The charismatic voice of Steve pulls the focus of the room to himself as he asks of the cross-armed king, his dedicated warriors flanking, allowing the sneaking away of two people to go unnoticed by most.
Bar from one.
Her every sense detailing those ordered around, organised so in importance and figurehead, she catches as the woman speaks to the man, her moving lips read. Eyes narrowing, concern growing, she watches as the woman wiles her way into his confidence, using the situation and his heroic traits to manipulate the situation towards a her desired outcome.
An out of place movement from in front, Strange's sight turning to regard the woman, a frown on his face as he looks to her, gets her attention. Her thoughts running, decades of training and trailing, watching targets to determine personality and possible actions, she catches on quick. The mental conversation happening in secret from their supposed allies, she reevaluates her understanding of the two, filing away this showing of hidden ability.
The target of her observation switches back as the woman grabs the arm of the man, the bizarre, golden cracks shown on her bared skin. Fingers grasping around the sleeve of his purple shirt, she leads him away from their place inside to pass the outer ring, her hand up and spinning. A portal, actual magic, the bedtime stories of children come to life, opens up before them, the previously scouted rooftop of this Sanctum showing.
As they step through to move out of view, the perplexed face on her friend causing a small smirk to curl the corner of her lip, the weight of a tremendous rifle lingers in her memory.
"Natasha?"
That Brooklyn accent, still strong despite the turning of the century and time missed, calls to her from her left, a request and inquiry both. Having kept track of every conversation with ease despite her seeming distraction, she smoothly answers him and the room at large, revealing, "Unobtainable, Cap. With information provided by Sarah, we managed to take out the secret keeper before Thanos could get to her. As far as we know now, the Soul Stone is out of his reach."
Assassination all that she knew, the Red Room making sure of it, the task handed off to her by the woman in question is one that doesn't keep her up at night. She's read the dossier provided to her, Sarah's account of that Gamora's life starting from childhood to months before death a detailed one. If she were a younger woman, still without cause or purpose, the parallels between their lives might have weighed upon her.
But this is a war, one for the very fate of the universe itself.
The time for empathy and regret died the moment that portal opened up in their Quinjet, revealing the true depth of the world to her and Steve.
"Good. That's one less weapon in the hands of our enemy." Running his sight over those gathered, lingering minutely on the figure of Bucky Barnes, equipped with his new black and gold arm courtesy of his carers, he settles on the silent Strange, asking, "Stephen," he calls, "have the other Stones been moved to a safe location?"
The quiff of his hair wobbling as he looks to him, the head of all sorcerers doesn't speak, choosing to show instead. His hands raising before him, one under to face the ceiling palm up, he spins the other above, his fingers pinch in sign. An image forming–magic, for real–a realistic depiction, possibly a live feed, of an alien landscape appears.
The sky a constant black, devoid of any visible light source or stars, the ground perfectly flat and metal looking, a single, small pillar rises up from it. What looks like fingers jutting from the top, they curl around a point of red light, holding whatever sits there secure, as he says, "The Reality Stone has been transported to a higher dimension, all but inaccessible by mortals. The region chosen is home to a cosmic being that will play host to it's power, matching its output to stabilise the guard we've placed on it."
I'm sorry?
She voices her incredulity, speaking up, "Hold on, are you saying that there are... What? Beings out there capable of rivalling the power of a Stone?"
He moves his fingers, the image changing to show a bright blue cloud, its colour contrasting against the veined red of its background, "Unfortunately, Miss Romanoff, we don't have the time for me to teach you all that you are unknowing of in terms of the sheer vastness of the multiverse, so I'll keep this short." The perspective moving in to enter the cloud, a glowing cube–the Tesseract–coming into view, he informs all listening,
"If you think the Infinity Stones are the height of power, then you are greatly mistaken."
A disquiet nervousness airs from those not in the know, mostly those of earth just now coming into contact with the grander scope of the universe, when Stephen continues, "The Space Stone, what you know as the Tesseract, has been contained within the nebula of a fading divinity. Right about now, going by the differences in our timestreams, I'd say its currently floating within its heart on its way to what remains of its soul."
T'Challa, until now content to speak when spoken to, his regal standing at the head of his following, questions the master sorcerer, moving away from the compounding revelations, "The nature of the Stones being what they are, could they not be used to aid our fight against this Thanos? With one Stone in hand, is he not unstoppable?"
Dispelling his magic, the showing of wonders she doubts she will ever see with her own eyes, he responds, a hand clutching the eye-shaped necklace hanging over his chest, "A Stone for a Stone; assistance in equal measure. No more shall see the field without the variables increasing. I've foreseen it." A haunting look shadowing his eyes, one she's all too familiar with, he finishes quietly, "...This is the best path."
A solemn silence takes the room, the men and women of differing races and species gathered knowing war with every fibre of their beings, when, "Well, I for one trust the wizard, so if we could move one that'd be great. Pepper's cooking her grandmothers brisket tonight and will only chastise me if I'm late."
Steve, his shoulders slumping slightly, sighs, "Tony." The man in question shrugs, a hand pressed to his new and improved Arc Reactor in mock offence. His head lowered to the holo-table before us, Steve looks over the surface, examining the standing representations, then speaks, "...No, you're right."
His hands raising to enter the cool blue light, he somewhat amateurishly manipulates it to change perspective, the display splitting into parts. A recreation of New York in the centre, having been mapped by the technology of Tony, a series of portraits orbit it to take position as he suggests, "Let's go over what we know one more time. I know you all know your roles, but it can never hurt to cement that knowledge in mind, especially with the new information the Masters have managed to gather."
Tapping at the city to mark key points, the situation an eerie reminder of the Battle of New York, he opens, "Most of us here remember the invasion of twenty-twelve, and I've made sure to get those who weren't present up to speed on the tactics displayed by the attacking force. Still."
With a swipe, the city lowers as an image takes its place, the tech-imbued form of a too familiar species, "Chitauri; sentient, intelligent, and cybernetically enhanced. Capable of momentarily restraining someone of my strength, they swarm in numbers using their flying chariots and their massive transport creatures, the Leviathans."
A model of the worm-thing's sheer size appearing within the city diorama, he asks of the now quiet Tony, one arm supporting his other to hold his chin, "Tony?"
His eyes flicking to Steve, a brow raised, he replies in his reassuring, confident, "Of course, locked and loaded. It took me a truly agonising hour of my time, but using the data collected on the composition of that metal plating that covers them, I retrofitted the standard Iron Legion units with these pretty cool cutting implements." Arm up, hand straight, he vibrates it and swings it down, mimicking a brrr and schwing with his mouth, "Slice through it like paper, no problem."
Used to the playful personality of our teammate, Steve carries on, unminding, "Thank you."
Tony tells, responding, "I had the time."
Grouping the last of the troops together, the others falling back to the wayside, three frames rise to show various species. The first, a metal-masked, furred creature on all fours, "Chitauri Gorillas, genetically modified members of the Chitauri that stand as large as Hulk. Big, tough, and strong, they seem to be subservient to their smaller brethren, allowing themselves to be chained and used as brutes. As with their masters, they possess no sense of self-preservation, and will unrelentingly attack with no regard for their own safety."
Right, leaving those ones to the boys.
Image minimising, the second expands; eyeless, quadrupedal creatures with leathery, black and yellow skin, "Outriders, basic rush units used to wear down defences. Blind, possessing four to six arms, their main avenue of offence centres on their exposed teeth and their physique. Same as with all the forces under Thanos, they show no hesitation in throwing away their lives."
Shrinking down, leaving the last, some off-putting, black-coloured humanoids with split mouths, Steve goes to continue, when another voice interrupts. Natasha's sight landing on the speaker, a silver-armoured woman, a sword and blue cape on her back, she reviews what she knows of this one–a powerful member of the Asgardians that served under Thor's father.
An actual Valkyrie of myth, though apparently not as one-to-one as the tales described, she served as a shield-maiden in defence of the throne and as a member of Odin's special forces. Thor spoke highly of her ability to lead and her prowess in combat, and by the way she stands... he told nothing but the truth.
She doubts, despite the confidence she has in her skill, that she'd be able to put up much of a fight should it come down to it, even if their physiques were equal.
"I'll do the explaining on these lot, if you wouldn't mind, Mister America." Brunnhilde says, one gloved hand held up her head to indicate her presence.
Steve, knowing the woman to have first hand knowledge on this next party, tells, "Please; by all means."
Nodding, Brunnhilde takes a step forwards and raises her voice so as to speak clear, saying, "Right. This one," she gestures to the shown figure, "is a Sakaaran. When the Grandmaster arrived on their homeworld and turned it into his playground, he attracted the worst sort to take up residence and settled down. The native species weren't much a fan of that fact, mostly because it was forced on them, so the majority emigrated off-world.
"Their circumstances are pretty sad, in their own way. With no single world to call their own, and their birthplace colonised by an arrogant prick, they took up the profession of mercenaries. Your everyday gun for hire, they now sell their services to whoever can afford it, cosying up to the likes of the Kree – and now Thanos, it seems." She frowns, for what reason Natasha doesn't know.
"Anyway, yeah. Insectoid biology for the most part, bioengineered exoskeletons over the lot of them that protect reasonably well, though you'll have no trouble breaking through with what I've seen so far. Their tech is also above yours, but it's nothing too extravagant. They've got flying transport and energy weapons, but apart from that, any single one could be taken out by your everyday human, as long as they have like, a knife or something."
Bowing slightly in a flourish of an ended performance, her explanation finished, she steps back to retake her place.
Thanking her, Steve continues his review, closing the information on the forces to bring up the four generals, the so feared Black Order, Thanos' children.
A female, humanoid alien in a bodysuit appearing, short horns curving back from the dark pigment covering her upper face, he describes, "Proxima Midnight. In addition to the standard superhuman body that seems present in every species of space, she is also an incredibly skilled fighter. Equipped with a spear capable of firing bursts of energy and recalling to her hand once thrown, she as deadly as any enhanced we've faced before."
He peers through the hologram to find Brunnhilde once more, "How confident are you in eliminating her?"
She smirks in reply, "Is that even a question?" The expression then lessening, she looks to her, "...With help from Natasha there and whoever the Dora Milaje can spare, we'll get it done."
Voicing her denial, Natasha informs, "I won't be taking the field in that way, not right away. I'm being placed further out on long-range offensive."
Don't get involved, Clint.
Brunnhilde tsks in response, making her disappointment known, as T'Challa turns to the bald woman beside him, a floor-rested spear in her clutch, "Okoye?"
Slamming the butt down to thump the wood, Natasha catching the silent Wong levelling an annoyed look towards her, the gold and red armoured woman responds, "My sisters shall fight where needed, my king."
"Then you will assist." He orders, looking to the Valkyrie.
She smiles at him, a certain level of notable respect in her voice as she says, "Thanks." Then, eyeing Okoye, "Pleasure working with you." The woman addressed simply nods, keeping stance.
Seeing the networking finished, the team-up formed, Steve swipes the alien away to replace it with a second. Dressed in a desert-looking ceremonial attire of black cloth and gold metal, his pale face showing under the wrapping around his head, he notes, "Corvus Glaive. Husband to Proxima, they often operate together due to their similar skill sets. Despite sharing equivalent physicality as his wife, he's been rated as being of higher risk on account of their one difference."
A double-sided polearm, sharing the same colouring as its master, enlarges at Corvus' side to stand taller than him, Steve intones a deafening reminder, "He's immortal."
Pinching his fingers towards the alien, Steve shrinks him down to land beside his partner, "According to Sarah, as long as his glaive remains intact and whole, he can recover from death itself. The how is unimportant, as is the fact that he can, it will still take him time to recover, so…" Turning his sight left to the Wakandans, he catches the eye of the long-haired and man and presses, resolved, "We put him down first, then remove the glaive from the arena."
A solemn nod given, Bucky responds, an unspoken exchange shared between the men, "Same as always." Their brotherhood as strong as always despite their separation, Bucky's time in Wakanda necessary to remove his Winter Soldier brainwashing, a third projection is summoned.
A giant rivalling the size of Hulk, with a vaguely Jurassic head and rough scales over his armoured body, the recollection resumes, "Cull Obsidian. Despite the clear differences in their physiologies, he is in fact the younger brother of Corvus."
An impressed whistle from the other side of the table breaking the review, issued from the lips of Tony, he jokes, "Going by the size of that big boy, I can hazard a pretty good guess as to how they became orphans."
Carrying on despite the interruption, a sharp chuckle leaving Brunnhilde, Steve moves on, "A ferocious, bloodthirsty brute with incredible strength and durability to match, he's charged with engaging the most physically powerful opposers to Thanos' crusade." A weapon shows beside, "Wielding an extendable chain hammer capable of limited transformation, he is skilled in both close combat and battlefield control."
His head raising to find Strange beyond the light, he asks, a brow raised in question and concern, "Is she up to it?"
The man chuckles, amused, "Out of everyone in this room, I'd rank her as most dangerous besides myself and Wanda. By her own power, she's effectively immortal, and has emerged victorious against the forces of the Hell of Manifest Desire. I've no concerns to her safety, I assure you." A finger raised to tap one ear, he smiles, "She's helping Bruce reconnect with Hulk right now, but she's sharing my hearing, so I've got to choose my words carefully."
He flinches somewhat, his eyes rolling, while a part of what he said replays in Natasha's mind, the disclosure catching her off guard. The change in Bruce's behaviour obvious to her since he returned from his self-imposed exile in space, she's been meaning to have a sit down with him and talk. Between this and that, the last few months hectic ever since being told of the coming end of the world, there's been little opportunity to make time.
Are you okay, Bruce?
She had no idea what he's been struggling with, something that fills her with shame, and now the matter has been taken out of her hands by a woman she barely knows. Her burgeoning romance with him forestalled by the simple fact of their differing lives, Natasha thinking herself undeserving of all he was offering, that doesn't mean she feels nothing for him.
She noticed the signs of whatever's troubling him from the first moment she laid eyes on him once again, all the way back when Loki was summoned by Strange and that portal opened up before her for him to walk on through. Circumstances not exactly optimal for their much needed talk, so much itched to escape her trained control and be spoken, only to be corralled by the calm beat into her by her masters.
If they survive...
Time to make it right.
"Hulk?" She inquires of Strange, asking.
His head turning so as to look through the open portal, a growing frown upon his brow and creases of concern in the corner of his eyes, he says, "From what I've learned, him and Bruce are not talking right now, with Hulk refusing to take control." A breath released, Wong looking to him with a confused but worried expression, he whispers, the words slipping out in a clearly unconscious manner, "Do not look upon thee..."
He trails off, his eyes unfocused, when Wong calls, breaking his state to shift his sight, "Stephen?"
Mouth opening slightly, lips parting without sound escaping, he stares a moment. Something unseen by her making Wong step back, his narrowed eyes locked to Strange's face, an orange glow begins to form in both hands, when the man regains focus and looks around, "Sorry, I, uh..." His sight falling on the holo-table, Cull Obsidian still shown as the others watch vigilance, he tells, "...I'll detail the last of the Children, if that's alright?"
Her hold on the grip of her holstered pistol loosening, she notices the relaxing of the prepared Steve as he replies, "...Feel free."
Coughing once to clear his throat, a fist before his mouth in polite gesture, he flicks out a hand, the program of the table responding by unknown means. Its light dims to darken, the display flickering once before gradually brightening in change, its colour switching to the now known orange of sorcery.
Cull vanishing, a wash of moving glitter rises from the centre to slowly take shape, forming a corporeal representation of the last subject, "Ebony Maw." He starts, twitching a finger, the noseless image of the gaunt, grey-skinned alien rotating in response, "Basically a herald, he worships his so-called father to the extreme, arriving on targeted planets ahead of the rest to preach Thanos' coming. He's a particularly twisted being, relishing in the struggle of those who fight back and taking pleasure in demeaning them with taunts of salvation and sacrifice."
The picture skipping once, the figure disappearing, it returns in an instant to show his hands raised, fire in one, the barest of fluctuations in the other, "While not a practitioner of magic in his own right, he's displayed a showing of certain psionic abilities when in battle. Beyond the capacity to generate and manipulate fire, he has an incredible precision with telekinesis and can instantaneously travel an uncertain distance by manner of teleportation."
Flitting once more, he reappears, his mouth wide open and white teeth bared, "The particular danger of this enemy isn't in his prowess with tangible power, unfortunately, but in his nature as a whisperer."
A growing feeling of light-headedness taking over her perception, her head tilts to focus, eyes closing in concentration. Working to perceive, a series of tiny sounds existing on the edge of her hearing and catching in the range of her sense, she frowns, her cognition lessening under soothing persuasion. Murmuring, subtonal words surrounding her from a sourceless point, an alarm of incongruity spikes her adrenaline, eyes snapping open
Glaring at Stephen, the encompass of her vision seeing the others look towards him with varying caution, he holds a hand up in apology and says, "That was a little taste of the intrusion this Maw is capable of, a recreation made from our recorded encounters with similar beings. You all felt the coercion, how the words worked to reduce your caution and blanket your cognition." His sight raising to stare at the projected alien, he frowns slightly, cautioning, "Imagine how persuasive he is in person."
Looking to Steve, he tells, "Of all those gathered here, I'd suggest me and King T'Challa be the ones to handle Ebony Maw. I've got the mental defences to invalidate his Voice and sorcery to counter his manipulation of matter, while T'Challa's armour will allow him to get close without being stopped." Asking of the Wakandan king, finding him watching and weighing his suggestion, he asks, "Agreed?"
T'Challa, his expression thinking, eventually nods, saying, "Your suggestion is wise, foreign sorcerer."
A twirl of his finger later, the magically manifested image of the alien collapses back into its shifting sand, spreading out to layer the table. It undulates, rippling in parts, before drawing back towards the centre and rising. Another figure taking shape, a costumed, fit woman showing, her longish hair floating weightlessly, her blank face gains life as her dead eyes blink.
The woman looks about, taking in her surroundings with a level of confidence that tells of her skills, then catches sight of the one who created her, smiling, "Stephen," she greets, "I see we have an audience this time."
He nods to her in returned welcome, saying, "Carol," the defender of space conjured to join the meeting, weeks after her first introduction, "I assume you've heard of the fall of Knowhere?"
She replies, a serious expression donning, "I have. I've been on my way back to earth since I learned of it. I'm currently passing by Tyvorn Cluster, so I should be back within the day." She scans the area, taking note of those gathered, then asks, "Have we secured the Stone?"
With a short reply, he answers, "It's safe and secure."
She exhales out a short breath of relief, then, "I need to get back to my flight, but you know how to contact me. Summon a portal if he arrives before I return, okay?" A golden light manifests to fill her eyes, an aura of bright, burning energy emanating outwards to border her. Natasha takes a step back, putting distance between them for her own safety, as the glow begins to bleed through the projection.
A flare climbing up in a single burst to touch the ceiling, a scorch mark left behind, Strange quickly spins a hand, his cloak splaying. The magic cancels immediately, the sand collapsing down and laying thin, disappearing in points until the surface below shows clean. It's display flickering again, the blue of its system reappears, Strange's hold on it releasing.
He sighs, his arm settling at his side, "...I didn't expect her power to reach through like that, my apologies." Speaking to Steve, he says, "As you heard, she's nearly here. As the one with the most chance of defeating the Stone-empowered Thanos, she'll take the lead and try to prevent him from being able to use it on any of our forces. And we all know of his prowess by now, I hope."
"We do." He responds.
The shield on his back peeking over his shoulders to halo him, Steve looks to every person in the circle. He meets their gazes, locking sight with Natasha last, then to the outer ring and to the gathered soldiers, alien and native both. An air takes over the room, the warriors standing straight in response to his regard, a commander at helm, when he begins to speak,
"This isn't about us." He starts, his strong voice commanding all attention, "This isn't about me, or you, or Thanos; it's about those outside these walls. Without us to protect them, to defend the lives given to them by God, then they will soon fall to the forces of mad." A solemn sadness on his bearded face, his piercing blue eyes settling on the projected cityscape, he declares,
"That cannot be allowed."
Looking back up, he promises, "Everyday now reminds me that the conflicts I once thought unique to earth exist beyond too. Petty tyrants and would-be conquerors forcing their ideologies on the innocent. Today is a chance to rid the universe the worst of these evil's. A chance for our planet to help those who can't help themselves. To avenge the deaths of the unnamed."
A closed fist slaps over his heart in gesture to all listening, respect to those who stepped forward, given "And I couldn't ask for greater warriors at my side."
A deep shout sounds, started by a single, faceless Asgardian; then another, his brothers and sisters answering his call, before it spreads, the audience cheering,
"HA!"
Their feet stamp in sequence, shaking the very foundation of the building, the floor under us quaking. The battle chant sings, quickening Natasha's pulse, a giddy feeling filling her stomach and tingling her skin as a smile parts her face. She observes them with bright eyes, the strength of camaraderie washing over her, when the corner of her sight catches sudden movement.
Her heart skips, the echoes of pure damage ghosting through her body, a memory she's tried to overcome, as a mass of veined green comes into view. Its chest rising in heavy breath, a harsh frown upon its familiar face as it looks over the room with flittering eyes, its thick skin stretched over muscles of limitless strength, the Hulk stands beyond a now expanded portal.
Its borders stretched to touch the ceiling, what little of the roof shown behind the beast absent any sign of Sarah, the cheering gradually dies. The voices quiet one by one as awareness spread, the hopeful atmosphere stagnating to be replaced by a tension of genuine fear, cold sweat dripping on Natasha's skin.
Her thoughts churn, flipping through the escape routes memorised, when its sight jerks to lock to her, pinning her in place and erasing every thought but one,
Oh.
Fuck.