About You

IT HAD TAKEN THEM A WEEK TO ARRIVE. Even though Denmark and Norway were effectively under German control, aerial bombing around the port of Aarhus to cross the Skagerrak Strait delayed them three days before the sea was clear for a safe crossing with the weapons equipment. Transporting the tanks was a complicated and tedious task, but in hostile territory, they were like unstoppable iron titans.

Ophelia felt the Landkreuzer tank's treads creak under her command as the powerful vehicle moved forward with crushing slowness, crunching through rubble and debris as if they were insignificant. HYDRA had managed to design a vehicle three times the size of normal tanks; a Tiger II would be dwarfed next to it. Her hands were firm on the controls, but her heart, though accustomed to the heat of war, pounded. Each explosion caused her body to tense for a fraction of a second, while her senses remained on constant alert. It wasn't fear she felt; she had left that luxury behind years ago. Now all that remained was adrenaline and a calculated indifference, that emotional armor she had built after four years of war.

Annexation shouldn't be confused with submission.

Norway, like so many other invaded lands, was resisting. The flight of the royal family had lit the spark of insurrection, and although Nazi soldiers controlled the territory, they knew that pockets of resistance were growing in the shadows. Ofelia understood this well: every battle, every destroyed city, was just another chapter in a conflict that seemed to have no end. The question constantly on her mind was: Who would hold out longer, the Third Reich or her enemies?

They had been in armed conflict for four years, and the Allies had been on the verge of collapse if not for the American intervention. Pearl Harbor had marked a turning point, showing what a miscalculated move could cause: the Japanese rolled the dice, and all hell broke loose in Europe. Once again, the Old World was ravaged by war.

Europe had been shaped by centuries of conflicts between civilizations and empires seeking to satisfy their greed by plundering land, gold, people, and even what they believed to be a power beyond any worldly wealth, one not of this world and left behind by... extraordinary beings.

Wotan, Odin, Thor, Freyja, Balder, and Hela were names of gods. The Aesir had been the target of a secret cult that the Thule Society had pursued to model the Aryan race as an excuse, but when the Society merged with the Cathar sect, HYDRA was born under the command of Johann Schmidt, who used his new resources to pursue what until recently had been considered archaic rumors.

"What exactly are we here for?" Ophelia asked skeptically, still intent on the controls.

She had had to take control of the tank after the reckless driver was shot while leaning out. Now, at the controls, she felt the weight of the vehicle, the power in her hands... and the senseless destruction it wreaked in its wake. Tønsberg was a small city, but its resistance had proven irksome. However, for Ophelia, none of that justified such a disproportionate invasion without the permission of the chancellor's office, but Red Skull wasn't one to play by the rules.

Ophelia had noticed how he remained impassive and almost reflective the closer they got to the Norwegian coast; none of his usual anger seemed to faze him. Even now, she found herself at the bottom of the tank reading a hideous book with yellowed pages, a green-stained leather binding, and worn runes on its cover. Translated into modern German, it would read: Chronicles of the Aesir.

"I told you, we're on a hike," she replied, almost indifferent, not taking her eyes off her book as she quickly flipped through several pages, as if looking for something very specific.

"And hikes are for looking for things," Ophelia countered, unable to completely hide her curiosity. "What do these poor devils have to justify leaving their city in ruins?"

More explosions could be heard nearby; gunshots and lower screams were also muffled, but compared to the power of her cannon, they were like voices in a vacuum.

"A priceless relic." Red Skull rose from his seat and placed the book on the control panel beside him, startling his copilot, who was puzzled by the loud noise that even raised some dust.

Ophelia responded only with a sidelong glance at the now-open book, where a black and white engraving stood out amidst a frame of Scandinavian runes. The scene was imposing: Odin, with his raven on his shoulder, his pointy hat, and the spear Gungnir in hand, was handing a shiny, square object to a man with a crown. What was peculiar was that the object, clearly the center of the illustration, was colored blue. It was an ethereal, almost fluorescent blue, which seemed to emanate a glow even from the page. Beneath the illustration, in ancient, time-worn characters, it read:

"The Tesseract, key and weapon of the gods," the green-haired woman uttered in a low whisper, frowning slightly before firing at a police station blocking her path. She saw many fleeing before she opened fire, so she hoped there weren't many left. He could feel the mighty vehicle barreling through the wreckage like a beast, piercing the smoke screen as the remains were crushed by the Landkreuzer's gangs. "Do you plan to give it to the Fürher as some kind of redemptive gift to buy us time?"

"And give him a weapon of this caliber?" he replied, with obvious contempt and a bitter laugh. "No, Madame. This is not an object for redemption or sharing. It is an artifact of pure power, a fragment of the gods themselves. According to this book, Odin used it to exterminate armies of giants."

"And you think it's here?"

"Tønsberg is not what it appears today; it has been forgotten by time, but centuries ago this place was the capital of a prosperous kingdom. Chosen after the visit of the father of Asgard following a confrontation that Snorri Sturluson's chronicles only describe as devastating," Red Skull recounted with growing passion. Her voice rose with each word, her anxious eyes fixed beyond the scope, as if she could already see the Tesseract in her hands. "And according to our good friend Zemo, his research tells us that with the rise of Christianity, the Tesseract became a sacred relic that was hidden away..."

"A church," Ophelia concluded, a calculating gleam in her eyes. She received an approving glance from her Obergruppenführer, even a slight smile that tightened the edges of his skin mask. She felt a fleeting sense of pride; having his approval was both rare and dangerous.

"And sacred temples are tombs."

"Church at three o'clock, Madame," Gruber warned, so Ophelia hurriedly turned the tank around to move at full speed toward the building illuminated by the flames from the nearby buildings. Despite its armament and armor, the Tiger was slow, so she had to keep clearing the path to avoid maneuvers.

With her hands firm on the controls, she fired at two houses blocking the way. A shower of bricks and concrete rained down upon them, the thunder reverberating off the metal plates. The soldiers inside flinched, but for Ophelia, every opposition only fueled her cool focus. She'd left the luxury of fear behind, and the post-war routine shaped her tenacity. She managed to spot a man through the scope running into the church and closing it. The green-haired woman narrowed her eyes, jaw clenched, as she trained the barrel on the door.

"If they want to test us..."

"Don't waste ammunition." Schmidt's hand gripped her wrist firmly before she could fire. His sharp gaze left no room for argument. Besides, I don't want the tomb with the Tesseract damaged. If we completely destroy the structure, it'll take longer to search through the rubble, and I assume you don't intend for us to stay.

"No longer than necessary," Ophelia conceded with a grimace, as she disengaged herself to stop the tank. Holding the city any longer wasn't an option; confrontation with the SS or the German army was an eventuality she preferred to avoid.

The green-haired woman took out her belt, ready to stand up and stop the tank to leave, but the Obergruppenführer* had different plans.

"However," Schmidt let out a malicious tone, his attention focused on the building, "I think the entrance is expendable."

Ophelia gasped as the Landkreuzer moved again, so she had to grab the hatch as quickly as possible, as the floor beneath her began to shake as if in an earthquake. Schmidt had moved into the driver's seat and pushed the two levers forward. When the stone and concrete passed under the tank's barrel like paper, Ophelia was able to breathe normally again, having not even realized she had been holding her breath. Looking at the Red Skull, the man seemed satisfied with his work.

"Looks like we've touched the door," Ophelia joked as she opened the hatch and pulled one of her Lugers from the holsters hanging on her thighs.

"They didn't seem very cooperative, according to what you said," the man recalled as he pointed to the exit, indicating that she should go first.

Dust was still swirling in the air when Ophelia emerged, her trained eyes scanning the terrain. The silhouette of an elderly man removing debris caught her attention. He wore a heavy coat and had a white beard that almost covered his face. He was tall, though not as tall as them, and the fear in his movements was palpable. She managed to spot the grave with the burial lid imitating the silhouette of the deceased a few feet away, so she hurried out to secure it.

The elegant roar of the engine revealed the arrival of the Schmidt Roadster, which seemed intact even with the ash and dirt flying in the air from the destruction. Evidently, Franz Zemo wanted to keep his word so as not to mince words with his boss. Red Skull had a special affection for the luxurious car, and a single scratch on the black paint could well be a ticket to death.

Franz was also fortunate enough to be HYDRA's archaeology expert. He had acquired numerous artifacts thanks to his textbook knowledge and tricks; Ophelia had learned a couple, but he never revealed the special cards that made him a necessary individual for the organization.

"I thought it would take a while to figure out the location because of all the circling," he joked as he got out of the car, running his hands over his uniform, smoothing out any wrinkles with a sardonic smile.

"We were just clearing the way. We can't take any chances here and... leave any problematic witnesses," Ophelia recalled, already looking at the man who had retreated somewhat terrified toward the altar.

"I could have come alone, it would have been quick," he recalled as he extended his hand to help her get out of the rubble. Ophelia accepted it and pushed herself to jump down. She continued walking through the church, glancing around as more HYDRA soldiers arrived to block the entrance and prevent any escape.

Candles lent the Gothic structure a gloomy aura. Numerous rusty candlesticks were scattered throughout to ward off the darkness and provide some illumination for the exhibits, such as Teutonic helmets or the horns that had been used as goblets by the Vikings for their mead. The walls also featured carved figures with flowing, intertwined patterns and stylized animals. They featured knotwork symbols, but also abundant serpentine patterns in the frames. Elegant, elongated figures blended crosses surrounded by dragons, birds entwined with runes, and snaking snakes that seemed to move in the dim light.

"And risk missing this revelation before we freeze in the Alps?" The Red Skull's deep, stern voice made Franz stop leaning against the hood of the Schmidt Roadster. As if his back had been whipped, he stood firmly and extended both hands, palms open.

"Hail, Obergruppenführer!"

"Rest easy, Zemo. Once again, your coordinates seem to have been correct, though confirmation is still needed," Schmidt clarified through gritted teeth as he got out of the tank, leaving a subtle threat at the thought of failure as he walked toward Franz with his hands clasped behind his back. He looked him up and down with some suspicion and then at his car, confirming that it was in good condition. "I see you've taken care of it."

"Just as you ordered, sir."

"A miracle you're following orders," Ophelia noted, crossing her arms as she took a specific look at one of the murals in the mortuary chapel. Her eyes fell on the enormous relief carved directly behind the altar. The figures of the three Norns, the weavers of fate according to the Norse, emerged from the carving as if staring directly at her.

The Norns' hands, extended upward, seemed to reverently hold a suspended object that exuded disturbingly lifelike detail. It was a crown carved in the shape of a serpent biting its tail, and the intricate work on its scales seemed almost alive. Ophelia raised her hand curiously, tempted by the reliefs that promised a rough, worn texture even through the leather of her glove. Upon contact, she felt the carvings convey a sense of agitation, as if she herself had been running from something or someone.

“An ouroboros,” Zemo’s voice behind her broke the stillness, sending a chill down her spine. “They usually symbolize cycles, an eternal rebirth. Endless life and death.” His thick Sokovian accent added a deliberate nuance to his words. Ofelia glanced at him; he was only a few inches taller than her, but the black cap of his uniform made him seem more imposing.

“It looks too vivid,” she murmured, still staring at the crown. She ran her fingers over the minute scales and noticed the Norse runes that seemed to emit a faint glow, as if awakened by the dimness.

“Yes, this actually looks like 11th-century Urnes art from the location, though the style is more Jellingen,” Franz noted in surprise, his eyes caught in the glow of a new discovery. He'd even taken off his glove to follow the patterns to the engraving framed by tangled roots descending from the figures toward a larger one depicting a massive tree.

"You're saying this is at least nine hundred years old, huh?"

"Yes, at least."

"Zemo!" Schmidt's voice resonated like a sharp order, and the archaeologist rushed to his side without hesitation. Red Skull indicated the tomb with a precise gesture. "See that they move that, since you're as meticulous as I am superstitious."

"Of course, Obergruppenführer." Franz's face hardened as he turned to the soldiers who had surrounded the priest, clicking his tongue in annoyance. "Leave that old man alone, and you'll start moving that crypt without breaking it. Now, now!"

Ophelia heard the leather boots moving swiftly behind her. She glanced at Schmidt, who seemed to be growing impatient with the effort three men were putting into trying to move the heavy limestone lid, which wouldn't budge no matter how hard they tried. Franz gritted his teeth, and Ophelia could imagine how he suffered internally at the thought of fracturing a piece of history.

She smiled slyly; the Sokovian was a curious contradiction. He plundered tombs and countries in the name of protecting human history, though if she thought about it carefully, it was just the mindset of white men through the centuries.

Receiving no direct instructions, she decided to continue looking at the carvings. The carved figures and flowing patterns captivated her: among the roots descending from the Norns, small runes scattered across them caught her attention. Some were incomplete or worn, as if the stone held a secret hidden by time. She bent down, letting her fingers carefully brush away the dust and cobwebs until, in a dark corner, the rune-engraved inscription beneath the crown was revealed:

"He who takes this crown shall reign over time, but his soul shall never rest."

As Ophelia finished reading the inscription softly, the silence of the church was abruptly broken by the echo of hurried footsteps.

"No!" "You shouldn't have read that!" The old man stood up with a surprisingly agile movement for his age. His voice, thick with panic and rage, echoed through the sanctuary as he ran toward her, his brown eyes blazing with desperation. Before he could reach her, Ophelia pushed him against the wall, her gloved hands gripping the priest's worn robes tightly.

"And why not?" she challenged sharply. She had learned that everything forbidden contained power, and power was always something that could be harnessed.

The echo of his words seemed to reverberate through the walls of the chapel, causing the shadows cast by the Norn figures to lengthen and twist as if they had come from Hel itself. The old man raised his hand and with trembling fingers pointed at the engraving.

“The crown is not a gift from the gods, it is a curse from Loki himself... a trap of eternal life... a torment for those who dare to defy fate,” he continued, nervously crossing himself, almost fearing that the mere act of mentioning the god of deception would draw his wrath.

Ophelia slowly let go of him and snorted. “Myths of the gods? Is that what you fear, old man?”

“Legends are our opportunities,” Red Skull admonished from behind him earnestly, advancing toward them, so Ophelia stepped aside when she saw his enormous shadow issuing silent orders. “You did a good job. I believe you are a man of great vision, and in that respect we are similar.”

“I am very different from you,” the priest snorted disdainfully, wrinkling his nose.

Schmidt smoothed the man’s coat with false politeness, a dangerous one that made both Ophelia and Franz tense, both of them glancing at each other. There was no good in trifling with the pride of Hydra's highest authority.

"No, of course, but what others consider superstition, you and I consider science."

"What you crave is legend," the priest hissed, his eyes red with fury gleaming in the dim light. Ophelia watched the scene with a perverse curiosity, noting the man's fists clenching and unclenching in suppressed desperation, as if preparing to fight the inevitable.

She didn't stop him. Her hand rested near the whip at her waist, a gesture that seemed casual but was charged with intent. She knew that if the priest dared to attack her or the Red Skull, she would be far faster and more deadly. She wouldn't do it for pleasure, but because everything must be kept efficient. She had learned that in HYDRA, wasted time and strength were unforgivable.

"And why go to such lengths to hide it?" Schmidt questioned, pointing innocently at the tomb. The priest, stiff and silent, didn't respond. That silence said it all. Schmidt looked slightly, satisfied, as he took off his hat almost ceremonially and handed it to Ophelia. "Here."

Without a drop of sweat, Schmidt pushed on the heavy lid that three men had been unable to budge. The stone cracked as it fell with a resounding thud. Ophelia noticed Zemo's grimace as fragments of the lid rolled down to his boots. She watched him lean over and pick up a piece, carefully placing it in his coat pocket.

Ophelia rolled her eyes; sometimes she didn't understand his need to treat everything ancient as priceless jewels that could be worth thousands of Reichsmarks, when many things they found ended up as scrap. No gold, no clues to a truly ancient artifact.

When the tomb was exposed, Ophelia stepped forward to peer inside. Inside, the skeleton of a Templar Knight rested, his armor corroded by time, a rusted sword, and a square artifact in his hands. Her gaze fell on the object. I recognized it immediately from the engravings Schmidt had shown in the book. However, something was wrong. This supposed Tesseract wouldn't emit any characteristic blue glow. Its dull, grayish surface didn't inspire the sacrilegious reverence I'd expected.

Zemo gasped at the sight, surely eager to hold it in his hands. She found it dramatic, just as he knew how to be.

"The Tesseract was the treasure among all Odin's jewels," Schmidt said, as if reciting a biblical passage. Without hesitation, he took the cube from the skeleton's hands, which crumbled under his force. Schmidt held it high, as if assessing its authenticity, and then, with a deliberate motion, dropped it at Ophelia's feet, shattering into hundreds of pieces.

Zemo could only stare in amazement at the broken artifact, and Ophelia watched as his lip trembled, so she bowed, her head cooler, knowing that the Red Skull wasn't a total lunatic. He certainly had delusions of grandeur, but he was more of a strategist than a brutalist.

"It's just glass," Ophelia confirmed as she picked up one of the shards from the floor and pressed it in her hands, feeling the familiar sharp edges.

"But... It's fake," Zemo concluded after taking a deep breath, biting his cheek and closing his eyes, probably wondering where he had gone wrong. He took off his hat and ran his hands through his hair, tousling it until a few strands fell over his face, giving it a frantic look as he scanned the chapel complex. "The writings and the evidence... Everything pointed here, Obergruppenführer."

"Oh, and I'm sure you weren't mistaken in leading us, Zemo. In fact, I think he's nearby, right?" Red Skull asked the priest in an icy voice, raising one of his eyebrows, demanding an answer.

The priest gritted his teeth and said firmly, "I can't help you."

"No," they agreed on that; Ophelia could see he had damned himself when he decided to lie to them, "but maybe he can save your city. He must have friends there, or hmm... Some little grandchildren, maybe?" Her office superior glanced at her, and Ophelia climbed onto the rubble to signal the new Landkreuzer tank driver, who was quick to point a threat toward the city. "They don't have to... die."

The air was filled with a solemn silence, barely broken by the crunch of his boots on the worn wooden floor as Johann Schmidt noticed the old man's helpless eyes staring directly at the opposite wall, the very mural Ophelia had been examining.

"Yggdrasil, the Tree of Worlds," Red Skull acknowledged with a careful glance, though he skimmed past the crown carving that had captured Ophelia's attention, instead following the snakes tangled around the tree's roots. "Keeper of wisdom, and also of destiny."

Often, Ophelia wondered: How many abilities had that serum given her? Super strength, endurance, speed, heightened senses. Every part of her body demanding its full power, but did she also have a kind of telekinesis or x-ray vision? If not, then it must be true that Schmidt was being guided by some kind of divine force. Otherwise, how was it possible that he knew so many things that would never occur to her?

Red Skull let his hand hesitate in the air before touching one of the carved wooden snakes, proceeding to follow the lines forming it to its eye. He paused and looked at them knowingly for a second before pressing it, allowing a secret compartment to slide open, leaving a box in his hand.

The room gasped as a blue glow emerged from within the space once it was opened. No one disappeared, but even so, the artifact's glow seemed unnatural. Ophelia gulped, and for the first time, she thought that the myths that interested HYDRA might actually be more steeped in reality than she had believed.

"The Führer only finds trinkets in the desert," he boasted, staring at the Tesseract inside the box with fascination. His chest swelled with pride, and a subtle, satisfied smile spread across his lips before he looked smugly at the priest. "You've never seen this, have you?"

"It's not for the eyes of ordinary men," the priest spat, as if that were an insult. Ophelia laughed cynically at the man, and Schmidt allowed it.

"He's no ordinary man, old man," Ophelia assured dangerously, looking once more at the reliefs depicting the Norns wearing the crown, apparently made by the god Loki and promising eternal life. Perhaps... She didn't want to be an ordinary woman either.

"Exactly!" Red Skull closed the box with the Tesseract, turning off the glow and walking back to his car with a victorious air that made him seem invincible. "Sarkissian, give the order to open fire."

"Fire in the city, now! Code red!" he instructed Ophelia as he approached the edge of the tank so more officers could hear his instructions. The tank was the first to retreat and begin its attack, since code red was a translation of: Blow everything up.

"Fool!" the priest yelled, on the verge of despair as he understood the impending disaster. "He's not in control of the power he carries! It will burn him!"

—I've already suffered that.

Ophelia immediately spun around, her Luger pistol drawn, when she heard a shot, but it had been Schmidt who had killed the priest. Zemo flinched as blood splattered his uniform. Red stains also appeared on the silver brooch the Red Skull wore bearing the HYDRA emblem and on Ophelia's boots, who wrinkled her nose at the dirt.

"Zemo, my car keys," Schmidt ordered, and the Sokovian's hands trembled slightly before he handed them over. The HYDRA major clenched his jaw as he adjusted his mask. He turned to point at his right hand. "Madame Hydra, you'd better hurry. We have a train to catch. Zola will be eager to work with our little marvel."

"Yes, obergruppenführer Schmidt."

Zemo still stood staring at the fragments of the fake Tesseract, now red with the blood that had reached them. He looked at them with a mixture of frustration and contemplation, as if trying to find hidden meaning among the broken pieces. Finally, he sighed slowly and smiled sideways, though it was fake.

Ophelia watched him closely. She had worked with him long enough to understand that the look he tried to fake—she could see the tension in his jaw—was a sign he needed a push. Franz Zemo was useful, sure, but even more so when challenged.

"Ingenious decoy, don't you think?" she commented, approaching calmly. Her tone was casual, but every word was calculated to pull him out of the sea of ​​frustration he seemed to be sinking in.

Zemo looked up, squinting, debating whether it was worth it to respond since it was just a game to spite him. He shook his head and pursed his lips. "Ingenious, yes, but this doesn't get us any closer to the truth. You and I know that Obergruppenführer Schmidt will only use the Tesseract as a weapon... Its history, on the other hand, will be lost. Where did it come from? Who left it here?"

Ophelia placed her hands on her waist, leaning slightly toward him as she nodded toward the wall.

"And that?" she asked, referring to the mural of the Norns and the ouroboros-shaped crown. "Don't tell me there isn't something about that crown that makes you wonder what we were really chasing."

Zemo frowned, his eyes scanning the interwoven lines of the figures. Then he sighed and murmured, "It's certainly intriguing. But the answers aren't here. Details are missing, Sarkissian. Without concrete information, there's no point in further speculation; it may amount to nothing."

Ophelia seized the moment, straightening and assuming a relaxed posture, though her eyes shone with determination. "You're right, Franz. There are details missing. But you're the man to find them, aren't you? You're our expert, the scholar. If anyone can discover whether this kind of crown linked to eternal life really existed, it's you."

Zemo gave a slight cat-like smile, as cunning as the feline he was. He tilted his head, studying her with a faint flicker of suspicion. "And why are you so interested?"

Ophelia laughed softly, an almost seductive sound that carried an edge of danger. "That's of no interest to you, but you might think about what you'll get if you do me this... favor."

The archaeologist raised an eyebrow, clearly amused by her approach, but there was still a flicker of resistance in his gaze. "Suppose I investigate for you. What do I get in return?"

Ophelia's smile widened slightly, almost mockingly. They were both of the same ilk, so she knew exactly how to negotiate with someone like him, who flaunted nothing but self-interest.

"Get Zola to let you into his lab so you can play with that cosmic cube," she replied bluntly, crossing her arms as she watched the Sokovian's reaction.

Zemo blinked, surprised. Then he leaned slightly toward her, as if to reassure himself that she was serious. "You know that man hates me."

"Oh, I know," Ophelia replied with a hint of dark humor in her voice, bitter and slow to maintain anticipation, "but the Red Skull says I'm good at handling complicated things. So, if you're willing to do your part and find out more about that crown, I'll open the door for you."

Zemo shrugged with apparent indifference, though the sparkle in his eyes betrayed his interest. "Very well, Sarkissian. You have a deal. But if Zola tries to kill me, don't say I didn't warn you."

Zola and Zemo constantly sabotaged each other to compete for Red Skull's favoritism, a rivalry that Schmidt himself fueled, assuring Ophelia that it kept them going.

"It wouldn't be the first time someone wanted to do it, would it?" Any smile between them vanished, and Ophelia's tone had turned stern. "Now move it, Zemo. We have work to do."

The green-haired woman punched the blond's arm as she stepped out into the chaos of the burning city. The chaos of the burning city surrounded her, but she knew she'd planted a seed in Zemo. With him searching for answers about the crown, he'd soon have the information he needed. As always, everything was still under his control. The idea gave her a complete satisfaction she didn't usually feel much, but she liked that feeling.