It has been two days since I freed Bucky Barnes from Hydra's enslavement. During that time I had been taking it easy in order to not speed up my rate of deterioration, though I wasn't completely idle. Life within Othrys went on of course, which in turn widely affected the rest of humanity. The creation of the PDF went according to schedule, quality of life improvements were implemented across all levels of society and money kept flooding into my accounts thanks to the various projects I had running in the background.
For instance, Othrys was happy to report that the Chernobyl facilities and the surrounding areas were now deemed completely rad-free and safe for human use once more as of this week, the scrubbers Burstein had created based on Celestial DNA working marvellously.
Of course, what we didn't report was that most forms of biomass had been consumed by the scrubbers as well. Vegetation was relatively fine, as the scrubbers would be planted in irradiated soil in order to have them soak up the harmful elements, much like sunflowers could do. This would allow rad levels in much of the vegetation to drop to reasonable levels. Not safe for consumption, but walking past a grassy field or a bunch of trees would no longer shave off decades of your life expectancy.
Of course, this method didn't work to reduce the irradiation levels of the wildlife, so we … well, we fed them to the scrubbers as well. Phineas' legion of drones made the task manageable after a few months of dedicated tracking and catching. We of course euthanized the wildlife the moment they ended up in Phineas' sights, we weren't feeding the scrubbers live animals or anything.
It's not like we're Hydra after all.
Still, it made for bad PR when people see you shooting cute bunnies and swine by the hundreds, even if it's for their own good.
Humans are just squeamish like that, I suppose.
While all of this was going on, I kept an eye on both Jessica and Bucky. Jessica was well on her way to Japan, going in an almost straight line like a bloodhound fixated on the hunt. After I had been named Sorcerer Supreme (there had been some talk about ceremonies and stuff amongst the elder wizards but I had thankfully managed to dissuade most of those, except for the ones with actual mystical purpose instead of merely pomp and splendour) I had been given an overview of the Sanctum Massacre during Hell Week, which had shed further light on the Ghost Rider's current targets.
I had gathered much already from when I accidentally Mind-melded with Shuri, but those memories had been chaotic and many of them hadn't made any real sense, fractured as the young woman's mind had become after what she had willingly allowed herself to be turned into.
But I knew who to look for and I knew who I could approach to gain further information on my targets, so one of the first orders of business that I had as the new Sorcerer Supreme was instruct the Sorcerer Adequate-but-still-pretty-damned-decent was to get me all that the Sanctums had on what had happened during the Massacre in the midst of Hell Week. More specifically, to bring me anything regarding the human (or at least humanoid) attackers themselves. In order to review any sort of footage of the attack on the Masters I half-expected to be presented with a kind of Pensieve, or perhaps I would need to dissect the memories of one of the survivors or something else of equally mystical and arcane nature.
Instead, I was handed an usb-stick containing the footage from their CCTV security cams.
For a bunch of wizards with a predilection for long flowing robes, the Sorcerers were a bunch of remarkably straightforward people.
The CCTV footage had shown how the understaffed Sanctums had simultaneously been attacked, by Sowande's mercenaries in Hong Kong and Mandarin's Ten Rings in London. New York had swiftly fallen to Shuri's Ghost Rider and Dark Dimension powers with Klaue backing her up. After New York had fallen the remaining two Sanctums swiftly found themselves under attack as well.
The few remaining defenders might have been quickly overwhelmed if it weren't for the Sanctum's own defences and the sudden arrival of unexpected allies. Since the fighting in Hong Kong was spilling out into the rest of the city, it was somewhat understandable that Murakami led his ninja in a counterattack against his former colleague and subordinate. And with the last remaining factions of the Hand in one place (even though they were fighting each other), I suppose it made a certain amount of sense for Stick and what seemed to be the entirety of the Chaste to show up on the battlefield as well, complicating the battle even further until the lines between factions started to blur into one massive battle royale.
But perhaps the most surprising addition to the hodgepodge of combatants was the addition of both factions of War Dogs, led by a definitely worse for wear looking T'Challa. Despite a third of his forces being loyal to Killmonger, all Wakandans still followed the Black Panther's lead in battle without (too much) question, the appearance of literal demons pushing politics to the back of everyone's minds.
I wasn't entirely sure why he showed up at the Hong Kong Sanctum, given that his sister had attacked the one in New York and was running interference for both portals in the city, defending them from the desperate moves Earth's defenders made to close them. The last memory Shuri had had of him was a confrontation somewhere in the middle of nowhere on the African continent, but the sheer amount of pain and guilt associated with that particular event had made it near impossible for me to truly understand what had been going on at the time. After Shuri fled the confrontation, he probably had been following Sowande for a lack of better leads, I reasoned, as rumours had it that the immortal had been steadily pushed out of Africa one skirmish at a time by Erik's forces.
Kicking the ass of the bogeyman that had been terrorizing the continent for millennia was about as good PR as the Golden Leopard could hope for, which in turn facilitated easier and faster expansion of Wakanda's political weight and physical borders across the mainland.
From the moment Wakanda's elite black ops teams showed up intent on kicking ass and taking names, things had devolved into pure chaos, but it was the aftermath that I was interested in, given that it showed me who (or rather what) Jess was hunting and was waiting for her at the end of the trail she and the Ghost Rider were so fervently pursuing.
The Mandarin, having read the writing on the wall, had betrayed Sowande to the pissed off Murakami, who in turn had used the Mandarin's sole vial of Extremis to repeat what Alexandra had done over a year ago.
Except of injecting himself however, he injected his rogue colleague, turning him into Sowandragon, which he then managed to subdue using his own skills and the Mandarin's mystical aid (and now I wanted those Rings. And save Cloak too, he deserved a better partner than a man who named himself after a fruit).
Then the two just up and left, taking their forces with them, leaving Sowande's remaining mercenaries to be ripped apart by the defenders of the Sanctums, the War Dogs and the Chaste (and even by the Demons and Darkspawn if they weren't careful enough).
With three factions removed from the battlefield, things calmed down somewhat. T'Challa led the War Dogs to the New York Sanctum where they heroically fought through waves of demons to escape the overrun Sanctum, before disappearing into the general chaos of the besieged city.
I let a frown fall over my face as I stopped reviewing the footage and asked Phineas to start looking for the exiled prince's location.
As I planned to approach Erik soon, it would only be prudent to know where the man's main political rival and hated enemy was located. Additionally, having the Black Panther in New York meant that he was in close proximity to the Avengers, which might end up bad for me if he tells them his tragic past and my role in it.
No, better to nip that in the bud as soon as possible.
As Phineas chirped in the affirmative before going off to comb through every single device with communication and monitoring capabilities in New York City, I focused back on the security footage of the Sanctums.
The Chaste had stuck around a little longer before pursuing Murakami into Hong Kong, which mostly seemed to be because they were loath to give up their artefacts and because Stick was frantically tearing through the sanctum in search of Elektra. I had spotted her going through the New York portal hidden in the wake of bloodshed and chaos left behind by the rampaging Black Panther, and she too had gone to ground in the decimated city.
While the Black Sky was interesting, there currently wasn't a real need for me to pursue her. Despite being the Hand's greatest trump card for millennia, considered powerful enough to retake K'un-Lun with, I remembered her being less powerful than Jess and Luke Cage. Considering I had both their enhancements and to a greater degree as well, and it was unlikely that unlocking the secrets of the Black Sky for myself would yield any significant benefit.
My current issue was one of having too much power after all, not having too little of it.
Considering the life that Elektra had had, I saw no harm in allowing her to flee to the arms of her blind lawyer/superhero boyfriend. Should her innate bloodlust become too much for Matt to keep in check, then I could always step in before too much harm was done. If I could cure Alisa, then I could cure Elektra.
Stick would just have to do without his pseudo daughter.
He made for a shitty father-figure anyway, as Matt could attest to.
Regarding the sacred weapons of my new Order and the Chaste who were desperate to keep hold of them, that issue had resolved itself neatly without any need for interference from my part. Unfortunately for them (and luckily for me), they had only been able to wield them due to it being an emergency and only in defence of the Sanctums. They couldn't take the powerful artefacts off the premises, no matter how desperately they tried.
Due to both being ancient shadow organizations with mystical roots, the Chaste and the Masters of the Mystic Arts were very much aware of each other's existence and had on occasion cooperated (usually when the Hand was being too openly destructive, or some power-hungry idiot called upon a dark force they couldn't hope to control), but that was the full extent of their partnership.
In the end, the organizations simply focused on different things and the bitterness the Chaste felt towards the Sanctums for not wiping the Hand off the face of the Earth made sure that relations remained frosty at the best of times.
As such, their long history with the Sanctums allowed them to quickly understand that once more the Masters of the Mystic Arts would not aid them in their shadow war, and many of them threw their borrowed weapons down with expressions of bitter disappointment.
Which, as the new Sorcerer Supreme, I felt was somewhat unfair, considering we had bigger things to fry at the time (which ended up being far too literal in my case during my last loop in the Dark Dimension).
Still, this proved to be somewhat of an opportunity. Jess was already tracking down the Mandarin and Sowande, which would also bring her into conflict with Murakami who was unlikely to allow his unlimited source of immortality and possible chi enhancement to be destroyed.
The Chaste was probably already in the vicinity, perfectly placed to see the effects of the Sanctums coming under new management first hand. Destroying the last of the Fingers should buy me a lot of goodwill with the faction, which in turn might net me a teacher in the myriad of uses of Chi. The Masters of the Mystic Arts had a few tomes on the subject, but their expertise in the matter was hardly on the same level as those who know the teachings of K'un-Lun.
Maybe they could tell me how to make sure my Chi enhancements travelled with me into my new body?
The primary reason of my interest in Jess' final targets however was because I had faced Alexandragon in the past. I was a lot stronger now than I was then, but even though I had won that fight, it had certainly been a tough one, especially since I was still adjusting to my latest power-up at the time.
Jess wasn't as strong as me, not even as the Ghost Rider, and she wouldn't be facing just a single dragon, but the Ring wielding Mandarin as well. Murakami has had unlimited access to a limitless supply of chi-infused material for over two weeks now, so there's no telling how much stronger he's gotten, but the fact that he and the Mandarin took down Sowande in the first place showed that any addition to his base level of power was just bad news all around.
And that's not even touching on the army of mooks that they have.
Even though Jess had Susan backing her up, there's no chance in Hell I'm letting her fight that fight alone.
Having seen all that I needed to see in order to examine Jess' coming opponents, I shut off the security footage and instead focus back on the screen next to it, incidentally also from a security camera. This one is in a bar, roughly a block away from Avengers Tower, and sitting at the far end of the counter, dressing in a hoodie and wearing a baseball cap on his head (because of course) sits James Buchanan "Bucky" Barnes, quietly nursing his drink.
Even though I had walked out on him before he could begin venting on the Hydra scientists back at the Ideal Federal Savings Bank in Washington, I hadn't let the supersoldier out of my sight.
Or rather, Phineas' sight.
As I had expected, the man had almost immediately tried to find his way back to Steve. Being in Washington, I was only mildly surprised when the man ended up at the Captain America Exhibit in the Smithsonian. After all, since his emergence from the ice in 2011, around two years ago now, the already existing Captain America paraphernalia and tourist traps received a boggling boost in popularity and so it was rather easy for the brainwashed soldier to stumble across a myriad of advertisements with his best friend's face plastered all over it.
Seeing him stand in front of the stage where the uniforms of Cap and the Howling Commandos were proudly displayed, gazing with a completely lost look in his eye at his own outfit put on a pedestal would've been heartbreaking if I weren't such a bastard.
Still, I couldn't help but feel sorry for the guy, especially considering I wasn't done with him yet.
Bucky had remained in the Exhibit for most of the night, until the night shift was about to be relieved by the first morning shift. Then, with something that could almost be seen as petulance or rebellion, Bucky hopped over the thick rope cordoning off Steve's old bike, jumped in the seat and tore out of the museum before the sleepy guards even fully realized what had happened.
After a quick stop for fuel (the old machine had only been filled up enough to drive it into the museum and up on its stage after all), Bucky tore across the country, expertly keeping to in-roads and occasionally even completely off-road as well. He even managed to slip from Phineas' expansive surveillance, which is impressive for a 90 year old man just a day out of the ice.
He had arrived in New York at nightfall, stashing the recognizable bike in some unused shack way out in the suburbs and making his way to the city centre on foot. After trudging along for a few hours, the old soldier finally managed to make his way to the new residence of his brother in all but blood… and stood on the opposite side of the street, apparently struck by indecision.
I couldn't get a good camera angle on his face (done intentionally, I suspect) but the man seemed pained. It was clear, even without a facial expression to read or a mind to touch upon, that the soldier yearned to run inside, to embrace his battle brother, to tell him, tell the world that he still lived, that he was free.
Another, evidently larger, part of him had clearly pointed out why this was a supremely bad idea.
Steve would accept him, there was no doubt in both Bucky and my mind about this. It was a fact, or a law of nature, immutable and absolute: Steve would always have Bucky's back, no matter what.
The problem wasn't Steve: it was the people around Steve.
Even if the Avengers would sympathize with his tragic past for Steve's sake, they didn't share their brotherly bond and couldn't, wouldn't overlook his sins like the good Captain would. Thor perhaps could come closest to understanding the relationship between Steve and Bucky and its difficulties, but even he acknowledged that Loki should receive punishment for his crimes.
Aiding against the demon invasion had bought Loki a lot of goodwill with the Government, but he was still in a secure SHIELD facility and (with the Sanctums having revealed themselves to the world) under some mystical bonds as well.
Incidentally this had made his imprisonment actually more comfortable, the greater effectiveness of the Ancient One's binding and monitoring spells allowing for several of the more paranoid containment features to be dismissed.
Speaking of the Government, there was their reaction to Bucky's re-emergence to consider, not to mention that of the general public.
Taking all his assassinations into account, Bucky would receive the death penalty a dozen times over, extenuating circumstances or no.
Hell, this was the guy who shot John F. Kennedy for crying out loud!
No, as much as Bucky wanted to stand beside his brother once more, there was no denying the impossibility of it, both due to practical reasons and Bucky's own shame at his actions.
So, after staring morosely for several long hours, the supersoldier regretfully turned away and started walking again, somehow finding himself in this bar, where he had remained nearly motionless for the rest of the night.
He was isolated, as I had planned for him to be: he couldn't approach Steve, but he also couldn't hunt down the remains of Hydra. After all, he killed Pierce after I egged him on, and I had removed all Hydra-related knowledge from the scientists' minds before I woke him up, leaving him with nothing to go on, no matter how much he tortured them.
Oh, between his skills and the various devices and rapports strewn about his hibernation chamber there was very little doubt in my mind that he would eventually be able to track down at least a couple of Hydra agents, but nowhere near enough to satisfy his need for Vengeance.
At this point, there's only one person he could talk to: me.
Opening a portal to a back-alley, my appearance magically disguised (regular human dimensions, faded jeans and a hoodie and of course a baseball cap), I quickly make my way inside the dimly lit bar. Without hesitation, I walk up and take a seat next to Bucky, who immediately tenses though he's careful not to react further or look me in the eye.
"Who are you?" he mutters lowly enough that only I can hear him.
His voice is soft, but rough with disuse and would've been lost in the din of the filled pub if it weren't for my enhanced hearing.
"I'm a man with a solution to your problem." I reply easily, my body language completely relaxed.
"What problem?" he mutters back warily and I can see him slip his organic hand into the deep pocket of his jacket, his metallic one (concealed by a glove) remaining on the table, though he inches it slightly in my direction.
The movement of his organic arm is almost amateurishly obvious, which means he wanted me to see it. He probably did it to draw my focus away of the seemingly innocent arm in front of me, not knowing that I was already aware of the fact that that was his most dangerous weapon. On a regular spook it might have worked, their focus glued to a weapon that wasn't there until something they dismissed as harmless suddenly lashes out, grabs their head with metallic fingers and artificially generated force, and slams it through the counter top.
Brutal and effective, if somewhat lost on beings of my calibre.
"Come now!" I laugh, intentionally leaning forwards so my head is hovering closer to his metallic arm, my savage grin and challenging look showing him that I know exactly what I'm putting myself in range of.
The act seems to disturb him somewhat.
"Chasing receipts and misfiled mission reports is slow going, we both know that and we also both know that in this particular case, it's unlikely to be truly helpful in the long run. No, you need a little more oomph to your methods, some aid of the… mystical variety."
I can see that he's both creeped out as well as interested, his frustration with the difficulty of getting his hands on the bastards who turned him into what he is clearly getting to him. It doesn't take too long for interest to overcome apprehension as he leans somewhat closer to me, his eyes intent and his voice low.
"Who. Are. You?"
My smile widens, and my eyes light up in an ember glow which takes him aback at first, before I see recognition bloom in his mind.
"Tell me, Sergeant Barnes… have you ever heard of the Ghost Rider?"
It took a surprisingly short amount of time for me to explain the origins of the Ghost Rider to the man (considering they were somewhat of a mess in the comics and I hadn't really kept up with the Agents of SHIELD show back in my home universe, there was some guesswork involved), his time with the Howling Commandos and as the Winter Soldier allowing him to easily accept the concept of different dimensions and vengeful spirits.
Interestingly enough, it actually took me more time to convince him to stay put. Bucky wasn't pleased when I couldn't give him an exact date on when I could hand the Spirit over to him. I explained that the current Ghost Rider was on an important mission, hunting down those responsible for Hell Week (something he had learned about through simple osmosis while hanging out in New York, the traumatic event still fresh for most people) and that only after said mission had been finished would the Spirit agree to another host.
While annoyed at first, he had calmed down when I explained why I was just as anxious as he was to get the damned thing out of its current host, but he still was convinced that he shouldn't be sitting still in the meantime.
He wanted to do something and if it wasn't hunting down Nazi criminals, then just regular criminals would do.
With Frank Castle having been immediately drafted for the PDF after his combat prowess during Hell Week was noticed and kicked up the chain before he could've been picked up by Rawlins and Schoonover for Operation Cerberus somewhere during next year, it was unlikely that he would end up becoming the Punisher in this timeline.
Which, incidentally, did a lot of good for my piece of mind.
On the other hand, that was largely negated by the thought of a supersoldier Frank Castle.
Either way, having (inadvertently) stopped the birth of the Punisher, I wasn't keen on creating a replacement for the role. Of course, Bucky was going to run out of Hydra goons to kill at some point, given how harried the organization had become after Carter cleaning house and the Hand's revenge assassinations, so it was very likely he would end up going after general scumbags eventually.
But I hardly had the time or patient to be bothered with the shit storm that would result if he went on such a crusade now.
In the end, I settled on having him move into Othrys. Not only would it be easier to keep an eye on him (and on his mind), but I could also outfit him with advanced weaponry and maybe a few upgrades to his arm and motorcycle.
After getting the old thing from the shack he stashed it in, I portalled us to Othrys, and practically (though not literally) threw him at the group of misfits who happened to be hanging around in my courtyard, which incidentally consisted of Rocket (and therefore, Groot as well), Peter, Bill and Daisy.
"Hey guys, Bucky is gonna stay at Othrys for a while. Phineas, show him his room and make sure to send him to Melvin and Elliot at some points to pick up his gear. Guys, make sure he feels welcome, yeah? Ok, bye, gotta go!"
I stepped away through another portal, but just before it slammed shut, I could hear Rocket's voice pipe up over the stunned silence and Peter and Daisy's impression of a gaping fish as they stared at the 90 year old WWII veteran.
"So… how much for the arm?"
"… not for sale?" was the hesitant response.
"sigh… no, the proper the response is: You can't have it, 'cause I'm attached to it! HA! Get it?! Get it?! Attached!"
"…"
"I… am Groot."
"No, Groot it is fine, there is no reason for you to apologize for your friend. Despite my nature as a cyborg myself, I did not find the comment offensive."
"Pff! You guys are just no fun. And what's the matter with the humies, their brains fried or something? Hey! Peter! Hey Peter! Say 'Supercalifragilisticexpialidocious if you object to me looting everything in your room… I hear no complaint! Groot, come on, we're off!"
"I am… Groot?"
"Yes, perhaps allowing Miss Lewis to be in charge of our 'Earth culture and media integration course' was indeed somewhat of a mistake after all. She certainly has a way of… influencing our young friend."
Shaking my head, I allow the portal to fully close, thankfully cutting me off from whatever further insanity the residents of my fortress plan to get up to.
I had more important matters to attend to: Phineas had just pinged a location for me.
My next destination wasn't that far away, to be honest. I could've just as easily flown there, but I enjoyed the stealth simply portalling around gave me. I arrived in a back alley several miles away from Othrys behind a seemingly abandoned warehouse.
I say seemingly, because, despite the boarded up windows, graffiti covering the walls and the obvious grime and wear that accumulated after years of neglect, there were still half a dozen minds shining brightly to my senses scattered across all four floors.
Activating the camo cloak that Sterns had made and which had served us so well on Sakaar, as well as throwing up a spell in order to muffle any sound, I silently flew up to the fourth floor, where a solitary mind was steadily pacing up and down.
The mind was stronger in a sense, and slightly, if noticeably different from the others in the building, as if touched by Vorlons.
While I couldn't fase through walls in my physical body (I'd probably need the Reality Stone for that) I can very easily break one of the large windows that lined one of the walls, the spells I had put in place making sure the shattering of the clear silicate remained absolutely silent.
Still invisible, I flitted through the newly created opening horizontally and feet first (as weird as it looked, this was the only way I could fit through it without inadvertently taking some of the brick-work with me as well), before swiftly straightening and flying to the opposing corner of the room.
The lone human had just reached the end of his little pacing-circle, and it was only moments after I had settled into my new hiding place that he turned around and spotted the broken glass. He immediately fell into a low combat stance, his eyes peeled as he very carefully started making his way towards the windows, prepared and on the lookout for anything.
Well, almost everything, I supposed as I slowly hovered forwards until I was a few feet behind him, the human still unaware of my presence.
Until of course, after checking the glass shards for a minute or so, he straightened and turned around, suddenly coming face to chest with my decloaked form.
Admittedly, his reflexes were superb, far above the human norm. Almost immediately he had jumped high, legs pulled in to deliver a monumental mule-kick straight to my chest, which would incidentally create more room between the two of us.
Even with my insane durability, since even though he couldn't move me, he would simply end up using my broad chest as a springboard, launching him several meters away.
All in all, a perfectly good reaction when one finds themselves taken by surprise.
It simply wasn't good enough.
The moment he's suspended in mid-air, preparing to kick out at me, my telekinesis clamps down on him. He still shoots out his legs but a simple twist of my torso makes it so his feet miss by inches. As they are dragged downwards by gravity, I yank on his torso, which comes flying towards me just as I turn back in again, my right hand shooting out and slapping over his mouth as he comes to a sudden halt.
Well, I aimed for his mouth, but considering the size of my hand, the entire lower half of his face ends up engulfed in unbreakable flesh.
As his wide eyes flit up to meet my own, his arms pinned at his side by an unseen force, his legs kicking uselessly at the air several feet above the dirtied floorboards, I allow my own eyes to burn with an intense glow, before bringing up a finger against my own lips and giving him a conspiratory wink.
T'Challa, son of T'Chaka can do nothing but stare back in impotent fury.
It takes almost twenty minutes before the exiled prince calms down. Those twenty minutes are filled with muffled screaming against the hand covering his face as he tries to either call for reinforcements or hurl every insult known to man at my face.
It's probably both.
As I'm currently in no real rush (it will take at least two more days before Jess reaches Murakami's stronghold in Japan if she keeps up this pace and that's assuming she won't stop for rest somewhere along the way) I simply stare back at him with a bored expression in the face of his sheer rage.
Yes, with my body steadily dying, I'm on a clock here, but there's little I can do about it before things on Earth here have wrapped themselves up and I at least have enough time left that a couple of days won't really matter.
When I go to visit the Dwarves, I want to be prepared. They strike me as a very no-nonsense people and I want to convince them to agree to my requests on my first try, instead of being told to come back later while they contact Odin for advice on how to deal with the insane(ly powerful) Terran in behind my back.
That means tying up as many loose ends as possible before I leave and as has been repeatedly shown, my ill-fated journey into Wakanda has produced a lot of loose ends, the effects of which I'm still feeling to this day (just take Hell Week for example).
With Erik sitting on the world's largest deposit of what will eventually form my new and improved body, now more than ever was it necessary that I dealt with this whole mess once and for all. The last time I left the planet, I had come back to a demonic invasion, courtesy of one half of the Royal Children of T'Chaka.
No way in Hell was I going to risk coming back from Nidavellir to see the other sibling had somehow managed to monumentally screw me over as well, one way or the other. Yes, he was an exiled prince of a nation that wasn't exactly popular with most global powers (their millennium long deception and its current nationalistic and expansionist policies under Erik causing many to regard the African nation with suspicion and apprehension), but that didn't mean he was completely bereft of options or connections.
Should he be able to convince the Avengers to break their treaty with me and lead them in a charge against me… well, I was fairly certain I could win, but the cost would be appalling. Not only was such a battle likely to destroy much of New York and therefore cost me a lot of goodwill with politicians and the general public alike, it would also require me to push myself to my limits.
Something that's currently medically inadvisable for me to do, on the grounds of me not wanting to go 'splat!' all over the place.
As Burstein discussed my medical records with my Think Tank, they had eventually come to the conclusion that I currently contained so much raw energy in my body, my death would likely result in an explosion with the force of a small nuke.
And that was a best case scenario. It was equally likely that, since I already had trickles of Light Dimension Energy leaking into me even at resting state, my death would end up forming a tear in the fabric of reality, allowing the Light Dimension to spill over into this one.
Nobody wanted to find out what the results of that would be, least of all me, so a fight on the scale that a confrontation with the Avengers would entail was straight out.
Which brought me back to the prince currently in my grasp, who had given up on screaming muffled profanity at me (or so much screaming had simply caused him to lose his voice entirely instead) and had instead resorted to ineffectually railing against my telekinetic hold on his torso and arms as he tried to reach for his pocket.
His mind revealed that he was trying to go for his phone, which also had a panic-button function and briefly I felt darkly amused at the image of the proud Black Panther essentially blowing a rape whistle as I maintained my hold on him.
All in all, he should be thankful I was restraining him with telekinesis instead of something physical: with how much he was trying to trash around and how strong he was, in any other case he'd probably have torn several muscle groups right now.
As it was, my telekinetic hold meant that my mental vice was flexible enough to give way in places so that he couldn't really move, but also not push himself so much that he'd hurt himself.
Just past the twenty minute mark, it seemed to dawn on him that even the strength granted to him by the Heart-shaped Herb would be insufficient to break free, and he slumped as I held him aloft. A quick peek in my mind confirmed that the fight had left the exhausted Prince (a deeper peek showed me that he had been running on fumes for months now) and so I set him back down on his feet again.
"T'Challa. We need to talk. In order to do so, I will remove my hand and I trust you not to call out to your allies. You have experienced my stealth capabilities first hand now. You must recognize then that, if I had wanted you dead, you would be before you even had a chance to realize it. Therefore, I hope you'll believe me when I say that I didn't come here today in order to annihilate you or your people. I also hope that you realize that I you do end up calling out to them, I can and I shall."
For a moment, he remained completely still, his eyes locked with mine, before he slowly nodded. Or tried to, anyways, my hand on his face made that somewhat awkward. I removed my hand, but unknown to him extended my telekinesis until it was just barely touching his skin. The moment neurons fire in his brain and his muscles tense in order to call out anyways, I'll be able to slam his jaw shut before the electrical impulses have even reached the relevant muscle groups.
Of course, such speed and force are likely to result in him turning his own teeth into powder or reducing his tongue to giblets, but that's hardly my fault: I warned him once already.
Fortunately for him, the Black Panther seems to have realized the truth in my words, as other than letting out a deep sigh, he refrains from making any further noise, causing me to nod in approval.
"What is it that you wished to discuss?" T'Challa asks, his voice low but the venom is unmistakable.
Even though he's willing to play ball for now (more for his people's sake than his own survival), that doesn't mean his hatred of me is in any way diminished. Much of the pain and anguish he has experienced for the last few years are a direct result of my actions after all.
"I would know your business in my city. Why are you here? Who have you contacted and who do you wish to contact?" I rumble lowly, pitching my voice so it won't be picked up on by the people below us, T'Challa having been the only one on the uppermost floor when I breached the building.
The Black Panther scowls at me, before crossing his (far thinner than usual, I notice) arms over his chest, his shoulder slumping somewhat.
"I came here through the New York Sanctum during Hell Week, trying to find my sister. I had seen her several months before in the jungles of Eritrea, but… I lost her. Without any other means, I tracked the vile Sowande all the way to Hong Kong, where he attacked the Sanctums as his allies did the same with the ones in London and New York. It was only then that I realized his group had split up and I had been following the wrong faction. Since the Mandarin had attacked London, that meant that Shuri was here in New York, so as soon as I could, I came here through a portal." The prince is halting as he talks, reluctant to reveal anything to me, but finding no real way to refuse my request, my threat to his people still clear in his mind.
However, when he comes to his arrival in New York, he falls silent, a heavy depression settling over his thoughts like a dark cloud.
"You realized just what your sister had become." I voice aloud as I see the directions his thoughts go into.
For a moment, the Black Panther remains standing absolutely motionless, before he gives a small nod, not looking at me (or anything at all really, staring blankly ahead as his mind is miles away).
"It took me a while. To realize what had happened. Shuri didn't drop her Ghost Rider form until her confrontation with you, and I only found out about that after I got my hands on the debriefings of the surviving soldiers in that area. They didn't identify her, of course, all they reported was 'a dark skinned woman with clear mutations'."
The prince scoffs darkly as he shakes his head, still not really looking at me, before continuing in a soft, broken voice.
"I knew. The moment I read that description, I knew. My sister… responsible for so much pain… so much death…"
He trails off, before his eyes track towards mine, finally refocusing again even as anger quickly rises within them.
"Because of you. Because she wanted to hurt you."
I give a considering nod, which takes him off guard and his surprise saps some of his anger.
"True enough. Shuri's goal was to destroy me, but she chose her method all by herself. She chose to unleash those demons upon the innocents of New York. I wasn't even on the planet when she did so. I have had a hand in what Shuri eventually became, undoubtedly, but I hardly think it's fair to imply that the deaths of Hell Week are on my head as well."
"Fair?! You dare to look me in the eye and speak of fair?!" T'Challa almost roars before he catches himself, turning his words in a furious hiss as he bares his teeth.
The air starts shimmering around us as the temperature sky rockets.
"Careful, T'Challa. I came here seeking peaceful resolution. Do not make me consider violence as a more… expedient method." I rumble as the Black Panther has little choice but take a few steps away from me, before I allow myself to cool down again.
There's a moment of silence between us, before I surprise myself by speaking up, trying to break the awkwardness between us.
"I will not apologize for my actions. No excuse will amend what I did to you and your family, and while I have several, out of respect for your pain, I shall not voice them. Know that I hold no ill intent to you or your people. My clash with your mother and sister was a result of Ramonda's fierce love of her daughter and my own mental instability. I do not seek the destruction of Wakanda or its people, and I swear I do not seek to torment you, though finding out the fate of your sister and the end results of my clash with her must certainly feel that way. Know that while I will not apologize for my actions, I do regret them, and looking at all the pain and suffering they have caused, I wish things could have done differently."
I hesitate for a moment, before walking up and laying a massive hand on his shoulder.
"I know this will mean very little to you, but I am sorry, T'Challa. Truly."
Fun Fact: Supercalifragilisticexpialidocious is a compound word, and said by Richard Lederer in his book Crazy English to be made up of these words: super- "above", cali- "beauty", fragilistic- "delicate", expiali- "to atone", and -docious "educable", with all of these parts combined meaning "Atoning for educability through delicate beauty."
AN: So, super rushed end of the chapter. I originally wanted to complete Michael's confrontation with T'Challa completely in this chapter and maybe even incorporate Cho and Hall's arrival at Othrys and Michael's negotiations with Killmonger. I had already resigned myself to needing to have the confrontation with the remnants of the Hand and the reunion of with Jessica be it's own chapter before even thinking of leaving Earth behind. Still, with the library closed and with me swamped with work, this'll just have to do. I've seen a recent trend in stories where the OP post shorter chapters but with far more frequency, so I'm trying that out instead of keeping this hostage until it's three times as long. I may keep this or go back to my usual updating speed, who knows. I do plan to give more attention to Green Lantern's Blight and Verily, A New Hope, which further fuelled my decisions as I don't know when I'll return to this particular story.
Anywhoo, thank you all for reading and I hoped you enjoyed this little morsel for now.
As always, I want to thank all of my patrons. I cannot thank you enough for your aid, I truly appreciate every single one of you: IronmanMarkIV, Shaman95, justlovereadin, Daniel Dorfman, Luis Zepeda, DoctorTortoise, DavidJ, CJ Elsen, Carn Krauss, ReaperScythe, RC Oprea, Devon, Kyle Reese, Josh Tucker, RLStrained, Vu, Roman Krupkin, thanks to all of you :) Make sure to contact me through my page or through PM's if you have any further questions or suggestions, Cheers!