Inheritance of ash

Fault Lines

Vicky grinned back. "Yeah you do!"

Then Natasha's voice cut sharp through the moment: "Vicky! On your left!"

She spun just in time to see an agent lunging. Instinct kicked in — she grabbed his wrist, twisted, and slammed him to the ground with a burst of green energy that crackled across his armor. He went still.

Meanwhile Spider-Man dropped into the chaos like it was his own personal mosh pit.

"Hey, guys! Nice to see you again!" he called to the nearest cluster of Hydra soldiers, flipping over a hail of bullets and snapping two webs that glued the shooters' hands to their own weapons. "Oh noooo, it's stuck! You should really get that looked at."

A soldier tried to flank him from the right. Peter shot a web to the man's chest, yanked him forward, and kicked him into his buddy. Both went down in a tangle.

He ducked under another spray of bullets, landed in a crouch, and swung upward on a web anchored to the building's wall. From his new perch, he scanned for openings.

"Cap, you guys sure you don't want me to just wrap this whole place in webbing? Would make such a great Christmas present—"

"Stay on task, Queens," Steve's voice came sharp through comms.

"Copy that! No holiday decorations. Gotcha."

He swung back down, webbing another man's feet to the ground before delivering a quick double tap to his helmet.

Natasha moved like water, every motion clean and efficient. Her Widow's Bite discharged into one agent's neck before she pivoted, sweeping another's legs out from under him.

She kept Vicky and Wanda in her peripheral vision at all times. Vicky was holding her own — still a little raw, but fast, smart, and relentless. Wanda was deadly in that detached, graceful way that only she could be.

Two agents tried to close in from opposite sides. Natasha ducked under the first's swing, striking his jaw so hard she felt the crack. She used his falling body as cover, rolled forward, and fired at the second's leg—one shot, clean hit.

Her breath was steady. Her eyes stayed cold. "Keep moving forward," she ordered, never letting the line break.

Inside was worse.

The second he and the others broke through the main entrance, the narrow corridors became choke points for Hydra fire. Bucky's rifle barked in short, precise bursts, the metal arm taking the brunt of the bullets when they didn't have cover.

He and Sam moved in sync — Sam covering the higher angles with his pistols while Bucky pushed through low and close. Every time an agent tried to use the hallways for cover, Bucky was already there, pulling them out and slamming them against the wall.

The fight here was quieter in sound but heavier in tension—just footsteps, shouts, and gunfire echoing down steel corridors.

Tony and Thor were already tearing their way toward the central chamber, and Vision's phasing let him slip straight through walls. Bucky stayed on their heels, determined not to lose sight.

Outside, Clint was chaos in motion.

Arrows sang from his bow, each one hitting exactly where it needed to — smoke charges that blinded whole clusters of agents, shock tips that dropped armed men before they could reload, steel points sinking into rifle barrels to jam them.

"Kate, keep left!" he called, firing three shots in rapid succession without even looking at his quiver.

Kate obeyed, but he could feel her stubbornness from here. She was fighting hard — almost too hard, like she was trying to prove something. He kept adjusting his position to cover her.