Disclaimer: I own neither Marvel, nor Christopher Paolini.

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The light didn't end, but after a few seconds Eragon determined that it was no longer so bright as to be painful, and he blearily forced his eyes open. He was on his hands and knees, huffing; Brisingr was lying a few feet away from him, its sapphire blade glistening with both magic and sunlight.

The ground was strange, he noticed – nothing like the trampled dirt he'd been fighting on just moments before. It was stone, but like no stone he'd seen before, and although it was flat, it was not smooth – riddled with pockmarks and with a texture more akin to the rocky beaches he remembered encountering outside Teirm.

Eragon found himself wondering at the ground for a few moments while he caught his breath. He rubbed his glove-covered thumb across its surface and stared, fascinated, when a small piece of gravel broke free.

Where am I?

With a sudden rush of adrenaline, Eragon came to his senses and sprung to his feet, grabbing Brisingr on the way and whirling around, scanning his surroundings for potential enemies. SAPHI—

His mental cry was cut short as he froze, his mind seeming to shut down as it tried to work out what it was seeing.

In front of him stood a huge building, the height of a mountain, made out of metal and glass. Before his eyes could follow it upward, Eragon smelled smoke, and turned to see what looked like a pile of painted metal, twisted beyond recognition, a fire erupting from its center. A crowd of people in strange, colorful clothes were running from it, screaming, (screaming, he realized, he hadn't been able to hear before now), while a huge black wagon, made of metal and emitting an ear-piercing shriek, suddenly appeared, moving on its own to position itself between Eragon and the smoldering wreck. Or perhaps Eragon and the fleeing people.

The vehicle made a screeching sound as it came to a halt, and immediately following Eragon heard the same sound again, coming from all around him. He spun, still holding Brisingr aloft, to find more gigantic buildings, more heaps of metal, (much more – this side seemed to have an entire wall of metal, although it wasn't burning), more terrified people, and more metal wagons.

All this metal? What is this place? The cleverest of dwarves couldn't build structures that high. Why is everything so chaotic? And... grey?

Eragon flicked his gaze upwards to determine that he was outside, (those buildings were unimaginably tall), and back down when the sun, directly overhead, threatened to blind him. He was aware of how fast his heart was beating – the screams and strange shrieking were impossibly loud to his sensitive ears, and he could have sworn he was seeing flashing lights of red and blue forming a circle around him, although from where they were coming he had no idea.

Magic, he thought, and then, SAPHIRA!

There was no response, but before he could begin to worry, or even properly panic, doors were being thrown open from the vehicles surrounding him, and dozens of men in strange black uniforms, black helmets covering their features, jumped out from the interiors and hid behind the doors. A strange series of clicks could be heard over the overwhelming background noise. The men held steady, each pointing some sort of black device directly at Eragon, the natures of which he had no desire to find out.

He spun, slowly, in a circle, bringing Brisingr with him. The screams had all but died out, although there was still a great deal of noise, and Eragon could no longer see anything on this strange, lifeless ground other than black metal and black men. Warriors, he thought, Men of Galbatorix. Why else would he send me here? They must be powerful magicians, but those lights don't seem to be affecting me at all. Perhaps they're meant to be intimidating?

"DROP THE WEAPON!" a gruff, decidedly human voice rang out from somewhere to Eragon's left. He turned to find a single man standing upright, and not wearing a helmet, though still pointing his own black device towards Eragon. "AND GET ON YOUR KNEES. WE HAVE YOU SURROUNDED."

Well that much is evident.

The man didn't sound scared, Eragon noted, just angry. He must have magic, he thought, frowning, or be very well disciplined. Or perhaps he doesn't know who I am?

"Who are you?" Eragon directed towards the man. He was wearing a strange black hat in lieu of his helmet, and had an unremarkable face, although half of it was hidden behind his raised weapon. It seemed strange to Eragon that the commander of an army should be less protected than his soldiers, but it certainly wasn't the strangest thing about this place. "Where am I?"

"Drop the weapon, or I swear to God I will fill you so full of bullets there won't be a piece left of you to bury!"

"Bullets?" Eragon asked, confused.

"The sword! On the ground! Now!"

His threat seemed real enough, but there was no way for Eragon to know if he was actually in any danger, considering his wards, without reading the man's mind – and, considering the likelihood of him being currently surrounded by powerful magicians, Eragon couldn't bring himself to try. But still, his adrenaline was pumping from the battlefield he'd just been pulled from, and he was surrounded by potential threats – somehow, he couldn't bring himself to let go of Brisingr, either.

Eragon worked his jaw, keeping his face impassive, and maintained his grip on his weapon. He locked eyes with the man who had been speaking. "You'll forgive me if I do not comply, but I can assure you I wish you no harm should you return me from whence I came."

"And you expect me to believe that bullshit?" The man seemed to be growing more agitated. "I don't care what magic-ass planet you come from, you blow up half a street corner in my city and you pay for it, you hear!? I'm not giving you no favors, you either drop the damn sword and come quietly or I blow your brains out here and now. You hear that, freak!? Which one's it gonna be?"

Eragon contemplated whether or not he found this man threatening. And then he readjusted his grip on Brisingr and started forward with easy, unhurried steps.

"FREEZE!" the man screamed. And then, when Eragon did not, "FIRE!"

The noise was deafening, and the tiny pieces of metal flung at Eragon were too unexpected and fast for him to dodge, but he was pleased to find that his wards stopped each and every one of them dead in midair, a few centimeters from his body. They fell to the strange stone ground with a melodious tinkle as Eragon watched, fascinated. What a strange idea for a weapon, he thought. Like a slingshot, only powered by some sort of explosion, if the smoke is anything to go by.

Explosion after explosion sounded around him, and bullet after bullet was easily stopped by his wards, until Eragon had almost reached the door the helmet-less man was standing behind.

"RETREAT!" the man screamed, and the crouching men around him all raised their weapons and fled. Eragon huffed. Cowards. Will they not even try to best me in combat?

The commander, however, stayed, continuing to fire at Eragon's approaching figure. He backed up, step by step, as Eragon reached the vehicle and moved around it, careful not to touch the open door. Then Eragon sheathed Brisingr, and held his hands out to the sides in a submissive gesture.

"Please," he said, loudly, so as to be heard over the deafening noise. "I mean you no harm."

"Like hell you don't," the man growled, although he stopped firing. He added, as if as an afterthought, "What the hell are you, anyway?"

Eragon stopped moving, and the man followed suit. "That doesn't matter. Are you in league with Galbatorix? And before you answer, know that if you lie, I will know."

Which wasn't strictly true, but it sounded threatening enough.

The man didn't flinch, just continued to stare at Eragon with the one eye not hidden behind his weapon. After a pause, he responded with, "I don't know what the hell you're talking about. I'm in the NYPD, kid. Whatever the hell superhero-alien cult you're in, you gotta deal with that yourselves. And I would let you deal with it yourself, only you just teleported your scrawny ass into the middle of a busy intersection in the middle of Manhattan and killed a lot of people, and someone's gonna have to hold you accountable for it. And," he was smiling now, "I reckon she's the first on the list."

Eragon had been about to say that he hadn't meant to kill anyone with his appearance in this strange land, and that really it wasn't his fault at all, when he detected motion behind him and whirled to grab a thin wrist, stopping a small curved knife inches from his abdomen. Wards might be low, he reminded himself, and who knows if it's enchanted.

His attacker pulled back and revealed herself to be a red haired woman, though unlike any woman Eragon had ever seen. Her hair was cut short, well above her shoulders. She wore an outfit of black leather that even Arya would have balked at, revealing herself so openly Eragon wondered if perhaps she had been caught mid-dressing. Her tight fitted leggings were accented with several thigh holsters, presumably holding more knives, as they seemed too small for the sort of weapon the commander was carrying, and she carried no sword. As she began to circle him, Eragon drew his.

"Thank you, Captain," the woman said, not taking her eyes off of Eragon. "I think I can take it from here."

With no warning, the woman sprang at him, knife flashing as she attempted to stick it in the side of his neck. Eragon stepped to the side and brought Brisingr around in a wide swing. The woman jumped off the ground and flipped over it, landing just as Eragon struck her right hand with a quick upward thrust. The woman cried out and dropped her weapon, the small knife flying behind her and clattering to the ground. Before she could react, Eragon had flicked his sword to her windpipe.

The woman froze, clearly surprised at Eragon's enhanced speed. It dawned on Eragon, suddenly, that she really had no idea who he was.

The woman held her chin high, staring at him with fiery eyes. "Who are you?"

She seemed far too calm for being on the brink of death. "This is a Rider's sword," he told her. "It matters not what wards or armor you've placed about yourself. Its enchantments will prevail."

The woman cocked her head and fought a smirk. "I just want to know who you are and what you're doing here."

"And you thought to accomplish that by killing me?"

"I saw the shooting. If a bullet doesn't stop you, I had a feeling my knife wouldn't either."

"Then why did you attack me?"

"I was just trying to get you down. You're a threat." She tried to pull away from Brisingr, but Eragon slid its edge along her neck to rest just under her ear. It left a thin trail of blood.

No wards. And sure enough, a quick glance at her hand showed another wound, steadily dripping blood.

"I want to know how I got here."

"I have no idea how you got here."

"Where I am, then. And who you are."

The woman swallowed, but otherwise showed no sign of fear. "I am Agent Romanoff, of the Strategic Homeland Intervention and Enforcement Logistics Division." At Eragon's bewildered expression, she smirked. "I work for the government. And you're currently standing in downtown Manhattan."

Eragon looked around. The street was completely deserted of people. The smoldering wreck on the other side of the circle of vehicles was still smoking. There were several other vehicles of various colors and sizes, some with doors still open, all seemingly abandoned. The blue and red lights were still flashing and Eragon realized that they were coming from some sort of lanterns on the top of the black vehicles.

There was shattered glass everywhere, mostly, he figured, from the surrounding buildings. The air reeked of smoke and something fouler. In the distance he could make out a rumble of noise, but he couldn't begin to guess at its source, and for the moment it didn't seem threatening.

He looked back at the red haired woman. She was still staring at him proudly, as though daring him to cut her throat.

She reminded him, suddenly, of Arya, and he knew at once that he wouldn't, no matter that she was trying to kill him a moment ago. Besides, this land was foreign, and strange, and he had no idea how to get back to Belatona.

I'm needed there, he thought suddenly, and then, "Saphira."

The woman frowned. "What?"

After a moment's hesitation Eragon removed his sword from her neck and sheathed it. "Do not try to kill me," he warned, turning away and scanning the decimated street. "You would surely fail."

"Oh, I wouldn't dream of it," the woman responded. And then something sharp was being stabbed into his neck, and the world was going hazy, and then black. Eragon didn't remember hitting the ground.