I awaken by internal call, a frantic, spiritual nudging by a familiar voice, urgently trying to stir me into consciousness. My eyes slowly flutter open to blurred vision, an alarm of distant pain screaming across my entirety and blaring in mind. I feel myself spin forward weightlessly, rapidly tumbling head over heel through a buoyant sea; a repeatedly rising, blinding light tracing a line through my vision, a far ring of constructed metal rotating around me.
My distorted senses begin to come into focus, getting back into working order incrementally, the ringing in my ears deafening as the sharp taste of metal coats my tongue. Pins and needles come to the forefront of my broken touch, a prickling through my limbs as I try to turn my head, a sharp pain in my neck causing me to flinch.
A lack of sensation across my chest, my skin numb from shoulder to hip, over my breasts and down my back, brings a hint to clarity to my fuzzy head. My perception belatedly clicking into place with a jolt of terrifying agony, my mind finally confronted by the overwhelming damage of my anatomy, I attempt to move.
My nerves burning in confusion, my body having trouble deciphering what it's sensing, I ask it to respond as it always does. Two fingers of my right hand twitch in reply, that little movement all I'm now capable of, a lacking response telling of my state; paralysed. Panic starts to rise as realisation of my current circumstance fills me, my memory catching up with a flitter, my last moments coming to me in parts:
A blur of rocketing orange, eyes red with shed tears and blinding rage, a teeth-bared mouth yelling in feral cry.
Hasteful guard, falling low in evade, arms up to protect, unstoppable impact; mass plus acceleration smashing into flesh, the snapping of bones and white flash consuming mind.
The flashing of lightning and roar of thunder, darkness closing in...
Space.
My voice tries to sound, a rising groan projecting nothing but silence; my red-soaked, torn hair flowing over face and dripping floating blood. My breath cycles in sharp intakes through rough, scratchy throat, the atmospheric shell of Nidavellir the only reason I've not died from asphyxiation, as I try and centre my Self.
I lean on my methods for pain management to push away the hurt, the intensifying sensation more than grit can solve, the lessons of Wu Cai allowing me to focus. Partitioning the torment away, I fall into meditation and turn inwards, blanketing my awareness and tricking my senses, when a growing heat spreads along my back.
Seeing a flicker of orange light in the corner of my vision, a fire rolling over my shoulders, the operation of Sun-Kissed at last registers. Its activation in my unconscious state responsible for keeping me alive, I concentrate it on my spine. It swims to shroud the column of vertebrae, its power fixing in sequence and mending by order of responsibility, when I feel a pop in the centre.
A current of static runs along my limbs, a tingle through my flesh, as Sun-Kissed straightens and mends my spine, sensation returning at a crawl. A scream leaves me, escaping my suppression, my mouth opening wide, as my brain begins to receive my body's blocked messages; nerves detecting the cascade of devastating bodily failure across my entirety.
The soundless issue falling into the void, I stifle myself with a deepening dive into meditation, then successfully turn my head, the clearing sight of my Chi-healed eyes converging on the visible damage. My twisted, broken limbs hang loosely from my still-spinning form, leaking a spiral of draining blood from my shredded robe, an increasing curtain of my inner life spreading.
Its streams mark my journey, issuing from my burst, pulverised flesh in a constant, pulsing pour, my aching heart still beating behind shattered ribs. Attempting to twist around, to deviate my path from the gravity of the orbiting star, I suppress the feedback from my bruised, ruptured organs with great concentration.
I funnel Sun-Kissed inward from its station on my back, coating its fire over my internals and burning away the filling blood. Channelling Chi over the snapped, fragmented bones of my right arm, the torn tissue steadily mending, I summon the worried Purpose from it dantian. Gripping around its handle, my mangled fingers curl over it weakly, my snapped tendons not totally healed.
I hold tight, clenching with as much strength as I can muster, as Purpose follows my instruction, its blade cutting through space and flying up, working to cancel my rotation. My momentum slows to a gradual stop, the whirl of my spin ceasing as Purpose bleeds off the energy, my body swinging from its hovering length.
Hanging off, I pull on it with careful force, floating up without the constraint of gravity, focusing my Chi Healing on my left leg as Purpose manoeuvrers under me. Once I'm settled, it steers us out of the path of blood and from our trajectory towards the star, coming to a stop a distance away and moving in stable orbit.
The opposite surface of Purpose's blade facing the blazing sphere, I rest atop it with my one good lower limb. The gravitational pull aiding, stopping us from drifting apart, I stand and run diagnostics. Feeling my organs eventually reset, my fire having completed its mission, I spread it through my being.
A washing wave of flame swims out from the core of my mass, permeating tender meat with a warmth and aligning pieced skeleton with a nauseous grind. New comfort saturates me, my vitality stabilising as my aches and pains lessen and quiet, my fractured eye sockets fusing and cracked teeth fixing.
The heat glows under knitting skin, a column of hot orange climbing my centre and up my throat, an emanation of dancing Daofire flickering in mouth. The pulsing of my rattled brain gradually fades, my attention aligning with my perception, as the last of my impacted body clicks into place, pulled back from the brink.
Now healed in whole and standing on sword in space, the glow of Sun-Kissed fading, I repair my clothing with a quick cast then look towards the location of my exit, a column of heat and smoke drifting out. I narrow my eyes at the trail of destruction on display, the ship having carved its way across the station; a broken, straight groove through the metal, ruin in its wake.
Purpose in line with me, reading my intentions without prompt, we start to fly forth to the trail, the aflame light a beacon and calling. We close the gap at an unhurried pace, approaching in a wide path so as to buy time, giving me a chance to examine the state of the orange ship and evaluate its condition.
I enhance my sight to the greatest degree possible, the focus of my vision sharpening as details grow clear, and inspect its damaged frame. Pieces of its scratched shell hang loose, more scattered behind and around, while one wing hangs off, its behind thrusters sparking and cycling power intermittently.
I run my sight from its tail to its half-hidden head, blocked by a thick pillar of Nidavellir, and peer through the cracked glass of the cockpit to the interior inside. Sharp, white light flashes in bursts, illuminating the darkness within, revealing empty seats, their occupants missing. Frowning with certain concern, Purpose brings us in low, keeping a cautious distance from the ship, staying on track along an imagined boundary.
Worried as to the status of the owners, but knowing their feelings towards me, we back away and move off, floating over to an open space nearby. Gliding into the station, we lower and slow until we reach the metal, where I step off and begin to walk, Purpose rising into my grip. Wielding it in hand, I keep my attention on the ship, my detection finding the varying Chi signals moving close together, then cast out my senses.
Running them over the station and through the emanations of the star, I look for Thor, searching above and out. The light of his divinity equal in depth and intensity to the blazing sun, the range of my perception increasing by the day, I find him easily enough. He works his way towards me in haste, Stormbreaker leading the way on a river of branching lightning, breaking through the air in my direction.
I turn to him, eyeing his approach, noting the change in his expression as he catches sight of me and banks down. He strikes the ground on bent knees, the canopy of his cape flaring out, his helm adorning his head once more, then stands. The grip on his axe tight, his questions me with a level of concern, asking, "Are you well, Lady Sarah? I apologise for being unable to prevent the attack against you."
I smile at him and go to allay his worries, when the activity of my ambushers increases, feeling them move to leave the ship one by one. Turning to them, I reply to Thor, telling, "I'm good. I've suffered worse." Lifting Purpose, I point towards the crashed ship and offer, "I'm pretty sure I know who took a shot at me, and as to the reason why."
He moves to stand beside me, hefting his weapon and laying it on his armoured shoulder, "Regardless of their cause, no friend of mine shall fight alone."
Lowering Purpose, I retreat it back to its home, quelling its objections with a silent exchange, then look up to Thor, softly saying, "...Their attack is justified, Thor." He turns to me, his curiosity regarding the reasoning clear, when I continue, "Defend the Dwarves, please." I start to walk forward, seeing the Guardians emerge from their craft, leaving a decisive sentence behind, "This is something I must face alone."
I cross the breadth between us, walking over spill of the wreckage to the battle awaiting, my undeployed shield sliding off and slipping onto my right hand, when I hear Thor quietly respond, "...Return alive, redeemer."
His words hit my heart, a welling of solemn emotion growing, when he leaps up and flies over, passing above to the kneeling Dwarves beyond. The visible Guardians, standing before their ship, the blood and cuts of their leaders reckless action showing upon their forms, track his flight with caution. Their weapons raised, they follow his path as he passes out of sight, then turn to me, standing clear to them upon the metal, surrounded by debris.
I slip my Ring from my finger unnoticed and float it behind my back, a potential plan coming together, as the five walk closer, falling into position opposite me. A quiet lingers, tension rising, the humming operation of the station as background, the sizzling of burning wiring sounding. Our shadows stretch out, an expression of our bottled emotions, when the silence is broken by croaked voice.
Peter Quill, dressed in his red, leather jacket, his Quad Blasters held in each hand, stares at me with tired, hollow eyes, a fragment of grieving mind shown, and quietly asks, "...You the one?"
I stare at them each in turn from left to right, reading them as Revelation provides their information. The small form of Rocket Raccoon stands angry, Twin Barrel Blaster in hold, with young Groot between him in and Peter, his eyes fixed to me, his accompanying game console miss. Drax the Destroyer readies beside, his Dual Knives held by his sides, his bright blue eyes piercing, while the wide, black-eyed Mantis watches me with a small frown on her face.
Envisioning how this fight will play out, deducing the formation of their team and their roles, I slide my eyes back left to settle on the tortured Peter. Bringing my Chi to just under my skin, pre-emptively moulding it and priming it for activation, I lock sight with him and clearly reply, "I am."
He looks away and up, his head turning to the side, the heavy pulse of his blood showing under his scruffy, unshaven neck, and sighs,
"Okay."
An arm whips up instantly, the top barrel of the held blaster lighting with power, a yellow energy gathered on its upper tip, before it fires. I dodge to the side, shifting out of its path in evade as my shield expands over my right, the heat from the shot of plasma brushing over my skin. A rush of steps sound as I block a second shot, the bolt splashing against my cover, my vision peeking over to track the incoming, red-marked man.
A deep shout releases, "Die, friend-killer!", as he leaps up on great strength, his reverse held knives held up to stab down, aiming to destroy me. I roll forward under him on my shield, pushing up to flip over and dodge in a show of acrobatics, his attack crashing into and shaking the metal behind. As I stand, gathering a concentration of internal energy, I catch sight of a speeding length whipping towards me, unfurling into claw.
I quickly raise my shield in block as the wooden arm slams into me, stepping back to bleed off force and steady, the power surprising. Feeling movement behind, a mass of muscle targeting me, I operate my energy and flick my free hand back, casting. A thick, telekinetic wall rams into Drax and forcefully launches him a distance away, temporarily removing his presence from the field.
Roots starting to creep over the edge of the shield, aiming to pull it away and expose me, I enhance my body and push forward, feeling my opponent stagger. Looking towards the Guardians and seeing Mantis and Rocket break away, I reluctantly conjure a knife and swing it out, the sharp, magic blade slicing through the live wood with ease, its new side igniting orange.
Free now to move, I evade a third shot, a mix of yellow and electric, as the pained cry of young Groot reaches me, the sound causing my brow to furrow in dismay. Dispelling my blade, the magic returning to the universe, I start left and rush to the side, focus on evading their fire. Peter's second blaster joins his first, a constant barrage of shots targeting me, as I circle around, an eye on Rocket and the healing Groot.
I charge towards the raccoon, his weapon hoisted up and firing, his rough voice a constant shout over the pulse of his rifle. Blue energy impacts my shield as I rush, barrelling through his bombardment, nearing at speed. Taking advantage of my information superiority, Revelation having divined their strengths and equipment, I lightly jump, passing over and avoiding his sneakily planted explosives.
Falling down to him, I reach out a palm and pin him in place, wrapping his form in a layer of force and halting him, then land. A twirl of my fingers sees a whip of magic rise from the metal below and capture the attacking arm of the anxious Groot, stopping it from reaching me as I kneel and snap out a hand. Reaching behind the back of Rocket, feeling him strain against his imprisonment, his eyes twitching in their sockets, I run my Chi over him, detailing his Aero-Rig and searching.
Finding the component I need, I press down and feel a small click, the metal harness over him dematerialising in a retreat of blue, holographic hexagons. Taking its contained form in hand, a thick, palm-sized disk of metal, I slip it into a fold of my robe and store it away, then snatch the rifle from his hands and throw it out into open space.
With us both hiding behind my round cover, him captured and me lowered, I face him and stare into his fighting eyes, my lips pursed in conflict. Hearing the propulsion of a jetpack and sensing Peter rise up, looking to get an angle on me, I raise a finger and press it against the forehead of Rocket, offering a whispered apology, "...Sorry about this."
Infusing his furred body with my power, I interfere with his Chi and knock him out, his body losing strength and held up by my grasp. Detecting Peter get close, I condense a bolt of green, glowing Chi on the tips of my fingers and shoot it in his direction, forcing him to dodge and delay his approach.
With some time created, I grab the unconscious body of Rocket and smoothly place it against my back, opening up my ring and swallowing him inside. A shout of alarm from the airborne Peter reaches me once I do, his anger and fear clear, "Rocket!"
Trying to ignore his desperation, I release a ready breath, settling myself and gathering my resolve, then begin to push off, aiming to find actual cover. The tinkling of metal on metal reaches me, a triangular object sliding under my shield and stopping beneath me. Three pale-blue lights around its core, small prongs extending centerward towards each other; a tiny sphere of aqua-coloured energy, created at their tips, shines up at me.
Recognising both what it is and what it can do, I react instantly, rushing to rise with power and jump away, wanting to escape, when my eyes widen. The device activates too quickly, lighting up before I can leave its range, a growing current of electricity running across its surface and along its edges. A jolting column of entwining electricity thrusts out and up, connecting with my free arm and arcing through my robe, striking my skin and grabbing me.
I try and resist its draw, leveraging my position to pull and break free, my feet pressing into the hard surface below, but its attraction proves too strong, its artificial gravity slamming my arm down and sticking me in place. My limb impacts the Gravity Mine heavily, its blistering voltage curling around my flesh and numbing my skin, the smell and smoke of seared flesh rising over my face.
I cringe, my nose crinkling in objection, as I think on the battle, my thoughts turning over. My eyes turn skyward from my pinned arm, my sight switching between my scattered attackers while Chi Detection constantly tracks and notes them. The fight turning in their favour, my hesitant response allowing them a chance at revenge, I deepen my meditation and pull back from the physical world.
My mastery of Meditation having progressed in the time I've spent in this timeline, the anxious days and thoughts of home and potential loss calmed by the teachings of my temple, I cloak my mental Self. The calm, rippleless sea of my deeper consciousness waits still, a portion of me held within as the outside slows, my perception of time stretching, granting me a moment to think and plan; to observe.
The inchmeal moving forms of the Guardians wade through elongated moment, their varying positionings slowly nearing. The thrashing Groot attempts to slide his arm free from its bind, while Peter floats up high, a steady burn keeping him aloft, a fired bolt of lengthy yellow energy drawing close to me. The incoming Drax charges, his arms aimed towards me, his thrown, tempered knives twirling through the air, their decorated blades reflecting the glint of the close star.
My eyes steadily close, sealing my sight from the picture of my victims, as I focus inwards and wonder as to how I've gotten to this point in my life. A memory, clear as day, unforgettable on account of superior grey matter, comes to mind, a recall of my early days. A younger me, fresh from death with the skin of an unmarked babe, rests against a sheltering tree, the mountainous dirt under her cold and reminding, a forgotten sword across her knees.
Her fingers brush its metal, seeking knowledge and protection, coming to touch upon unborn spirit and learn a small history. Skin leaves blade in a rise, hesitation clear in her action, an acknowledgement of her hidden inner self, a script of confirmations thought, a reinforcement of what she believes to be true.
A tool of war lies in her hold, a weapon of offence crafted for battle, passing between wielders and felling foes until it found itself trapped under stone. Conflict followed its existence, crafted for conquest and murder, days turning to months and years and seasons cycling, before she came upon it, divination bringing them together in mission of defence.
She knew then, full of reason and so sure of herself, of the nature of species and the turning of death; of a timeless, pointless battle encompassing the world of humanity. She knew of the unseeing universe containing most within itself, content to watch and allow, offering no aid or assistance, a string of determination on all.
She knew... of how she could not accept those terms.
Did she think, have the tiniest of inklings, of the future that awaited her? Did she know, time passing and lessons learned, of how one day she'd draw near the edge of becoming that which she once hated. Would she look upon the her of now, see the scars upon her body and the bright of her eyes, the blood dripping in drops and falls from her hanging hands?
Would she turn away, incapable of accepting what she's bound to become, her back facing her future as she seeks another path?
A better path?
I open my eyes, the past best left in the past, the youngling of a greater me remembered in a world of potential and hope. My gaze falling on the halfway crossed bolts, the tips of meters-away knives pointing forward, I inwardly sigh with resignation. Unwilling to be the cause of any more harm to these strangers, a member of their family already stolen by my intention, I communicate with the steady Purpose.
It inquires, a figment of its form appearing in mind and floating into hand, if I am certain. I project my thoughts, telling my resolve and asking for its acceptance, the sword silent. The runes along its blade slowly alight in gentle wave of green, a conveying of an oath taken and shared, a reminder of its birth: an eternal path; travelled entwine.
A pressure from below pushes me towards the surface, my perception gradually narrowing to a normal rate, the bodies opposite starting to fasten. Stretched time shortens, lengthened notes pitching to regular sound, blasters and shouts blaring my hearing, incoming fatal damage quickening and imminent. I break the even mirror unhurriedly, my Self dissolving into the greater, the physical world dominating, and smile.
My shield closes, shrinking back into its ring around my finger, exposing my trapped form. With two choices before me, my decision already made in elongated psyche, I thrust a hand out right, a blast of force issuing and leaving me open, catching the spinning knives and scattering them away. Lips still curled, outcome predicted and awaited, the plasma projectile hits dead centre, punching me between my breasts and burning through my robe.
My body flings back, my flesh scorching and my ribs breaking, my tie to the mine catching me and whipping me to the ground, my arm wrenched from its socket. I brace the impact with an outstretched hand, catching my face from smashing below, the bones of my saving limb aching, and roll onto my back.
A groan escapes me as I stare up, watching the upside down Peter lower at speed, landing near me with his weapons raised. I glance to my damaged chest, taking in the bare, charred skin, cooked meat and spilling blood exposed, hints of white bone revealed, and minutely wince. Approaching, rushed steps see me looking back over, my free arm discreetly slipping into a crease of my robe, two fingers sliding into metal hoops.
My expression calm, streaks and marks of soot on my visage, I face the aimed barrels with acceptance, their owner glaring down with clear hate, his hands shaking. His team come to join him in his silence, gathering around and circling, the concealed Mantis showing herself from her ambushing position. She kneels over me, her dark eyes locked to my own and two antenna alight with white, and places her hands beside my head, palms facing.
Peter speaks through gritted teeth, his desire to end me barely contained, demanding answers, "What have you done to Rocket?!" A blaster lowers and presses against my forehead, its heated, upper barrel digging in and searing my skin, "Why did you kill Gamora?!"
Chi saturates my caved, ruined chest, the damage repairing passively, blood halting its flow as flesh begins to knit and crawl, skin renewing. I turn my eyes from Mantis, my mental defences reinforced, and look to Peter, staring into him reluctantly and telling, "...Your Rocket is okay, he has come to no harm." My hand begins to secretly move, my adorned fingers drawing circles in cloth.
I bring an image to mind, holding it in place and envisioning the area, then continue, the ready tension of the group rising from my non-answer, "...I am truly sorry about your friend, Peter Quill." His features contort, a great sadness threatening to spill over, his grief then overcome by sheer wrath as I say, "But Gamora needed to die."
My ears ring, an eye blurring and rupturing, blood splattering across my face, as a mass of formed metal strikes me, the attack carrying the weight of loss and rage. A leaking of blood from split lip fills my mouth as spittle flies from frothing maw, a heartsick, sorrowful voice screaming, "Don't you say her name!"
I spit, clearing my mouth, then turn my head back to face him, making no move to cover my new injuries, my objective needing to remain hidden. I regard them, the team missing a member, a part of themselves taken by my hand, and come up silent. No answer, no rationale or explanation, will be enough, I know.
I… don't know why I did what I did, a plethora of other ideas, better, lesser, different all the same, could have accomplished the same goal. The Runes of Kof-Kol, cast with aid from Stephen or Wong, would've rendered her knowledge of the Soul Stone deleted. We could've kidnapped her and held in her in hold, temporarily trapping her in a dimension from which she was unreachable, out of the grasp of Thanos.
I could've...
...She could have lived.
My mouth opens, a moment of muteness passing, the words needed not coming to me, not knowing what to do, to say, before I croak, "...I'm sorry."
I don't wait to hear their response, what action they choose to take, to kill or capture me; a sparking portal opening up beneath me as I choose to run. Shouts issue as a reactionary, fiery, yellow bolt of plasma grazes and sizzles my face, my cheek scorched, while an elongated, wooden arm lunges out for me, racing to seize.
I fall, my body passing through and down to the other side, a recent location opened and connected to, the arm almost catching a panel of my fluttering robe. I hesitate momentarily, ashamed at having to attack and harm a child, then straighten my priorities and push the feeling away, spinning my hand out and closing the portal. It snaps shut, the magic cutting through the wood with ease, space slicing through and dismembering Groot.
My healing lungs choke as my back collides with the floor, a sharp pain stealing my breath as I feel something stab into me, a small point piercing between my ribs. I gasp, carefully moving to sit up and reach back, when a deep voice speak next to me, worry in its tone, "How did it go, Lady Sarah?"
A grimace on my face, I look to Thor, the towering Dwarves behind him, and telekinetically rip the item from me. Feeling my robe begin to soak, hearing the clink of falling metal, I stand, the smell of my singed hair filling my nose, and manoeuvrer my Chi. Pushing it in pattern beyond my skin, symbols and lines forming over and around me, thickest along my arms, I examine my creation,
[Revelation
Name – Chi Armour]
Then answer, hearing the loud, frantic searching of the distant Guardians, further out and beyond the wreckage,
"...As best as could be hoped, I suppose."