To her surprise and somewhat dismay, Natasha woke up. The pounding of her head assured her that she was not dead - or if she was, then the gates of heaven had not opened for her.
Reverting to old habits, Natasha maintained the fiction that she was sleeping and took stock of her surroundings as best she could with eyes closed. She lay curled on a cold stone floor that leached the heat from her body. Shackles wrapped around her wrists and four people shuffled on their feet around her, clanging with metal and taking shaky breaths. Nervous. Scared of her; as they ought. She still wore her combat suit, although the weight of her Glock 26s at either hip was distinctly absent, as were the batons that were sheathed across her back. Strangely, she could still feel the Widow's Bites around her wrists, the ceramic dagger strapped to her thigh, the razor wire in her suit, and numerous other gadgets she would normally expect to have been stripped of.
Foolish of them, to leave her so armed. But for now, she'd see how it played out. Four captors surrounding her in a single room seemed too good to be true. They'd have been better off stripping her naked and leaving her alone in a bare cell with no one to talk to. Cracking open an eye, Natasha squinted at the dinghy room she was being kept in. It had the feel of the dungeon of a European castle and the stench of one too, the tang of piss and old blood.
Peculiar. After leaping from the cliffs of Voromir, Natasha had assumed she would pass quickly, if not peacefully. But her mind was blank beyond the weightless sensation of falling and the stark pain on Clint's face. She hoped he returned to his family whole and hale. Perhaps, as it seemed she still lived, at least in some capacity, she too could return.
She shuffled, faking unconscious movement, and her captors shifted too, on edge. Too alert for her to surreptitiously pick the locks around her wrist. Determined that there was little to gain by faking sleep, she sat upright, noting the skylight above her, and the four guards to her sides. They were dressed as if attending a Ren Faire, complete with swords and greasy hair and impassioned glares.
"Please tell me I've not been captured by some death cult," Natasha said, the last word cut off as lightning lanced through her body. A pulse of stabbing pain originated from the palm of her left hand. Looking down, she could only stare at the glowing crack of viridian light. Biting back a hiss, she curled her fingers into a fist, attempting to suppress it, to no avail. It was as if a shard of the time stone had embedded itself in her flesh and was writhing in place, reacting to some unknown force.
The cell door burst open and two women marched into the room, as if awaiting her return to consciousness. One bore the symbol of an eye surrounded by the flames of a sun bisected by a sword on her chestplate. She had short dark hair and dark, piercing eyes. The other was hooded, in chainmail, the same symbol on a pendant around her neck. A cult seemed more and more likely.
"Tell me why we shouldn't kill you now. Everyone who attended the Conclave is dead. Except for you," the dark haired woman growled. It was plain to hear the agony in her voice; friends of hers had been killed during this incident.
Uncertain what she was being accused of, Natasha kept her responses short, attempting to read between the lines and understand where she was and how she'd arrived here, as she certainly wasn't on Voromir or Earth. The more her captors spoke, the more convinced she was that she was on another planet entirely, one that had not yet moved past the Dark Ages, judging by the outfits. She was accused of blowing up a temple, but it was clear that the calmer of the two, the hooded woman she learned was named Leliana, was aware they were supported only by circumstantial evidence.
As she was dragged outside, Natasha was dismayed to find a gaping hole in the sky, reminiscent of the portal that had admitted thousands of chitauri soldiers in 2012.
"What's on the other side of that?" she asked the woman named Cassandra, gazing up at the green swirling sky.
"We call it the Breach. It's a massive rift that leads to the world of demons…"
Oh boy. She was not in Kansas any more, that was for sure.
As Cassandra explained further, Natasha loosened the ropes that bound her wrists, but chose not to execute her escape just yet. If what Cassandra was saying was true, she was the key to closing the tear in the sky. Another day, another world to save. Her patience was rewarded as Cassandra cut off the ropes and led her through the sea of accusing stares. Peasants and soldiers, the survivors of tragedy, looking for someone to blame and finding the outsider to be at fault. Cassandra continued to expound upon the severity of their situation in concise, snarling sentences.
"No need for the hard sell," Natasha interrupted. "You need help. I'm help, I get it. Let's see what this bad boy can do."
She raised her hand at Cassandra, mimicking how Tony raised his gauntlets when piloting the suit. It made her ache to see his arrogant smirk, although she couldn't imagine him here. She didn't know if he'd be more fascinated or affronted by this world. The mystery and intrigue it promised was right up her alley, but it seemed that each and every person took the concept of demons at face value. It stood to reason, then, that there existed creatures foul enough to be named so, whatever their true nature. And she could not ignore the glowing crack in her hand. Tony would be hard pressed to use science to explain that one. Dr Strange was a more likely bet. She'd welcome even him, rather than be alone here, and potentially trapped, with no idea if her sacrifice had saved them.
"Good, come along then," Cassandra replied and took off at a jog up the mountainside. No nonsense. Natasha could work with that. Her sort wanted people to be straightforward and honest and and were frustrated when proven wrong. Nothing about Natasha was honest, but she could present herself as such. The truth was a matter of circumstance, after all.
The mark on Natasha's hand pulsed to match a flare of the Breach, but with practice she ignored the pain. Cassandra glanced back, eyebrows raised, but didn't slow her pace.
"It is good that you are resilient," she noted. Despite the layers of armour, Cassandra didn't struggle to set a good pace. She was a picture of corded muscles and athleticism. A fighter with staying power. Natasha, dressed in her high tech combat suit, matched her easily, but kept a step behind, unwilling to reveal too much about her own strengths.
They jogged over a bridge, slick with ice and snow. A flash of green light caught Natasha's eye and she dodged the falling meteor, tumbling to the iced lake beneath the bridge as it shattered.
"Stay behind me!" Cassandra commanded, as the meteor formed into a seething mass of ichor with dark, hateful eyes and reaching, triple-jointed arms.
So that was a demon. It smelt of sulphur and its screech resonated in her teeth and through her skull. The insidious crack of shattering ice revealed the presence of a second one roiling up from beneath the surface of the lake. Time to fight.
Sprawled on the ice were the remains of a cart laden with weapons: a bow and arrows, a pair of daggers, a sword, a shield, a mace, and a stave. Tempted as she was by the daggers, Natasha tucked her toe under the wooden handle of the stave and flicked it up to catch in both hands. Distance was likely the best, given the bubbling, acidic nature of these creatures, and it had reach. She twirled it through the air and planted the bladed end of the stave into the demon's heart. It screeched. Natasha twisted the stave and felt a pulse shoot through her arms and down the staff, the creature turning to ice. She yanked and spun the butt of the stave, slamming it into the now frozen statue, which shattered.
Good. They died. Demon or not, if she could kill them, then whatever this was, she could survive it.
When she turned back, Cassandra was staring at her, sword and shield raised at a ready stance.
"You're a mage. I should have known—you are so slight. How else could you have survived the explosion? Put down your staff, or I will take it from you."
A mage. Magical. It seemed likelier that the stave—staff—was simply enchanted, but it was obvious that Cassandra did not think so. Biting back a hysterical laugh, Natasha held it to one side, but didn't let it go.
"You need me alive in order to close that Breach," she reasoned. "Do you really want me to go on unarmed?"
After a pause, Cassandra sheathed her sword and nodded. "You are right. I cannot protect us both." She jogged on.
Natasha followed, although she stumbled past the remains of the cart, and used the opportunity to swipe up the pair of daggers, tucking them into her boots. Better to be thought a mage, and underestimated, than be underprepared.
A mage. Hah. How did that differ from a witch? Was she like Wanda, now? She hadn't intended to cast magic—she hadn't known that she could. Was it innate? Learned? Obviously aspects were innate, if she had used it. So many questions, so little opportunity to ask. She hoped there were books available at some point for her to peruse, provided she survived the closing of the Breach. She hoped she could read the language. It seemed wildly coincidental that she'd ended up on an unknown planet on which they spoke English. She looked down at the gash of green splitting her palm and grimaced. Perhaps not that much of a coincidence.
The ascent continued with yet another battle, in which Natasha used her staff as she would a stave. Occasionally a pulse of magic burst from her, freezing the demons she fought. She met Solas and Varric, which firmly decided for her that she hadn't been thrown back in time. At least, not just back in time. She was beginning to wonder if she'd stepped into the pages of a Tolkein novel or into one of Clint's video games.
Eventually they rejoined Leliana, who was arguing with a member of the clergy about the next steps to take. She had been right, at the very start of this mess—they were part of a cult, a religious one. Their leader had been killed and now her underlings scrabbled for power under the unsettling light of a poisonous rift in the sky.
Natasha leaned on her staff, staring up at the Breach, feeling weary. Less than an hour ago, to her mind, she had launched herself from a cliff in order to preserve Clint and his family, full of belief that he would be able to save them. She still believed that, but it seemed more and more likely that she would never see them again. She hadn't expected to, when she'd realised that she had to be the one to die. But she hadn't expected to have to live through it, either.
"Let's save all the lives we can," she interjected. "Save the scouts." It resolved the discussion, although she could tell that the Chancellor was unhappy to have been ignored and dismissed.
Not her problem, not presently. Natasha's small group of combatants continued to ascend toward the summit, drawing closer and closer to the Breach.
"I've never seen a mage fight without a barrier," Varric commented after they saved the scouts. There was a curious gleam in his eye that Natasha respected, as much as it likely spelled trouble.
"What can I say? I'm quick on my feet." She'd noticed that Solas created a shimmering shield to protect him from blows. It looked useful, although wasn't something she'd ever want to depend upon. If it failed at the wrong moment… she was hardly as hardy as Steve and would rather not be injured in a world that most likely thought the height of medicine was to bleed patients. Instead, she used the staff exactly as if it were a weapon, the magic exerting itself at random intervals. She was beginning to get a sense for it, however. It seemed to build behind her sternum before expending through her hands, and by extension, the staff.
"That you are. And such an interesting set of armour, too."
"Jealous? I'm sure I can rustle you up something similar."
"I'll pass," Varric decided.
"I, too, have never seen someone move the way you do," Solas added. "You are very… agile. The staff is your weapon as much as magic is. It is… curious. But it seems to work well for you."
Condescending prick. Natasha smiled at him. "Perhaps there's a lot that you haven't seen, then."
Before he could close down his expressions, indignation flashed across his face clear as day. But he smoothed it out and inclined his head, pretending to acknowledge her point. Varric chuckled beside her.
"Woohoo, that's fighting talk, Feisty."
Natasha winked at him. "You ain't seen nothing yet, handsome."
"Flattery, now, and you haven't even bought me a drink. Is it the chest hair? It's always the chest hair."
"I'm mostly impressed by your big… weapon."
"Enough!" Cassandra snapped. "We are nearly here. Focus."
The fight at the breach was a blur of demons and magic and the screams of the injured and dying. It was good to know that even offended, Solas was enough of a team player that he kept her under the protection of a barrier spell, even if she did not need one. Varric shot from the sidelines and Leliana seemed to be an accomplished archer, too. The demon they fought was reminiscent of Bruce at his worst, but not nearly as impervious to damage. Natasha spent a lot of time dodging the lightning whip, but with its attention focused on her, Cassandra and the other soldiers crippled it.
As it fell to its knees, Natasha dashed forward, determined to end it quickly.
"Boost me!" she cried at Cassandra, who went down to one knee with a cry of surprise, shield raised high. Springing from the elevated metal, Natasha leaped toward the demon and impaled it upon her staff, blade seeking its heart. With a final bellow, it toppled forward, and Natasha swung herself to safety and landed in a crouch.
She blew an untidy curl of hair from her eyes and straightened, staring up at the roiling Breach, unnatural in every way, painful to look at directly, the scent of sulphur stronger than ever. The pressure mounted and she raised her hand and focused on closing it, as she had closed the other rifts.
The Breach resisted, fighting her will, but she grit her teeth. Close, damn it. Close! It pulsed, once. Imploded. Then an explosion of green fractured the air and all she knew was darkness.