Fury pulled back on the steering column of the Porsche Boxster S with all of his might. Training he had received almost fifty years before bubbled to the surface of his memory, all of it useless. The Flying Car he was piloting was nothing like the old single prop fighters he had been forced to fly in the Second World War, and even less like the two jets he had flown in desperation during the Korean Conflict. The Boxster, like all of his previous S.H.I.E.L.D. issue Flying Cars was a state of the art, high end masterpiece of technology- at least when it was working right. Now it was a high priced 'brick'.
The X-Man- Storm- had drilled a lightning bolt through the car just seconds before. Why, Fury had no idea.
Despite their press, Fury knew that the X-Men were friends, heroes that fought the good fight, no different than the Fantastic Four or the Avengers. He was on good terms with most of them, most of the time, and even if he were not, Storm was not one to blatantly attack a friend in such an outright fashion.
The X-Men were known for their angst, and Fury knew that they would generally argue and debate before taking so drastic an action.
Fury had been shuttling the Black Widow to Xavier's estate, the X-Men's semi-secret headquarters to get some background on one of their regular archenemies and sparring partners, Sebastian Shaw.
Shaw was a mutant, like the X-Men, but he was one of the bad ones, forever skirting the law and only occasionally moving against Xavier's band only when he thought all the cards were stacked in his favor.
Fury had 'iffy' ties linking him to the latest rising of the Sons of the Serpent- a group of bigots that usually tried to stir up the masses into violence between races- along with some questionable business dealings in areas invested by his own Hellfire Club's members.
Fury and the Widow had hoped that some of their allies and friends in the X-Men might add to what they had found in the files concerning Shaw. What they had found instead was a mob of people advancing on Xavier's Westchester estate, ready to riot, and the X-Men Wolverine and Storm running interference, ready to attack the civilians.
Storm had attacked Fury's Porsche, striking the Flying Car with a bolt of lightning, as she was a weather witch controlling the elements, shorting out the car's electronic systems and killing all but the reserve battery power.
With the emergency reserves powering the car, Fury struggled to hold the Porsche aloft and ejected the Widow into space with the ejector seat hoping to save her from the inevitable crash landing.
She had cursed, spitting something in her native Russian, then was shot out of the car like a bullet, arching up and away, and hopefully to safety. Fury wished that he could eject. The Gaffer was going to kill him for wrecking his new ride on the very first day, not eight hours after he received it.
Fury pulled back on the steering wheel again with no response. The Porsche was angling down with no real control. The emergency systems were struggling to level out the car, deploying ailerons along the streamlined body to slow its descent. The cabin of the car glowed red as lights flickered across the dash. Fury heard the soft calm voice of Susan Richards rattling off the emergency procedures as the computer did what it could to keep the car and its occupant in one piece.
"Emergency Landing Procedure initialized."
The car lurched as the vortex beams that kept the car aloft were cut and the old school landing jets kicked in. Fury watched the gas meter as the digital readout flared, then dropped to almost zero. The car slowed appreciably however, angling up to stall. A second later there was an explosion, and an air bag erupted, blowing up in Fury's face, pinning him into his seat. Fury angled forward, craning his neck to fit his face into the small air mask that presented itself, laced into the weave of the air bag's material. He could barely move, but knew that when he hit the air bag would have just enough give to keep him safe and in one piece.
He was blind however, and he could no longer reach the steering wheel. Fury had to trust in the computer to get the car down. He hated technology.
***
Natalia Alianovna Romanova saw the Porsche veer off towards the wooded lands surrounding the Xavier estate as her car seat shot into the air. She watched as she tumbled, helpless, locked into the Porsche's ejected passenger seat by the safety harness criss-crossing her torso. The seat rumbled and shuddered as small rocket engines kicked in under the frame, pushing the flying chair up and away from the car. Acceleration held her firmly in place as she struggled; straining her muscles to free herself from the safety web of canvas straps before the chair reached the apex of its flight and deployed its landing chutes.
She cursed Fury under her breath as she struggled. She hated intensely when the men in her life felt some outdated need to protect her. They were all the same; Fury, Clint, Matt and Paul. None of them seemed to realize that she could kill them with a simple flick of her thumb, a dozen times over. Natalia hated being considered some porcelain doll, set upon a shelf and admired, protected.
The ejector seat slowed, the propulsion system shutting down as its fuel was spent. The chair leaned back, and for a second Natalia felt the familiar sensation of weightlessness. Quickly she ran her hands over the straps and harness that held her in place, undoing the clasps that locked her in and kept her safe. There was a small explosion from the chair's back and Natalia saw the parachutes suddenly billowing out above her. She was free, but still trapped she realized as the chair began its slow descent onto the Xavier estate. She was too high to jump, despite the small pond positioned below her. She had no idea just how deep it might be, and she did not want to break her neck in a dive that was not needed.
She had an incredible view of the estate and the surrounding grounds, and having nothing better to do as she floated back to earth, the Black Widow glanced about taking in all that she could. The Xavier mansion was a sprawling building of several stories. Natalia knew from reports filed by the Beast that there was a holographic image about the building itself, making it appear larger than it actually was, but as she stared she could see shadowy images flickering within the obvious and she was still impressed. The grounds seemed to go on forever, dwarfing the meager block of prime Manhattan real estate that Avenger's mansion sat on. Beyond the main grounds she knew as well that the estate stretched all the way to Breakstone Lake, where the X-Men's plane- the Lockheed Shield (RS- 150) Blackbird- had a launching pad.
On the road outside the main gate of the estate- Graymalkin Lane- Natalia could see the mob still gathering alongside the wall. A fine mist, the remnants of the sleep gas that Fury had deployed from his Flying Car still lingered about the ground, and she could see dozens of civilians lying unconscious in the slushy mud. A strong wind was stirring the gas, Storm no doubt trying to dispel it with her control over the weather, but it had already done its job, reducing the angered mob by half at least. There was some sort of struggle going on in the crowd she saw as well- Wolverine she imagined, doing what he did best. She cursed Fury again, wishing the chair to fall faster.
The ejector seat lurched, rocking backwards as though some extra weight had suddenly been added. Natalia wrinkled her nose, automatically holding her breath as her years of training had taught her as she smelled the stench of sulfur. A strong hand clasped about her throat-
"Guten Tag, Witwe! Fine day for a swim, nein?"
"Nightcrawler!" Natalia gasped, then felt her world turn upside down.
She had heard that teleporting under the mutant's power was disorienting to say the least. That was an understatement. Natalia smelled another burst of sulfur as a gaseous cloud erupted about her. Her mind reeled suddenly, and she felt as though she was tumbling end over end in the space of a heartbeat. She gagged as her stomach roiled, bile rising into her throat as the real world disappeared and what ever strange dimension that Nightcrawler traveled through erupted about her. There was a flash of light, and reality flipped again, and suddenly she was staring at a rippling gray, just before she plunged into the icy water below her.
The Black Widow felt Nightcrawler's hands about her throat as he forced her head underneath the water, struggling for dominance. He crouched astride her, his weight holding her down as instinctively Natalia grabbed at his wrists, trying to pry his hands away with all of her might. His long, mutated fingers wrapped about her throat, trying to choke the life from her even as she gasped in lungfulls of icy water. She was drowning as the X-Man was strangling her, a twisted look of pure hatred twisting his blue face, all the more fearful through the murky water.
Nightcrawler was strong and wiry despite his size. He easily held the Widow beneath the waters of Breakstone Lake, forcing her head down, showing his sharp fangs. His blue skinned face was a blur as Natalia struggled harder, trying desperately to pry his strong fingers away. Natalia choked, sucking in water as she struggled, trying to think. She realized that she was not strong enough to force the X-Man to release her, and apparently he was beyond reason, blinded by a fit of rage. The Widow released her grip on the mutant's wrists, feeling the pressure instantly increase on her throat as he tried to crush the life from her body before she had a chance to drown. She strained to raise her arm, trying to see through the murky waters of the lake, finally placing her own fist at Nightcrawler's throat.
The Black Widow flexed her fist and saw the tell-tale flash of light signaling the discharge of her Widow's Bite. She felt the pressure of Nightcrawler's grip ease as he reared backwards from the force of the blast, the shadowy image of his face twisting in sudden agony and craning away. He fell back off of her, and Natalia used the last of her waning strength to push him away and off of her, then quickly sitting up. She burst from the surface of the cold water, gasping for sweet air as her assailant slumped to the bank of the pond, unconscious.
Natalia crawled from the water and onto the sandy bank. She was tired, exhausted and wanted to collapse, but with the last of her strength she grabbed her attacker by the collar and drug him out of the icy waters behind her, letting him lie on the shore. She slumped to the ground gasping for breath. Her throat felt raw, her neck sore from Nightcrawler's failed attack. She glanced at his still body, dressed in silken pajamas now water sodden and stained. He was breathing regularly, but thankfully he was unconscious. Natalia sighed, then heaved a gasping lungful of sour water onto the beach.
Spitting the last of the bile from her mouth Natalia struggled to her feet, trying to run but staggering to the treeline surrounding the pond. She slumped up against a small ash, her head suddenly spinning. She felt as though she was drunk, and oddly angry, but realized that she must be suffering the aftereffects of Nightcrawler's power of teleportation. She took deep breaths, trying to clear her head, finally dropping to her knees and splashing cold, slushy snow over her face. She needed to get her bearings to hurry back to the mob at the gate and to help Fury.
She could see the shadowy images of the Xavier mansion fading in and out of the growing storm. It was hard to judge, but she figured herself to be over a mile from the gate; closer to two. An easy run for her, under good conditions, but in the wooded lands, in the midst of a raging blizzard, the ten-minute run might easily double. Snow was falling, flakes the size of silver dollars mixed with golf ball sized hailstones that slammed down with the force of bullets. The ceiling of the sky had fallen, choking gray clouds roiling overhead almost close enough to touch. The wind seemed to double in intensity with every heartbeat, howling like a wounded animal in the trees.
Gritting her teeth with determination, Natalia shoved away from the trees and started forward. Every step was an effort in the winds that threatened to force her back and down. She had barely gone a dozen yards when her long hair whipped back about into her face and she felt the gale force winds pushing her from behind. She staggered, cursing in her mother tongue, grabbing at the nearby trees and shrubberies for support when she felt the ground suddenly slide from beneath her.
The Black Widow gasped as the winds encircled her, lifting her up and through the trees. She clutched at passing limbs and branches that snapped off in her grip or slipped from her grasp. She tumbled up, up into the leaden sky, swirling helplessly like a leaf caught in an autumn breeze.
The winds seemed to spiral about her, a small cyclone holding her aloft and upright in the fury of the storm. She glanced about, knowing that this was no freak accident of nature, waiting for the mistress of the elements to finally show herself- to attack! She would be ready to retaliate in kind.
Storm appeared, riding the winds as easily as another might swim the calm waters of a lake on a summer's day. Her long white hair was wild about her head, her body glistening in the hammering rain, the far off flashes of lightning. She was naked, the remnants of her shift long since discarded, her dark skin taut and almost black in the shadowed moments when the thunder rolled. Her eyes were afire, crackling with electricity. She was magnificent, and Natalia gasped to see her- a goddess, come to life, for sacrifice…
***
Kyle Richmond watched in shock and disbelief as part of the ceiling seemed to break away and fall, landing on and almost enveloping the equally startled Black Panther. He blinked at the sudden flurry of swinging arms and flailing legs as what he had thought to be a part of the ceiling turned out to be a body after all. And after a moment he knew why he had been fooled.
He recognized the green snake skin-like armor half hidden under the flowing purple tunic, the long gangly limbs thrashing about, the body twisting in ways no normal man might ever hope to move. Richmond watched the Panther's fiercest blows bounce off of the mercenary's malleable skin and bones, doing little damage. Watched as billowing clouds of gas suddenly erupted, enveloping the combatants, causing the Panther to rear back, momentarily blinded-
"Cobra! It's King Cobra!" Richmond shouted, charging forward realizing at once that he must be running the Sons of the Serpents again as they had suspected. His mind raced as he tried to recall what he knew of the man, hoping that the King of Wakanda could hold out until he got there to help.
The Cobra had been around for years, a villain from the very start. Oddly, his first opponent had been the mighty Thor, a fledgling hero then in his own right, but still greatly outclassing the weaker Cobra in strength if not in wits. He tackled Thor several times, eventually teaming with another of the Asgardian's foes; the macabre Mister Hyde! Together they gave the thunderer a run for his money, but were inevitably defeated time and again, by Thor, and later by Daredevil. Later, after splitting with the mentally unstable muscle man Hyde, the Cobra ran with the original Serpent Squad along with the original Eel and his brother, the Viper for a time. They were beaten by Captain America, and after that by the man called Nomad. Cobra went solo for a time after that, and as far as Richmond could recall, the mercenary was now a member of the Serpent Society- either in charge or a member- though little had been heard from that group since their defeat at the hands of Captain America again-
"Group?"
Richmond pulled up short as something slashed past his face, missing him by mere inches. He stumbled backwards, surprised, trying to gain traction on the slick, tiled floor in his expensive Italian loafers. He let out a little yelp of panic as he tumbled over, falling back and sliding across the floor. He was unhurt, but embarrassed as he looked up, remembering the other assailant in the room-
"Death Adder!"
He had momentarily forgotten the other silent member of the Serpent Society. A mistake that had almost proved fatal! The man crouched before Richmond like a coiling snake- not all that surprising- the dim light of the old Sons of the Serpent complex glinting against the dark greens and maroon of his skintight metal armor. He was a bizarre sight in that armor; the high fin running up his back and over his head, his expressionless face mask, the long, tapering claws of his fingers. But what ran through Richmond's mind over and over was the fact that the man called Death Adder was supposed to be dead.
The facts were a bit sketchy, but Captain America had reported that the leader of the Serpent Society- Sidewinder- had let slip that his mute assassin had died some time back. Cap had believed Sidewinder, and Diamondback had backed up the story as well, she being an ex-member of the Society. But here he stood, big as life and twice as silent. Richmond was hardly one to believe in the final death however. He had seen too many of his elite minority of heroes and villains alike survive sure death, and even return from the big sleep none the worse for wear. He himself had been resurrected twice, though he was often loath to admit it. Why not the Death Adder?
If it was even him- Richmond realized that it could be anyone beneath the armor. Not even Captain America had seen the face under that mask, and it might very well be that the original Death Adder was dead, and this was his replacement in the Society- a business practice that was common enough in the criminal underworld and in terrorist groups like the Society and Zodiac to name a couple. Whoever it was- original or not- his venom tipped claws were real enough, and Richmond decided that he better get his ass up off of the floor and deal with the threat before it dealt with him.
Even dressed in his expensive Italian suit and shoes and his London Fog, it was easy enough for Richmond to leap to his feet and drop into a defensive crouch of his own. He silently wished that it were after sundown instead of mid day. What little power he possessed- the enhancing of his natural athletic abilities and senses- came to the fore only after dusk, and Richmond felt that he would need every edge he could manage against the cold-blooded killer of Death Adder. He wished too that he had his flight pack and wings. Getting above the snake would definitely give him the edge that he needed, but his wings and costume were back in Long Island at his estate, essentially a million miles away at the moment.
Still, as Nighthawk, Kyle Richmond had fought his share of the good fight. As a villain he had almost beaten Captain America, and later, as he was changing his ways, he had fought Daredevil to a standstill. With the Defenders he had helped to defeat Nebularus and helped to save the world from his old teammates in the Squadron Sinister. All of that was him alone- no Buck Rogers jetpack. Surely he could take on one two-bit thug while dressed in his civvies.
Richmond watched, waiting for the assassin to make the next move. Death Adder stared, still crouching, his long fingers clicking as he scrutinized his opponent. Kyle Richmond could feel the sweat starting to trickle down his back. He felt the queasiness in his stomach, the pumping adrenaline making his arms and legs quiver as he tried to hold position. He licked his lips-
"Well, c'mon then!" he shouted, and instantly Death Adder leaped!
***
Seeing a flicker of movement from the corner of his eye T'challa, son of T'Chaka reared back, trying to free himself to go to the aid of his friend. He felt the joints in his back popping as his assailant applied the slightest pressure, the man's arms and legs snaking about the Panther's body, grasping tighter and tighter. He could smell the man's fetid breath, hear his strained gasps as he struggled to maintain his death like grip on the Black Panther.
T'challa knew the hold, knew the attacker's style of combat. As the Black Panther he had used it himself. It was a stylized form of Judo, a defensive martial arts maneuver twisted into an offensive hold that could eventually disable, and perhaps kill the intended victim. When employed by a master it could prove fatal. When employed by the likes of a para-normal like the Cobra it was easily a death grip!
The Panther however was a master of several forms of the martial arts, not the least of which was the Way of the Panther, learned by all of his countrymen and warriors in Wakanda. He was also an Avenger and as such had sparred and learned from one of the most proficient fighters in history. Captain America had taught all of the Avengers from the astonishing Ant-Man to the winsome Wasp the basics of self-defense. Any who wanted to learn, he taught how to fight, and as much as T'Challa knew, the star-spangled Avenger had shown him more. Case in point: the hold that he was now trapped in.
The Cobra knew what he was doing- at least in this. Every move that the Panther made to break the villain's grip was countered by leverage. T'Challa knew that he was stronger, but the Cobra had caught him unawares and unprepared- a remarkable feat in itself- and now had the Panther's limbs locked up in what was basically a modified wrestling move. T'Challa struggled, gritting his teeth as the pressure on his back increased and he was forced to one knee.
"Can you feel it?" the Cobra hissed in T'Challa's ear. "I'm not even trying. I flex my muscles and I snap your spine!" The Cobra squeezed as though to emphasize his threat and the Panther winced, feeling his back straining. The Cobra eased an arm up under the Panther's chin and started to pull back. T'Challa felt his air flow dwindle and eventually cut off all together. He choked, trying to gasp for air. He started to see spots of gray exploding in his vision.
"It won't be long now, Avenger. Your vision will fade as you gasp for air, then you will become light-headed as you drop into unconsciousness. It will be a simple matter to squeeze your windpipe until you die, or would you rather I end it quickly? Maybe I'll just snap your spine and leave you a cripple. Would that be a fate worse than death, Panther?" The Cobra chuckled, enjoying the Black Panther's helpless struggles. He had been beaten so many times by so-called super-heroes; Captain America, Spider-Man, Thor. Especially Thor! Cobra smirked. Even Hyde would have to respect him when he learned that the Cobra had slain the great Black Panther, Avenger and King! The Cobra reared back, delighting as the Panther moaned.
T'Challa felt consciousness slipping away. The only thing that kept him awake it seemed was the Cobra's raspy, taunting voice. The Panther focused on that, straining forward with all of the remaining strength that he could muster. He had a plan, the beginnings of one forming in his mind, but he had to give his all for the barest chance that it might succeed. Focusing his will he flexed, forcing his body forward. He heard the Cobra's grunts, knew the effort that it was taking the villain to maintain his hold. The Cobra's arm locked even more tightly about the Panther's neck, and T'challa felt the pain, the agony as his throat began to collapse with the strain. He felt the Cobra's legs shift, trying to gain a stronger grip-
The Black Panther reared back suddenly, not going limp but actually forcing his mass back and against his attacker. He heard the Cobra gasp in surprise, unprepared for the sudden maneuver. The Panther pushed up and back with his legs, arching his back with the Cobra's hold, his head snapping back unexpectedly. T'Challa's head rang as his skull slammed into the unprotected chin of his assailant. He heard teeth shatter in the villain's mouth, the Cobra's cry of surprise quickly turning to pain as the Panther forced his momentum on and back. He could feel his body arching, starting to fall backwards with the villain's weight on his back and at the last possible second, he leapt.
He felt the Cobra's grip ease as they were both suddenly airborne. T'Challa grabbed the villain's arms, now locking him into place as his leap reached its apex and the pair started to fall. The Panther bucked, starting to flip as the still screaming Cobra tried to squirm away but was now held tightly by the Panther. T'Challa heard the Cobra's head thump against the tiled floor and the Panther relaxed, letting his body fall atop the villain's, absorbing the rest of the fall. The snake's grip eased on the Panther's arms and legs, and T'Challa quickly spun away gasping for breath. He looked at the member of the Serpent Society lying on the ground almost beneath him.
Blood was flowing freely from the man's mouth and nose, and T'Challa could see the jagged edges of his shattered teeth. They looked suddenly like fangs. T'Challa, the King of Wakanda had no pity for the villain. The mercenary had tried to kill him, and some time in a dentist's chair was little enough punishment for that. He stared down at the Cobra as the man whined, moaning, begging for mercy. The fight and bravado had fled him, and he was ready to surrender. Had this been an Avenger's mission, the Panther would have let him. T'Challa slammed his fist into the Cobra's face until the villain stopped whining. It took a moment.
***
Kyle Richmond ducked and dodged, trying his best to avoid the slashing claws that came so close. Whoever this Death Adder was; original or replacement, he was good, agile and fast. Richmond had the rips and slashes in his expensive ensemble to attest to that.
Richmond crossed his arms in an 'x' in front of his face, blocking a downward chop from the man in the armor. The sharp talons of the assassin's hand quivered just inches from his face before the Defender felt his attacker's weight shift and he in turn vaulted to one side, just avoiding a roundhouse slice that would have cut into his neck. Sweat pored down his back and from his hair as Richmond flipped, vaulting over a battered chair and kicking it at the pursuing snake. Death Adder batted the projectile aside, barely missing a step as he gave chase.
"Jesus…" Richmond mumbled as he charged across the floor, trying to get his legs under him again, trying to think. "This guy's good!" he said, paling as he took a turn, bouncing off of the wall to flip and twist towards his pursuer. Kyle Richmond arched his back, his arms stiff and back as the room spun past. He shrugged out of his long coat, the fine material now ripped and tattered from the Serpent's assault, gripping the lapel as it came free. He could see Death Adder, surprised at the Defender's sudden move, reacting too slowly as Richmond soared overhead. The man called Nighthawk let the coat drop over the assassin's head as he twisted past, blinding his opponent, at least momentarily, then slammed his heel into the man's back!
"Arrgh!"
Kyle Richmond cried out as he kicked the assassin. It felt as though he had just tried to kick through a brick wall. Pain shot up through his leg, coursing through his body and finally rattling his teeth. Still, Death Adder staggered forward with the force of the blow, finally stumbling and falling onto his face with a clang of metal. Instantly he was scrambling to his feet and shredding the long coat covering his face. He tossed away the remnants even as Richmond landed and back-peddled away out of range.
Richmond was breathing hard as he backed up against a panel of machinery. It was cold and dusty to his touch, but he could feel the mechanical hum of energy running through the metal panels, the throbbing of power even in the low-level, emergency reserves. He wondered briefly what the machinery might be, as all of the lesser functions of the base had been shut down long ago. He had no time to dwell on it however as the Death Adder was on his feet again, charging for another attack.
Richmond licked his lips, his mouth suddenly dry, watching the assassin as he ran forward. The Serpent was confident, but not cocky. He was all business, spreading his arms wide to prevent his foe from ducking out and away to the side again. His claws sparkled in the low light, almost hypnotically. Kyle Richmond, as Nighthawk had fought against and beside too many others however not to be able to read this man like a book. True, he was fast and agile, but he had no finesse. He did not seem to be able to plot and plan his moves beyond what he was doing then and there. He was not able to alter his attack once he set it into motion. Richmond watched, judging the assassin's momentum and knew just when he was going to leap.
He saw it, one step deeper than the others, just the slightest hesitation and falter. The assassin's arms splayed out and back as his body soared up and forward. Left alone, his attack would slice the Defender into little pieces, the man's claws raking through his midsection like so much butter. Nighthawk saw it coming however and simply dropped to the floor letting his slick heeled Gucci loafers slide across the dusty tiles.
Richmond flattened, leaning back and kicking up with both of his legs. He caught Death Adder squarely in the stomach, driving his heels into the man's gut and redirecting his leaping assault up and over. The Serpent did not cry out- he was mute of course- but Richmond did not even hear the man expel his breath. A similar attack on himself would have left him sputtering and gasping for breath. The Defender wondered just how thick the snake's armor was, or how well padded.
His plan had worked however. Death Adder shot over him, or rather where he had been standing apparently cornered up against the banks of machinery. The Serpent could not fly, and was not quite agile enough to alter his vector in midleap. When Nighthawk slid to the floor out of reach, the assassin could do little more than smash headlong into the wall, his velocity assisted by the Defender's rolling kick.
Richmond was already moving as he heard the resulting crash. As the Defender Nighthawk, he had learned many things; teamwork, friendship, heroism, tactics. One of the lesser things he had learned was that when someone- hero or villain- went sailing into a wall of machinery at breakneck speed, it was usually followed by an explosion. As Kyle Richmond scrambled across the cold tiled floor he heard Death Adder's crash and the expected explosion a heartbeat later. Light flared throughout the chamber, and Richmond thought that the snake must have smashed through a monitor or something. He could hear the electrical buzz crackling even over the sounds of the blasts-
"Blasts?"
Richmond skidded to a halt, slamming up against the far wall and shielding his face as the last of the initial explosions subsided. He was bathed in the harsh glare of strobing light as sparks of electricity danced along the walls, flashing and flickering. Heat as a rush of air washed over him, carrying with it the bitter smells of charred wiring and choking smoke. Richmond winced, squinting into the staccato glow as the rumbling echoes died and the force of the blasts rolled away spent. Through the smoke and haze he could just make out the back half of Death Adder's body, still jerking with the current of wild energy but otherwise motionless.
"Hey!" he shouted, rising to his feet and starting forward. "I won!" Then looking more closely at the wreckage, the still form lying within he began to hurry. "Geez! I hope I didn't kill the guy!"
He did not hear a thing, or even see the dark form as it slipped up beside him, but the sudden hand on his shoulder stopped Kyle Richmond dead in his tracks. Instinctively his hand balled into a fist, years of training and confronting danger taking over as he swung on the new threat. The Defender's fist arched through empty air as his attacker easily ducked away avoiding the blow, and before Richmond could compensate, adjust his attack, the Black Panther was standing before him-
"Peace, friend!" the Panther said calmly. "It's only me."
Richmond took a long, deep breath, sighing, trying to calm himself. His body was shaking, still charged from the adrenaline rush of the battle he had just won. He looked the Panther up and down, remembering the Avenger's own fight against the other member of the Serpent Society, the Cobra. The Black Panther looked fit and fine, his costume just a little dusty from rolling about on the floor.
"Cobra?" he asked, turning his attention to the far side of the vast room. His eyes went wide at what he saw, and he felt the familiar surge of adrenaline pumping through his veins again. "Look!"
The Black Panther turned, his gaze following where Kyle Richmond was pointing. In his own arrogance the Panther had considered the Cobra truly defeated and had left him- unconscious but unbound- to rush to his ally's aid. His worries were unfounded it seemed, as the Defender had dispatched the clawed assassin, and his time would have been better spent securing his own foe. He had been too long an Avenger perhaps, or too much the king, worrying about the welfare of others- his subjects, allies, friends. Still, that- at least in part- is what made him the hero that he was.
The Panther's eyes widened in surprise as he started forward, Nighthawk charging along at his side. He should have known, or at least suspected. He had read the Avenger's files on the Serpent Society submitted by Captain America himself. He knew the way that the Society operated, remembering that they had modeled their tactics after the very hero groups that they often came into opposition with- most specifically the Avengers. The Serpent Society worked like a well-oiled machine with maneuvers and tactics designed to take down any opponent they might face. They worked together, in tandem, and they watched out for one another.
Thus it was not truly a surprise that the Black Panther should see the man standing over the still form of the Cobra on the far side of the chamber. The newcomer wore a stylized costume in browns and grays, the earth tones of the very snake he emulated. His costume was armored scales, his fearsome mask almost molded into a death's head flanked by the splayed collar of his voluminous, flowing cloak. The Panther watched, his legs churning as he tried to close the distance between himself and the leader of the Serpent Society- watched as the man's golden cloak swirled and shifted in the air, the micro-circuitry blended into the weave crackling with energy.
"I find it somewhat ironic that it should be you here, Avenger." The Sidewinder chuckled, his voice hollow behind the confines of his helmet. "You would not understand yet, but I think you will- all too soon!"
Light sparkled behind the villain as his cloak billowed out and dropped to encompass not only himself, but also the unconscious Cobra on the floor as well. The Panther leaped, using his momentum to propel himself forward in a vain attempt to catch the fleeing snakes. Even as he flew through the air however, T'Challa knew that he was too late. The telltale wisps of smoke began to trail through the dimensional rift that the Sidewinder had opened, the haze of that other realm's atmosphere swirling about as the man's cloak wrapped about them both, hiding them for the space of a heartbeat-
And they were gone!
The Black Panther dove through the space that the two men had occupied just a moment before, now empty air save for a trace of dispersing smoke and an acidic smell of methane. The Avenger curled into a ball, spinning about at the last possible second and slammed into the wall, his powerful legs absorbing the brunt of the impact so as not to go the same route that Death Adder had before. Still the Panther slumped hard up against the bank of machinery, his dive ending in a low crouch hoping to do no real damage. He braced, but nothing happened. Finally he stood up with a defeated sigh.
"Well, that went well." Kyle Richmond stared at the Panther, but there was no accusatory look on his face. He seemed relaxed, and even cracked a smile. "You okay, Panther?"
"Only my pride, as they say. I fear that my arrogance has lost us a potential prisoner, and perhaps answers as well. I should have expected that the other Serpents would come to their fellows' aid should they need it. I read the files."
"Hey, so did I!" Richmond smiled, laying a hand on the Avenger's shoulder. "The Defenders have full access to the Avengers criminal database, and granted- most of you guys are not Steinbeck- I have read the ones that seemed interesting. But Panther, you have to admit that there are a lot of villains out there, and like it or not, we all have lives outside the tights. You're a king for Christ's sake, and I have a few irons in the fire myself." Richmond shrugged, stuffing his hands into the pockets of his tattered slacks. "We forgot! Get over it! At least we got Death Adder."
"Do we?" the Panther asked suspiciously. "I wonder."
Together the two heroes hurried back across the chamber. Richmond sighed in relief to see the Death Adder's still form still hanging from the gaping hole in the wall of machinery. As Kyle Richmond stepped forward to pull the man from the wreckage the Panther stopped him-
"Wait! The machinery is still live. Let me. I am better insulated."
Heedless of the electrical sparks, the Black Panther reached into the maw and grabbed hold of the Serpent's belt. The Wakandan king was confident that the special weaves of Vibranium laced throughout his costume would keep him relatively safe, and it was true. Save for a slight tingle from the sparks that arched from the live wires to the sharp claws of his own gloves, the Panther felt nothing- save surprise!
Like a scene from a bad shark-attack horror movie, the Black Panther tugged the still form of Death Adder from the gaping hole. He heard Kyle Richmond gasp as the body ended- more or less- at the chest. Above the torso was nothing but melted wires and circuitry, the twisted metallic skeleton of his right arm dangling by a thread of knotted cables. With a clang and a sickening thud, the body of 'Death Adder' hit the floor, sizzling and smoldering like a spent cigarette butt. Kyle Richmond moaned, then started to retch.
"My God!" he gagged, trying to compose himself before the Avenger. "I've killed him!"
"No, Defender." The Black Panther turned the body about, picking through the exposed internal workings much to Richmond's dismay. "Look again," T'challa said eyeing a small circuit board he had taken from the body-
"This man was a robot!"
***
Nick Fury ran forward into the heart of the storm.
He had put down the Flying Car, barely, a landing that would hardly be logged as successful other than the fact that he had been able to walk away from it. The Boxster S was dead, the mutant Storm's lightning bolt attack having fried the internal circuitry making the patented S.H.I.E.L.D. Flying Car little more than a plummeting, over-priced brick. Fury had steered the car with the dwindling reserves of its emergency batteries, leveling out the Porsche's line of decent so that it slowed, coasting along and finally through the treetops. Fury veered the car into a clearing, paralleling the road- Graymalkin Lane and eventually dropping it into a skidding landing along the snow-covered path. Breathing a sigh of relief when the Flying Car finally came to a halt he shut down the power core, not knowing if it was actually necessary, and got out of the cockpit to head back to the fight.
He was not far from the main gate to the Xavier Estate, the headquarters of the Uncanny X-Men. Just over a mile he estimated, at least according to the last readings of the onboard Navi-computer. An easy jog, though a little harder running full out and into the bracing winds of a winter gale. Snow was swirling, the fierce winds trying to drive him back with every step he took. The temperature had dropped dramatically since he had left Manhattan, well below the freezing point and the closer he got to the center of the storm the more he could feel the force of pelting hail and icy sleet dragging him down. The winds were howling, and he was half blind squinting from his one good eye. Still he struggled forward- there were lives at stake!
He did not even see the blow that struck him. Charging forward into the storm, intent on the battle, freezing, he felt the pain as something hard slammed a glancing blow across his arm and shoulder. Fury's left arm went numb as he stumbled and fell, skidding across the icy pavement. He cursed his own stupidity, leaving himself open to attack by not focusing on what he was running into- or maybe focusing too much. Whatever, Fury stared up at his attacker, trying to right himself before he could be struck again.
It was a boy, maybe fifteen years old and dressed in a red and white baseball uniform. His lips were blue and snow covered his shoulders. Ice encrusted his hair and Fury could see his teeth chattering in the cold even as he raised his baseball bat high overhead, preparing to strike again. Without thinking Fury twisted about into a low crouch raising his good arm to fend off the oncoming blow even as he shifted his weight to knock the boy off of his feet with a leg sweep. He did not want to hurt the kid, as he was starting to suspect that he- as well as the entire mob that had been storming the X-Men's mansion- was being mind controlled in some way. Fury could see the look of rage twisting the boy's face, and he could feel anger bubbling up in him as well. He knew who the true villain must be. Not the kid, but a master manipulator that he had faced far too many times before. The Hate Monger!
Fury heard a sound that was all too familiar- the metallic 'snikt' of metal claws locking into place. Oblivious, the boy swung the bat, a downward arch aimed at Fury's head. The boy's weight shifted forward even as Fury dropped to one side extending his leg in a wide sweep, hooking the boy's ankle and pulling his foot away with the force of the blow. It was an easy maneuver on the icy road and the Little Leaguer bent on murder started to fall, his face still locked with hate. Fury saw the shadowy form behind the boy then, saw it move with a glint of metal in the dim light. Suddenly the bat that had been coming at his head fell apart, sliced neatly into four pieces that spiraled away into the storm. The boy hit the ground with a thud, and the shadow struck fast, a quick blow meant to incapacitate, not to kill. Fury heard a 'snakt' as the razor-sharp adamantium claws retreated back into the housings on the back of the shadowy fist. That same fist that then extended helpfully-
"Need a hand, bub?"
***
The Black Widow hung in mid-air helplessly as the winds flowed about her. She could move, but there was no leverage, nothing to push against or grab onto. Her abilities of an acrobat were useless, so she raised her arms, bringing her Widow's Bite to bear.
Natalia Alianovna Romanova aimed at the mutant hovering not so far away. The dark-skinned Storm was beautiful in the glory of the raging weather, her long white hair swirling wildly, her eyes crackling with the power of the elements that was hers to control. She was grace personified, and beauty as her real name- Ororo- implied. The X-Man raised her hands, and even over the howling winds Natalia could hear her deep voice-
"Wait!"
The Widow waited as the woman rode the winds closer. She stared at the weather witch's face noting that the look of hatred had vanished, replaced by a look of confusion and concern. Whatever madness had been controlling the woman was gone, but Natalia kept her arms up, her weapons trained on the beautiful, naked mutant.
"Fear not, Black Widow and be at ease." Storm drifted closer riding the air currents about Natalia, speaking strongly but no longer shouting. "The anger is gone, vanished as I drug you higher into the sky and apparently out of range of whatever was controlling my emotions."
The Black Widow licked her parched, cold lips. She was shivering in the icy air, the water from the pond in which Nightcrawler had deposited her before, freezing her to the bone. Still, she remained wary. Storm sounded sincere and in control once again, but Natalia could not take any chances until she was sure. Her life, Nick Fury's life, and the lives of the assembled population of Salem Center rested on her shoulders. She saw Storm smile slightly, and with a simple wave of her hand felt the winds and cold start to diminish. Natalia lowered her arms.
"Storm!" she shouted, even though she realized that the winds were no longer howling. "We have to go down and stop the mob attacking the mansion. Nick Fury's down there somewhere, and Wolverine as well! I saw him on the walls just before you attacked, and it looked as though he was in the grip of a berserker rage!"
The Widow saw a look of shock and realization wash over the woman's face. She apparently knew all too well what the feral Wolverine was capable of if left unchecked, caught in the grip of his primal instincts. Storm swooped past and the Black Widow felt the icy hand of the wind lessen its hold on her, lowering her body gently towards the ground.
The Black Widow felt the force of the storm lessening as she drifted ever closer to the white-blanketed ground. The winds were dying about her, though still held her gently. The icy snow and sleet dwindled with every heartbeat, every inch closer to landing. Overhead the clouds roiled, blowing away and dispersing, and the Widow knew that the mutant X-Man was dismissing the winter storm that she had summoned. Natalia had seen her fellow Avenger- the mighty Thor- do the same thing countless times, but she was still in awe of all the power that he commanded, and felt little different towards the woman. She was not quite Thor, but it was still an impressive display.
Natalia stared at the ground now that the winds and snow had almost died away. The land outside of the Xavier mansion was littered with bodies; dozens, hundreds of bodies. Natalia gasped, scanning the landscape, feeling her heart pounding in her chest as she finally focused on the one she sought.
A few civilians still stood, still lumbered forward like zombies from some old horror movie. Standing in their midst was her friends. Nick Fury stood back-to-back with the mutant X-Man Wolverine, both men easily holding their own against the last of the mob still driving forward fueled by the lingering hatred that had first sparked their attack. Natalia saw that both men were easily dispatching the people, using little force and martial art maneuvers designed to lay a foe low with little effort and no lasting damage. The Widow adjusted the settings of her Bite, but by the time her feet touched down, crunching on the icy, snow-covered lane the battle was over.
Natalia jogged forward as two of her oldest friends sagged from their exertions. They were breathing hard, their breath visible as wisps of vapor drifting away on the last of the storm's winds. Both men were in good shape, but both were also far older than they appeared and the struggle against the mob and the elements had taken its toll. They were tired. Fury stood straighter, hearing the Widow's feet crunching in the snow at her approach.
"You okay, 'Tasha?" the Director of S.H.I.E.L.D. asked as he pulled a battered silver cigar case from his jacket. He removed two cigars and handed one to Wolverine, lighting the other himself with a silver Zippo emblazoned with the old emblem of S.H.I.E.L.D.- a golden eagle perched over a shield of red, white and blue- then handing the cigarette lighter to his friend who followed suit. Natalia saw Storm land some ways away, immediately crouching down, checking the people on the ground.
"I'm fine. Just cold and wet." Natalia bent down beside one of the unconscious civilians nearest her, checking his breathing and wounds. "We must help these people."
"We will." Fury puffed on his cigar, checking a small radio he had taken from the confines of his suit. "I called in for back-up before we landed. Standard crowd control; guys in armor and plenty 'a medics." Still, Natalia watched as her friend started speaking into the radio, updating the 'riot' squad and calling for more emergency services.
"Wonder what drove 'em all here at once?" Natalia looked up to see that Wolverine had stepped up beside her. He was staring at the people, littered across the ground for as far as she could see, lining the road. The warm bodies in the frozen snow was creating a thin layer of steam to rise and drift over the land. She noticed that many were not even dressed for the cold, like the boy that had attacked Fury at the last- dressed in a baseball uniform. It was as if they had heard some sudden command and dropped whatever they had been doing to converge on the Xavier estate.
"We always been on good terms with Salem Center." Wolverine continued, crouching down in the snow beside the Widow. He was almost as naked as Storm, wearing only a pair of boxer shorts and a tank top. He was not shivering in the cold she noted, perhaps due to the coarse layer of hair that covered his body almost like fur, though not quite as thick. Natalia glanced at his bare feet and shuddered. It made her cold just to look at him. "A'course I always figgered Charlie was muckin' with their heads. After all the times the mansion blew up, well, there ain't nobody this side 'a Gladys Crabitz that stupid. Hello-"
The Black Widow looked as Wolverine turned one of the victims onto his side and fingered a small metallic disk on the back of his neck. It took her a moment, like some long forgotten dream, but then she recognized the thing even as her friend was starting to pry it from the man's skin.
"Logan! No!" The Widow lashed out faster than even the feral mutant could react. She drove her knuckles into his forearm, striking a nerve cluster that made his arm grow instantly numb.
"What the-" he growled, eyeing his old friend suspiciously, shifting his stance ever so slightly. He was ready to take her down should the hatred have suddenly infected her. She raised her hands to ward him off, to let him know that she did not want to fight, then pointed at the disk on the base of civilian's neck.
"I've seen one of those before, years ago. It was back during the original war against Thanos."
"So, give!" Wolverine said impatiently, and she remembered how much he hated mysteries. "What is it?"
"It's a control disk, used by Basil Sandhurst to control masses of unwitting people. It draws on their emotions, and he somehow gains strength through the numbers he controls. The more people that wear his disks, the stronger he becomes."
"Basil?"
"Sandhurst! The Controller!"
To be Continued…