Chapter 151
Arc 9 - Ch 18: Sanctum Threshold
Saturday, May 05, 2012.
Location: Central Park, Manhattan, New York
Tyson strolled south through Central Park. It was strange. The unknown time he'd spent in the TVA, the battle, Project PEGASUS. He hadn't taken a moment to appreciate being back in the city. Not that he'd had the chance; the fight had swallowed him almost immediately, and the TVA immediately after that. It felt like a year since he'd been able to just walk through Central Park, and it very well might have been. Maybe longer. He passed the chess house and found the tables empty except for one.
An older man sat alone.
Tyson looked at him. The cardigan was different. The glasses were different. But he knew this old man. The first time they'd met, Tyson had been standing outside a limestone building with seven hours on the clock and a theft he was trying to justify to himself.
The Federal Reserve had been a long time ago. The old man had appeared beside him and said, "Sometimes the biggest regret is not taking the chance when you had it." Then disappeared. Just Excelsior on a breeze and an empty sidewalk.
He'd recognized who was standing next to him and knew, from everything his metaknowledge had told him, that when this particular person spoke, you listened.
Tyson had taken the chance. He didn't regret it.
He understood now what it had set in motion, what the choice had cost, and built, and made possible. That conversation had led, in its roundabout way, to everything. It had put him on SHIELD's radar, leading Natasha to him. The funds had allowed him to create the infrastructure that had held several thousand New Yorkers through an alien invasion.
The choice he'd been afraid to make, made. And here was the same man, and Tyson understood, somewhere below the level of thought, that this was how it worked. That this man found you when you were at a hinge. Not to tell you which way to swing. Just to make sure you knew a hinge was there.
Tyson had stood at a threshold, about to cross something, and that man appearing beside him had already understood what the crossing meant. His appearing now, waiting for Tyson, meant that he was standing at another door. He could feel it.
Tyson strolled over.
The old man looked up from arranging pieces on the board, smile lines deepening behind tinted glasses. White mustache trimmed clean, hair combed back neatly.
"Beautiful day for chess, isn't it?" the old man said, gesturing to the empty seat across from him. "Thought nobody would show up after all that commotion downtown."
Tyson settled into the chair, studying the board. The pieces were already set up, white facing him.
"Your move, son," the old man said, adjusting his glasses. "Been waiting for a worthy opponent all morning."
Tyson moved a pawn forward; the game brought up Magneto's memories of games with Professor Xavier. "Not many people out today."
"Can't blame them. Sky opens up, aliens pour through, tends to keep folks indoors." The old man chuckled, moving his own pawn. "But not you. You look like you've seen it all before."
"You look like you've seen a bit in your time, too," Tyson replied.
The old man studied him over his glasses. "You were Downtown when it all went down."
Tyson advanced another piece. "You know it."
"Got that look about you. The boys had the same look coming back from the war." He moved his knight. "Like you've walked through fire and come out the other side."
They played in silence for a few moves, pieces clicking against the board between distant sirens and the rustle of leaves.
"You're good," the old man finally said. "Been a while since I had a challenge like this."
"I had a good teacher," Tyson replied… Though he wondered if he meant Magneto, whose tactics he absorbed, or Xavier, whom Magneto learned and honed his skill against.
"The best teachers show us who we can become, not who we are." The old man said, as if reading his thoughts, moving his queen across the board in a surprising gambit. "Check."
Tyson studied the board. The trap had been laid several moves in advance. He smiled at the elegance of it, then chuckled, turning the man's words over.
"Something funny?" the old man asked.
"Just appreciating the game," Tyson replied, moving his king to safety.
"That's the spirit." The old man beamed. "Win or lose, it's the game that matters. The journey, not the destination. You know what I like about chess?" the old man asked. "Every piece has its purpose. Even the pawns. Especially the pawns."
Tyson captured one of the old man's bishops. "Some pieces are more powerful than others."
"Power isn't everything," the old man countered, taking Tyson's knight with a quick move. "Sometimes it's about being in the right place at the right time."
A squirrel darted across the path nearby, pausing to watch them before scampering up a tree.
"Take that little fella," the old man nodded toward the squirrel. "Not powerful by any means, but he's got a part to play in the grand scheme of things. Planting seeds that'll grow into mighty oaks long after he's gone."
Tyson smiled slightly. "You think everything has a purpose?"
"I know it does." The old man winked. "Even chaos has its place in the universe. That fellow with the horns and the fancy helmet? He thinks he's writing the story, but he's just another character on the board."
Tyson's hand paused over his queen. "You heard about him?"
"Hard not to. Been all over the news. Quite the showman, that one."
"You know what I've learned in my many years?" the old man continued, not waiting for Tyson to answer. "The universe has a way of balancing itself. For every action, there's a reaction. For every beginning, an end."
Tyson nodded, taking one of the old man's pawns. "And for every end, a new beginning."
"Exactly!" The old man slapped the table lightly. "You catch on quick, son."
They played for several more moves, the game growing more complex. Tyson was genuinely challenged; the old man's strategy was unpredictable but felt like something he should have recognized.
"The thing about endings," the old man said, capturing Tyson's rook, "is they're never really the end. Just the setup for the next chapter."
"What do you think the next chapter holds?" Tyson asked.
The old man looked up at the sky, where the tear in reality had been just hours before. "Bigger things. Much bigger. That hole in the sky? Just a peek through the keyhole. The door's still there, waiting to be opened."
"Doors can swing both ways," Tyson observed.
"Indeed, they can." The old man nodded sagely. "And what comes through might make those aliens look like a Sunday picnic."
Tyson moved his bishop. "Check."
The old man smiled, blocking with his queen. "Not so fast, son. The game's just getting interesting."
A shadow passed overhead.
Just a cloud, but Tyson looked up instinctively.
"The stars are changing," the old man said quietly. "New players entering the field. Some have always been there, watching, waiting."
"For what?"
"For the right moment." The old man tapped his temple. "The Mind is a terrible thing to waste, but it's an even more terrible thing in the wrong hands."
"And the right hands?"
"That's the question, isn't it?" The old man's voice grew serious. "Power corrupts. Absolute power..." He trailed off, gesturing for Tyson to make his move.
"Corrupts absolutely," Tyson finished, moving his knight.
"Usually," the old man agreed. "But not always. Sometimes, the right person with the right power can change everything."
The old man countered Tyson's move, putting his king in check. "The trick is knowing which is which."
Tyson extricated his king from danger. "And how do you know?"
"You don't. Not until the moment comes."
They continued playing. Neither spoke for several moves, each locked into the shifting geometry of the board.
The old man's fingers hovered over his bishop, then changed direction and moved his queen instead.
Tyson studied the board. His strategy was starting to fall apart. The old man played with surprising creativity, forcing Tyson to counter, moving his remaining knight to protect his vulnerable flank.
The old man chuckled behind his tinted glasses. "A week ago, nobody believed in aliens. Now they're cleaning Chitauri parts off Park Avenue." He gestured broadly at the park. "Reality is what we make of it."
Tyson advanced his bishop, threatening the old man's queen. "Check."
"Nice move," the old man nodded appreciatively, shifting his king to safety. "Take this park. Beautiful, isn't it? But it wasn't always here. Someone had to imagine it first, see the potential in what was just ordinary land."
"That's the power of vision. Seeing what could be instead of what is."
Tyson moved his rook, setting up for an endgame strategy. The old man's queen slid diagonally across the board in a move Tyson hadn't anticipated. "Check."
Tyson frowned, forced to move his king back. "That doesn't sound like you're talking about vision; it sounds like you're talking about something bigger than chess."
"Everything's bigger than chess, son."
The old man grinned. He gestured toward Stark Tower in the distance, its damaged façade already under repair. "That fellow with the fancy suit, he imagined something nobody thought possible, then made it real. The green fellow? He's the result of someone trying to recreate something thought long lost." He tapped his temple.
"Imagination's cheap. Everybody's got it. The trick is making it stick."
"Making it stick requires resources. Time."
"Everything requires time," the old man agreed, capturing Tyson's last bishop.
Tyson saw the trap. His king had nowhere to go. "I think that's checkmate."
"Indeed, it is." The old man leaned back, satisfied. "Good game, though. You've got potential."
"Thanks," Tyson said, studying the final position before placing his king on its side. "I didn't see your strategy until it was too late."
"That's how reality works, too," the old man said, beginning to reset the pieces. "By the time most people see the change, it's already happened. The real power is seeing it before it occurs, or better yet, making it occur."
The old man studied the board for a moment. "You know what most people get wrong about chess?" he said. "They think the endgame is about the pieces you've still got. It's not. It's about the ones you were willing to lose. That, and timing. Timing is the whole game, really. Doesn't matter if you see it coming if you're a move too late." He stood. "Well, I should be going. Places to be, people to see." He extended his hand. "Thanks for the game, son. Been a while since anyone gave me a real challenge."
Tyson shook his hand. The old man's grip was firmer than he'd expected. "Thank you. It was... enlightening."
"That's what I aim for." The old man winked.
As the old man turned to leave, he said over his shoulder, "Excelsior and all that."
Tyson cheekily called after him. "I feel like I keep running into you, but I never caught your name."
The old man looked back, his mustache twitching with his smile. "Most people just call me Stan. Take care of yourself, Tyson. It'll be a long, long time before we meet again."
With that, he strolled away down the path, surprisingly spry for his age, whistling a tune.
Tyson remained at the chess table, turning the fallen king over in his fingers. The old man's words kept circling.
He tried to place the tune and couldn't, which bothered him more than it should have. It finally struck him, though he'd never heard it in this life. It was the Avengers theme. But something about it was off; though it was being whistled, it had more gravitas, a greater lead-in, and it was just the intro. Like, there was more to it, but it was cut off. It definitely wasn't the Avengers theme he remembered from the first movie.
He replaced the other moved pieces. The board was reset now, all pieces returned to their starting positions, the game as if it hadn't happened. He thought about that. The last time, the old man had spoken to him, he'd handed him permission he hadn't known he needed, then vanished on a breeze with a single word. One conversation at one threshold, and here was another.
The first time, he'd taken the chance. He'd built something real with it. The same man had found him again, and had beaten him cleanly. He set the king down in the center square, not where it started, not where it ended, not where it belonged, and stood up, leaving the king in the center of the board.
He had somewhere to be.
The walk south through the park took him past the edges of the cleanup. Emergency vehicles clustered at intersections that had been war zones hours ago. National Guard humvees sat at angles on the grass, soldiers milling with the bored wariness of people whose threat had already left. A woman sat on a bench near the Bethesda Fountain, holding a phone to her ear and saying the same sentence over and over. I'm fine, I'm fine, I'm fine in the flat voice of someone who wasn't sure yet whether that was true.
The old man's words turned over in his head. Most of it he filed away as the charming philosophy of someone who'd earned the right to be cryptic. But something about the game itself stuck with him, not the words, but the shape of the loss. He'd been outplayed cleanly, and the position he'd lost from was one he'd thought was strong. There was a lesson in that if he wanted to look at it hard enough.
By the time most people see the change, it's already happened. The real power is seeing it before it occurs, or better yet, making it occur.
He'd been making things occur for a long time now. He wondered, briefly, whether the old man had been talking about him.
Tyson walked south until he reached the designated rendezvous point. The New York Sanctum. Everyone had agreed to see him off, and he'd planned to open a portal for Thor's return to Asgard with the Tesseract. The Village was south of the original House of M location, so the entire area remained untouched by the Chitauri invasion.
Several vehicles pulled up. Mostly SHIELD-issued black Acuras. But also, a pair of motorcycles, and a sleek Acura NSX. The door to the sanctum opened, revealing Illyana and the Ancient One.
Natasha, Bruce, Clint, and Dr. Sofen got out of the SHIELD cars. Logan and Steve dismounted their motorcycles, and Tony got out of the NSX convertible.
As they approached, Tyson said to Tony, "You know I'm taking that, right?"
Tony paused, his sunglasses sliding down his nose as he peered over him. "The Tesseract?"
"No, the car," Tyson replied, running his hand along the hood of the NSX.
Tony scoffed. "It's a prototype. The CEO gifted it to me."
"So gift it to me," Tyson countered with a shrug.
Nat crossed her arms, watching the exchange with amusement. "Really? What do you need the car for? You can fly."
Tyson mumbled, "You're lucky I need to leave for Hogwarts."
"Men," Natasha said with a knowing look.
"Hey," Bruce protested mildly.
Logan grunted, lighting a cigar despite Steve's disapproving glance.
Tony handed over the Tesseract case to Thor.
Thor accepted the case, tucking it under one arm. Beside him stood Angela, her wrists locked in restraints. She held herself straight, chin raised, every inch the warrior even in chains.
Tony gestured toward her. "So you're bringing the angel back to Asgard, too?"
"She will face the Allfather's judgement," Thor said.
Angela turned her head, fixing Tony with a cold stare. "Whether I face Asgardian justice is irrelevant. Heven will come for what is owed. It is only a matter of time."
Thor chuckled, unbothered. "Perhaps when Ragnarök comes." He gave Angela a broad, almost friendly clap on the shoulder that made her stumble half a step. "But until then, I'm sure we can find you a comfortable cell." He turned to Tyson and asked, "Shall I use the Tesseract to return, or will we await Amora's return to boost you again? Though I doubt Odin would appreciate you soiling his throne room. Especially if we return without Loki."
Angela said nothing. From his interactions with the woman, she should have been either defiant or furious.
Angela was neither.
As Thor turned away from her, Tyson caught her expression. She wasn't looking at the Asgardian. She was looking at the sky, the patch of sky where the portal had been, where the Chitauri had poured through hours ago. Her face held no fear, no relief, no residual shock.
The warrior who professed such hatred for Odin, such a passion for the fight against Tyson that she'd pursue him, ignoring her objectives for the fight, and now she stared silently at the sky where the portal had closed?
Tyson frowned but explained, "I found another artifact in that moment between when Loki disappeared and I returned." He reached into his pocket and slipped the sling ring onto his left hand.
"What is that?" Steve asked, stepping closer to examine the strange object.
Tyson swirled his arm, golden sparks trailing from his fingertips, widening into a circular portal large enough for all of the Asgardians to step through comfortably.
Through the portal, they could see the Bifrost Bridge, just before where it dropped off into the cosmic abyss. The rainbow colors of the bridge shimmered, and in the distance stood the golden spires of Asgard.
Several of the assembled heroes gasped. Bruce removed his glasses, cleaning them on his shirt before replacing them, as if doubting what he was seeing.
"That's... Asgard?" Clint asked, his usual stoicism momentarily forgotten.
"It is indeed. Though this changes things," Thor confirmed, turning to Tyson. "With an artifact such as this, you could visit Asgard whenever you wished."
"I'm not planning on making a habit of it," Tyson assured them. "But it seemed more convenient than trying to channel the… Tesseract."
Thor clasped forearms with Tyson, grip firm. The warrior's greeting.
"It was good to fight alongside you again," Thor said, warmth plain in his voice.
"Same, brother," Tyson replied, the word slipping out naturally.
Thor broke into a wide smile. He didn't question it.
Bruce stared at the portal. "If you can already do that," he gestured to where the gateway to Asgard had been, "why do you need to go learn magic?"
Why did he need to learn magic? He already possessed a sling ring. He could create portals. He had absorbed President Loki, and could use Asgardian magic. He had Nexus, his sword. Which could cut through magic. He could use blood magic to create rituals and potions. Tyson stared at Bruce, the man's innocent question striking a chord deep within him. Why did he need to learn magic? It was a question he'd asked himself and the Ancient One before. Her answer had been cryptic yet definitive. His going to Kamar-Taj was an immutable point in time. He HAD to go. Not might go, not should go. He would go.
But did he have to learn?
The thought expanded in his mind like a drop of ink in water, spreading possibilities he hadn't fully considered. If Jubilee's life was the cost of him learning magic, could he go to Kamar-Taj, fulfill the immutable point, and simply... not learn? Could he find a way to bring her back?
He would still need to bypass Lady Death, but the hell with her. She was the one who said he wouldn't stop trying to bring Jubilee back...
The thought sent Tyson's brain down another road.
Was this him falling into a self-fulfilling prophecy? Lady Death had predicted his endless attempts to resurrect Jubilee, and here he was, plotting another one. Was he merely playing into her hand? He'd spoken with Jubilee's spirit in Valhalla, and she'd told him to stop. Yet he hadn't.
He was getting ahead of himself. A more pressing question was, was Jubilee his cost for learning sorcery specifically, or magic in general? He'd already dabbled in various magical arts. He'd forged Nexus in Limbo. He'd absorbed President Loki's knowledge of Asgardian magic. He'd used blood magic for rituals and potions. Perhaps the price was paid for what he had already learned.
Other magic users had paid, too. Calypso had killed her own sister. Agatha Harkness had lost her son. Loki was Loki; forever chasing approval he could never quite grasp, and later, he'd lost Frigga. The universe demanded balance. It wasn't unique to sorcery, and it wasn't unique to him.
Which meant gaming the system probably wouldn't work. He'd considered it. Going to Kamar-Taj, satisfying the immutable point, and walking away. But the cost had already been collected from people who didn't get to choose what they lost. Why would the universe offer him a loophole it hadn't offered anyone else?
And the people he trusted most had said the same thing in different words. Jubilee's spirit in Valhalla had told him to stop. Dr. Sofen had been saying it across the desk for months. Odin had framed death as transition, not theft. And Death herself had made her position clear with the kind of finality that didn't leave room for appeals.
The question wasn't finished. Maybe it never would be. He had no answer. That was the honest assessment. The universe was not going to tell him which of its rules were negotiable and which ones would hold. He had decided to stop pulling at the thread. Not because he was done with Jubilee. Not because he'd accepted what had happened. But he was about to walk into a building that might give him better tools for the question.
He made a specific, small choice. He would carry Jubilee's death with him into the Sanctum, and he would not use it as an excuse to hold back from whatever the Ancient One could teach him. The cost was the cost. He'd see what he was working with before he decided whether the cost was one he could work around.
"You still with us?" Tony asked, waving a hand in front of Tyson's face.
Tyson blinked, returning to the present moment. "Yeah, sorry. Just thinking."
"Dangerous habit," Logan muttered, cigar smoke curling around his face.
"This is taking too long," Illyana said, her Russian accent more pronounced in her impatience. "Have you set all your things in order?"
Tyson climbed the steps toward her. "All good," he replied, grabbing her and pulling her into an embrace that lifted her slightly off her feet. Their lips met. Illyana's arms wrapped around his neck, her fingers threading through his woolly hair as she pressed against him. When they broke apart, they turned toward the Sanctum doors, her fingers intertwining with his. She tugged him forward, leading the way into the mysterious building that housed more secrets than most people could imagine.
Tyson stopped abruptly as they crossed the threshold. A smile spread across his face as he took in the grand entryway with its artifacts and relics displayed in glass cases.
"What's wrong?" Illyana asked, looking up at him.
"Nothing," Tyson said, letting out a breath. "The vision the Ancient One showed me, this was part of it. You, bringing me to Kamar-Taj after the battle."
Illyana moved closer, her body fitting against his side. "I finally have you to myself," she murmured. Tyson smiled and squeezed her hand, his large fingers engulfing hers. "It has been a long time coming."
He'd seen this moment before. Months ago, projected above a table in this very building when the Ancient One had showed him this timeline. A line with gaps in it, like a highway with the lanes missing. Three solid points where his future was visible. These were the sections where the Time Stone could see him despite the interference his existence caused.
The Battle of New York.
This moment.
The scene of her death.
The rest was blank. Not fog, not darkness. Absence. Wherever Tyson existed, the future simply refused to be seen.
He was standing at the last solid point now. The Battle of New York was behind him. This was the second waypoint, he and Illyana, hand in hand, crossing the threshold of the Sanctum.
He'd expected crossing an immutable point to feel like something. A click, a hum, the universe locking into place around him. It didn't. It felt like walking through a door with Illyana's fingers laced through his. It felt like an ordinary moment, wearing the weight of prophecy and not caring. The Time Stone had seen him here, standing exactly like this, and the reality of it was just him.
What pressed against him wasn't the moment itself but what flanked it. Behind him, the first point, resolved. The invasion, the portal, the battle, done. The Ancient One had shown him the last point. A lightning bolt frozen in slow motion, her astral form beside a shape that the Time Stone couldn't resolve, a haze where Dr. Strange should have been standing and wasn't. She'd dispersed the image before he could look closer, but the outline had been his. He was almost sure of it.
Between here and there, the trunk was empty. No branches. No limbs. Just the gap where his choices would happen, unreachable by the Time Stone, unknowable.
He was stepping off the map. Every choice from here forward would be made in the dark, and the woman on the other side of this threshold had shown him that her own death lived somewhere at the end.
She hadn't shown him what came next because she couldn't. That was the gift and the burden of being a blank on her timeline. He was about to walk into the only period of his future that no one, not even the Sorcerer Supreme with an Infinity Stone, could preview for him.
He stood in the doorway for longer than he needed to. Not because he was afraid. Because this was the last time he'd know exactly where he was meant to be.
The Ancient One was waiting for them inside, hands folded. She looked like someone who had watched a long-expected guest finally appear at the door. She didn't congratulate him. She didn't acknowledge the quest, or the immutable point, or the years of maneuvering that had brought him here. She had the faintly amused quality of a woman who had been right about something for a very long time and was too disciplined to say I told you so.
"No wine this time?" she observed, glancing at his empty hands. "No tea? You're slipping, Tyson Smith."
He laughed. "I didn't have those things in the vision. Figured showing up was enough."
"It usually is." Her tone shifted, the humor still there but thinner, almost imperceptibly. "You took your time."
The sentence held more weight than its four words should have allowed. She meant the walk from Central Park. She meant the months since their last conversation. She meant the years since a boy in Canada had touched a mutant in a bar and set all of this in motion. And beneath all of it, this was the last moment on her timeline where she could see him clearly, and she had spent a long time waiting to see what would come next.
"The path I could see ends here. Are you ready?"
He was. Everything from Azazel to the Avengers had made sure of that.
"More than ready," he said with conviction.
Illyana moved first. "Come on, big guy. Time to see if you can handle real magic."
Tyson laughed, the sound echoing in the chamber. "After aliens, how hard can it be?"
His spider sense erupted in his head.
Greater than anything he'd ever felt. Pure impending doom, and it locked every muscle in his body. Tyson froze mid-step, his hand still clasped with Illyana's. Sound went distant, muffled. Every nerve he had screamed at once.
"Tyson?" Illyana's voice sounded far away despite her standing right beside him.
The Ancient One's serene expression broke. She studied him, and the one thing her face didn't register was surprise. "What do you sense?"
He couldn't answer. The warning pounded through his skull with such intensity that he instinctively raised his free hand to his temple. This wasn't like the usual alerts his spider sense provided; this was orders of magnitude worse. Something was coming. Something worse than the Chitauri invasion.
Something that made the hairs on his arm stand on end. Literally.
What the fuck was worse than Annihilus?
Everyone gathered, quickly moved toward the entrance, toward Tyson. Even Thor had stopped walking toward the portal and turned to see what the commotion was about. The Ancient One reached him first, calm gone, focused entirely on him.
"What do you see?" she asked, placing a steadying hand on his arm.
Tyson stared past her, past everything physical in front of him. Sweat beaded on his forehead as he struggled to form words.
"Something's coming," he managed through gritted teeth. "Something... massive."
Thor pushed through the crowd, Mjolnir gripped tightly. "What manner of threat approaches?"
Illyana hadn't released Tyson's hand, her grip tightening as she felt tremors running through him. "What is it?"
He felt it in the sky. The metal.
A whooshing sound cut through the street. Familiar, like the howl of wind through a tunnel, but otherworldly. The ancient artifacts in their glass cases inside the Sanctum trembled slightly, and dust swirled through beams of afternoon light.
Then Tyson's metaknowledge recognized the sound for what it was. His stomach dropped as memories of a movie scene flashed through his mind.
"No," he said, his voice barely audible over the increasing rumble. "No, it can't be."
People around the corner were panicking, those who'd ventured back into the streets after the invasion ended, and now abandoned their vehicles in the middle of the road, screaming as they ran in all directions. A businessman stumbled past him, expensive suit gray with dust, eyes wide. A mother clutched her child to her chest, ducking into the nearest building for shelter. Debris was being tossed all around, newspaper pages, litter, and even small branches torn from the trees lining the street. Dust flew through the air like a desert sandstorm. The sky had darkened unnaturally, the setting sun obscured by something massive. Wind whipped at Tyson's clothes as he shielded his eyes and looked upward. His vision cut through the swirling dust, focusing on the source of the disturbance.
And there it was.
A giant circular spaceship hovered over the city. The vessel was massive, at least a mile across, with a ring-like structure that rotated slowly, creating the atmospheric disturbance that howled through the city streets. Blue-white energy pulsed along its underside.
The Ancient One appeared beside him, her face grim as she looked up.
"Thanos sent his children, or came himself, to retrieve the Stones." Tyson glanced at her, knowing she carried the very artifact these invaders sought. "They're after you. And me." She pointed to Thor. "And him."
A car alarm wailed nearby as debris crashed onto its hood. People continued to flee, their screams layered beneath the alien vessel's ominous hum. In the distance, police sirens began to wail, a futile response to a threat beyond their comprehension.
"We must protect the Stones," the Ancient One said, raising her hands. Golden mandalas of magical energy formed around her wrists as she prepared for battle.
"This isn't right," he muttered. "This is happening too soon. We're not ready."
Illyana leaned in and asked Tyson, "What should we do?"
"We need to get the Ancient One somewhere safe," Tyson said.
She shook her head. "No place will be safe. I must stand and fight."
Tyson grit his teeth. "Did you know this would happen?"
The Ancient One shook her head. "I did not foresee this. I could not." She gestured toward him. "The gaps where you exist are large."
"Large enough to fit a massive spaceship, apparently." He swallowed.
"Titanic, even."
The Ancient One stared at him. Illyana dropped his hand and stepped back half a pace to look at him full on.
"Was that a joke? Are you really making a joke right now?" she asked.
He wanted to say something sharp back. Something that would land, that would make the moment smaller, manageable. But the quip died somewhere between his chest and his throat. The spider sense hadn't stopped. It sat behind his eyes like a migraine made of pure animal terror, and no amount of wit was going to shrink what was hovering above them. He could feel the vibration of the ship through his feet, a low, grinding frequency that made his back teeth ache.
"We're fucked either way," he mumbled.
Nobody argued with him. That was worse than if they had.
The wind picked up again, hot and gritty, carrying the smell of pulverized concrete and something else, something chemical and alien that burned the back of his sinuses. A chunk of masonry the size of a basketball crashed into the street twenty feet from where they stood, punching a crater into the asphalt. Car alarms screamed in overlapping dissonance up and down the block.
Tony hadn't taken his eyes off the ship. "Alright," he said, his faceplate still open. "Jokes aside. And that was a terrible joke, by the way." He looked at Tyson, then at the Ancient One, then back up at the vessel that blotted out the sky like a second moon. "What are we really up against?"
Nobody answered right away. Everyone had turned to Tyson. Not to Thor, who stood with Mjolnir raised and ready. Not to the Ancient One. Not to Steve, who had his shield on his arm and his jaw set. They were looking at him, because he was the one who had known. He was the one whose face had gone white before the ship even appeared. He was the one who had said too soon.
He owed them an answer. The problem was that the answer was the kind of thing that made people stop fighting before they started.
The ground beneath them trembled as something massive landed several blocks away. A beam of light shot down from the ship to the street. People screamed anew, running from whatever had just arrived.
The massive beam of light dissipated, leaving a crater in the asphalt where it had touched down. Through the swirling dust and debris, six figures emerged, walking with purpose toward the assembled heroes. Their silhouettes grew more distinct with each step. Five humanoid shapes of varying sizes flanking a central figure.
Tyson's blood ran cold. Not just at what he was seeing, but at when he was seeing it. His enhanced vision identified each approaching threat with terrifying clarity. "Children of Thanos," he said over the howling wind. "The Black Order."
Words he had expected to say eventually, someday, with better preparation and more time. Not today.
The tallest of the figures towered over the others, a hulking brute with gray-black skin and massive arms that nearly dragged along the ground. "That's Cull Obsidian. Super strength, super tough. Think Hulk with weapons."
To the giant's left glided a gaunt figure with strange alien features, barely visible lips curved in a perpetual sneer. He raised his hands and chunks of concrete rose from the shattered street, hovering nearby. The precision of it, the ease, made Tyson's stomach tighten. "Ebony Maw. Telekinetic."
A female figure with blue-purple skin prowled forward, three-pronged spear crackling with energy. "Proxima Midnight. Enhanced strength, speed." He heard his own voice working through the list, but it didn't feel calm. "Probably the weakest of them." Which was not a comforting category when the comparison was the figures still approaching.
A thin, hunched figure with a curved glaive, face skeletal, eyes measuring. "Corvus Glaive. That weapon can cut through anything, even vibranium." Tyson was giving a briefing. He understood, mechanically, that the briefing was the right thing to do. He was also doing math in the back of his head, and the math was not working out.
Tyson pushed through the spider sense screaming in his skull and reached for his illusion power, layering it over the perception of every ally within range. Labels materialized in their vision, hovering above each approaching figure. Names, threat assessments, known capabilities, and vulnerabilities, what few he could guess at. He hadn't used his illusions this way in a long time. Not since the club that night, fighting off vampires with Jubilee. He'd projected tactical overlays then too, tagging hostiles for her, turning a fight for survival into a game. She'd laughed about it afterward.
He'd been desperate then. Desperate to keep her alive, to give her every possible advantage and comfort. He was desperate now, for the same reason, but applied to different people. The overlays snapped into place across the group, each member of the Black Order tagged with floating identifiers that tracked their movement in real time.
Logan glanced up at the label hovering over Cull Obsidian and grunted. "Super tough, huh. Good enough," he released his claws.
"Seriously, who names these guys?" Tony muttered, his faceplate snapping shut. "Sounds like a heavy metal band with a thesaurus."
The fifth figure was a blue-skinned cyborg female with mechanical components visible across her face and body. She moved with less certainty than the others, her eyes darting between the heroes and the massive figure at the center. Beside her floated a blue-skinned woman with white eyes.
"Nebula," Tyson said, confusion evident in his voice. "She's... she shouldn't be with them. Not willingly. I have no idea who the floating one next to her is."
But it was the central figure that commanded everyone's attention. Standing nearly eight feet tall with purple-hued skin and a massive, muscular frame, he wore golden armor. His face bore the lines of countless battles, but his expression was calm. Serene, even, as he took in the assembled heroes.
"And Thanos," Tyson finished, the name barely more than a breath. "The Mad Titan."
Thor gripped Mjolnir tighter, electricity crackling around the hammer. "He is the one who sent Loki to Earth with the Chitauri."
"He's more than that," Tyson said grimly. "He's a conqueror who believes the universe has too many people consuming too many resources. His solution is to wipe out half of all life."
"Half of all life?" Bruce repeated, his face paling. "You're talking about genocide on a universal scale?"
"That's insanity," Steve said, shield raised defensively.
"Hence 'The Mad Titan,'" Natasha remarked.
Thanos continued his unhurried approach, the Black Order spreading out in formation around him. One massive hand was encased in what appeared to be a golden gauntlet, ornately crafted with spaces for six gems.
Tyson squinted, focusing on the gauntlet. Something wasn't right. The timeline was wrong. Thanos shouldn't be here yet, not for years. And he certainly shouldn't have...
Two stones already gleamed from the gauntlet. One a vibrant orange, the other a deep purple.
"No," Tyson breathed, taking an involuntary step back. "He already has two stones."
The Ancient One moved to his side. "Which ones?"
"The purple one. The Power Stone," Tyson said. "It gives him control over all forms of energy. Makes him nearly unstoppable in combat."
"And the other?" Thor asked, grim.
Tyson swallowed hard. "The orange one. The Soul Stone. It... it should have been impossible for him to get it this soon."
"What does it do?" Steve asked, adjusting his grip on his shield.
"It gives him power over life and death," Tyson replied. "Control over souls. But to get it..." He looked at Nebula again, understanding dawning. "He had to sacrifice someone he loved."
"Gamora," he whispered, more to himself than the others. He had known what the Soul Stone required. He had known it from his metaknowledge, the same way he'd known Thanos was coming, the same way he'd known the invasion would happen and Battle of New York would be the opening move rather than the last one. He had known it as a fact of the story, that somewhere on Vormir, at a cliff's edge above an abyss, Thanos had stood with his daughter and made the sacrifice. That the universe had looked at a being who would kill trillions without hesitation and decided the only coin it would accept from him was the one thing he loved.
The man standing a hundred yards away, with his golden gauntlet and his terrible serenity, had made that payment. He had stood at the edge, and he had let go.
He looked at Nebula. She was present but not quite right, the darting eyes, the hesitation, the quality of someone standing with people she had not chosen. Gamora was her sister. Had been. And she was gone, sacrificed for a stone that now sat gleaming in a gauntlet.
He understood, looking at Nebula's face, that she knew what had happened. This was not the Nebula that had joined the Guardians; this Nebula was different.
"He sacrificed Gamora."
He thought about what he would have done, standing at that edge. He thought about Jubilee. He thought about what Death had said to him about the price of bringing things back. He thought about how he'd worried it would be Nat making that sacrifice.
"So what's the plan, bub? We taking this purple bastard down, or what?"
Tyson couldn't tear his eyes from the gauntlet. The Soul Stone and the Power Stone. With just those two, Thanos was already more powerful than anything they'd faced. And he was coming for the Time Stone that the Ancient One protected, the Tesseract, in Thor's possession, and the Mind Stone that Tyson had hidden in Limbo.
The carefully laid groundwork and the preparations for the Battle of New York, wasn't enough for these threats. Threats that should've been years away. All of it was meaningless in the face of this new reality.
Thanos stopped a hundred yards away. He raised the gauntleted hand, the two Infinity Stones glowing with terrible purpose.
Illyana asked, "Should we retrieve the Mind Stone? Do you need a stone to fight a stone?"
Tyson said, "It's out of his reach for now. Bringing it here might be our only chance. But it's also his only chance of retrieving it."
The assembled heroes formed a defensive line as the Black Order approached. Ebony Maw glided forward ahead of the others, his thin frame floating above the cracked pavement.
"Hear me and rejoice," Maw called out, his voice unnaturally smooth, despite, or perhaps enhanced by the threatening circumstances. "You stand in the presence of a divine being. You may think this is suffering, but it is salvation. The universal scales tip toward balance because of your sacrifice."
Thor gripped Mjolnir, electricity crackling between his fingers. Illyana pulled away from Tyson and summoned her Soulsword. Steve raised his shield. Natasha checked her weapons. Bruce hung back, tensing.
Maw continued, spreading his arms wide in a gesture of false benevolence. "Smile, for even in death, you will become children of Thanos."
The Mad Titan himself stepped forward, towering over his herald.
"You talk too much," Tony said.
Maw's face contorted with disdain. "Your powers are inconsequential compared to his."
"Yeah, well," Tony replied, "we've got a Hulk."
Bruce shifted behind him, hesitant to transform but recognizing the necessity.
Maw ignored the interruption, gesturing toward Thanos with reverence. "He is the first being in existence to wield two Infinity Stones simultaneously. His power is unparalleled, his vision perfect. Through his divine guidance, half the universe will survive, chosen at random, dispassionate, fair to rich and poor alike."
"That's enough," Tyson called out, stepping forward. He reached back with his mind, pulling Nexus from its place in his soul. The sword materialized in his hand. "I know what he wants."
"Then you know enough to step aside," Maw responded.
"Sorry, Earth is closed today," Tony announced. "You'd better pack it up and get out of here, Squidward."
Maw's face twisted with contempt at the nickname, but Thanos silenced him with a raised hand. The Black Order went still. Even Maw deferred, drifting back half a step as the Mad Titan addressed the assembled heroes.
"I have seen civilizations older than your species burn themselves to ash over resources they consumed faster than they could replenish." Thanos's voice needed no effort to carry, the deep rumble of it pressing against Tyson's chest like a subwoofer. "I have offered them mercy. Most refused. Their worlds are gone now. Their children would have thanked me." He turned the gauntleted hand, showing the Power and Soul Stones. "Three more Stones reside on this world. The Time Stone, the Space Stone, and the Mind Stone." Thanos turned to the Ancient One. "The universe requires correction. The Stones you and yours protect would serve a higher purpose in my hands."
"The Time Stone has chosen its guardian, and it is not you," she replied calmly. "Your purpose is mass murder."
"It is mercy," Thanos countered. "Swift, painless. A universe freed from the burden of its own excess."
Logan's claws slid out with a metallic snick. "We ain't interested in your mercy, bub."
Proxima Midnight twirled her spear, done waiting. "They will not yield."
"No," Thanos agreed, and something in his tone shifted, a weariness that might have been genuine. "They never do."
"You sent the Chitauri to Earth. You gave Loki the scepter," Thor accused.
"The Mind Stone," Thanos corrected. "He failed. I'll take it back now. You have courage. But the Stones serve a greater purpose than protecting one small world."
"Nothing here is yours to take," Steve said firmly.
"Everything is mine to take," Thanos responded. "That is my burden. What I offer is balance. A small price for salvation," Thanos said.
"We've heard enough," Thor declared. "Leave this realm or face the consequences."
Maw smiled thinly. "Asgardian. Your people have already failed. Cut off from the realms, you thought none would notice."
Thor went still. "What have you done?"
"Culled Nidavellier. Half live, half perish. Perfect balance."
Thor roared with rage, launching himself forward with Mjolnir extended. The hammer crackled with lightning as he aimed directly for Thanos's head.
Thanos simply raised the gauntlet. The Power Stone glowed purple, and a beam of energy intercepted Thor mid-flight, sending him crashing back through a nearby building.
"Pitiful," Maw commented. "The Stones cannot be opposed. Not by gods, not by monsters, not by machines."
"How about all of the above?" Tony replied as targeting systems locked onto the invaders.
Tyson moved to the front line, Nexus in one hand, Mjolnir in the other. The Ancient One positioned herself beside him, golden shields expanding around her hands.
"Hear me, children of Earth," Ebony Maw proclaimed, his voice ringing across the battlefield. "There is no victory here, only noble sacrifice. Rejoice that your deaths will contribute to the salvation of the universe."
— Rogue Redemption —
Announcement
We've reached the end of Arc 9. With Arc 10, this story will shift to monthly posts, so the next update will be on 5/8, then on the first Friday of the month afterward.
The readership for Rogue hasn't grown much in the past year, so I need to devote my writing efforts to other projects.
Behind the Scenes
- The scene where Thor and Loki return to Asgard in The Avengers was shot in Bethesda Terrace in Central Park in the movie. I lined that up with the Stan Lee cameo in this Arc. But then I decided to move the scene to the Sanctum to parallel the early scene in Infinity War. We haven't gotten a Stan Lee cameo for a while. He didn't have one in Blade, so we missed him in Arc 6. Likewise, I didn't think to put one in Arc 7. In Avengers, we see his cameo in the camera pan of the news at the end, where he's playing chess.
- Thanos's arrival has been foreshadowed a few times.
In this chapter, Stan whistled the Avengers theme, but the hints that it was different pointed to The Avengers from the Infinity War Soundtrack.
In the previous chapter, 150, when Tyson talked about his spider-sense: Whatever it was, it was big. He could feel it the way you felt weather changing before the clouds arrived. Something massive, still over the horizon, moving with a slow… Inevitability.
Most notably in Death's speech in Chapter 141: Death's lips curved into something resembling a smile. It was a gentle expression, almost kind, and that made it infinitely more terrifying. "Power and soul between them hold the answer. What one hand preserves, another must collect. Madness already dreams of me, and I shall guide his hand toward what you have denied me here."
"Uh…. Forgive me, Lady. I don't understand."
"You are not meant to." She tilted her head, studying him like he was something curious but ultimately inconsequential. "Not yet. But remember that I warned you of the price. Two lights will shine where darkness should have reigned, and their brilliance will cast long shadows."
Here, Death foreshadowed not just Thanos, "Madness already dreams of me," aka the Mad Titan, but that Thanos would have two Infinity Stones.
"Two lights will shine where darkness should have reigned, and their brilliance will cast long shadows."
At this point in the timeline, Thanos should have none of the Infinity Stones in his possession. The Tesseract would be going to Asgard, Mind Stone in the Scepter with Hydra, Time with the Ancient One, while Reality, Power, and Soul were still hidden.
"Power and Soul…"
The prophecy said it straight out that he would have those two stones.
Stan said a lot in his scene, but there was more foreshadowing layered in. He warned Tyson that he wasn't seeing what was happening.
"Thanks," Tyson said, studying the final position before placing his king on its side. "I didn't see your strategy until it was too late."
"That's how reality works, too," the old man said, beginning to reset the pieces. "By the time most people see the change, it's already happened. The real power is seeing it before it occurs, or better yet, making it occur... That, and timing. Timing is the whole game, really. Doesn't matter if you see it coming if you're a move too late."