They weren’t stars—in retrospect, I was pretty sure there was way too much light pollution to see any stars in the middle of the San Francsico Bay Area. Instead, a seething mass of Iron Legion drones filled the night sky above the warehouse in a wide spiral, looking for all the world like a tornado of steel, lit up by the glow of their eyes and chest and the beams of energy flashing from their hands. Two small streaks of red and gold danced together through it all, Tony cutting a swath through the drones as he exchanged rapid-fire repulsor blasts with the Mark 45 in a desperate aerial ballet.
Had Eliza really had time to produce this many? A memory stirred in the back of my mind: tearing apart drone after drone with my magic during the Battle of Sokovia. Though I felt sure that Ultron hadn’t had nearly this many of his Sentries. I pushed the thought away, focusing on the present. Even as I refocused, the movement of the swarm changed and shifted, the formation breaking in half as a significant portion of the drones started to descend and reorient on me as their new target.
“Uh! Assist! Tony and I need an assist outside!” I said into my comms, a slight bit of panic setting it. Individually, Iron Legion drones weren’t that much of a threat to either of us, but there had to be hundreds of the things and I was extremely exposed, perched precariously atop the cockpit of the dragon flyer. I lashed out with my free hand, seizing hold of the power welling up inside of me and throwing out a curtain of blazing red chaos magic in a wide arc around me just in time to catch the barrage of repulsor blasts that were suddenly directed my way.
Beneath me, the dragon flyer bucked, throwing itself from one side to the other as though trying to dislodge me and very nearly succeeding in doing so—it was all I could do to hang on and keep my shield up. I didn’t know how long I could hold out against a continual assault from this many drones, either. My heart was racing at a million miles an hour, my breath coming in sharp, panicked gasps. Trying to jump the flyer like this had been a mistake. On the bright side, at least I wasn’t nauseous yet.
I let out an involuntary gasp, my eyes widening, as a significant fraction of the night sky suddenly shifted and split open. A scintillating, dazzling display of thousands of faceted mirrorlike fractures cut through the cloud of drones—a portal to the Mirror Dimension, but one much larger than I’d known was even possible… it had to be hundreds of meters across, at least.
I glanced down, toward the rapidly retreating warehouse, and saw some lit-up figures caught in the open near some expensive-looking cars parked out the front. The Ancient One stood facing toward me, her hands raised to the sky, flanked by two figures I thought were Shuri and Killmonger, their sonic weapons spitting brilliant blue bolts at a handful of other figures that surrounded them.
The Sorcerer Supreme dropped her hands and the massive magical gateway that was splitting the sky in half moved, sweeping downward like a cascade of shifting, fractalline crystal, catching dozens upon dozens of Iron Legion drones in its path even as they scrambled to evade. The portal narrowly missed the dragon flyer I was standing on as the aircraft surged forward, flicking itself around a taller building in a wide arc. The magical effect ended—stranding what had to have been a significant chunk of Eliza’s forces in the Mirror Dimension—as I lost sight of the warehouse.
“Wanda, we lost visual on you,” Killmonger came through my comms.
“I’m clear, I think. Thanks for that!” With no visible threat left, I let my shield dissipate as I turned my attention back to the flyer.
I had no idea what direction we were heading in—just ‘not toward the water’—and we were dangerously low, evasively weaving between buildings, skimming along only maybe thirty meters or so above street level. Cars and streetlights blurred past below us and I vaguely heard horns blaring and the occasional shout before it was snatched away by the wind whipping my hair. I had to focus on the task at hand.
“I wonder if you know, how they live in Tokyo,” I mumble-sang under my breath, trying to use the lyrics to focus myself as I telekinetically grasped the cockpit with tendrils of red energy and started levering it open.
A flash of movement caught my eye, reflected in the glass, but it wasn’t enough warning for me to do anything but brace myself as a stray Iron Legion drone—obviously having managed to evade the Ancient One’s trap—slammed painfully into me from behind. The force of the impact was enough to knock me from my feet and I went tumbling ass over teakettle, skidding up and over the top of the aircraft. I called more magic to my hands, blasting the drone that had hit me with a bolt of chaos magic and sending it spiralling off to crash into a building—oops, hopefully that didn’t hit anyone—then scrambling for purchase on the flyer before I slid off entirely.
I managed to catch the bottom edge of the flyer’s left wing array with one hand, bouncing painfully off the side as it made another hard right. There was a slight cold feeling in my ear and it took me a second to realise that my comms had been knocked loose. That wasn’t ideal. The seams of the metal next to me caught my eye—I’d only ever seen people enter these flyers from the cockpit, but I was pretty sure this was a cargo hatch. Holding on grimly, I kept my balance with wisps of chaos magic lashing me in place as I pressed a hand against the metal. There was a groaning squeal of protest as I forced it, telekinetically prying the hatch open enough to see inside.
There was a flare of energy and I ducked, narrowly missing being blasted in the face with a blinding flash of light. That would be the witch with the Dark Sceptre, most likely—the Ancient One had warned us about the relic that had been stolen from the New York sanctum. I’d never heard of it before, so I was a little wary of what it could do.
With one final telekinetic yank, the hatch was wrenched all the way open and I put a foot on it, my stance wide as I tried to keep my balance on the outside of the vehicle as it continued to bob and weave. Facing me was—as predicted—the Chinese witch, a black metal staff graven with runes clutched tightly in one hand. Behind her, I dimly noted there was at least one other person tucked away behind the seats here, but my attention was focused on the immediate threat.
“Hi!” I shouted brightly, trying to be overheard over the wind and sounds of the city below, more red wisps of chaos magic gathering in my hands as I eyed the witch’s weapon. “We haven’t been introduced!”
The woman eyed me, a hungry look in her expression as she grinned back. “Oh, I’m quite familiar,” she said, then paused. After a beat I realised we were both waiting for the other one to attack first, then she made a frustrated noise in the back of her throat. “Are you going to blast me, or what?” she asked, testily.
I was immediately suspicious. My knowledge about witches and their capabilities was woefully inadequate, but the one witch I did know about could drain the magic from people who blasted her directly. I had been under the impression that that ability was unique to Agatha Harkness, or at least fairly rare, but I didn’t have enough information to be sure and didn’t want to risk being caught off-guard. I hesitated for a moment longer.
“Eliza says she’s not going to fall for that!” Beck yelled, his voice panicked, from the cockpit.
The Chinese woman’s face twisted in an annoyed snarl. “Ugh, bitch… fine,” she spat. The head of the Dark Sceptre flared with brilliant blue, edged in white, as she darted forward to strike me in the face with it. I threw up a shield, attempting to catch the charged magical weapon but, as I did, she brought her second hand up to grab the haft and reversed the direction of her attack—I realised too late that her initial lunge had been a feint, the obvious magical attack a distraction. Before I could react, the witch planted her feet and swung the haft of the staff upwards as hard as she could. My vision went white and I let out a strangled gasp as a five-foot club of solid black metal slammed directly into my crotch.
The wind whipped through my hair, plastering it to my face, and the lurching moment of vertigo mixed with the pain let me know I’d involuntarily let go of the flyer and was in freefall. I let out a hiss between clenched teeth, blinking tears from my eyes as I struggled to wrap myself in a small envelope of magical energy. A bare second later, I hit the asphalt of the street below, tumbling painfully end over end for a dozen metres before coming to rest. I curled up around my injured groin and lay there, dazed. I’d never actually been hit there before as Wanda and fuck that had hurt more than I would have expected it to.
I wasn’t sure how long I lay there—certainly no longer than a minute or two, at most—listening to the sound of panicked shouting and squeal of tires, before I heard something land heavily near me. A strong hand tentatively took my shoulder and eased me over. “Wanda? Are you okay?” Carol asked, looking down at me with a concerned look on her face. Her hair was matted and stained with blood, sticking to her left cheek and shoulder.
“She hit me in the bits,” I responded, my voice coming out as a plaintive whine. “Why? Why did she hit me in the bits?”
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“Come on, we’ve got incoming,” she urged, urgency in her tone. I let out another whimper as I reached up to grab hold of Carol’s offered arm, forcing myself first into a semi-sitting position, then back up onto my feet, trying and failing to find a way of standing that didn’t put too much weight on that part of my body. It had been a really solid hit, crushing sensitive nerve endings against my pubic bone hard enough that I was a little worried she’d cracked it. I touched my forearm gingerly as well—I’d skinned it pretty badly, probably when I’d hit the street.
Carol shot me another sympathetic look, then her eyes widened slightly and she grabbed me by the shoulder, pulling me out of the way as a wide beam of angry orange energy carved a smoking, bubbling furrow across the asphalt. I took deep breaths as I scrambled away, summoning chaos magic back to my hands, bringing up a defensive shield as the Mark 45 suit dove toward us, joined by a dozen Iron Legion drones.
Next to me, Carol raised her hands and took out two drones with photon blasts before rising in the air to meet the Iron Man suit. This was the first time I’d gotten a really good look at it—while it definitely did look like some of the fittings had been swapped out since the fight at Avengers Tower, I was hard pressed to really tell what exactly was going on with it. I threw up a shield, letting a pair of drones bounce harmlessly off it as I backed into the hood of a parked car behind me, my eyes scanning the buildings around us.
Where had the dragon flyer gone? I’d lost track of it completely after I’d been knocked off—the city was built up enough here and enough was going on around us that I couldn’t tell what direction it had gone in.
Three more of Eliza’s Iron Legion dived at me as Carol continued to engage the suit and a handful of other drones in the air above the street, and I offered a silent apology to the owner of the car I was resting against. Tendrils of red magic swept under the vehicle and I wrenched it forward, flipping it up and over to crush two of my attackers underneath. The third fired off a pair of repulsor blasts that I managed to duck under before I hit it square in the midsection with a return bolt of chaos magic, smashing it apart with a pulverising fist of telekinetic energy.
Another couple of drones arrived, quickly picking me as a target and diving in. I groaned. I really needed a breather. As I ripped one apart, the second hung back slightly, letting its repulsors charge up fully as it hovered in place. That was a mistake—before it could fire, it was swatted from the air, smashing hard against the asphalt, Pietro blurring into being above it. “Hey!” he said nonchalantly, a small grin tweaking the corner of his mouth. He looked like he’d had his fair share of fighting, too, his Wakandan-granted outfit scorched and torn in a few places.
“Hey,” I responded, then stumbled as my legs almost gave out for a second. Pietro was suddenly at my shoulder, steadying me.
“Wanda?” my brother asked, a touch of concern in his voice.
I shot him a grateful look and nodded despite myself. I was actually exhausted and still in quite a lot of pain—the ache between my legs had started to dull a bit, at least, but my earlier fight with Eliza and being bounced around on the flyer was catching up with me. It felt a little bit like my entire body was one big bruise.
Above us, Carol flared with energy, engulfing herself in a bright, shimmering halo of blue and orange fire. The Mark 45 hit her with a double blast of its repulsors, but it didn’t slow her down—it almost seemed like she didn’t even notice it—as she streaked forward and slammed into the suit. It smashed apart like a cheap child’s toy, breaking into at least a dozen pieces as she dashed it to the ground.
There were still two Iron Legion drones in the air around her and they scattered, flying up and away. Carol shot up after them, blasting one out of the air with a casual burst of photon energy as she physically chased after the other, demolishing it with a single quick strike that sent a collection of burning wreckage hurtling to the ground. She turned in mid-air, glowing eyes scanning the area for a moment, her fists held at the ready, before she seemed to relax. The corona of energy around her dissipated slightly, then she perked up again as another drone, which had been hiding behind the side of a building, tried to make a break for it.
Raising her hand, she took aim and blasted it out of the sky. At the same time, a flare of orange and red streaked up from ground level toward her, surprising all of us. “Carol!” I yelled, but she turned too late. The gauntlet of the Mark 45 slammed into her left wrist, closing around her hand and forearm.
She cried out—a yelp of pain, not just surprise—and she clutched at her wrist, scrabbling at the piece of armour. I flung out a hand as more pieces shot from the ground, each self-propelled with its own set of thrusters, but I was too slow and too far away to intervene as the entire suit of armour reassembled itself on her body in the space of a bare couple of seconds, Carol jerking repeatedly in midair as each piece slammed home.
There was an odd vibration in the air—something almost like a sound, but so deep that it seemed to engulf all the other ambient noise around us. I felt it in my chest, like something was reaching inside to wrap a hand around my heart and lungs and squeeze. I thrust both my hands upward, covering Pietro and I with the strongest shield I could conjure a bare instant before the explosion went off.
I scrunched my eyes shut, but searing white light still somehow managed to blind me through my eyelids as my shield shattered, a deafening wall of heat, force and sound slamming into me. I was slapped off my feet, tumbling backwards and landing hard on the sidewalk.
Once again, a handful of seconds—maybe a minute—passed while I lay on the ground in a daze.
Eventually, with what felt like more effort than it should have been, I pried my eyes open and groaned, though I couldn’t hear my own voice—or anything else, for that matter—over the flat sound of ringing in my ears. I blinked a few times, the purple and black afterimages obscuring my vision slowly starting to fade as I rolled over and lifted myself up on my hands and knees. If I hadn’t felt completely like one giant bruise before, I definitely did now. Not only that, but my exposed skin felt raw all over, like I’d just been flash-sunburnt. We’d been at least twenty meters away from Carol—what the fuck kind of explosion was that?
Grunting, I pulled myself to my feet and looked at my shaking hands. They were bleeding. I’d cut myself on broken glass, a small jagged piece still embedded in my palm. With trembling fingers, I carefully plucked it out—it wasn’t bleeding that badly, I told myself. It was fine. I wiped my hands on my dress, trying to steady them. It stung. My face hurt. My forearm hurt. My crotch hurt. All of me hurt.
“P…” I licked my cracked lips. “Pietro?” I croaked, peering around. The street was covered in broken glass and wreckage—the facades of the buildings that had been to either side of Carol were crushed, cratered inwards as though struck with a giant fist. Looking at them, I was honestly surprised that they hadn’t collapsed entirely. The streetlights and trees that had been planted along the sidewalk closest to the explosion were just… gone, only small blackened stumps remaining. I shot a dazed look down the street, glancing in both directions, and some part of me absently noted that I couldn’t see a standing pole or intact window anywhere.
The ringing in my ears started to clear somewhat, and I heard a groan over the semi-distant wailing of alarms. Stumbling over to the upturned car I’d used to crush the Iron Legion drones earlier—it had been shoved several meters, the paint scorched and melted off one side—I found my brother laboriously pulling himself to his feet behind it.
“You okay?” I asked.
Pietro squinted at me for a moment, sticking a finger in his ear. He made a few random noises with his mouth. “I… okay. I thought I was deaf for a second,” he said, pulling a face. Straightening up, he looked around. “What the fuck,” he said. It wasn’t a question, really, just a statement.
I nodded my agreement, then, not knowing what else to do, started to stumble back toward where Carol had been, glass crunching beneath my feet. The asphalt had melted, a near-perfectly circular bowl of fractured and molten ground scoured into the middle of the street. Carol lay in the middle, not moving, her uniform blackened and shredded. The ground there was still scorchingly hot, so I reached out a shaky hand and carefully sent some threads of telekinetic energy out to pick her up, floating her gently over to the edge of the marked ground.
“Is she…?” Pietro asked quietly, suddenly beside me.
“She’s alive,” I said, taking a shaky breath. Her eyes were closed, her face streaked with blood and blackened soot, but she was breathing. There was a lot of blood and it took me a second to realise that her uniform had perforations all over it. There was a sick feeling in my stomach as I realised that Eliza must have done something like line the inside of the Mark 45 with vibranium blades, with this exact scenario in mind. “Fucking hell,” I said, more to myself than to Pietro, checking her over as best I could.
On closer inspection, I didn’t think any of her wounds were that deep—there were just a lot of shallow cuts that made it look like a horror movie monster had gone to town on her. Her breathing was shallow, but steady. I didn’t think she was dying or anything, just unconscious.
We were useless out here. We needed to get Carol safe and head back to the warehouse. Focusing, I channelled a thread of energy into my sling ring and spun up a portal below her, floating her unconscious body gently down into a bed before dismissing the magic again. Shuri and T’Challa had arranged a place inside the Great Mound with Wakandan medical personnel ready to receive any injured members of our group—Carol was basically the last person I’d expected to send there, but I was glad we had it on hand.
Okay, done. Now, back to the warehouse. I pulled myself to my feet and looked over at Pietro. “We… we need to get back to the others. Regroup,” I said, a little numbly. “If we don’t, Eliza’s going to…” I trailed off a little. Going to what, exactly?
I had no idea if Eliza was even still there. The Mark 45 had followed us, obviously trying—and succeeding—to stop us from following the dragon flyer, but with that gone I don’t think she had any reason to stick around. The Ancient One’s trick with the Mirror Dimension would almost certainly have spooked her. The mission seemed like it’d been a bust. I guess the best we could hope for was that Eliza might not realise right away that we were tracking the book and we’d have a chance to hit her again once we’d taken a little bit to recover.
There was a clank behind me as something landed heavily on the asphalt—Pietro straightened, hands clenching into fists and his face settling into a scowl as he looked past me. “…going to…” I turned, still mumbling, before trailing off again.
Eliza’s vibranium form stood confidently in the middle of the ravaged street, facing us, red plasma hair flowing around her. Almost casually, she tossed a severed metal arm—Bucky’s, I thought, blood turning to icewater in my veins—to the ground between us. “Oh, don’t mind me,” she said, gesturing for me to finish what I was saying. “By all means… give me some ideas.”