Castle
New York, New York
Yankee Stadium
Frank Castle scanned the interior of the King Stallion helicopter he and his team were embarked on. The faces around him were tense. Too tense. The entire task force was made up of combat veterans, but even veterans could be excused a level of nervousness when going up against these odds. None of them had ever gone up against supervillains before.
As for Frank, he wasn’t sure how he felt. He’d already been through so many situations that should have killed him. It had all begun to blur. Somewhere along the way he’d come to the conclusion that he would die in battle. He had no idea when that would be, and he most definitely was not going to make it easy for them, but he would eventually fall. It took some of the suspense out of the situation. But his team.
They looked nervous.
“Take a look around you, yeah? What do you see?” he asked. There was no response. Not from any resentment of his being placed in charge of this mixed bag of elite specialists. On the contrary, they’d held him in almost reverent regard since the moment they’d met, two weeks prior. Any of half a dozen of his exploits in Afghanistan would have been enough to cement him in ‘Legend’ status. Then there were his activities after returning home.
A part of him had immediately wanted to explain the other things he’d done over there, but he’d stifled that. He didn’t need them second guessing him as much as he still second guessed himself.
“Marine Recon,” he continued, ticking the points off on his fingers “Delta, Navy Seals, SAS, Sayeret Matkal, Spetsnaz. The list continues, yeah?” he asked, pausing for effect. “You represent the most elite soldiers in the world,” he continued. Again, there was no response, unless you counted a very slight glint of pride in their eyes; these people were the consummate professional soldier.
“We are used to being the best equipped, best trained, and most experienced participants in any conflict,” he said, glancing from team member to team member. “We make things happen. We directly affect the course of battle.”
He let that statement air itself out, looking from one team member to the next. “That’s not the case here, yeah?” he asked, adding a touch of steel to his voice. Again, they were silent, though there was a slight tightening of their jaws. They’d all seen what little intel they had to work with. They knew they were the ones at a force disadvantage on this one. They knew it.
Castle said it anyways. He had to make sure they got it. “Intel suggests that our opponents have been in constant war since they were children. They have been biologically and technologically engineered for it. It is highly unlikely that we will earn many kills this day, even with the M107A1. We are David, they are Goliath. And we don’t have the sling, just rocks, yeah?” Again, they were silent, but he could sense a growing feeling of stubbornness. These people weren’t used to being told they could not make a difference.
“We will make a difference,” he assured them. “We’re going to be smart about it. Don’t go for the kill shot. Go for the harassing shot. Knock them down. Disarm them. Help the people that can kill them, yeah?”
“Summed up, we’re crowd control,” one of Brits said dryly. Castle couldn’t tell if he was just being sarcastic or if he was also upset about being assigned to such a plebian task. He decided to ignore the comment entirely.
“There are no suitable buildings anywhere around the target; we’ll post up on the east wall and the roof. Teams one and two stage yourselves around the Yankee Stadium sign on the North East wall. Group three on the East wall under the Delta sign. The rest of you, spread yourselves out around the short roof over the third deck. I’ll be in the skybox.”
“How come you get the best seat in the house?” One of the Seals asked playfully. He was inarguably the youngest member in the squad. Volunteered for CRT at his earliest opportunity. Made it through on the first try. Didn’t even get caught during SEAR training. And, apparently, one of the best sharpshooters in the special forces community. Cocky to boot. He reminded Castle way too much of himself.
Castle answered with a hard look. He held it until the kid seemed appropriately subdued before continuing. “No one fires until I give the word, yeah?” he asked, scanning their faces. There was no disagreement. “The range is short on this one,” he continued anyways, partly just to fill the chopper ride. It was good not to give people too much time to think about the shitstorm they were walking into. “Once we open up we’ll attract unwanted attention. Remember Rule One: Always heed the itch. Better to move when you didn’t have to than not move when you should have. Spotters, keep one eye out for danger, yeah?”
He got a grim but affirmative nod from the group. He returned it before leaning back in his chair. He wondered how many of them would heed his warnings, and hoped the pilot wasn’t taking the scenic route.
>>
The Quinjet landed in front of the player’s entrance of Yankee Stadium. They would have liked to have landed in the field itself, but one look showed it to be teeming with Thanos’s . . . extended family. While setting down on a few wouldn’t have bothered most of them, the retaliation that could spark would most certainly have destroyed the plane. And they needed it intact.
For a heartbeat nobody moved, as if each were waiting for somebody else to take the lead. Even Rogers seemed unwilling for that split second. They all knew what they were walking into. They all knew the odds of success.
They’d faced long odds before, but they’d never had so much time to contemplate them. Nor had they been beaten so handily in previous encounters. Thanos truly seemed the clichéd force of nature. And, this time, the consequences were so high. Even distributed amongst them, the weight of half a universe was crushing.
That single heartbeat seemed to stretch on and on, but eventually their shared moment of indecision passed. Steve shook himself and stood from his seat. He grabbed his shield, squared his shoulders, and began to march to the aft of the ship, face set in stone. The ship was suddenly filled with the rustling of the others following his example. Gamora and Nebula were the second and third to last out, with Tony bringing up the rear.
He exited the ship to see the entire gang grouped up in front of the shutter blocking the player’s garage, as if unsure of whether or not the end of days permitted them to destroy public property.
Tony rolled his eyes and stepped through the crowd. “On the clock, remember guys?” he asked as he lasered an uneven rectangle out of the door. Steve then bounced his shield off of it, sending the photonically perforated metal crashing to the ground.
Tony took the lead through the maze of corridors, guided by Friday. This time Rogers brought up the rear.
It took more time than they could afford to lose, and far less time than they would have liked, but they quickly found themselves at the door leading to the field. It seemed an incredibly unassuming door for the purpose, just a grey painted, metal, single door.
“Wait sec, Tony” Steve said as Tony reached for its handle. Everyone turned a querying look his direction.
“I’m not going to waste time reminding you of why we’re here,” he said. As he spoke, he made sure to make eye contact with each set of eyes turned on him. “You already know that. We all know the odds against us,” he continued. “This may well be our last battlefield.” He let that stand for a moment before continuing.
“I’m just a soldier,” he said. “Soldier’s die. Sometimes the best a soldier can hope for is that our deaths have meaning, that our life not be wasted. Now we’ve already taken losses. We’ve lost good people: Heimdall . . . Clint . . . Rhodes,” he said. Each name was like a small hammer blow in their minds. Each name had one person who mourned them more than the others, one person who visibly flinched at its invocation. “In a moment we’re going to go out there, on that field, and we’re going to fight that monster. The dead gave us that chance through their sacrifices. Let’s make sure it was worth the price they paid.”
Their eyes hardened slightly with resolve. The fate of a universe was an abstract thing. It’s hard to latch on to abstracts in the heat of the moment. Doing right by three fallen comrades was an emotional thing, easily understood. For Thor, Natasha, and Tony it was something else. Steve may not have used the word ‘vengeance’, but in their cases, he may as well have.
There was only one person his speech seemed to have had a negative effect on. As the others began filing through that gateway Bucky stood gazing morosely into an unseen distance.
“Hey,” Steve said, grabbing his right shoulder and giving it a slight shake. Bucky snapped out of it, returning a questioning look. “You okay?” Steve asked.
Barnes hesitated. “Yeah,” he said slowly. “I was just thinking about all the people who died so I could be here,” he said.
“You think Hydra may have done some good in spite of itself?” Steve said with a wry grin.
“What?” Bucky asked, confused.
“Well, you’re here,” Steve said pointedly. “Might just make the difference,” he added, stepping past his friend.
Now it was Barnes’s turn to flash a wry grin. “Wouldn’t that stick in their craw?” he asked before turning to follow. The only two to remain in the corridor were Banner and Mantis.
“Now?” Mantis asked.
The object of her query shook his head. “Not yet,” he said tersely, not wanting to admit his fear that, should he Hulk out before the fighting started, the Hulk might lose his nerve again. She nodded, as if she understood his unspoken fear, and they turned back to the door.
Cap and Bucky were just taking their place at the center of the line their team had formed ten feet from the door. Most of the stadium was as dark as the night sky. The only illumination came from somewhere over second base, where Thanos sat in a hovering stone throne. The area around him, out to the baselines and extending into the outfield, was filled with his ‘children’.
They stood shoulder to shoulder, waiting like Doberman Pinscher attack dogs. The further they were from Thanos the more eerily that one light source played about them, an effect not helped by the fact that many of them had glowing eyes. Thanos’s generals were also in attendance. They could be seen dotting the field, rising head and shoulders over the more common threats. The entire view conjured up the worst fears of humanity, no doubt the artist’s intent.
“Well there you are,” Thanos said, as if truly pleased to see them. “And here I was thinking you’d lost your nerve.”
“You mean you were hoping we’d lost our nerve,” Deadpool replied.
“Not at all,” Thanos replied. “It would have been quite anti-climactic.”
“You’re quite eager for someone that had to be goaded into this,” Cap remarked.
Thanos’s grin widened as if he appreciated his chutzpah. “Oh, not for me,” he said. “For the huddled masses of the universe, watching your feeble attempts.” Several of them glanced up to the light source hovering at the top of the stadium. It was a simple black sphere with gold trim. Small lens like protrusions dotted its surface.
“Correct,” Thanos continued. “The entire universe shall watch your efforts. They will hope. They will pray. And, ultimately, they will despair. You will fail as they watch. And when you have, those of you that I designate shall begin their training.”
A visible ripple of vacillation passed through their line as they realized that they weren’t just fighting for the survival of half of a universe; that the penalty for failure might be far worse than death.
Thanos saw it, of course. He seemed to bask in their uncertainty. “Many of you shall make fine additions to my family,” he said, eyes roving over their line. As they went, they seemed to linger upon certain individuals more than others. That gaze seemed particularly toxic when turned towards Gamora and Nebula. But they weren’t the only ones singled out. Deadpool, Wanda, Barnes, and Brunnhilde were all afforded that honor.
Then his eyes rested on Black Widow’s. It wasn’t a long pause, but it was long enough.
The doors behind the Guardians and Avengers came off their hinges as the Hulk exploded from the entryway. He leapt the line of allies, wielding the two doors like giant rectangular ulus. He landed in front of home base and proceeded to carve a path through the minions towards Thanos’s position. He knocked Corvus Glaive aside like a stuffed doll in his single-minded pursuit of his target.
The entire team surged forward, as if the Hulk’s actions were a catalyst. The Aerial Team launched into their element and began strafing the enemy. Team Two followed in the Hulk’s wake. Team three spread itself out in a skirmish line, minus Gamora and Nebula. Those two immediately began circling their way towards Proxima Midnight, standing in right field.
Thanos watched the green goliath come, seeming . . . less than concerned. Bored would probably be a better description. But with a hint of wounded pride, as if the very idea that such an attack would accomplish anything against him were insulting. This attitude was confirmed when he spoke.
“Well, if it isn’t the raging infant,” he sneered as the Hulk cut his way to the pitcher’s mound. Then he raised his arm towards the object of his disdain, hand flat and palm up. As he lifted it the Hulk found himself levitated into the air. Hulk bellowed and hurled his mangled doors at Thanos.
His target calmly hopped off of his throne to the right, dodging one of the improvised projectiles. Such was the downward angle by the time Hulk had thrown them that it bounced off of the ground harmlessly before becoming embedded in the far right wall.
Thanos blocked the other with a casual forearm wave. The armor took the blow without showing so much as a scrape. The same could not be said for the minion to his right the deflected shot impaled. Thanos did not show any concern.
Hulk growled and grunted as he fought against the invisible bonds that left him suspended in the air, but he could find no purchase. There was nothing to struggle against, no barrier he could push back against. He flailed at the air, looking for anything that might help, but to no avail. It was as if gravity itself had conspired against him.
Below him, the wake from his rapid passage suddenly collapsed on team 2. They found themselves in a small circle, fighting off a baseball diamond’s worth of enemies. If it had not been for their shiny new neutronium weapons they’d no doubt have been overrun already. As it was a bulwark of dead enemies, and pieces of enemies, had begun to form around them.
At first, it seemed to offer some protection. Then Thanos’s children began launching themselves from atop their fallen brethren.
The aerial team tried to attack directly, in the hopes that they might break Thanos’s concentration on the Hulk, but to little use. Most of them were intercepted by fire or thrown projectiles, with the few shots that got through doing little damage. And, without their support team two found itself being pressed harder and harder.
Wanda tried to counteract Thanos’s control, but she simply wasn’t strong enough to override him. She could try to overpower him, but the net effect would have been to have two separate forces pushing and pulling against the person she was trying to rescue. While she didn’t think they could kill him that way she wasn’t sure enough to try. Besides, even if they couldn’t she might make the Hulk mad at her.
In the end they were all forced to accept that there was no way to extract their secret weapon.
>>
Irani Rael stood on the Nova Prime flagship and attempted to appear calm. Her ship was about to be the first Xandar vessel of its size to make a jump. And, among other firsts, it was going to be propelled by the Kree vessel following almost on its tail. Put another way, they were trusting a nominal enemy to propel them across the galaxy with a mixed bag of technologies.
Under such circumstances she certainly understood the nervousness being expressed by the entire bridge crew. Even the captain wasn’t unaffected, though he tried to hide his discomfort. she refused to add to their worries. She tried harder; she was damned if she was going to add to their concerns.
Ironically, the one aspect of the situation she found reassuring was the Kree’s initial unwillingness. She’d contacted Kree sovereign, as that somewhat arrogant Earther had suggested, and received exactly the rebuff she’d expected. Work together? Preposterous! Their two empires had only recently made the transition to not blowing each other’s ships out of the sky at first sight. Trust was a long way off.
Then Thanos had started his broadcast. The Avengers and Guardians hadn’t even arrived on sight yet, but he’d used that time to describe, in his typical smug superior tone, exactly why he was interrupting the universe’s programming for this late breaking news bulletin.
The Kree, and the Shi’ar Imperium surprisingly, had then mustered their ready fleets to meet the remains of the Nova Squadron fleet at a neutral location. She hadn’t even contacted the Shi’ar. They’d contacted her, wanting to know if Nova intended to attempt to intervene. And suddenly the shoe had been on the other foot.
Not that the question hadn’t made sense; of all the polities in the galaxy Nova Prime was the most likely to do something about the current situation. But that didn’t necessitate any desire to help on their part. If she admitted she was sending the remains of her fleet on this forlorn battle she was also admitting that she was leaving her planets virtually undefended. Instead of sending ships to help them she could be inviting the very invasion that fleet existed to stop.
But she’d squeezed that fear down and given them the rendezvous coordinates. And now here they were, departing that same location as one fleet. It was an incredibly poorly coordinated fleet, one that had almost suffered three collisions just getting set up for the jump, but it was a fleet.
All those thoughts slipped from her mind as they reached the jump point. There was the slightest amount of queasiness that she’d long before learned to expect from such events, then they were through. The young man sitting at damage control reported that a number of relays had blown from their passage, but that the backups had switched over smoothly. Damage control teams were already replacing the burnt out components.
All around them other jump gates were opening and expelling their duos and even trios of ships. First one, then a couple, then dozens. In less than a minute the sky over the Earth was flooded with the ships of three different stellar empires, all on a desperate bid to stop the inevitable.
The Nova ships immediately began boosting towards their target, the massive Sanctuary 2. As the ships with the best defensive systems it had made sense to put them at the forefront of their charge, the tip of the spear.
She was mildly surprised when the Shi’ar and Kree ships followed so closely on their heels. As sloppy as they were, she couldn’t help feel a touch of pride in those varying crews. And the eagerness with which that combined force opened fire was . . . hopeful, despite the two friendly fire incidents in the first volley. They glanced off of shields or armor as Rael hoped they would be the last. She was too seasoned a commander to believe in that hope.
>>
Castle watched the frantic efforts of the Guardians and the Avengers with an indecision he hadn’t felt in a long time. Then again, it had been a long time since he’d led men. Lately, it seemed he’d only been risking his own life in insane, long odds actions. Now he had an entire team he was looking at throwing into the fire.
“Sir?” Sergeant Baker prodded over coms, as if reading his mind.
“Hold,” was all Castle replied with.
The problem was they weren’t ready. If he had his team open up now, with no other external threats to cover their work, they’d be zeroed immediately. He had no idea how long operators, even operators as skilled as his team were, could survive against that. The evidence of just how hard it was to kill these things was playing out in front of them. Full on superheroes were having trouble doing more than knocking them on their asses, despite whatever those swords were made of.
“Where are they?” Lieutenant Gibbs muttered just loud enough to be picked up by his mic.
“Coming,” Castle replied absently. But that was the rub. His team was supposed to project force from the edges of the engagement range while other threats held the enemy’s attention. They were supposed to sabotage the enemy’s efforts, de-coordinate their attacks, throw monkey wrenches into their efforts. That was the plan. But the pieces that plan relied on weren’t present. The modernized words of Helmuth von Moltke, that no plan survives contact with the enemy, sprang into his mind.
The plan had been for them to sabotage the enemy. But the goal had always been to help these two groups achieve their goal. He could wait, hoping for the rest of the pieces of the plan to materialize. But if he did, there was every chance that their biggest piece would be taken before that could happen. And, in chess, it was not at all uncommon to sacrifice a few pawns to protect a queen.
“Sir?” one of the other members of the squad -for some reason he could never remember the man’s name- urged. Castle couldn’t help but grin at that. How many times had the correct course been completely obvious to him while a dickering CO tried to make up his mind? Now he understood why they dickered. The weight of one’s own life was balanced by their commitment, by their choice to be there. Nothing balanced the weight of others.
Castle cleared his throat, a harsh growling sound. “Wait a ten count from my shot,” he said as he tracked a new target. Maybe they couldn’t play the sabotage game, but they could certainly draw some heat off.
Castle fired. The massive fifty BMG bullet impacted Thanos’s forehead right above the brow . . . and bounced off. The best that could be said about the hit was that it had rocked the purple simian’s head back a little. Castle blinked in surprise. He’d seen the intel. He’d warned his people of just how out class they were. But he’d never really believed that anything could stand up to fifty BMG.
Thanos glared up at the box from which the impetuous shot had rung. Suddenly, half a dozen of his minions took flight, headed for his position. They were met half way by crossfire from the rest of his team. More detached themselves from the melee, racing towards the exits to the field, no doubt with orders to work their way through the innards of the stadium to this new annoyance.
Castle shook his shock off and aimed back down his sites, firing at the fire team that clearly had his team’s name on it. They might not have been able to hurt the big boss, but they were certainly able to damage his cohorts. Many of them never made it to the doors. More took their places.
>>
Gamora and Nebula hammered at Proxima Midnight with a single-minded fanaticism. The rest of the stadium had ceased to exist for them. The other combatants, even their allies were faded memories. Only those two and their target existed. Except when another of their brethren attempted to interfere. Those were cut down with almost no thought by a teamwork that had startled both of them.
They’d spent the last month in a situation that was heartbreakingly familiar, and conditions that were totally alien to them. They were both no stranger to pit fights, but never had they experienced such an environment. Lack of punishment for losing was hard enough for them to get used to, but the concept that the winner might proceed to explain how their opponent might defend themselves from their attacks in the future was completely foreign. And then there were the team fights. Thanos rarely encouraged his ‘kin’ to work together, so Gamora and Nebula had never realized the type of teamwork they could achieve.
Yet, even that hadn’t been enough. Just getting through the taller woman’s reach was problematic enough, but Proxima had elected to keep her spear close, no doubt out of concern that it might be used against them again. No one was her equal in such fighting. And not even Gamora’s neutronium blade, or Nebula’s neutronium tonfas seemed capable of breaking it. The best that could be said of their efforts was that they had kept their target from affecting the rest of the battle.
They circled their quarry looking for an opening; none presented itself. They both charged. Proxima beat them back with contemptuous ease. Gamora narrowly avoided the spear’s tip before they both made it back out of range.
“Proxima, help us,” Gamora pleaded. In response Nebula and Proxima vied for most incredulous look.
“Help you?” Proxima asked in a voice that matched her face. “The entire family witnessed my disgrace because of you,” she grated. “You will pay for that. I will watch as-” she started. Then Gamora struck. It was a wild, overbalanced blow, more in a desperate gamble to get inside the reach of that poisonous staff before it could be brought to bear than from anything resembling a sound tactic.
It almost worked. She managed to catch Proxima slightly off guard, which meant she made it within a foot of her target before ending up on the receiving end of a butt stroke from a staff. The blow turned her dive into a spin that landed her a few feet to the side of her goal. Gamora looked up to see the spear’s head pointed downward at her. Then suddenly it wasn’t.
Nebula had been ever so slightly slower than Proxima in recognizing the fraudulent nature of Gamora’s overture. When she realized what Gamora had been up to, she charged. If not for the anger that overture had aroused, Proxima would most likely have killed them both then and there. But for a split second she forgot about Nebula in her need to kill Gamora. And in that moment Nebula struck.
She did not attack Proxima directly. Instead she grabbed the haft of the spear with her left hand and pulled down, adding her weight to her momentum. As she slid under Proxima’s raised arm she smashed her right tonfa into the nerve plexus Proxima’s species kept just under the elbow. The hand holding the spear lost its grip momentarily. And in that moment Nebula wrenched down on the back half with all her strength.
The spear came free, rolling over the suddenly clumsy hand. Nebula dropped her last tonfa to catch it, turning its roll into a spin that aimed the head of the spear at Proxima’s face. Proxima ducked under it and aimed a jab at Nebula’s midsection. It went wide when Gamora’s sword slashed across her calf.
Proxima rolled backwards to gain some space. The other two women followed, pressing their advantage. Nebula almost lost the spear on her next swing. Proxima stepped inside the weapon’s arc, blocked it with her off forearm, and grabbed the haft with her other hand. She would have had no trouble yanking her property from its smaller, weaker holder, but an upward slash from Gamora interrupted her efforts.
Nebula decided to switch gears. Instead of giving Proxima more chances to regain her property, she began using it as bait. She quit trying to do damage with it, instead relying on quick attacks designed to draw the taller woman’s response.
Gamora knew exactly what she was about. Every time Proxima went for the bait Gamora would be there inflicting another sting. She still couldn’t land a heavy blow, but all those little cuts started adding up.
By the time Proxima realized what was going on it was too late to stop it. She caught Gamora with a massive backhand that sent the green woman sprawling, and made one last desperate swing at the spear. This time Nebula thrust it at her midsection. It did not arrive.
Proxima caught the spear just behind the head, fixing Nebula with a truly malevolent grin. Nebula tried to overpower the larger woman, but she was still too strong. Slowly, ever so slowly, the spear was pushed away from its target. Nebula knew that in a moment it would be twisted around and plunged into her torso, but there was nothing she could do about it. She was stuck. If she let go now, she’d only hasten that eventuality.
Proxima’s grin faltered as Gamora’s blade cut through the tendons behind her knees. She toppled over onto her back in pain as Gamora added her hands to Nebula’s. Between the two of them they were able to force the spear through Proxima’s grasp and into her chest.
For a moment the general seemed to be resisting the wasting effects of the spear. Then they spread, far more rapidly than usual. She just had time to release a howl demanding vengeance.
From across the park came an answering howl. Corvus Glaive forgot about the systematic destruction of Thor he’d embarked upon to charge across the field, through his own allies more often than not, after them.
Thor glanced from that retreating form back to see his brother. Any hope that his brother might have resisted Thanos’s control over the last five weeks died in his chest as he took in his brother’s demeanor.
This was how their fight had started not two minutes prior
“Loki,” he’d said mournfully, hopefully. There’d been the faintest answering flicker in his brother’s face. Then Loki had attacked.
Thor quickly realized he was fighting an apparition of his brother’s, and tried to game out at which point Loki would step from the shadows to surprise him. But he never did. Thor kept expecting it, but he just never materialized.
Which only made him more paranoid about it. And, he’d been so focused on watching out for that particular threat that he’d never even seen Corvus Glaive step up behind him. He’d barely managed to sidestep the massive general’s glaive. As he did so he cast his hammer at the taller monster’s face, sending him reeling backwards.
Unfortunately, Black Dwarf had chosen that moment to make Thor’s fight his business. As Thor had taken a step back from his cast, Dwarf’s fist hammered him into the ground from above. It moved to allow the other fist its turn, at which point they alternated. At first Thor tried to roll out of the way. Then he tried to call his hammer. But another fist fell, breaking his concentration. The hammer fell to the ground. Thor had to content himself with simply doing his best to block those massive fists. By the end he was barely conscious.
Black Dwarf’s grin grew as Thor’s attempts to defend himself wavered. Fire fell all around him from the aerial team. He ignored it.
Loki’s apparition stood watching as those fists fell, a feigned look of compassion on its face. “Ooh,” it said. “That does appear to hurt.”
Then the fists stopped. Dwarf had just enough time to realize that something even bigger than him had just latched onto his back.
“Remember me?” Antman asked, before hurling the monstrosity away from the Asgardian. The two of them squared off, Thor completely forgotten.
Thor groaned and rolled over, calling his hammer. He barely caught it in time to block another downward thrust by Corvus. He cast the hammer back at Corvus’s face, but his target dodged to the side at the last second and made ready another attack.
Thor managed to roll to avoid it, but he rolled in such a way that Corvus was between him and his returning hammer. Before Corvus could make another attack, the hammer slammed him aside.
But, as he’d fallen, he’d managed to kick Thor in the face, sending the Asgardian sprawling yet again in the dirt. The hammer dropped to the ground. Had Corvus renewed his attack immediately he would no doubt have killed Thor. The Asgardian was completely isolated from the rest of his friends, and barely conscious.
But a shriek from the other side of park drew his attention elsewhere. As he realized what that yell signified, he lost all thought of Thor; a thirst for vengeance had pushed everything else out of his twisted mind as he charged through the fray.
Not that Thor would have survived much longer against Thanos’s regulars. The aerial team did what they could to protect him as he tried to shake the cobwebs Black Dwarf had pounded into his head out, but they had to stay airborne. They had to be in position to intercept the Mind Stone when it appeared.
Spiderman was not under those constraints. He webbed a hop from Falcon as he passed by. Once in the air, he webbed the hammer. It had been his goal to use the hammer as a pivot point to swing himself into the closest of Thanos’s goons.
Instead the hammer came to him. Sheer shock kept him from correcting his tumble for a moment, as his intended anchor moved on him. Then he corrected, landing lightly on his feet next the groggy Asgardian. The hammer swung down through the nearest of the advancing minions.
Against any normal opponents that would have been enough to cause some consternation. But these just kept coming, like automatons. Peter drew the webbing in leaving a forearm’s length attached to the hammer. He stood over Thor, swinging it like a ball and chain. As anyone drew into range, he would loose that potential energy into a devastating blow that sent them flying back the way they’d come.
Not that such carnage seemed to deter the next contestant. Instead, they started attacking in twos and threes. Meanwhile, earlier recipients were picking themselves back up to head back into the fight. Many of them had to hobble back into the fray, but not enough. A few, a very few, remained where his blow had landed them.
The pressure continued to mount on Peter as he worked to defend Thor. It wasn’t too bad when they came at him in groups from one side of the ring he’d carved in their territory. It was when they tried to pincer him that he began having problems. Some were met with kicks and throws instead of magic hammer.
Thor was only unconscious for a minute or so, but in that time Peter found himself hemmed into an ever decreasing circle. The teenager was just starting to wonder how much longer he was going to be able to keep that monstrous horde away from Thor when the hammer stopped obeying his commands.
It stopped, mid swing, and accelerated past Peter. While he was still grappling with that, bolts of lightning tore from the sky in a circle around his position. His antagonizers went flying backwards as he crouched against the sudden compression of air.
Peter turned to see Thor in the process of regaining his feet. The Asgardian gave him a quick look of respect. Peter replied with a jauntily sketched salute, before hitching a ride on Falcon once again.
The Hulk watched his friends scrabbling to survive from inside his prison of force with an increasing sense of frustration. None had been seriously injured as of yet, but that was bound to change. They were surviving by the skin of their teeth and he wasn’t sure how much longer their luck would hold out. They needed him. But there was nothing he could do. He’d finally encountered the one obstacle that he couldn’t smash through. He had no leverage.
He sank to his knees. Helplessness replaced rage. Banner replaced Hulk.
Banner placed his hands on the bubble imprisoning him and watched the battle below take shape. He tried to console himself with the fact that he was taking Thanos’s telekinetic abilities out of the picture, but it was of little comfort. All he could do was hope that his friends could do what needed to be done without him.
“I’m not a taxi cab, kid,” Falcon complained as Spiderman hitched a ride again.
“Great, then I don’t have to tip you,” Spidey replied before releasing again. He headed in the direction of the showdown between Lang and Black Dwarf. The fight had not gone in Antman’s favor. He was bigger and stronger, but Dwarf was almost indestructible. He needed help.
“Hey,” Spidey called as he sailed between them “remember that thing I did at the airport?”
“How could I forget,” Antman replied sarcastically.
Peter immediately webbed a strand at Dwarf’s face and yanked, adjusting his trajectory towards his target. Dwarf reached up and ripped the web off. Spidey webbed him again, swinging under his arms. He started webbing Dwarf’s feet.
He didn’t get far. After one pass Dwarf snatched him out of the air and hurled him into the ground. Dwarf turned his attention to his primary nemesis, connecting with a right hook. Spiderman bounced to a stop just as Lang’s head crashed to the ground next to him. No doubt Dwarf had been aiming to squash Spiderman with Antman.
They stared at one another for a moment. “I guess he’s seen that one,” Lang said before rolling onto his back to meet Dwarf’s follow up charge. He raised both feet, kicking the smaller monster up and past him. Antman followed that movement around, landing on his feet. He turned around to see Dwarf picking himself back up
“Ah, it’s like punching a pufferfish,” Lang commented as they sized each other up.
Peter looked over Lang’s form, noting the myriad cuts in his outfit. His gloves seemed to have gotten the worst of it. “Sounds like you need a weapon,” Spiderman commented, trying to figure out how to help. Perhaps he could web the ground and trip Dwarf the next time he charged?
“Sounds great,” Antman replied seriously. He grabbed the left field foul pole and ripped it out of the ground. A mass of concrete came with the base. He immediately applied it to Dwarf’s face. The concrete anchor exploded in a cloud of shards. Dwarf gave all the appearance of not having noticed. Lang blocked Dwarf’s next swing with the pole; it bent. “You know,” he said “that flail worked pretty well. I don’t suppose you could make another?”
“Yeah, maybe I’ll just go and find you a super-sized Excalibur while I’m at it,” Peter replied, glancing around anyways. In reality, he had the perfect stuff for the rope of the flail, but he needed a weight.
“Great,” Lang shot back as he caught Dwarf’s fist in the bend of the pipe and kicked him. “I hear that’s the giant McDonald’s happy meal toy this month.”
Peter’s response died in his throat as his eyes landed on the variety of spiked implements wielded by Thanos’s children. “I’ll be right back,” he was all he said before webbing himself to the nearest group. “Excuse me . . . I need this . . . mind if I borrow that?” he asked as he worked his way through the crowd, webbing them all into one giant mass. Anyone trying to break free got an extra helping of web.
Once his ball of four or five minions was assembled, he webbed himself into the air, via Ironman this time. He twisted around and fired both web shooters back at his handiwork, and kicked off of Ironman. He went into a spin around the axis created by his web shooters, aimed at Lang, who was currently brandishing the remains of the foul pole like a baton.
The two strands of web wrapped around each other, creating a makeshift rope. Spidey landed on the foul pole and quickly attached the rope, winding it around the remaining length of foot and a half thick steel.
“I have no idea how long this will last,” Peter said, noting that Dwarf had begun another charge. “They should call this guy the rhino,” he added as jumped off.
“Thanks little guy,” Lang said, pulling the makeshift flail into a downward smash that slammed Dwarf into the ground at his feet. He couldn’t help enjoying being on the other end of that particular adjective. Usually, he was on its receiving end. Dwarf roared in anger as Lang stepped back, swinging the flail up to speed.
Frank Castle took a moment to survey the utter chaos taking place below him. His eyes halted their scan on mid right field. Just past the baseline was an empty space containing three individuals: Nebula, Gamora, and Corvus Glaive. The two sisters were fighting frantically against Glaive’s frenzied strikes.
Watching him Castle quickly realized that, maddened as he was, he was the type whose anger burned cold. It did not consume him; it gave him strength. He was currently using that strength against Nebula.
The ferocity of his attacks had the Luphoid backpedaling hard, blocking with the staff she’d appropriated from said attacker’s wife. Gamora was doing what she could, but she’d lost her neutronium sword in the fight and was making do with one of Nebula’s discarded tonfas.
As Castle watched through the scope, Nebula finally managed to rock her attacker back on his heels. She made to block yet another of his savage swipes but, at the last moment, she ducked under it. The spear slashed out at Glaive’s feet before he could regain control of his weapon. He gamely hopped over it.
Nebula then rose from her crouch into a sidekick that sent the widower flying a few feet backwards to land on the ground. Gamora sidestepped his altered trajectory, slamming the tonfa against the back of his head.
A lesser creature would have died instantly from either of those blows. But you don’t reach the exalted status of general in Thanos’s twisted parody of a family by being a lesser creature. Glaive rolled to the side, out of reach of Nebula’s follow up stab, and stood up.
For a moment the three of them stood motionless, each side reassessing the relative strengths and weaknesses of the other. Castle focused on Glaive’s weapon; the data they’d received had included the capabilities and weaknesses of Thanos’s lieutenants. While the former category significantly dwarfed the latter, he knew Glaive could not be killed without first breaking the weapon that was his namesake.
Castle noted that Glaive’s weapon had numerous dents and nicks in it, with one that went nearly a third of the way through its diameter. He dropped his weapon’s clip, ejected the standard .50 BMG round he had chambered, and loaded the one adamantium bullet each shooter in his squad had been given. But, before he could widen that gap, the three resumed battle.
“C’mon, C’mon,” he muttered as he tried to follow Glaive’s movements, urging the two sisters to give him another opening. Before that could occur, he heard the sounds of something large and heavy moving down the corridor. “It seems we have guests,” he commented, not moving his eye from the scope.
“I’ll roll out the welcome mat,” his spotter said. He then set the pair of Steiner 1050 binoculars down and pushed himself to his feet. A moment later there was the sound of a smoke grenade being activated and thrown, followed by the sound of an FN Minimi chambered in 7.62 NATO firing. That sound was occasionally dwarfed by the sound of the mined hallway erupting against whatever was in it. But, the steady sound of the squad automatic weapon firing reported that the targets of those explosions were still coming. “Thirty Seconds!” his spotter shouted as he ducked into the room to reload. Five seconds later the sound of automatic fire resumed.
And still there was no opening for him to fire. In one respect it was an impressive display of stamina. Most fights last for a few moments. Few reach half a minute of full action before the participants are exhausted. That said, he had cyborg aliens from hell crawling up his backside; he really didn’t have the time to enjoy a martial arts exhibition.
His spotter stepped back into the room, pulling the pin on the grenade in his hand. He opened his hand enough for the lever to launch itself in a random direction. “Time to go!” he announced before backhand tossing it out of the room to ricochet down the hallway. A second and a half later it detonated. A high keening wail flowed back down the hallway.
“Go,” Castle replied, never having taken his eyes from his scope.
“Lieutenant?” the kid asked.
Castle looked up from his rifle and fixed him with a ‘are you still here’ stare. “I said ‘GO’!” he replied, before turning back to the scope. The kid hesitated for half a second longer, then grabbed the rope they’d affixed to the floor and taking a running jump out of the box. He rappelled downward at a speed that would have had any instructor breathing fire, but he made it down.
As he cleared Castle’s line of sight he saw that the three had stopped fighting again. Gamora was saying something, he knew not what. If alien body language was anything like a human’s he could tell Glaive wasn’t very receptive to it, whatever it was.
He honed quickly in on the haft of the glaive, but he couldn’t find the cut he’d seen earlier; it must have been on the side turned away from him. But he knew he wasn’t going to get another shot; he could practically feel his attackers at the doorway. He quickly guesstimated the weakened spot’s location and fired.
If the glaive had been in the hands of a normal being it wouldn’t have worked; the shot would have simply knocked the glaive out of his hand. But this was not a normal being. This was a being possessing incredible strength. So, instead of being flung off into the distance by Frank’s one adamantium fifty caliber round, the haft of his weapon was severed into two parts almost exactly half way between the hands holding it.
Frank rolled over, just in time to see the first of those cybernetic monsters charge through the doorway. He came up from his roll with a P90 spraying. The small caliber bullets did little damage, but the aggregate mass slowed it down. Castle rolled out the open window as its brethren charged into the room behind it.
Castle flailed for a second before managing to catch his escape rope with one hand and between his boots. His fall became a controlled slide down the rope. He was half way to the bottom when he pulled the detonator from one of his pockets and flipped the appropriate switches.
A gout of fire erupted sideways out of the room he’d just vacated, followed quickly by one of his assailants. A moment later the roof above the ill-fated VIP box came crashing down.
He never did find out what actually cut his line. It could have been cut by the C4 he’d left as a welcome present when it detonated. It could be that one of his attackers had managed to cut it. Or it could be explosion sharpened pieces of ceiling slamming down on it. At the moment he did not care. All he knew was that he was suddenly in free fall with only twenty feet between him and a very hard landing.
Frank had never been much into parkour. But that other rope was just swinging there. His right foot snapped out, stomping the wall to his right. He felt his right leg twist as it made contact with it. Then he was sailing at an angle away from the wall with just a little bit of spin, to spice things up.
He tried to snag the other rope, but didn’t account for his rotation correctly; it slapped against the back of his right arm. He turned his head in time to see the rope dance around from the impact. Without thinking, he twisted in the air and stretched what seemed to be his entire left side towards his one last chance at salvation.
His fingers grasped the rope and clamped down like a train knuckle closing. He felt himself jerked back towards the wall. His elbow slammed against it, loosening his grip on the rope. Fortunately, his tug had brought the rope closer, allowing him to reacquire it with his right hand. The entire episode may have taken two seconds, but he still barely had time to slow his decent before hitting bottom. Fortunately, he was able to miss the soldiers waiting there.