Scorpio

THIRTY EIGHT - When the Cars Come Marching In

The Bifrost Sword was never meant to be without a wielder. Heroic, ridiculous, impassive, passionate, it mattered not who the owner was, but rather, what they knew of its power.

Heimdall, even with his all-knowing wisdom and experience of almost a hundred millennia, hardly knew its worth. He read a spellbook once on godlike abilities, and decided to gift himself the one he could obtain from the artifact he knew he was destined to own. Sif, having been raised among the customs of Asgardian women before taking the path of a warrior, knew a touch more than Heimdall - but even that barely scraped the surface of the vast power that was the Bifrost Sword.

The sword had the power to cleave interdimensional doors between worlds, more commonly known as portals. It was one of the things that Sif, quite impressively, had recalled. The portals, under the command of the wielder, would stay in their realms as they were located unless the wielder was terminated. Or, more accurately, unless the wielder's control was terminated.

Groot knew they were in trouble as soon as the McLaren drove in.

It was a sleek, beautiful thing - bright with a silver finish, every bit as gorgeous as the staged photos of the car Quill would share with him on shiny pages of a magazine (the kind you read, not the kind you load in guns). But it wasn't the sports car that worried him. It was the bumbling man in the driver's seat, clad in a baggy beige suit, sporting sunglasses and wispy tendrils of hair around his temples. A Terran citizen.

Groot sent his roots rippling through another swathe of velon creatures, and the spooky lady in the red severed the length on his command, hurling the kebab of creatures back at their own front lines. A tiny form suddenly sprung from the side of the ship, yelling at the top of its lungs.

Groot strained to make the words out. "...yellow stone...Thanos..." Then it clicked.

Thanos had the yellow stone.

Groot barely had time to react before the portal suddenly shifted, dragging him by his Bifrost root with it.

*******

Sif and Gamora rounded on the Guardians, their faces impassive. Within, dread coiled like a cobra with fangs too close to its own flesh, about to break the fine skein that was their family, their beliefs, the codex of everything they stood for. But on the outside, all that could be seen were two cold-blooded killers.

Quill was the first to rise. "Gamora - you're all right, he's gone, he-" He made to move toward the assassin, but Mantis held him back.

"They are not who they seem."

"What do you mean they're not-" Quill made a noise of frustration, straining against Mantis' hand. "Lady Sif! She's on our side-"

Sif's head rotated to face his. Her unnaturally blue eyes bored into theirs.

"-isn't she?" Quill's voice broke off in a question. Rocket groaned, hauling himself from the floor. His ears flattened at the sight of the blue-eyed warriors, and he hissed.

Sif picked up a broken half of the Bifrost sword at the hilt and slid a knife from her boot. Gamora pulled two knives from the wall. Their eyes seemed to glow as they began advancing towards the trio.

A misfire hit the ceiling, and the warriors paused for a second, glaring at the source. Mantis stared back, her wide eyes wider than usual and her hand tremulous on a laser blaster. A chunk of metal clanked to the floor. Light spilled in from above. The warriors continued their advance, and the Guardians began backing up.

Quill was the first to hit the wall, his legs nearly buckling beneath him as the ship's destroyed console jammed into the crook of his knee. He reached for the intercom in his ear, only to find it absent.