Avengers

by James A. Moore

  A breach between universes. The clouds bled red, and the Earth’s surface was easy to see in the skies above. It wasn’t a reflection, however. It was a different Earth. Billions of humans existed on that planet. They went about their lives, unaware of what was coming.

  That would change soon enough.

  * * *

  ONCE, IN years past, the area off the shores of Victoria, Australia, had been home to twelve massive limestone columns. When explorers first found the place, they named it the Twelve Apostles. Since then four of the stone goliaths had collapsed into the sea.

  It was still a tourist site. It was also where Reed Richards had gone in an effort to find the son of Thanos. Instead he found something that made it likely the other eight apostles would soon find their way into the sea.

  Reed Richards wasn’t like other people. He had seen more than most could imagine; every time he encountered something new, he studied it with the fervor of a committed scientist. Reed considered virtually everything as an opportunity to expand the scope of human knowledge.

  He saw, he considered, and he called the rest of the Illuminati. Black Bolt did not respond, and Richards assumed his one-time ally was too busy with the precarious state of affairs in Attilan. The rest responded, as he had been certain they would. The last to arrive was Stephen Strange.

  Above them, the sky bled crimson and reflected back what should not have existed.

  “Here we are again,” Stark said, his head tilted back.

  “Yes,” McCoy said, “alone at the end of the world.”

  “I had thought you’d found the boy,” Namor growled. “This is actually worse.”

  “Notice the air pressure,” Richards said, sounding matter-of- fact. “That’s a physical manifestation, proving it’s not an illusion we’re experiencing. This is a genuine rift between dimensions. For the moment they seem to be staying separate, but if the pressure increases—and we have to assume it will—it’s only a matter of time before the membrane that separates them breaks. When that happens, it won’t be a pleasant experience, gentlemen.”

  Stark turned. “Your ability to understate a situation borders on the terrifying, Reed.”

  “And what do we do about it,” T’Challa asked. “Is it not bad enough our world is at war? Do we now have to decide the fate of two worlds? Of two entire universes?”

  “So let’s get to it,” Stark said. “Three satellites are being redirected to scan this area, and the data will be fed directly into my armor. Give me a few minutes, gentlemen, and we’ll know what’s going on.”

  “What is there to know?” Namor spat. “Our world is under attack by Thanos, and the barriers between worlds are in the process of collapsing.” A deep growl issued from deep within his chest. “What does not kill us will leave us crippled beyond the ability to recover, just in time for our other conundrum to ruin us.”

  “Heaven knows we have a lot of weaponry available to us, much of it too dangerous to use in a normal situation.” Hank McCoy shook his head. “Normal being a very relative term here.”

  “We might try focused antimatter,” Stark suggested. “It’s not something we can use in normal combat, because we’d just as likely destroy anything we were trying to defend. But in this case, we might pull off a clean strike.”

  Reed shook his head vehemently. “There’s nothing clean about it. We’re talking about an antimatter projection system that would wipe out an entire planet—a planet that is very likely occupied.”

  “Yes, but given a choice between our world and the Earth from another dimension, I prefer we keep this one,” Namor said.

  “And they may feel the same,” the Beast responded, pointing to the sky. “For all we know, they’ve got a very similar device they are contemplating pointing in our direction.” He was as soft- spoken as ever, but he made his point.

  “So that brings us back to the same question,” the Black Panther said. “What do we do about it?”

  “Wait. Look!”

  Stark pointed toward the distorted image that filled the sky above them. “There. Something approaching from the other Earth.”

  “Just tell me it isn’t a missile.” Hank’s voice lost a bit of its composure.

  The object landed hard, sending up a cloud of debris and a flash of light that obscured all vision. Slowly a humanoid figure emerged, at first bent over, then rising to its all-too-familiar full height. Sand around the thing was fused into glass.

  “It can’t be,” Stark said.

  “DECLARATIVE: GREETINGS, HUMAN TYPES.” It held up a hand, palm forward, and looked at each of them. “QUERY: CONSIDERATION OF AN OVERTURE?”

  “What are you?” Reed looked at it and frowned. “What do you want?”

  “I know this thing, Reed,” Iron Man said, and his usual mechanical voice had a sharp edge to it. “That thing is an Aleph. There’s nothing it can say that’ll make me trust it. There’s nothing it can offer that we want.”

  “DECLARATIVE: COME WITH ME.” It looked directly at Iron Man. “DECLARATIVE: MY MASTER WOULD LIKE YOU TO WATCH US DESTROY A WORLD.”

  * * *

  WAKANDA FOUGHT on.

  The warriors of the high-tech nation stood their ground, and the great Golden City remained unbreached. The walls of defensive shields held against attack after attack until Corvus Glaive decided a different tactic was in order. First he sent an entire wing of ships that caused the Wakandans to spread their forces too widely.

  Then they focused all of their assaults on one small area, sustaining heavy casualties but concentrating their fire to weaken its defenses. Inevitably the barrier stressed, cracked, and fell. Then they sent the troops.

  A lot of troops.

  “You have succeeded, Corvus.” Supergiant studied the damage. “Will it be enough?”

  It was Proxima Midnight who answered. “Of course it will, Supergiant. Have you read this planet’s history of warfare? Alexander the Great. The Napoleon. The Caesar. The Khan. They are but a pittance. Corvus is the greatest tactician, the greatest general this planet has ever seen.”

  “And yet each day the sun sets, and I am defeated by you,” he said to his wife. One clawed hand delicately caressed her cheek, then he continued. “We must fight our way through the breach, open the way for our armies. What would please you, Proxima? To witness the breaking or to lead the way into the center of it all?”

  She looked upon the home of the enemy.

  “I want to kill them all so badly.”

  “Then a gift for you, my love. The first blood shed within the walls of the Golden City will be yours to draw.”

  True to her word, Proxima Midnight led the charge. Immediately they were met by fierce opposition as Wakandans hurled themselves at the invaders, wielding some weapons that were surprisingly advanced and others that were astonishingly primitive. All were effective. Waves of blood stained the ground.

  * * *

  SECONDS AFTER the breach, the Hatut Zeraze, the War Dogs, were released. The fighters were among the elite of the Wakandan military, trained extensively in espionage, combat, and advanced warfare. Where the Dora Milaje served as bodyguards to the queen, the War Dogs served as frontline warriors. They drove forward into the enemy and brought shock troops with them.

  Shuri—the Black Panther, the queen—did not shirk her responsibilities. She fought with her people, and she moved with all the speed and grace of a genuine warrior.

  “Hold them!” she cried out. “Hold this position! We cannot let their army into the city.”

  “Is that so?” The first through the broken barrier, a woman with black horns and hair that matched her blue skin, smiled coldly. “I am Proxima Midnight. Am I not already within your city walls? Then the city is as good as mine—for I am an army unto myself.” She hurled a spear that ripped through the advanced armor of three of the War Dogs and stopped just short of the queen. Shuri watched in a combination of horror and fury.

  “No! No more!” She hurled her own spear and watched as it d
rove through the blue woman’s shoulder—through armor and flesh and bone. To her great pleasure, the woman’s blood was bright red.

  “Well struck, my queen,” a soldier enthused. He was entirely cased in body armor, so she couldn’t see his expression.

  “We’ve won nothing,” Shuri said. “See?” Her opponent did not seem at all impressed by the wound she had inflicted.

  “A stick with a pointy metal end? You must be joking, child.” Proxima pulled the spear from her body with one hand—taking meat, spilling blood—and still she did not so much as flinch. Then she hefted another spear of her own. It glowed with a purple energy.

  “Let me show you something sharper.”

  The spear sped straight for Shuri, and she was certain she was dead.

  “Protect the queen,” one of the Hatut Zeraze called out, already in motion. “Protect the queen!” She stepped directly into the weapon’s path and was impaled. Another warrior pulled Shuri behind an energy shield that was held by yet a third.

  “Get behind—” the soldier holding the shield said. Then an energy discharge pierced it and struck him, killing him instantly.

  “My queen, reinforcements should be here soon. We should—”

  “No,” Shuri said, “tell them to fall back. We have lost the wall. We have to regroup within the city. Tell them we’ll rally at the great hall.”

  Even as she issued the orders, she scanned the field of battle. The alien followers of Thanos and his generals continued their offensive; with each shot they fired, another Wakandan soldier fell lifeless. They were merciless, and they were brutally efficient.

  * * *

  THE DEFENDERS retreated as their queen ordered. It was an orderly withdrawal, not a rout. Again Proxima Midnight was impressed. The solders left behind were killed quickly—all save one, who was dragged before her.

  She pulled the white mask from the warrior’s face and spoke calmly, looking down on the man.

  “Where do they keep the gem, little one?” He tried to resist, but it was not an option. He did not want to speak, but had no choice in the matter. She may as well have read from his mind as if he were a book.

  “I know of no gem,” he replied, and then he spat blood.

  She nodded. There was no surprise in that answer. One did not share the location of godhood with just anyone.

  “Where does the Black Panther call home?”

  “Th-the queen lives in the cah… castle.” His voice began to drift, as if he were talking in his sleep—in fact he was, though he was still semi-conscious.

  “No. Not the female panther. The man. Where does he live?”

  “In the City of the Dead,” he replied, and all resistance ended. “The Necropolis, to the west of the Golden City.”

  “Good.” Proxima Midnight smiled, and she turned to a soldier. “Signal the ship. Tell Thanos of our success.”

  She impaled the Wakandan warrior.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  THE HARBINGER

  “OH MY stars and garters,” Henry McCoy said. They traveled in a sphere of atmosphere suspended between two of the Alephs.

  The ship they approached was of a scale they could barely comprehend. It seemed at first almost as if they might be traveling to an artificial world. Seeing the moon on the other side of the massive construct helped with perspective, but only a little.

  They docked with the vessel and moved through an airlock.

  “In our seemingly unending string of bad choices, this one, I think, has the potential to be our worst,” Namor said as they proceeded down a corridor. Here the design was more conventional, with sharp angles and metal details.

  “Let’s just keep an eye on the clock, Namor,” Iron Man said. “Regardless of how this goes, time is our real enemy here.”

  Hank nodded. “Yes. Six hours. Six hours for the incursion. Six hours to save our world.” He looked at a time display on his wrist as he spoke.

  “One foot in front of the other,” T’Challa cautioned them. “Remember what we have at the Necropolis.” Another Aleph stood before him, and it held out a hand for him to stop. “What are—?”

  “DECLARATIVE: SCANNING FOR ANOMALIES. DECLARATIVE: SAFETY AND SECURITY FOR OUR MASTERS.” There was a pause as it studied them, hidden systems examining each of them for possible weapons. “DECLARATIVE: CLEAR. DECLARATIVE: PROCEED INSIDE.” The Panther found it strange they weren’t alarmed by Stark’s armor, and wondered whether they thought it too primitive to be a threat. Whatever the reason, they were allowed to proceed.

  Twin doors slid open. The first things to draw T’Challa’s eyes were two creatures that looked similar to the Gardeners—yet very different. They were bright red. One had horns spread across the top of its skull, almost like feathers with a crest. The other, who appeared to be a female, had twin horns that arched back behind its head.

  There were also two insect-like humanoids. One of them spread its arms in greeting.

  “Please do the honor of joining us,” it said. “We have much to discuss… and the end of a world to see.”

  When the Avengers didn’t reply, it continued. “Do you know what I am?”

  “Well,” Iron Man said, “they look like Ex Nihili.” Gesturing beyond the red-skinned aliens to a mechanical humanoid, he added, “That is definitely an Aleph. Last time I encountered one, it was trying to destroy all life on my planet.” He turned his attention to the speaker. “You’re a Builder, aren’t you?”

  “Yes, a Creator.” It nodded and then indicated a slightly different-looking insect-faced creature. “And this is an Engineer. We are part of the Builder collective.” He stepped closer. “I asked the Aleph to observe Earth, the incursion point between our two universes, hoping that some type of… evolved product of species would manifest there. He did not disappoint.”

  That explains it, Stark thought. The other Earth…

  “But time grows short,” the Creator continued, “so I will not wa—”

  “Excuse me, Builder.” One of the red-skinned Gardeners spoke up, stepping closer to the newcomers—and Stephen Strange, in particular.

  “Yes, Ex Nihili?”

  “A problem.” He placed a hand on Strange’s shoulder.

  “What is the—” the sorcerer began. Before he could finish,

  the red-skinned male thrust its other hand into Strange’s skull. Energy danced around the point of entry, and a wave of agony passed over Strange’s face. He reached for the thing’s arm.

  Before anyone could react, the Gardener withdrew its hand. It grasped a spidery thing that wavered, half in and half out of reality. One second it appeared to be a collection of limbs the consistency of smoke, and the next a bulbous eight-limbed creature the length of a human forearm.

  The thing spoke in whispers. “A hidden Inhuman tribe. The gem is lost. Located in the great southern crevice of Greenland. All these men are liars and kings. The son of Thanos is in Orollan.” Doctor Strange fell forward, and the Panther caught him.

  “Ah, a mind web,” the Creator said as the spider-like thing dissolved into dust. “The infectious networked remnants of a Whisperer—artifacting left over from a possession.” He spoke to Doctor Strange. “The effects will pass.” Then he turned to the rest. “There are no Whisperers in this dimension, but in the past we have studied them in yours.”

  “Excuse me,” the Beast said, and T’Challa could tell how hard it had been for him to hold back his questions. “I have to ask, where are you from? You know about this thing. Does that mean your species began in our universe?”

  “Where anyone begins is inconsequential,” the Creator answered. “It’s where you end up that matters. For us it was the entire Multiverse.”

  “Was?” T’Challa said.

  “Yes,” the Creator said. “A very short time ago, we moved freely from universe to universe, accessing each from the otherspace that existed between them—what we call the Superflow. But all of that has collapsed. Destroyed. The Superflow… fractured, and it can no longe
r be navigated safely.”

  Iron Man and Reed Richards both moved closer, listening intently to every word. It was one of the reasons Stark got along so well with the man. They both heard the details few others would have noticed.

  “This is the harbinger of the end of everything,” their host continued. “Which is something my people have pledged to prevent. Which is why we are speaking here and now. A group of entities such as yourself have defeated the Builders that exist in your universe.”

  “How can you know that?” Reed asked.

  “Especially considering you no longer have the access to what you profess to possess,” Namor added.

  The Creator gestured. “Bring it in.”

  Two Alephs dragged a badly injured figure into the room. It babbled and moaned and made sounds, but none of them made any sense to Tony or any of the translation software in his armor.

  Their host looked down at the ruined, bleeding thing.

  “This failed, dying creature is a Builder, useless and done. The damage it incurred is too great for us to repair. It escaped here from your universe.”

  “From ours?” Namor looked dubious. “That seems an amazing coincidence.”

  The Creator just stared at him. “When lost at sea, swimming for the nearest island is not good fortune, human. It is a matter of proximity. Do I need to point out how close our two realities currently are?”

  Namor conceded the argument with a nod.

  “Shall we get to the point of this conversation?” the Creator pressed. The Gardeners gestured without warning, and an individual bubble of pressurized atmosphere surrounded each of the Illuminati. Reed Richards touched the field that surrounded him, his fingers stretching to caress the surface.

  “What is this?” he asked.

  “For your safety, of course,” the Creator said, its words coming through clearly. “This vessel is a World Killer. Its purpose is exactly what its name suggests, and its cause is virtuous. You must know by now that the Earth is the axis point for the death of everything.” There was no emotion in the words. “You also must know what conclusion has to be drawn from that fact.”