Avengers

by James A. Moore

  “No, that’s not true.” Reed’s argument came clearly into each bubble. He was only slightly less calm than usual. “The cascading effect—from other dying universes—is increasing. The rate of all things dying. Eliminating a single Earth is like comparing a pebble to a planet. You’re thinking too small.”

  The Creator moved closer to Reed Richards and touched the bubble surrounding him.

  “Oh, I agree with you,” it said. “Incrementalism is a waste of time, but what if we killed all of the Earths? All of them. We believe that action could very well save everything—and if not save it, then at least prolong it, preserving a more natural end to our existence.”

  It gestured. Assisted by the Alephs, the Gardeners— technically Ex Nihili, Stark supposed—shepherded them back out into the vacuum of space. The Earthers were propelled again through the incursion point and deposited back at the Twelve Apostles. Their bubbles dissolved.

  The rift between universes still hung crimson in the sky. As they watched, the World Killer positioned itself over the other Earth. The Creator’s words continued to reach them, echoing in their minds.

  “Our planet killer is too large to move through the incursion point. We cannot move toward your Earth, and you have done us the disservice of eliminating our counterparts in your universe. So I must ask you, do you have the capability to destroy your own world?”

  Reed Richards considered the question.

  “Yes. We do.”

  Seen in the bloodied skies above the Twelve Apostles, a burst of energy came from the ship, and it lived up to its name. The Earth exploded, bursting into a fiery sphere of ruin that expanded and cast shattered remnants far into space. The barrier between the universes was still strong enough that nothing from that Armageddon made it through.

  The voice of the Creator continued.

  “If you possess the ability, then what are you waiting for?”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  AVENGERS

  THROUGHOUT THE universe, sentients watched and understood that the tides of the war had changed. On the thousands of worlds the Builders had invaded, the message resonated.

  Rise, and tear down the Builders.

  Fight, and reclaim your world.

  Believe, and it can be done—for you have seen it with your own eyes.

  News rapidly spread beyond Hala. The warriors of the Kree

  Empire took up their weapons once again, and called for blood and vengeance. The cost was high. The Alephs were designed to adapt, and the machines readied themselves for war as soon as the Builders’ last command was issued. Yet as strong as the Alephs were, the Kree were angry, and they hungered for revenge against the aggressors who had stolen their worlds from them and slaughtered their kind.

  The Skrulls—who had suffered so much—rose up, calling for the deaths of their enemies and the destruction of their “toy soldiers.”

  The Shi’ar and the Avengers took back world after world. Even so, the Builders’ great ships continued on without their creators, run by machines that fought with tireless efficiency. They did their best to destroy everything, and their best was impressive.

  What they lacked, however, was military skill. They had never faced opposition of the sort that rose before them now. The Shi’ar, the Kree, the Skrulls, and all the races represented by the Galactic Council possessed far more experience in warfare, and so did the man who led many of the discussions on strategy:

  Steve Rogers, Captain America.

  The Avengers fought in the thick of it. Thor brought the wrath of the gods upon the Alephs, and Hyperion joined with the star- faring Imperial Guard. Nightmask and Starbrand laid waste to ships that dared to attack planets, and the council’s fleet of vessels did what had once seemed impossible: They crushed the Builders’ armada.

  * * *

  ON DOCKRUM VII, the Hulk crushed the last of the Alephs into scrap, and grinned as he did it.

  Captain America watched with shock as the people of the planet lifted an icon made of the metal scrap. It was one he knew well—an Avengers “A.” Oracle of the Shi’ar stood alongside him, and she smiled at his quiet surprise.

  “Did you think no one had noticed, Captain?”

  “Noticed? Noticed what?”

  “This war was not won by an empire, Captain. Not the Shi’ar or the Kree or any of the others. The council that broke before the end did not win it.” She, too, peered at the symbol. “No, every time there was a shift in power and fortune, the Avengers were present. It was you Earthers—your warriors—that won the day.”

  “We all fought together, Oracle.”

  “That is true, but you held at Behemoth. You turned the World Killers against their masters over Hala, and then you broke the enemy with a single man and a hammer that was thrown around the sun. We rallied to you, good Captain. We rallied to your standard. Dockrum Seven is free again, and it is an Avengers world.”

  Silently he considered that. Such a massive concept.

  The words were not carved in stone, nor were they inscribed on a scroll for all to see. No one read them out loud in front of the Galactic Council—yet that didn’t make them any less true. The Builders and their forces had been defeated on world after world. Each planet had its storied heroes, some of whom remained unnamed, but all fought under the same banner.

  Following Oracle’s logic, Kymer was an Avengers world. Centauri Prime was an Avengers world. At the end it seemed to him as if they were all Avengers worlds.

  The Avengers had won the day.

  How long can this feeling last? he wondered.

  * * *

  TWO DAYS after the victory on Dockrum VII, Steve Rogers rested on a field littered with the remnants of combat, weary from what had seemed like the endless process of cleanup. Both of the Avengers’ quincruisers had been destroyed early in the conflict, and they were waiting on word about a possible ride home. The wait was longer than he had expected.

  Captain America was a soldier. The phrase “hurry up and wait” was one he knew all too well. Some things never changed, and that was especially true of bureaucracy.

  Thor, at least, had found a way to endure the wait. He approached carrying two bottles.

  “It is the local fare,” he said with the sort of grin only he could manage. “They say it is too hearty… much too potent for a simple human.” If possible, the grin widened as he handed over a bottle. “I told them they don’t know Steve Rogers.”

  He held up his bottle.

  “To the victors.”

  Cap clinked his bottle against the one Thor held. Without hesitation the thunder god lifted his drink, tilted back his head, and emptied the container.

  “Uh-huh,” Cap said warily. “What’s the worst that could happen—I end up in the hospital?”

  He took a drink, and it was like liquid fire.

  “Kaff… Burns a bit.”

  “I spoke with Gladiator,” Thor said, placing a hand on his comrade’s shoulder. “He’s more than happy to provide us a vessel for the voyage home.” As he spoke, the Shi’ar leader approached across the ruined landscape.

  “Speak of the devil.” Rogers smiled. “What brings you planetside, Majestor? Here to join the festivities?”

  “I wish it were so, my friend.” Gladiator’s voice was somber enough to take the smile from his face. “The universal net has been re-established, and we are finally able to communicate with other systems.”

  “What does—”

  “I’m sorry, Captain,” Gladiator said before he could continue, “but I bring grave news about your world.

  “The Earth has fallen.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

  BLOOD TIES

  “WHAT… WHAT did… oh, God…”

  Thane looked around at the devastation, and all he saw were the ruined corpses of those whom he once had tended, and done his best to heal. His body smoldered, as did the bones of those he had killed. The claw that had been his left hand was black, and each finger ended in a barb sharp enough
to cut.

  “What have I done?” He mouthed the words, but barely spoke. The act of speaking required that he take a breath, and breathing seemed beyond him. His vision was shattered into prisms by the tears that threatened to spill from his eyes.

  Not ten feet away, a skeleton wore the clothes he’d seen on Berenith, the girl with whom—once upon a time—he had shared a first kiss. He’d seen her walking past, and they’d exchanged a smile, and then the world had gone insane. He remembered the sudden pain that flared through him, which distorted his view of the world before his body burst into flame.

  Now it was all gone—everything he’d ever cared about, every person he’d loved or liked or even hated—all gone.

  “What happened here? All this pain, all this death?” The voice was melodious and seemed to drift from the distance. Thane looked up as a long, lean, graceful form moved over the ruined bodies, the devastated ground. The shape came closer; the face that looked upon him was not human, yet it still seemed to hold some kindness. The eyes were large and dark, and the long robes were clean as if freshly pressed.

  “Why, you happened,” the newcomer said, “Thane, son of Thanos.”

  With those words, Thane felt a new dread. He looked at the stranger and blinked rapidly at the tears that still wanted to fall. They were already drying, however, and anger formed in his heart as the dark-eyed stranger stated a simple truth. This, all of this, was his doing. He had not wanted it, but the truth remained the same.

  It was me…

  Still he said, “That’s not possible. I’ve spent my life trying to help people. I want to save lives. I don’t want to end them. I’m not like him. I’m a healer.”

  The dark eyes regarded him—not unkindly, it seemed.

  “When your father was a child,” the man said, “he embraced life,

  too. He was kind in his own way, and he loved. He changed as he grew older and wiser—and now you, Thane, are older and growing wiser. You are changed, and your childhood has come to an end.”

  “No.” Thane rose partially from the ground, and then settled again and shook his head. “I’m a healer.”

  “Not anymore you’re not.” The man came closer. His look was still kind, but there was an edge of sternness that would not be denied. “You Inhumans have a belief that Terrigenesis reveals who you really are. If that is true, then there is no denying your heritage, your lineage. Look at what you have done.”

  He gestured around them at all the death and destruction. The faces of everyone Thane had known in his life had been stolen away, and the bones that lay beneath their kindnesses and love had been revealed for all to see.

  “Your Inhumanity reveals the tyrant,” the newcomer said. “Thanos spent most of his life chasing Death. It seems now he has spawned that which he sought.”

  “If that’s true, then why are you still here? How are you still among the living?” Still on his knees, Thane stared hard at the man. He seemed kind. He seemed caring, but there was more to it. His words weren’t meant to comfort. They were meant for something else.

  “I am the Ebony Maw, Thane,” the man said. “I am a student of preparedness, and I am shielded in a class-one defense field.” He moved closer and gestured for Thane to stand.

  “Trust me, if not for the barrier around my body, I would be as dead as these poor souls.” He gestured around them, his long, tapering fingers passing through some of the fine ash that rose through the air—all that remained of the flesh of the Lor.

  “Why are you here?”

  Once again the Ebony Maw smiled kindly. “I see opportunity, Thane. I have been presented with a chance to increase my stature, and right now that means helping you control your gift.”

  Thane frowned, and his heart hammered hard in his chest. Proof that I yet live, he thought darkly. That this isn’t some twisted afterlife.

  “It is not a gift,” he said aloud. His teeth bared in a sneer, his brows drawn together in anger.

  The Ebony Maw looked toward the sky, and a disc dropped from above. Its underside was black, with a quartet of bright lights. As it reached the ground, the top of the object glowed a bright gold. The shape grew larger until it was wide enough to support a man with ease. As they watched, a shape began to form within the platform’s golden light.

  “You do not yet see the true nature of this event,” the Ebony Maw said. “Life is a commodity that most will pay anything to keep, Thane. You have the ability to instantly change the very… economics of existence.” He smiled and gestured toward the platform, where a golden suit of armor had taken shape.

  “It is power, Thane. Trust me on this—it is a gift.”

  “I don’t care about threats and leverage.”

  “The suit is yours, Thane. I have scanned your body and seen how your abilities work. It will help you control your energies. With the suit you can decide if or when to use them, and all will be safe until you decide otherwise.”

  “If a suit will keep me from hurting people, then perhaps that is the gift.” Thane spoke softly and approached the golden armor. It was thin, with an inner layer of black. The pieces moved by themselves, coming together over his form. It wasn’t too heavy, and it fit perfectly.

  “Call it what you will, Thane,” the Ebony Maw said. “The containment armor is strong enough that you would have to physically touch someone to use your new abilities.”

  Placing the skullcap over his head, Thane stood and assessed the end result. The power was still there—he could feel it—but if the man spoke truly, it was now encased. That was a gift.

  “If it is as you say, then I thank you, Ebony Maw.”

  “Hmmmm…” The Ebony Maw frowned. “Gratitude is overrated.” With a touch of a hand to his wrist, the platform’s golden light grew far brighter and rose up around Thane.

  “To say nothing of being a tad premature.”

  “What?” Thane reached out and discovered that the light had coalesced, trapping him in a tube of solid energy.

  “Best you wait until your father arrives,” the Ebony Maw continued, “to decide if gratitude is what you wish to offer.”

  Thane could not move, could not speak.

  “Listen carefully, Thane, son of Thanos,” his captor said, his words measured. “Think before you act. Your father is coming here soon.” The man smiled again. As he moved closer, Thane saw there was a dark blue shade to the eyes he’d previously thought were utterly black. “We have some time yet. Let’s begin our lessons.”

  * * *

  “AND WHAT of the tribute, my lord?”

  “My son was not in Attilan before it was destroyed,” Thanos said to Corvus Glaive as they walked the Necropolis of Wakanda. “I will continue the search.” Then he added, “Have you located the gem?”

  Glaive grimaced. “We have, as of yet, found no evidence of it. We will continue to search, but you should know we’ve also found some… interesting things here. Items that might intrigue you.”

  “Show me.”

  They continued through the ruined landscape, followed by Supergiant and Proxima Midnight. They approached a thick door that had been knocked off its hinges.

  “This place was sealed up tight—understandable, once we saw what was inside.” They passed through, and Glaive added, “Look, Thanos… they are building weapons.” Rows of items filled the chamber, looking like blunt-nosed missiles.

  “Antimatter projection systems,” Supergiant said. “A perfect way to destroy the world.” She caressed the side of one. “What a beautiful thing.”

  “Interesting,” Thanos said. “So these Earthbound heroes have been busy creating machines of death. How delightfully unexpected. Is there more?”

  “Yes,” Proxima said. “There’s a prison.”

  “Hmmmm.” Thanos rubbed his chin. “I’m beginning to like these humans.”

  Proxima led him into an adjoining chamber. Whereas the previous room had been modern and filled with gleaming technology, this one was composed of dark stone blocks and reeked
of medievalism. It held two occupants imprisoned behind shimmering energy fields.

  “So as you can see, my lord, the humans’ secret brotherhood has some captives of interest,” Proxima said. “This one, Terrax, was once herald to Galactus. He is known to us. This other one is not.” She gestured to a pale-skinned woman with long silver hair. “What would you have me do with them, Lord Thanos? Let the animals loose from their cages, to bloody their teeth on their captors?”

  “Yes,” the thin pale woman echoed. “Would you care to free us, tyrant?”

  Thanos towered over her, hands on his hips as he considered carefully. She stared up at him with silent seduction.

  After a long moment, he said, “I think not.” Then he turned away. For now he had more pressing matters to attend to.

  * * *

  “WHAT’S THE word, wrench?” Corvus Glaive said as a robot technician bent over one of the weapons they had found. Glaive stood with Supergiant and Proxima Midnight as a human technician responded to his question.

  “We cracked the skin, sure, but the guts are a bit more challenging. Tough to stick without spilling antimatter everywhere.” Servos and pumps and motors worked as the robot continued to study the device.

  “Try again until you succeed.” Proxima leaned in closer to the robot’s head, as if to intimidate the mechanical creature. “So very much depends on it.”

  “I got plenty of juice,” the thing responded. “We’ll make it happen. Just takes time.”

  Thanos stood a few yards away, watching the work and the exchange. A bank of machinery had been brought in, holding a prisoner bound in such a way he could not move a muscle. He was gagged, as well, with a metal clamp over his mouth.

  Corvus Glaive moved closer.

  “Still no luck, Master,” he said. “The secret brotherhood that made these devices did so with great care. This will take us some time.”

  “You displease me, Corvus,” Thanos said, locking his hands behind his back. “Perhaps we need a subtler touch than yours. A more direct way to gain the knowledge.”