Chapter 19:

[Wanda Maximoff POV]

[1 day later, SHIELD HQ, New York City]

[Mission-room.] Spartan and I have been on edge ever since we stumble upon the gruesome scene, the stench of death lingering in the air like a haunting specter. Hastily, we make our way back to the headquarters, where Cap and the rest of the team await our report. With heavy hearts, we relay the harrowing details, the gravity of the situation weighing heavily upon us. A rogue SUPER is on the loose, a dangerous individual who has callously taken the lives of two innocent people. The thought of such malevolence prowling unchecked through the city sends shivers down our spines. Cap's reaction is swift and decisive, a testament to his leadership in times of crisis. Concern is etched into his features as he wastes no time in issuing orders to ensure the safety of the team. No one is to confront this sinister adversary alone; the risk is simply too great. Partnerships are mandated for all operations until further notice, a precautionary measure to bolster our defenses against the unknown threat that lurks in the shadows.

Meanwhile, Karai, our resident tech expert, delves into the digital realm with fervor, her nimble fingers dancing across the holographic interface of the computer. The soft glow of the screen illuminates her determined expression as she sifts through mountains of data in search of clues. It's a race against time, each passing second bringing us closer to unraveling the mystery behind the killings. Then, like a beacon cutting through the darkness, Karai's voice rings out, breaking the tense silence that has enveloped the room. With a triumphant sparkle in her eyes, she announces her discovery—a lead that could potentially crack the case wide open. On the display, an image materializes, depicting a man whose features are etched with a sense of foreboding familiarity. Jericho Orton, the latest victim, appears before us, his existence shrouded in deception. But Karai's investigation doesn't end there. With determination fueling her efforts, she delves deeper, uncovering a vital piece of the puzzle that has eluded us thus far: Excalibur, the name of a nightclub/bar the latest victim used to frequently visit. It's a thread worth pursuing.

[Excalibur, New York City]

The two of us set foot in the club, drawing a few curious glances from the eclectic mix of patrons. The atmosphere of Excalibur envelops us, a blend of dim lighting and pulsating music that sets the stage for the night's adventures. As we navigate through the crowd, the diverse array of individuals catches our attention—a melting pot of personalities seeking solace or excitement within the confines of these walls. Approaching the bar, we take note of the bartender, a seasoned professional who exudes an air of effortless charm. Excalibur is the type of place where people come for drinks or seek companionship for the evening, and the bartender embodies the spirit of hospitality with practiced ease. With a friendly smile, she greets us, ready to take our order and perhaps engage in some casual banter. However, our attention is soon diverted by a sudden commotion nearby. A man, visibly agitated, tugs at the bartender's arm with an urgency that doesn't escape our notice. It's clear they share a history, the tension palpable as they engage in a hushed conversation. Despite their attempts to keep their voices low, the intensity of their exchange makes it easy for us to overhear snippets of their dialogue.

As the exchange unfolds, it becomes apparent that the man, identified as Jace, is pleading with the bartender, Angelica, to reconsider her choices. He speaks of a mysterious organization named Yevon, promising a better life and a brighter future. Angelica, however, remains steadfast in her convictions, dismissing Jace's appeals with skepticism. Their interaction offers us a glimpse into the complexities and the struggles faced by individuals navigating their own paths in life. It's a reminder that amidst the chaos of the world, personal dramas continue to unfold, each person grappling with their own hopes, fears, and desires. Eventually, Jace takes his leave, leaving Angelica to apologize for the interruption. We assure her that it's no trouble. As the conversation shifts, we steer it towards our purpose for being there, seeking information about Jericho Orton. Angelica proves to be a valuable source of information, confirming Orton's status as a regular patron of the club. With a nod of gratitude, we inquire about speaking to Ms. Bayek, the woman who runs Excalibur. Angelica gestures towards the back of the club, pointing us in the direction of our next lead.

[Back-room.] Ms. Bayek's piercing gaze follows our every move as we approach, her scrutiny evident in the subtle shift of her posture. As we draw nearer, it becomes apparent that she possesses a commanding presence, her biracial heritage reflected in the graceful fusion of African and Latina/Hispanic features. There's an aura of authority about her, a silent declaration that this establishment is her domain, and any who dare to challenge it do so at their own peril. At her side stands a formidable figure, a large, muscular man draped in a finely tailored suit. His protective stance speaks volumes about his loyalty to Bayek, yet she gestures for him to stand down with a single, reassuring touch upon his shoulder. It's a testament to her leadership and the ability to command respect without the need for overt displays of force. As our conversation unfolds, Bayek's demeanor remains composed, her arms folded across her chest in a display of guarded skepticism. She wastes no time in getting to the heart of the matter, her businesslike tone betraying a sense of urgency tempered by a hint of weariness. It's clear that she's accustomed to navigating the murky waters of the underworld. Upon learning of Jericho's fate, Bayek's facade momentarily crumbles, revealing a raw vulnerability beneath the facade of strength. Her self-directed anger simmers beneath the surface, a silent lament for not having done more to protect her friend. It's a moment of unguarded honesty, a glimpse into the inner turmoil that plagues even the most formidable of individuals. Spartan and I exchange a glance, silently acknowledging the complexity of the situation before us. Bayek's willingness to assist us despite her own personal anguish speaks volumes about her character and her resolve unyielding in the face of tragedy. We are grateful for her cooperation and understanding of the gravity of the task that lies ahead. While the conversation progresses, Bayek reveals the troubling truth about Jericho's involvement with a shadowy organization known as Yevon.

[Spartan POV]

[The Church of Yevon, New York City]

It takes nearly 30 minutes of navigating the bustling streets of Brooklyn to reach the location pinpointed by our lead—the only solid lead we have in our pursuit of the truth. Wanda and I stand before what appears to be a recently constructed edifice of worship, its sleek facade adorned with neon highlights and imposing double glass doors. The building exudes an aura of modernity, yet there's an underlying sense of mystery that piques our curiosity. Yevon—a name I've heard mentioned only in passing, a shadowy organization that operates beneath the surface of everyday life. On the exterior, they present themselves as a typical New Age Religion, promising enlightenment and spiritual fulfillment. However, the intricacies of Yevon's inner workings remain shrouded in secrecy, known only to those who have been initiated into their ranks. As we approach the imposing entrance, a figure clad in pristine white robes emerges to greet us, his demeanor exuding an air of zealous fervor. His words echo the familiar refrain of Yevon's doctrine—promises of self-discovery, a better life, and a brighter future. Wanda and I exchange wary glances, sensing an underlying agenda beneath the man's charismatic facade. Unfortunately, our silence is mistaken for interest, and the man launches into an emotional spiel, extolling the virtues of Yevon and its teachings. His enthusiasm is palpable, but it only serves to deepen our skepticism.

With a raised eyebrow, I challenge him to reveal the supposed secrets of a fulfilling life, fully expecting a cryptic response in return. "Following the path of Yevon," he declares with unwavering conviction, his words ringing hollow in the face of our skepticism. Despite his attempts to coax us into attending a seminar, we remain steadfast in our refusal, wary of falling prey to the allure of false promises and empty rhetoric. Once the man has departed, Wanda and I exchange knowing glances, our suspicions confirmed by the encounter. "Definitely drank the Kool-Aid," I quip, a wry smile tugging at the corners of my lips. Wanda nods in agreement, her expression mirroring my own sentiments. It's clear that our investigation into Yevon's activities has only just begun, and navigating the treacherous waters of deception and manipulation will require all of our wit.

[Lobby.] In contrast to the cacophony and frenetic energy that pervades the bustling streets outside, the lobby of Yevon presents a stark juxtaposition—serene, tranquil, and almost eerily subdued. As we step inside, the ambient music wafting through the air is a harmonious blend of soothing melodies reminiscent of a day spa and the ethereal hum of a planetarium sky show. It's an immersive experience designed to lull visitors into a state of profound relaxation while encouraging them to reach for the metaphorical stars. Yevon members drift about the lobby, their expressions suffused with an unmistakable sense of contentment and inner peace. There's an air of camaraderie among them, as if they share a collective bond forged through shared beliefs and experiences. The sweeping architecture, with its clean lines and muted colors, further enhances the tranquil ambiance, enveloping visitors in a cocoon of calm as soon as they step foot inside. Despite the facade of serenity, however, my instincts urge caution, a nagging sense of unease that refuses to be ignored. It's as if a silent warning echoes in the recesses of my mind, reminding me to keep my guard up even in this seemingly idyllic setting. With a subtle nod to Wanda, we exchange a knowing glance, silently acknowledging the need for vigilance as we embark on our exploration of the facility.

Moving through the lobby, we take in our surroundings with a discerning eye, noting the subtle nuances of the decor and the careful attention to detail evident in every aspect of the design. No expense has been spared in creating an environment that is both aesthetically pleasing and conducive to the cultivation of a sense of inner peace. As we delve deeper into the facility, we remain mindful of the need to tread carefully, aware that appearances can often be deceiving. Behind the facade of tranquility lies a labyrinth of secrets and hidden agendas. With each step we take, we edge closer to unraveling the mysteries of Yevon, determined to uncover the truth lurking beneath the veneer of serenity.

[Inner-sanctum.] Down the hall, beyond the serene facade of Yevon's lobby, lies a foreboding sight—a large metal door flanked by two imposing figures, their stoic expressions betraying the seriousness of their duty. "Since when does a house of worship employ armed security?" I whisper to Wanda, my voice tinged with disbelief at the unexpected sight. With practiced precision, I activate my stealth-camo and move swiftly toward the guards, their attention momentarily diverted. In a swift maneuver, I incapacitate them both, ensuring they pose no further threat to our progress. With the path now clear, I turn my attention to the control panel, swiftly bypassing its security measures with the skill of a seasoned hacker. The heavy door grinds open to reveal a freight elevator. Drawing my pistol, I step inside; Wanda closes behind as we prepare to descend into the depths of the unknown. The elevator begins its descent. With each passing floor, the atmosphere shifts, the soothing ambiance of Yevon's public face giving way to something altogether more sinister lurking within the shadows. Gone are the soft strains of music and the comforting embrace of muted colors, replaced by something more sinister within its shadows.

[Wanda Maximoff POV]

[Lower-level.] Trekking forward with cautious steps, our senses heightened and eyes keen for any sign of danger, Spartan takes the lead, his pistol at the ready, scanning the surroundings with precision. Thus far, the path ahead appears clear, but we remain vigilant as we navigate the labyrinthine depths of Yevon's cellar. Suddenly, the sound of approaching footsteps catches our attention, prompting Spartan to swiftly press me against the cold stone wall, his body shielding me from view. The sudden proximity sends a flush of warmth to my cheeks, a reaction to the unexpected intimacy of the moment. As the Yevon acolytes pass by, cloaked in their distinctive robes and masks, we hold our breath, silently praying that our presence remains undetected. With bated breath, we follow in their wake, sticking to the concealing embrace of the shadows as we venture further into the depths of the unknown. Our hearts pound in rhythm with the echo of our footsteps. Emerging into a vast open space within the cellar, we find ourselves standing on the threshold of what can only be described as a temple—a sacred sanctum shrouded in an aura of mysticism and ancient power. Strange markings adorn the walls, their intricate designs hinting at a history steeped in esoteric knowledge and forbidden secrets. Our attention is drawn to a figure cloaked in a black-and-red robe, his presence commanding as he steps into a pavilion flanked by the silent figures of the Yevon acolytes. With a commanding voice, he addresses the assembled crowd in a language that is unfamiliar to our ears, defying the capabilities of even our advanced HUD translator to decipher its meaning. A sense of dread washes over me, chilling me to the bone as I realize the gravity of the situation unfolding before us. In the eerie silence that follows, the weight of the unknown hangs heavy in the air, casting a pall of uncertainty over our surroundings. With each passing moment, the sense of impending danger grows stronger.

Suddenly, as if responding to some unseen command, the intricate markings adorning the pavilion flare to life, bathed in an ominous hue of dark violet. A crackling energy fills the air, and before our eyes, a portal materializes, its swirling vortex a gateway to realms unknown. With a deafening roar, a monstrous creature bursts forth from the depths of the portal, its hulking form towering over us with an intimidating presence. Unfazed by the sudden appearance of the creature, the man in the black-and-red robe remains eerily composed, his voice resonating with an air of authority as he addresses us directly. His words send a shiver down my spine, a cold realization dawning upon me that we are facing an adversary unlike any we've encountered before. In response to the man's challenge, Spartan and I step forward, ready to confront whatever dangers lie ahead. With his pistol trained on the looming threat, Spartan stands as a stalwart guardian by my side while I channel the raw power coursing through my veins, preparing to unleash it against our foes. The man's laughter cuts through the tense silence, his words dripping with contempt as he addresses me by name—a name I have not revealed to him. My mind races with questions, but before I can voice them, he introduces himself as DeGuzman, a name that holds no significance to me, yet one that seems to carry weight in the depths of my subconscious.

As DeGuzman speaks of the Darkhold and its knowledge of my past, present, and future, a sense of unease settles over me, a nagging fear that I am but a pawn in a much larger game—a game whose rules I have yet to fully comprehend. Despite the uncertainty that clouds my mind, I stand firm, refusing to yield to the threats of our adversaries. With a command to his monstrous ally, DeGuzman orders the creature to capture me, dead or alive. In response, the creature lunges forward, its primal instincts driving it towards us with a ferocity that sends a chill down my spine. Yet, even in the face of imminent danger, Spartan and I stand our ground.

[Spartan POV]

As the monstrous abomination hurtles towards us with unrelenting ferocity, I unleash a barrage of gunfire upon it, only to find my bullets repelled by its formidable armored shell. With a primal roar, it descends upon me, its razor-sharp claws tearing into my flesh as I struggle to hold it at bay, the weight of its monstrous form bearing down upon me with crushing force. With a surge of adrenaline, I manage to drive my pistol into its chest, unleashing a hail of bullets that tear through its flesh, eliciting a howl of pain from the creature. It staggers back a few steps.

Eyes blazing hot rage, the monster raises a fist and swings a sharp punch. Acting fast, Wanda conjures an energy barrier, but the blow still sends her flying across the cavern and leaving her unconscious against the unforgiving stone wall. The creature, undeterred by her temporary incapacitation, advances upon her with murderous intent, its eyes ablaze with a primal hunger for bloodshed. Seizing the opportunity to strike, I launch myself into the fray, leaping onto the creature's back and driving my knife deep into the gap in its armored shell. Black blood spurts forth from the wound, but the creature's thrashing only serves to dislodge me from my precarious perch. Reaching over, it grapples hold of me and flings me away. I recover just in time to jump-roll out of the way of a large boulder hurling right toward me. Two more flies in my direction. I zig-zag side to side, dodging the onslaught. The last boulder manages to tag me, hitting me hard.

Mounting on top of me, the Eldritch rains down fist after fist onto my face and body. Blood expectorates from my mouth and other parts of my body I didn't know I could bleed from. As the creature prepares to deliver the final blow, I manage to evade its attack, narrowly escaping the crushing force of its fists. I retaliate with a flurry of blows. The creature shrugs off my attacks with ease and delivers punishing blows that leave me reeling. But just as all hope seems lost, Wanda rises to her feet, her body enveloped in a dazzling aura of celestial energy. The creature's attention shifts towards Wanda, its malevolent gaze fixed upon her with a hunger that cannot be quenched. With a single word, Wanda unleashes a devastating barrage of energy blasts that reduce the creature to nothing more than a smoldering heap of flesh and bone. The dust settles, and the adrenaline begins to fade; Wanda collapses to her knees, exhaustion etched into every line of her face. The blaze of energy in her eyes starts to dissipate, leaving behind a sense of profound weariness. With a heavy sigh, she blinks as if awakening from a dream. Before I slip into unconsciousness, I quickly scan the area for DeGuzman, but the man is nowhere in sight. He must've escaped during the battle.

[Karai POV]

[AVENGERS HQ, New York City]

[Room.] I sit in front of my workstation, running a quick system diagnostic to ensure EYPYON runs smoothly with the new upgrades. Everything's all green. After a moment, I realized Spartan and Wanda hadn't checked in yet. Multiple red flags go off in my head. I know Spartan better than anyone; the guy's insanely punctual. 'Something's up.' Turning around, I interface with the holo-computer, pinpointing Spartan and Wanda's current location. The two icon markers abruptly vanish somewhere within Brooklyn. Panic seizes my chest as I realize they're not where they're supposed to be. What could have possibly diverted them from their mission? Acting fast, I patch into Spartan's visor HUD feed. On the main monitor, I watch as Spartan and Wanda enter a building of worship. The overhead sign reads 'the house of Yevon.' The feed cuts off abruptly when they enter the building. My heart races as I realize something is jamming the signal. With adrenaline coursing through my veins, I push away from the workstation and dash out the door, my mind racing with a thousand possibilities. I call the team via comlink, urgency lacing my voice as I alert them to the situation. Spartan and Wanda are in trouble.

[Steve Rogers POV]

[The Church Yevon, New York City]

Following Spartan's and Wanda's GPS signals, Natasha pilots the quinjet to the location, her jaw clenched with determination. Once on-site, Karai wasted no time and burst into the Yevon building, her steps purposeful and resolute. A few security staff try to deter her, but she pushes past them with minimal physical force, her focus unwavering as she searches for her best friend and partner. Watching Karai's unwavering determination, a small pang of envy flares within me. In her single-minded pursuit, she embodies a relentless dedication to her comrades—a trait I can't help but admire. Yet, her fervor also serves as a stark reminder of my own shortcomings. In some ways, Karai's quest mirrors my own past failures, particularly my inability to save Bucky from the clutches of HYDRA. The memory of his suffering weighs heavily on my conscience, a constant reminder of my perceived inadequacy. Though Bucky may still be alive, the scars of his past run deep, leaving an indelible mark on his soul.

Despite my lingering guilt and self-doubt, I know that Wanda and Spartan's safety is my primary concern now. Pushing aside my inner turmoil, I focus on the task at hand, determined to do whatever it takes to ensure their well-being. It doesn't take long to find the back elevator, hidden away in a shadowy corner of the building. With a determined glint in her eye, Karai sets to work hacking the command terminal, her fingers flying across the keyboard with practiced precision. As the lift descends to the lower level, I steel myself for whatever dangers may lie ahead, knowing that the true test of our strength and resilience is yet to come.

[Lower-level.] With me on point, the team and I follow the path, our footsteps echoing in the dimly lit corridor. "Spartan! Wanda!" I call out, my voice reverberating off the walls. In the distance, we hear the faint echoes of someone answering the call, their response guiding us onward. "Up ahead on your north!" the voice calls out, a beacon of hope in the darkness. Without hesitation, we dash toward the source of the voice, our hearts pounding with a mixture of fear and urgency. Rounding the corner, the sight that greets us is enough to stop us dead in our tracks. Spartan and Wanda lie before us, their forms battered and bruised, a stark contrast to their usual strong and resilient selves. "Oh, god," Karai whispers, her voice barely above a whisper as she rushes to their side. The rest of the team gathers around them, a mixture of shock and concern etched on their faces. I quickly spring into action, pulling out my commlink to call for emergency medical assistance. Within moments, the paramedic team arrives, their trained hands moving swiftly to assess the extent of Spartan's injuries and stabilize him for transport. With practiced efficiency, they secure him onto a stretcher and prepare him for immediate extraction.

[AVENGERS HQ, New York City]

[Med-bay.]

The room is completely silent, the weight of the recent events hanging heavily in the air like a suffocating blanket. No one dares to break the silence, each lost in their own thoughts and emotions. Karai, usually so confident and composed, now stands with her eyes fixed on the ground, her hands fidgeting nervously at her sides, her shoulders slumped in defeat. I can empathize with her turmoil, understanding all too well the feeling of helplessness that comes with witnessing the suffering of those we care about. A quick glance around the room confirms that I'm not alone in my sentiments. Clint, ever the steadfast friend, places a comforting hand on Wanda's shoulder, offering a silent gesture of support as she struggles to contain the overwhelming flood of emotions threatening to consume her. Despite his efforts, I can see the pain etched in Wanda's features as her powers pick up on the thoughts and emotions of those around her, dragging her deeper into the maelstrom of despair.

Meanwhile, Tony pulls me aside, his expression grave as he shows me a tablet displaying readings that are as perplexing as they are concerning. "What am I looking at?" I inquire, furrowing my brow as I study the unfamiliar data on the screen. "I don't know. That's the problem. I've never seen this type of energy," Tony whispers conspiratorially, "In fact, Wanda is emitting small traces of it." A chill runs down my spine at his words, the implications of his discovery sinking in. "Leave it alone for now. We'll get answers soon enough," I reply with a heavy sigh, knowing that dwelling on the unknown will only serve to distract us from the task at hand.

Finally, after what feels like an eternity, Dr. Cho emerges from behind the double doors, her presence a welcome relief in the tense atmosphere of the room. Karai is the first to spring to her feet, her voice trembling with anxiety as she demands, "What's the status?" The doctor offers a reassuring smile, her eyes crinkling at the corners with genuine warmth as she delivers the long-awaited news. "Stable. Spartan's enhanced regeneration was overloaded, causing a negation for a short period. But he'll make a full recovery," she announces, her words like a balm to our frayed nerves. A collective sigh of relief sweeps through the room at the doctor's words, the tension easing ever so slightly as hope begins to blossom once more. "Can we see him?" Wanda asks, her voice tinged with a mixture of anticipation and apprehension. Dr. Cho nods, her smile widening as she replies, "Yes, you may."

[Mission-room.] Once Spartan has fully recuperated, both he and Wanda take turns recounting the harrowing events that unfolded during the mission. Their narrative is nothing short of astonishing, each detail more fantastical than the last. As they speak, the rest of the team hangs on their every word, captivated by the tale of cults, dark magic, interdimensional portals, and otherworldly demons. It's a lot to process, but no one interrupts or questions the validity of their account; the gravity of their words hangs heavy in the air, leaving little room for doubt or skepticism. When Spartan pulls up footage captured by his HUD, the team's attention shifts to Wanda as they watch her confront and ultimately vanquish the eldritch monster with a display of raw, untamed power. The intensity of her abilities is both awe-inspiring and unnerving, leaving everyone in the room speechless. Wanda's expression mirrors their shock and disbelief, her features a mask of confusion as she grapples with the realization of what she's capable of. The footage serves as undeniable proof of her extraordinary abilities, painting a picture of a young woman transformed into something altogether more formidable and enigmatic. Clint, Karai, Spartan, and I exchange a silent glance, our thoughts aligning as we contemplate the implications of Wanda's newfound powers. It's not the first time we've witnessed her abilities firsthand, but this revelation casts her in a different light, raising questions about the true extent of her potential and the source of her extraordinary gifts. The mention of DeGuzman's derogatory label only serves to deepen the mystery surrounding Wanda's true nature, leaving us with more questions than answers as we grapple with the implications of her newfound abilities.