It was like a horror movie - faces popping out of nowhere at each turn, grisly mouths stretched into hideous smiles, fingers like claws grasping for his face. Shooting past in his astral-projected form, Dr. Strange veered around a corner, closely tailed by twin blurs of fuzzy brown-white: a buff elf named Corvus Glaive and the dreaded Maw.
His body lay in another room - unconscious, unreachable. Thanos had somehow managed to knock his soul from its home vessel and put it under lock and key. With the help of the Soul Stone, any sorcerer would have succumbed to their very likely defeat right then and there - but defeat was not a word in Dr. Steven Strange's vocabulary. Besides, he held one glaring upper hand on the Mad Titan.
Thanos was a novice in handling the Soul Stone. He had only books and legends to entertain his claim of power on infinity stones - several thousand millennia, but still. It was like helping with the appendectomy demonstration back in medical school, and still topping twenty-hour star-studier Morgana Blessing's test scores. Thanos only had the Soul Stone for mere minutes. Dr. Strange was the Master of the Mystic Arts. The Mad Titan could not shut him out of his body forever.
A white face flew towards him, squealing like a low-pitched leaky balloon, and Dr. Strange grabbed a nearby column, letting his momentum carry him around in an abrupt u-turn. Thanos had unknowingly expunged his henchmen of their greatest assets - again, novice.
Telekinesis did not carry over to astral projection. Nor did spear cleavers. Really, all it boiled down to was their knowledge of fighting in hand-to-hand combat.
It was a good thing Dr. Strange had brushed up on his martial arts skills.
*******
Sam flew to the roof as soon as he got the call - the canons were virtually destroyed, with most of the robo-soldiers taking the hits on the battlefield down below. Strange was the only man unaccounted for, but his signal was still live, albeit unmoving.
"Coming in now," Sam warned through his radio. He levelled his arms at the top of the ship, his goggles sifting through a catalogue of his available grenades. "Mind the ceiling." The cat-shaped missile sank its teeth into unsuspecting metal, bursting like a paintball seconds afterwards and melting away the blockade in swirls of uniform grey, crusty orange and a hint of wisteria violet.
Maybe he should be a poet, after the war was all over.
Steve and Barnes were nowhere to be seen, though considering the distant crashing some ways away from their rendezvous point, Sam guessed they couldn't be far behind. A glance through Scout's monitor confirmed his suspicions - the pair of supersoldiers seemed to have attracted the vast majority of the henchmen Thanos had on his ship: milky white, mottled green and sleek blue aliens, with varying ratios of limbs to heads, probably all armed. Sam tapped at his wrist, already writing up Riley to go give them a hand - or at least a few grenades.
Sam landed at the edge of the roof, staring down at the twenty-foot drop. His fingers tapped idly at the gauntlet on his wrist. The controls were rugged but familiar, a little too loud for his headset but with the same air his old drilling commander gave him - one from home.
Riley emerged with a chirp, the headlights on the mini hovercraft blinking in greeting. Shuri insisted Sam give it a name, because it responded better with voice activation - along with all sorts of other bells and whistles, being the children of the future and all. Also, it would be frankly devastating if someone made Riley blow a buddy up with an RPG - just like his namesake, an old wingman and friend Sam had in the army.
Damned wars. Anytime someone tries to play hero, someone else gets hurt.
Sam stared up at the waiting miniature hovercraft. "Rogers and Barnes need a hand. There are sixteen grenades in your cartridge. Your job is to blow out anything with more than four limbs. Riley."
The hovercraft bowed to him, before whizzing off. Sam glanced back into the giant hole. An unconscious man lay in the center - standard rescue op, then. Get in, grab the body. Get out.
Sam retracted his jet-pack, metal feathers clicking against each other as they folded up snugly into the shell on his back. There was no time for unease. Sam took a breath, then stepped off the side of the roof, the grates growing closer and closer to the bottom of his boots. Instinctively, he curled himself in, ready to tuck and roll...
...and the grates shifted to the sands of Afghanistan right before his eyes.
*******
Dr. Strange found himself in an odd position.
For him, two realities existed - one where he lay on a grate, motionless, as a large shadow cast over him, and one where he was landing punches on a buff-elf ghost while suspended in the air. He tried to focus more on the latter.
Undoubtedly, Thanos would have figured out their battle plan by now. If not, he'd have scoured some hapless soul's mind for it, and that didn't tip the scale in their direction, any. Thanos was looking for the stones. The Avengers, of course, single-handedly decided to bring all the stones to him. It was a mad gamble - ridiculous, really - and Dr. Strange was really hoping a moping goatee man and a senile buff one knew what they were doing exactly, because even if he turned back time now, he wouldn't be in any better of a position to argue for his cause. Going over this moment a thousand times would be just as effective as going over it once. He would know. He'd already done it.
A massive hand. A hiss. The swelter of a burn mark. The Infinity Gauntlet...melting? His body smarting as it was thrown across the room.
Corvus Glaive helped himself in Dr. Strange's slight lull in attention by kicking him full force in the ribs, and Dr. Strange reeled, groaning. A few more hits, then Corvus would be done for, body decimated by a particularly wicked solar blast. That Danvers woman had very little empathy for anything non-human - actually, she had very little empathy, period. The Skrulls sort of followed her like a queen, and the humans were her blood. But she was strong, and as far as he could see, on their side. It would not help their cause at all if they began spitting at each other for their faults.
Dr. Strange retaliated against the buff elf with a snap-kick of his own, then leapt forward to swing his fist across his opponent's chin, sending the pale creature spinning. Any second now. He spotted the Maw creeping behind him in the corner of his periphery, and an idea sprung to mind.
Abandoning Corvus, Dr. Strange faked his way to the Maw and he ducked beneath the proffered hand - the telekinetic punched like his grandmother swatted flies - before sliding up behind the scaly, bald head. Locking his elbow across the Maw's throat, he pushed off the wall, chucking the telekinetic's astral-projection best he could and hoping for the imminent conflagration of the elf.
Corvus, having recovered, opened his eyes just to see the Maw flailing out at him. The two aliens caught themselves in an awkward sort of tackle-pretzel - and that was all it took before Corvus burst into flames, howling as pure solar energy burned up his body, taking his and the Maw's souls as well.
*******
The purple light of dusk filtered through the gaping hole in the ceiling, consequently spotlighting the play below.
Three figures lay on the grated metal floor - one of them still as death, the other two spasming visibly. One appeared to be crawling away, sweating profusely and pulling himself forward on shaking forearms. The other curled into himself, cradling something against his chest, as if to hide it from the world - but not out of self-preservation, mind you. He was ashamed of it.
Metal clanged against metal, and the crawling man skidded aside, his strange silver backpack taking most of the hit. A shield the size of a car tire rattled to the floor. A flash of colour - not quite there, but very much alive - and the crawling man vanished.
Thanos frowned. What was that?
The still-as-death man suddenly ignited, tearing free from the titan's slackened grasp. Orange sparks flowed from his hands - delicate, masterful, and it was then Thanos realized the Maw and the Glaive had probably been incapacitated.
The Maw never backed away from the promise of a bloodbath. The Glaive had long lost his drive since Nebula blasted his betrothed off the roof. They had served their purpose.
"Strange, isn't it?" Thanos nodded at the glowing man, who stared back warily.
"Perhaps."
"Or do you prefer Vincent?"
The man blinked at him, but for all his credit, his sparks never wavered.
"I know who you are, Stephen Vincent Strange. I know your loved ones. I know your strengths. I know your tricks-" Thanos paused as a rustling caught his attention, and the perpetrator tripped over himself onto the floor, eyes clenched shut behind an onslaught on memories. "-and I know your weakness."
Dr. Strange eyed him back, his expression guarded. "Then you know how this will go."
Thanos held back his grimace. "Of course I do."
For someone who fought so much his entire life, Thanos truly despised fighting. Blood spilled for naught, talents diminished to a beaten and bruised corpse; there was hardly any good that ever came from a fight. Why couldn't they just see that everything is better this way? Killing removed obstacles, but gruesomely so. He would not kill if his purpose could be reached another way. Destiny saw to that.
But fighting was a language all species spoke - a universal one, some may say. People leapt out of their villages, charging and shooting, and there had never been an attempt to reach a compromise between the two groups - they never let him stand before them and explain what he planned to do. And yes, his ways were callous. Unfeeling, to some. But it was only because every member of every species was so selfish. They couldn't see past saving their own lives, what with their valiant self-preservation and the like. If they claimed they would die for their homes, then why did they attempt to stop him?
They just do not know what I will do.
Thanos broke through another whip of orange, then pulled the sorcerer towards him. His hand caught the fragile length of the Terran's throat - "Surrender, and we prevent further bloodshed."
The sorcerer hissed. "Never."
Apparently, 'valiance' in the Terran vocabulary meant 'obtuseness'. For someone so self-assured about his physician's degrees, the doctor really was as considerate as the Maw.
A sudden blast of angry yellow shot in front of his face, and his skin, still raw from the spontaneous acid attack that had aided Loki's escape, singed with an annoyingly itchy sensation. He glanced up, catching a glimpse of two floating red figures, and rolled his eyes. More fighters.
His fingers clenched. He could feel the coil in his arms - a vein pulsing in his neck, barely-restrained gnashing of his teeth. His Titan instincts were taking over - the same kind coded in his DNA that destroyed his entire race, save himself. Bloodlust.
These people are not yours to kill.
Merely a small price to pay, the beastly version of himself growled. He fought to keep his focus, but even with Destiny's warnings, he could hardly keep himself in check. Something dribbled from the corner of his mouth - blood, or drool. Maybe a bit of both.
Remember your goal.
The stones. He had to get the stones. Their lives were not worth pursuing, no matter how pesky they were. Thanos groaned internally, but her words had their effect. His vision sharpened. His mind stilled.
The Avengers were dive-bombing him now, throwing all sorts of missiles and bombs, as if praying one would land close enough to him to affect him. Above, he could see the sorcerer - and the stone, with him, attempting to pull back the dust cloud that had fallen over them all. He was in range. Remember your goal. Thanos reached for the corner of the ex-surgeon's mind and pulled, teasing it with little treats of supposed war hero glory and barbarian rubbish only truly arrogant creatures would believe. Finish me, he whispered. Finish me, and declare yourself the victor. Pause. Then, because reverse psychology always spoke the loudest to barbarians - Or are you scared to lose this fight?
Of course Dr. Strange was. Thanos could feel the undertone of nerves in the sorcerer's mind.
The sorcerer took the bait, like a moth to a firepit. Thanos could hear him yelling out to the red creatures - something about melting and regulator, though neither of the words stuck out much to him. He could see the stone growing closer and closer, and he willed reality to bend, growing the dust cloud around him. He could feel the eagerness of his titan half in him, and he could feel his resolve slipping - just a few seconds of indulgence couldn't hurt, could it?
But then Destiny was ripping away his cloud, as if berating him, and Thanos had no choice but to lunge forward, encasing the doctor in his own head, stealing into his will and demanding he hand the stone over. The doctor's eyes glazed over. The pinch of a new soul could not divert his attention this time - Thanos kicked out, sending the last soldier flying through the wall, and extended a finger, locking the newcomer mid-shout in his place. He forcefully pried through the doctor's mind.
"The stone. Now."
Mumbling, the doctor fumbled with the clasp, incantations breaking an intricate set of locks around him. The red figures seemed to have reached a stalemate - he could hear them arguing through the strange triangle piece on the doctor's ear. Before he could react to it, though, something flew across the room and smacked the doctor across the head. Thanos turned.
The boy with the blue light glared back at him defiantly.
A telekinetic, too? His opponents kept seeming more and more familiar to his own army. He supposed there was a giant, too, attempting to slaughter the Black Dwarf in the battlefields on the ground. Thanos fed the boy a small tidbit of his own memories - it should keep him from interfering, for now. He approached the sorcerer on the ground.
The triangle piece was shattered, and one of the doctor's ears appeared to be bleeding. But he still held the stone out towards him on a shaking hand - puckered scars lining his knuckles and his wrist.
Thanos took the stone. "Thank you," he intoned. See, he could be grateful. The Terran sorcerer was still alive.
The infinity stone twinkled in his palm, reflecting the sudden burst of light as streams of blue and yellow shot down around him. The red figures were getting close - just one red figure, actually, for the other seemed to have gone after the last soldier. The doctor collapsed onto his forearms, fingers shaking - just his fingers. Grime decorated his fingernails.
Gently, Thanos coaxed the Time Stone from its shell. Tendrils of emerald sifted through his fingers, flowing to the back of his gauntlet, a destined future - just as all things should follow. The boy stood behind him, the slight crinkle by his eyes the only indication of the inner turmoil Thanos had inflicted upon him. By his feet, a trickle of colour rippled beneath his boots. The grated floor had been decimated completely, courtesy of the barbaric red creatures, and grimy concrete shone up at him.
Around him, crowded through barriers of broken metal - hundreds of his people of the Sanctuary, dead. Their weapons smoked around them, searing into their unfeeling flesh, and for a moment, Thanos thought of the injustice of it all. This was precisely why he needed to interfere with destiny. Change the path of all these broken bodies, correct the wrongs done to these broken souls. She let it happen. She, whom he had loved, whom he had tried so hard to convince all he ever did was for the collective betterment of the universe, would always go against the very precautions she preached, and they both knew it.
Don't do this.
Thanos winced at the sudden intrusion of noise. Of course.
Stay with me, my love.
"This has always been for you, Destiny." Thanos did not look up, but he could already feel the five joined stones of his gauntlet forming a canopy over the massive hole of the roof - a window of pure energy for the endless droll of light Motbalans produced. The crazed beepbeepbeep of his energy signature tracker was but a dull drone in the back of his mind.
He's a boy!
Thanos angled his face to the sky, a wry, mirthless smile pulling at his mouth.
And since when has that ever stopped us, my love?