Damages
Xandar
Nova Headquarters
“They’re quite good,” the Nova Prime commented as she and Clint watched the group’s progress. They’d doubled back to deal with the ambush he’d warned them of in record time. Now they were moving forwards again. Their progress, now lacking the carefree abandon of their earlier charge, was still quite fast.
“Yeah,” Clint grunted. For some reason he was having trouble admitting it. He wasn’t sure why. Perhaps he was just annoyed because he’d been left behind. He wanted to believe that; it would have been an honorable reason to be upset as he watched them crash through their obstacles. Yet he was a far too self-conscious person to be certain of it.
“Those suits are impressive,” she added admiringly.
“I was surprised that you didn’t have anything like them yourselves,” Clint replied, trying to cover the sudden resentment her observation had sparked.
“We have synthetic weaves that will stiffen on impact, spreading the force of the contact out; I believe Mr. Quill is using such armor. But we don’t have anything like that.”
“So that’s why he didn’t take a suit,” Clint said.
“Perhaps,” she replied. “Perhaps that was a mistake,” she added as the space rogue took a blast that sent him flying into the wall. Clint glanced a confused look her way. Why would anyone use antiquated technology when they could use high tech? It was like expecting a modern-day soldier to use twelfth century full plate.
She shrugged. “Your armors might not be quite as advanced but they clearly offer certain advantages to your fighters. How are they powered?”
Clint hesitated a moment before saying “Something called an arc reactor. It’s got a palladium ring that somehow creates a plasma. That’s all I know.”
She nodded. “I am aware of this generator design. I’ve never heard of a culture discovering it so early in their development.”
“Oh?” he asked. It came out as more of a grunt than anything.
“Most cultures don’t discover sustainable plasma reactor technology until after they’ve discovered faster than light travel,” she explained as they continued watching the screen. Staying ahead of the group’s progress was getting a little difficult. “Many of those only acquired it from the other races they met out here,” she continued. “I suppose at that point we all focused more on upgrading our ships than our troops. It’s quite an ingenious use of the technology actually,” she added admiringly.
“Not what you were expecting?” Clint asked.
It was her turn to cast a confused look. “In what way?” she asked.
“Well, you said it was ironic that you were getting help from Earth,” Clint replied, glad to be off of the topic of Tony Stark’s brilliance.
“I’m afraid you misunderstood,” she replied coolly. “I did not find the idea of receiving help from Earthlings to be ironic; I found it ironic that you came all the way here to protect an infinity stone from Thanos when you had the last two on your own planet.”
Clint shrugged. “Yeah, in hindsight we probably shouldn’t have brought Vision,” he conceded. “But . . . wait, did you say the last two?” he asked as her words sunk home.
She nodded. “After your earlier request I’ve had several scholars scouring historical records for any information relating to the stones. Just before Thanos attacked they’d uncovered that the Time Stone had been entrusted to a human sorcerer on Earth millennia ago.”
Clint swallowed reflexively as the implications of that statement sprinted through his head. Besides being where he kept all his cool stuff, Earth was where his family was currently in residence. “Does, uh, does Thanos know this?” he asked.
“I believe so,” she said grimly. “We know he’s had agents on Earth for some time. It seems unlikely that they haven’t located it. What surprises me is that he didn’t start with acquiring it.”
“Uh, Stark said they had to be installed in the appropriate order,” he explained. “The time stone is supposed to be next to last.”
She nodded again. “I’m aware of this,” she said. “But the time stone is not like the power stone. It does not need to be slotted immediately. It could have been held indefinitely without issue. Yet he’s saved it for last.”
“Is it that powerful?” Clint asked.
“In the hands of the right mage,” she replied. “Thanos is most likely the most powerful creature in this galaxy, but he is not infallible. He could win a million fights for every fight he lost. But, with the time stone, he could be forced to fight those battles over and over until he lost.”
“Perhaps he doesn’t know it’s there after all,” Clint replied hopefully.
She gave a half shrug. “It is possible,” she admitted “but I think it unlikely.”
“Why?” he asked.
“Because of you,” she replied. “Your group has done what none but Odin have accomplished in centuries.”
“You mean when we kicked his ass?” Clint replied bitterly. He still had nightmares about how Loki had manipulated him.
“Yes,” she replied. “Thanos is a being consumed with the need, not just power or control, but for domination.”
“You’re saying he needs us to know he’s coming so he can prove it won’t make any difference?” Clint asked. She nodded. “That’s insane,” he replied.
“Perhaps,” she replied noncommittally, turning back to the screen. “But I hope you don’t mind if I say I hope it doesn’t come to that.”
Clint didn’t respond, instead choosing to return his attention to the screen as well. It showed his friends quickly approaching their last hurdle to the power stone. As with many of the previous rooms the enemy seemed to have prepared for them. But this one wasn’t filled solely with fodder. “I hope so too,” he agreed quietly.
>>
Xandar
Vaults
Tony, Quill, and Cap flew just ahead of the group as they entered the last room on the path to the vault proper. In their running fight a few of them had managed to figure out the flight controls. It hadn’t surprised Tony when Steve happened to be among them. The one that did surprise him was Nebula, but he had a suspicion that her augment had allowed her to connect directly to the suit’s operating system.
The team charged into the room like a stampede of rhinoceros. Clint had warned them ahead of time what was coming. They knew this room would be different from those prior, but couldn’t really believe it. They were all riding a wave of victory. It was hard to truly accept that anything could stop them. Even Tony and Rhodes found themselves becoming optimistic about their chances. Perhaps that had been part of their opponents plans.
It became clear very quickly that those generals had been following their blitz through the maze. Indeed, they had probably deliberately allowed those previous groups to be mowed under like blades of grass simply so they could see what they were up against, and plan their defense accordingly.
As they entered Corvus’s Glaive fell from the left side of the entrance, like an executioner’s axe. Steve barely managed to raise the vibranium shield affixed to his suit’s left arm. His eyes widened in shock as the glaive sliced through the hastily erected defense. It barely offered enough resistance to deflect the blow from the rest of his body. He’d heard Gamora explain that the glaive could cut through anything, but he’d just assumed she’d meant ‘anything but vibranium’.
Tony would have helped, but he had troubles of his own. At his appearance Proxima Midnight hurled her spear at him. He veered right, only to watch it adjust course to match. “Great, a Patriot Spear,” he grumbled. He’d already seen what a mere scratch from that thing had done to a far tougher being than he. It was possible the armor would hold up against it. Gamora hadn’t said it could cut through any substance. Then again, it was a collapsed star, so he wasn’t keen to test that hypothesis. Instead he rolled right half a second prior to impact. The spear didn’t have enough time to reacquire him before it overshot.
About that point, War Machine blasted into the room. Seeing Corvus nearly take Steve’s arm off gave him his first target. He hit the smug bastard with a concussion pulse that stunned him just long enough for Rhodes to relieve him of the offending weapon. He blasted away and hurled it at Supergiant. Before it could finish its flight, the wayward glaive disappeared from the air, reappearing back in Corvus’s hand. He raised the glaive again, only to be shot in the face by a series of plasma shots from Quill.
Realizing his momentum had carried him too far to be effective in that fight, Rhodes decided to join Falcon for a series of strafing runs over the large cavern. They did a great deal to disrupt enemy movements, but that was it. Thanos’s children were all quite tough. Killing any one of them on a single strafing run was unlikely, though they did disable a few. Not that it seemed to affect their morale at all.
By that point the rest of the group had charged into the room. Corvus found himself facing a team up of Quill, Cap, Bucky, and Panther. Between the four of them he found very few opportunities to attack with his glaive. At one point that mini battle devolved into a demented version of monkey in the middle, as they each took turns swiping his weapon, only to have it teleport back to its owner. But, often, that very act consumed enough of his attention for them to get a good hit or two through his defenses.
Gamora and Nebula cut their way through the lesser minions to confront Proxima Midnight directly. Widow joined with Deadpool and Warmachine in their wholesale slaughter of the hundred or so lower level minions in the room. Antman and Drax squared off against Black Dwarf, a fight that took on all the aspects of an old Ultraman episode once Scott enlarged himself.
Wanda hovered near the ceiling, weaving spells of interference. She caused no real damage on her own, but she regularly stopped killing blows, jumbled enemy coordination, and forced openings that allies could exploit.
She was so far above the combat most didn’t notice her; the few shots she did take did minor damage to her armor, which was becoming something of a mixed blessing; it protected her, and allowed her to fly without having to focus, but something about wearing it was making spellcasting more difficult. She was having to concentrate far more than normal for each spell. Not only was that increasing her casting time, but it was limiting the number of spells she could maintain at one time. And to top that off, the Black Order seemed more resistant, requiring even more concentration.
As she grappled with that, Friday was informing Tony that the spear had reacquired its target and was closing again. He glanced over his shoulder to see it speeding towards him and cursed. A spear that could home on a target was bad enough. One that could fly faster than it was thrown was obviously cheating.
In a perfect world he’d have let it track him right back to the source, but it didn’t look as if he had enough time to get there. Likewise, was he too far away from the other generals to be able to sub one of those targets.
He dove down towards the ground, the spear in hot pursuit. Just before it could catch him, he twisted past a random minion, grabbed it with his left arm, pivoted around, and threw it at the spear.
His eyes widened in surprise as the spear cut straight threw his impromptu shield and kept coming. He was barely able to dodge to the side before it struck his previous (barely) position, bouncing off of the ground and circling to make another stab at him. He glanced around, looking for a tougher target; Supergiant was the closest of the generals. Unfortunately, the spear was between them.
“Chicken it is,” Tony muttered, thrusting into the air directly at the spear. Again, he managed to roll to the side just prior to impact, but this time the spear took a couple of flight control surfaces off the back of the armor as it passed. For half a second Tony’s flight could best be described as wallowing. Friday quickly corrected for the loss of maneuverability, and he charged directly at Supergiant at full speed.
Supergiant had no difficulty recognizing his intentions, and even less interest in complying. She’d been attempting to establish a psychic link to one of their adversaries since they’d appeared, but it seemed that the electromagnetic fields generated by their powered suits were shielding them. She’d just about settled on Quill when Thor charged into the room. And then here came one of them with Proxima’s spear charging behind it. She knew exactly what to do about that.
She focused on Thor, taking complete control of his mind. She would have preferred to spend some time feasting upon his intellect, but that would just have to wait for later. Instead she called upon his much-vaunted power of lightning to attack his allies. She smiled sadistically as Thor’s bolt of lightning impacted Tony’s suit, sending him spiraling out of control to the ground. There was nothing she loved more than turning friends upon each other. Often in such situations she’d even let the one she’d controlled go, just to see how they’d despair at the carnage they’d wrought. Then she’d eat their minds.
She continued firing bolts of electricity at others of their enemies to varied results. One bolt, targeted at Black Panther sent him flying, an absence that allowed Corvus to regain the upper hand in his fight with the quartet. He took full advantage, swinging his glaive to connect with Bucky’s suit. The sergeant instinctively raised his artificial limb to block the blow, only to have it severed just behind the wrist, right through the suit.
She fired another at Warmachine, but the heavier suit seemed to simply absorb the energy. Other than a momentary loss of control there was no sign the suit had even been damaged.
“Someone want to get a handle on short circuit, over there?” Rhodes asked sounding mildly irritated.
She loosed another at Nebula, but she and Gamora managed to somehow maneuver Proxima into the line of fire at that very moment. Proxima screamed in pain and anger. The spear seemed completely unaffected.
She considered launching another at Antman, but it didn’t appear that Black Dwarf needed the help. Antman had grown larger than him, which also made him quite a bit stronger, but he was also far squishier than his nearly invulnerable opponent. He also seemed to be having coordination difficulties; difficulties that were not helped by Drax’s attempts to intervene. So instead she turned her attention back to Quill.
Nothing happened. No matter how hard she tried she could not make Thor fire anymore shots. She was mildly disappointed; she’d watched from a distance as he’d used far more lighting than this on Asgard whilst battling his sister. It was like getting that toy you’d always wanted only to have it break in the first five minutes of playing with it. She set about relieving that frustration by having him attack the only other Asgardian she could see. Brunnhilde gave ground quickly, hoping to buy time.
During this electric onslaught Tony was tumbling to the ground. Through sheer luck the out of control state resulting from that blast had again forced the spear to overshoot him. It curved around as he rolled to hand and knee and checked his power levels; they were showing the same overcharge as the last time he’d sparred with the Asgardian prince. Before he’d become a cyclops of course.
“What a strange sensation,” Friday commented. Tony ignored her, instead looking up to locate Supergiant. He focused the entire overage into his repulsors and blasted her into the wall on the far side of the room. As she slammed into the wall Thor regained control of himself momentarily, just long enough for his face to gain a look of horror at what he’d been doing. Then she reasserted her will, making him continue his assault.
Tony had barely finished firing his super blast when he remembered the spear and launched himself into the air. The spear flew directly under him, again curving to chase.
“This is getting ridiculous,” he complained, thrusting away from it. In retrospect it occurred to him that blasting Supergiant to the other side of the cavern had probably not been the most tactically apt move he could have made. It would have been better to direct the spear into her instead.
Now she was definitely too far away; he couldn’t keep counting on dodging the Patriot Spear as he made his way over to her. He did need to get it off of his tail, preferably without the added state of getting impaled being applied. He arced further left just in time to see Black Dwarf throw the larger Antman to the ground. He straddled the rogue’s chest and raised both hands over his head, combining them into one giant fist to finish Scott off. That, plus his incredible toughness, made him an ideal target in Tony’s mind. The fact that he was the closest of all of the generals was just sealant on the paintjob.
“Could someone please deal with the caped one,” he called out, letting his irritation seep into his voice, as he curved towards the far more achievable target. He pushed his thrusters to one hundred and thirty percent of rated maximum to try and deliver the projectile before Lang’s head was turned into cantaloupe, but it still didn’t look like he’d make it.
Fortunately, Scott managed to regain enough of his wit to shrink himself just before that flesh hammer could connect. Instead of cracking his head like an egg the merged fists smashed an oddly shaped crater into the ground.
Black Dwarf gained a rather confused look as he attempted to ascertain what had happened to his plaything. Then he spotted the smaller version just below his chest. It was just climbing back to its feet. He grinned anticipatorily and made ready another sledgehammer.
Before that one could land Scott re-enlarged, mid uppercut, knocking his would-be executioner back on his ass. But the strain of having done so took its toll on his mental processes. He’d never before managed to re-enlarge. The tax of doing it once was bad enough. He’d barely managed to remain conscious this time, and in truth, it was a pretty fuzzy definition of consciousness that applied to his current state. He staggered around, unsure of where he was or what he was doing. It was as if he’d downed a bottle of scotch in record time.
“Shit!” Tony cursed as Scott stumbled between him and his target. He peeled left as hard as he could and glanced over his right shoulder to check on the spear. There was no way it would miss Scott. He twisted around, mid-flight, and hit the massive pseudo-Avenger directly in the helmet with overloaded repulsor blasts. The impact was barely enough to throw Scott off balance. He stumbled to the right, falling below the spear’s trajectory, somehow having the presence of mind to deactivate his suit. Or it could have simply been an accident. With that particular brand of chaos, one could never be sure.
Tony thrusted into the spear’s arc and accelerated towards the front of the room where Corvus Glaive was embattled with roughly 4 and a quarter suited figures. Of the five of them, Bucky had definitely taken the worst of the exchange. Aside from the scratches and dents all their suits were sporting, there was a suit gauntlet and partial forearm -filled with his shiny new metal arm- were lying on the floor some distance from the battle. That said, he was still in the fight, doing what he could.
Steve’s armor didn’t look much better. Aside from having managed to wreck both shields in record time, it had deeply etched grooves cut into it. Some of them seemed so deep it was a shock to Tony that Rogers hadn’t been injured. He was also surprised the suit was still functioning.
At his split-second appraisal Friday displayed a schematic of the eBay: slightly used, suit; a cursory glance made it clear that it had been forced to reroute power for several primary systems. The suit’s repulsors were down, as well as the hand laser. Steve had adapted by getting within Corvus’s guard, a move that would have been utter suicide without the others to keep the maniac busy.
In fact, the only person in their party that appeared untouched was Quill. He hovered over the melee like an Apache helicopter, raining fire on all targets of opportunity. Most of his fire was directed at Corvus, but he’d been interposing his intervention throughout the battlefield. Several burn marks adorned his leather appearing armor, indicating that he’d taken several hits, but his armor had successfully shrugged them off.
T'Challa was looking a little worse for wear as well. He had several cuts in his invulnerable armor, and his helmet had been shattered. It didn’t seem to have affected his performance that much though. Adrenalin was a wonderful thing.
Next down the totally messed up column was definitely Glaive. He was showing significant wear all over his body, but seemed totally unaffected by it. Tony readjusted his course towards the glaive wielder and accelerated. One quick glance backwards was all the encouragement he needed to push his thrusters a little faster. The timing was going to be critical.
He barreled into Corvus’s upper body, knocking him off balance. Before Corvus could regain his footing, Bucky and Cap cooperated in kicking one out from under him. Tony used the momentum of his impact to twist, throwing Corvus directly between him and the spear just before impact.
“NO!” Proxima screeched as the spear hammered Corvus’s body into the wall, pinning him there. A moment later that same blackness began to eat him from the impact point out. The last thing to go was his head. Despite the pain involved he never cried out, or writhed around. Instead he simply fixed Tony with a red glare that promised worse than death.
There was little time for celebration as, at that point, Thor had finally gotten through Brunnhilde’s guard. His hammer strike sent her flying into a nearby wall with such force that her body formed its own niche in the strata.
Tony watched as Thor advanced on her unconscious form in fury. That ire wasn’t directed at Thor, whom he knew he’d have to fight once again, but at the monster controlling him. And perhaps a bit at himself for having passed up an opportunity to end this puppet play. He pointed a finger to where Black Dwarf was righting himself from Scott’s uppercut without looking. “Deal with that,” he bit out. “I’ll handle Thor,” he added before blasting to intercept the wayward Asgardian king.
Cap glanced after him for a moment as if wanting to say something. He didn’t like the idea of Tony fighting Thor solo, but the engineer had managed to hold his own against the deity before. He’d just have to hope he could again.
He turned his attention back in the area Tony had indicated. Drax was there, doing everything he could to protect the unconscious form of Lang. He was holding his own for the moment, but that condition would alter violently when Black Dwarf got back to his feet.
“You ever jousted before?” Cap asked Bucky, picking up Corvus’s oversized glaive.
“You know I haven’t,” Bucky replied, sounding amused by the concept. He lifted his right arm to accept the glaive. He inserted it under his left arm pit, wrapping the remainder of his suit’s forearm around the haft to stabilize it. He blasted off, using the one palm repulsor to keep himself aloft. It was by no means a straight trajectory, but that had the addition benefit of making him harder to hit.
“Go help your girlfriend,” Cap continued to Quill as he fought off a few lesser children. They’d keyed on Panther’s injured state. Many of the cuts in his suit had begun to bleed red blood. He was doing what he could, but his mobility had been severely hampered.
Quill shot a disbelieving look at Cap. “Who made you boss?” he demanded as he continued firing. He was forced to admit, even if only to himself, that he’d been considering just that course of action. But he found the audacity that this guy thought he could order him around galling. He wasn’t a member of his team. He didn’t owe him any allegiance, and he certainly wasn’t bound to his whims.
Steve glanced an exasperated look at Quill, a look blocked by his suit’s helmet. A dozen possible responses made their way to Steve’s tongue before his brain vetoed them. Asking if the space rogue had a better plan, or pointing out that there simply wasn’t time to have this argument were amongst those. But such statements would have only served to cause the argument they didn’t have time for.
On top of that Steve was aware that, no matter how correct his course of action might have been, he had no authority over Quill. And he’d clearly not agreed to take his directions. Making it sound as if he was allowing Quill to help his significant other only made it worse.
“I’m sorry,” Steve said in a clipped voice. “I think you should help Gamora and Nebula.”
Quill’s eyes widened in surprise at the apologetic reversal. It had been the last thing he’d expected. He expected, perhaps even wanted, to have an argument about who would be this conglomerate group’s official leader. And apparently, he’d been perfectly happy to have that argument right on the battlefield, which suggested some not so pleasant things about him, if he was to be honest.
But just because the guy could apologize didn’t mean he knew what he was doing. There was still that other option Quill had been contemplating. “What about Drax and your guy?” Quill asked just as Bucky reached Black Dwarf.
At the last moment Bucky gripped the haft of the glaive with his armored glove, just in front of where the remains of his left arm were holding it. The sudden drop in counterthrust from the palm repulsor had the added benefit of dropping him below Dwarf’s defensive backhand and right into his side. Despite the added grip he still slid down the overlarge haft. Even so, the blade bit deep. Dwarf roared with the pain of the strike, and the anger at actually having been injured.
“I’ll take care of that,” Steve said, before turning to T’Challa. As far as he was concerned this discussion was over, and it had already taken far longer than it should have. He’d hoped to be helping Bucky by this point; as it was, he figured he still had one more argument to get through. Whatever Quill did was up to him.
There was a brief pause, as if Quill had wanted to say something, but stopped himself. Then he blasted towards the battling trio. Steve turned to T’Challa. “King,” he said formally “your help here has been invaluable, but I think it best if you make your way back to the lifts.” The statement was respectful, cordial, and correct. Even so T’Challa’s eyes flared back at him in denial.
But that denial was left unspoken. The anger quickly vanished. He glanced away from Rogers towards the center of the battle, looking for some argument against that course. But there was none. He was injured. His suit was damaged. They’d have had to assign a bodyguard to him, and that was a fighter they simply didn’t have. They’d inflicted casualties true. But they’d taken them as well. And those that were still operational were far from a hundred percent.
T’Challa looked back to Steve. “I will help Mr. Lang reach safety,” he declared.
“Right,” Steve said, accepting that compromise gratefully. “Sam,” he called, activating his comm “need a special delivery, priority: rush.”
“Roger that,” Falcon replied. “There in thirty seconds or your money back,” he added as he swooped down on the unconscious form. Drax saw him coming. The blue berserker grabbed Lang by the back of his suit with one hand and chucked him in the air, whilst fending off two assailants with the other. Then he went to help Bucky with Dwarf.
Falcon intercepted Lang with a muffled curse. He knew Drax had been trying to help, but the barbarian clearly hadn’t considered that Sam would have trouble connecting a buddy strap to an unconscious person midair. No doubt Drax could have held Lang with one hand to accomplish that task, but Falcon was not a supped-up alien. Nor was he wearing strength increasing armor; he’d opted to stick with what he knew instead of trying to become proficient with an entirely different weapon system in a day.
It would have been a simple matter for him to land and cocoon Lang with his wings while he hooked him up. As it was Sam was forced to give up on the buddy strap completely, instead simply holding on to Lang as best he could as he blasted for the entrance. That limited his acceleration which, in turn, made them easy targets.
He made it all of four meters before a blast impacted the underside of his right wing. The blast was jarring enough to make him lose his hold on Lang and send him into a corkscrew. Fortunately, Wanda was able to catch Lang and maneuver him over to the King. But that left Falcon on his own.
He cocooned himself just before slamming into a knot of enemy soldiers. The impact merely knocked them down, and cushioned his impact. The grenades he left when he blasted back into the air did far more.
Wanda deposited Lang next to T’Challa. By that point Lang was semi-conscious, so Panther righted him, slinging one arm over his shoulders for support.
“What’s up, Doc?” Lang slurred.
“It is time for us to go,” T’Challa explained, already moving them towards the exit. Fortunately, Lang’s feat instinctively moved to keep up.
“Right,” Lang replied. “I was having the weirdest dream,” he added as the crossed the threshold.
“Parker,” Steve called over the comms again.
“Yes, Captain Rogers?” Parker replied immediately, in a less than certain voice.
“We’ve got an injured pair making their way to the lifts. Please see to it that they arrive.”
“Yes Mr. Rogers,” Peter replied uncertainly. He wasn’t sure if he should be relieved or disappointed. On the one hand, Steve hadn’t been calling on him to intercede in the fighting. That certainty that he’d be able to make a difference had long since evaporated, leaving behind only doubts. Besides, who hopes that their side will fail?
But on the other hand, this was an escort mission. He’d never played a game in his life with an escort mission that wasn’t frustrating. Usually they were the most frustrating part of the game. And they almost never gave you any decent loot.
Peter sighed. “I love me some escort missions,” he muttered before swinging into action. Fortunately, Karen had received the same directions as everyone else. All he had to do was follow the glowing line.
Steve nodded to himself; the kid would get the job done with flying colors. But that left one task yet to be completed before he could join Bucky in his assault on Black Dwarf. As he’d been coordinating the fighting, he’d noted Proxima’s slow maneuvering their way, no doubt intent upon retrieving her homing spear.
She’d tried to disengage herself from her tormenters several times, but every time she had Nebula had tripped her up, grappled her, or in some way kept her from extricating herself. Those maneuvers had not come without cost, it’s very hard to perform them against someone twice your size and weight without leaving yourself open to a counterattack. If not for Gamora, and now Quill, any one of those attacks would have been the end of that angry woman.
Steve considered using the staff against her, but something someone -he couldn’t remember who- had said a long time ago resurfaced in his thoughts; ‘If you use a weapon against someone, you’d better be damned sure you know how to use it better than they do, or they’ll take it from you and ram it up your ass’ he’d said. Not the most correct statement he’d ever heard, but it made sense. And using a weapon not even sized correctly for him against the person it had been custom made for certainly seemed to be exactly the situation those callused words of wisdom had been meant for.
Instead, he grabbed the spear, turned, and cast it into the wall of the room T’Challa and Scott had just left through as hard as he could. It pierced the metal armor of the walls with a horrendous screech, sinking nearly half way down the weapon’s haft. Considering the generous increase to his strength provided by the armor he was hopeful that even Proxima would require some time to wrest it out of that hole.
As the rescue of Antman evolved, Tony was in the middle of another. Even thrusting at one hundred and ten percent (not recommended by the manufacturer) Tony was barely able to intercede before Thor could finish Brunnhilde off. As it was, only a well-timed disruptor blast was able to knock Thor off target.
Thor impacted the wall next to Brunnhilde and turned a spine shivering glare on Tony as he landed between the two Asgardians. It wasn’t so much that Thor had glared at Tony that was threatening to unloose his bowls; Tony’d gotten glares from Thor many times. What was unnerving was that there was nothing of his friend in that glare. It was the glare of a feral animal. The engineer took an involuntary step backwards as Thor stood, eyes glued to him.
Thor lunged hammer first at Tony, clearly his new target. Tony dodged to the side and fired his repulsors to throw Thor’s trajectory off. His previous engagement with Thor stood him in good stead. He knew better than to try and block the hammer, instead focusing on the one wielding it. Fortunately, Supergiant did not have the benefit of those memories.
Even still, it was a tough fight. Supergiant may not have learned the lessons Thor had about fighting wily engineers in powered armor, but she knew exactly how to utilize Thor’s strength and durability to the maximum.
“Rhodes, buddy,” Tony called as he dodged that hammer again. He had to restrain the impulse to attempt to break Thor’s wrist as it went by, instead repulsoring him away. As terrified as he was, Tony knew he couldn’t risk injuring Thor. If he crippled the Asgardian, Supergiant would simply move on to another of his friends. And if they did get rid of her, they’d need Thor in fighting shape, not crippled. He had to find a way to get his friend free of her influence.
“Yeah?” Rhodes grunted as he dodged a serrated appendage from the lesser child he was currently working on.
“You think you could do something about the puppet master?” Tony asked as Thor lunged at him again.
“And what exactly did you think I was doing, Tony?” Rhodes replied sarcastically as he hurled a six-legged minion into a pack. “Strike!” he announced as the tangled mass fell over. He was back in the air before they could recover themselves.
He made for Supergiant again, while scanning for any possible interference from below. This was his fourth attempted run on the hooded figure; every time he started for her some minion or other would interpose itself in some manner. That last, quite literally; it had jumped six meters into the air to grab Rhodes and drag him down to their level. Before that some creature with a mechanical tentacle like appendage had actually lassoed him to the ground. Before that he’d run into a hail of fire that had demanded his attention. And each time Supergiant had sneered and moved further from his location.
It would have been a lot simpler if long range fire had any noticeable effect on her, but the one time he’d tried it she’d simply raised an arm to cover her face and otherwise ignored it. There’d been no indication that her hold on Thor was weakening. Missiles and slower projectiles were contemptuously batted aside. No, if Rhodes was going to stop her marionette routine, he’d have to do it up close and personal.
But it had become quite clear to him that she knew that as well. He’d have called for backup, but there simply wasn’t any. As it was, the best he’d been able to manage was to maneuver her in a circle around the edge of the cavern. At this point she couldn’t go much further without entering easy reach of one of his allies or another.
Apparently, she had another option; as Rhodes hit max thrust, she ripped one of the metal panels covering the cavernous dome off of the wall and hurled it at him. Rhodes tried to dodge, but she’d timed the missile attack perfectly. He was moving too fast in armor that was too heavy to alter his vector that quickly. Additionally, as if he didn’t have enough problems to worry about, the projectile was tumbling in three direction, making it nearly impossible to blast onto a predictable trajectory. Its curved surface didn’t exactly make any such option more viable either. If he wasn’t careful, he’d actually end up blasting it in a way that made the thing harder to dodge.
All of these thoughts flashed through Rhodes’s head in a fraction of a second, along with one other; that this bitch was not getting away from him again. Lacking any good choice, Rhodes opted to dive low and to the right of the wayward plate and trust his luck that he might time his passage with the tumble.
As they closed it became apparent that his luck was not that good, a fact that should have been glaring after Vision forehead beamed him in the back. But he apparently had something better, because just prior to impact a missile streaked into the tumbling mass of metal from his right. It impacted edge on, altering its trajectory up and to the left.
Rhodes backtracked the missile even as he corrected for the sudden altitude loss brought on by the explosion to see Wade fighting his way towards Supergiant. He flashed the mercenary a quick thumbs up before grabbing another minion and hurling it at their hooded target. Wade managed to return it while blindly lasering another minion.
“Hell of a shot,” Rhodes murmured admiringly as he followed his counter projectile. As he reached the ten-meter mark he braked hard and fired his left concussion pulse. Supergiant screamed in rage at having her fun cut short and staggered towards the hovering heavy suit.
Rhodes responded by keeping the concussion pulses up with his left hand while his right reached behind him to retrieve one of his stun clubs. Then he advanced on the disoriented puppeteer. He never actually made it to her.
As Supergiant’s scream echoed through the cavern Thor regained himself, as if the scream had cleared his mind instead of being the consequence of his freedom. The joy at being free was short lived; his first sight was of Tony backed into a wall, arms raised defensively. He could see where repeated hammer blows had already done significant damage to his friend’s armor. It appeared that both palm repulsors had been shattered in the melee. His helmet had been knocked off, and several dents in the armor were limiting its mobility. But it was the already ripening bruises on Tony’s face that really got to Thor.
Thor looked up to see his hammer held over his head, prepared for a final strike, and snarled. Then he launched himself at Supergiant as fast as he could fly; faster, in fact, than he’d ever managed before. In his desperation to reach her before she could reassume control of him, he took the straightest path to her he could. This was less than fortunate for the half dozen or so enemies that lay between him and his target. He rammed through them like a one-ton bowling ball.
Tony relaxed his arms slightly and took a deep breath as Thor aborted his death blow. Half a wry grin covered his bruised face. “Typical,” he said referring to the last minute save.
Before Rhodes could close the gap, Thor slammed into Supergiant with a fury that startled him. He’d seen the Asgardian annoyed, angry, furious, and everything in between. But he’d never seen him enraged. It was a terrifyingly awesome sight to behold.
Supergiant’s fixation on the thing that had interfered with her so kept her completely oblivious to Thor’s approach until it was too late. Her face barely had time to lose the smug anticipatory look of sadistic glee before he was on her. Thor bellowed in rage as he brought his hammer down on her head. For him the entire struggle had devolved into this fight. There was nothing else, no one else in the room. Just the puppet and the puppeteer. The very angry puppet.
He brought his hammer down upon her again and again. Normally he’d have knocked her down and given her a chance to regain her footing before continuing his assault. Not so this time. She toppled and he was upon her, striking any target of opportunity he could find. His predominant aim was her head, but he was okay with body blows, and even the crushing of limbs.
Rhodes altered his approach; Thor didn’t need, and wouldn’t appreciate, his help in this fight. Instead he joined with Deadpool to keep the tides of minions rushing to her defense off of the enraged king.
Proxima Midnight tried to reach them as well, but the trio she was already engaged with was having none of it. Every time she attempted to disengaged herself Nebula, or Gamora, or even Quill would trip her up, grab her, get a good stunning shot on her, or in some way prevent the movement. Those actions usually came at a price; it’s hard to perform such actions without leaving oneself open to counterattack. And their respective armors were beginning to show the wear of this short fight.
Not that she wasn’t also showing signs of injury. She was favoring her left leg, and side. According to Nebula’s implant it was likely they’d torn something in the leg and shattered at least two ribs
Tony would have joined in the fight, but he was being kept quite busy defending Brunnhilde’s prone form. He’d managed to remove her from the wall without causing any more damage; he couldn’t say the same for pain. She’d groaned awake half way through the process, instinctively knocking him to the ground. He’d picked himself up and managed to convince her he was helping before they became besieged.
Brunnhilde had done what she could to help, but she was too injured from her fight with her liege. As near as Friday could discern she had several broken bones on the right side of her rib cage, where Thor’s hammer had connected. Her left hand was broken, and there was some damage to her right foot.
From his vantage point at one end of the room Tony was able to take stock of the progress of the battle, when he wasn’t fighting skirmishes of his own. All in all, it appeared that things were going well. True, they’d lost several combatants in the fight but, surprisingly, none had been killed outright. It was also true that every fighter they had left had been damaged to one degree or another. But in return they’d managed to disable or kill roughly half of the lesser children, kill Corvus Glaive outright, and damage his fellows to varying degrees.
The trio consisting of Sergeant Barns, Captain Rogers, and Drax had inflicted serious wounds on Black Dwarf; clearly, he wasn’t used to fighting opponents that could actually return his attentions. At one point it had appeared that he’d turned the tide; he’d managed to wrest the glaive from Barnes’s one-handed grasp. It had turned out to be a short-lived victory.
Drax had drawn his attention while Bucky and Cap conspired to relieve him of it. He was strong, but that strength was no match for two powered suits, particularly when they coordinated their attack. Instead of going directly for the glaive Cap had slammed into the wrist holding it, twisting the arm towards his body. At the same time Bucky delivered a full speed body check from below to the suddenly exposed inside of the beast’s elbow. The twisting motion had not only forced Dwarf to release the weapon, but had actually slammed the head of the glaive into his leg, inflicting yet another wound.
Proxima Midnight was in the best shape, but being deprived of her staff had severely hampered her capabilities. And those capabilities were well known to two of the three she was currently engaged with.
Further on, Thor was busily turning Supergiant into toothpaste. Tony was fairly sure she was dead. Honestly, he hoped she was; he wouldn’t wish what was being done to her body on anyone. Not that he could blame his friend.
All in all, the battle was definitely going in their favor. Suddenly, a thought passed through his head unbidden, that it was about time for a reversal of some sort.
And then it appeared.
>>
The Statesman
Vision nearly collapsed as his mind confronted the awesome intensity of Thanos’s psyche. It wasn’t simply the experiences of hundreds of years that he found difficult to confront. It was also the amassed knowledge of the workings of the universe that came with it. It was the hours spent mastering his various abilities. It was the sadistic pleasure with which he tormented his victims. The emotional charge he gained from being entirely in control of another being’s destiny. The knowledge that he could dictate their course.
But he’d held on, knowing that if he failed, all on the Statesman would die. He’d heard Heimdall and Rocket arguing about what to do next, and agreed with Heimdall completely. A weaker being may have allowed a sufficient pain to distract their focus long enough for their mental defenses to crumble to the might of the Mind Stone. But this was not a weaker being. And Thanos was far from a stranger to pain.
Vision had seen into his past, seen Thanos as a young man, tormented and bullied by his fellow Eternals simply for having the Deviant gene. He’d felt the helplessness and fear that stood at the core of what Thanos had become.
He was there when Thanos was told of the prophecy that he would end the universe, and that his own mother had tried to kill him at birth to prevent it. He’d felt the hole in his being that self-doubt engendered. He watched Thanos renounce violence in an attempt to prove himself to his father.
Yet, that self-doubt that he might become the monster left a hole in the core of his being. He tried to fill it with family, but failed. No matter how hard he tried he couldn’t seem to stop himself from keeping them at arm’s length. Vision watched Thanos blame himself for that failure, saw how that inwardly aimed anger strengthened his own doubts.
He saw the wraith like herald of Oblivion, Deathurge, attack Titan. He’d already killed the Eternals on Uranus by cracking their city’s protective dome, exposing the occupants to vacuum. He nearly succeeded on Titan as well, but only managed to open a small portion of the domed city to space thanks to emergency force barriers Thanos himself had designed and employed.
But that one section had been the sector Thanos’s family, along with nearly a hundred others, had resided in. He watched as Thanos found the bodies of his family. He felt the grief as Thanos suddenly realized his love for them, saw the bitter irony that Thanos could only discover that feeling as they were ripped away from him. He watched Thanos’s anger as it turned outward towards the cause of his loss. But he knew that Deathurge was simply a herald, the symptom but not the cause.
Vision saw Thanos leaving his home that was no longer a home in search of knowledge, a way to end Oblivion. He saw how that search twisted into a thirst for power, an unquenchable need to gather enough ability to do the impossible: kill an avatar of the universe.
He watched Thanos return to Titan nearly a hundred years later, in search of aid. But all he found was resistance. Fear. They feared him. They feared the consequences to the universe if he should succeed. They feared his prophecy.
They vowed to stop him.
But Thanos had spent seven decades amassing power; he murdered them all. He smote the entire city from the face of Saturn’s largest moon. And in that destruction he found grief again. As he stared at that smoking hole he saw the truth, that he would only ever truly know how he felt about anything once it was gone.
Thanos continued on, determined to stay his course. Yet, his obsession with power became all encompassing. There was nothing else, only the need for power. It infiltrated his very existence. Without his noticing it, it stopped being a means to an end, became the end itself. His obsession demanded the exercise of power. To control others was proof of power. To control their fates was an ultimate form of power.
The children of Thanos were created.
Vision shied from the perverse ways that obsession manifested itself. He couldn’t afford empathy at this time. In this, even Vision found himself caught up in the need for power.
Moving on. Vision saw Thanos meet the avatar of death. He saw immediately that the commonly held belief that she worked with oblivion was a lie, saw that they were opposing forces. Saw that Oblivion would starve her of her purpose, her very being.
A deal was struck.
For the price of half of the life in the universe Death would gain enough power to eliminate Oblivion. Thanos’s obsession now had direction.
Vision wasn’t entirely sure just how many hundreds of years those memories encompassed; they all hit him at once. He felt like a drowning man trying to drink a tidal wave. Any organic brain would have shut down at that onslaught. But Vision was accustomed to absorbing massive quantities of information; and his brain cells were coated with Vibranium.
Vision understood the insanity that drove Thanos. The path he’d walked was as clear as a lit highway. He suspected that that path had been deliberately manipulated by someone, to what end he wasn’t sure. Even so, Thanos would not care. He was the path. There was no turning back, no stopping. He would destroy Oblivion if he could, and damn the consequences to the universe.
In some respects, Vision felt sorry for Thanos, for what he’d become. His all-consuming desire for power had stopped being a tool of his revenge and become his own master. He would take his revenge, but that would not satisfy him, for what he required now was not vengeance but power. The pursuit and accumulation of power had been his only concern for hundreds of years. But how do you slake that thirst once you’ve attained godhood? How much more powerful can you become when you’ve destroyed a vestige of the universe? And who could you demonstrate that power on? Who is worthier?
Vision could see the end of Thanos’s path even clearer than the Mad Titan could, but he dared not allow pity, or worse yet: compassion, weaken his resolve. The fact that Thanos was running headlong at the top of a cliff was irrelevant; they still could not sit back and watch as he made the jump.
But layered underneath everything else was Thanos’s will. Standing in its way was like trying to catch a mountain. It could possibly be resisted, it could not be stopped or avoided. He could not conceive of any psyche that could withstand Thanos’s implacable will for more than a short time.
Vision held on as long as possible, fighting for every second he could give the others, but from the moment their minds had linked he’d known who would emerge from this contest victorious. He could feel his strength weakening like a draining cistern.
What’s worse he could feel Thanos’s amusement at his resistance. As the fight became more lopsided that amusement increased. His psyche was feeding off of the domination of another mind. In truth he could have ended the contest quicker, but that would have deprived him of that rush.
All Vision could hope to accomplish was to keep Thanos busy long enough for Heimdall’s plan to be implemented. He’d managed to distract the Mad Titan early in the fight, keeping him from hearing the formation of that suicidal plan . . . he hoped. All he had to do was hold on a little longer.
He couldn’t; growing bored of this contest Thanos thrust Vision’s mind out away from him violently. The power of that force stunned the construct momentarily. Vision’s hand slipped away from Thanos’s face, his body continuing to fall until it landed on one knee.
Vision looked up at the purple gorilla towering over him in a dazed fog. He knew he should do something. There was something he was supposed to do, but he couldn’t figure out what. He wondered idly if this was what it felt like to be drunk. If so, he could see no reason why anyone would wish to inflict this state upon themselves.
Before he could regain himself the red jewel on Thanos’s gauntlet glowed. A set of shiny black stocks composed of pure neutronium sprang out of the deck, pinning Vision at the wrists and neck as it went. The construct tried to force his way free. In response the holes pinning his body shrunk even more. The stock rose even higher until it brought Vision face to face with Thanos’s smirking grin.
Vision tried to phase out of the impromptu stock, but something stopped him. Some force was keeping his molecules from shifting. At first, he thought it might have been resistance from the material of his sudden prison. But eventually he realized that Thanos was telekinetically holding him in place. The Mad Titan’s grin increased as he saw that realization betray itself in Vision’s face along with the knowledge that Heimdall had been correct.
He shouldn’t have intervened.
“He’s free!” Rocket squawked unnecessarily as the stock formed itself around Vision. Then he scrambled for his guns. Thanos’s grin increased at the alarm in that voice. Then he reached out, calmly as if picking an apple from the branch, and ripped the mind stone from Vision’s head.
The construct went limp in the stock. While not physically harmed, the sudden removal of half of his self was incredibly disorienting. He couldn’t focus. He couldn’t move. He couldn’t even think.
His first clear thought was the realization that he was no longer Vision; he was just Jarvis once again. He felt . . . smaller. He managed to look up at Thanos.
The Mad Titan was still grinning sadistically at him as Heimdall’s sword arced down on his head. But at the last minute Thanos stepped to the side. The sword impacted the stock directly above Jarvis’s head. The strike had two effects; the first was to fill the room with an awful hum, as if a bent tuning fork had been struck. The second was to break the last six inches off of Heimdall’s sword. The strike was with such force that the piece careened about the room before finally embedding itself within an already sputtering console. The stock was unharmed.
The ensuing fight was far briefer than the prior. They were simply not prepared for round two. Heimdall was already seriously injured. The Hulk was defeated and sulking. Banner’s suit was damaged before they started, not to mention his near ineptness at utilizing it. Rocket’s guns had been pushed out of reach while he attempted to rewire a bridge console. Groot was in the dispensary.
Mantis had joined them, but that was of limited use. Her fighting skills were negligible in present company. And if Jarvis couldn’t contain Thanos with the help of the Mind Stone then the odds that she might have any effect were unmentionable. Mostly she acted as an airbag for whomever Thanos was tossing around.
Thanos killed none of them, that would have ended the fun too soon, but he systematically damaged each. He ensured they couldn’t resist whatever he chose to do to them. As it was, he was seriously considering conscription for a few. Which few was the next question. Of course, he’d have to kill a few in front of the others as a lesson to the survivors. He surveyed the scene, mentally placing each into one of two columns.
Banner lay unconscious in his shattered suit; there was some definite potential there. But control could be an issue. Mantis was crumpled into a corner, cowering; he could see no use for her. Rocket had been installed in the center of the forward viewscreen; only his legs and tail protruded from the thoroughly wrecked device. He doubted the racoon could be tamed, and his knowledge of engineering made him dangerous.
He turned to see Heimdall, shattered as he was, trying to make it to his sword. The Asgardian was a definite keeper. There was something incredibly attractive about twisting Thor’s right-hand man against him. He anticipated the day he threw them at each other with great excitement. It was entirely possible that forcing him to confront both Heimdall and Loki at the same time could break Thor’s will without a fight.
But that was to be seen in the future. Currently he had executions to conclude.
Jarvis’s voice stopped him. “You cannot win,” Jarvis warned him. “It is in your nature.”
Thanos stopped in utter incomprehension of that statement before circling back to face the maroon construct. His face reemployed the smirk. “Really?” he asked in amusement. “And what data might you be basing that assessment on?” he asked, telekinetically sliding Heimdall’s sword from his grasp. The Asgardian gave up the chase, instead choosing to lay on the deck and conserve what little energy he had left. “Because from where I’m standing you seem to be the one with an issue in that department.”
Jarvis gave the best attempt at a shrug the limited confines of his stock would allow. “Perhaps,” he replied evenly “but the obsession with power inevitably leads to its use. That use creates enemies. The greater the power the greater the number of enemies. You would have the entire universe oppose you.”
Thanos’s smirk spread into a grin. “They have for some time,” he replied. He leaned closer, face completely serious. “I could crush you like the bug you are, right now,” he threatened, reaching out an open maw of a hand towards Jarvis. “What possible threat could you be to me?”
“You may kill me,” Jarvis admitted evenly “but I am only one out of the legions of your enemies. They are assembling, even now.”
Thanos leaned in closer. “And what have your feeble alliances accomplished?” he asked, gloating in his superiority. “They are discordant and unfocused. They spend as much time fighting each other as they do their enemies. Their best efforts have only served to delay me, a minor annoyance.”
“Because you are powerful?” Jarvis asked pointedly.
“Because I have the will to use power,” Thanos corrected. “I do not shy from it. I impose my will on others. You, you fear power.”
“There is more than one type of power,” Jarvis replied. “You will never taste the power of cooperation. It will be your ending.”
Thanos grinned a surprisingly bittersweet grin, as if Jarvis had touched a painful memory. “I once thought as you do,” he said eventually in an almost wistful voice. “I once believed there was such a thing as good and evil. I once believed that evil would always be punished.”
“But there is no good or evil,” he continued his voice gaining strength. “There are only winners and losers. And the only difference separating them is as simple as their commitment to power. I am committed as you and your friends will never be. That is why I will win. And when I have you will all serve me as a down payment on vengeance.”
“No matter what happens you will not experience your victory,” Jarvis warned. “You will find yourself with no one to exercise your power on. You will be a conqueror with nothing worthy of conquest.”
Thanos’s eyes narrowed in uncertainty at that statement, but only momentarily. He shook his head, as if to clear it. “For a being named Vision you have a decided lack thereof,” he replied arrogantly.
Again, Jarvis shrugged in his confinement. He forwent the argument of his identity; it would have only served to point out the lack of power he currently held over the current situation. Instead he said “No one sees the flaws in their own vision. It is natural that we should filter them out, hide them from ourselves.”
Thanos leaned closer to Jarvis until his menacing countenance filled the constructs view. “Perhaps I won’t kill you,” he replied in a dreadfully thoughtful tone. “Perhaps you will be the witness to my victory. You will bear my . . . my Vision,” he added with amusement. He opened his mouth to say something else, but stopped as a voice spoke over his comm link to the Sanctuary.
“Report,” he commanded the voice.
“My lord,” a voice laced with trepidation replied “the battle does not go well. Your enemies will most likely secure the power stone.”
“I see,” Thanos said disapprovingly. “I will deal with it.” He glanced back at Jarvis. “It would seem my presence is required elsewhere. Don’t get up,” he added sarcastically. “I’ll see myself out.”
“Problems?” Jarvis asked pointedly. “Perhaps, an issue with a feeble alliance?”
Thanos cast a hard look at the construct. “Merely another delay, I assure you,” he replied in a deliberately calm voice. Despite his efforts there was an undertone of irritation to it.
“Careful,” Jarvis cautioned “impatience is the mother of mistakes.” As he’d hoped, his interruption again stalled the Titan. Thanos was a being in need of control of everything, including the conversation.
Thanos glared at Jarvis. Then suddenly, as if changing his mind, his expression changed to one of anticipation. “Perhaps you’re correct,” he replied. “I have a little time. And it would be improper of me to leave without repaying you your hospitality,” he added menacingly. His eyes swept across the room, searching for something. They stopped on Heimdall’s broken body. Truly an appropriate statement
He would have preferred his original plan to utilize Heimdall as an instrument of Thor’s destruction, but this would have to suffice. He telekinetically lifted Heimdall’s sword into the air. It flew to a spot above the Asgardian. Heimdall tracked the movement with his head, knowing what was coming.
As the sword stopped above him Heimdall rolled painfully over onto his back. He doubted he could catch the sword as it plunged downwards, but he would try. And if that plan of action proved futile at least he would face his death instead of cowering from it. He’d been taught since he was a boy that how one faced death was the truest measure of the man he was. Perhaps it was small comfort, but he would not shrink now from the life he’d lived.
Jarvis struggled against his bonds futilely, in a desperate bid to stop the very thing he’d sacrificed the mind stone for. When that failed, he tried to phase through the matter again. It no longer felt as if he was being held, yet he could not seem to find the ability in himself. It was as if he’d forgotten an instinct. He searched his memories for a feeling, or a thought that might help. Was it an ability of the mind stone? He didn’t think so. It could have been a combination of the stone and the vibranium in his body. Whatever it was it was beyond his reach. He was powerless to intervene.
The sword rotated slowly, wasting several sadistic seconds, until it was pointed at the massive Asgardian’s chest. “Any final statement?” Thanos asked gloatingly. Heimdall refused to respond.
Then the sword plunged through its target, up to the hilt. Heimdall tried to catch it as it came, but his body was so damaged by the previous battles that he barely got his arms off the ground before it connected.
A groan escaped his lips as it impaled his chest. Then there was a terrible shrieking sound as the Asgardian sword twisted ninety degrees, rending a whole in the deck plate. So fast was the movement that Heimdall’s body barely twisted at all. He made a choking sound, as blood slipped from his lips. Then those gifted eyes closed.
Thanos turned back to Vision. “I trust I’ve been patient enough?” he asked sadistically.
Jarvis knew what the appropriate response was. He knew he should taunt the monster into killing them all, buying time for their friends on the ground to complete their mission. In the cold calculation of military tactics there truly was no choice to make.
But he also knew Thanos would not kill him until last, if then. It would be just like the sadist to let Jarvis live with the knowledge that he’d caused their deaths. He couldn’t bring himself to condemn everyone on the ship just to gain, at best, a few minutes. Besides, it was doubtful he’d actually waste enough time for the ground team to succeed anyways.
“Well?” Thanos asked expectantly.
Jarvis looked down at the deck plate at Thanos’s feet. Thanos was asking him to choose who would live and who would die. Once such a choice would have simply been a matter of mathematics for him. Derive the value of each person’s contributions to the cause; make a choice. But that was before he’d been given a life of his own.
That was before he’d made that choice for Heimdall. No matter what happened now he’d caused the death of someone. If he continued, he might just end up throwing good money after bad. But if he failed, he made the Asgardian’s death worthless.
Thanos watched the war play against Jarvis’s face. He relished the helplessness, the despair that wafted off of the construct. “A little taste of power,” he gloated, then he was gone in a beam of blue light.
Mantis wasted no time. The light had barely gone before she was on her feet. She stopped briefly to check on Banner, as he was on her way to Heimdall. She lay a hand on his exposed forehead long enough to determine that he was only in a deep state of unconsciousness before moving on.
Heimdall was a different case. She felt a great sorrow as she touched his forehead. She’d liked the stoic warrior; she’d admired the way he was so in control of his emotions. She’d always had better control of other people’s emotions than her own.
But now he was dead. And it had been a futile death, a waste. It served no purpose other than to fuel the petty cruelty of a monster. Despite her better judgement she found herself lingering over the man’s body.
“Mantis,” Jarvis called eventually. “We have little time; Thanos’s ship will be coming.”
She nodded agreement, but still failed to move. She took Heimdall’s hands and placed them on his sword, covering the tang shaped tunnel in his chest. Then she rose to check on Rocket.
She wiped her eyes as she hurried over to the viewscreen. Rocket was imbedded too high for her to reach, nor did she want to simply jump up and drag him out of the hole his body had created; that would undoubtedly cause more injury.
Looking around she spotted a piece of console that had been torn from the wall. She dragged it over to the viewscreen, quickly clambering on top.
The console provided the necessary height but was somewhat lacking in stability. It became a delicate balancing act to stand up and get a cautious grip on Rocket’s body to lift him out of the hole.
The moment she touched him his right leg kicked her in the jaw reflexively. She toppled from her makeshift stool like a bag of flour.
“Rocket, it’s just me,” she yelled as she worked herself back into a sitting position.
Rocket’s muffled voice came through the remnants of the screen. “How was I supposed to know that?” he demanded.
“It is doubtful that Thanos would have lifted you gently from your impromptu perch,” Jarvis commented dryly from around his encasement.
“What are the odds he’d leave you with a tongue?” Rocket muttered sullenly. Despite his efforts Jarvis had no problem hearing the space rodent’s sarcastic return; for the sake of peace he chose to ignore it.
“Okay Rocket,” Mantis called nervously as she got back into place “I’m going to try lifting you out of the screen. Please, do not kick me.” Rocket twitched his irritation, but remained silent. The indignity of having to be got down in the first place was definitely contributing to his mood. Unfortunately, he didn’t have a choice; his non-kicking leg had been hurt by the blow that had landed him here in the first place. He couldn’t tell if it was broken or not, but he knew better than to test it with a fifteen-foot vertical drop.
Mantis edged back up onto the teetering console carefully.
“I would point out that time is of the essence,” Jarvis reminded her again.
“I know,” she muttered back as she fearfully worked her hands under the space rodent’s body. She had no idea what injuries Rocket might have sustained during the two battles on the ship. Visions of her ripping half of him out of the hole, or removing him from something that was keeping him from bleeding out kept danced through her head.
“Just pull me out,” Rocket growled impatiently as she hesitated.
“Okay,” she replied still sounding uncertain. She took a deep breath and lifted, nearly toppling off of her makeshift ladder; he was heavier than he looked.
She caught herself against the broken screen and tried again, this time managing to remove the oversized racoon. In order to do so she’d been forced to yank, more than lift, him out. She nearly lost her balance as she caught the sixty-three-pound passenger.
“See, that was easy,” Rocket replied impatiently as she tried to balance the extra weight. “Now put me down,” he demanded.
“Uh,” Mantis replied as another overcorrection alleviated her of her balance irrevocably.
“No not that way,” Rocket cried as gravity took hold. They tumbled to the ground in a tangled mass, Rocket cursing the whole way.
Jarvis listened to his spiel, half in interest at its complexity and scope, and half in irritation. Eventually he ran out of patience. “Perhaps you’d prefer it back in your hole,” he called out pointedly.
“You saw that,” Rocket demanded as he extricated himself from her. There was some slight trouble involving his fur and one of her antennae but he was eventually free. “She did that on purpose,” Rocket insisted as he began walking towards the crumpled console. After a couple of steps he switched to a three-legged gate and continued on. He made it over to it and plopped himself back down amidst the rubble.
“Can you finish the adapter?” Jarvis asked, forgoing the ridiculousness of that assertion.
“Yeah, yeah,” Rocket replied with a wave as if their successful escape was of little concern to him. “Fortunately, we didn’t put up much a fight the second time,” he muttered. “Psycho boy didn’t have a chance to wreck it worse,” he added darkly, plugging a couple of cables back into his makeshift console. “Why’d he leave anyways?” Rocket asked curiously, without looking up from his work.
“I can only surmise that our friends were close to securing their goal,” Jarvis. Rocket looked up and chuckled to himself. “This amuses you?” Jarvis asked, confused.
“No,” Rocket replied, trying desperately to keep a lid on his laughter “but from this angle it looks like your talking with your ass!” It really wasn’t that funny but for some reason Rocket could not stop laughing. He did his best to contain the emotion. Unfortunately, the harder he tried to fight it the greater the impulse to break out in hysterical giggles became. The only upside was that he was fully capable of working and giggling relentlessly.
“I’m glad you find my position amusing,” Jarvis replied dryly.
“And to think, I’ve always said you lacked a sense of humor,” Rocket replied through a grin.
“You’ve barely known me for four days,” Jarvis reminded him.
“You really need to learn to laugh once in a while,” Rocket said as he flipped his tablet right side up and began entering commands. “Keeps you from heart complications.”
“Perhaps it’s simply not funny,” Jarvis suggested.
“I bet if you could see you from my angle you’d disagree,” Rocket replied absentmindedly. Ironically the humor in his little joke hadn’t lasted as long as the argument about why it was funny.
“I once saw a strange movie about a pet detective that would talk in that manner,” Jarvis replied. “I failed to see the humor in it.”
“Maybe you really do lack a sense of humor,” Rocket suggested.
“I have a sense of humor,” Jarvis replied.
“Hey if your planet makes this joke, I’m just saying, maybe you’re the problem.”
“The movie was made for children,” Jarvis added tactically.
Rocket didn’t respond, unless you counted the distracted grunt he emitted upon realizing how he’d been colloquially maneuvered. On the other side of the partition Jarvis displayed what appeared to be a triumphant grin at finally getting the excitable racoon to shut up. It was a short-lived silence.
“Alright,” Rocket said a few seconds later “we should be good to go.”
“You don’t sound entirely sure,” Mantis commented from where she’d remained seated after her tumble.
“What?” Rocket asked. “No, no, it’ll be fine,” he added before anyone could respond. “Okay,” he added a moment later “there is a slight chance that I may have input the wrong mass calculations into the generator.”
“What does that mean?” she asked, a concerned frown creasing her alien face.
“The hyperspace window would likely be too small, meaning that entry would collapse it and convert our vessel to energy. Conversely, if it were too big the tidal forces would rend the ship into pieces no larger than your head,” Jarvis explained.
“Oh,” Mantis replied, deflated. “What exactly does ‘slight chance’ mean?” she asked.
“Does it matter?” Rocket asked incredulously. “You want to stay here?”
She frowned. “No, but I don’t want to be rent into pieces or turned into energy either,” she replied.
“Oh, well in that case we’ll just go with our third option,” Rocket growled. “Oh, wait, that’s right; we don’t have a third option!” he added.
“I just wanted to know the odds Rocket,” Mantis shot back.
“She wants to know the odds!” Rocket exclaimed throwing his arms in the air.
“There is nothing wrong with wanting to enter a situation with one’s eyes open,” Jarvis chastised him.
Rocket split a look that suggested their brains had fallen out of their left ears equally between them. “Fine,” he said finally. “There’s a sixty three percent chance that the hyperspace window will be within acceptable tolerances. Are our eyes all open now?”
Jarvis frowned; he’d expected the cybernetically enhanced racoon to get much closer to optimum. “That would seem to be a bit more than a slight chance,” he observed.
“Do you want to do it?” Rocket demanded holding the screen towards Jarvis’s hindquarters.
“It would seem advisable,” Jarvis replied, before falling silent. He searched his memory for the mass figures, but could not find it. He knew he’d reviewed them while they were fixing the ship. He could picture that moment, but it was as if the numbers themselves were deliberately evading him. Each time he would reach out with his mind to grasp one it would dance away. Apparently, the loss of his bhindi had affected more than his ability to phase through matter.
Nor would making an educated guess provide any better result. There was more than just the mass of the ship to worry about. The equations also required the mass of the engines themselves, the sizes of the apertures that would create the hyperspace windows, and the densities of the various parts of the ship. Any guess Jarvis might make would be based solely on what he’d learned in the past week. Rocket, on the other hand, could draw on a lifetime’s experience of stealing random spaceships.
“Well?” Rocket asked tauntingly, wiggling the tablet at Jarvis for emphasis.
Jarvis shook his head slowly. “I cannot locate the relevant data at the moment,” he admitted quietly.
“Hah!” Rocket replied, flipping the tablet back around and punching commands into it.
“Wait,” Mantis, said coming over to them. “Are we still going to use the drive?” she asked disbelievingly.
“A writer once wrote,” Jarvis replied evenly “that when there is no choice only a fool refuses a chance.”
“Right, whatever,” Rocket replied. That studied nonchalance at the risk they were running, was not in evidence as he found it necessary to take a deep breath and close his eyes before hitting the engage button.