“Yes, creature—so you signaled on your return,” Corvus Glaive replied. “And your message was not ignored. The Black Order has assembled.”
Proxima Midnight, lean and lovely, her face half hidden behind a mantle that sported ceremonial horns. Black Dwarf, a beast a large as Thanos himself, covered in hard plates of natural armor and adorned with horns and barbs. The Ebony Maw, a male with pale skin and wide eyes that saw much more than most, and Supergiant, who towered over even the great Thanos. With Glaive they ruled beside the god the Outrider worshipped. They were great and powerful leaders.
They were named.
Finally they arrived. Thanos sat upon his throne and looked at the Outrider as it lay dying. He did not speak, but Corvus Glaive did, with a voice that sounded like death.
“You have done well. You have served Thanos faithfully, and your god is pleased.” Glaive looked upon its wretched form, his gaze without pity. Pity was saved for the weak—and the Outrider, even dying, had never been weak.
“Tell us where.”
“A-Attilan,” the Outrider said. “Earth. The… Inhuman king… he hides what Thanos seeks.” The words were pain. The words were glory to the great god Thanos.
“So be it,” Glaive responded. “You have earned your reward, Outrider. If you wish it, you may have it now.”
“I do. I wish it.”
It did not face Corvus Glaive, however, but instead turned its head to Thanos, who whispered softly a name only meant for the Outrider’s ears.
It learned its name at the exact moment Corvus Glaive drove a blade through the chambers of its heart, granting the reward of death.
* * *
THANOS LOOKED down upon the dead Outrider. Death was a release, he knew, and a gift. Corvus Glaive held out the bloodied tip of his weapon as if making another offering.
“This is how it is supposed to be,” he said. “Does this please you, Master?”
“No,” Thanos sneered. “Earth would please me.”
Several of his followers muttered their displeasure at the notion. He had heard it all before.
“Earth?”
“Madness.”
“On Earth even the very best plans fail and fade.”
“On Earth even the darkest night always yields to day.”
“Last stop for the foolish.”
“A waste of time and energies best spent elsewhere.”
Thanos said nothing, but marked which of the fools dared challenge his opinion. Glaive spoke for him, turning to the naysayers and hissing.
“Yes, we all know of Earth,” he said. “But this is an Earth more favorable than accustomed. An Earth changed. We have word of discord in the house of the Inhumans. We have word that the mutants fight among themselves. A schism.”
Thanos leaned forward, placing his elbows on his knees as he looked out at the crowd. He knew what Glaive was about to reveal, and he wanted to see their faces when they understood what was said.
“Brothers. Sisters,” Glaive said. “We have even finer news than that. Sharpen your teeth and prepare to consume a great meal! Earth, you see, is without Avengers!” As he spoke, he gestured to a figure who stood nearby, eyes glowing, wearing a hat that bore a single acronym.
S.W.O.R.D.
Thanos smiled as the news sank into the cloudy minds of even the weakest of his followers. Corvus Glaive continued.
“The Avengers have gone to the stars, to warn others of impending invasion and doom. We are offered a most sumptuous feast, indeed!”
* * *
MEDUSA MOVED into the rooms where Maximus did his experiments, her impossibly long red hair swirling this way and that, writhing and rippling as if with a life of its own. She looked over the different devices he was creating, and her stomach grew cold with dread. He was behaving himself, but Maximus the Mad was as insane as the title implied. His brilliance held no concern at all about right or wrong.
She dreaded the thought of the conversation she was about to have with her husband, regardless of how one-sided the words might be. As she approached, she heard Maximus speaking.
“I have made a masterpiece,” the madman said to her husband, sounding gleeful. “Well… masterpieces, actually. I’ve been busy.”
Waiting, Medusa held back silently.
“The housing for the Terrigen Crystals has been reinforced,” he continued. “I’m compressing light, heat, and all the fundamental forces of creation in the heart of the machine. We don’t want any of the sacred mist to escape onto the city. Random Terrigenesis is no way to keep a secret, is it?”
He chuckled to himself.
“I know, I know,” he said. “You’re interested in my other project.” He gestured. “Very well, follow me.” Maximus moved into another chamber, where he did most of his work. A sphere was suspended from the high ceiling. The massive thing was at least sixty feet in diameter, designed in overlapping layers. Toward the bottom there was an opening that allowed them to enter the device.
“Building a portal wasn’t much of a problem,” he said, leading his brother inside. “Maintaining a local field is harder than you’d think, but it’s no difficulty for a…” His voice faded away, but Medusa already knew what was inside the device.
Maximus had worked at finding a dimension where sounds were rendered without pitch. If he’d succeeded, then there was a place where her husband could speak without physical consequence. He would be able to say the words, and others would hear them without being destroyed by the power of his vocal chords.
She again heard Maximus, and the sound of his voice grew louder as they exited the device.
“…free to have your super-secret meetings that I’m not supposed to know about but do because I put a tracker in Lockja—” Then he stopped, the moment he caught sight of her standing in the doorway. “Uh-oh,” he said, “trouble.” Gesturing dramatically, he continued, “What did you say? ‘Run for your life, Maximus’? ‘One of us has to live, and I’d rather it be you’?” He looked back. “Understood, brother—you’re a good man. Don’t worry… I’ll make a fantastic king.”
Ignoring him, she stepped close to her beloved, her hair wrapping around him, caressing his body in an intimacy none but they could understand.
“Husband.”
Then Maximus was smiling again, bright and warm and friendly.
“I’ll just leave you two alone here. You can talk. You know, with actual words and not just facial expressions.” The look she
cast his way had the man very nearly running to depart.
Again she spoke to Black Bolt.
“We need to talk.”
They entered the sphere, and found themselves in a simulation: a green forest with soft grass and lush undergrowth.
“Medusa, my wife,” he said very softly.
“Consider what we have built together, my king,” she responded. “Yet you have been hiding your thoughts from me, and I do not like it. We are less because of it.” She moved closer to him, and then leaned in until her forehead touched his. “Aren’t we?”
“Perhaps,” he said, and his voice was like music to her. “But if I had to choose between complete honesty and the loss of this place, or denying us this place and maintaining the memory of it… then I choose the latter. You can understand that, can’t you, my love?”
“No—no, I cannot.” Indeed, his words were enigmatic, and she didn’t like the sense of distance between them. “We are one, or we are nothing.”
Black Bolt sighed, a sound that was so far removed from most of what she had experienced in her life that it gave her goose bumps. For years they had spoken without words. She could not say for certain whether this was an improvement, but she had her doubts.
“Tell me what you are hiding,” she said.
Closing his eyes for a moment, he concentrated. He held out his hands, and above each palm created an image of the Terrigen Crystals.
“This is how the end begins. What we are. What we will be.”
“No!” Medusa
shook her head, backing away from him. Her mind spun at the thought of what he was saying. What he was implying. “No. What have you done?”
There were generations, hundreds of generations of Inhumans on the planet. Some believed their people had been… diluted over the centuries, contaminated with human DNA. But if that was true, so too had the humans been contaminated with Inhuman DNA.
It was a strong possibility.
“What have you done?” she repeated. Horror bloomed in her heart, then turned into anger.
Black Bolt gave no answer. Here in this place where his words could be spoken safely.
That silence was answer enough.
She lashed out, slapping his jaw roughly enough to turn his head. Without another word, she left the chamber where she could speak with her husband, with her king.
Somewhere, likely not far away, Maximus would be smirking and laughing to himself.
* * *
THE CITY of the Dead was silent. Wakanda was silent. The night had grown long and the moon faded on the horizon, though the stars shone brightly enough.
Namor was not welcome in Wakanda. But the Necropolis was not Wakanda. It was a shadow place for the dead—and, apparently, where the dethroned kings of Wakanda liked to wander and contemplate their world.
He did not wait long before the Panther showed himself.
“Is there something I can help you with, T’Challa?”
“You do not come here to watch the skies, Namor,” the former king replied. “You come here because you wish to converse with me and ask me questions. You should ask them.”
“Your sister is considering my offer,” the Atlantean said. “Which is good. I expect I have you to thank for that, so… thank you.”
T’Challa looked at him for a long moment, studying his face. “There is nothing to thank me for, Namor.”
Namor snorted and crossed his heavy arms. “I have a hard time believing Queen Shuri would consider my offer if someone had not argued it on my behalf. Are you saying you did not?”
“No,” T’Challa replied. “I did.”
“Then what are you saying?” He frowned. T’Challa was often an open and even friendly man, but when he wanted to hide his feelings, he was a stone wall.
“This thing you started, Namor, this thing between you and I, it is poison for our nations.” T’Challa looked at him for a moment, and then studied the stars. “We are kings, or at least in my case have been kings. Two giants battling each other, unaware of the world, the lives, we risk destroying.” T’Challa looked to Namor again.
“You were right,” he continued. “Our people should be spared, but that is not the world. We know the people are always the first to pay a much-too-costly price. I regret that.”
Namor peered closely into the inscrutable face of his one- time friend.
“What have you done?”
“What have I done? Nothing. I was ignored… and you were lied to.” He looked so very sad, which was what started the fear inside Namor. “There will be no peace, Namor. Today will ensure it.”
“What have you done?” Namor asked again, his voice rising.
They seemed to come from the night itself, manifesting from the shadows. The Dora Milaje, the royal Wakandan guard. Five of them, all armed and facing Namor, prepared—or so they likely thought—to defend T’Challa from his wrath.
“We have done what giants do, Namor,” the Black Panther said. “I am sorry for your loss.”
“Why do you tell me this?” Namor stepped closer to the fallen king of Wakanda, yet the man held his ground. T’Challa was nowhere near as strong as he was, but were they to fight, the Sub-Mariner doubted it would be an easy win. More important, he did not want a fight.
He wanted peace.
“You should go home and help your people however you can,” T’Challa said. “They will need their king.”
He did not lash out. Much as he wanted to, he did not strike T’Challa down. When he spoke, however, he could not conceal his fury. Not that he wanted to do so.
“This is not done, T’Challa.”
With that, he launched himself into the air, soaring away into the night, toward the ocean. His domain. His kingdom. His anger competed with dread.
T’Challa shook his head.
“It never is.”
CHAPTER TWELVE
CASUALTIES OF WAR
REED RICHARDS was one of the most impressive intellects on Earth. A member of the Avengers and the family of adventurers known as the Fantastic Four, he held degrees in engineering, mathematics, and physics.
“Figure the last month has been an anomaly,” Richards said as they walked through Avengers Tower, “and we’re going to average three to four incursions a month. At that rate—”
“Reed, there’s no guarantee that—” Stark began.
“Ahem.” Richards wasn’t accustomed to being interrupted. He continued as if it hadn’t occurred. “At that rate, factoring in an exponential growth curve—” Before he could continue, or Stark could interrupt again, the alarm on the console of an aircraft hangar at the Avengers Headquarters lit up like the proverbial Christmas tree.
“What’s that?” he said.
Instantly Stark’s armored fingers darted across the controls. “Proximity alert,” he said, their debate forgotten. “Tied into S.W.O.R.D.’s early warning system. But that means…” His voice trailed off as the huge metal doors of the landing bay slid to each side, revealing the skies over Manhattan.
The tower was high enough to see over the neighboring skyscrapers, giving the two of them a spectacular view of the invading forces that were dropping from above. Dozens were already visible, and there was no telling how many were behind them.
“My God,” Stark said. The vessels were massive, and growing larger as they descended. They dropped low, many of them skirting along the streets of the city, close to the ground. Grimly Richards noted they were vaguely familiar in shape. The technology was advanced well beyond what Earth employed, as a rule.
“Titan,” he said. “That’s Titan tech.”
Stark agreed. “This isn’t going to go well,” he said. “If that’s Titan, we’re probably dealing with Thanos.” As he spoke, Richards felt a shiver run through him that had nothing to do with the temperature. Thanos was a viable threat at the best of times, but he’d never brought an invading force to the planet before. Not on this level, at least. This was just New York City, and there were enough ships descending to blot out most of the skies.
What might there be elsewhere? Just how massive is this? There were no Avengers to assemble. They were going to need to look elsewhere for allies.
Stark moved quickly to a separate room in the command center and began activating the batteries of defense cannons located throughout his building. Reed moved to help him and followed his instructions—this was no time for competition. Within a matter of minutes, they were as ready as they could be to defend Avengers Tower.
The rest of the city enjoyed no such luxuries.
* * *
IN ATLANTIS, bodies littered the undersea landscape, blood leaking into the surrounding waters and dissipating on the currents. The Wakandans had attacked, and while the Atlanteans had repelled the enemy soldiers, many were dead on both sides, and just as many were injured.
They would need time to recover and regroup.
The ships that dropped down on the underwater kingdom knifed through the water. They were designed for extreme pressure. They caught the Atlanteans unaware, and the damage was catastrophic.
Towering buildings that had withstood war, the ravages of time, and the forces of nature were destroyed in moments. The deep waters slowed the collapse of structures, but did nothing to stop the damage to those within the buildings.
Namor was a warrior and a king. A formidable fighter in his own right, he had led armies that fought nations and had brought large portions of the surface world to a standstill. Even hurt, Atlantis was a force with which to be reckoned.
The defeat was as brutal as it was fast.
* * *
THE WAR machines of Titan settled beneath the waves on the ruins of a city already damaged before they arrived, and now very nearly leveled. A hatch opened in the foremost vessel and Proxima Midnight emerged, her footsteps kicking up silt that quickly drifted away. The heavy water pressure and the lack of oxygen affected her not at all.
She was followed by a small contingent of soldiers. Beside her, the leader of the shock troops looked around, frowning.
“Did Thanos send others here first?”
Proxima shook her head. “No, this was someone else.” Her gaze locked on Namor, who held the body of a young woman, a casualty of combat. “I came here seeking a man of consequence,” Proxima continued, “capable of wielding an Infinity Gem. Instead I find a broken prince, ruler of a broken city.” She addressed the crouching figure directly. “There is no gem here. No one who had such power would have allowed this to happen. Isn’t that so, Prince?”
“Be warned.” Namor returned her gaze, his eyes narrowed with suppressed fury. “I will suffer no fools this day. Who are you and what do you want?”
“I am Proxima Midnight of the Black Order,” she replied, “second to Lord Thanos of Titan, and I was sent here to kill you. I see, however, that I am too late. You are already dead, but just haven’t realized it yet.”
Namor laid down the body of his fallen subject and rose. She watched him, her eyes offering no expression. They were white and seemed to have no pupils.
“Your reputation, Namor, seems overstated. You do not appear the sport I was seeking, but perhaps you may yet have some value.”
“Leave now,” he said. “I will not ask again.” Namor’s mouth moved into a sneer of rage.
“I cannot do that.” Proxima shook her head and allowed a small condescending smile. “Lord Thanos has demanded certain things come to pass, and I owe my tithe, Prince.” She looked around briefly and gestured with one arm. “However, I will have mercy on you and leave what is left of your nation alive. If you can tell me where I can find the remaining Infinity Gem.”
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