The End of the Hand


Previously:

My thought process is interrupted by a hologram of Phineas appearing above my desk. The fact that his body is his own instead of a Kevin Sorbo duplicate tells me that he has some serious news for me and he doesn't disappoint, explaining before I can even ask him what's going on.

"Jess has been spotted. She's in Hong Kong. She's close to Murakami's base."

Well then. Seems like I'm about to pay a visit to the Fragrant Harbor.


Due to always carrying my armour, weapon and shield on me in their miniature forms I'm ready to head into battle immediately, though I pause for the briefest second nonetheless. Normally the Hand wouldn't have posed any threat to me considering the vast difference of power between us, but that was before I was slowly disintegrating due to power-overload and they had managed to get their hands on a Chi-infused pseudo-dragon.

My fight with Alexandragon had been the toughest one that I had been in up until that point, and she had been only a few hours "old" at most by the time I had arrived in Miami. Not only had Sowande been turned into a dragon for over a week now, who knows what kind of effect Murakami's harvesting had had on him.

That's not even accounting for the knowledge of magic that the Mandarin possessed and the mastery he might have gained with the Ten Rings.

Jess should have no issue dealing with Murakami and I should have little trouble in dealing with Sowandragon if I briefly powered up to my fullest extent (after all, the goal was not to preserve this body, but merely cling onto life long enough so that I could make a switch to my new one), but that still left a powerful wizard and two small armies at our back and it was unreasonable to think Susan could keep all of them at bay without significant injury.

Plus, she'd probably be glued to Jessica anyways.

Mind made up, I spoke up to Phineas as I opened up a portal, but to my front lawn instead of Hong Kong itself.

"Phineas, have the B-Team assemble ASAP. Tell them to wait in the deployment area of the Hangar, I'll open up a portal once they're done. Shoot a message to the Ancient One, tell her that the Sorcerer Supreme is calling on all of the available Masters who are capable of combat: I'm taking the Mystic Arts to war against the final remnants of the Hand. See if you can get in contact with the Chaste and tell the Ancient One to do the same, I imagine they'll want in on this as well."

Phineas is already moving as I speak, and I know that the Ancient One will quickly follow suit once she receives his message, if she hasn't been preparing already thank due to her (severely weakened but still present) gift of foresight.

As Sorcerer Supreme I had access to several spells that served as special communication devices, allowing me to essentially use a megaphone to contact all sorcerers simultaneously. However, I was not very well-versed with them (yet) and outside of putting all Sanctums and safe-houses on "high alert" I couldn't give them much more detailed instructions, other than pinging my own location to them, so they knew where to rally around.

Considering her vastly larger experience, things would go much smoother if it was the Ancient One who gathered my mystical army for war, especially since she actually knew who was and who wasn't fit for battle in the first place.

Without pausing in my speech, I step forwards through the portal and without prompting my massive Leviathan bursts from the East River in a spray of water and a blast of chilled air. Due to being linked to my mind it had already begun moving into position the moment I had come to a decision and so all I needed to do was jump straight up and allow gravity to take hold again, falling directly into my usual spot at the base of the Leviathan's neck as we seemingly moved as a single unit.

I had in the past debated on naming it Jormungandr, but it that didn't exactly fit the theme of my pantheon.

Additionally, it could've been seen as a dick-move towards Thor, which was just uncalled for to be honest.

As the undulating mass of alien flesh and steel moved smoothly underneath me, I opened up another portal, this one big enough so that the Leviathan could "swim" through with ease, emerging into the cavernous space of my enormous Hangar.

It had only been a few moments since I gave the order to Phineas, but I didn't have to wait very long until my assault team came running into the hangar as well, some of them still belting on their various armour pieces and weapons (wherever applicable of course).

The group consisted of Skye (thankfully not at Afterlife, though I could've portalled her over in an instant if the need had been dire enough), Phineas' largest Soter-platform, Rocket and Groot, Peter, Bill, Bucky and Oliver (fully upright in his Transformers state and looking positively giddy).

I could've waited for a little while longer to mobilize all of the combat-capable enhanced within Othrys, which probably amounted to the world's strongest fighting force (depending on whether or not the sorcerer's had the home advantage), but that would've taken too long and with the Ancient One leading my other army we would have access to plenty of firepower already.

"Alright people, here's what's going on: Jess has been spotted in Hong Kong. As you know, she's there to hunt down and execute those responsible for Hell Week: Sowande and the Mandarin. The Mandarin has betrayed Sowande to one of his other masters however, Murakami, also a leader of the immortal Hand. Now Sowande has most likely become an enormous chi-fuelled dragon and despite the fact that Murakami may not even be a target of Jessica's considering he has mostly distanced himself from his fellow Hand leaders, a confrontation with him and his army is most likely inevitable, since I don't see him giving up his source of immortality without a fight. In addition, there is also the Mandarin and the remaining members of the Ten Rings terrorist organization to consider. The Mandarin himself is a particularly powerful magic user due to said ten rings, so my advice would be not to face him in single combat if you can. We don't know exactly where our targets are respective to each other, so just pick whoever, or whatever, is closest to you and beat them in the dirt if you think you can. Leave the biggest threats to me, Jess, Bill and Oliver."

While I gave my team a quick recap, just to make sure we were all on the same page, they had finished up with double checking their gear and mentally psyching themselves up and now all looked ready for battle, despite the fact that most of them had just been relaxing and enjoying their day off not even five minutes ago.

"You have all proven your worth during Hell Week. Or, in Bucky's and Bill's case, have proven yourself in wars long ago. I know that I can count on each and everyone of you. Stay safe and hit hard: Jessica is depending on it. On us."

They all give affirming grunts or nods and I allow the Aurelion Armor to spring into place around me in a golden flash of brilliant light. A response from the Ancient One is already displayed on my HUD, courtesy of Phineas, telling me that she has already put the half-dozen combat-ready Masters on high-alert and they're ready to teleport to my location at a moment's notice.

Knowing the future is such bullshit, I really should try to find a way to utilize the Time Stone better than just reverting stuff to their pristine state and the like.

There has been no response from Stick or the few other members of the Chaste that we knew how to contact, but that was their loss. I only really cared about Sowande, Murakami and the Mandarin anyways, the Chaste would've only been useful as cannon fodder to occupy our enemies' grunts so their absence didn't really matter in the larger scheme in things.

I just wanted to get Jess home.

"Move out!" I roar, my voice distorted with a mechanical undertone through the speakers in my helmet while simultaneously using one of the spells keyed into the Sorcerer Supreme to ping to all my magic warriors that I'm on the move to engage the enemy.

Another portal opens up, this one leading towards Jeju Island, which is apparently where Jess had managed to track down Murakami to after picking up his trail in Hong Kong according to the map that Phineas had thrown up on my HUD.

It made a certain amount of sense, I supposed: it had never been revealed just where exactly Murakami's base of operation was, though apparently he was well connected enough to travel from the Shikoku district in Japan to New York City fast enough to be able to dissect the bear that he had recently killed. If Alexandra's words were anything to go by, then he was usually in Japan, or perhaps much deeper inwards towards mainland Asia than Hong Kong itself, especially since the city would be a difficult place to lay low in considering the presence of the Sanctum there, though of course the Hand had had very little trouble operating in New York despite the Sanctum situated there.

No matter the true reason and no matter just where exactly his hidden base was, he had nonetheless been forced to move Sowandragon out of Hong Kong as fast as possible or else risk the combined wrath of the Masters of the Mystic Arts and the Chaste crashing down on him. Evidently, he had decided to take his new prize and recently gained underling towards Japan, making a quick stop over on the small South Korean island that was neatly situated halfway between the two.

I'm not sure how he got a flaming dragon through customs but grease enough palms with enough money and there was hardly anything on this planet (or indeed, any planet) that you couldn't smuggle with relative ease and anonymity.

As I lead my little assault group through the massively sized portal towards Jeju Island, I briefly wondered how Jessica had bridged the distance between Hong Kong and the little South Korean peninsula considering that there was a fair bit of ocean between the Asian Continent and the isle.

As my team and I descended onto a grassy cliff, overlooking both the stormy waters to our left and the Jeju International Airport to our right, the question answered itself when I spotted a tiny little speck of light rapidly racing towards the sheer rock walls: a quick zoom of my visor showed the skeletal, flaming Susan running at immense speeds over the choppy waves without any noticeable discomfort or appearing even remotely aware of how many laws of physics she was currently violating.

Then again, she was a several tonne heavily engineered ostrich that had been designed to look like an extinct dinosaur, enhanced with both Extremis and the Brain Booster and currently possessed by a Spirit from literal Hell itself.

I very much doubted that Susan gave a singular hoot about the laws of physics.

So it was no real surprise (I had seen it in a movie before after all, in a different universe and in a different life) when Susan approached the cliffs and simply began running straight up them like an oversized flaming alternate version of Spiderman, leaving molten, smoking craters in the rock wall as her massive clawed feet propelled her forwards.

About a hundred meters in front of me, about a dozen decently sized portals opened, the Ancient One striding through with her signature serene look and confident aura, the winds ripping at her soft pastel-coloured clothes as they whipped around her slim form.

At her side and towering over her by almost two full feet was the fully transformed were-lion form of Kaecillius who gave me a respectful nod, causing his wild mane to ripple with the motion. Several more Sorcerers were arrayed widely behind them, most of them wielding a relic of some kind (I even spotted Wong at the far right holding his Staff of the Tribunal and looking alert but not panicked).

The most important arrival however, was just a singular man that I could spot walking out of the main Departures hall, emerging onto an empty pavement. A quick look further down the road revealed why: several road signs were preventing any travel to the sole island on the airport.

Following my gaze, Phineas quickly comes up with the answer after scouring the internet faster than most search engines could ever hope to be, throwing up several titles of various news articles on my HUD. Apparently, there had been a gas leak of some sort in the main area of the airport and out of security concerns for their customers, the airport had decided to shut down completely for five days in order to address the issue.

Briefly I wondered just how much money Murakami had to fork over in order to get an entire airport shut down just for him, but considering the fact that a dragon and two small armies are somewhat hard to hide and he was unlikely to just put Sowandragon on a cargo ship and fly back using his private jet, it wasn't as if he had that many alternatives to be honest.

Zoomed in as I was on the last remaining (human) member of the Hand, I could easily see the small smirk as the millennia old warrior surveyed the arrival of his enemies, which coincided almost exactly with the moment that Susan had finished her assent and came soaring over the edge of the cliff in a mighty leap, crashing towards the air in a roaring aura of fire, Jessica's leather duster flaring widely behind her as she held onto Susan's neck.

Jessica (or rather, the Spirit of Vengeance now, I suppose) locked gazes with Murakami as well, apparently not requiring a visor in order to stare the man straight in the eye despite the lack of her own.

Despite the opposition arrayed against him, Murakami didn't seem especially worried, keeping up his small smirk as he didn't back down from the Ghost Rider's stare (though if she were to use her actual Stare on him, he'd probably be singing a different tune).

The stare down seemed to quickly loose the Spirit's interest however, its flaming head turning to the left, its empty eye sockets locked on something hidden away in the airport itself. I could see Murakami raise an eyebrow, following the Ghost Rider's gaze. As he looked at the airport beside him, he seemed to consider something, before his expression turned nonchalant.

He chuckled and raised his shoulders, apparently saying "very well then".

And with that, he raised his left hand, and I just barely got the glimpse of some dark glow shimmering over his skin before he snapped his fingers. Unusual for a finger snap though, was that the air visibly shuddered from the power and the sound not unlike a gunshot going of rang out over the clearing between us.

It seems that Murakami had wasted no time in feasting on his new supply of never-ending and readily available dragon materials then. Any further thoughts about the Finger's newly gained chi-abilities were quickly put out of my mind however when something long, angry and on fire crashed through the nearest wall of the airport, sending stone and steel flying in a wide spray.

Sowande had grown to almost rival my Leviathan in size, though much of his length was taken up by a long sinuous tail and sinister neck. His wingspan was simply enormous however, quite possibly the largest thing I had ever seen on a living being, luminist fiery orange veins glowing starkly against the vast expanse of black hide as he spread them wide.

All in all, he reminded me of a mix between Deathwing and the dragons from Game of Thrones. His eyes were two flaming orbs and from them madness was clear to see. There was no human left in there, no intelligence or consciousness: just sheer, animalistic rage and instincts.

And those same instincts told the dragon that the odd-looking group in front of it fell squarely into the "enemy" category.

That, or the "food" category. I don't think the distinction between the two really matters to a pissed off dragon.

It rose up on its powerful hind legs, a bright glow suddenly coming from the base of its neck, a molten fiery shine bursting from the cracks in its thick hide and the small gaps between its layered scales. The glow rapidly travelled up to the front of the dragon's throat, who opened his massive jaws with teeth as large as my fist, the air itself wavering around him as if he were merely a mirage.

A kaleidoscope of colours danced on the edges of the flames pooling in the back of its open maw and when he unleashed his full wrath, a cone nearly a hundred meters long and several dozens of metres wide burst forth, turning the grassland underneath into a barren patch of smoking charcoal in an instant.

Several of my people, from Othrys and the Sanctums alike, flinched at the oncoming tsunami of flame, and not without reason, considering chi-fuelled fire had even burned me in the past. But back then I had been a lot less powerful than I was now and without fear or hesitation I threw myself forwards, flying off the back of my Leviathan fast enough that to the untrained eye I might as well have been nothing more than a blur.

Mere fractions of a second before my little assault party would've been reduced to charred cinders I slammed down onto the ground, right in front of the roaring flames, my shield held up in front of me and the Power Stone shining with a dazzling purple light.

Flame burst around us and the jet of flame stretched from Sowandragon's open maw all the way towards the cliff, fire bursting over the edge and lighting up the roiling ocean underneath.

But when its jaws snapped shut and the roaring flame suddenly shut off, my group and I remained completely unscathed, the last flickers of purple coloured energy flickering out around us, the ground underneath our feet still a vibrant green and extending in a half-circle around us showing clearly to where the force field from my shield had extended.

Sowandragon snorted in frustration and with a challenging roar it spread its wings wide as it propelled itself forwards on legs as thick as tree trunks, churning up the earth underneath. Behind him, either climbing through the rubble of the destroyed wall or joining Murakami on the wide road in front of the airport, swarmed the remaining forces of the Hand and the Ten Rings, ninja's standing shoulder to shoulder with terrorists and rogue magic users.

As Sowandragon closed the distance rapidly, the upper half of his body raised high and his enormous head ready to strike, two massive blurs rushed past me on either side, fast enough that my pristine white cape snapped against my armour even as I remained unmoved. My Leviathan came in from my left, the thick front part of its body rising to meet Sowandragon's charge, its own glistening teeth laid bare, while on my right, the burning form of Susan charged past, head held low and jaws spread wide open.

In a massive clash, producing a sound much like an enormous thunderclap, the three titanic beasts clashed, teeth sinking into flesh and claws scoring over bone and steel.

They were roughly equal in size if you didn't count the dragon's wings, and my Leviathan was a lot heavier than the former Hand leader, while Susan was on literal Hell-fire. Yet it quickly became a stalemate: whatever damage they managed to do to Sowande healed within moments, deep cuts boiling with burning blood warding off any subsequent attack until they smoothed over with fresh sinew and tissue.

Meanwhile his dragon fire was enough that it even held Susan's own Hell flames at bay and over my mental link I could feel my Leviathan struggle with the heat and pain as it got burnt whenever it latched on to one of Sowande's limbs, its mouth filled with scorching flesh.

The struggle between the three, roaring and spitting all the while as they furiously tore into each other, was violent enough that both my strike team and Murakami's army wordlessly (and in a hurry) began moving away from that part of the country side, which was quickly beginning to look like a warzone in Hell due to the massive molten craters that rapidly began to form around the mass of writhing flesh and roiling flames.

Jess hadn't remained on Susan when the skeletal T-Rex charged the immortal dragon, instead flying forwards to the airport itself, apparently completely fixated on her target, which could only be the Mandarin hiding away somewhere.

I wasn't exactly sure what the full capabilities were of the sorcerer now that he had finally managed to get his hands on the Ten Rings so I was definitely nervous, but then again I did know what both Jessica and the Ghost Rider were capable of: they should have this and I don't want to risk interfering with her battle should the Spirit use it against me to void the deal we had made following the defeat of Dormammu.

Spirits were notorious for trying to find even the tiniest loophole in order to screw you over as badly as possible and I wasn't willing to take that chance when it was my family on the line.

So instead I focused on the remaining opposition: a millennia old warrior with access to some of the most powerful energies humans had access to and with a small army at his back.

No biggie.

"These are the ones who would have sold our planet, our people to the Forces of Darkness for power! Who call beings like Dormammu and Mephisto their master!" I roar, managing to make myself heard despite the titanic Godzilla-like fight going on not even a hundred metres away from me.

In a flash, Harpe is in my hand, its curved blade gleaming wickedly in the off-coloured flames coming from the field to my left and I level it towards Murakami, who has slid into a guarded stance himself, a katana with a blade of blackened steel held firmly in one hand and its sheath in a reverse-grip in the other.

"KILL THEM ALL!"

A roar goes up from my assault group as we explode into a mad dash towards the army in front of us, which ends up as a pretty imposing sound despite our small numbers given that said group involves mechs, cyborgs, a talking tree and a bipedal lion.

My speed means that I'm immediately in the lead, having crossed the intervening distance in under two seconds, most of the ninja and terrorists in front of me having just barely begun reacting to me. A couple of dozen feet behind me is Bill, while of course Oliver appears in the middle of the enemy in a bright blue flash just moments after I've reached their front line as well.

And then it's just… carnage.

After spending subjective centuries (or was it millennia) of slaughtering the worst that the Dark Dimension could throw at me, a group of unenhanced humans, even when their numbers were over a hundred?

The ease with which I cut them down was almost… frightening.

The first swing alone took out two ninja and a terrorist, bifurcating them so easily that I barely even felt it and they were dead before they even had a chance to properly aim their weapons at me. From the corner of my eye I saw Bill punch a magic user (judging by how the man was covered in tattoos, bangles and beads of all kinds) hard enough that the man's chest caved in, before momentum finally kicked in again and he was launched through the man standing behind him, turning both into a shower of gristle and gore.

And Oliver… the truck-turned-mech was like a farmer cutting down wheat in a field, making wide, low swings with his several feet long sword without any apparent difficulty.

And yet, despite the horror show we had created in mere moments, none of that truly mattered and I only spared it a sparing glance, even as I noticed several men dropping like flies around me as bullets impacted them and energy beams lanced through them.

All that mattered, all that I remained focused on, was one man.

Murakami hadn't even moved, despite the fact that he must have lost nearly two dozen men all in the opening phases of the fight, weapons still at the ready. I blitzed forwards, cutting down four more men with that single movement, intent on reaching him and taking his head, hopefully putting an end to this entire mess.

But when I came to a sudden halt right in front of his face, a mere fraction of a second after I had pushed off and with the blood of my latest victim still arcing through the air in an almost surreal painting, my Harpe raised high above my head… I was taken off guard.

The gleaming blade of my scythe descended upon the man in front of me, cutting through the air with a smooth whistle as it parted the currents in front of its razor edge… and it was caught on the blade of Murakami's katana. While actually being fast enough to anticipate and react to my movements was impressive enough, the fact remained that this block still wouldn't have saved the Hand leader's life, as the alloys and enchantments of Harpe's blade should've ensured that it would cut through even the finest steel without any issue whatsoever.

Instead, the metals clash with a deafening screeching noise, and it was only then that I realized that the darkened colour of the katana's blade isn't due to the steel itself, but because it is being filled with a chi that almost looks midnight-black in appearance. My eyes flit towards Murakami's and despite the fact that mine are hidden away behind a reflective visor, the ancient warrior still manages to lock gazes with me, his smirk growing in response.

That is, of course, until I start applying more pressure, forcing the blade steadily downwards, Murakami's muscles tearing in response and his eyes widening in surprise and slight fear. Enhanced with chi as he was, he had become stronger than any human could ever hope to be outside of subjecting themselves to some whacky comic-book type of experiment and it was that strength that had allowed him to catch my opening strike.

Said opening strike had been just a quick swipe though and hadn't had nearly the amount of strength behind it that I could truly bring to bear, even without dipping into some of my more powerful enhancements. Chi power or no, the blade of my scythe was still steadily descending towards his face as if his guard wasn't even really there.

With gritted teeth and an animalistic snarl, Murakami pushed forwards with his weapon, angling the blade so that my scythe slid down the length of his black glowing steel, being deflected off to his side, the tip effortlessly embedding itself into the concrete slabs beneath our feet.

Simultaneously he blurs forwards, swinging his free arm forwards, aiming to bash in my visor with his sheath. Normally I would scoff at the thought of someone attacking me (fully clad in my armour no less) with what basically amounted to a glorified stick, but the involvement of Chi made things more dicey than usual.

So, just to be on the safe side, I raised my right arm, catching his swing on the thick plating encircling my forearm and that had probably been the right choice considering the almighty cannon-shot that went off right beneath my ear from the massive impact and I had to brace hard in order to not have my arm smashed away to the side, shockwaves bursting out from the impact and causing my bright white cape to flutter widely as it got caught in the compressed air.

He had even managed to put a dent into the super durable alloy of my Aurelion Armor!

I don't know what kind of experiments Murakami has done ever since he awakened this level of Chi-power but the results have clearly left him overconfident, as he seems shocked and enraged that he hadn't simply snapped my arm clear in two from just that singe hit.

Trying to capitalize on the glaring opening that now exposes my entire torso, Murakami disengages his sword from my scythe before I can get the chance to pull it from the stone. Given how close we are standing together, the length of the katana makes his next attack somewhat awkward, but then again, he has had literal millennia to train with the blade and is an undisputed master of combat.

So it's with ludicrous speed that the tip of his black glowing sword snaps forwards, eager to bury itself in between my ribs. Considering my armour has been pierced before on occasion, I have no doubt that he'll succeed in the attack and while it is unlikely to kill me, I'd rather not continue this fight with about a foot of mystically charged steel making mincemeat of one of my lungs.

I manage to take him off-guard when the lower part of my helmet folds away, showing my mouth opened wide, just in time for a torrent of flame to be unleashed directly into his face.

With an agonized scream he breaks off his attack and jumps away from me by quite an impressive distance, far outside of the records that even the finest athletes have managed to set in the past (and they hadn't had their heads set on fire when they set those records either).

I move to follow, but am halted in my tracks when a terrorist of the Ten Rings literally throws himself on me, his eyes squeezed firmly shut and muttered prayers falling from his lips. Considering that I hadn't exactly expected to be hugged in the middle of a battlefield, I'm briefly caught off guard, which is just enough time for the suicide vest the man had been wearing to do its grisly job.

Heat, sound and pressure slam into me, consuming my form in a massive explosion, violently throwing rows of ninja and mercenaries to the ground, the closest of whom start gurgling in agony as blood starts seeping from their ears and noses. There's a brief lull in the battle (or rather, the slaughter) around me, but when the smoke and dirt settle, its to show the still gleaming plating of my Aurelion Armor glinting with the reflected light of the surrounding massive fires, my form unbroken as I lower my arms and take in my surroundings.

About a dozen feet away from me, Murakami glares at me with eyes filled with pure hatred. Somehow he has managed to extinguish the flames that had been eating away at him mere moments before, and I can visibly see the muscle moving underneath his destroyed skin as he starts regenerating at an impressive pace.

It's not on the scale of an Extremis or Gamma-enhanced subject, but definitely beats the Amber Enhancement or the Super Soldier Formula considering wounds are closing in front of my very eyes, if somewhat slowly.

Straightening from his guarded crouch as the last of the debris falls back down onto the ruined pavement between us, Murakami lifts his blackened katana towards me, the tip pointed straight towards my heart as he stares me down once more.

After a single heartbeat of standing motionless in response to his challenge, I raise my left hand, my scythe flying into it with enough speed to turn it into nothing more than a metallic blur.

Both our bodies are tensed as we prepare to move forwards again, but a bright flash and the distinct sound of a lightning bolt coming from inside the airport once more distracts me from my own fight, and worry for Jessica causes me to take my eyes off my opponent for just a second.

Which almost costs me dearly as Murakami doesn't even so much as hesitate and by the time my eyes have shot back to him again, he's already crossed the distance between us, chi-fuelled katana leading the way.

Reacting on pure instinct, I move in a way that would've made Neo proud: I let my entire torso fall backwards until I'm nearly horizontal with the exception of my feet up to my knees. Neo had to cheat with the code of the Matrix itself in order to perform this little manoeuvre, whereas I'm cheating by relying on both my agility gained from the Heart-Shaped Herb as well as my capability of flight.

Despite his immense amounts of experience, Murakami hadn't exactly anticipated a move quite like that and he can't stop his immense momentum in time, instead half-running, half-stumbling nearly into me as his blade cuts through nothing but air.

Immediately taking advantage of the opportunity now that there is an opening in his guard, I swivel a full 180 degrees on my heels, my torso whipping around and up as I once again swing my scythe, but this time I'm standing behind the ancient immortal.

To his credit, Murakami is quick to pick up on my attack and tries to dodge it my turning his charge into a forwards tuck and roll, trying to avoid my blade and to be fair, it was the correct move to make, the only one that would keep him from being turned into a shish-kebab. His quick reaction is a credit to his great skill.

The problem with that is, well, he's just not fast enough.

With a sickening squelching sound, Harpe enters his body through the lower left side of his ribcage, burying itself deep into his torso. Normally, this would be the end of it, but the fact that there were three kaiju battling it out as if it was Judgement Day only a couple of hundred metres away from where I stood in a flied littered with the corpses of zombie-ninja and magic-wielding terrorists made it clear that just about everything about my current situation was far from normal.

So I was only partly surprised when Murakami didn't just croak on the spot. Instead, with a pained grunt and a wet cough, he ripped himself forwards, using the ridiculous sharpness of my own weapon against me. Without much effort, Harpe slid through his organs and bones, emerging from his back pristinely clean and leaving a massive gaping wound in the immortal's side.

Despite losing a lung and enough blood that a mortal would've passed out immediately, Murakami knows the fight isn't done yet and immediately turns to face me again, katana held upright in a guarding stance and not a moment too soon as I crash into him, this time leading with my shield first.

Ancient, mystically infused, extremely skilled and powerful warlord versus one of the six primordial forces in the universe?

It was no contest.

Murakami didn't even manage to hold his ground for a fraction of a second, a brilliant purple crackling field exploding upon my shield making impact with his sword as the ground underneath us cratered even further and he was thrown ass over teakettle for several dozens of feet as he ragdolled uncontrollably, before coming to a halt on a mossy patch in a broken mess.

Making use of the brief respite, I check to see how the rest of the battle is going and honestly, the best descriptor would be… predictable.

The few magic users that the Mandarin had managed to snare into his employ mostly had to rely on minor artefacts or rituals and the most danger that they posed was that several seemed to desperately draw on the Dark Dimension, judging by the multi-coloured void in their eyes. My bargain with Dormammu had forbidden him from trying to enter our world again, but it hadn't expressly told him not to lend his power when someone from our end asked for it.

Still, even their desperately gained power proved no match for the Ancient One and her group of handpicked warriors, especially not since she felt absolutely pissed to my psychokinetic senses, despite outwardly only frowning mildly: seeing people running to Dormammu's dark powers on the heels of nearly losing the planet to the lord of the Dark Dimension not even a week ago was clearly pushing some buttons in my predecessor.

Tendrils of eldritch light slammed into the opposing army by the dozens, and spells were being flung left and right with enough speed and power that, if it weren't for all the death and carnage surrounding us, one could be forgiven for mistakenly thinking he was at a rave or something.

Meanwhile, my forces tore through ninja and terrorist alike with a brutal ease that I had come to expect from them, based both on my memories from watching them in action in comics, TV-shows and movies and from my own interactions with them in "real life".

I couldn't see Jess' fight clearly, as she and the Mandarin had at some point crashed through the roof of the airport and were now battling each other in the storm that was moving rapidly over the small island. Jess was surrounded by Hell-fire, her black duster whipping around in the immense winds, while the Mandarin seemed to float in a ring of lightning and wind of his own making, doing a fairly decent Avatar-state impression to be honest.

The biggest battle was still going strong between the three oversized titans and it had been raging all over this area of Juju Island. The flat plains where they had started was nothing but a charred wasteland and the fight had eventually moved closer to the airport itself, tearing across one of the landing strips and reducing several airplanes and support vehicles to smoking wrecks.

Due to only being a flaming skeleton, it was hard to say how Susan was doing, but she definitely seemed more tired and sluggish than at the start of the fight, and my Leviathan was practically covered in smoking burns and bleeding cuts, though its immense size and mass meant that the wounds, while painful, weren't exactly life-threatening or even really that detrimental.

Sowande on the other hand looked like an absolute mess.

Enormous chunks of flesh were simply gone, exposing the musculature and in some cases even the skeleton underneath. One wing had been torn off completely (I could spot the massive crumpled heap of leathery hide further off nearer to the edge of the cliffs, steadily taking on that same ashy look that Alexandra had gotten when I punched her in the heart) while the other was so riddled with gaping tears and holes it was more just a skeletal arm with extremely long fingers than a proper wing.

But even despite those gruesome injuries, the pseudo-dragon was still going strong, the glow of its chi-fuelled flames not lessened in strength even slightly and he was still on the offensive, a ring of fire surrounding the three beasts as he kept charging forwards. He was healing, but not as rapidly as he had in the opening stages of the fight, but he was healing and at still at a fairly rapid pace.

Considering that the Ghost Rider seemed to determine the Mandarin as its prime target (somewhat understandable, since Sowande was practically gone already anyway and Murakami didn't really have anything to do with offering up the planet to the forces of Hell and Dormammu), I should be fine to intervene in that fight, as soon as I had finished my current one.

Speaking off…

All of this had merely taken a moment to take in with a glance and Murakami was still a miserable heap on the ground a couple of feet away from me. Without hesitation, I flew towards him in a beeline, brutally shouldering any opponent out of my way or just bifurcating them instead if they got close enough to my scythe.

A little under two seconds later and I'm standing over the broken body of the last leader of the Hand, my weapon raised high above me. Murakami is still holding onto his katana and I can see an onyx glow from some of the deeper wounds littering his body, stitching the immortal back together again.

If left to his own devices, he would probably be back on his feet in just a couple of days if not sooner.

"I… n-never should… should've… f-followed… Alexandra." Murakami manages to spit out, dark blood spilling past his teeth and dripping from his chin, his voice filled with rage and sadness, frustration and regret.

Out of the four disciples who had betrayed the teachings of K'un Lun, it had been Murakami who had questioned Alexandra the most often and openly, initially hoping to remain with K'un Lun instead and afterwards pleading that the group should've used their powers and knowledge for good.

But that was millennia ago and no matter what guilt he may carry over the role he has played in human history, his crimes remain too many to count. On a more personal note, he's part of the same organization that both destroyed my first base, killed some of my earliest employees and most recently were about to sacrifice the entire planet just to get revenge on me, costing me Jessica and endangering my unborn children in the process.

There was only one sentence for such crimes, no matter how little involved he truly may have been.

Death.

Murakami seems to sense my resolve, as he merely closes his eyes and nods his head, gripping the hilt of his katana with his remaining strength. At least until I swing my scythe down, cleaving straight through his neck. There's a brief shudder and then all strength leaves the corpse and the katana falls from a rapidly greying hand.

Bending down, I pick up Murakami's head (don't want to risk walking away and the two parts of the body regenerating to become whole again behind my back after all) and after a brief consideration, wind up my arm and throw it as hard as possible, letting it neatly sail over the edge of the cliff to disappear into the ocean forever.

And so, the last of the Hand is dead.

Looking around, I quickly surmise that the last couple of dozen Hand and Mandarin forces won't put up much of a fight against my kill team, so instead I turn towards Sowande, who has managed to pin Susan to the group by standing on her neck and is currently trying to roast my Leviathan to a crisp as the space whale flies around him trying to find an opportune way of sinking its teeth into the other monster's burning flesh.

I blast off with enough speed and force that the ground underneath me cracks into a spiderweb-pattern and I enlarge to my giant size in a series of golden flashes as I approach the titanic battle. At 80 feet tall I'm roughly equal to Sowande, though as he raises himself up to his full length his enormous horned head still towers far above me.

Seeing my charge, he once again opens his maw wide, and a torrent of chi-fire blazes towards me, the air itself burning away from the sheer power and heat the flames immediately release. Undaunted, I merely raise my now massive kite-shield higher, the Power Stone once more lighting up with its signature purple haze.

The flames crash over me and wash around me as a corona of violet light shoots out from the edges of my shield, rebuffing the power from the dragon's flames with apparent ease. Meanwhile my Leviathan has moved in a smooth concert with me, flawlessly anticipating my movements thanks to the mental bond that we share and has moved to Sowande's back now that the pseudo-dragon is no longer trying to shoot him out of the sky.

As the cone of flame keeps crashing into my impenetrable defence, and I keep steadily pushing forwards even as the ground starts melting underneath my very feet, the Leviathan circles around and smashes its full weight into the upperpart of Sowande's back, right where his wings are attached to the main body at the base of the neck.

The impact is horrendous, and nearly knocks the wind out of the chi-dragon, as his torrent of flames hitch momentarily, allowing me to shoot forwards even faster, before the mystical flames return to their full force and I once more have to rely on the protection of the Power Stone, Sowande's diminished mind still clearly capable of recognizing just who were posed the biggest threat right now.

However, the body tackle from my Leviathan was enough to destabilize his footing and with a reverberating roar Susan manages to free herself from underneath his massive claw. Still low to the ground, she snaps her enormous jaws forwards, biting deep into the ankle of the leg that had mere moments ago been pushing her into the ground. Giving an enormous heave of her exposed skull, she tears flesh and sinew from bone and jerks Sowande's leg right from underneath him, finally toppling the massive dragon.

As it falls to its knees its head quickly follows suit, snapping downwards as it is forced to abandon his torrential flames. Sowandragon tries to catch himself on his remaining arm, fending off my Leviathan with a mighty whipping slash of its enormous tail, but the fight is done.

Now with his head within my reach and with no wall of flame to halt my advance my progress, I finally manage to close the remaining distance between us, staring Sowande straight into his burning orbs. In a show of desperation, his head shoots forwards, intent on biting my head clean off, but I manage to catch both his upper and lower jaw in my hands.

The strength behind his attack is enough to push me back my several dozen feet, my armoured boots digging deep furrows in the liquid rock beneath me, but I grit my teeth and manage to keep my hold on Sowande's jaws.

'Right. This is… gonna hurt like a fucking bitch.' I think to myself, before taking a deep breath and digging deep into the massive well of power that I can feel raging just beneath the surface of my too taught skin.

In a brilliant white flash, which is tinted gold at the edges, I power up into my most powerful form, combining every source of energy and enhancement I hold within me. The glow comes from the very core of my body and seeps through my golden armour, suffusing me in an aura of golden white, a steady hum building up into a deafening crescendo that rings out across the battlefield.

Taking another deep breath to centre myself, I push the feeling of all my muscles tearing, my bones snapping and my skin flaking away to the side, focusing solely on the task at hand.

With a roar of effort, which causes a tremor to travel through the entirety of the island, I strengthen my grip, seeing my fingers sink almost effortlessly through Sowande's thickened hide and scales and the tough, burning flesh underneath.

The dragon starts thrashing, perhaps out of an instinctive anticipation of what's about to come rather than any pain as it has certainly suffered much worse at this point, but I refuse to let go.

Another roar, and I rip my arms widely to the side, as fast and as far as they can go. Very briefly the structural integrity of Sowande's altered body tries to put up a fight, but its useless against the strength I possess in this form and with a sickening tearing noise the flesh along the corners of its mouth rip apart, before it continues further down its head and continues splitting apart all the way down his neck as a truly humongous strip of flesh is simply torn away.

Boiling blood pours down like a dark imitation of a waterfall, pooling into lakes of flame at our feet as the dragon lets out a keening wail, missing its lower jaw and a large part of its thorax, which now are hanging uselessly from his neck by some gory threads and flaps of ruined flesh. It gurgles as blood starts seeping into its windpipe and bright bursts of chi-fire randomly tear through the sundered parts of its exposed neck as it desperately tries to ward me off with more of its mystical flames.

The fight is done: all that is left is to finish it, once and for all.

So I take one enormous step forwards, my arm pulled back low, a purple crackling field surrounding it as I try to put all of my energy, rage and pain into this next attack. Timing it just right, when Sowande's flailing head snaps towards me again, I unleash the mother of all uppercuts.

The air itself is blasted back in a rippling shockwave and some of the flames surrounding us are snuffed out completely as both Susan and my Leviathan are sent tumbling away from the sheer force of my blow. Underneath my fist, Sowande's flesh starts cracking and splintering, before his head is whipped back and simply disintegrates into a spray of gristly matter, bright chi-light exploding in a fracturing pattern all the way from the impact point down to the middle of his back, an arc of blood and flesh spraying out in an arc.

Momentum finally manages to pick its jaw up from the ground and reality kicks in again and the rest of Sowande's corpse follows suit, being lifted off the ground and thrown several hundred of metres up into the stormy night sky describing an almost graceful arc in the air. As it blasts away from me it starts rapidly disintegrating, flesh and muscle falling away in streams of ash and dust, until all that sails off into the depths of the ocean are the ruined remnants of the dragon's skeleton, amounting to barely more than a piece of spine, ribcage and a hipbone.

The splash is barely audible due to just how far away it lands into the choppy waves, but to be honest, I don't think that I really would've noticed even if I had been standing next to the impact point. The pain that I had been shunting away returned all at once with a vengeance to boot, and my white aura abruptly cuts out as I fall to a knee with a pained gasp.

Thankfully my Leviathan needs no words to understand me and bravely dives through the massive walls of flames surrounding me, grabbing my flaring cape between its massively oversized teeth like a mother lion picking up its cub and I'm swiftly airlifted out of the hellish battlefield.

Pain however still wracks my body, and acting on the vague, distorted messages the spacewhale picks up through the waves of agony I'm inadvertently sending towards him it flies over to where I had first portalled my assault group. The moment I'm suspended above it, I give the release commands to the clasps on the back of my armour and the cape smoothly disengages, dropping me to the ground (a tiny part of me, driven slightly insane due to the feeling of my body disintegrating on me, lucidly remarks to itself that Edna Mode would've been mollified, if not proud).

The crash is far from smooth or elegant, but it barely even registers compared to the internal pain lancing through every nerve and cell of my body. Desperately I order the Aurelion Armor to fold away gain, taking in deep gulping breaths of air, tasting the smoke and blood of my surroundings on my tongue.

It feels like I got punched in the stomach (back when I was still human, I mean) and I have difficulty getting in enough air, as if there's a pressure on my lungs preventing them from expanding, like a whale that has been beached for too long.

With the armour folded away I can get a better look at my body, specifically the arm that I had used to behead Sowande with and, well… it sure doesn't look pretty.

Again my mind seemingly disconnects and there's an almost clinical interest as I lift the trembling, ruined limb in front of my eyes for a closer inspection, remarking that this is probably what Izuku's injuries would've looked like in real life.

I can see everything in my hand, right down to the white of my knuckles peeking through the red, weeping musculature. The skin there is simply gone, transitioning into the skin of my forearm through a series of thinning cracks and jagged tears. I notice that some of the smaller bones in my hand are broken and many of the muscles are torn or distended. The edges of certain cell groups are slowly burning away or falling apart and an internal light seems to peek through some of the gaps from further inwards inside the limb.

Yeah… like I said, not pretty.

Small cracks in my skin litter the other arm as well and are probably all over my body right now, including my face as I can feel something wet slide down to my right eyebrow, but they're not of immediate concern right now.

White flickers of light keep flitting over the surface of my skin, like a flame that's just barely clinging on, and I need to get rid of that first. With my remaining hand I grab for my shield, connecting to the Power Stone embedded in its centre. It takes a monumental amount of concentration (which isn't exactly helped by the agony I'm in or the battle that's being rounded up nearby or the fight between Jess and the Mandarin high above me) but by pulling slightly on the Mind Stone I find the correct state of mind and manage to push against the tidal wave of force and power that eagerly tries to flow from the Stone into me.

At this point I hardly need more power after all.

Instead, I push back against it, like a salmon swimming upstream, and start pouring my own reserves into the massive ocean that was the energy of the Infinity Stone. Its own stores were so vast that even with me emptying out almost all that I had into it, it didn't really feel noticeably different to my senses.

Retaining just the barest minimum of my strength and feeling completely and utterly drained, I cut off the connection between me and the Stone, allowing my shield to shrink and disappear up my sleeve once more. Heaving a deep sigh, I focus on one of the other Stones currently in my possession.

Making the proper mystical gestures is somewhat difficult with only one hand, but the Eye of Agamotto has become a close companion during my stay in the Dark Dimension and the brass-coloured rings and panels smoothly fall away at my command, an emerald glow coming from my neck.

Pointing my remaining hand (calling it my 'good' hand felt wrong, considering that it was covered in cracked skin just like the rest of me) at the ruined mess that was my right hand, I cast the time reversal spell.

A series of concentric circles filled with arcane runes spring into existence, surrounding the mangled appendage and start moving at rapid speeds around each other, both clockwise and anti-clockwise in an apparent random order. The effect is almost immediately: unlike regular regeneration, the cells don't start rapidly dividing and stitching back together again. Instead, smooth flesh and skin simply appear, flowing smoothly over the damaged parts like rippling water, until, in less than half a minute, a normal hand is all that remains.

Altering the spell slightly, the concentric circles disappear around my hand and instead form a large pattern underneath me, a green glow coming from all of my body at once. Blood flows back up my form again, slinking back into the cracks in my skin, which fuse shut without even leaving a blemish.

With a dead-tired sigh of exhaustion, I allow the spell to fade and the Eye of Agamotto falls shut once more, leaving me feeling completely drained. I can already feel my energy reserves steadily rising: it won't be long before it has reached a critical level again and starts negatively effecting the cellular makeup of my body, but for now at least I'm feeling a lot better, if running on nothing but fumes at this point.

I immediately want to start looking for Jess, considering the battle on the ground has pretty much finished (it's mostly the Ancient One ordering our sorcerers to slap magical restraints on the terrorists who surrendered, considering the ninja fought and died to the very last man), but before I can wonder where she is or how the battle is going my questions are answered when a body crashes down to Earth not that far away from where I've just worked myself back to my feet again.

Or rather, corpse would be the correct term I suppose.

His face frozen in a rictus of fear, mouth wide open in a silent scream of terror, the Mandarin's smoking empty eye sockets seem to glare at me from his still body, lying spread eagled on the trampled and scorched grass.

"Good riddance." I mutter lowly to myself, on some level still disturbed by how this Mandarin had proven to be different to what I had come to expect from my home universe.

Any thoughts about the descendant of Genghis Khan is erased from my mind when a second body descends from the sky, though this one at a much more controlled pace. Slim booted feet touch down, a flaming skull looking towards me with a calculating expression.

It takes me just about all of my self-restraint in order to not rush towards her and give her either a good shake or a firm hug, depending on whether a skull or a face would be looking back to me, but I contain myself.

"Spirit. It is time to hold up your end of the bargain: those responsible for the attacks of Mephisto and Dormammu have been slain. Return her to me. Now." I growl out and the Ghost Rider tilts its head as it looks at me.

"The replacement body?" it eventually asks in a deep, rasping voice.

I grimace, but nod.

"Phineas."

My ever-present friend immediately speaks up, having followed the brief exchange from my ear piece.

"Already sent an alert to the Winter Soldier, he's on his way now."

Considering the small scale of the battlefield, it took only about a minute for Bucky to arrive, during which the Ghost Rider and I hadn't taken our eyes off each other. Since the Ancient One had everything well in hand with containing the few prisoners we had taken (out of a force numbering close to two hundred, only six people were left alive, all from the Mandarin's Ten Rings faction, meaning that the Hand truly was no more), the team that I had taken with me from Othrys were quick to follow on their friend's heels.

As Bucky reached us and the rest grouped together to watch from a safe distance a couple of dozen feet away, I nodded towards the Ghost Rider, indicating the cyborg supersoldier.

"Your new host. He actually volunteered." I say snidely, but the Spirit of Vengeance either doesn't notice the anger in my voice or just doesn't care about it as it turns away from me to stare down Bucky instead.

To the aged soldier's credit, he doesn't back down, squaring his shoulders instead even knowing full well just what the demonic entity in front of him was capable of, courtesy of a crash course in Hell powers by me once he agreed to our deal.

"Spirit. There's people that need to die. I can't kill them without your help. Release the woman and bond with me instead, and you'll have your Vengeance." Bucky intones in a strong voice.

Normally there's not really that much ceremony or a ritual surrounding being chosen as the next Ghost Rider, but it never hurts to start things off on the right foot and being clear and polite goes a long way in such matters.

The demonic entity seems to overthink things for a moment, before it seemingly glances towards me (how it gave off that impression without any actual eyeballs, I'll never know). It doesn't really have a choice to be honest, if it doesn't want to break our deal, but then again he's holding a very powerful bargaining chip right now, one which is currently preventing me from just splitting it straight down the middle with my scythe.

Clearly, it's wondering if I will still be so inclined once it has taken its new host, or if I will indulge in a little Vengeance of my own.

I don't know what eventually caused it to come to a decision (either a sense of honour or perhaps trust in me?), but it gives a slow, considering nod as it turns back towards Bucky.

"Deal." It rattles out, extending its left bony hand towards the supersoldier.

Bucky raises an eyebrow at the unusual handshake, before glancing down at his own metallic left hand with a grimace. But he's come too far to back down now, so with a disgruntled expression he extends his prosthetic towards the demon.

Flaming bone clasps plated metal and a ring of Hell-flame bursts into existence around the two of them. A burning aura forms around Jessica, who snaps back into flesh and blood with a pained scream, fire leaking from her every pore. Meanwhile Bucky's arm begins smoking as it turns white-hot and the supersoldier himself is visibly gritting his teeth as he keeps his eyes shut, desperately fighting to maintain his self-control.

Flame starts leaking from Jessica, travelling up Bucky's arm instead, who become more and more engulfed by the roaring flames of Hell. Looking on while being completely powerless to interfere makes the whole process feel like it takes an eternity (and considering what I've been through, that's not even really a figure of speech anymore), but after what can only have been a couple of minutes, Jessica lets out a soft gasp as the last of the flames are sucked from her body, her knees collapsing underneath her.

Before she can even hit the ground, I've caught her in my arms, folding her into my embrace and pulling her close to my chest. My breathing is heavy and I'm pretty sure it's either raining or I'm sweating from my eyes, considering I can feel my cheeks steadily getting wet.

Jess seems pretty out of it for a few seconds, struggling to focus on her surroundings as her eyes keep rolling about. I lay one of my enormous hands on her cheek to still her, turning her face towards my own. As our eyes finally meet, she calms down considerably, not breaking away from me as her breathing slowly returns to normal. Slowly, tentatively, her own slim hand comes up to softy caress the course skin of my face, and with a gentle smile I lean into her touch.

"Michael…?" is her soft whisper and I lean even closer, gingerly placing my own forehead against hers, my smile growing in size and strength.

"I'm here Jess. I'm here. I'm not going anywhere Jess, I'm right here."

I keep muttering the same phrases over and over under my breath as the two of us merely keep a tight hold of one another, tears leaking from Jessica's eyes as her breathing hitches occasionally as she begins to slowly recover from her ordeal.

There's so much I want to say to her, all I really want to do right now is create a portal to our bedroom in Othrys and just hold her close to me in our bed, but that will have to wait for just a little while longer, as an agonized scream breaks the serenity of our little moment.

Looking up, we see towering flames roar off Bucky's body, who is little more than a dark silhouette hidden behind the fires from Hell as it dances wildly around his body. Eventually, the thick streams of flame seem to almost slow down as they die down, moving closer and closer to Bucky and eventually moving into him. The process is surprisingly quick and it doesn't take long until the new Ghost Rider is standing in front of us, standing in a circle of flaming grass and with smoke and steam billowing off his tall form.

Bucky is still in his combat fatigues, and outside of his head having been turned into the tell-tale flaming skull (looking pretty much identical to Johnny Blaze's demonic form) the most distinct change is actually his arm. I hadn't gotten around to fitting him with a replacement due to everything else going on and the fact that the arm worked pretty well all things considered, so it had still been a startlingly lifelike recreation of the real thing, executed in overlapping segments of smooth silvery steel, before the change happened.

Now, the segments were still there, but far more rough than it had been originally, looking almost hammered and welded together instead. The metal was no longer a bright metallic silver, but a dark, smoky black, reminiscent of old iron or steel, pitted in places and covered in notches and scratches. The edges of the plates that made up the arm were glowing red, and there were several spikes lining some of the longest panels, almost like the nails that you could sometimes find sticking from baseball bats, and a thick spike extended from the caps that served as Bucky's knuckles. From between the thin slits and gaps interposed between the different moving parts an angry red glow could be seen, as if looking into the forges of Hell itself, and instead of having a read star on his shoulder, Bucky's arm now ended in a dark skull with flaming eye sockets, looking as if it came straight off the armour of the Lich King and set alight.

As the newly born Ghost Rider stood silently in the patch of flames, breathing heavily and staring down at his mis-matched hands, I slowly rose to my feet, supporting Jessica as well and keeping her close to my side, neither one of us willing to let go of the other.

"Bucky?" I asked in the dead silence, noticing how the rest of the group and the Sorcerers looked on in a mixture of fear and morbid interest.

After a few moments, almost causing me to think the Ghost Rider hadn't heard me, Bucky's skull slowly rose, burning eye sockets looking straight at me. Despite its shape the skull was most definitely not giving off the impression that it was grinning.

'Snarling like a bear about to rip your face off', would be a more accurate description.

"Where… is Steve's bike?" Bucky slowly rattled with heavy breaths.

Recognizing this behaviour from when Jessica had just been turned, I silently allow a massive portal to slam into existence to our left, leading straight into my Hangar. The others are briefly taken off guard by its sudden appearance, but Bucky merely turns without a word and strides through the portal, making a beeline towards where Steve's old bike is standing in its own lot next to several of Othrys' combat and support vehicles (which may or may not have included a certain Batman-themed Tumbler).

As if it were the most normal thing in the world, the Ghost Rider grabs the handles of the WWII-era bike and throws his leg over it, settling smoothly in its seat. As he does, the bike itself goes up in literal flames as well, though instead of burning down to a husk, it is instead transformed into something more.

I briefly get the impression of metallic teeth gripping the headlight, a lower, heavier frame and two flaming wheels for tires, before the Ghost Rider turns the engine on and an animalistic roar fills the entire Hangar. Without even so much as glance back, Bucky tears out of the lot and straight down the runway into the subterranean area that leads to the underwater part of the Hangar, which has its own exit into the East River.

I raise a disgruntled eyebrow in surprise, but it's Jess who answers, her voice having the tell-tale croaking quality of someone who is immensely thirsty.

"Give him some time, he just has to ride this out. Those first moments are… intense." She softly mutters, and I give her a considering nod, before looking over the rest of my group.

"Ancient One, thank you once again for your assistance. I will leave the survivors to face your judgement, do with them what you will. Take the Ten Rings from the Mandarin as well: it is better to keep them safe in the Sanctums than allow them to fall into the wrong hands again. I'll take my people home."

My second in command gives me a curt nod as I lift a hand, the Ten Rings flitting off the Mandarin's cold fingers and with a flick of my wrist they fly straight into the Ancient One's hands. Briefly, the temptation to keep the Rings for myself makes itself known, but I squash it down with relative ease.

Right now, I have other things to attend to than gathering more power, and by giving them to the Ancient One I'm both repaying her for her aid and making sure that I can always study them at a later time in the safety in one of my Sanctums.

At my words my team had already begun walking through the portal, most of them grim-faced (having gone through Hell Week meant that they were pretty much desensitized to death and killing, but still, a slaughter of this scale and ease is not something you just shake off) with the exception of Rocket and Groot and Peter.

Groot was already back to his usual smiling self, a stark contrast to mere minutes ago when he had been beating a ninja to death with the body of another ninja, and Rocket was mostly needling Peter over his performance during the fight, with Peter hotly defending himself (to be fair, Rocket was merely teasing the half-human for the hell of it, as Peter had shown himself an incredible shot with those pistols of his, racking up quite a kill count of his own).

My Leviathan idly flows overhead as well, moving through the portal with relative ease despite the large wounds that litter his immense body and with a slight feeling of guilt I send it a solemn promise that tomorrow I would restore it to its prime health and spend the entire day playing fetch with it, to which I get a warm feeling of contentment sent back over our link.

Susan also steps past us, and now that she's once more made of flesh and blood the wounds that Sowande gave her are more noticeable, the most obvious ones being long rakes down her sides and the slight limp that she's walking with. As she passes us, she swings her immense head down, and Jess reaches up with a grateful smile, placing the palm of her hand against the (surprisingly soft) snout of the T-Rex as she nuzzles her.

"Thanks for everything girl. I'll see you tomorrow, make sure that you're alright." Jess whispers softly, and Susan chuffs once, tousling Jess' dark hair before she steps through the portal as well.

As the tip of her tail clears the tear in space-time, I allow it to fall shut and instead open a smaller one, this one leading directly to our bedroom in Othrys. Jess' eyes light up when she spots her home again for the first time in weeks and we're quick to step through, with me throwing a wave to the Ancient One over my shoulder just as the portal slams shut again.

Despite the fact that we both stink of smoke, blood and death, we're simply too tired to bother with a shower right now, so other than quickly brushing our teeth while almost falling asleep standing up and tossing our clothing on the floor, we immediately head to bed.

Tomorrow we'll have to have several long conversations just to catch each other up on everything that has happened since the Spirit of Vengeance forced her into a roaring rampage of revenge (I'm definitely not looking forwards to having to tell her that I'm dying), but for now, for this single night?

The troubles of the world can wait, for just a little while, as we simply enjoy the fact that we're together again.

Jess huddles up close to my broad chest with her back towards me, my arm underneath her head and her wild mane tickling my nose as I pull her towards me, resting my massive hand flat against her large belly, feeling the strong life within. Soon, her breathing evens out into soft, regular puffs as I keep looking at the woman in my arms.

Kissing her softly on her shoulder, I lay my head on my pillow and close my eyes.

And for the first time since the end of Hell Week, I fall asleep.


Fun Fact: Marvel produced romance comics from 1945-1965.

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