morgan whole.

Peter's eyes, enhanced as they are, see nothing out of the ordinary in the storm-ridden yard. "F.R.I.D.A.Y, scan for heat signatures."

"No life signs detected. I do sense energy similar to those emanated by Master Wong's portals, however."

His head snaps to the vegetable garden. Near the fence, golden sparks begin to emerge. His instincts are so violent it almost feels as though he'll vibrate out of his skin.

"That's not Wong. Lock the doors."

The A.I., bless her, does better than that. Shiny metallic shutters slam down to secure all the walls of the lakehouse. Vibranium-based alloy - Peter feels a surge of appreciation for Tony's paranoia.

A whistle pierces the sound of distant thunder.

Peter's eyes snap to a man, standing in front of a closing portal, his dark eyes fixed unblinkingly at the lakehouse. "Nice," he says, unraveling a metallic chain wrapped around his leather-jacketed torso. "Most anchors put up mystical defenses, not physical ones."

"Spidey," F.R.I.D.A.Y whispers. "His vitals are way off the charts. A normal human's blood would've boiled off by now."

Peter quickly modifies his initial question. "What the hell are you?"

---

There are so many ways to answer that question.

Robbie Reyes runs his fingers through the metal rings of his Hellfire chain like counting the beads on a rosary.

It's a good metaphor for his life.

He's chained to the Ghost Rider, and the Rider to him. Day by day, the chain sinks a little deeper, blurring the line between them.

Strangely enough, he senses the opposite in Peter Parker, the boy who is a boy no longer.

A sense of 'other'; not physically, but as though there's a part of him that he thinks of as separate. Two halves of a whole, separated by a darkness that he never wants to see in Gabe.

Almost as though summoned by his thoughts, a shadow peels off from the edge of the lakehouse.

"Robbie," his little brother murmurs.

The Ghost Rider stirs at the sudden knot of tension in his belly. "Gabe," he says, casual as you please. "Didn't expect you here. Sensors lit up like a Christmas tree on your end?"

He shakes his head slowly. "I stumbled onto this one. It's new."

"Not that new. The anchor's been flickering for a while now. Like the other end was fighting the connection. Pretty unusual."

"What's going on?" Parker demands. "You know this guy?"

Gabe licks his lips. "He's my brother. We work together, sometimes."

Robbie's eye twitches.

Gabe's been hunting down anchors too; cleansing artifacts and closing breaches from this plane when Robbie himself couldn't. It's partly dedication to his work, and partly a desire to spend time with the only family he has left.

Robbie gets that. The Ghost Rider doesn't.

So why is his little brother inching, not towards Robbie himself, but Parker? Why are his hands deliberately held apart, as though he's presenting himself as unthreatening as possible? "You wanna tell me something, Gabe?"

"Walk away from this one, please," Gabe says quietly. But his fists are already clenching. "Let me handle it."

"I can't do that. The other guy knows what's waiting on the other end; he's never letting that come out."

Gabe's head bows, and he nods.

For a second, Robbie allows himself to believe that he might not have to take up arms against his blood tonight.

Lightning streaks across the sky. When his vision clears, his stomach sinks.

Parker falls into a half-crouch. Gabe's beside him, mandalas blooming from his raised fists, his expression torn but determined.

His eyes scream an anguished apology as they launch themselves at him.

---

TIME: INDETERMINABLE

Water of Sights

The water infiltrates Daisy's lungs, her throat, her mind until nothing remains but pain and an expanse of white. Then -

Life splatters onto the canvas. Watercolor hues resolve themselves into a vision she's seen frequently in her night terrors.

An asteroid adrift in the infinite ocean of the multiverse, inhabited by the spirits of the lost. A realm where the past coexists with the future… in the present. The Soul World.

Then, a thunderous tremor. A crack appears, invisible to the naked eye - caused by a forbidden entry from the realm of the living. Anchor.

Taking advantage of the weakness is chaos incarnate; a living mass of dead worlds. The end of Time. Dark Dimension. Dormammu.

Carrying out its will is a mad Titan and his army, unleashing chaos and devastation onto the dead, echoing the war he'd carried out against the living. Thanos.

That… is the present, the Norns whisper.

Heed our words, now, of the future.

She, born in one world, shaped by two,

Is delivered from death.

She echoes with one of the infinite six,

Returns to the sphere of souls...

Will become the Destroyer of Worlds.

As the prophecy fades to silence, visions flash through her mind again. Daisy sees herself, her arms extended, palms splayed wide and pointing downwards. It's a familiar sight, but there's something off about the positioning, as though she's unfamiliar with her own powers.

Massive Quakes ripple into the ground. She hears the whole world scream. But what's buried within is too important not to risk everything. So she pushes harder, arms trembling with the effort, reaching deeper and further for the hidden treasure...

And suddenly, it's too much.

The world shatters.

Daisy heaves out of the water with a strangled gasp. She splashes to the shore, hacking up great lungfuls of water. The horrific images are branded on her soul.

"That didn't happen," she croaks. "That could never happen."

Oh, but it did, They say gleefully. The truth of an aborted timeline. Now, the prophecy will be the truth of this one.

She's suddenly aware of the weight of centuries in this grotto - the presence of whispers and wails, of laughter and insanity. In the wake of her experience, it becomes blindingly obvious what happened here.

Once venerated by the Asgardians, would-be gods themselves, this pool must've been the prize-jewel of this realm. The grotto - carved out in glorious tribute to Those who spin fate itself. A tribute built in an attempt to please the Norns, coax Them to weave a better future. And then... the truth struck.

That They are not dazzled by worship. That Their prophecies never spell anything but doom and death. That it is always a curse to know the future - a realization that wouldn't strike until the last, horrifying minute. Veneration would've turned into poisonous hatred until this temple was abandoned, forgotten.

The Terrigen crystals wink at her mockingly. A bespoke prophecy. A bespoke destiny.

"No one else can hear you, can they?"

There's no answer, but she doesn't need one. She scrabbles to her feet. "Only I can hear you... because you made me this way. To be able to hear vibrations, frequencies, voices... that others can't."

Dust sifts from the cracks in the ceiling. The water ripples in agitation. "You did this."

The ground trembles as she takes a step backward. "You made Inhumans - the only species shaped by two worlds - Earth and the Kree homeworld."

A muffled roar echoes in the grotto, building in intensity. "You yanked my soul back to the same place I've been dreaming about since I was Blipped."

Debris smashes to the ground beside her. She doesn't flinch, deftly avoiding a sudden fissure that appears. "And in another world... you violated me into becoming just like you. A monster."

"Tell me," she whispers, her Quakes in thundering sync with her boiling blood, " - did you see this coming?"

With an enormous roar, a large rock breaks off from the ceiling. It plunges into the lake, splashing her with a huge wave of water.

A harsh convulsion runs through her soaked body. She cries out, doubling over. Her hands begin to vibrate of their own accord, far too fiercely for it to be natural, blurring the lines of her body. The unnaturally powerful Quakes bleed into the Norn Cave.

Chaos descends.

With a hoarse shout, Daisy sprints to the exit, clearing it with moments to spare.

---

Leviathan

Isabelle doesn't usually linger where she's not wanted, but this isn't a situation she can escape with a few well-placed misdirections.

The Chitauri are predictable in their displeasure. She's invading their protected space - a feat only one has pulled off before, with far more panache than she.

Shepard is... a little less obvious. Everything about her is utterly professional. The quintessential soldier. And yet, Isabelle gets the feeling she was never supposed to see any of this. "Care to give me a rundown, Commander?"

"The Chitauri acquired highly sophisticated tech. I'm relieving them of it."

"How'd they get it?"

"Because the owner got careless," Shepard grumbles, " - and lost sight of his priorities." That prompts a burst of fast-paced commentary from her helmet comms.

"I don't want to imagine what the Chitauri would want with Asgardian technology."

The resulting hesitation is telling.

"Wait," Isabelle stutters to a halt. "Your friend on the other end is one of us?"

Just then, they're set upon by another wave. The battle is intense, but she doesn't let the Commander use it as an excuse to avoid her question.

"He's an engineer," Shepard admits finally. "His inventions have made quite a dent in enemy forces in the past. The Chitauri took issue with that."

"He doesn't seem to have a handle on radio silence." The comm has been chattering a mile a minute.

Shepard makes a sound that might've been a laugh in another universe.

Isabelle has never had a partner; her unapproachability didn't lead itself to great communication with any potential teammate. The only person she had ever opened up to fully had been, ironically enough, not even a fighter.

She has no illusions about the future of her relationship with Pepper.

"We're here," Shepard murmurs.

So suddenly she doesn't have a chance to blink, the corridor opens up to a large space. Unlike the usual monstrous aesthetic of organic-synthetic amalgamation, this chamber is entirely artificial. She gets the impression of a hasty retrofit built to accommodate the structure on the other end of the room.

The thick wires they've been following feed into a platform. A ring spins madly around a blinding power source, bombarding her retinas with epileptic flashes of light.

A pulsing in her head signals the arrival of a migraine, so she turns her back to it. "Is that what you're looking for? What's it doing?"

"The Chitauri hooked it up to the central core. It allowed the Leviathan to generate enough energy to break through the city's forcefield."

"Must be something powerful."

"It is." Shepard activates an omni-tool and hooks it up to a rusted console. "I'll disengage the tech and transfer the controls to my contact. He'll take over remotely."

"And afterward? How do we get out?"

"I had a plan," she glances at the core, " - but your arrival forced me to improvise."

Isabelle follows her gaze, then blinks. "Wait, the tech was your exit strategy?"

There's a stink of an omission here, compounded by the suspicious silence from the other end of Shepard's comms. Before she can call it out, Shepard swipes at her 'tool decisively. Beneath their feet, the Leviathan groans low and deep.

The sound reverberates through her bones, sets her heart racing. Familiar shrieks resound from distant corridors, accompanied by the sound of rapidly approaching footsteps.

Shepard hands over her pistol. "Keep them off me, Agent Collins."

It's only much later, when Isabelle is neck-deep in a fight for their lives, that she realizes that she'd never introduced herself to the Commander.

---

Daisy flees.

Control has never been a choice for her. Her gifts fall on the extreme margin of the Terrigenesis spectrum. Even if she'd been the most self-serving individual in existence, mastering her powers would've been essential because Quakes could devastate her as much as the world around.

So for that possibility to be thrown at her face as though it were certainty; to be told that she would become the avatar of ruin…

Daisy stumbles to a pillar and dry-heaves.

Distantly, she wonders at this breakdown. She should be actively fighting this prophecy, not falling apart. She should be considering alternate solutions.

But the facts refuse to bend. The Norns' visions are always savagely truthful. There had truly been a universe where Daisy Johnson had Quaked her world apart.

But the most damning evidence is not the claims of otherworldly beings. It's all around her - the ruins of a forgotten shrine, shattered by her utter lack of control.

For a moment, she's back in quarantine, post-Terrigenesis. Terrified and desperate at the alien buzzing in her veins, wondering if it wouldn't be better to shake apart before she shakes the world apart.

Then Fitz is there, equally terrified, dropping bombs she tries to deny, but can't.

And how we found you! Basically unharmed in the collapse, with destruction all around you!

You survived the destruction because... you caused it.

She's in a strange, dark mirror of that time, different only in her comprehension. But it's that very understanding that dooms her because she recognizes the truth humming in her bones.

Destroyer of Worlds.

And now, she's a recipient of Their anger for destroying their dwelling, for denying Them further victims. Their retribution is thorough.

Every molecule resonates with an extradimensional frequency, setting her body ablaze. Earlier, she'd leaned against a rock wall, only to phase through as if it were air.

Foresight is accompanied by irony.

In the realm of the dead, she's as intangible as a ghost.

---

Leviathan Core

Isabelle barricades the entrance of the core room against the hordes trying to shoot their way through.

Rivulets of sweat and blood run down her forehead. Adrenaline has seared her veins, leaving behind trembling limbs and a catalog of bruises.

The Leviathan shudders beneath her feet. She stumbles towards Shepard, who is finding it far easier to stay vertical. Beyond, the core is humming frantically, setting her teeth on edge. "Is this an expected reaction?!"

"The Leviathan is overclocking the device," Shepard bites out. "The core was on the verge of venting into the room, cooking us alive. I redirected the overload to the external systems - weapons, armor, anti-gravity."

The implication descends like a bomb. "You're gonna crash the Leviathan into the city? What about the civilians?!"

"There aren't any. Only soldiers who died in battle make it here. They knew what they were getting into when they signed up."

But Morgan didn't. She could be anywhere within the city; Isabelle had been percolating vague plans on conducting a search-and-rescue amid a battle. The image of her niece getting crushed by falling debris runs through her mind.

Her hand clamps down on Shepard's wrist. "I can't take that risk. Find another way."

There's a tense pause.

"Agent Collins," Shepard says carefully, " - I wouldn't drop a million-ton monster on a kid just to defeat Thanos."

Isabelle goes very, very still.

"I never mentioned I was looking for a kid."

"You didn't have to. We all know what we're fighting for."

"Do you know where she is?"

"Yes. Once we're done here, I'll take you to her."

The hum reaches an agonizing apex.

A pulse erupts from the core. It paints every inch of the chamber with blue, but washes over them harmlessly, leaving goosebumps in its wake. The ring around the core is finally cooling from its rapid spin. Without the headache-inducing screen provided by the blur, the features of Shepard's device become more distinct.

Affixed to the inside of the ring by four constraints, silhouetted against the brightness, is something posed like the Vitruvian Man. Humanoid, muscular, but with smooth surfaces and deep grooves at the joints. An armor?

Something blue and triangular stutters to life on the chestplate.

Isabelle's lungs empty in a violent shudder. For a moment, her mind shies away, convinced that she'd imagined it. But then -

A whine fills the air. Powerful, mechanical... devastatingly familiar.

The whine of a repulsor.

She's running before she even sees the sheen of red and gold.

"Collins!"

The helmet is limp, visor down. The eye slits are dark. The arc reactor brightens ominously.

PROOF THAT TONY STARK HAS A HEART.

A beloved voice crackles through the external speakers. "Izzy, get down!"

She barely has time to hit the deck.

The world whites out.

Metal crumples. Electromagnetic shockwaves scream across the room. Machinery explodes; buffeting her with waves of heat. Like a ship caught in a storm, the Leviathan thrashes as the unibeam carves a swathe of destruction through it.

Amidst the chaos, she gets a single glimpse of the armor - of Iron Man - arching under the force of its overload. A stray beam shatters the restraints: the only warning she gets before it scours through the platform.

Her fingers snag on a fallen support seconds before the floor gives away.

Frigid, fresh air steals the breath from her lungs. The orange of the Soul World is blinding. Debris rains a long way down into the waters below.

A sooty forearm grabs her own. Shepard's lost her hardsuit; only an undersuit protects her from the destruction. "Hold on!" she heaves. But gravity proves to be a match. Isabelle dangles there, helpless in their tug of war.

The Leviathan flails in its death throes. The roof of the core room caves inwards. With a loud, groaning sound, a fiery girder shears away and plunges.

Heading straight for Shepard's unprotected back.

Time snaps back. Iron Man blazes in. The beam slams into his back. He buckles under the strain but holds.

The brilliant glow beyond the eye slits is impossibly alive. "Tony."

"I can't…!" Shepard's words end in a hoarse shout. With an audible pop, her shoulder dislocates.

There's a breathless moment of free-fall before fingers clasp tight around hers. But the stalemate is broken; the world has reasserted control.

Isabelle's lizard brain, terrified of the water below, refuses to acknowledge that she's risking both their lives.

There's a moment of hesitation, so slight she thinks she imagined it. Then the suit thrusts the beam aside, bends over Shepard, and grasps her forearms.

Shepard jerks, eyes widening in alarmed comprehension. "No!"

Gold-titanium panels peel back to reveal an empty shell.

The Iron Man armor wraps around Commander Shepard as though it were made for her.

A final shudder goes through the Leviathan. Shepard's wordless yell disappears into the armor. And Isabelle stares, disbelieving, as the arc reactor on the chestplate powers up, blindingly bright.

The unibeam slams into her chest.

---

April 11th, 2027

Stark Residence

Never have Robbie and his Rider been so at odds. "Gabe's the reason you and I are one!" He screams into the racket of his mind.

Parker flips out of reach of the Hellfire Chain and executes a spinning kick to Robbie's face.

But the Ghost Rider is indifferent to Gabe's existence. "He's the reason you'll never settle my scores! Your brother is a liability, now indoctrinated by the very thing we hunt!"

Assuming control, the Rider switches targets.

The younger Reyes pounds at it, each hit marking mandala-shaped bruises on its skin. The Rider evades the attack, traps Reyes' bicep, and throws him over its shoulder.

With effort, Robbie snatches back the wheel. It's disorienting. "That what you see, or is it just a guess?"

His reply is an infernal roar bouncing inside his cracked skull.

Parker webs the broken wheelbarrow, spins and slams it onto Robbie. The cart crumples. Wide, shallow gashes knit themselves closed. Robbie retaliates with a fiery blast that sends him flying.

Not hellfire; just normal fire - he doesn't want to maim the kid's soul.

Flames lick at Robbie's jawline, forcing him to surrender.

The Rider watches, darkly amused, as Gabe Reyes conjures a fiery, sparking whip. It blocks rapid-fire lashes, then immobilizes Reyes' limbs, following with several hard strikes that leave him gasping on the ground.

Robbie snarls back into awareness. "Innocent blood doesn't need to be spilled tonight. There has to be an explanation!"

Robbie's bracing for having his lights switched off again, but then Parker drives him to the edge of the lake. With a series of devastating moves, he kicks him over the edge. Stormy water pulls him under, making him lose his bearings. Parker dives in after him, continuing to rain down blows.

Robbie's head snaps back at a particularly smarting right hook. The Rider's ire flares and he tosses Parker out with a swift kick to the chest.

He follows with a blaze of fire, delivering a series of deliberate near-misses to demonstrate to Parker just who he's dealing with. "You might be strong, fast," Robbie says conversationally. "But this is hellfire, kid. Water won't do much against it."

His eyes flick to the lakehouse. "Something that even the anchor you're protecting will realize, soon enough."

Parker's eyes widen, before going steel-hard. "We had a module," he gasps, " - on extra-dimensional entities last sem. Spent an entire week on you, Ghost Rider."

Robbie tilts his head, amused. "And what did you learn?"

"You used to have a code. Only went after unpunished criminals. Act as judge, jury, executioner if you don't like what you see. What changed?"

"You won't get it."

"No?" Parker straightens, his expression screaming utter disdain. "You're saving the universe. Probably a self-appointed mission, insane warlord vibes, willing to cut down anything in your path. Yeah, I've seen that before."

There's a pause. "On Titan."

"You dare," Robbie snarls, unable to tell whether it came from himself or the Rider.

Parker flips away, his wrists snapping in mid-air. Multiple strands ensnare Robbie's limbs. One even smacks his face. But before he can do more than growl, a searing jolt of pain ricochets through his insides.

Hellfire and electricity scorch at his skin, leaving behind cinders. The Ghost Rider roars into being, burning through the webs. Spinning the chain until it resembles a razor-edged chain-saw, the Spirit lashes out.

Parker goes flying, his suit sparking, his flesh blistered. The Rider swings again, only for the chain to slam against a cage of golden light.

Gabriel Reyes stands over Parker, raised arms crossed at the wrists, fingers splayed. Defiant eyes glare at him.

Robbie's roar chokes into silence as the Rider finally shoves him into the dark.

There is no place for mercy in vengeance.

---

TIME: INDETERMINABLE

Soul World

The water tastes of blood and insignificance.

Isabelle wants to sink like a stone, let the incredible weight on her chest disappear into the depths. But some instinct rears into existence, hauling her to the surface.

She almost gets decapitated by falling debris for her trouble. Realizing that there's no salvation to be had above the waters, she allows the current to pull her in again.

Strange lights blink into the inky darkness. Fighting the temptation of rock bottom, she instead dives across, pretending the ache in her lungs is the result of holding her breath until she doesn't have to pretend anymore.

Further and deeper she swims, propelled by little more than shattered faith. An iron band tightens around her lungs. Her vision darkens. Inexplicable images flash in her mind - fragments of a larger whole.

A burning tree. A massive serpent. A horn.

A part of her doesn't believe she would surface, doesn't even want to - which is why it is so shocking when she does. She chokes on oxygen and dust.

Blinking the water from her eyes, she finds herself in a lake, encased within a grotto. Faint light is streaming through the hole in the ceiling, painting the macabre sight - the shoreline, littered with bodies of Chitauri, crushed beneath huge boulders. Victims of a devastating cave-in.

Isabelle heads for the remaining even portion of the shore. Her knees give out as she pulls herself from the water. She hasn't missed this - the vengeful reckoning of gravity as buoyancy releases control. Her fingers curl into the wet sand like a lifeline.

She allows herself only a minute of uninterrupted, agonized sobbing.

The silver lining of betrayal - it clarifies one's priorities.

Steeling her resolve, she takes stock of her surroundings.

The dim light offers few encouraging details. Unsteady mounds of rock form a very thorough barrier to any possible exit. The only way out seems to be the lake she had barely made out of and the hole at the roof of the grotto that she's not gonna be able to get to.

But dust - strangely blue and glittery - is still sifting down her neck and her arms; the cave-in was recent. No signs of massive weapons discharge. An earthquake? She might not have felt it up there inside the Leviathan, but her few glimpses of the city as she'd fallen hadn't indicated widespread damage.

A localized earthquake.

She kneels next to a Chitauri corpse. Unlike its companions, it hadn't been a victim of the cave-in. Its neck has been snapped back almost a hundred-and-eighty degrees. As though it was blasted away by a massive concussive force. An intact pulse rifle lies beside, but there are no scorch marks on the body.

Deja vu niggles in her mind. She's seen this specific brand of destruction doled out before. But her memories are locked behind the impenetrable wall of her migraine.

The temptation to investigate, to probe deeper into this latest mystery is overwhelming. She swallows it down, remembering the promise she'd made. Morgan should be awake and aware in the arms of the only parent who deserves her.

There's a draft from somewhere behind a pile of rocks. She grabs the pulse rifle, primes it to the maximum setting, and fires point-blank. The recoil tosses her back, but it also blows a hole she can squeeze through, so she considers it an even trade.

Wrapping an arm around her complaining ribs, Isabelle stumbles out of the grotto, oblivious to the agitated swirling of the Waters behind.

---

She might not be following the tracks, but she'd have to be blind not to notice the inconsistencies.

They meander through the caverns, as though the person they belonged to was a mindless drunk stumbling their way home. But there are spots where the footprints disappear into thin air, only to reappear in completely unconnected passages. Occasionally, the walls and ceiling would tremble, and Isabelle would look up warily, but nothing further would follow.

Evidence of civilization starts creeping in. Cressets are arranged at fixed intervals along the walls. The light is strange, less like flames and more like leaping, flickering fractals of orange.

Soul-orange, she thinks with a shiver.

Abruptly, the passageway opens into a large chamber. If the strange, curved walls hadn't clued her in, the opulence buried beneath centuries of grime and cobwebs makes her feel small and insignificant enough for her to realize that she's in the longship-shaped palace.

Something crunches underfoot.

It's a dagger.

Faint glints reveal abandoned, primitive weapons scattered haphazardly across the floor, forcing her to recall the earlier question.

Why does the Soul World look an awful lot like Asgard?

Something whistles through the air behind her.

Isabelle ducks into a roll, grabs a sword and brings it up just in time to block another from decapitating her.

She grits her teeth against the pressure, then sweeps out her legs in a wide arc. Her attacker stumbles but recovers quickly. They exchange a flurry of blows. Isabelle, struck by a sudden sense of familiarity, forces the figure into the light.

Her strikes falter.

"Johnson?! What are you doing here?"

"Something I should've done a long time ago." Flames throw into sharp relief the black rings beneath Daisy Johnson's eyes. Isabelle recognizes in them a manic look she has often seen in a mirror when she's running on little more than fumes.

She's thrown into the defensive. Confusion reigns fiercely - the last news she'd heard regarding Johnson was from a distraught F.R.I.D.A.Y, who had believed herself responsible for the disaster at the Singapore Spaceport.

Global awareness had fallen by the wayside in the stress of Morgan's night terrors.

A piece of the puzzle fits into place. "You've been dreaming about this place, too," she breathes.

Johnson snarls, doubling down. The constant clang of metal contributes to Isabelle's burgeoning headache.

She feints. Johnson braces for the fatal strike. But it's the weapon's pommel that greets her wrist, forcing her to drop her weapon.

In a flash, Isabelle twists her arms behind her and pins her to the wall. "I don't know what crawled up your ass, Johnson, but I don't have time for it! You gonna be civil or do I have to start breaking bones?!"

"Civil?" Johnson laughs darkly. "Since you got reinstated, I've been nothing but! I kept my mouth shut because Coulson trusted you! He never could see past the mask to the heartless monster inside! But I can. I have." Johnson lashes out with a hard headbutt.

Isabelle reels, her eyes watering. "What the hell are you on about?!"

"You know what anchors do? They destroy worlds. I'll never let what's happening here spill over to Earth."

She smiles slowly, dangerously. "Tearing you apart is just a bonus."

Isabelle takes a deep, trembling breath. It does little to dull the sharp heat in her chest, but at least her head clears, honing in on the one person who remains truly defenseless.

Morgan.

"You'll never get the chance," she whispers, before launching herself at the enemy.

---

Palace

Over the years, Daisy has developed something of a sixth sense when it comes to the thoughts of enemy combatants. A by-product of adrenaline and training fueling her already analytical mind.

She's seen Isabelle Collins fight before. Graceful and fluid like the water she embodies, or cold and unforgiving like the ice that sometimes takes over her. But this is neither of those situations.

Here, she is abrupt, fast, parrying, and striking with an expression that prompts Daisy to file it in the same drawer that holds a memory of the woman shrugging.

As though she can't even be bothered to put in the effort.

As though Daisy's nothing more than an afterthought.

Sour indignation fuels her rage, lending her strikes viciousness. She's always been hyper-aware of the severe lack of acknowledgment from Collins - the absence of any sort of awareness of her very existence. The realization that Daisy craves to shatter that mask of indifference is humiliating.

Collins, though, doesn't seem to be getting on board with the program.

Her eyes remain a flat, empty brown.

"What, not woman enough to bring out the big guns?"

Collins flips and lands in a three-limbed crouch. "You're hardly worth the effort." Daisy grinds her teeth as Collins smirks cruelly. "I saw what you did to the grotto. Having some performance issues, Johnson?"

Daisy stumbles, sickened at the reminder that Terrigenesis - her ultimate potential, her pride - is tainted.

They rush at each other, trading hard-and-fast blows. Neither gains the upper hand - until Daisy puts on a burst of force behind her attacks, driving her opponent to the ground.

Collins grunts under the barrage. Daisy's about to press her advantage, when the older Inhuman abruptly twists away, sweeps out her legs. She follows it with a harsh backhand.

Daisy cries out and collapses. Her head is ringing. Something sharp cuts into her thigh; she wraps her fingers around it. Spitting out blood, she glares hatefully at Collins, who looks back impassively.

"Stay down. Final warning."

And then she turns her back.

Daisy's fury boils to homicidal levels. It's like Collins hadn't even tried. Desperate to yank out those aquamarine eyes even if she has to claw it out with her fingers, she retorts, " - why? Busy trying to open a gateway to Earth for Thanos?"

She doesn't expect it to work, but it does, and that's what seeds in the first sign of doubt that Daisy squashes ruthlessly. Her fingers tighten around the concealed weapon.

Collins twists halfway. Uncertainty flickers in her gaze before the hated indifference films over again. "You have to do better than that -,"

The dagger impales her left leg.

Collins goes down with an immensely satisfying scream of agony.

In a flash, Daisy scrambles over her, adrenaline deadening the ache in her fists as she pummels relentlessly, mercilessly, taking back the pound of flesh she's owed. It's been a long time coming.

With a roar like a waterfall, Collins twists hard, unseating her, then locks her arms in an unbreakable grip. "There are so many ways to break you," she growls as Daisy chokes beneath the relentless press of a forearm. "But why bother?"

Darkness is closing in on her vision. Her nails leave deep scratches on Collins' skin.

Distantly, she wonders what would happen if she dies here.

If she dies again.

---

"ENOUGH!"

A surge of red slams into them.

Daisy rolls away, wheezing. Her back arches as bolts of lightning ricochet inside her.

Beside her, Collins stiffens, shuddering as though she's being stabbed by thousands of needles. Dark blood wells out of her leg.

There's a telltale cock of a pistol.

She blinks through wet eyes to find a helmeted soldier looming above her. A red-and-white stripe runs down the arm of an otherwise black matte armor. A familiar amber-hued holographic gauntlet is aimed directly at Daisy.

"The Neural Shock was a warning," the soldier growls. "Next one won't be."

A monstrous screech echoes from the distance.

Collins, clutching at her ribs, stares at the newcomer. "How did you find me?"

"The suit picked up abnormal seismic readings. Cross-referencing with your fall trajectory led me here." A brief pause. "Are you okay?"

"No thanks to you."

The newcomer crouches. An omni-scanner sweeps across Collins' injured leg. "The blade penetrated the bone. Entry-and-exit. I can keep you stable, Agent Collins, but you're gonna need surgery."

Collins slaps her hand away. "There's only one thing I need."

"You plan to crawl your way to the anchor?" the soldier snaps back. "Let me help."

Daisy blinks, certain she'd heard wrong.

A blade unfurls from the 'tool, descending before Collins can so much as flinch. It slices the dagger in half; the blade falls out the other end accompanied by a truly frightening pool of blood.

A generous amount of blue-grey gel squirts out, sinking into the gaping wound. The goo hardens, yanking at the bruised skin until it's completely sealed.

"We had a deal, Shepard," Collins growls. "I fulfilled my end. Where the fuck is my niece?"

"The safest place this place has to offer."

A plethora of emotions crosses Collins' face. For the first time, she is split wide open - all her soft parts exposed.

Collins had always seemed to be made of stone.

And suddenly, horrifically, it makes a whole lot of sense.

That vulnerable core inside; Daisy has seen only once: in a prison in Wakanda, when Collins had surrendered the privacy of her past to preserve the future of her legacy.

"No."

Collins blinks, startled, as though she'd forgotten her presence. For once, Daisy doesn't have it in her to feel indignant. "Who's the anchor, Collins?"

Her rival's face shutters so fast it gives her whiplash. But Daisy can't unsee what she's seen.

Her stomach is like lead. Her extremities are numb. She makes a wretched sound, and presses a fist against her mouth, swallowing back sour bile. Oh God, what had she done?

Shepard watches them with growing awareness, then sighs. "I can guess where you landed, Agent Johnson." She hesitates. "Take it from me. Visions aren't always what they seem."

Daisy's breath hitches. "You've been?"

Shepard shakes her head. "I just... recognize the look of misplaced trust."

"There's a lot of that going on around here," Collins says cuttingly.

"I'm not letting Morgan be another victim."

---

They flee in single file.

Shepard sets up a punishing pace deeper into the palace, her steps firm and sure as she leads them through side corridors, well away from the horde.

Isabelle is in the middle. Her shoulder blades itch at the thought of Johnson behind her. But her objection had died in her throat when she'd recognized the look on her face - guilt, horror, self-loathing.

After all, the miscalculation had been on both ends.

Isabelle knows exactly who Johnson had trained under. Melinda May, who had earned her infamous nickname doing what was necessary, at the cost of her soul. It hadn't been too much of a stretch to think that her protégé would be just as willing to kill a child to save the world.

Her leg is blessedly numb; whatever the salve had been, it had acted quickly and efficiently. The absence of Terrigenesis is an ever-growing ache in her mind; she makes a very poor human.

She focuses on the enigma that is their guide. In the dark hostility of the Leviathan, the inconsistencies hadn't been as obvious, but now they mock her glaringly.

Isabelle isn't fond of elements that don't make sense.

For once, Johnson seems to be in sync. "How did a human end up here?"

A dark shadow descends over Shepard. "There are only two ways to enter the Soul World. By dreaming... or by dying." The ensuing silence makes it clear which door she had been shoved through.

Isabelle tamps down on a sudden, instinctive urge to flee, to find Morgan. She can't go half-cocked here. She had expected her night terrors to provide some sort of context, but this realm is so far not following expectations. "I've never seen technology like that before," she says, deceptively mild.

"Medi-gel. Promotes rapid healing."

"I meant the blade."

The weapon manifests terribly bright, scorching a line of heat and light across the back of her eyelids. Isabelle's eyes trace the brilliant orange - currently a running theme of her life - back to a circular, rotating cuff.

"Disposable silicon-carbide, flash-forged by the omni-tool's fabricator," Shepard says, with far more enthusiasm than the medi-gel had merited. "Mass effect fields keep it safely away from my skin."

"Let's test that, shall we?" Isabelle's hand snaps out, twists Shepard's arms until the blade is aimed at the vulnerable seal of her helmet, ready to be plunged into the squishy throat beneath it. She uses the momentum to shove them into a darkened alcove.

"The hell, Collins!" Johnson whisper-shouts.

She makes a move as though to break Isabelle's grip, then thinks better of it. "I thought it was just me, but you make it very difficult to like you!"

"I'm not here to be liked."

"That much is clear." Shepard is very still. "This how you treat all your allies?"

Isabelle laughs darkly. "Think about it, Commander. Have you truly inspired the rousing sense of trust that label deserves?"

Shepard's jaw tightens.

"Even discarding the obvious, let's consider the situation, shall we?"

"Not an hour into a hostile dimension, I get assaulted by allies and enemies alike," and here she glares at Johnson, " - and assisted by a soldier sporting the top rank of a highly classified military program that's not even off the ground yet," she nods at the N7 adorning the chest plate, " - plus wielding unfamiliar weaponized tech to boot."

"And, true to self, you prefer to confront the unknown from rock bottom," Shepard drawls. "You could've just asked."

Isabelle digs in the blade, watching with satisfaction as the helmet's seal starts to melt under the heat. "This is me asking."

A spine-chilling screech echoes in the distance. Reinforcements. "If you don't want to end up shish-kebabbed," Johnson murmurs hurriedly, " - then balance the scales, Commander."

Balance the scales.

Shepard's mouth presses in a thin line. "Time doesn't work here the way we're accustomed to. It's disordered, rather than linear."

Isabelle blinks.

But it seems to make sense to Johnson, who pales. "The future coexisting with the past… in the present," she says nonsensically. "You're anachronistic."

"What?"

"I graduated from ICT years ago," Shepard explains. "But that hasn't happened yet… in your time. Because I'm from the future, Agent Collins."

A beat.

"Your future, specifically."

In the absence of direction from her brain, training takes over, threading the right amount of incredulous skepticism in her voice. "You'll forgive me if I have a hard time believing in time travel."

Shepard arches an eyebrow. And suddenly Isabelle knows, with absolutely, deathlike certainty, that the Commander has been kept informed of the Time Heist. "Would awareness of history be sufficient proof of concept?"

Isabelle snorts uneasily. "Please. Anything you know about us, you could've stolen from Alliance databases." She leans in. "Or maybe you twisted it out of your engineer contact, just like you did his loyalties."

For the first time, true anger flashes in Shepard's eyes. "Is that so?" Before Isabelle can blink, the omni-blade disappears and she's slammed onto the wall. "Your full name - Isabelle Morgana Stark. 'Morgan' means seaborn, or water spirit. Both of which were prescient - considering Maria Stark had a water birth."

Isabelle goes very, very still. A tiny detail, hardly worth anything to those not in the know. And not even her own brother had been in the know; considering she'd spent a majority of their lives suppressing her true heritage from him. "An incredibly personal, very specific detail to just toss out there."

"And the only thing that would convince you."

Unbidden, memories of orange-tinted dreams flash through her mind. They'd been formless at first - like a block of marble that her subconscious had sculpted into something lucid. A bare tangerine landscape morphing into a city; shadowy figures and terrifying noises.

All of which had come true.

But there had been... impressions, on the very edges of her night terrors. Ghostly sounds that had cut deep, that had made her flee into the blissful ignorance of dendrotoxin.

'... said I'm your namesake.'

'... story is not yet finished.'

A powerful, mechanical whine echoes down the hallway.

Suddenly, Shepard's harsh grip becomes the only thing keeping her upright.

"I know that sound," Johnson breathes. "Why do I know that sound?"

The worst obstacle between herself and Morgan had seemed obvious. The Soul World had indulged - no, encouraged - those assumptions with Thanos' malignant army. Then, just when Isabelle's guard was down, it had pulled the rug out from under her.

Dark, alien cackling resounds in her head, hungry for the confrontations she'd been hoping to avoid. "Where is he?"

The screech rings out again, much closer this time. And she has her answer.

The Chitauri were never chasing them.

They were ahead, exacting vengeance on an enemy that refuses to die. Faster than she believed herself capable, she extricates herself, snatches the pistol from the Commander's holster, and breaks into a run.

"Collins!"

"Let her go," Shepard says in a low voice.

A grand, sweeping staircase rises at the end of the hallway, opening to a large atrium. A large horde of Chitauri crowds the steps, engaged in battle with something at the top of the stairs. Grabbing a nearby dagger, she runs the nearest footsoldier through, then fires point-blank at a roaring Gorilla. She carries one attack to the next, barely pausing to breathe.

She feels him before she sees him.

Iron Man lands beside her. Without missing a beat, she twists till they're back to back.

And suddenly, the years fall away.

As though they'd never lost each other. As though they'd been fighting together all their lives instead of the scant decade when they'd restored the Stark legacy.

Enemies crumple beneath their sync. Neither allows a strike to fall on the other. They dance in the circle of death.

Isabelle thinks she could stay like this forever - an avatar of action, caught in the limbo of battle.

But all distractions must end. She stabs the last, twitching Gorilla, and breathes. The bone-deep pain of her ribs is unaffected by the fog of medi-gel.

And yet, every inch of her is only aware of the sounds from behind.

A repulsor powering down.

The trickle of nanobots bleeding away.

A hesitant half-step.

"I'm going to let you have the first one for free," Tony says quietly.

She's up and swinging before he's even finished the sentence.

It's a solid punch. His neck snaps sideways with an audible click, and he stumbles a few steps. He works his jaw and spits out blood. "But you're going to have to work for the rest."

Isabelle snarls, drawing back her fist again. But suddenly, Shepard's there, twisting her arm and shoving her none too gently. Her eyes are fierce. "You heard him. Back off."

Her heart is throbbing in time with her migraine. She breathes through the sharp knives of betrayal stabbing her lungs. Her skin feels raw, her throat parched.

Tony's the first to break the tense stalemate. "Took you long enough, Shep," he says, slapping a hand on her shoulder. His faux-jovial tone jars in the tense atmosphere. "What happened here?" He gestures with his pinky to the seam of the N7 helmet, melted under the heat of an omni-blade.

"Chitauri rifle caught me off-guard," Shepard replies, meeting her eyes unflinchingly.

Isabelle is the first to blink away. But the spots aren't clearing from her vision. "Your daughter is a genius," she says hoarsely.

Tony's head snaps to hers, his fingers tightening on Shepard's shoulder. "What makes you say that?"

"She wouldn't have spent years knocking on that window if she hadn't known it was her father on the other side." Her voice sounds far away. "Tony..."

The world is dimming. She can't get enough air. "Take me to her."

Identical expressions of alarm flash across their faces. They reach for her.

The darkness finds her first.

---

A/N: Yes, my Shepard is female. Sorry for disappointing M!Shep fans. But I've never been able to play the game with Mark Meer's voice. Plus, there's a very good reason why this Shep is female. You'll know it a few chapters down the line.

MCU Context

Thanos: Thanos being in the Soul World was one of the massive plot points I was holding on to.

It always nagged at me - if the Avengers could reverse the Snap and bring back half of the universe, what's stopping one of Thanos' loyalists from bringing him back too? Of course, that's not gonna happen in my fic - because I found the symmetry of Thanos finding a potential escape through his murderer's daughter to be more powerful. And he would, too, I think. He'd call it destiny.

Night Terrors: Daisy's journey in the Soul World is hugely significant. I alluded to her similar symptoms to Isabelle in the last chapter - insomnia, night terrors... then slipping into an inexplicable coma following the Eezo Exposure.

But there are also differences in how the Soul World reacts to Isabelle, and to Daisy. There's a reason for the discrepancy too.

Soul World Resembles Asgard: There's a big reason for this too. I think most of you can already guess it; I've dropped more than enough clues about the nature of the Soul World and its unique relationship with dead Asgardians. Any takers on what I'm alluding to?

Water of Sights and the Norns: The Water of Sights is a pool of water Thor went to in Avengers: Age of ULTRON. Thor waded into the water, and the Norns possessed him, used him as a mouthpiece to deliver very important information to Selvig.

Even in the movie, I got some very malevolent vibes from the Norns. As though they can see the future, and they're amused by the fact that no one else can. They lord this knowledge over others, and demand unnecessary 'sacrifices' from those who would dare to ask for their wisdom.

Addendum: The addition of Terrigen Crystals in this rewrite is proof of the earlier theory I mentioned during the masquerade chapter. That Inhuman powers are not random. That they're carefully chosen to solve a very specific problem. As though they were designed for a particular destiny.

Nature of Time in Soul World: MCU canon has already shown us the strange nature of time in the Soul World. In Infinity War, after Snapping, Thanos saw a vision of his daughter, Gamora in an orange realm. Not at the age she was when he killed her. But when he adopted her.

Same with a deleted scene of Endgame. Tony sees a vision of an adult Morgan in the Soul World. The scene didn't make the cut cause it didn't ring well with the audience... but it established a pattern. (Oh, by the way... Katherine Langford is a great actress. But I definitely don't see her as Morgan Stark. I'm glad that scene was cut.)

Some say the orange place that Thanos/Tony went to is not the Soul World proper... but a waystation. Well. That works for me too. Because what is a waystation but a stopping point on a journey?

This is why I brought Shepard in, out of nowhere. A soldier from the future - from Isabelle's future - into the past.

This is also connected to the existence of the Norns - the seers of Time - in the Soul World.

There's a reason time is disordered in the Soul World. A big reason that I will not reveal until much, much later.

But I promise you, it'll all make sense.

Red Bands of Cyttorak: Red Bands of Cyttorak is a spell used by Stephen Strange on Thanos. It bound his wrist so he couldn't use the Gauntlet.

Norns vs Dormammu: Can you imagine what a group of entities relying on the unchanging endlessness of Time would feel when confronted by the existence of a Timeless dimension? The Norns are terrified of Dormammu. And for good reason.

Anchor Identity: My headcanon is that Ghost Rider doesn't actually know the source of the anchor until he sees it. He knows there's an anchor, a tear between dimensions, and that's about it.

So, when he pinpointed the anchor at the Stark lakehouse, Robbie automatically assumed the anchor was Isabelle Collins - an incredibly powerful and highly unstable Inhuman, who is, in his own words, 'drowning in an ocean of grief'. Prime suspect for an anchor.

His mistaken assumption, as you can imagine, led to a lot of pain. But also catharsis, because Izzy and Daisy really needed to duke it out.

Chitauri: The fact that Chitauri are organic-synthetic creatures really tickles. Especially because... well, Mass Effect. Take a guess.

We've seen how their synthetic augmentations work. Hive mind, they all go boom when the Mother Ship does. 'Suckiest army in the galaxy', indeed.

But what about their organic nature? What were they... before they turned into the Chitauri? Interesting questions, no? I will answer them, fear not.

Tony: If you've been paying attention, you saw where it all was leading to. All the dreams. Strange's mysterious last words. Morgan's night terrors. The Dark World. Morgan diving into the lake to find her father's 'gift'.

Mass Effect Context

Prologue: Yeah... the prologue of this chapter directly references the prologue of Mass Effect 2 - Shepard being ejected into space, watching the Normandy explode around her. Then dying herself over the cold expanse of Alchera. Almost the same... with the addendum that Shepard ended up in the Soul World after her death.

Eventually, this will all make sense. I promise you're gonna love it.

Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. Context

Robbie/Ghost Rider: I liked writing the fight scene with Peter and the Ghost Rider. More specifically, I liked shifting between the POVs of Robbie and the Rider itself. Plus, everyone assumed the Ghost Rider is a 'he', and refer to him accordingly. But the Spirit of Vengeance is an entity, genderless, and so refers to itself as 'it'.

I apologize if you found it confusing, but honestly, that was my intention. It's disorienting to Robbie too, to be at odds with the thing keeping him alive. But it was necessary for the characterization to come across as authentic.

Robbie will settle the Rider's scores. But never at the expense of his brother.

Prophecy: Daisy's the perfect vessel to obtain the Norns' prophecy, for two reasons.

One, because she has already received visions that have come to pass. One, from an Inhuman named Raina, in AoS Season 2. And two, from an Inhuman named Charles Hinton, in Season 3. Man, there have been an awful lot of Inhumans with precognitive powers, eh?

I just connected those visions as having been given by the Norns too. Raina and Hinton were conduits, imparting Daisy with the tools she needed to win the fight. To survive. All visions led to death. So yeah, Daisy's been burned by knowledge of the future. She also believes in the inevitability of it.

The second reason, of course... is that Daisy herself contributed to the destruction of Earth in an averted future, as depicted in Season 5. In that alternate timeline, she did, in a way, bring about the Destroyer of Worlds prophecy.

The Norns conveniently omitted the fact that she wasn't the primary culprit. Daisy will never know the truth because she never lived it.

Spoilers for Season 5: I always wondered about that averted future. What happened to the Destroyer of Worlds after they shattered Earth like an egg?

Did they survive, somehow? Maddened by the multiple voices in their head? Daisy, consumed by Graviton, fighting to break free?

Sif's spiel of 'a being of infinite power' comes from a scene we never saw. We can only guess its origin.

My headcanon is that Daisy finally won over Graviton in the end. Maybe she regained her consciousness, shaped the Gravitonium into a semblance of her body. But it was too late. Earth was gone. Her loved ones were dead, because of her. And her mind... well, there wasn't much left of Daisy anyway after that.