An Old-Fashioned Notion

Chapters

Point of No Return
An Urgent Matter
Not From Around Here
You've Got a Condition
Back in Black
A Subtle Aurora

Point of No Return

An Old-Fashioned Notion
Chapter 1
Point of No Return

“Engine 1 is now in shutdown!”

Agent Phil Coulson’s knees buckled as he steadied himself against the wall. Fresh determination helped him quickly regain balance. He had previously witnessed the wake of destruction created by Loki’s arrival on Earth. According to the frantic alerts sporadic throughout the ongoing attack, the Helicarrier and her crew were shaping up to be his next victims.

Coulson stumbled once more as he maneuvered through Helicarrier’s corridors. In his arms he cradled a weapon nearly half his size. The modern equivalent to a hand cannon possessed some sort of standard S.H.I.E.L.D. designation for Phase 2 weaponry; Coulson just preferred to call the thing “the Prototype.” In theory, the Prototype served as yet another tool to address the unfolding realization that human beings were completely outclassed by other worlds.

In truth, no one knew what the damn thing could do.

Coulson had grasped rather quickly that Loki planned to escape as the team turned its attention to fighting the invading mercenaries. Even if men like Loki and Thor could easily shrug off punches, kicks, and standard ordnance, the Prototype stood as the great equalizer. If Loki failed to get the message, Coulson would be more than willing to express deliver it through the barrel of his newfound gun.

“We are in an uncontrolled descent!”

Time was running short. Coulson hastily punched in an emergency security code into a keypad; the door into the chamber containing Loki’s prison hissed open. Coulson leaned through the doorway. The cadence of Loki’s voice was immediately evident. An armed mercenary—one of Loki’s men—stood at the foot of the walkway leading around the glass cell. Coulson felt a pinch of uneasiness as he scanned the room and assessed the situation.

He could see—and hear—Thor, stuck inside the cell. As Loki strolled alongside the cell, Coulson gathered that he must have tricked Thor, using some sort of ability that eluded human comprehension. He watched Loki linger near the control panel of the prison. His hands hovered dangerously over the release switch.

Loki turned to face Thor, grinning as he did. “The humans think us immortal. Shall we test that?”

Coulson did not need to stand by for confirmation. If he waited any longer, Loki would eject the cage which confined Thor. Even the mighty Asgardian would be hard-pressed to survive the fall from 30,000 feet.

With a quiet grunt, Coulson lumbered forward with the Prototype. He slammed the barrel of the gun into the back of the mercenary’s skull. As soon as man hit the floor, unconscious, Coulson trained his weapon on a surprised Loki.

Coulson’s lips parted briefly, prepared to deliver a taunting threat. His throat constricted as he found himself speechless. A twinge of anger twisted his chest. Loki may have raised his hands halfway in surrender, but Coulson could see the twinkle in his eyes. When confronted, all Loki could do was smile like a boy who got caught with his hands in the cookie jar. If given the opportunity, he would add more corpses to his extensive résumé—one which included colleagues Coulson had once called friends.

No more games, Coulson thought. Loki was long overdue for a beating. Blowing him to pieces would not bring back the dead, but it would sure as hell stop the list from mounting.

With a click, Coulson pulled the trigger. The Prototype whirred as its barrel glowed bright red—but nothing happened. As Coulson titled his head to one side in confusion, the recoil knocked him onto his back. An explosion rattled the chamber; dust and debris quickly caked the area with soot.

Dizziness and a ringing in the ears racked Coulson's skull. With the Prototype lined over his chest, he managed to turn his face towards Thor to offer a lame smile.

“So that’s what it does.”

Thor leaned against the glass of the cell, his eyes wide. He called out—but the persistent buzz in Coulson’s inner ear muffled his voice.

“Sorry,” Coulson said. “My brain’s kind of scrambled right now.”

Thor squinted, confused. Once again he shouted something to Coulson; once again the words were lost.

With a small sigh, Coulson gestured to his ears. “I can’t hear you!”

The message at last got through. Thor’s face relaxed; he merely nodded and took a step back deeper into the cell.

Coulson wobbled to his feet. He hoisted the still smoking Prototype and gave it a brief inspection. The barrel glimmered, though not with the same intensity as it did when it fired.

The weapon had already done a fine job by leaving a burning wreck where Loki once stood. The “god of mischief” had not stirred or attempted to crawl out of the mess of melted steel and wire. Coulson nonetheless recognized the unlikeliness of Loki’s demise, given how tough Asgardians—even the adopted ones—could be. Once Thor was by Coulson’s side, they could begin inspecting the wreckage for whatever remained of Loki.

Coulson looked at the smoldering husk of the control panel. Without it, freeing Thor required a new plan. He hastily ticked through his options. None of them were terribly appealing.

“Thor!” Coulson yelled, adjusting to his partial loss of hearing. “Can you hear me?”

“I can. Are you all right, Coulson?”

“Just peachy. Listen, I’m going to need you to stand back. I can get you out of there, but it’s going to get a little messy.”

“What do you intend to do?”

Coulson held up the Prototype. “A prison break—but it’s going to have to be snappy. As soon as the glass breaks, this cell is going to eject. Hopefully the hole will be big enough for you.”

As Thor eyed the Prototype, Coulson swore he saw the “god of thunder” gulp.

“Are you certain about this?” Thor asked while gesturing towards the Prototype with Mjölnir.

“Not really, no.” Coulson took a few steps backward. “But frankly I’m running low on ideas and my head sort of hurts. By this point anything seems like a good plan.”

The Prototype glowed. Coulson winced as he prepared to pull the trigger. The recoil definitely needed some work.

Thor cautiously moved over to one side of the cell. He braced one hand on the glass of the cell and with his other gripped Mjölnir. As Thor drew in a breath and readied himself, his eyes caught sight of a gold and green shadow shimmering behind Coulson.

“Loki!”

Thor’s shout barely made it to Coulson’s ears. Coulson swung the Prototype around to defend himself. The barrel clanged against Loki’s scepter, catching the bladed end before it could pierce his chest.

Loki snarled, weighing down upon Phil Coulson with increasing inhuman strength. Steel screeched against steel. Eye to eye with Loki now, Coulson pulled the trigger. The Prototype fired into the ceiling and exploded above Thor's cell. The rush of air and the sudden force of a vacuum swept through confinement area.

Loki flinched but momentarily as hot shards of metal clattered against his armor. Coulson squinted against the wind blowing on his face. Both men struggled to keep their footing, their weapons interlocked and grinding together.

Loki leaned closer to Coulson and growled. “What have you done?!”

The creaking of metal robbed Coulson of a retort. He looked over his shoulder at the cell containing Thor. Against the forces of the winds below, it would not last much longer.

Sensing an opening, Loki shoved Coulson to the floor and tumbling across the walkway. Coulson caught himself—but immediately rolled over again to evade the blade intended for his heart. As Loki struggled to dislodge the scepter from the grated steel, Coulson rose to his knees and lifted the Prototype to his side. The massive weapon once again targeted Loki.

For the second time in the last five minutes, Loki—the real one—had the perfect look of utter dismay.

Coulson labored to control his panting. His hands to shook with the rush of adrenaline; he could hear his heart thumping over the blowing winds. This time he was determined to have his one-liner: Loki of Asgard would soon understand that he got his ass kicked by Phil Coulson of S.H.I.E.L.D.

“You lose.”

The hollow clicking of the trigger echoed in the chamber. But the Prototype did nothing; no lights, no smoldering hole in the wall.

Loki’s lips spread into a malicious grin. A bone crunching boot to the chest launched Coulson several feet before he hit the wall with a thump. The S.H.I.E.L.D. agent slid down to the steel floor and toppled over in a heap, failing to rise.

“No!”

Thor slammed his palm against the glass of his cell. Unleashing a primal roar, he raised Mjölnir and smashed the glassy wall of the prison—but even his mighty hammer managed no more than a large crack. Thor reared back with Mjölnir yet again, growling as he did; then he hesitated, pausing before slowly letting his arm drop to his side. Mjölnir remained in his grasp, but his grip weakened. Nothing he did, it seemed, could undo the carnage already unleashed by his brother.

Loki quietly observed Thor’s outburst. While keeping a careful eye on the cage, he plucked his scepter out of the steel floor and spun it back into his grasp. With the wind tugging at his coattails, Loki’s shoulders broadened as he stepped toward Thor. Indeed, he felt command of the situation returning to him.

Loki glanced over the large, splintering crack Mjölnir had created in the glass. He chuckled. The container rocked from side to side, teetering ever so perilously above certain doom.

“Is this what you were meant to protect?” Loki pointed his scepter at the unmoving Coulson, whose body was slumped against the wall. “You would lower yourself to defend these humans, these creatures you could crush beneath your boot. Look how fragile they are!” The intensity in Loki’s eyes and voice flickered like wildfire.

Breathing heavily, Thor did not offer a response. His expression only grew more somber.

“The mighty Son of Odin—defeated by sentimentality!” Then Loki’s voice lowered as he raised his scepter towards Thor, like a king pronouncing judgment: “And now, just as you left me to fall into the abyss, I shall return the favor.”

The glowing end of the scepter hummed. In a flash, a bolt of energy exploded through the supports of the cell. The container clashed against the catwalk. Thor stumbled forward toward the glass, thrown onto a knee. He dropped Mjölnir with a clang, using it to avoid sliding across the floor.

As the glass prison dangled, the whole of the Helicarrier rumbled, prompting Loki to look to the ceiling and let out a bitter snort. The time to end this was close at hand. Glaring at cage again, he fired another bolt. The melted steel at last snapped like old threads, causing the cell to plummet with a hiss.

Loki strode over to the edge of the opening and peered beyond the railing. Curiosity had beckoned him. Through the opening he watched the clouds rushing beneath the Helicarrier—a sign that it was rapidly losing altitude. The vast expanse of blue beyond the clouds promised that the Helicarrier, the mighty flying fortress, would soon join Thor in the ocean.

Pursing his lips in satisfaction, Loki turned on his heels and began to make his exit. As he passed Coulson’s motionless body, he halted. Loki glanced at the tip of the scepter in his hand, entertaining the thought of skewering the mortal’s flesh like a wounded animal. In his mind, such a fate was befitting for the man who sought to defy him. But as the Helicarrier trembled ever more violently, Loki suppressed the urge. One human was not worth the risk—even if Loki did desire to hear his dying screams.

There would come time soon enough when by his hand all of humanity would cry out in agony.

Though the Helicarrier was intended as a platform for war, its command center was not. As the dust settled and the smoke continued to rise, the final testament to the destruction wrought had yet to be given, but the images were already damning. Rows of computer terminals resembled war-torn trenches, littered with debris and coated in scorch marks. The sight of smashed touchscreens riddled with bullet holes was just as common as frayed wires snaked across the floor. Amongst the carnage S.H.I.E.L.D. personnel frantically moved about, shouting to one another in an attempt to overcome the moans of the wounded. Many of those killed in the assault were already draped in blankets or makeshift body bags. A few corpses of fallen comrades and mercenaries alike were still left unattended.

Nick Fury observed the whole of the scene from his command station. The computer screens standing at either side of him buzzed with static. His grasp tightened on frame of the consoles. What eluded him more than anything else was the element he perhaps took most for granted: control.

The Avengers were a failure. Tony Stark had lost his cool upon his return, storming off with the declaration that he would not march to Fury’s fife. Steve Rogers nobly tried to corral a team together, hoping to prevent Loki from ravaging the Earth—yet Fury recognized Captain America mistrusted him as much as Stark did. Banner and Thor were MIA. Romanoff was tending to the newly reacquired Clint Barton, adding yet another link to the emotional daisy chain. The only saving grace was Agent Coulson’s survival. Without him, Fury knew, they would have been completely blind.

Phase 2 had failed. The hero card had failed. Their best chance to stop Loki now rested with a veteran assassin brainwashed by mysterious alien technology. Still, Fury allowed for a wistful smirk. He recalled a sentiment conveyed by Coulson: his belief that heroes could emerge to save the world weighed heavily on Fury’s mind. It was a notion all of them desperately needed.

Fury glanced over his shoulder at the large conference table. It was there the so-called heroes had gathered for a time before being torn apart. Fury now realized that trying to force a bunch of explosive egos to get along for the sake of world peace was pure hubris. He played with fire and got burned. It was not the first time it had happened; it certainly would not be the last.

“Director Fury.”

Despite hearing his name, Fury’s gaze lingered on the table a while longer. Only after long pause did he at last turn his head to face Agent Maria Hill, who stood at the side of his terminal. In spite of her visible bruises and wounds, she maintained the poise of command, standing upright before Fury.

“Yes, Agent Hill?”

“I just received word that Agent Barton left the infirmary—unrestrained—escorted by agents Romanoff and Coulson, as well as Captain Rogers.” Hill paused. “Did you grant them permission to do so, sir?”

A hint of a smirk appeared on Fury’s face. “I told them that they should interrogate Agent Barton and, if they happened to extract any information regarding the Tesseract or Loki, to act accordingly.”

“Sir, are we just going to let them loose?”

Fury turned toward Hill and arched the brow over his good eye. “Should I try and stop them?”

“With all due respect, Director,” Hill said, folding her arms, “these people are dangerous. They’ve severely compromised our ability to react against Loki. This entire operation has been a disaster.”

“This is true.”

“Then is there a reason why we should let them leave?”

“Agent Hill,” began Fury, his tone weary, “I can’t offer a single reason which couldn’t be scrutinized and torn to pieces by any rational person. But even if we could all be perfectly rational, the crisis we are faced with is as unprecedented as it is absurd. We tried to play this by the book, and it bit us in the ass. Now we’re out of the game.

“Thor was right when he said that we keep talking about control when in reality we’ve made a mess of things.” Shaking his head, Fury stood upright to survey the entirety of the bridge. “I’m doing this because we are desperate. I am desperate. There is no other option.”

Time passed as the silence mounted between Fury and Hill. Fury continued to study the bridge—his bridge. His nose wrinkled with the smell of burned rubber and plastic rising in the air. He then moved out from his terminal, folding his arms behind his back and walking along the elevated walkway which led to a glass dais at the edge of the bridge. Hill followed, albeit at a distance, scrutinizing Fury’s movements.

Standing at arm’s length from the window, Fury caught a glimpse of his face. Even in his faded reflection, wrinkles of fatigue were evident. When was the last time he even slept? This operation, starting from Loki’s arrival almost a week ago, had consumed his every waking moment. There was no such thing as a good night’s sleep when in the line of duty. Much like Phil Coulson’s idea of heroes, it was a notion that had long since slipped out of practice.

“We have to get our systems back online. This ship has to be operational as soon as possible.” Fury glimpsed halfway over his shoulder at Hill. “If Rogers and his team have a lead, we need to be prepared to assist them.”

“’Assist them’?”

“Yes, Agent Hill—to aid them; to render support.” Fury’s voice had gained a new edge. “Is there something unclear about that?”

“No, sir,” said Hill, almost begrudgingly. “I understand…” The end of her sentence seemed to be leaning on more, but nothing else followed.

“Good.” Fury returned his gaze to the window. “Stopping this invasion is our top priority. I don’t care what it takes. We need to be back in this thing before Loki’s army can arrive.”

“Yes, sir,” Hill said. She turned on a heel but paused, instead returning her attention to Fury. “And what about Stark?”

“Let him go. We’re better off not having to babysit him again.”

Hill drew in a quiet breath. “Understood.”

As Hill proceeded to bark orders to the remaining members of the crew, coordinating their efforts as best she could, Fury looked down through the transparent dais. The contrast between the clouded wreckage on the flight deck and the crisp morning sun caused his frown to deepen. Yes, he had gotten the message.

Fury’s idle musings were disrupted by the low-pitch roar of engines. Rocketing out from the belly of the Helicarrier, Tony Stark blazed through the clear sky in his armor. Iron Man then just as quickly disappeared into nearby cloud cover, leaving only a vapor trail in his wake.

“Goddam,” Fury muttered. “I hate being desperate.”

Dr. Erik Selvig busied himself with the Tesseract—a task he gladly accepted even before he had been ‘enlightened.’ Countless hours of work on the portal device had left him unshaven and unkempt. His glowing blue eyes accentuated his vacant look; yet he remained attentive to every detail of the apparatus he had constructed for the Tesseract.

Nearby Loki paced the edge of Stark Tower’s roof, his back turned to both the Tesseract and Selvig. Normally his movements carried an air of precision. At present, however, Loki fidgeted, shifting his scepter from one hand to the other as he scoured the New York skyline.

“Almost finished,” Selvig called over. “I only need to make a few more calibrations before the reaction is self-sustaining.”

“Very well,” said Loki absently. “Continue your work.”

“I have to thank you again, Loki, for opening my eyes!” Selvig enthusiastically threw his arms apart and smiled. “This is beyond anything I could have imagined! The Tesseract is ready to show us something: a whole new universe!”

A barely audible utterance escaped Loki’s mouth. “Yes, you’re right.”

“I can’t blame you for being anxious. I didn’t think it would be possible to find a power source capable of soliciting a sustained reaction from the Tesseract. But when you suggested the arc reactor—”

“I know very well what I told you!” Loki paused, briefly exhaling, before turning to Selvig to flash an irritated smile. “Please, Doctor, finish your good work. I promise that you shall not be disappointed.”

Selvig’s grin faded. He returned his attention to the device without a word of resistance or hesitation. Loki drew a sharp breath through his teeth and eyed the Tesseract. Like a beating heart, the artifact pulsated in irregular intervals. Each pulse heightened Loki’s anticipation, for he felt all the more certain conquest was within reach.

Loki well understood the power of symbolism. Every step in his plan was designed to be a message to his would be enemies; to stand triumphant above humanity’s greatest city on a stage built by one of its self-proclaimed saviors could not have been a more perfect climax. Striking at the heart of S.H.I.E.L.D., humiliating his brother, and undermining their collective resolve were but a mere warm up for the final act.

Though Loki stood upon the crown of Earth’s greatest city, primed to attack humanity, savoring the theatricality proved to be more difficult than he had imagined. In his mind he envisioned himself ensconced in his new throne above the world, overseeing mankind’s downfall. But complete mastery remained elusive. Asgard, the Realm Eternal, once called Loki king—only to see him fall from power in a cascade of misfortune. Midgard was little by way of recompense for the banishment and humiliation endured. This entire enterprise felt truly beneath his worthiness.

Loki’s grip on his scepter tightened, matching the mounting tension in his stomach. The stakes were clear: the Chitauri would soon arrive, Earth would be conquered, and Loki would have his elusive triumph. Even if Thor had survived, he alone could not stem the eventual tide. And the human forces? They were scattered at best. Their power paled in comparison to that which the Tesseract would soon unveil.

Yes, Loki thought, victory was indeed at hand.

Loki squinted, hearing a faint rumbling in the air. The Tesseract had yet to activate, and even Selvig gave a curious glance up from his workstation. With the sound growing louder, Loki’s lips curled into a strained smirk. This was a moment he had anticipated, but the timing was less than ideal.

“All right, kids. Show’s over.”

On cue, Iron Man hovered into place above the rooftop. As Loki faced Iron Man, he silently noted that Stark did not so much hover but rather sputtered through the air. From Loki’s perspective, Stark’s entrance was unceremonious even by his loose standards.

Loki snorted, still smirking. “Please tell me you’ve come to deliver yet another ultimatum.”

“I know what your game is, Loki,” said Stark, struggling to keep himself airborne. “Using the arc reactor was pretty slick, I’ll give you that one. Too bad I’m the first one to know when someone touches my stuff.” He awkwardly cocked his arm back, leveling a repulsor at Loki. “Now turn it off.”

“Do you think threatening me makes a difference? The Chitauri will soon be here, and not you or anyone else can stop that!” Loki jutted a finger at the ground. “This world will fall before me!”

“Dr. Selvig!” Stark called. “Shut down the Tesseract! Now!”

Stumbling away from the control console, Selvig exclaimed, “He’s right, Stark! I just input the final commands.” He fell to his knees, fatigue and elation washing over his face. “She’s ready to enlighten us all!”

Stark sighed. “Fantastic.”

If a brainwashed Selvig refused to see reason, then Stark was determined to cut out the middle man. The repulsor glowed and let out a low-pitch whine. A beam of light streaked out of Iron Man’s palm and collided with the Tesseract.

Or it should have. A previously unseen barrier flashed around the Cube and its housing apparatus, swallowing the blast. The force field returned the beam toward Stark; in its wake, a shockwave burst across the rooftop. Although Stark evaded the beam, the following burst slammed his body through the air and away from the roof.

After tumbling about, Stark righted himself in midair. He could see Loki clinging to the rooftop by his fingernails, struggling to drag his body back onto safe ground. The staff he wielded was out of his grasp. For now, Stark recognized, Loki was not the problem. He could be dealt with later.

Stark’s attention instead turned to finding Selvig. He scanned down the length of the tower. If the blast was strong enough to knock Loki off of his feet, it did not bode well for the average human. The fleeting sight of Selvig plummeting toward the city streets confirmed those fears.

“JARVIS! All power to flight stabilizers!”

Iron Man spun higher into the sky, his repulsors roaring as he built up speed for a dive. Stark understood that any sudden stop could tear the Selvig’s falling body to pieces. Timing would mean everything.

Stark dove and rocketed after Selvig. Within seconds he maneuvered next to Selvig in midair. Carefully he embraced the scientist with one arm while maintaining velocity. Iron Man was then forced to swerve abruptly to avoid crashing into a construction crane. Despite the bumpy ride, an unconscious Selvig remained intact in his grasp.

The first leg of the emergency rescue was complete.

A metal panel broke off his suit as Stark angled his legs for a landing. The repulsors screeched but did not fire; sparks spat out from his suit’s feet and palms. Stark continued plunging toward New York, wind whipping around his body and Selvig’s.

“JARVIS,” grunted Stark, “any time now!”

“Maximum power has already been diverted to flight stabilizers, but systems are nonresponsive.”

“Chest piece! Use the chest piece!”

“Rerouting power.”

A short beam of light flared from the arc reactor, and Iron Man immediately halted in midair. Stark heaved out a gasp as the sudden stop knocked the wind out of his lungs. The chest piece then let out smaller bursts, allowing Stark and Selvig to descend in short yet unsteady drops. A growing crowd of people below watched Iron Man stagger his way down the side of Stark Tower.

“Power transfer complete,” JARVIS said. “Reengaging flight controls and subroutines.”

Stark moaned. “It’s… about time.”

With the repulsors again blazing to life, Stark angled his legs back toward the ground. The café near the base of Stark Tower would serve as the improvised landing zone. A few chairs fell over under the force of the repulsors. Dishes clattered as patrons scattered to find cover. Upon landing on the sidewalk, Stark leaned Selvig against his knee and checked for vital signs. The scientist would no doubt require a trip to the emergency room, yet he was otherwise in one piece.

JARVIS spoke with his usual dispassionate cadence: “Sir, I should warn you that although the maneuver was successful, we are now down to 20% power and dropping.”

“Yeah, well, desperate times.” Stark turned his head. Pedestrians and customers alike remained in place, gawking at the battle ravaged Iron Man and the man in his custody. “I’ve got to drop Selvig off. Loki’s still breathing, and until I nail the son of a bitch, we can’t stop for dessert.”

Without a word to the crowd around him, Stark heaved Selvig into his arms and marched over to a nearby table undisturbed by his touchdown. Sitting at the table was a group of older men, all of whom were slack jawed. They ignored their spilled cups of coffee to stare at Iron Man as he placed the unconscious Selvig at the foot of their table.

“Sorry to disturb your pre-bingo festivities, fellas, but this man needs to be taken to a hospital.” Stepping backwards, Iron Man activated his repulsors, hovering himself off the ground. “And make sure to tell them to tie him down. He gets cranky after his naps.”

As Iron Man ascended into the sky, an elderly man, wearing sunglasses, seated nearby, exclaimed in annoyance, “I knew I should have brought a camera!”

Within mere seconds Stark soared to the top of his skyscraper. Loki, having since recovered from his near fall, awaited his arrival. As he stalked in front of the Tesseract, he primed his scepter in one hand. The sight of Iron Man prompted him to scowl.

Again overseeing the rooftop, Stark focused not on Loki but instead the Tesseract. The display field within his helmet filled with diagnostic information. “JARVIS, give me something to work with.”

“The Tesseract is surrounded by an impregnable field of energy. I’m afraid nothing can penetrate it.”

“Okay, not the kind of news I was looking for,” Stark said, scanning the analysis charts in before his eyes. “How about the arc reactor?”

“The arc reactor’s last energy spike registered four minutes ago. Unfortunately, sir, the Tesseract has already produced a self-sustaining reaction. Disabling the arc reactor would have no effect.”

A few seconds of silence passed. Stark’s eyes rapidly flicked back and forth in thought. Squinting as though something had caught his interest, he asked, “Is the arc reactor still hooked into the Tesseract?”

“Yes, though I fail to see how—”

“JARVIS, I want you to put the arc reactor up above maximum output. Pump everything we’ve got into the Tesseract. If we can’t cut it off, then maybe we can overload it.”

“Sir, I highly recommend against this course of action.” For once JARVIS’s normally aloof tone betrayed a sense of urgency. “There is a chance that overloading the Tesseract could produce a criticality accident on a cataclysmic scale. The entire tri-state area would be threatened—”

“I understand the physics, JARVIS! Just do it!”

An energy pulse smacked Iron Man in the shoulder, knocking him to one side. The flight systems on his feet spat out a few sparks before regaining thrust. Glancing down at the roof again, Stark saw Loki with his scepter raised.

“Enough!” Loki shouted. “Selvig is no longer of any consequence. His work here is finished. I shall now usher in a war that will consume this planet”—the scepter began to glow, a signal that it was ready to fire—“and you, Tony Stark, will be the first to fall!”

Before Loki could strike, a discordant rumble arose from the Tesseract. The once hibernating artifact glowed to life. Flashes of blue arcs erratically arced around the Cube, fizzling against the metal of the machine containing it. A visible barrier shimmered into view, one not unlike the shield which deflected the repulsor blast, pulsating for several seconds before the energy bubble dissolved. Uneven hums rose in pitch with each additional discharge.

“Sir, the arc reactor’s output has reached 105%,” JARVIS said. “Should it progress any further, emergency shutdown protocols will be activated.”

“Bypass the protocols. Crank it up to eleven for me.” As Stark spoke, his eyes narrowed on Loki. The lighting scheme within his helmet switched from a pleasant light blue to a more alarming red tone. “I’ll take the kid with the glow stick.”

Iron Man may have been hovering close by, prepared to attack, but Loki was entirely preoccupied with the glowing Tesseract. Loki well recognized the artifact’s unpredictability could be disastrous. What if it opened a portal and sucked the planet through a wormhole? If not that, the dispersion of the Tesseract’s energy was more than capable of collapsing the Earth in on itself. Everything for which he had worked—plans for revenge, for conquest—would be ripped apart by the vacuum of space or crushed into dust.

Eyeing the glowing stone at the end of his scepter, Loki vividly recalled the Other’s warnings. They would hunt him down, if he failed. Shutting down the Tesseract was not an option. He needed this war. He needed this victory, no matter the cost.

A bright beam rocked Loki’s ribcage, knocking him clear off of his feet. The sickening feeling of a long plunge overtook him, but the trip was short lived. Loki had the good fortune of only crashing onto the balcony several stories underneath the roof.

“That’s for the cheap shot,” Stark said, his repulsor flaring.

Hissing through his teeth, Loki rose from the small crater. By the time he reached his feet, he was cackling, having dismissed the pain that numbed his chest and limbs. “I would hope you could still put up a fight in that suit of yours!”

“Arc reactor output level has reached 120%,” JARVIS stated bluntly into Stark’s ear. “At this rate, a catastrophic meltdown is imminent.”

“Great. Keep me posted.”

Another staccato of high-pitched noises filled the air. Stark watched as the cylinders on the portal device began to spin, their mechanical whirring mixing with the strange shrieking of the Tesseract. The energy discharges had gathered above the spinning cylinders into a ball of light that swelled with the flashing beats of the Cube.

Stark flinched as a white flash from the Tesseract consumed his vision. He half expected to be evaporated with the rest of Midtown Manhattan; yet when his sight returned, Stark beheld a column of light ascending from the Cube. After it spiraled high into the clear morning sky, the peak of the column dispersed, and the excess discharge began swirling like water circling a drainpipe. A swarm of energy currents flashed around the wavering pillar of blue light.

“Sir.” JARVIS paused for emphasis. “A catastrophic meltdown has occurred.”

“Duly noted,” Stark murmured, slack-jawed.

“It seems you found a way to sabotage the Tesseract after all!” Loki outstretched his arms, smirking as he did, as if to mockingly concede to his enemy. “You would threaten to destroy this whole planet just to spite me? Are you truly that desperate?”

Iron Man shifted his gaze back to Loki. In spite of his bravado and substantial firepower, Stark knew he was pushing his suit to the absolute limit. The armor could barely stay airborne, let alone fight toe-to-toe with a Norse god wielding otherworldly power.

“We are now at 14% power,” said JARVIS.

Stark’s gaze tightened. If Loki thought this was going to be his grand day on the mountaintop, Stark was determined to tear down the whole mountain, even if he was the one who had built it. “Decrease power to flight. Activate emergency power reserves.”

“Yes, sir.”

Iron Man descended feet first toward the landing dais above the lower balcony. Once he touched down, he stepped to the edge of the platform to gain a full view of Loki. Standing twenty feet above his opponent, Iron Man's imposing figure seemed all the more menacing.

“Is this yet another vein effort at intimidation?” Loki asked, grinning as he craned his head backward.

“No more games. It’s just you and me, prince of space.” Stark raised both his repulsors. “It all ends here.”

“Yes! Of course it does.” The alien staff in Loki’s clutch glowed. “Shall I open the festivities?”

The repulsors hummed to life.

“No. Allow me.”

The general mood on the streets was already thick with tension. Bruce Banner knew precisely what was generating a buzz, though his immediate concerns remained inward. He was lucky—not lucky to be alive, but lucky he had not caused more damage when he had lost control. When he awoke in a deserted warehouse, nude and disoriented, the lone security guard who had greeted him gave assurances that the worst thing the Other Guy’s landing did was cave in a roof and scare a few pigeons. The older fellow was cordial, if blunt, and furnished Banner with some spare clothes and a spluttering moped. Not much else was required to slink off into anonymity. A large urban area was the perfect place to disappear into a crowd.

Banner’s run of luck evaporated as soon as the pillar of light engulfed the top of Stark Tower.

Jersey City was a strange place to have an epiphany. As Banner rode through traffic on his old moped, the humor of achieving some form of enlightenment in New Jersey failed to lift his spirits. To the contrary, now Banner found himself buried beneath the scope of Loki’s schemes.

How the hell could he have been so stupid? He himself had identified Loki’s cryptic jab at Stark regarding “a light for all mankind to share.” Once the in-fighting began and S.H.I.E.L.D.’s true designs for the Cube were revealed, Banner dismissed the comment as alluding to the Phase 2 arsenal. Yes, that was true, he thought, but he likewise recalled the shock which overcame him when the Tesseract was at last located.

Banner’s thoughts were washed out as he recalled the horror, the utter loss of control that preceded the appearance of the Other Guy on the Helicarrier. His stomach boiled with bile at the distorted images turning through his mind’s eye. A lump grew in the middle of his throat, threatening to burst out of his mouth.

Stopping at a red light, Banner labored to reorient his mind, and his gut settled with the renewed wave of focus. He understood how Erik Selvig intended to use the arc reactor as a catalyst, jumpstarting the Tesseract and opening a portal. Loki wanted a tunnel through space, and the iridium prevented the Tesseract from becoming unstable and collapsing the portal in on itself. Banner felt like a kid who bombed a major exam, only to emerge from the aftermath knowing exactly how he failed. For a man of his intelligence, the feeling was oppressive.

Banner continued to ride with without a general destination in mind. He spotted the signs for the Holland Tunnel. New York City was about to become a warzone; Loki’s army, S.H.I.E.L.D., Thor, and the United States military would soon swarm over the island. If Banner went his own way, perhaps he could avoid the conflict altogether. As soon as the bullets, missiles, and laser blasts started flying, the Other Guy would emerge. Anywhere close to the action was too close for comfort.

And Banner considered further: Why the hell should he help? S.H.I.E.L.D. tried to imprison him—to kill him—and the rest of the so-called Avengers were an unstable and violent bunch. Even Stark, the one man who seemed to be in Banner’s corner, did not inspire much confidence with his daredevil, balls to the wall antics. No matter how much he claimed to the contrary, Stark could never understand what it was like to live with a monster inside, tearing his psyche apart, waiting to be unleashed by the slightest provocation. The others could hang their suits and weapons up in trophy rooms when they were done; Banner had no choice but to try and hide the Hulk inside himself.

The decision looked as though it was clear-cut—and yet, as Banner sat on the idling moped, staring at the tunnel entrance, he knew where he had to go. In doing so, however, he would cross the point of no return. He assented to the horrific fact that no matter where he went, no matter how fast he could travel, he would never escape the reaches of this calamity. Disaster would find a way to drag him back into the fray.

Above all, Bruce Banner was tired of running.

Most of the cars in line for the tunnel toll had completely stopped, for passengers had begun exiting their vehicles to catch a glimpse of the strange display over Stark Tower and the New York skyline. Banner sighed, revving the moped’s tired motor as he prepared to wind his way through the dense traffic. The distinct whirring of jet engines, however, led him to look skyward. A S.H.I.E.L.D. aircraft—the Quinjet, if he remembered the model’s name correctly—hovered at the mouth of the tunnel.

Pedestrians sought cover, many of them panicked by the sight of the aircraft. Banner, on the other hand, remained in place. He leaned back in his seat and folded his arms. Though he certainly cared for the well-being of the innocents around him, S.H.I.E.L.D. had him pinned. If they wanted an early showing of the Other Guy on top of the imminent alien invasion, Banner was in no practical position to resist.

“Dr. Banner!” a voice sounded over the Quinjet’s PA. “Please remain where you are. We are not here to hurt you.” Banner recognized Natasha Romanoff’s terse and alarmed tone on the other end.

The aircraft slowly performed an about-face to reveal the open rear hatch. Standing on the lowered platform were Steve Rogers—dressed in his full Captain America regalia—and Agent Phil Coulson. The Quinjet was dozens of feet off of the ground, but that did not prevent Rogers from leaping down onto the pavement. After hoisting his shield onto his arm, he briskly maneuvered between the parked cars.

Banner cleared his throat once Rogers was within earshot. “I don’t know about you, Captain Rogers, but I’m not all that comfortable with performing in front of an audience.”

Rogers stopped in front of Banner, taking a breath before speaking. “Dr. Banner…”

“I guess if S.H.I.EL.D. wanted me dead, things would have gotten pretty ugly already,” Banner said, glancing at the hovering Quinjet. He then smirked awkwardly at Captain America. “So, any reason why you’re down here, or did you just come to cover the toll?”

“Actually, we were hoping you could tell us where to find the Cube.” Rogers took a peek over his own shoulder at Stark Tower. “I guess we were a little late.”

“Sorry that the surprise got spoiled, Captain Rogers.”

“Is there a way to shut it down?” asked Rogers, gazed locked on the energy spiral in sky. Streaks of light flew across the roof.

“Without having a closer look at the device, it’s hard to tell,” Banner said plainly, shrugging as he did. “If I had to guess, based on Selvig’s notes, the reaction caused by the Tesseract is now self-sustaining. In other words, we can’t just pull the power cord and turn it off. And since Stark probably figured this all out, then he’s already shut off the catalyst device.”

Rogers’ brow raised underneath his cowl as he turned back to Banner. “Catalyst device?”

“The arc reactor.”

Rogers gasped. “Good God!” He took a moment to regain composure. “Dr. Banner, if Selvig is under Loki’s control, we’re going to need your help. You’re the only one who knows how to turn off the Cube.”

“I, uh…” A short pause followed before Banner briefly shook his head and said, “I can’t promise that, Captain. Besides, Stark knows that technology as well as I do. Why not get him to do it?”

“Because Stark’s a hothead.”

“Well, I won’t deny that…”

Captain America’s eyes narrowed on Banner. Even underneath the colorful patriotic cowl, his intensity was unmistakable. “Dr. Banner, I know how you feel. S.H.I.E.L.D. lied to each and every one of us; there’s no getting around that. But right now we—”

“It’s not just S.H.I.E.L.D., Captain,” Banner interrupted. In a gesture of fatigue and vexation, he wiped a grimy hand over his face. “Putting me in there is too dangerous. Stark might be a hothead and a showboat but he can control himself when he needs to. Me? Loki’s alien army might be the least of your worries if I go.”

“I’m not so sure about that,” said Rogers. “You were ready to come down here, to put it all on the line to make sure that Loki doesn’t succeed. One way or another, we’re going to need all the help we can get.”

Banner anxiously rubbed his fists. The tower of light looming over New York skyline nabbed his attention once more. The mere sight of it sent a shudder up his spine. The familiar tingling of bile teased the back of his throat. In spite of Captain America’s impassioned words of encouragement, Banner was all the more certain this would end in catastrophe.

But what else could he do now? Running was never an option. That was perhaps the hardest truth of all to accept.

Banner tightened his lips, tense yet decided, knowing he had yet to offer a reply. He looked Captain America square in the eyes. “We’ll be putting a lot of people in danger. You know that, right?”

“Dr. Banner, if we don’t act now, the whole world will be in danger.”

Nodding to himself and to Rogers, Banner dismounted the moped and hiked up his ill-fitting pants. Rogers gave him a grin before signaling for the Quinjet to land. As it descended above the numerous abandoned cars, the two men promptly made their way to the open hatch, with Agent Coulson there to greet them.

Coulson reached out and assisted Banner into the cabin. “Welcome aboard, Doctor.”

“Thanks,” Banner said, sincere but subdued.

“Where to, Captain?” a man called from the cockpit. It was a voice Banner did not recognize.

Rogers strode toward the bow of the craft. “Barton, get us to Stark Tower ASAP.”

Banner began to follow Rogers without much thought, his curiosity over the presence of Clint Barton guiding him. The sudden ascent of the aircraft caught Banner by surprise, and he was forced to grab a nearby handle strap for support. He awkwardly repositioned himself over to a seat, fussing with several of the buckles once he found his place. It was from this position that he had a good glimpse of the cockpit and its occupants, one of whom was Natasha Romanoff.

By now Coulson had taken a seat at a computer terminal across from Banner. Rather than strap himself in, the seasoned S.H.I.E.L.D. agent leaned against the console in an almost casual fashion. “How are you holding up, Dr. Banner?”

Turbulence jolted the Quinjet. Banner’s nails were already digging deep into the straps dangling around his shoulders. “Oh, I’m great. Just great. I was really looking forward to flying in a confined space over a crowded city of about 10 million people. Again.”

“Sorry,” Coulson said, genuinely contrite. “That was a dumb question.”

Banner took a deep breath. “No, it’s... I just have a bad history with air travel.” With his eyes darting frantically around the cabin, Banner noticed his own picture displayed on the nearby computer screen, as well as a satellite imaging map of New York City. “Is that how you found me?”

“That’s right. Using the face-trace, we managed to reroute the onboard computer directly into one of S.H.I.E.L.D.’s satellites. Since we knew your approximate landing point, we cross-referenced that with our database.”

“That was pretty quick, even for you guys.”

Coulson offered a small, apologetic smile. “We’ve had you on record as a top priority target for a long time, Doctor. Tracking you was faster than usual.”

The explanation prompted a meek, understanding nod from Banner. “Yeah. I forgot about that part. Good thinking.”

“You should thank Agent Romanoff. It was her idea.”

Banner’s body tensed at the mention of Natasha Romanoff. In the cockpit she was preoccupied with reading instruments and conferring with Rogers, who was standing in the open door, and Barton, the pilot. He could remember only fragments of their last encounter, yet each memory that managed to resurface carried with it a prick of guilt. Somehow his muscles recalled the Hulk’s destruction, the attempts to kill Natasha, better than his own mind. Small aches and spasms gripped Banner’s limbs; his heart thumped at an alarming rate.

The greatest fear came not from the rampage but from its aftertaste.

“Agent Romanoff,” Banner said, backtracking almost instantly when he saw her jolt upright in her seat. “I mean, Natasha. I, uh… know this might not be the best time to bring this up…”

Natasha glanced through the cockpit entrance. Her complexion was paler than usual. Her eyes, he saw, revealed that her own fear was very much alive.

“Don’t worry, doc,” Natasha said, as though she were politely entertaining a bad joke. “The worst has yet to come.”

Banner chuckled uneasily. “I’m not so sure about that.”

“I’ve got a firefight on the tower,” Barton said. Numerous flashes glittered across the peak of the skyscraper. “Looks like Stark and Loki are already going at it.”

Rogers moved into the cockpit and leaned forward to get a better look through the glass. “Stark, you idiot! I told him he couldn’t go up against Loki alone. He’s going to get clobbered if he keeps this up.”

Natasha wheeled back around in her seat. Her flush and poise returned in an instant. “Trust me, Captain: this isn’t the first time.” She flipped a several switches on the control panel before grasping the center stick. “Swing us in close, Clint. I’ll give Stark some fire support.”

Barton looked over at Natasha. “That’s going to be a tight shot.”

“I don’t think Stark’s too concerned about collateral damage right now.”

Focusing his sights on the incoming skyline, Barton shrugged. “Yeah, well, he might not like the 20 mil sticking out of his chest, either.”

“Our priority is shutting down the Tesseract and preventing Loki’s army from reaching the city,” Rogers said authoritatively. “Barton, get us as close to the roof as possible. I’ll move in to secure the Cube and cover Dr. Banner while he figures out how to close that portal. Romanoff, hold your fire unless I give the command. With any luck, Stark will keep Loki busy. You just need to make sure Loki doesn’t reach the Tesseract.”

“You want to put Banner on the roof?” asked Barton.

“He’s the only one here who knows how to shut down the Tesseract,” Rogers said, a hint of uncertainty creeping into his tone. “Just give us some cover and I’ll handle the rest.”

“This is going to be a tall order, Captain,” Natasha remarked, drawing in a breath. Energy bolts continued flying across the skyscraper. “One stray shot and we’re finished.”

Captain America nodded. “I know. That’s why this has to work.”

“Sir, emergency energy reserves have been depleted.”

“I can read, JARVIS! Don’t keep reminding me!”

Iron Man retreated to avoid another shot from Loki, nearly falling from the dais as he lurched to one side. Stark was running out of tricks. Wires were spilling out from underneath armored panels on his armor. Loki’s skirmish tactics were more than annoying: they now proved to be a genuine threat. It did not help that the demigod had scored a few indirect hits of his own.

The walkway below Stark was littered with debris from repeated blasts. Holes and scorch marks marked the path of destruction. Loki presently remained crouched in the midst of the carnage, poised for another barrage.

Iron Man reared his arm back and fired another blast. Loki rolled to his side to avoid the repulsor ray. He then sprung to his feet, unleashing a shot of his own that hit Iron Man in the hip. Stark let out a pained moan. He could feel burning metal threatening to char his skin.

Holding his side, Stark stumbled back from the dais and fell down on one knee. A flood of diagnostics warned of the armor’s sustained damage and imminent shutdown. Stark’s view through his helmet display was reminiscent of an old television set, with unfocused colors smearing together in a midst of static.

Spotting an opening in Iron Man’s dismal state, Loki leapt from the walkway below as though it was a mere step on a flight of stairs. Arriving with a soft thud, Loki postured at his full height, occupying the platform Iron Man had once defended.

“I admit that your bravado is not entirely without merit,” Loki said, a small grin rising on his face. “It is no wonder why these… people worship you.” The demigod descended several steps from the dais, his stride possessing a casual swagger. He gestured toward the blade on his scepter. “I wonder, what might they do when they discover that Earth’s ‘mightiest hero’ has fallen?”

An earsplitting crack of thunder shook Stark Tower. Loki stopped in his tracks, his grin melting under his paling complexion. Both he and Iron Man glanced up at the sky which had grown dark from a horde of thunderheads. Lightning crackled through the darkness wrapping around Stark Tower. The only light came from the energy continuously soaring skyward from the Tesseract.

“JARVIS, what’s the weather report for today?” Stark asked.

“78 degrees with clear skies, sir,” JARVIS said. “I cannot discern the origin of this anomaly. It does not appear to be caused by the Tesseract.”

“That’s what I thought.”

Loki stepped back from the landing dais and raised a forearm over his face. Before him heavy steel and marble crunched beneath the heels of Thor. He wore his full battle regalia, with silver-scaled armor encasing his arms. On his back billowed a red cape, and his hair whipped across his face in the high winds of the surrounding storm. Thor’s eyes fixed on his brother in fury.

“Loki!”

“I see you survived the fall,” Loki lamely stated as he lowered his arm. A nervous snicker followed. “To be very honest, I was hoping you would live. How pitiful it would have been for the mighty Thor to meet his end by way of simple parlor tricks.”

Thor pointed Mjölnir at Loki. “I have come to put a stop to this madness! Shut down the Tesseract, or I will destroy it!”

Loki’s expression soured. “Is this the best you can do? Threaten me? In my moment of triumph? As always, the role of the fool suits you well. You are too late: the Tesseract cannot be stopped. Strike it with lightning; level this entire city! Your best efforts are in vain.” He leaned toward Thor, pointing a finger in the air. “On this you have my word.”

Thor’s grasp on Mjölnir loosened, confusion overtaking his anger. “What are you saying?”

“Ha!” Loki slammed his foot down in defiance. “Look at you—unable to resolve a problem with your hammer! You are pathetic now more than ever before. You wax endlessly of your love for humanity; yet even now you are powerless to protect it!”

Renewed enmity flashed upon Thor’s face. “Do not force my hand, brother. I will destroy you, if I must.”

Loki spread out his arms, as if to dare Thor. “Idle threats! You and I both know it.”

As Thor readied to speak, the thrusting of turbines buzzed overhead. The Quinjet flew into view over Stark Tower, rocking gently from each side in the winds of the storm. It angled around the skyscraper, remaining at a safe distance. A minigun popped out from the aircraft’s underbelly and trained on the three figures on the roof.

“Sir, I have an incoming transmission from Agent Romanoff.”

Stark glanced at the open channel in his helmet and smirked. “How does it feel to play the cavalry this time?”

“Stark, we’ve got sights on the tower,” Natasha’s voice crackled over the communications. “What’s the situation?”

“I’m doing fine, thank you for asking,” Stark snidely replied. “Uh, yeah, I’ve got two angry Norse gods on my roof, working out their family issues.”

“And the Tesseract?”

A guilty wince momentarily twisted Stark’s face. “That’s a bigger problem. The Tesseract’s gone critical. I don’t even think Loki knows what the hell it’s doing anymore.”

“So what are our options?”

Stark sucked in an unsteady, almost panicked breath. “I’m still working on that.”

From the corner of his vision Loki watched Iron Man struggle to his feet. In a near perfect stroke of theater, all of them had gathered at one point. No doubt the armored aircraft brought with it the Black Widow and Captain America, he realized. Loki quickly dismissed their presence as insignificant. If he could just remove Thor from the battle, he could secure the Tesseract and thus his conquest.

Loki grinned to himself. He shifted to face Thor, whose attention remained with the Quinjet. A small dagger slipped in-between his palm and fingers.

“You must realize by now that it is too late,” Loki said, stalking toward Thor. “There is no turning back. We are beyond negotiation and reason. We are,” Loki took a short breath before dipping his voice into a sharp whisper, “beyond the point of no return.”

Thor faced Loki and scowled. He raised Mjölnir in preparation to strike. “Then so be it.”

Thor’s words were punctuated by an unnatural screeching from above. A new ripple of energy tore through the blue column above Stark Tower, slithering its way up to where the vortex swirled. Late morning sky slowly, painfully ruptured under the Tesseract’s power. The dramatic showdown instantly gave way to the startling sight of a gaping hole emerging out of thin air.

Powerful gusts whipped across the skyscraper as the breach yawned. A blue translucent field blanketed the whirlpool of energy. Though the discordant noises from the Tesseract ceased, the winds offered their own chilling sounds as they heaved against the creaking steel of Stark Tower.

The vortex was devouring whatever it could pull off the ground. Thor and Loki stumbled, covering their faces as debris flew through the air. Stark scrambled to find a grapple hold along the edge of the walkway. He moved on all fours to remain grounded.

“JARVIS! All power to flight!”

“Sir! All reserve power cells have been depleted. I cannot—”

Stark’s helmet went dark, leaving him only with the muffled howls of the wind outside of his suit. “JARVIS? Come on, buddy, don’t quit on me now. Pick up!”

JARVIS did not respond. Stark could still move his body, but near total blackness pervaded his vision. He could only see through two small slits. The suit felt like the inside of a coffin.

Tony Stark’s strength waned under the growing pull from the vacuum. He clenched his fingers deep into the marble and steel crafted by his design. The slabs of tile crunched like paper in his grip, offering him no support. Stark’s eyes widened as he felt his tenuous hold slip through the broken marble.

“JARVIS!”

In an instant, Iron Man was launched into the air, his body rolling and spinning out of control. Within seconds he approached the mouth of the widened vortex, plates and bolts torn out of his once impervious armor. Chunks of Stark Tower battered him across the sky.

There came no momentary pause or dramatic last-ditch effort to resist the overpowering void, nor any screams of defiance or terror. Iron Man’s gold and red silhouette simply disappeared into the abyss.

Inside the cockpit of the Quinjet, flashing red lights blinked across every electronic surface. Alarms wailed out of sync. Their warnings went unheeded as Rogers, Barton, and Natasha gaped at the vortex in the sky, having watched Stark vanish into the maw of the unknown. All three remained at a loss for words.

Rogers, squinting in disbelief, at last broke through the buzzing of the alarms: “Mother of God…”

“That thing is still dragging on us,” Barton said, returning his attention to the flashing instrument board. “Nat, tell me we can get a little more juice out of the engines.”

Natasha leaned over in her seat and flipped a line of switches. The pained groans of the Quinjet’s turbines grew louder. “We’re already on afterburners. If we don’t get out of here soon, we might be joining Stark.”

Barton grunted as he reared back on the controls. “Captain Rogers, if you have any ideas, I’m all ears.”

Rogers remained silent as he weighed the scenarios and alternatives. As he understood it, there was no way any of them could get close enough to the Tesseract without the risk of being sucked into the sky like Stark or incinerated like the Red Skull. Yet Banner was the only one among them who knew how to stop the device. That was the plan cobbled together from the start.

Now they needed a new plan.

“Captain, the clock’s ticking.” Sweat trickled down Barton’s face. Despite his efforts, the Quinjet dragged ever closer towards the funnel of energy spewing from the Tesseract.

Instinct urged Rogers to look into the cabin. Banner was secured in his seat, but his breathing wheezed over the constant rattling of the Quinjet’s frame. His eyes were closed tight, his hands locked like vice grips on the belts strapped around his body. Across from him sat Agent Coulson, whose jaw tightened visibly as he watched Banner.

“You’d better call it, Captain!” Barton shouted.

Rogers refocused on the glow of the Tesseract. “Romanoff, aim for that machine powered by the Cube! If it’s anything like HYDRA tech, knocking it out should kill the portal!”

Natasha shot a look at Rogers. “What about the Tesseract?”

“This is the only chance we’ve got,” he said with a palpable hint of resignation. “Let’s make it count.”

Swallowing hard, Natasha shifted back in her seat. “Right. One stray shot.” She gently twitched her head to the side. “Clint, keep it steady for me.”

“Hell of a way to get back into the game, huh?”

“Well, you know me: never a dull moment.”

A pained smile flashed across Barton’s face. His eyes continued to dance back and forth between Stark Tower and the controls as the Quinjet kept crawling dangerously close to the rooftop. Sweat dripped from his brow as his face twisted under newborn exertion. “Come on, baby,” he muttered.

The Quinjet’s violent trembling reached a fever pitch. The aircraft began rocking wildly from side to side. The vacuum dragged across its hull. A new wave of alarms squawked amongst the others. The Quinjet’s engines whirred into silence.

“What the hell?!” exclaimed Rogers, who clutched the rear of Barton’s seat.

“Engines are offline!” Natasha hurriedly stated, flipping several switches on the instrument board. She then slammed the screens with her fist before she quietly said, “We’re losing power. None of the systems are responding.”

Calmly turning his head, Clint Barton glanced at Rogers. “Captain, I suggest you get back there and buckle in.”

From his crouched position Loki beheld the Quinjet yield to the Tesseract. A large slab of flying marble slammed into the aircraft’s belly, forcing it higher into the sky. With endless streams of debris crashing against the plane and its engines, there was no moment for the vehicle to regain equilibrium.

Loki felt quite certain that their fates were destined for the emptiness of space, for that was where the Chitauri readied their invasion of Earth. The thought of dying in utter silence crossed his mind, but Loki felt no urge to cry out in premature anguish. He recalled the detachment that accompanied throwing himself into the unknown when Odin rebuked him. As the force of the vortex yanked on his body, Loki refused to let fear follow him to his death. He would not be conquered in his final moments.

No! Loki, of Asgard, would face his end like a true king. No power—not even that of the Tesseract—could deny him this reality.

The Quinjet rose alongside the pillar of light. As it was with Stark, there were no evident signs of final resistance. Without further theater, the aircraft slipped through portal, disappearing among swirling blue waves.

Loki remained fixated on the vortex. His grip tightened on the scepter in his right hand. He smiled in grim acceptance. “My turn, then.”

An especially powerful gust caught Loki by his legs. Mere seconds separated Loki from joining the so-called “Avengers” within the void.

Loki’s body then jolted painfully, stopped by a force caught on his left forearm. Loki moaned as he felt his arm nearly ripped from its socket. Squinting through the winds, Loki caught sight of the hand clasped around his wrist.

Beneath Loki stood Thor, poised on the last patch of marble tile yet to be ripped from its foundation. Mjölnir was planted at the base of his feet, a growing crater formed around where it rested. With his left hand grasping the hammer’s handle, Thor used his right hand to clutch Loki. Thor’s face squeezed and reddened under strain; even his impressive strength could not resist the vacuum indefinitely. Slowly his firm grip on Loki began to slip.

“What are you doing?!” Loki shouted, his voice battling over the winds.

“I will not let you go! Not again!” Thor’s grasp continued to loosen. “Now pull!”

“It’s too late! Nothing can stop this!”

“We will find a way! Together!” Thor struggled to reposition his feet. The marble slab beneath him cracked like ice. “But I will not lose my brother!”

Loki’s eyes widened and mouth partly opened. He appeared genuinely moved, as though the veil of spite and fury he wore since his arrival had been cast off into the howling winds. The water in his eyes threatened to streak across his temples.

This was a face Thor had longed to see. The grasp of lunacy possessing Loki was crumbling, and with it Thor’s own hold on his brother strengthened. “I will not lose you again, Loki. You have my word.”

Visibly swallowing, Loki blinked his tearful eyes at Thor. “Your word?”

“Yes. As your brother.”

Loki barely managed to withhold a small smile—one of joy, not malice. He then grit his teeth as he swung his right arm forward, wrapping it over Thor’s bicep. The scepter dangled in his hand. Together the two of them worked in unison to bring Loki’s feet back closer to the ground. From there they hoped to at least both take advantage of Mjölnir as an unshakable buttress against the portal.

Thor at last placed his hand on Loki’s back, the firm grip bracing the banished prince. The two brothers locked in an impromptu embrace. “I will not let go, Loki, but there is still much work to be done.”

“Yes, indeed there is,” said Loki, beaming broadly in jubilation.

Thor himself allowed for a grin. “Now, we must find a way—”

The contentment forged by the reunion quickly drained from Thor. A sharp pain pierced his ribs, locking his throat in shock. He glanced to his side to find Loki’s hand dripping with fresh blood. The glint of steel flashed between his fingers.

A cold, almost knowing scowl had since replaced Loki’s euphoric smile. He pulled his face within inches of Thor's. “Take care of your words, Odinson. We are not brothers. Your father is not my own.”

Thor’s expression clouded with agony. The sudden ease of the betrayal exacted more pain from Thor Odinson than any blade or club could manage.

Demeanor unchanged, Loki scoffed, “Sentiment.”

With a long swing of his legs Loki bucked his feet forward, his heels clanging against Thor’s armor. The force of the blow dislodged Loki from Thor’s slackened arm. The winds rushing skyward were quick to catch Loki in flight. Thor could only watch helplessly as his brother was claimed into the air.

As quickly as Iron Man—or perhaps even faster—Loki hurtled toward the vortex. His arms were spread outward, scepter in hand, giving him the appearance of ascending to some heavenly plane—until a piece of debris collided with his chest. Loki tumbled headlong into the portal. The man who sought to become Earth’s king then vanished, accompanied only by his scepter.

Thor nursed the wound in his side. A grunt at last escaped his throat as he ripped the dagger from his flesh. The blood-covered blade dropped to the ground, clanking against the rubble. Thor’s brows furrowed at the sight of the fallen weapon. Turning his head upward, he watched the energy pillar gradually dissipate and the vortex begin to close. For reasons entirely unknown to him, the Tesseract had at last expended itself. Calm was returning to the human city below.

But Thor knew better of it. Regret overcame him. Though the Tesseract no longer threatened to tear Midgard apart as an instrument of Loki’s blind rage, peace could not be restored. Not like this. The only way to return the Tesseract to Asgard was to have Loki by his side. No realm could know peace so long as the artifact remained at the disposal of Midgard or any place else.

Thor ripped Mjölnir from the ground, beholding the mighty weapon in his hand. Newfound resolve gave him strength. He would not fail his father, his world, or the people of Earth. Bringing the hammer down next to his thigh, he now swore silently to himself that he would return Loki from whatever world or realm to which he had escaped.

Time was running short. Thor twirled Mjölnir at blinding speeds. As soon as Mjölnir went airborne, both it and Thor sped past the roof of Stark Tower upon which the idle Tesseract resided.

Only a sliver of the portal lingered. Thor squeezed his eyes, willing more power into Mjölnir. The last time he flew with such urgency was upon his return to Asgard when Loki sought to destroy Jotunheim. Unlike then, Thor would follow his wayward brother to the very end.

The last thing Thor Odinson recalled was the sudden feeling of weightlessness, followed by a blow which robbed him of his consciousness.

Author's Note

Revision made 9/4/2014.

Second revision made 4/26/2015. Minor changes to descriptions for action scenes.

An Urgent Matter

Chapter 2
An Urgent Matter

At this time of night, just before the moon gave way to the sun, few ponies typically occupied the royal throne room. Princess Luna herself rarely held court inside its majestic halls, even though she was well within her authority to do so. She quickly came to realize many ponies preferred to meet with Celestia. Though initially bothered by the lack of visitors or activity in the castle during the predawn hours, Luna learned to busy herself with observing dreams and mending nightmares so that her subjects would know the night was nothing to fear.

In sum, Princess Luna’s watch often proved uneventful.

Tonight, however, Luna found herself overseeing a flurry of action. The halls echoed with the galloping of the royal guard; for every guard that exited, another entered shortly thereafter. Luna might have found the scene amusing if she were not struggling to protect her country in the midst of calamity. There would be no room for humor so long as Equestria stood threatened.

Princess Luna sat upon the throne as she scoured over several pieces of parchment she held floating before her. With a quill she hurriedly scratched out a note. After a final cursory check, she floated the papers over to three guards waiting at attention at the foot of the majestic golden dais.

“Please begin distributing this message throughout the whole of Canterlot.” Luna’s horn ceased glowing once the papers were in the guards’ possession. “I am ordering that all citizens remain indoors for their own safety until either my sister or I declare otherwise. Nopony should leave for work or school. If somepony requires assistance in an emergency, it shall be rendered to them. Is that clear?”

The three royal guards saluted and replied in unison, “Yes, Your Majesty!”

“Your Highness!” another royal guard bellowed from across the hall. He was a brown unicorn, in gold armor, levitating a small scroll above his head. Passing by the trio of guards already dispatched, he stopped in front of the throne and bowed. “I bear news regarding the current… erm, events.”

Luna nodded, leaning back in her seat. “Please proceed.”

The unicorn cleared his throat and unfurled the scroll, presenting it to Luna for inspection. “Cloudsdale’s weather teams are currently being assembled for emergency weather duty, but their captains are keeping them grounded until they receive word from you, Your Highness.”

“Has anypony been reported hurt?”

“No, Your Highness.” The guard shifted uncomfortably, careful when making eye contact with the princess. “How should I—”

The all too familiar sound of heavy doors slamming open interrupted the unicorn guard, who jolted upright in surprise. As it had been throughout the twilight hours, more royal guards—a gray unicorn and a white pegasus—galloped across the red carpeting to the seat of their princess. Both offered a hasty bow.

The gray unicorn carried a scroll with his magic, but the pegasus was the one who addressed Luna: “Your Majesty, we have new reports from Manehattan and Baltimare.” While the pegasus guard spoke, the unicorn levitated the parchment up to Luna. “Manehattan has closed all bridges until further notice. In Baltimare, several unidentified objects have landed in Horseshoe Bay. Only a few small vessels were damaged.”

Luna had already accepted the scroll before unrolling it to scrutinize every word and detail contained. “I assume that if harm had come to anypony, it would be included in this report.” Looking up from the scroll, Luna glared down upon the guards. “Am I correct?”

“Of course, Your Majesty!” the gray unicorn hurriedly stated. “It is our good fortune to inform you that nopony is hurt. If there were, you would be the first to know.”

Luna’s eyebrow twitched before her expression snapped airtight. “I see. I’m relieved to hear such is the case. I am nevertheless concerned about such drastic measures are being taken without informing us first. Ponies should not be given undue reason to panic.”

All three guards nodded once. The pegasus then asked, “Your Highness, should we inform the mayor of Manehattan that he should not act without official royal approval?”

Luna let out a brief snort before she shook her head. “No, no. Please tell the mayor I appreciate his foresight and desire to keep the denizens of Manehattan safe.” She lowered the scroll away from her face. “I approve of his decision—but let it be known that any further decisions should be done with a mind toward Equestria acting as one.”

“Of course, Your Highness!” said the pegasus guard. He and the unicorn who had accompanied him saluted Luna in tandem.

Luna shifted her attention back to the guard whose report had been interrupted. “Inform Cloudsdale and its weather teams that I personally extend my gratitude for offering their assistance. I am certain we will need it. For the time being, they should remain grounded until either my sister or I send for them.”

The guard offered a crisp salute. “Yes, Princess!”

Luna refrained from watching the three guards take their leave. Fleeting relief lightened the pressure on her head once she heard the doors close shut behind them. Still clasping both reports with her magic, Luna’s eyes wandered over their combined contents: strange lights in the sky; falling objects across Equestria; ponies fearing for their lives. She recalled her own confusion upon witnessing the brewing storm congest her night sky. The watchtower had offered a front row seat to a fearsome display of magic that threatened to blanket the land. Luna had wasted little time in alerting the royal guard and situating herself at the center of royal authority.

Hastily rolling up the pieces of parchment and placing them aside, Luna shut her eyes. She did not like sitting on a throne while her subjects cowered. Yet in lieu of lacking answers, the princess saw no ready alternatives. Inaction furthered her frustration and dismay. What could be said of a princess who could not offer adequate protection for the ponies of her land?

Exhausted though she was, Luna’s senses were not dull. One ear twitched forward at the sound of the double doors creaking open yet again. She flinched inwardly, dreading the report that would at last reveal harm coming to innocent ponies. The process had the sick air of a twisted game of chance over which she exerted little influence.

“I see that you are having a long night, Luna.”

Luna’s eyes sprung open before the sentence had a chance to finish. Her chest instantly filled with rare elation as she beheld the welcome sight of her sister, Princess Celestia, walking gracefully down the corridor. Four royal guards flanked her, two on either side. Their gaits were locked in unison.

“Sister!” Unfurling her wings with a rustle, Luna leapt from the dais and glided across the hall to meet Celestia. Upon landing in front of the older alicorn, Luna flapped her wings shut and frowned. “I’m sorry to have disturbed your rest, but this is an urgent matter.”

“I hardly needed more sleep,” Celestia said softly. Bearing a warm smile, she appeared alert and radiant, unperturbed by the early hour. “And any crisis, day or night, demands my immediate attention.”

Luna’s frown had since given way to small, subdued smile. “I am glad to hear, sister. Much has happened over the past few hours.”

“So I’ve been told—though I would like to hear your thoughts on the matter.” Celestia turned and eyed her bodyguards. “Would you please excuse us while my sister and I talk?”

Wordlessly the guards executed a seamless about-face and exited the throne room. When Luna saw and heard the door close, she allowed her shoulders to droop. A deep, long-awaited sigh finally escaped her throat.

Saying nothing though they were only in each other’s company, Celestia paced up to Luna. She gently nuzzled her younger sister, allowing their horns to brush together with a light tap. “You look weary, Luna.”

“I admit to having better nights,” Luna murmured. Following another moment of quiet, she withdrew from the impromptu embrace. Life trickled back into her posture as she regained a nobler and upright form. Luna’s voice likewise recaptured authority when she said, “I wish I could tell you the cause of these unexpected events, dear sister, but I’m afraid that I can offer no explanation. I trust you have observed the manifestation yourself.”

“I have. In fact, it was the first thing to greet me when I heard the guards knocking on my door.” Celestia turned to face one of the stained glass windows. It depicted the lights of the sun and stars shining down upon the planet. The blue palette of the window offered a reminiscent visage of Equestria’s skies at present. “It would have been a magnificent display, if not for the terrifying implications.”

Luna moved quietly to stand side by side with Celestia. She too glanced over the window. “I sought out the caster to no avail. The range and scope of this event defies comprehension.”

“That’s what worries me, little sister.” Celestia’s serene expression and cool tone both took on an edge of ever heightening concern. “I don’t wish to engage in idle speculation, but I fear that this magic may not be known to Equestria.”

“What exactly are you suggesting?” Luna asked, directing a careful eye toward Celestia.

“You’ve seen the magic for yourself, Luna. It is a vortex, a portal of some kind. We both know that portals are like doors. Bearing that fact in mind, we must ask ourselves a very basic question...”

“What is on the other side?” Luna finished. She then turned away, blinking in bewilderment. “I still do not understand how anypony would be capable of producing that level of magic apart from an enchanted device. I doubt even Discord himself could conjure such incredible power.”

“Perhaps not,” said Celestia as she gently craned her head back, still focused on the window. “Whatever the case may be, our first priority is to ensure the safety of our subjects. In order to do so, we must learn more about what is happening.”

Rather unconsciously, Luna’s wings had spread open as Celestia spoke. Despite Luna’s awareness of this reaction, she did not correct herself. It nonetheless brought to mind the poise her sister retained in spite of the tension. Celestia’s troubled tone belied a princess who cared not for the ponies over which she ruled. Luna knew better than anypony else how much Celestia loved each of her subjects like a mother. But Celestia always appeared careful not to give the wrong impression, even if it meant masking her true disposition with an otherwise inscrutable and distant calm.

Luna turned to stare at her older sister. “Celestia, is this the prelude to an attack?”

Whether or not by intent, Celestia’s ears flicked. The subtle gesture—perhaps one nopony else would have noticed—prompted anxiety to pop up in Luna’s throat. Whenever Celestia had reason to break her own composure, however minor, there was reason to be concerned.

Celestia tilted her head in Luna’s direction, but did not share eye contact. “We cannot assume the worst in order to indulge speculation. It will do us no good. Perhaps this magic is malicious, but until I’m certain that such is the case, I won’t act in a way that will needlessly frighten our little ponies.

“Because we can’t speak with any authority, I suggest we begin seeking answers with what we do know. We should contact Twilight Sparkle and her friends in Ponyville to make sure they are safe and aware of what is happening; then they should take the first train here to Canterlot. If the portal cannot be closed by other means, the Elements may need to be wielded in order to ensure the safety of Equestria.”

“A prudent plan, sister,” Luna said. Her shoulders then slouched. “However, I must admit I’m not sure whether this plan shall work. Twilight Sparkle barely managed to save the Crystal Empire. Who is to say she wBill succeed if put to yet another test?”

“But she did succeed.” No longer inspecting the stained glass window, Celestia turned her whole body and moved closer to Luna. “And Twilight succeeded because she trusted her instincts and her friends. She understood she could not save an entire empire without those around her to help.” When Luna glanced upward at Celestia, who now stood over her, the eldest princess gave a comforting smile. “Trust me, little sister: should she be tested, Twilight will not fail.”

The throne room doors swung open with a crash as two gray unicorn guards bolted through the doorway. Celestia merely glanced toward the parted doors, but Luna’s head and shoulders instantly shot up erect. She then quickly narrowed her widened eyes, dispensing with the alarmed posture in the presence of the guards.

When the guards came before the princesses, they briskly kowtowed. “Your Majesties! Many apologies for the intrusion!”

Rotating to face the guards, Celestia said, “No apologies are needed. What is the matter?”

“We have come to tell you that there has been an incident on castle grounds.”

“An ‘incident’?” Luna raised an eyebrow and frowned. “You will need to be more elaborate in your explanation.”

The guards shared a long, awkward stare between one another. In the face of Princess Luna’s agitation, neither appeared confident enough to follow through with a more detailed account. Ultimately one gathered the courage to speak. “Well, Your Highness, we aren’t entirely certain what happened. We only know that there was a crash reported in the sculpture gardens. Thankfully castle staff was ordered to remain indoors, so nopony was outside.”

Celestia and Luna locked eyes on each other briefly. Then Celestia, whose eyebrows had knitted in concern, looked to her guards. “Thank you for informing us of what has happened. We will personally see to it. Continue to make sure that everypony else stays indoors.”

“Yes, Your Highness!”

Before the guards could register all of what had happened, both princesses were gone. Rarely did either Celestia or Luna gallop—but when they did, it had the effect of a gust of wind sweeping through a room. The princesses remained matched in seamless strides by the time they entered the adjoining hallway. With the marked absence of guards and service ponies, Canterlot Castle already gave the impression of being abandoned.

A flash from Celestia’s horn parted an ornate set of double doors reaching from floor to ceiling. The princesses passed into the main hallway, where the pivotal events in Equestria’s history were etched in vibrant stained glass windows. From the founding of Equestria, to the defeats of Discord, all the way to the restoration of the Crystal Empire, each illustration told a unique story. Through the windows glowed the uncanny blue hue of the portal swirling outside of the castle and high above Equestria.

Celestia and Luna stopped once they found an unmarked window with a view over the sculpture garden. Upon looking through the window, the two princesses were immediately confronted by the the sight of one of the stone statues smashed into pieces. The residual debris that caked the area obscured the full breadth and cause of the destruction.

Luna’s eyes went wide. “My goodness!”

“This is worse than I thought,” said Celestia with a tenor of graveness. “We’ve been fortunate so far, but if the portal remains open, disaster will strike.”

“You were wise to move Discord to the secure wing of the castle, sister. It seems as though he would have been the victim of this destruction had you returned him to the gardens.” Luna’s flowing tail stiffened. “I shudder to think what might have happened if he were still there.”

Several flashes of light blinked in the predawn sky. Both Luna and Celestia diverted their attention from the gardens and to the portal. Neither hid their confusion as the plumes of magical energies started folding in on one another, collapsing like a piece of paper crumpled. The barrage of streaking bolts coming from the vortex’s mouth abruptly ceased. In the manner of a storm whose energy declined, the once potent portal lost its form, dissipating untraceably across the darkened sky.

Then there was another flash, one far more vibrant than any before it. The light shone with such intensity that Celestia and Luna were forced to avert their stares. The two were barely able to spot a darting light striking the above countryside well beyond Canterlot. The display bore great resemblance to a bolt of lightning.

As the sisters’ vision came back into full focus, they heard the muffled yet distinct rumbling of a faraway thunderclap. Akin to genuine thunder, the sound passed after several seconds. When that time elapsed, Celestia and Luna discovered the skies of their country were clear. The moon and stars were poised to accede to the sun. After everything that had come to pass, Equestria appeared ready to usher in another beautiful morning.

“Is that it?” Luna asked.

“Not yet,” Celestia said. She returned her attention to the patch of ruined ground in the gardens. “There are still many questions left unanswered. Our work has only begun.”

Shutting her eyes, Princess Celestia ignited her horn. In a flash both she and Luna disappeared with short but audible fizzled pop. Outside the window, the two alicorns reappeared in the wake of another flash. With both presently in midair, their wings unfolded to keep them aloft. Effortlessly Celestia and Luna rode the smooth winds to the gardens below. Before either touched the ground, Luna flapped her wings, steadying herself for a cushioned landing on the grass.

For the first time the entire night, Luna allowed herself to smirk. “It has been a while seen I’ve seen you teleport, sister. I was afraid you might be a bit rusty and send us straight into the window.”

Celestia’s swanlike wings rustled and folded against her body. She started toward the crash zone, arching a humored brow as she did. “I believe that was your first experience of teleportation, not mine.”

Luna scowled as she followed Celestia. “I thought we agreed never to bring that up.”

All traces of levity dissipated the closer the princesses came to the crash site. The gardens were far from ruined, but the destruction was ever more evident in the otherwise immaculate environment. Several delicate trees and shrubbery were uprooted by the blow of the impact; a nearby stone statue of a pony bearing a large scroll stood covered in dirt and soot. Fragments of another statue were scattered around the epicenter of the devastation.

Celestia and Luna squinted through the heavier dirt cloud that refused to leave the air. Celestia’s eyes narrowed in determination and the slightest hint of annoyance. Her horn glowed once more, and a small magical wave scattered the particulate grime. With the air clearer, the sisters stepped to the edge of the crater. Contrary to their initial impressions, the hole was much smaller than the proximate damage suggested.

Its content was an entirely different story altogether.

Celestia’s head bucked back in surprise, her wings flaring and pupils constricting. Luna’s mouth went partly agape. Sticking halfway out of the ground was a curved staff with a long golden handle and bearing two curved silver blades at the tip. A glowing blue gem sat between the blades.

“A weapon? Celestia asked aloud.

“So it seems.” Luna’s horn began to glow. “But I shall have a closer look.”

“Are you certain you want to do this, Luna?”

Luna drew in an unsteady breath. “As you said, sister, many questions are still left unanswered. It is better for us to begin our work sooner rather than later.”

Following a moment’s hesitation, Celestia nodded. “Very well—but please be careful.”

With yet another small breath, Luna pushed aside her own uneasiness and closed her eyes. She focused her mind on the bladed scepter, allowing her magic to tentatively brush across it. She knew already the scepter contained significant power; the trick was gauging how far she could go in seeking its source. Each push was akin to peeling back a silk curtain: a caster had to exercise caution in unraveling the tapestry without unwittingly inflicting damage on oneself or the artifact under study.

Luna’s eyelids squeezed tighter. The amount of effort exerted over such a short time proved unusually taxing. Beads of sweat began trickling down the princess’ forehead as she carefully adjusted the strength and scope of her magic.

Suddenly Luna felt weightlessness; the sculpture garden dissolved around her in a howl, leaving a dark void only she and the scepter shared. Most chilling was the profound absence of Celestia’s warm presence beside her. Although Luna’s intuition begged her to quit, she pressed forward into this strange void.

Whispering voices from the darkness stung her ears. Luna tried to decipher the innumerable disjointed utterances flowing around her, but she felt herself unable to maintain focus. Luna’s gut twisted in a strange brew of fear and anger. Her horn glowed brighter as she tapped deeper into her magical reserves. Her mind and body settled as many of the voices faded, though several persisted in their maddening refrain.

Luna sought to keep the goal vivid in her mind. In terms of physical distance, only a few feet separated her from the scepter; in terms of magic, the two were divided by yawning barriers that defied Luna’s vast knowledge. When she pushed through one layer, many more sprung up in its place. Each barrier bypassed increased the sickening air of the world around her.

Drawn closer to one portion of the scepter, Luna strained herself. The gemstone, she realized, was the true source of the staff’s power. The breakthrough prompted her lips to curl into a small smile—but success was fleeting. Greater focus did not enhance her efforts. She grimaced as the whispers returned in force. As she sought to sweep through the gem’s magic, a tingling sensation percolated one side of her face. The mild tingling became searing hot once Luna forced her magic into direct contact with the glowing gemstone.

The touch was fleeting. All at once the vision of the scepter and its gem flashed out of sight in a burst of blue light. Luna gasped as heat scorched her cheek, and her head rocked back as if she had crashed into a tree. With her eyes wide open once again, she found herself kneeling in the familiar surroundings of the sculpture garden in Canterlot Castle. Promptly the alarmed face of Princess Celestia entered her view.

“Are you all right, Luna?”

Luna wobbled but rose to her hooves. The fur on her face was matted with sweat. She continued to silently nurse the lingering burn that briefly blazed her cheek. “I’m fine. I am merely drained.”

“You were in pain,” Celestia said firmly.

Luna’s head sagged, dark lines swelling beneath her eyelids. “I’m sorry, Celestia. Perhaps I pushed myself too hard. It was foolhardy of me to use such a complex spell without your help.”

“Luna, there’s no need to apologize,” said Celestia as she cast a long wing over Luna’s back, drawing her closer into a reassuring embrace. “I know you were only doing what you thought was best for Equestria. Maybe you were a bit overzealous, but I would hardly call your actions ‘foolhardy’.”

Luna smiled weakly. “I wish I could take comfort in your words, dear sister.” Her face then tightened, discarding the meekness it once showed. “However, my findings only make this night all the more disturbing.”

Stepping to one side, Celestia lifted her wing so that Luna could slip out from beneath it. Luna emerged with her own wings majestically spread. She strutted closer to the crater in which the scepter rested. “The magic of this object is quite powerful. Furthermore, when I peered deeper into the gemstone, I sensed the source of a dark and twisted magic.” Luna turned and faced Celestia. “It is certainly a most dangerous weapon—and one only a skilled mage could employ.”

“So the gemstone is the source of its power?”

“The scepter is the conduit, but the gem it possesses is indeed responsible for the magical energies.” Luna glanced over her shoulder, scowling at the scepter as though it were an abomination. “It is on par with—nay, surpasses the Alicorn Amulet that magician filly used to wreak havoc in Ponyville some time ago.”

“Somehow I’m not surprised,” Celestia remarked in an almost offhand fashion. The casualness and certitude of her tone drew a glare from Luna.

“Perhaps you do not understand, sister. The magic of the gem is designed to destroy.”

“I understand very clearly, I think.” Celestia looked to the tranquil early morning sky. “Please don’t mistake my response for dismissing your assessment, Luna. I have the utmost confidence in your skill and judgment.” Lowering her gaze again, she continued by saying, “I believe the key to answering our questions about this morning’s events rests right in front of us.”

“Then you are suggesting this device is responsible for the portal.”

“Exactly, little sister.”

“If such is the case, there is much work to be done. The device should be moved to the secure wing of the castle so that nopony may unwittingly unleash its terrible power.” Luna’s wings flapped once with a gust of air. “I shall ensure that it is safely delivered.”

“We’re of like minds, Luna. In the meantime, I will send a letter to Twilight requesting her assistance in deciphering this mystery.” The blue gemstone flared, reflecting off of Celestia’s eyes. All at once her placid disposition soured, becoming one of fervent seriousness. “And we must do everything we can to make sure this awful magic is never used against Equestria.”

Author's Note

Revision made 9/4/2014

Not From Around Here

Chapter 3
Not From Around Here

From the treetops, Clint Barton watched the world.

The morning sun hovered just above the horizon line. Enough years in the wilderness had honed Barton’s senses—yet the placid ambiance of chirping birds proved unwelcome. Barton had been primed the decisive showdown with Loki; the growing calamity above the noisy streets of New York City had further motivated the assassin forced to live with the knowledge that he had killed his own comrades. Loki had made this personal, and Barton had been more than ready to repay him with an arrow through his eye socket.

Instead, inside a nearby tree hollow, a brown squirrel happily chattered away.

Barton carefully readjusted his footing, causing the branch he was perched upon to creak. He had been on watch for close to a half an hour without changing position. Staying in one area for too long was an invitation to get caught in a death trap. A marksman with Barton’s skills appreciated this fact. He had found, however, that the rest of the woodlands were too dense to traverse. Thorny vines, thick brush, and low hanging branches made for terrific obstacles.

The chirping birds hushed for a moment, like a breeze washing across the woodlands. With a practiced hand Barton reached back and carefully gripped the composite longbow mounted on his back. He heard grass crunching beneath footfalls. Their pace and intervals signified bipedalism. This observation brought longbow and arrow into Barton’s grasp.

Barton could not see the proximate path from his perch. The trees of this forest offered no gaps in the canopy, which meant the veteran assassin had to listen rather than watch. Barton kept an arrow notched but not drawn in his bow. Unless his target appeared directly beneath him or took a climb, a clear shot remained out of the cards.

“Agent Barton!”

Phil Coulson’s echoing voice evoked a haggard exhale from Barton. Sweat droplets had budded along his forehead. Barton hastily snapped his arrow back into its quiver and slung the bow over his shoulder.

“Agent Barton!” Coulson bellowed once more. “Agent Barton, I need you to report in!”

Barton gave a humored snort. “What seems to be the problem, sir?” he called out.

Coulson’s footsteps ceased, and then continued crunching across grass as he approached Barton’s position. Barton watched as Coulson stood at the base of the tree and looked up the stalk. Even under the shade of the leaves, Coulson placed a hand above his eyes.

“You’re not going to make me climb up there, are you?”

Barton drew in a breath. He lowered himself off of his perch and dropped onto another branch below. The whole of the tree rattled as he continued his descent. As he moved, a smaller branch snapped loose and fell, clattering at Coulson’s feet. Barton, taking a vine in hand, swiftly rappelled down along the thick stalk. Letting go of the vine, he landed on the ground with a soft thud.

Coulson stood by in quiet amusement as Barton rubbed some dirt and wood splinters off of his hands. “Impressive stuff. You’ve got to teach me how to do that sometime.”

“Sure thing,” Barton said, voice straining as he stretched his neck back and to the side. He took a moment to glance down the trail. Without a signal or command, he marched ahead. “We just need to get out of here first.”

Coulson, eyeing his own scuffed dress shoes, shook his head and walked after Barton. “You know, I’m really starting to regret not bringing spare boots.”

“I’d offer you mine, if I had an extra pair.”

"Thanks all the same, but I don’t think we’re the same size.”

“So where the hell are we, anyway?” Barton asked abruptly. He looked to the trees and lush foliage lining the path. “Did Loki hide his army in a nature reserve?”

“We’re not sure yet,” said Coulson. “Captain Rogers and Agent Romanoff were gathering supplies before I left. They think we might be here for a while.”

Barton smiled bitterly. “Oh yeah? Color me surprised.”

“The good news is”—Coulson grunted after a loose vine clipped his toe—“we have most of our equipment: earpieces, first aid kits, even a few spare canteens.” A moment passed during which the only sounds were Barton and Coulson’s footsteps pounding across the worn grass of the trail. Coulson then said, “It’s still a work in progress.”

“How about our comms?”

“Only the short-range ones are running. We tested them after you left. The earpieces are good out to about twenty miles.” Before Coulson said anything else, his nose wrinkled as he took a loud whiff of the air. “This forest smells like a high school locker room.”

“Or a barracks,” Barton said sardonically. “Maybe Loki really is keeping an army in here.”

An awkward quiet stifled their conversation. Inwardly, Coulson lamented his less than adequate attire for hiking. It did not help that Barton maintained his brisk pace, even when Coulson stopped because he thought the heel of his left shoe had come loose. The delay, however brief, forced him to scramble back into position behind Barton. At least the shoes had remained intact.

A half-smile crept up on Barton’s lips. “Come on, Coulson. You usually like working in the field.”

“I thought we were going to be running around in the concrete jungle of New York,” said Coulson, deflated, “and not, you know, an actual jungle.”

Leaves crunched and twigs snapped as the two pressed through a cluster of waist-high bushes. The sounds of fabric snagging and Coulson grunting caught Barton’s attention. When the pair at last emerged from the thicket, Coulson had slowed his pace to look down upon his tattered suit.

“Was that a custom fit?” Barton asked, at last peering over his shoulder.

Coulson flinched. “Got it at Hugo Boss. The shoes are Italian leather, if you’re curious.”

The comment earned a passing chuckle from Barton. His good-humored expression promptly snapped back to stern and alert. Barton and Coulson had reached the edge of the grassy path feeding into an open field encompassed by more trees, vines, and misshapen hedgerows. The way the morning light poured through the trees gave the field an almost enchanted quality.

And then there was the wreckage of the crashed plane.

Barton and Coulson slowed to a full stop where the path entered the meadow. The Quinjet rested ahead of them; mounds of upturned dirt covered its nose, giving it the appearance of a raven face-planted in a sandbox. Remnants of the wings dangled from its body in uneven pieces. Dying wisps of smoke slinked out from broken panels across the aircraft’s frame, and once sturdy heavy armor plates creaked under the gentlest breeze. The tail had somehow avoided total obliteration.

Lacking words, Coulson folded his arms. Normally the first person to call a spade a spade, he was unable to muster the wit for describing the scene. His best commentary could not squeeze past the knot in his throat. What was there to say? It was a mess, plain and simple, and yet somehow they managed to survive. Calling their survival miraculous struck Coulson as too appropriate—or perhaps it would be too trite. S.H.I.E.L.D. agents did not deal in miracles, and Agent Coulson refused to indulge in whimsy.

Even apart from entertaining whimsy, they should not have survived. Coulson’s gut told him that before his mind bothered to break it down into logical segments. If Clint Barton’s silence was any indication, he too recognized the ridiculousness of the ordeal. Anyone could have a run of dumb luck—but not when a military aircraft crash-lands with a raging nuclear physicist onboard.

Coulson swept away stray sweat droplets by rubbing his brow. Clearing his throat of the persistent knot, he said, “Nice work on the parking job. Did you pick that up from Tikrit?”

Barton remained motionless. “There were a lot fewer trees in Tikrit.”

“Right…”

Exhaling through his nostrils, Barton moved into the field. He and Coulson proceeded around the Quinjet’s port and to its rear, avoiding to step on debris littered across the meadow. The air carried with it the acrid scent of burnt plastics and metal. One of the flaps on the aircraft’s dislocated wing popped loose with a metallic clank.

As Barton and Coulson drew closer toward the tail of the aircraft, two metal carrying cases came into view, scratched but otherwise intact, sitting twenty yards from the edge of the trench burrowed around the Quinjet. A parachute pack sat up against the cases, its contents pooled on the ground in a sprawl of white cords and gray nylon. Standing to the right of the crates were Natasha Romanoff and Steve Rogers, the latter of whom had his cowl pulled back and patriotic shield leaning on his leg. They stood close together as Rogers, occupied in providing some instruction, pointed at the unfurled parachute settled several yards away from them.

Natasha titled to the side and looked past Rogers’ frame. Her eyebrow faintly rose as she sized up Barton and Coulson on their approach. “What took you so long?”

“He was up a tree,” Coulson stated matter-of-factly, halting at the edge of the parachute tarp.

Natasha pursed her lips in amusement. “Did he make you climb?”

“No—but we played some hide-and-seek until he felt like coming down.”

“Barton, did you get a better look at the area?” asked Rogers while hoisting his shield onto his forearm.

“Not much. Wherever we are, the canopy’s pretty expansive. You can’t see a damn thing.” Barton wandered over to the stacked cases as he spoke, diverting his gaze to their arrangement amidst the open parachute. The fabric rustled underneath his boots. “Already gearing up for a hike, Captain?”

“As far as I’m concerned, we need to get moving. Standing pat doesn’t get us any closer to finding a way out of here.” Rogers gestured toward the metal cases. “We’ve got a few basic supplies. The parachute can be used if we need to make shelter. Other than that, we’re running thin.”

“We weren’t exactly planning on a long trip,” said Natasha.

“I get staying on the move, Captain,” Barton began, his arms folded, “but we don’t have a destination. We don’t even know where we are. Hell, we could be anywhere on the planet.”

“Assuming we’re still on the same planet,” Coulson added as he glanced between Barton and Rogers. “Loki clearly didn’t have a handle on things when we last saw him. The Tesseract could’ve launched us into some other world.”

Natasha placed her hands on her hips. “Wherever we are, Barton does have a point, Captain Rogers. What's our next move?”

Rogers lifted his head as his lower jaw tightened. His eyes scanned over the forest surrounding the meadow. “We continue gathering supplies and tools for survival. We need to be prepared for the possibility of being out here for a while.” Lowering his glance, he looked at the team. “Then we go and find Banner.”

Barton, Coulson, and Natasha’s stoic expressions evaporated. Natasha’s eyes darted from side to side. Unconsciously her hands slowly reached for the two holstered pistols attached at her thighs. The Black Widow readied her venom at the mere mention of Banner’s name—but even if she had a target, her fingers quivered too fiercely to be of much use.

Coulson wore a grim frown as he hunched his shoulders. He glanced to his left, staring into Quinjet’s broken open rear hatch. The dirt mounds that enveloped the hull made the aircraft’s interior like a cave; layers of twisted cables dangled from the walls and the ceiling. Beyond the wired curtains Coulson saw a bulb of unbolted metal where a seat should have existed. It was a lasting sign of the Hulk’s departure.

Coulson licked his dry lips, again struggling with that knot in his throat. One good hit from the Hulk would have made him a permanent part of the Quinjet’s wall-to-wall renovations. It was no wonder, Coulson observed, why Natasha looked like a recruit with a loaded gun pointed in her face.

Rogers sucked in a sharp breath, well aware of the cold reception. “Listen, I know it’s not ideal—”

“You want us to track down Banner,” Natasha interrupted. She gave a slow blink. “Again.”

“Since the Cube was responsible for transporting us here, Banner’s the only one who might know how to get us back to New York. The other bet is Stark…” Pain flickered across Rogers’ face. “Would have been.”

“Captain Rogers,” Barton said, stepping away from the supply cases and the tarp, “even if that’s the case, you and I both know we’re not equipped to go after Banner. We’ve barely got enough supplies as it is.” He walked until he stood toe-to-toe with the taller super soldier. “All things considered, I think we’re better off leaving him alone.”

Rogers shook his head. “We can’t leave him out here. By now his… transformation should have worn off. He’s defenseless.”

“Trust me, Captain,” said Natasha as she moved up alongside Rogers. “Banner is far from defenseless.”

“We’re not leaving anyone behind,” Rogers said sharply. His chest and shoulders broadened in spite of the fact that he stood flanked by two world-class assassins. “We got Dr. Banner into this mess; now it’s our job to get him out. There’s no walking away from that.”

Natasha raised her chin as the look around her eyes tightened. “And what if he says no?”

Rogers slowly shifted to face Natasha. He countered her glare with one of his own. “Either we leave here as a team, or we’re not getting out of here at all.”

“Does anyone else smell that?”

The trio of soldiers turned and stared at Phil Coulson with a mixture of confusion and annoyance, as if he had walked into a party uninvited. Rather than placate their befuddlement, he held up a finger and jutted it upward for emphasis.

“Seriously.” Coulson brought his other hand over his nose. “Something reeks.”

Rogers, Barton, and Natasha tentatively lifted their noses and quietly sniffed the air. Scents associated with the wrecked Quinjet were the most obvious; due to familiarity, vehicle oil, rubber, and plastic lacked their once pungent stench. None of those smells stood out as odd.

Then Natasha choked out a cough. She drew a hand over her mouth and nose in a desperate attempt to rid herself of a new and powerful odor flooding into her throat. Water built up in her eyes as she bent over and hacked out some spittle. The awful smell packed the punch of surprise, mixing in with the aroma of melted rubber.

“Good God!” Rogers exclaimed in disgust, shaking his head, that same stench having now hit him.

“Nat!” Barton leaned over and placed a hand on Natasha’s back. “You okay?”

Panting heavily, she glanced up at Barton and offered a weak smile. “I’m good. I just… just wasn’t expecting it.”

Barton’s face wrinkled in a combination of a smirk and revulsion. “Yeah, it’s pretty bad.”

“What on earth is that smell?” asked Rogers. “It can’t be from the crash. If it were, we would’ve caught it earlier.”

“Coulson and I picked up a smell like this one back in the forest,” said Barton as he helped Natasha stand upright. He rapidly rubbed his nose with the back of his fist and snorted. “Thought it was a dead animal.”

“Definitely smells like something died,” Coulson remarked in a muffled voice, hand still pressed against his nose.

A doglike howl echoed out from the wilderness. The sound blanketed the meadow from all directions. Barton and Natasha promptly stepped away from one another, their footfalls quiet on the loose dirt. Natasha unclasped her pistols from their holsters with a click; Barton brought his longbow into his hands. With his thumb he snapped the metal switch of the laser aiming device mounted on the bow’s grip. A red dot instantly appeared at his feet.

Yet another yowl shook the air—this time closer, practically right on top of the team. Coulson had his pistol drawn but lowered toward the ground. The scraping of his heels made him flinch as he tried moving closer to his comrades. He took slow, steady breaths, ignoring the discomfort caused by the ever-present stench.

Rogers drew his shield close while tightening its straps around his forearm. He listened to the distinct yipping and growling of canines. The chirping birds in the forest hushed into total silence. Rogers felt uneasiness filling his chest; his hands tightened into balled fists. His instincts as a soldier warned him of a threat that amounted to more than a few stray dogs on the prowl.

“Wolves?” Rogers asked.

“I thought wolves didn’t hunt people,” Natasha murmured over her shoulder at Barton. She raised both pistols to either side of her head, clicking the safeties.

Barton slipped an arrow out of its quiver and into one hand. “They don’t.”

The sounds of excited growls shot out from the tree line opposite the Quinjet’s tail. Four pairs of green lights flickered within the darkness of the forest. The glowing slits sat closely together, shifting like floating disembodied spirits. Emerging from the underbrush, a quartet of wolf-like beings skulked out into the grass, no more than 200 yards from the Quinjet. Each creature moved with the stalking precision of a typical wolf; yet their bodies were brown and gangly, as though they were handmade from dark oak logs. Their wooden fangs and claws looked amply sharp enough to rip through flesh and bone.

Natasha, raising her pistols at the creatures, tilted her head back halfway over her shoulder. “Guys, what the hell is that?”

“No idea,” Barton stated, his longbow lowered but primed with an arrow. “But it looks like they’re sizing us up pretty good.”

“Whatever they plan on doing, we need to hold our ground,” said Rogers, his voice firm but quiet. “This area isn’t going to give us any cover, so we’re going to need to hit hard and early if they come at us. Barton, I want you on overwatch. The top of the aircraft should give you a full view of the field. Pick ‘em off if you have a clear shot.”

Barton nodded. He turned and rushed over to the Quinjet, his boots thumping across the dirt. The commotion provoked growling from the wolves. They paced about in a small circle, glares fixated on the assembly of humans.

Rogers hunkered down into a squat as he primed his shield in front of his body. “Romanoff, Coulson—you two are on me. Don’t fire unless those things make the first move. If they manage to get in close, I can knock them back.”

“You got it, Captain,” Coulson said, pulling up alongside Natasha to take position behind Captain America. He eyed the snarling wolves, all four of which had lowered their bodies and begun scraping at the ground with their claws—a clear sign they were ready to pounce.

Natasha cocked her head toward Coulson. “I guess you were right about this not being Earth.”

Coulson, forcing a smile, leveled his gun’s sights on the wolves. “I really wish I wasn’t.”

“Captain!” Barton hollered from atop the Quinjet’s tail. The sound of his voice set off the wolf pack into a barking fit. Barton drew an arrow and pointed the metal tip at the agitated pack. Settling one knee onto the dirtied armored hull, he murmured, “Just say the word.”

In an eruption of feral roars, three of wolves leapt side-by-side into a sprint. They charged the humans head-on in a straight line. Their claws tore through the bare grass as they picked up speed.

The sole wolf that did not join its pack held back by the tree line. It silently lurked about by the meadow’s edge and watched the charge.

Repeated cracks of pistol fire smothered the roars. Bullets whizzed over the wolves’ heads. One of the wolves shrieked as its left foreleg suddenly shattered. The creature, taken by its own momentum, tumbled headlong into the ground as its wooden form crumpled into pieces. A small cloud of green gas rose from the remains.

The remaining pair of wolves slowed under the hail of bullets. Two snaps from each of Natasha’s pistols tore through the other wolf’s jaw. The creature stopped to juggle its dangling jowl with its paws before another round tore apart its flimsy maw. A weak, defeated sob rose from the back of the wolf’s throat before its body collapsed into a pile of logs.

The last charging wolf skidded into a full stop. It lowered its head and shoulders in doglike submission. A bullet through the shoulder forced it to stumble backwards. With a yelp the creature retreated clumsily back toward the edge of the woods.

“That’s enough! Cease fire!” Rogers shouted above the gunfire. “They got the message.”

As commanded, Natasha stopped firing. A haze of smoke lingered in front of her as she reloaded her pistols. “Not exactly like the shooting range, huh?”

Coulson lowered his own weapon. “Yeah. Normally the targets aren’t trying to rip your throat out.”

Overlooking the battlefield, Barton kept his bow drawn and arrow ready. Only two wolves remained intact, one of which continued pacing by the woodline. He measured its limbs and stride. One shot into the shoulder socket would send it to the ground; from there he could either put an arrow through its skull or sever the neck from its body. Barton, however, was not going to waste arrows on potshots if he could help it.

Barton’s eyes flickered as sweat tickled the bridge of his nose. He waited for the straggler to try and make up for their losses. “Come on,” he mumbled. “What the hell are you waiting for?”

The steel frame of the Quinjet rocked. Barton’s breath stopped midway in his throat. Doglike growling from behind gave the game away.

“Shit!”

Clanking footfalls descended upon Barton. Spinning around on his knee, he fired an arrow at the incoming wolf and hit its shoulder. The creature barreled through the shot, slamming its head into Barton like a battering ram.

Rogers, Coulson, and Natasha spun around to see Barton and the wolf fall from the Quinjet and hit the ground with a thump and a crack. With the creature falling off by his side, Barton turned over on his back and moaned. Pain shot up along his spine like a flame, burning every nerve ending in its path. The worst of the throbbing seized Barton’s left arm.

Whether bone was fractured or broken mattered little; so long as Barton could not use his arms, he knew he was dead weight on the battlefield.

The wolf rose but stumbled, unable to press the attack. Its glowing eyes flickered as it tried to regain its bearings by smacking the side of its own skull with a paw. Again alert, the wolf caught sight of Barton writhing on the ground. The creature growled as it bared its fangs and stalked toward the wounded man.

The sounds of feet shuffling prompted the wolf to stop. Coulson maneuvered around the creature’s right and Rogers to its left. Natasha, however, retreated only few small steps, remaining in front of the wolf. Her presence earned several snapping barks.

“I don’t have a clear shot!” Coulson shouted, training his sights on the wolf. “Agent Romanoff, how is it on your end?”

Natasha, still silent, gently leaned from one side to the other. Each angle posed the potential of hitting Barton. He had no protection, apart from his ballistic vest. If either she or Coulson missed, she realized, Barton might not live to banter about their less than stellar aim.

Coulson's eyes darted. “Natasha…”

“Just a moment, Coulson…”

“If you’re going to act, you’d better do it fast,” Rogers said with rising urgency. A faint hum rose from his shield as he readjusted it on his arm. “We’ve got company incoming!”

Natasha stole a sideways glance. In the periphery of her vision, she could see the two remaining wolves stalking into position near their group. Once she pulled the trigger, they would launch their attack.

Natasha returned her attention to the wolf and Barton, resetting her thoughts. She had a few seconds at best. Hit or miss, there was time for only one shot.

“Nat.”

The strained yet firm voice of Clint Barton punched through the nearest wolf’s incessant growling. The creature snapped at him when he attempted to crane his head up from the ground—yet Barton did not cower in the face of the sharp fangs lingering over him.

Natasha’s face tightened with focus. She let one arm drop as she aimed a single pistol at the wolf. The creature glanced at her, its leaf like eyebrows rising with concern.

“Do me a favor,” Natasha said as her finger tightened around the trigger. “Don’t move.”

The pistol unleashed a deafening crack. The wolf’s head jerked back before its body ruptured into a myriad of logs and twigs. Splinters from the remains scattered over Barton’s chest as he lay motionless on the ground.

The two remaining wolves broke into a run, barking rabidly. Natasha whipped around and dropped to a knee, rattling off several shots. The wolves quickly veered in separate directions. One wolf stayed on course for Natasha, keeping pace even as it rushed through the gunfire.

Coulson opened fire on the wolf that had sprinted away from Natasha. A round clipped the creature’s hide, sending bits of timber sprinkling in its wake. Coulson struggled to keep up with the wolf’s winding moves.

The wolf closing in on Natasha endured the bullets slamming its wooden hide. Its gait became a succession of small leaps. With the wolf a few mere yards away, Natasha stopped firing and quickly crossed her arms in front of her head. She watched in terror as the creature roared and jumped at her.

A red and silver blur then rammed the wolf in the side with a metallic slam. Knocked off course, the creature spun through the air and crashed onto its side. After rolling to a stop, it flopped flat on its back, revealing a cracked underbelly. The wolf began wailing in agony, unable to stand.

The whirring of Rogers’ shield silenced when it rebounded into his grasp. He ran past Natasha. “Get to Barton! I’ll take care of the other one!”

“Got it,” Natasha said calmly. Without looking, she aimed a pistol at the moaning and injured wolf. Two shots later, its whaling ceased altogether.

The clacking of gunfire persisted on Coulson’s end. The wolf he battled weaved through incoming rounds. All of the other wolves were dead, and yet this one did not retreat. As far as Coulson could tell, the most it could do was delay the inevitable.

The wolf bolted ahead without regard for being hit. Coulson's shot buzzed well wide over the creature. He again clicked the trigger—but he was met by the snap of the slide on an empty gun.

Coulson glared at his pistol as if it had insulted him. “Not again...”

Coulson tried reaching for another magazine inside of his jacket, yet nothing stood between him and the oncoming wolf. In desperation, Coulson raised his arms in a last-ditch effort of self-defense. He knew, however, the jaws and claws would tear him to pieces.

Before the wolf could tackle Coulson, Captain America landed between them, brandishing his shield. The wolf yelped prior to a head first collision with the vibranium. The ringing gong that followed was almost musical. The ensuing cries of pain from the creature were not nearly as melodic.

The wolf stumbled about, entirely disoriented. Its previously narrow snout was flattened to the point where its fangs dangled out from its nose. Desperate, it scraped at its muzzle with both front claws. Nasally whines escaped through its smashed nostrils.

Rogers darted forward and swept another blow with his shield across the wold's face. The wolf bobbed back and forth in a cartoonish fashion. Rogers then reared back his leg and slammed a heel into the wolf’s face. The kick sent the creature spiraling into the adjacent hedgerows.

Seeing his work through to the end, Rogers exhaled. He then glanced over at Coulson. “Are you all right?”

Coulson’s arms remained halfway raised. He eyed the empty pistol in his hand. “I’m good.” He lowered his arms and smiled awkwardly. “Actually, that was… good. Great. Really, it was. Thanks, Captain Rogers.”

As Rogers turned around, his lips parted into a small, toothy half-grin. “Don’t mention it.”

“Oh, no. I should,” Coulson said, nodding for emphasis. Tucking the pistol underneath his jacket, he added, “If you didn’t come along, that raging hell beast thing would be making an entrée’ of my throat. That deserves a lot of mention. Repeatedly.”

Rogers’ smile faded. “We should go check on Barton.” The smile disappeared, replaced by a somber frown. “He looks like he’s in bad shape.”

Coulson’s fidgeting stopped. Like Rogers, he adopted a composed expression of concern. “Right. Lead the way, Captain.”

By the time Rogers and Coulson started on their walk toward the Quinjet’s tail, Natasha was already tending to Barton. Helped onto his feet and leaning on Natasha, he squeezed his eyes and mouth tight. His cradled his wounded arm cradled against his chest. As Barton tried supporting his own weight, he let out a hiss. Nerves tingled with fresh pain, intensifying the spasms in the wounded arm.

“Goddam,” Barton groaned, face flushing red. Seeking an outlet for his pain, he kicked a wooden log belonging to the corpse of the wolf that attacked him. “I think… I think it might be a break.”

“Wouldn’t be the first time,” said Natasha. She smirked knowingly. “Remember Johannesburg?”

Barton managed a hoarse chuckle. “Yeah, except I didn’t cut the damn zip-line.”

“Take that up with Fury, not me. I was in the other building.”

“Agent Barton,” Rogers began, reaching a stop alongside Coulson in front of Natasha and Barton, “how are you holding up?”

“I’ve been better, Captain.” Barton gasped. Letting out an uneven breath, he murmured, “Been worse.”

“It’s probably a fracture,” Natasha said, her tone bordering on dismissive. Barton glowered at her, though it was out of mild surprise rather than anger.

“You say that like I got lucky.”

Natasha flicked her head to one side as if to shrug. “If I’d been off by an inch, you’d be dead.”

The quip drew a weary chuckle from Barton. He glanced at the timber piled at his feet. Save for a few distinct parts—sharpened claws, the snout, the trunk of the body—the creature’s remains were largely unrecognizable. “Yeah, well… I should’ve seen it coming.”

“Don’t worry, Barton,” said Coulson with genuine sympathy. “You’re not the only one.” He produced the empty pistol from his jacket, holding it aloft for the others to see. “I lost count. Can you believe that? It’s the second time it happened to me today.”

All at once, Barton’s duress dissipated, giving way to an incredulous squint. “Seriously? You lost count?”

Coulson shrugged. “I know. It’s like I’m getting old or something.”

“Let’s stay focused on stabilizing that arm,” Rogers said. He pointed a thumb over his shoulder and toward the cases. “We’ve got some first aid kits in our supplies. It’s not much, but we can make a splint out of the bandages and branches from the forest.”

Natasha rolled her eyes. “Fortunately we have plenty of those now.”

Without acknowledging the remark, Rogers stepped forward and said, “Come on. I’ll carry Barton.”

Draping an arm over Rogers’ shoulders, Barton suddenly felt like he was floating across the ground. Rogers effortlessly supported all of his body weight. The residual pain gnawing at Barton’s other joints was lessened by assistance from Captain America’s tremendous strength.

The son of a bitch was strong, Barton thought. Rogers singlehandedly cleaned house when Coulson and Natasha found themselves bull rushed by the wolf creatures the second time. Whereas three of S.H.I.E.L.D.’s best agents were almost overwhelmed, Rogers had failed to break a sweat. Goofy as he looked to Barton in his star-spangled outfit, throwing his shield and punting alien dogs made from trees, Rogers was without question a soldier. Coulson’s enthusiasm for finding the living legend alive in the ice became easier to understand, except Barton could do without the gushing fanboyism.

Regrouped at the metal cases, Rogers assisted Barton in lying down on the parachute tarp. In that time, Coulson and Natasha began pooling medical supplies. Not long through the process, Coulson stopped and rubbed the back of his head, as though he had only now remembered a long-lost factoid. Allowing Rogers and Natasha finish the job, Coulson slipped a hand into his jacket and squatted beside Barton.

“Here,” Coulson said as he revealed a white and red plastic pill bottle. Its contents clattered when he brought the container into view. “It’s not exactly morphine, but it does promise pain relief for up to twelve hours.”

“Where the hell did you get that?” Barton asked, equally amused and curious.

“Back on the Helicarrier, before we left.” Coulson popped open the top and turned over the bottle, dropping three pills into his palm. “Loki nailed me pretty good when I went after him. I knew running around fighting an alien army while doped up on painkillers wasn’t going to end well, so I took the next best thing.”

Barton lifted a skeptical brow. “Aleve?”

Coulson glanced at the label. “Tylenol, actually. Extra strength. It’s not baby Aspirin.” He held out his palm to Barton, offering the pills. “It works like a charm—unless you’re pregnant or have liver problems.”

After a humored snort, Barton reached into Coulson’s hand and scooped up the pills, popping all three simultaneously into his mouth. Barton would have preferred something with more punch, but he knew being in the field did not exactly afford the comforts of a full medical suite.

“Don’t think I’m going to be your supplier now,” Coulson said wryly. Tucking the plastic bottle away into his jacket pocket, he added, “S.H.I.E.L.D. has a strict no-drug policy. At least, that’s what I’ve been told.”

Settling his head back down on the tarp, Barton let out a grunt. “If this pain keeps up, I might start begging.”

“That’s all for the medical supplies,” said Natasha. With a first aid kit in her hand, she tossed it over to Coulson, who caught the case while crouched. “When you’re done getting him hooked on Flintstones Chewables, see if you need to bandage anything.”

Rogers, standing next to Natasha, set a spool of black paracord on the ground. “Make sure to clean his arm and keep it still. Don’t start wrapping it until I come back with wood for the splint.”

“Planning on salvaging parts from our recently departed friends, Captain?” Natasha asked, the edge of her lips curling upward toward a smirk.

“Actually, I was planning on making a quick trip into the forest. The trees around here look like they’ll do the job.” Rogers adjusted his shield, casting an eye over the tree line into which he had previously disposed one of the wolves. “Hopefully I won’t run into any trouble along the way.”

“You want any help with that, Captain Rogers?” asked Coulson as he rose to his full height.

“No. The two of you remain here with Barton.” Leaning over one of the cases, Rogers grasped a plastic oval object, one no larger than a dime, and wedged it into his right ear. “If something comes up, we’ll use our radios. I’ll try to maintain line of sight on the clearing. I shouldn’t be any longer than five minutes, but if I’m delayed, I’ll give a call.”

Rogers started backing away from the group and for the forest when a long howl froze him in place. Coulson and Natasha joined Rogers in looking skyward, their faces etched with concern.

“More of them?” Rogers asked.

Natasha clasped her pistols. “You might want to take rain check on your trip, Captain.”

Wood clacking against wood, accented by an eerie hum, picked up where the howling left off. The scattered remains of the wolves levitated within a green aura. The floating timber began assembling themselves into coherent forms. From inside darkened eye sockets, green light flickered back to life. After a brief pause, joints and limbs snapped into place.The reanimated bodies shifted and adjusted to break the dormancy of death which had frozen them.

“Great,” Coulson muttered. He clicked a fresh magazine into his pistol. “They’re back for seconds.”

The wolves growled as they paced into a wide ring around the humans. The team responded by closing ranks around Barton, with Coulson and Natasha facing in one direction as Rogers stood back-to-back with them. The snarling, fang-bearing wolves held their ground.

“I don’t suppose you’ve got a plan for this one, Captain?” Barton called out as he tried propping himself onto his good elbow. Gasping in pain, his head thumped back on the tarp. He promptly slammed a fist against the ground. “Damn it…”

Growling from afar added to the wolf pack's sounds. Emerging from the underbrush was the fifth and final pack member, the one whose destruction by Rogers’ boot was but a memory. Like all the others, the wolf had stepped out into the clearing fully restored. It threw its head upward and roared to announce it had returned. The rest of its brethren acknowledged the cry with howls of their own. After the shared cries ebbed, the wolf joined the pack in tightening the circle around their prey.

“The gang’s all here now,” Natasha said. Her pistols shifted between separate targets. “How do we handle this?”

“Same as last time,” Rogers stated firmly. “We keep our formation tight, our fire concentrated.” He inched closer to Coulson and Natasha. “On my mark, both of you take out the three in front of you; I’ll take the two on my side.”

Looking at Rogers out of the corner of her eye, Natasha arched a brow. “What’s the plan if they get back up? Keep shooting them?”

Rogers grimaced and shook his head. “We’ll worry about that later.”

“Agent Romanoff,” Coulson spoke up, “how much ammo did you bring?”

“Enough to get the job done.” Natasha cast an eye on him, sincerely curious when she asked, “Why? Do you need spares?”

“Well, if it’s not too much trouble…”

The wolves closed the gaps in their ranks, converging in from every direction.

All five pack members then halted. Simultaneously each creature placed a blocky set of claws forward and craned their necks low. More green clouds of foul-smelling gas jetted out from their mouths and smothered the team, eliciting light coughs from both Barton and Coulson.

Grunting through the fumes, Rogers scowled. “On my mark…”

A monstrous roar from beyond the wilderness forestalled the impending fight. The wolf pack's growling dissolved into whimpers and widened expressions of alarm. The creatures lifted their snouts up toward the sky. They then slowly backed away from the humans they had encircled.

The distant roar did not have time to taper off into total silence. Another guttural bellowing shook the meadow, its second iteration sounding more like a bear’s cry. Squawking birds took flight out of the trees. The five wolves made haste and scampered past their human foes, not content to even offer a passing glance. Crying in terror, the whole of the pack vanished into the thick hedgerows.

“What on Earth…?” murmured Rogers, gaze turned aloft and face scrunched.

Coulson slowly lowered his pistol, listening to the roar wane into a distant rumble. “I think we might’ve pissed off a bigger one.”

“Bigger one?” Barton’s eyes widened. “They get bigger?”

“It’s him.”

The three men looked to Natasha. Instead of an explanation, they found her locked in place, her arms shaking. Natasha’s lips were partly agape, her skin pale.

“Him?” Rogers let his question linger. “You mean Banner?”

“Banner?” repeated Coulson. “Why would Banner come back?”

“I don’t know,” Natasha stated. The quivering irritation in her voice betrayed her anxiety. “But it’s…”

The snapping of wood interrupted Natasha. She and Coulson turned toward the tree line behind them, their aim drawn by leaves crunching beneath slow, deliberate steps. The darkness of the forest, however, obscured any visible signs of life.

“That doesn’t sound like Banner,” Rogers whispered. “We’d hear him coming a mile out.”

“Check the trail,” Barton said.

Coulson glanced at Barton, silently acknowledging his advice. He peered at the Quinjet’s port side, barely able to see past its massive frame. “I’m coming up empty. Captain Rogers, Agent Romanoff—do you see anything?”

Attentively scanning that area as well, Rogers’ head jolted in recognition. “There! I’ve got movement off the port!”

“Now I see it,” Coulson said, training his sidearm.

A pair of pistols pulled up alongside Coulson, much to his pleasant surprise. Natasha’s face lacked its natural flush, but her focus had returned. “I’ve got it, too.”

“Well, at least it doesn’t sound like the Big Guy,” Coulson said in grim consolation.

Natasha glared at him passingly. “Somehow that still isn’t comforting.”

“Sorry.”

“Quiet!” Barton whispered sharply.

The team watched as a silhouette—a small one, certainly not human—trotted out from beside the Quinjet. The figure’s footfalls clomped in a steady yet measured progression. As the creature moved out of the morning shade cast by the Quinjet, it revealed itself draped in a brown cloak. A ray of sunlight glinted off gold objects wrapped around its right foreleg.

Rogers held up a hand. “Stop right there! That’s far enough!”

To Captain America’s surprise—to everyone’s surprise—the creature halted. Even in plain view, the hood it wore shrouded its face, save for the tip of a gray snout sticking out from the shroud of its cloak. The furry maw was unlike that of the wolves, as were its legs and hooved feet. The creature steadied itself, its black hooves scraping softly through some of the small lumps of dirt bordering the Quinjet.

“Uh…” Rogers’ lips parted but released only a stuttered breath. “Identify yourself.”

The small creature’s head cocked to the side, as if mirroring the curiosity of its human counterparts. “Why must that shield be strapped to your arm? Away with those weapons, for I mean you no harm.”

The birdsongs in the trees regained their former life, serving as a backdrop for the stunned silence that absorbed the entire team. They stared at the creature whose inflection sounded melodic, like an amalgamation of nondescript African and Caribbean accents. Natasha and Coulson lowered their guns slightly, sharing bemused squints. Rogers’ arm and shield drooped down to his side, his eyebrows furrowed and jaw locked.

“Thank you so much for showing some trust,” the creature said, effortlessly maintaining its vaguely sing-song tone. “For when trekking through the Everfree, trust is a must.”

“Everfree?” Rogers repeated. “Is that where we are?”

The creature did not reply. Instead it craned its head downward, manipulating its hoof to clasp the hem of its hood. The cloak pulled away to reveal an equine-like being bearing resemblance to a diminutive zebra. Its coat bore a vibrant pattern of dark and light gray stripes; the mane, striped like the rest of the coat, was spiked into a style reminiscent of a mohawk. Five gold hoops were wrapped around its neck. A large hooped earring of the same color dangled from the creature’s right ear.

The zebra arched an eyebrow—or at least lowered one eyelid more than the other one. Its cyan eyes were larger than those of a typical equine. Equally unlike a horse or pony, this creature retained a human like gaze of recognition; it showed discernible attentiveness in its quiet study of the entire group.

An intrigued hum rose from the back of the zebra’s throat. “With a closer look, this much is clear: the four of you are not from around here.”

Natasha gave a tight shake of her head. “No. No we’re not.” Her growing wariness led her to frown. “And who—or what—are you supposed to be?”

“As for a name, Zecora will do,” the zebra said. It tilted its head forward, casting greater scrutiny upon the group. “Now, if I may ask, who are all of you?”

Rogers, though unable to make sense of what was happening, did not hesitate in stepping out in front of the group. “Captain Steve Rogers… ma’am.” He paused, tacitly seeking confirmation about the zebra’s gender. When Rogers received a nod from Zecora, he continued. “These are Agents Romanoff, Coulson, and Barton.”

“We’re from out of town,” Coulson added, tucking away his pistol. “Way out of town, really.”

Zecora’s muzzle tightened into a mild frown, her eyes shifting to her left side. The Quinjets remains towered over her. “From my home in the forest, I saw the sky light up with a flash. Soon afterward I heard a very large crash. That what fell was so gigantic”—Zecora gulped loudly—“I see now why the animals were in a panic!”

“That explains the run-in with some of the local wildlife,” Natasha remarked to Rogers as she shoved her weapons into their holsters.

Rogers swiveled his head upward. “Speaking of which, we shouldn’t stay out here in the open. From the sound of it, there might be something big coming our way. I don’t want us sticking around to find out what it is.”

Zecora looked at Rogers. “You, too, heard that awful sound?” She then shook her head, cryptically adding, “Be at ease, Captain, for there’s nothing inbound.”

“Enough with the Sam-I-Am,” Natasha snapped. “What are you saying exactly?”

“Please don’t be so angry, my dear!” Zecora exclaimed. She began to tread rearward, head lowered and ears folded back. “The source of the roaring stands right here.”

Rogers shot a wide-eyed glance at Zecora. “You made that sound?”

“Well, that’s reassuring,” Barton muttered.

Halting in place, Zecora nodded tepidly in response to Rogers. “It’s no secret that timberwolves won’t flee, unless faced with a larger enemy. With that in mind, I played on their fears, conjuring the roar when an Ursa major appears.”

“An Ursa major.” Natasha uttered the term like she were repeating a bad punchline. “What? You have space bears, too?”

“That doesn’t sound so crazy, actually,” said Coulson, addressing the subject with a tone of genuine consideration. Apart from a brief, sympathetic smile from Zecora, he was met by stares and raised eyebrows. Coulson’s mouth wrinkled in mild embarrassment. “I only mean to say it’s not totally outlandish, all things considered. They’ve got wolves made of trees called ‘timberwolves’. Space bears might exist.”

Rogers blinked. “Aside from… space bears, what else is around here?” His eyebrows knitted in growing bewilderment. “And where exactly are we?”

From the bowels of the wilderness, a long howl added a foreboding footnote to Rogers’ inquiry. The glow of the sun disappeared behind a passing cloud, casting a long shadow over the meadow.

Frown deepening, Zecora said, “It is not wise for us to stay, when timberwolves are on their way.”

“Time’s running short,” said Rogers as he locked a stare onto Zecora. “Can you tell us where we can go for supplies?”

Zecora’s ears again folded back over her head, and she glanced toward the path from which she came. With the weapons the team carried and their less than receptive temperament, it occurred to Rogers why she might have second thoughts. Loki, Stark, and even Thor had been off-putting from the moment Rogers first encountered them, with Loki being the most malevolent. But each man treated whatever place they set foot in as an arena, and they demanded that everyone else pay homage to their presence.

Were the rest of them really all that different right now?

Rogers took note of the spent shell casings that littered the field. He remembered Banner’s blunt appraisal during the confrontation on the Helicarrer: S.H.I.E.L.D., the Avengers—whoever they were supposed to be—had a way of dragging bystanders into their fights. Their team was armed, rude, and curt. Good intentions could not excuse the way they struck fear into this talking zebra, strange though she was. Regardless of her origins, she did not deserve to be bullied.

Softening the tension locking his jaw, Rogers sank down to one knee and rested his shield against his thigh. He leaned forward with a measure of care. “Zecora, we’re a long way from home, and we aren’t going to last long out here in the woods. You’re the only person we’ve met so far who can give us a fighting chance.” Rogers let out a breath of somber resignation. “I’m sorry for the trouble we’ve caused you, but we need your help.”

Zecora allowed her nervous hooves to settle and gaze to meet with that of Steve Rogers, but her frown endured. “It can be difficult even for me, to find supplies in the Everfree.”

Rogers glanced away and softly pounded a fist against his own thigh. “Is there anyone else who could help? We’re not looking to impose. Our priority is getting out of here as soon as possible.”

“Just a few things and we’d be out of their hair,” Coulson said. He paused. “Or mane. Whichever they have.”

Zecora tapped a hoof against her chin. Humming to herself for several seconds, her ears perked up and her brow rose gently.

“Beyond this forest there is a safe place that might furnish you with some space.” She turned and pointed a hoof toward the path leading into the meadow. “And at the end of this trail and through the weeds, there lives a shy pony who can tend to your needs.”

“Really?” Rogers offered a grin, buoyed by hope. “Can you take us there?”

“I can lead you— and why would I not?” Zecora cast a cautious but earnest smile over each of the humans as she approached them. “There’s no sense leaving you in this unfortunate spot.”

Rogers’ chest rose as he smiled, relieved of an oppressive weight. “Zecora, I can speak for all of us when I thank you for lending us a hand. It’s very much appreciated.”

Expression impassive, Coulson tilted his head toward Natasha and whispered, “Wouldn’t it be ‘hoof’?”

Natasha opened her mouth to speak, but then snapped it shut. In lieu of saying nothing, she folded her arms.

Zecora was oblivious to the exchange happening behind Rogers when she stopped a few feet in front of him. Her nostrils flared as a faint but recognizable rotting scent filled the air. “I hope your thanks are not misplaced, but now is the time for us to make haste.”

“I agree,” said Rogers. “Zecora, I need you to give me a rundown on that trail before make the hike. The more we know, the better we can prepare for the terrain and possible chokepoints.” Remaining on a knee, he looked and pointed at Coulson and Natasha. “One of you should grab whatever supplies you can carry. Take only what’s essential: medical supplies, canteens, and rations. The other should go ahead and bandage Barton. You won’t have time for a proper field dressing, so do your best to make sure that arm is clean and stable. Let’s aim to be out of here in five.”

Natasha glanced at Coulson. “Do you want to keep playing doctor?”

“Sure,” he said. “It’ll cut down on the paperwork.”

With Rogers listening intently to Zecora’s instructional rhymes and Natasha corralling the provisions amassed onto the parachute tarp, Coulson picked up the first aid kit at his feet and started unraveling its contents. Barton kept a watchful eye on Coulson as he knelt to assemble medical scissors and rolls of gauze. Under Barton’s unerring stare, Coulson fussed with a pack of antiseptic wipes. Finally he looked up at Barton.

“All right,” Coulson said, letting the plastic packs crinkle between his fingers. “Is this about the space bears thing? I honestly didn’t think it was likely. More like a possibility.”

Barton’s expression went unchanged.

“Or is it the rhyming zebra?” Coulson looked over his shoulder. He lingered in watching Rogers gesticulate and Zecora nod in approval. “She seems nice enough. Honestly, if all she does is talk like Dr. Seuss—”

“Coulson,” Barton interrupted.

Coulson turned to Barton. “Yeah?”

“Before I let you start wrapping me up,” Barton said, nodding at the rolls of gauze and medical tape, “I want you to answer one question.”

“Go for it.”

Air rushed through Barton’s nostrils and his eyes flickered. “What the hell was in those pills?”

Author's Note

Revision made 9/4/2014

You've Got a Condition

Chapter 4
You’ve Got a Condition

Bruce Banner’s eyes fluttered open. The light blue field of a blurry sky was the first sight to greet him. His skin tingled with goose bumps from a breeze that carried over his body. Banner had awoken one too many times just like this not to know what had happened, though repetition never lessened the subsequent sickening slushing in his stomach after he lost control.

Letting out a shaky breath, Banner slapped a hand over his eyes, attempting to rub out the tingling soreness. Bile continued snaking up to his throat. Any effort to stand and the last of the snacks Stark shared with him on the Helicarrier would end up in a puddle on the ground. Rather than risk making a mess, Banner remained flat on his back, permitting the cold soil to rob his body of remaining heat.

Soon he would have to rise, but not yet.

The upside to all of this was that Banner remained alone. Sometimes the Other Guy did not grant him the privilege of waking up in a quiet, isolated place; sometimes Banner had to spit out the acid lurking in the back of his mouth and scramble for shelter. But the chirping of birds and leaves swishing with the wind assured him he could take the time to reset before running again. Fresh air washed over him—a welcome sensation that soothed Banner’s stormy stomach.

“What is this thing?”

Banner’s chest squeezed at the sound of an unfamiliar voice. The receding bile surged upward yet again under renewed tension. He carefully lifted his hand away from his face, allowing a glint of sunlight to hit his sensitive eyes. Banner squinted through the blurriness that saturated his vision, but the blue sky was overcome by colorful shapes hovering about him. Though they were close, their distinctive features throbbed in and out of focus.

A red and pale yellow figure leaned over Banner. “I think it’s alive, you guys!” Its voice was like that of a child with a southern accent.

A being to his left, colored pale and topped with shades of pink and purple, hummed as if in thought. “It looks like it’s really hurt, though.”

“Let’s find out,” said another visage, one that stood at Banner’s right side, its scratchy voice brimming with self-assurance. As the figure lurched closer, its orange and purple colors consumed the entirety of Banner’s sight. “Hey! Are you okay?”

Banner’s lips parted, but a glob of saliva slipped its way into his windpipe. He covered his mouth and coughed, trying his best not to spew spittle upon whoever was speaking to him. The creature immediately jolted back along alongside its two compatriots, yet the trio did not retreat.

“I guess that’s a maybe,” said the orange creature, apologetic.

Overcoming the coughing fit, Banner cleared his throat loudly. He smacked his tongue inside his mouth, gathering all the spit he could before gulping it down in one swallow. With one hand still covering his mouth, Banner shifted his other hand onto his sensitive abdomen and grunted.

The three figures were silent now, enraptured by Banner’s struggle against the urge to vomit. As the creatures gained greater clarity, he felt the excess tightness loosen in his chest. They looked like tiny horses whose eyes were several sizes too large for the proportions of their heads. Tied over their shoulders were red patchwork cloaks, not unlike capes kids might wear when impersonating superheroes.

Banner’s gaze darted across the three colorful miniature equines. The more he looked at them, the more his chest relaxed under pressure. Strange as the horse creatures were, they looked harmless—hardly as threatening as Loki or the US Army. It seemed unlikely they would demand his surrender or call in a strike team armed to the teeth. At least, he hoped such would not be the case.

Blinking slowly, Banner further realized that unless he was suffering from especially vivid auditory hallucinations, these creatures were capable of communication. That they evidently spoke English was in its own right a curious revelation, one that further piqued his interest. The arrival of the Asgardians had already answered the question regarding whether humanity was alone in the universe. But how could these creatures, so disparate from both normal horses and human beings, have developed such humanlike characteristics, including an identical language? Did this have something to do with the activities of races like the Asgardians?

Banner licked his crusty lips, mustering the guile to speak. There would only be one way to know for certain.

“Is this Asgard?”

The horses looked at each other, and then back at Banner. The yellow horse, whose red mane was adorned with a pink bow, tilted its head to one side. “Uh, a what now?”

Glancing downward, Banner murmured, “I guess not.”

“Are you a space alien?” the orange horse suddenly asked, glaring intently at Banner.

Banner looked back up, matching the horse’s gaze. “I don’t know.” He scratched the side of his head. “Am I?”

“Well, you are sort of a talking monkey… thing,” said the light gray horse with the curly mane, who sounded the youngest out of the three. “Did you come from outer space?”

“I might have.” Reclining on an arm, Banner eyed the little horse that had finished speaking. He stopped moving; only now did he see the short horn sticking out from beneath its mane. “Are you a unicorn?”

“Mhmm!” the horse squeaked happily. A small frown quickly replaced its glee. “I’m not really all that great with magic, though.”

“Isn’t your sister supposed to be helpin’ you with that?” the yellow horse asked.

The unicorn kicked its hoof against the ground. “I keep asking Rarity to help but she won’t listen. She’s either making dresses or going to the spa or doing other business stuff.”

“I hate to break up this super exciting chat about your sister, Sweetie Belle,” the orange horse cut in, “but we’ve got better things to talk about. You know, like the big hairy alien right in front of us.”

“It ain’t that hairy, Scootaloo,” the yellow horse said, lifting an incredulous brow.

“He’s hairy enough to me, Apple Bloom!” the horse, evidently named Scootaloo, exclaimed. It then cast a tentative gaze on Banner. “You are a he, right?”

“Uh…” Hit by a wave of self-consciousness, Banner scanned the length of his body. As was usually the case, the Other Guy had left no clothing intact, not even the tattered pants provided by the security guard from the warehouse in Jersey City. Banner quickly shot a hand down to cover his groin and crossed a thigh over for additional protection. “Yeah… Yeah, I am.”

“Cool…” Scootaloo murmured, her eyes growing wider in amazement. “A real space alien.”

Coughing once more, Banner’s eyelids squeezed shut, combating a dull migraine pricking at his temples. “Where am I exactly?”

“Just outside Ponyville,” Apple Bloom said. “Near the Everfree Forest.”

Banner squinted at Apple Bloom. “Everfree Forest?”

“We were about to go there on a treasure hunt!” Scootaloo declared. When she spoke—and Banner presumed all three horses were female, given their speech and demeanor—something rapidly fluttered underneath the cape draped over her back. “Sweetie Belle says sunrise is the best time of day to find rare loot! And boy was she right!”

Sweetie Belle pursed her lips. “Um, I don’t think space aliens count as treasure.”

Scootaloo turned to Sweetie Belle. “Says who? Space aliens are totally rare.”

“I’ve seen Rarity bring home all sorts of gems and rubies, but no space aliens.” Sweetie Belle’s voice then wavered when she said, “At least, I don’t think she has.”

Banner smiled bemusedly, watching the exchange unfold. A humored snort evolved into a snicker. He should have been scared of them—afraid of talking equines whose pastel colored coats, round heads, and large eyes made them appear like cartoon characters. But Banner had run afoul of world governments and an alien who styled himself after a Norse god; he had willingly jumped headfirst into the fray despite his better sense of the catastrophic consequences. Conversing with miniature horses and unicorns was an anticlimactic follow-through to the long-advertised invasion of Earth.

Banner’s chuckling receded when he noticed the three little horses were staring at him as though he had grown a set of antennae. As it turned out, they were just kids. They had not the slightest clue of his experiences. It was not so funny after all, then, having a laugh at their expense. And as Banner sucked in a deep breath, he understood how dangerous it was to be in their midst. His jaw locked in a flash of terror that vanished in the instant it arrived.

The tip of Apple Bloom’s muzzle wrinkled. “Is somethin’ wrong, mister?”

Banner shook his head once. “Sorry about that.” Shifting his weight, he said, “I guess I’m just having trouble adjusting to being a space alien.”

Scootaloo’s face tightened for a moment, harboring an edge of scrutiny. In an instant her expression softened as she shrugged. “Huh. I guess that sorta makes sense."

Just after Scootaloo spoke, Banner took the opportunity to further hoist himself away from the ground. Dirt scratched the skin of his backside as he curled his legs over each other. He was careful to keep his body strategically covered, greatly uncomfortable with sitting bare naked amongst children. None of the three girls appeared to mind his lack of clothing, but Banner did not take their lack of response as an invitation to be casual.

Now seated upright, Banner’s view of the environment was no longer occluded; he could see well out into the distance of a scenic landscape. The steel and concrete of New York had been replaced by rolling green hills and gentle slopes adorned with patches of trees. He sat upon a brown trail cutting over and across the grassy meadows that stretched to the horizon. Only a handful of scattered clouds threatened to obscure the morning sun.

The aroma of morning dew brought out fresh natural scents Banner had not tasted since his time hiding in the Canadian wilderness. In gathering that he was in an alien world sent a tingle through to his nerve endings. Although the countryside contained familiar sights and smells, so much more of it remained distant, as if conjured in a dream.

Yet the Tesseract’s power was hardly the stuff dreams were made of. Loki had dropped enough threats and hints for Banner to understand this place was not the home world of the Chitauri—unless Loki’s force comprised an army of adorable equines. Something had happened on Stark Tower that altered the equation. If Selvig’s device, powered by the Tesseract, punched holes in space—in effect forcing two distant areas to fold against each other—then it must have burrowed to a world well beyond Earth. And with the vacuum that had been produced by the portal over Stark Tower, Banner deduced that which was likely: Selvig’s machine malfunctioned, just as the prototype device had failed in the S.H.I.E.L.D. base during Loki’s arrival.

In short, the wrong door had been opened.

A haze settled over Banner as he rotated his neck to find the mouth of a dense forest behind him. The path disappeared into the darkness of trees and vines that formed walls of green and brown along the trail. Not even the sunlight could pierce through the canopy. But within the shade Banner caught sight of thick tree trunks broken in half. A staggered line of enormous holes in the soil ceased no more than twenty yards from where he sat. If there were any other signs of destruction, they remained hidden within the forest.

Fragmented images flickered in and out of Banner’s mind. His stomach turned over, begging for the chance to empty itself of the dizziness rising inside of him. He shook with the terror that filled him when the Quinjet tumbled through the sky. Coulson had gawked at him; then desperately tried comforting him over howling winds and waves of blue light. Banner’s fingernails tore through the straps holding him to his seat. He just wanted to get out of there. That was all he wanted. Nothing more.

The Other Guy was happy to oblige.

“So, do space aliens have names?”

Banner jolted at the sound of a voice layered in a southern accent, one coming from the horse named Apple Bloom. The shock jarred the bubbling bile building in his stomach, forcing him to lean over and at last spit out sour saliva. Air was suddenly precious, and Banner gasped as much oxygen as his burning lungs would allow. He moaned when letting go of his breath, teetering on the edge of heaving puke all across the dark earth beside him.

“Are you okay?” asked Sweetie Belle.

“Okay?” Banner hissed. His breaths dipped into shallow wheezing.

Scootaloo pursed her lips to one side in confusion. “Do you need to go to the doctor or something?”

“He might need to see a vet,” Apple Bloom said in complete earnestness. “I mean, a doctor ain’t gonna be much help.”

“Like a vet would?” Scootaloo retorted. “This isn’t like taking Winona to see Fluttershy, Apple Bloom. He needs, uh...”—Scootaloo’s eyebrows furrowed in frustration—“well, whatever a space alien needs to see when it gets sick!”

Glancing at Scootaloo, Sweetie Belle said, “Well, I guess then we’ve got to find an alien doctor.”

“No!”

Banner breathed rapidly after the outburst, having heard enough of the trio’s chatter. The scattered memories of his last rampage continued cycling through his thoughts. He did not want to be dragged off somewhere, stuffed into a cage to be poked and prodded by doctors. He had spent too much time running and hiding to be turned into someone else’s science experiment. These children, Banner knew, did not understand what they were doing. By virtue of their ignorance, they were going to get themselves and everyone around them hurt.

The fillies’ necks had craned back as their ears flattened against their heads. They stepped away from Banner, careful to offer him more space while eyeing the dirt path that led off into the distance.

“I-it’s okay if you don’t want to go to a doctor,” Sweetie Belle said, voice trembling.

Scootaloo chuckled uneasily. “Yeah. Don’t mind us.”

“We were just about to leave anyway,” Apple Bloom said, her eyes darting between her friends. “To do something. Not here. Where you are.”

In the short time Banner watched the three girls backpedal, it became apparent to him that his response had been unwarranted. As the fog over his vision further cleared and his breathing steadied, he could better see the dread in their expressions. It was exactly the kind of thing he had wished to avoid. The ignorance Banner had identified in them was not the product of underlying malevolence; they had just wanted to help him. And in feeling a breeze chill his naked body, he recognized how much help he needed.

More than anything else, Banner did not want them to see him as something to be feared.

Banner, taking in a breath, held up a hand and lowered his head. “Please. Stop.”

The three fillies froze, their faces still twisted with trepidation. Sweetie Belle shuffled herself over and hunkered in behind Apple Bloom and Scootaloo, both of whom shook in place. The two friends glanced at one another as if seeking a gesture that would signal their immediate retreat.

Banner dragged in another breath through his nostrils. “Banner.” He lifted his eyes to meet those of the fillies. “The name’s Bruce Banner.”

Ears perking up, Apple Bloom forced a weak smile. “W-well, uh, it’s n-nice to meet you, Mr. Banner. M-my name’s Apple Bloom.” She pointed an unsteady hoof at her companions. “These here are my friends: Sweetie Belle and Scootaloo.”

“Hi,” Sweetie Belle squeaked out from behind Apple Bloom.

“H-hey there,” Scootaloo said. The cloak on her back folded over her shoulders to reveal two spread wings. A blush colored Scootaloo’s cheeks, and she hastily nudged the fabric to its original position over her half-tucked feathers.

Banner locked onto Scootaloo’s wings. “You’re a winged horse?”

The flush Scootaloo wore spread further across her face. “Haven’t you ever seen a pegasus pony before?”

“Not really, no.” Banner adjusted himself and wrapped one arm across his chest. “We only talk about one Pegasus, actually. Mostly in story books.”

Scootaloo arched a brow. “You’ve only got one pegasus?”

“It’s probably ‘cause Mr. Banner’s from outer space, Scoots,” said Apple Bloom, rolling her eyes.

“You never know! There could be space pegasi!” The wings beneath Scootaloo’s cloak rapidly fluttered. “Yeah! How cool would that be?”

Sweetie Belle poked her head up and glanced at Scootaloo. “Actually, that sounds kind of ridiculous.”

Scootaloo groaned in annoyance. “The two of you aren’t any fun!” An irritated frown quickly morphed into a broad grin when she turned her attention to Banner. “How about you, Mr. Banner? You think space pegasi would be awesome?”

“I, uh…”

Banner looked in every direction aside that of Scootaloo’s eager stare, thinking of a diplomatic way to skirt their argument. Before he could respond, another surge of cold racked his sides. Banner drew his arm tighter against his body in a vain attempt to keep heat from escaping. Although the air was mild, sitting naked on the earth had taken its toll. Without moving, finding shelter, and gathering nourishment, both his body and mind would grow weak. And if Banner refused to take care of himself, the Other Guy was perfectly capable of assuring their shared survival.

As Banner lurched forward and muffled a groan, Sweetie Belle slunk for cover behind Apple Bloom. “I think we made him mad again, you guys.”

“Not mad,” Banner mumbled through chattering teeth. Shaking his head, he looked to the three girls while straining a smile through his discomfort. “I’m not mad. Don’t worry. I just, uh…” He lingered for a second, searching for the best phrase at his disposal. “I have a condition.”

Apple Bloom gulped. “Then m-maybe you should get some help.” Scootaloo and Sweetie Belle nodded in agreement.

Banner let out a humored snort—but when he saw the fillies flinch, he shook his head and sighed. “Look, I’m really sorry, girls. I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings. I’m just having a rough day. Being a space alien just takes it out of you.”

It was difficult at first for Banner to gauge the success of his plea. Apple Bloom, Scootaloo, and Sweetie Belle remained as they were, leery and admonished. But just as Banner’s gut sank with the prospect that he had failed to get through to them, Sweetie Belle stepped out into full view. She began walking over to him; though her steps were cautious, she did not wince or avert her gaze.

“It’s okay, Mr. Banner,” Sweetie Belle said softly, coming to a stop but a few feet from where Banner sat. “Sometimes my big sister Rarity has days where she gets really mad at me before sobbing about how much she’s sorry.” One of her eyes scrunched as she looked up toward the sky in contemplation. “Then she eats a bunch of ice cream. I honestly don’t know what that’s about.”

Scootaloo’s eyebrow rose as she rolled her gaze over toward Sweetie Belle. “Seriously. Your sister is weird when it comes to ice cream.”

“I dunno,” Sweetie Belle said while shrugging. “It calms her down. She’s back to normal by the end of the day. All it takes is like five tubs.”

“Yuck!” Apple Bloom gagged, sticking out her tongue. “I don’t even wanna think about eatin’ that much ice cream!”

“The point is,” Sweetie Belle continued, “that everypony can have a bad day—even space aliens. It doesn’t make you bad person. You just need time to adjust.”

By this time Banner’s mouth had squeezed tight, suppressing both chattering teeth and amusement. He nodded knowingly at Sweetie Belle. “Yeah. I’m kind of like that—except without all the ice cream.”

Scootaloo sighed. “That’s a relief.”

The repeated mention of food stirred a loud growl from Banner—not a throaty growl, but one rumbling in his stomach. The grumble was distinct enough to grab the attention of the fillies; they tilted their heads and gawked at Banner.

Looking up with a bashful smile, Banner kept his arm coiled around his body, idly stroking up and down his aching ribcage. “I guess I could still go for some vanilla, though.”

A short pause came after Banner’s words—then the fillies broke into a fit of giggles. With their laughter, the tension hanging over the whole group dispersed. Banner even chuckled—not in a bitter or embarrassed manner, but out of genuine pleasure. A hint of warmth poked through the cold that had sunk through his chest. The perpetual weight of remaining in control rolled off of Banner, even if only momentarily.

With the laughter dying down, Apple Bloom’s eyes shot open with a twinkle. “Hey! You know what? If you’re really hungry, Mr. Banner, I reckon me and the girls can get you somethin’ to eat.”

“Great idea, Apple Bloom!” Scootaloo exclaimed, hopping up and hovering on her fluttering wings.

Sweetie Belle gave an avid nod of approval. “It’s positively brilliant!”

“I appreciate your offer, girls, I really do.” Banner said, glancing at the nearby forest before returning to the fillies. “But I couldn’t inconvenience all of you. I’m honestly not worth the trouble.”

“Nonsense!” Apple Bloom declared. “We’ve got tons of apples back on my farm. I might even be able to get ya an apple pie or some fritters.” With a sly grin, she leaned in closer to Banner and lowered her voice: “Besides, you aren’t gonna say ‘no’ to a free breakfast, are ya?”

“Well, when you put it that way…” Banner scratched at his forehead. “I guess I can’t look a gift horse in the mouth.” Quickly he grunted, wiping his hand down the length of his face. “I’m sorry. You know what? That was bad. Forget I even said that.”

Scootaloo squinted. “Why would you want to look a horse in the mouth?”

"Oh!” Sweetie Belle squealed, causing Apple Bloom, Scootaloo, and Banner to wince. “I just had a great idea, too! How about we have Mr. Banner stay in the clubhouse while we go get him something to eat?”

“Clubhouse?” Banner asked. “You mean like a tree fort?”

“It’s not exactly a tree fort,” said Sweetie Belle, shrugging with her admission, “but it is in a tree. We hold our Crusader meetings there.”

Curiosity nearly got the better of Banner as his mouth opened, ready to press forth with an inquiry about what exactly entailed a “crusader” meeting. Instead he glanced down at his curled legs. A voice in the back of his head warned him they could be sitting out near the woods indefinitely if he chased down every question that occurred to him. Banner merely assumed the fillies had their own little club exclusive to the three of them. It was not a stretch given how the trio proved themselves remarkably similar to children back on Earth.

“Right,” Banner murmured at last. “I should’ve known. Silly me.”

Beaming brightly, Sweetie Belle said, “The clubhouse is the perfect place. It’s definitely a lot safer than staying out here in the Everefree Forest.”

“Yeah,” Scootaloo added while moving several steps closer to the forest. “The Everefree can get crazy sometimes.” She halted a few feet behind Banner, who was halfway turned to follow the filly’s whereabouts. “Whoa! Check it out! It looks like some kind of monster just went on a rampage in there!”

Like a kid not wanting to be picked on in class by the teacher, Banner lowered his head to avoid catching yet another glimpse of his path of destruction. Sweetie Belle and Apple Bloom advanced until they stood next to him, both of them engrossed in the giant sets of footprints that ended at the forest’s boundary. Banner’s hands curled into fists, growing tighter with his mounting heartbeat. He could only hope the three little ponies did not draw a connection between his appearance and the devastation they beheld. Banner was not a spiritual man, but he focused all the mental energies he could muster so that somehow, by sheer force of will, he might preserve their ignorance—both for his sake as well as their own.

“Wow,” Apple Bloom mumbled. “I ain’t ever seen anythin’ like that in my entire life.”

Sweetie Belle loudly gulped as her ear twitched. “You’re lucky you didn’t run into that thing, Mr. Banner. It looks like it was a pretty mean monster.”

Banner kept his head low. “Yeah. Really lucky.”

“I’m thinkin’ we oughta get goin’,” said Apple Bloom, turning around and walking until she once again stood in front of Banner. “Granny Smith should be makin’ breakfast right about now, so I can go grab some food from home. I’ll just say that we wanna have somethin’ to eat before we get started on crusadin’.”

Scootaloo bounded over beside Apple Bloom and flashed an enormous grin. “Then it’ll be up to me and Sweetie Belle to take Mr. Banner to the clubhouse!”

“Okay, okay,” Sweetie Belle huffed. She trotted past the rest of the group with an urgency that placed an extra bounce in her steps. “Can we just leave already? Those big footprints are starting to creep me out.”

“Aww! Don’t be such a fraidy cat, Sweetie Belle.” Scootaloo’s eager grin gained a teasing edge. “What are you scared of, anyway? The monster’s obviously long gone.”

Spinning around in an instant, Sweetie Belle puffed out her now rosy pink cheeks “I’m not a fraidy cat! I just don’t like hanging around here.”

Scootaloo stuck out her tongue. “What are you talking about? You’ve been scared this entire time!”

“I have not!”

“Have to!”

“Have not!”

“Have to!”

“Come on, girls,” Banner interjected, slightly exasperated. His tone never rose toward a shout, but it carried a quiet authority that silenced feuding fillies. Idly stroking his shoulder, Banner continued. “Sweetie Belle does have a point: it’s probably dangerous out here. But it doesn’t help anyone if we keep yelling. So how about we stop fighting with one another and go somewhere safe?”

Scootaloo’s head sagged, her expression drained of its playfulness. “Okay…”

“I’m sorry, Mr. Banner,” Sweetie Belle mumbled, eyes shimmering with the threat of tears.

Apple Bloom craned her head back and let out a loud sigh, relieved. “Goodness gracious! Thank you, Mr. Banner!”

Banner drew a quick tongue over his dried lower lip. “Don’t mention it.”

Dirt rustled when Banner dragged his legs and feet close together. The cold soil had drained enough strength from his joints and muscles to point where he wobbled upon his initial attempt to rise. Dust caked the skin and hair all along Banner’s thighs as he at last stood, but he concerned himself with making certain to cover his groin as he stood bowlegged in front of the three ponies.

Apple Bloom, who was closest to Banner, stepped back and gawked up the length of his body. “You sure are a lot taller than I thought, Mr. Banner.”

“Why are you standing like that?” Scootaloo abruptly asked, fully recovered from the sting of admonishment. Her head titled partly sideways. “You look like Spike when he has to go to the bathroom.”

A burst of giggles from the once downcast Sweetie Belle cascaded into Scootaloo as they tried stifling their sniggering with hooves over their mouths. For his own part, Banner could only smile sheepishly while drawing his legs closer together. The effort to mask his nudity compounded the ponies’ amusement, whose laughter soon included Apple Bloom’s. Despite enduring a plethora of far more compromising moments in the past, Banner presently found himself tingling with embarrassment.

“I’m, uh…” Banner waited for the laughter to diminish. “I’m a little cold.”

Apple Bloom let one more giggle go before wiping her eye. “Oh right! You don’t have a lot hair. Reckon it must be a bit chilly for ya, huh?”

Banner gave a nod, retaining the same uncomfortable smile. “Just a bit.”

“You can have this if you want,” Sweetie Belle said as she stepped up to Banner. Shifting her head and clamping down on her cloak with her teeth, she pulled the fabric loose and presented it to him. “Ith’s probly noht gohnna fith.”

Banner’s expression softened as he studied the cloak dangling from Sweetie Belle’s mouth. He accepted the cape with one hand, lifting it closer and scanning it carefully. The fabric was firm yet light, although the amateur tailoring was evident in the uneven stitching. Turning over the front side revealed gold fabric lining the inside of the cape that felt silky between Banner’s fingers. Given the luxurious look and touch of inner lining, Banner mused as to how an otherwise ragtag cloak incorporated fabric intended for far more lavish clothing.

But ultimately his attention was drawn to something else: the image of a yellow silhouette of a small pony stitched onto a field of blue. The depiction of the pony—reared up on its hind legs with a small cape of its own—reflected enthusiasm of the strange little equines whose ranks included a unicorn and a pegasus. Even as Banner quietly inspected the cape, toying with it in his hand, all three of them observed with perpetual keenness. Apart from being skittish, they assumed Banner had the best of intentions. Their earnestness was not in doubt—something that could not be said for the company Banner had kept for the past day or so.

Banner’s heart thumped out of sync under a guilty twinge. The bar for sincerity had been set low when Tony Stark was hitherto the standard. Banner had no idea what became of Stark, but the power of the portal that dragged Iron Man into the vacuum did not speak well for his chances. And if the Hulk—the Other Guy—did not obliterate the Quinjet when it passed through the Tesseract’s gateway, the inevitable crash would have scattered the craft across some meadow or torn it to pieces in the so-called Everfree Forest. Rogers, Coulson, Romanoff, and Barton—all of them were gone.

Banner was on his own. It was not a novel experience, but the existence of magical ponies altered the old formula. Apple Bloom, Scootaloo, and Sweetie Belle confirmed through their words and behavior the presence of a larger alien society, one which held a great deal in common with humankind. Banner was uncertain as to how he should process the relatively minor similarities, such as ice cream and apple pie—yet even those things hinted at a secure, self-sustaining, and thriving civilization.

The query that nagged Banner the most was the level of technology these alien ponies possessed. From what he understood, Asgard developed advanced tools through harnessing what was described to be like magic, although he initially found the claim of magic dubious at face value. Sweetie Belle’s explicit mention of learning to use magic, however, implied some similar power was at work in this world. In Banner’s mind, such a power begged the question: Did the ponies wield energies on par with the Asgardians? That would be one of the first questions he would need answered, if he had any hope of returning to Earth.

Banner pressed the cloak’s fabric against his palm with his thumb. Its otherwise simple design nonetheless underscored the profundity of this first contact. The three fillies standing before him had reacted to his presence as though it was part of a grand adventure. Their elders were not guaranteed to respond with the same childlike awe. One valuable lesson bestowed upon Banner after years of hiding was not to presume on the kindness of the locals for too long a time. If there was any chance for integration, he would seize it; if the ponies found him a monster, he would need to learn how to survive in an alien world.

For now, however, Banner’s foot was in the proverbial door. Perhaps these children could teach him more about this world. The offer of food and shelter was a good start. Hopefully their eagerness would not prematurely spoil the relations Banner might forge with their guardians.

Emerging from the depths of his thoughts, Banner cleared his throat and smiled at Sweetie Belle. He held up the cloak. “This is nice. Did you make it?”

“Yep! I made all of them myself!” Sweetie Belle declared. An enormous grin stretched across her face. “They show everypony that we’ll never stop looking for our cutie marks!”

“That’s why we’re the Cutie Mark Crusaders!” exclaimed Scootaloo, pressing up next to Sweetie Belle.

“And if we’re lucky, findin’ you might just get us our cutie marks, Mr. Banner!” Apple Bloom then followed Scootaloo’s lead; all three fillies crammed together in a sandwich of bright pastel colors.

The trio cried in unison: “Cutie Mark Crusader space alien finders! Yay!”

As the Cutie Mark Crusaders outstretched their forelegs and cheered, Banner gave a slow a nod. “Glad to be of service.”

Wasting not another moment, Apple Bloom turned around and pointed a hoof off toward the hills on the horizon. “Let’s get movin’, y’all! I’ll go get the grub while you two take Mr. Banner to the clubhouse!”

Scootaloo adopted a mock serious tone and expression when she saluted and exclaimed, “Affirmative!”

“Follow us, Mr. Banner!” Sweetie Belle called out, jumping up and bursting into a gallop down the trail leading away from the forest. Both Scootaloo and Apple Bloom did likewise, kicking up small plumes of dirt in their wake.

Banner, left standing alone by the overeager fillies, let out a long sigh. He slid the cape down beneath his waistline and gripped it so that the fabric would hang like a colorful loincloth.

“What the hell are you getting into, Banner?”

Author's Note

Revision made 9/14/2014.

Back in Black

Chapter 5
Back in Black

“This is so fascinating!”

Twilight Sparkle’s eyes gleamed with enthusiasm. She stood over a small wooden stool, studying the metal faceplate broken from the alien found in the orchard. The mask, although simple in its design, had once been a source of terror. Now Twilight could not help but inspect it from every angle, as careful study had revealed it to be no ordinary faceplate.

All told, this had been no ordinary morning.

With some effort and ingenuity, Twilight and Applejack, along with Spike, had managed to drag the alien’s body back to the barn and onto a makeshift table. Once Spike departed for the library and Applejack left to check on her family, Twilight took it upon herself to study the alien to the best of her abilities. The fact the Apple Family barn was hardly ideal laboratory did not impede Twilight’s yearning for answers.

Twilight peered over the facemask’s internal workings. An elaborate network of strange inscriptions covered the inner surface, reminiscent of ancient scrolls and tablets etched with runes. Twilight hummed to herself in consideration. Could it be, she mused, that this creature, though radically different from anything encountered in Equestria, possessed magic? Such a hypothesis made sense when she reflected upon the nature of the creature’s arrival.

Immersed in thought, Twilight failed notice that Spike had opened the barn door. He shakily balanced a large stack of books and a few small boxes in his arms. After slipping inside, he managed to close the door behind him using his tail.

“Twilight…” Spike huffed. “I got all of the stuff from the library you asked for.”

“Mhmm…”

“Where should I set this down?”

“Oh, you can put them down over there.”

“Over where?”

“Mhmm…”

Spike stopped and frowned. “Seriously. Not helping much.”

“Yes, over there,” Twilight said, still distracted. “Next to the table. I’ll be with you in a moment, Spike.”

Grunting, Spike hoisted the boxes and books which towered above his head. He felt his already tenuous grasp loosening. Spike’s eyes frantically darted between the table holding the creature and the copy of Equestrian Zoology Vol. II wobbling at the top of the pile.

“Uh oh.” Spike gulped. He stumbled, unable to keep up with the ever tilting stack. Stopping short, he fell back onto his bottom, causing the materials inside the boxes to rattle in his arms.

Twilight’s head at last jolted up and toward the source of the commotion. “Be careful, Spike! Some of those instruments are very sensitive!”

Spike moaned, his eyes spinning about in circles. “Yeah… and heavy.” Shaking his head, he shoved the boxes off of his chest. “Good thing you didn’t ask for your telescope.”

Twilight smiled ruefully at Spike. “I’m sorry. I normally would’ve helped you, but I’ve been able to use this time to make some significant progress.”

“Did you try wearing it?” Spike asked, pointing at the faceplate Twilight held.

Twilight frowned. “Don’t be silly. I want to inspect this with as much care as possible. I’m already getting ahead of myself by examining this without the proper tools. For instance, using magic could potentially contaminate or change its properties.” She winced at her own words. “I hope that doesn’t happen.”

Spike ambled over to Twilight, giving the unconscious alien a passing glance as he did. “Let’s see: it’s fallen out of the sky, been smashed by AJ, and covered in dirt. By this point, Twilight, I’d say you’ve got nothing to worry about.”

“That’s not very reassuring,” Twilight said in a flat voice. “But I am happy to say I have a few hypotheses in mind—nothing substantiated by thorough research, of course, but that’s coming soon enough.”

Spike folded his arms and mumbled beneath his breath, “Yeah, I knew you were going to start experimenting on it.”

“I’m going to ignore that comment!” Twilight said, her enthusiasm rebounding. With the faceplate in tow, she took several steps nearer to the table and the alien. “I’m rather certain, based on brief analysis of this object, that the creature is encased in some sort of metal armature. Furthermore, if the creature could survive a fall at terminal velocity, the casing must have other properties I’ve not yet identified.”

“So, in other words, he’s wearing some kind of super armor that kept him from going splat?” Spike clapped his claws for emphasis. “Huh. That’s pretty nifty.”

Twilight shook her head. “It's not so simple, Spike. Yes, the armor is durable—but where does it come from? How was it crafted? Although I still want to run some tests to be absolutely certain, I can already tell that this metal is unlike any substance I’ve come across in my study of metallurgy.”

“But that makes sense, right?” Spike pointed to the alien. “It came through the portal, remember?”

Twilight glanced at the faceplate, and then over at the prone creature. “I wish I could be more certain, Spike,” she said, her voice sinking. She then puffed her chest and stood straight. “But I don’t plan on giving up on this. I’m determined to get to the bottom of things as soon as possible!”

“Great!” Spike exclaimed as he pumped his fist in the air. His arm promptly slackened. “So, uh, what're you going to do next?”

“Well, since I’ve already exposed this armor to magic, I might as well see if there are in fact any magical properties to this creature or its casing.” Twilight rotated the faceplate in the air. “I’ve found some elaborate inscriptions on the inside of this piece that have led me to believe the armor may, in fact, be enchanted. That would help explain how this creature survived the fall.” She giggled excitedly. “Oh! It could even provide some clues as to the nature of that portal!”

“Magic, huh?” Spike scratched at the side of his head in bemusement. “Something tells me this thing isn’t exactly like a unicorn.”

“Quite true, Spike,” Twilight said with added relish, like a teacher feeding off of her student’s inquiries. She walked over to the table and stood at the head of the creature. “Clearly this being isn’t a unicorn or an alicorn. However, as I noted earlier, there’s this strange light in its chest.”

Spike nodded vigorously. “Oh yeah! I remember that.” Wanting a better view, he scampered over and hopped onto Twilight’s back. From there he could barely see the triangular-shaped glow embedded in the center of the creature’s armor. “You think it’s like a horn or something?”

Twilight leaned her neck up and forward carefully. The creature’s frame forced her to strain for an observation of its whole body. “It’s hard to say at this point. I don’t know if it’s natural to the creature. There’s the possibility that it’s some sort of artifact, like the Alicorn Amulet.”

Spike hugged himself and shivered. “Oh great. Don’t tell me it’s going to go crazy like Trixie and take over Ponyville, too.”

Twilight’s expression tightened. “I certainly hope not.” She shifted the faceplate over to Spike. “Could you hold this for me? I need to concentrate for just a moment.”

Twilight directed her horn at the light emanating from creature’s chest and let her magic descend upon its body. Detection spells, as she understood from her studies, required a delicate touch. It therefore helped to know ahead of time the basic components of a given creature or object. But this time Twilight was going in blind; even a rudimentary spell such as the one she was using had the potential for untold consequences.

Twilight’s magic slinked closer to the light, and she could sense the strange energy it radiated. Despite it not giving off any apparent magic, the raw power was remarkable. The more Twilight focused, the more she felt like she was straining to look directly into a summer sun.

Spike, fiddling idly with the faceplate, asked “What’s going on, Twi?”

“I’m using a spell to see whether or not this creature indeed contains any magic.” Twilight let out a breath; a bead of sweat rolled down the side of her face. “Whew! This is a lot harder than I thought it would be. I’ll need to be careful.”

“Careful?”

“There’s nothing to be worried about. All I need to do is—”

A loud pop fizzled in the air. The light in the creature’s chest flared, as did the aura around Twilight’s horn.

Twilight gasped. “What was—?”

The armor shrieked about being “back in black.” A discordant wave of screeching tones and words followed that almost sounded musical to Twilight. She jerked back and pressed a hoof against one of her ears.

“Gah! What is that?!” Spike yelled as covered his head with the faceplate.

“I have no idea!” Twilight groaned. “I think it’s some sort of message!”

“Message?! You can understand it?!”

“Don’t touch my stuff!”

Twilight and Spike screamed when the creature shot upright, its forehead and Twilight’s face nearly colliding. Twilight staggered back onto her hind legs. They shouted again before crashing in a heap along the floor. All the while the strange noises from the creature continued reverberating throughout the barn.

The creature did not notice the accident. Breathing rapidly for a few moments, the alien at last clasped a hand on the part of its head still encased in metal. After a few repeated smacks, the noise faded abruptly.

“Whoa!” The creature slipped a hand over its eyes, shaking its head once. “That was a rush.”

Twilight’s head bobbed from side to side. “You’re… you’re telling me.”

The creature turned halfway to look at Twilight, who had only begun to regain her footing. Spike remained flat on the floor, his face completely covered by the metal mask. Muffled moans rose from beneath it.

“Son of a bitch,” the creature muttered. “You’re a talking purple unicorn.”

Twilight jumped at the sound of the creature's voice. She met its gaze and gawked, memories of their past if confused communication temporarily lost to her.

“Of course,” the creature went on, “you may not strictly be a purple unicorn. Lavender, perhaps, is your preferred color. Or mulberry. Your call.”

“You’re… awake…” Twilight said. Spike rose behind her, clutching the facemask close to his chest.

The creature pointed a finger at Spike, who flinched at the gesture. “Is that mine?”

“Uh…” Spike went blank for second, taking a deep swallow. “I was just, you know, having a look.” His eyes grew wider. “I was gonna give it back, I swear!”

“No, no. That’s fine.” The creature gave what looked to Twilight and Spike to be a thumbs-up. “Keep it. I’ve got plenty of those at home. Hang it up on your wall and show your friends.”

Spike did a double take. “Uh, really?”

“Oh yeah. It’s cool. You’re cool.” The creature then hesitated. “Sorry, what are you, exactly? I mean, I get the whole unicorn thing—”

“What in tarnation?!”

All three shot a glance at the barn entrance where Applejack stood. Her teeth were clenched as she glared at the creature. She had adopted a lowered, defensive posture, the kind that signaled she was ready for a fight.

“Twilight,” Applejack huffed out. Her tone was a near growl, a fusion of frustration and worry. “I heard an awful racket comin’ from in here all the way from the house. Why didn’t you say—?”

“That one’s on me!” the creature called out, holding up its hands in mock surrender. “I thought I had my alarm set on snooze; guess it shorted out. I’ll fix it later.”

Applejack squinted back at the creature. Her frown deepened. “What are you yammerin’ on about?”

“Nothing terribly critical.” The creature’s lips twitched. “By the way, do all of you come with such cute accessories?”

“What…?” Applejack’s mouth parted in bafflement. Then her gaze drifted upward to her hat. Making the connection, she stomped a hoof. “Now listen here, buster! This ain’t some ‘cute accessory’! I don’t care where you come from, ‘cause you’re gonna show some respect all the same!”

The creature recoiled in response to Applejack’s outburst. It then bowed its head and said in an even voice, “I want you to know that, under any other circumstances, I would be terrified. I almost am, actually.” The creature broke out into a crooked smile. “Honestly, though, it’s like you’re part of some toy line for little girls and creepy shut-ins.”

Applejack’s cheeks flushed. Chortling from Spike caused her face to grow hotter.

“This guy’s actually pretty funny,” Spike said in-between giggles. “Creepy shut-ins.” He snickered. “That’s hilarious!”

Smiling, the creature looked again to Twilight and Spike. “See? I’m not here for even a minute and I’ve got a fan.”

“I get the sense that we’re getting off on the wrong hoof,” said Twilight, eying an ever more annoyed Applejack. “I think it’s best if we take a moment to properly introduce ourselves.” Twilight cleared her throat. “My name is Twilight Sparkle. These are two of my friends: Spike, my assistant, and Applejack.”

Spike waved a claw. “Hiya!”

“Howdy,” Applejack muttered sharply under her breath. Her tail flicked across the barn floor, kicking up some dirt.

Following a brief silence, the creature extended a forelimb to Twilight. “Tony Stark. Let me say that it’s a pleasure to meet you and your friends.”

Twilight stared at Stark’s gold and metallic hand. She raised a tentative forehoof. “Um, thank you, Mr. Stark.”

Stark grasped Twilight’s hoof and gave it a firm shake. She let out a small yelp, caught off-guard by the strength of his grip and the cool of the metal. It was, strangely enough for Twilight, a simple hoofshake—or clawshake, perhaps, as she mentally calibrated her terminology.

“So, I take it we’re in a barn,” Stark said to Twilight as he withdrew his hand. “Are these your digs?”

“Come again?” Twilight asked.

“Me and my family live here,” Applejack stated firmly. She then grumbled, “And you’ve already gone and made a mess of things as it stands.”

Stark’s eyebrows furrowed. “I’m sorry, I don’t follow.” He let out a short, incredulous laugh. “I mean, no offense, but all of you are talking ponies.” Shooting a quick look at Spike, Stark added, “Except for you, little buddy, obviously. You’re a… well, whatever you are.”

Spike puffed out his chest. “I’m a dragon!” Quickly the air went out of him as he looked down at his feet, dejected. “A baby dragon, anyway…”

“And there is absolutely nothing wrong with that,” Stark said, suddenly and dramatically straight-faced. “Though I’ll admit, I have seen some crazy things recently, but a talking unicorn and a dragon—and I’ll have none of this baby dragon business…” Stark trailed off into another passing snicker. “Okay, yeah, I’d say this qualifies as insane—meaning, of course, I’m the one who’s losing it.”

Twilight raised an eyebrow. “Mr. Stark, are you feeling all right? You seem to be a bit… scattered.”

“I reckon the fall has somethin’ to do with it,” Applejack said, relaxing her shoulders. “You just about wiped out an entire apple orchard.”

“Hold on. Back up for a moment.” Stark held up a palm. “You’re saying I fell into an apple orchard?”

Twilight nodded. “You came out of a portal. You’re fortunate to be alive.”

“Trust me when I say I’ve been through worse.” Stark hissed to himself in realization. “Whoa! Wait a second, wait a second. Sorry, but did you say I came through a portal?”

Twilight again nodded. “Yes, Mr. Stark. A portal.”

“And a mighty big one at that,” Applejack said.

Stark’s lips curled into an ‘O’ shape. “Oh man. That can’t be good.”

“What can’t be good?” Twilight sprang over closer to the table and locked a pleading gaze on Stark. “What is it, Mr. Stark? Is it something about that portal? Please, you have to tell me!”

Stark stiffened upright, caught off-guard. “Relax, sweetie! I’m just, uh, trying to figure things out.” He gently coughed prior to forcing a smile to assuage her panic. “It’s a bit of a long, winding tale involving a really angry alien wizard who decided one day to stick it to his older brother by trying to conquer Earth. It’s a very, very messy story.”

“See? I totally called it!” Spike, hopping up and down in place, sported an elated grin. Met with confused glares, he stopped jumping, placed a claw on his hip, and pouted indignantly. “I did call it, though.”

“Give him credit where credit is due,” Stark said, giving Spike another thumbs-up.

Twilight sighed and began massaging the side of her head with a hoof. “You mentioned a wizard before. Is he the one responsible for the portal?”

“Uh, yes and no,” Stark said as he gingerly shifted his legs. The whirring of gears accompanied each movement. After Stark dangled his legs off of the side of the table, he heaved out a wheeze. “Give me a moment. I’m just a… little creaky here.”

“Mr. Stark,” Twilight said, her voice rising in urgency, “it’s imperative that you tell me where you came from and how that portal opened. Equestria’s very existence may depend on what you know!”

“Equestria?” Stark paused. “Okay, my first guess would’ve been ‘Unicorncopia’, but ‘Equestria’ makes sense.”

Twilight’s cheeks went pink. “Please, I need you to focus!”

“All right. No more kidding around. That was the last one. I promise.” Stark waved his hands through the air, as if to dismiss the unwanted tension. Sucking in a hard breath, he shifted on his seat. “Where to begin? To be honest, I don’t think there’s a really clear starting point. This whole thing evolved—or devolved—sort of organically.”

Evidently searching for the best way to elaborate on the details, Stark went quiet. His newfound willingness to cooperate had helped calm Twilight to a point where she could at least think clearly again. She nonetheless felt a tinge of apprehension, as though he would abruptly burst into another line of rapid fire, tangential commentary if left unchecked.

Stark had opened his mouth when Twilight spoke first. “Let’s start with something basic, then: Where are you from, Mr. Stark?”

“Strictly speaking? I tend to move around a lot. I’ve been sort of hunkered down in New York recently.” Stark suddenly groaned and slapped his forehead. “Pepper is going to murder me for the property damage. She will literally put an end to me.”

“So, I reckon you ain’t from anywhere ‘round these parts,” Applejack said as she maneuvered over by Twilight's side. “These parts bein’ all of Equestria.”

Stark shook his head. “I’m afraid not, Applesmack.”

“It’s Applejack,” Applejack stated flatly.

“Applesmack.” Spike snorted, unfazed even under Applejack's glare. “Classic.”

Twilight cleared her throat. “Let me rephrase the question. What is the name of your world?”

“Nothing quite as colorful as Equestria, I assure you,” Stark said. “We just call it ‘Earth.’ Just saying it now makes me feel inadequate. Equestria. Asgard. They’re so much more—” Stark froze in midsentence, lips parted. “Oh crap.”

Twilight’s nostrils flared. “Mr. Stark, what’s wr—”

“Give me a moment here, honey.”

Leaning over to Twilight, Applejack whispered, “This fella here sure is a strange one. I’m startin’ to think he might be a few bricks shy of a full load.”

“Please, don’t gossip about me in front of my face,” Stark said in an offhand fashion. After tapping his fingers against his lips, he continued. “Okay, is it cool if I ask you a question? This may or may not be a fate of Earth or Equestria sort of thing. I only want to clear the air.”

“Uh, sure?” Twilight replied.

“All right. Here it goes.” Stark brought his hands together and inhaled. “Remember that evil wizard I mentioned, and how he and his brother—or stepbrother—need some serious family counseling?”

Twilight faltered but eventually nodded. “I do. Sort of.”

“Do the names Loki and Thor mean anything to you?”

Twilight and Applejack gave each other perplexed looks. In quick succession the two of them shook their heads.

“Nope. I got nothin’.”

“I’m sorry, but they don’t.”

After a click of the tongue, Stark emitted a single, bitter snort. “Wonderful. Figures that idiot would throw me halfway across the universe.”

“Did the evil wizard try to banish you or something?” Spike asked.

Stark’s expression lightened as he watched Spike waddle up alongside Twilight and Applejack. “Sort of. He kind of used my tech to power his artifact of doom; I tried to kick him out of my place. One wormhole later, I guess, I’m hanging out with you guys.”

Twilight hummed in puzzlement. “But why Equestria? You mentioned that he—the wizard, I mean—wanted to take over your world.”

“Yeah, that’s the tricky part,” Stark said, his voice uneasy. He tried to smirk, except it appeared as more of a grimace. “You see, this wizard, Loki, planned to hustle up a first-class ride for an army to Earth. After that—”

Loud gagging off to the side interrupted Stark. It was Spike, who was pounding a fist against his own chest in some effort to clear his throat. He let out a loud belch, spewing out green flames that dissolved into a roll of paper wrapped in a red ribbon adorned by a gold seal. The scroll slowly descended upon the floor.

Twilight snatched the paper out of midair. She unrolled the scroll and held it in front her face. Upon a quick scan, she said, “It’s from Princess Celestia.”

Stark sported a mesmerized grin as his eyes followed the floating parchment. “Seriously, do you guys do parties?”

Applejack, ignoring Stark, inched closer to Twilight. “I reckon it’s gonna be about what happened this morning.”

“Let’s find out.” Twilight began reading from the scroll: “Dear Twilight, I trust that—”

“Excuse me!” Stark piped up while raising his hand. “Yeah, sorry. Another quick question here: Princess Celestia?”

“Oh, right!” Twilight lowered the scroll. “Princess Celestia is the co-ruler of Equestria. She and her sister, Princess Luna, are responsible for raising the sun and moon respectively.”

Stark’s lips parted—but he stopped himself, snapping his mouth shut. “You know what? I’ll ask about that later. Please, continue.”

Twilight nodded tepidly. “Um, sure…” She returned to the letter. “Dear Twilight, I trust that you are aware of the events that transpired above Equestria earlier this morning. I am pleased to inform you that nopony was hurt, and that Princess Luna and I have instructed assistance be given to areas most in need.”

Applejack heaved a sigh of relief. “Thank heavens! Things sure did look pretty bad earlier.”

Stark, looking to Spike, quietly mouthed “everypony” and “nopony” several times. The dragon only shrugged indifferently.

“There’s more, though,” Twilight said, squinting in concentration. “Twilight, I request that you and your friends come to Canterlot as soon as possible. I also ask that you bring any notes you may have on portals and enchanted objects. There is still a good deal of work to be done, and I believe your knowledge and the assistance of your friends will help us uncover the cause of this manifestation.

“I anticipate your arrival. Yours, Princess Celestia.”

Applejack leaned further over Twilight’s shoulder to have a look at the parchment. “Is that everythin’, sugarcube?”

Twilight’s eyes skimmed the letter once more. She then turned over the scroll and checked the back of it. “That’s it. The Princess didn’t write anything else.”

“Okay, I’ve got two, maybe three follow-up questions.” Stark tapped his palm with each inquiry: “First, what’s Canterlot? Second, should I be referred to as ‘somepony,’ or is that in bad form? Third, why didn’t you tell me you were in good with royalty?”

Twilight and Applejack were exchanging befuddled glances by the time Stark had finished speaking. Taking note of the hint of amusement in Stark’s voice, Twilight wondered to herself if he could ever be capable of accepting the seriousness of the situation. For a creature potentially stranded on a different world, Stark had the disposition of one who was either oblivious or willingly chose to ignore reality. Twilight was inclined to conclude the latter, but no measure of certitude could make her comfortable with Stark’s antics and erratic behavior.

“Well,” Twilight started, “I can at least answer your first question. Canterlot is the capital of Equestria. It’s where Princess Celestia lives, along with Princess Luna.”

“And as far as your third question goes,” Spike said, “Twilight here is Princess Celestia’s number one student.”

“That sure is right!” Applejack hollered out of pride. “Twi’s the reason we all became friends and discovered the Elements of Harmony!”

“Elements of Harmony?” Humored incredulity dripped from Stark’s voice. “Are you like some sort of indie band, too?”

Twilight felt her ear twitch. Irritation had replaced the pleasant glow of embarrassment from the praise heaped upon her just moments earlier. “If by that you mean we’re a musical group, then no.”

“Although you all do like to sing a lot sometimes,” Spike said, shooting Twilight and Applejack a knowing grin. “I mean, remember the Gala? You guys practically sang the entire way there!”

Stark bobbed his head and pumped a fist in the air. “Party on, Wayne.”

“The Elements of Harmony have nothing to do with music!” Twilight exclaimed. Struggling to regain her composure, she inhaled deeply, afterward letting out a breath. “Okay, okay. Time to refocus. We need to get to Canterlot as soon as possible. But first we’ll need to gather the others. I’ll also need to find the notes Princess Celestia requested…”

Stark’s gaze followed Twilight as she began pacing back and forth, her speech devolving into muttering. “What’s the hold up?”

Twilight halted abruptly in place, her back turned to everyone present, and squeezed her eyes closed. She had only wanted some time to plan—a task, to her mind, that eluded the alien prone to inane commentary. Twilight had barely swallowed her aggravation when she finally turned to face Stark. “Hold up?”

“Yeah,” Stark said with a mild shrug. “Let’s go and meet your pony princesses.” He scooted forward on the wooden plank. “I’ll introduce myself, share my tale of woe, and I’m sure they can zap me with some sort of royal unicorn pony magic, if that’s a thing.” Once Stark’s feet thumped against the floor, he came to his full height. “Before you know it, I’ll be back on Earth, sipping on a latte as Fury cries himself to sleep. In fact, I bet he planned this from the start to get me out of his… nonexistent… hair.”

Applejack placed herself in between Stark and the open barn entrance. “Hold your horses, pardner! You’re not goin’ anywhere!”

Stark squinted at Applejack. “I'm sorry, are you placing me in protective custody? I feel that’s a bit of overkill.”

“It’s more complicated than that, Mr. Stark,” said Twilight, apologetic. “Remember: nopony has ever seen you before. In fact, when we first found you, we thought you were some sort of monster.” Twilight sighed. “Moreover, the next train for Canterlot doesn’t leave until later today.”

Stark rolled his eyes. “Public transportation is overrated.”

The remark drew a scowl from Applejack. “Like it or not, it’s the only way we can all get to Canterlot. ‘sides, we’re liable to scare everypony half to death if we dragged you along.”

Stark, holding his arms outstretched in feigned misery, said, “You really know how to cut a man straight to the heart, orange pony.”

“For the last time, consarnit, my name is Applejack!”

“Everypony, please!” Twilight shouted near the top of her lungs. Under the scrutiny of three stares, Twilight let her shoulders gently droop, her rush of anger subsiding. “Can we all please calm down? There’s a lot we have to figure out, and doing so means we need to work together.”

Following a short pause, Applejack removed her hat and said, “You’re right, Twi. Sorry.”

“A fair point that’s well taken,” said Stark, nodding. He clapped his hands together once. “I’m open to a plan, so long as it ends with me back at home. This barn isn’t going to cut it.” Immediately he raised a defensive hand at Applejack as response to her glare. “No offense to you and your lovely environs.”

“I agree with you, Mr. Stark,” Twilight said, moving over next to Applejack. “Keeping you here at Sweet Apple Acres isn’t a solution: it’s not fair to you or to the Apple Family. And we’ll need you with us in Canterlot to share your knowledge of the artifact that brought you and to figure out some way to return you home.”

Stark folded his arms. “Yet another fine reason, I think, to get moving.” Cupping his chin in thought, he murmured aloud, “You all need to take the train, yeah? What if I went on ahead and you caught up with me in Canterlot?”

Confused, Twilight blinked. “Um, what?”

Applejack emitted a soft, if uneasy, chuckle. “The only other way to get to Canterlot would be to fly—and you ain’t got any wings on that clunky armor of yours.”

Grinning smugly, Stark said, “Then you might want to take a step or two back, pardner.”

Stark, squaring his shoulders, marched past Applejack and Twilight. The two ponies watched warily as he moved toward the center of the barn. Spike had taken heed of Stark’s warning and shuffled closer to his friends, remaining near them so that he could have their protection at a moment’s notice without losing sight of Stark.

Twilight, taking one stride closer to Stark, bit her lower lip. “Mr. Stark, what is it exactly that you’re planning to do?”

“This might be a bit choppy at first,” Stark said to himself. He sucked in a deep breath and shook out his arms. “JARVIS, are you with me? Or are you still on vacation?” Receiving no response, he began tapping the side of his helmet. “Guess you’re a no-show. Again. Whatever. Basic low-altitude flight systems should still be operational.”

“Flight?” Twilight repeated. Concerned though she was, she felt a gentle prick of general curiosity. “You can fly?”

“You’ll see for yourself.” Stark craned his head upwards, priming his fists at his sides. “Canterlot’s on, what, the first or second left after Trottingham?”

“Wha–” Applejack gaped. “How’d you know ‘bout Trottingham?”

Stark winked impishly at the group. “Just a hunch.”

An uneven roar erupted from Stark’s armor once his repulsors burst to life. The sudden wash of air and dirt forced the ponies and Spike to cover their faces. Applejack struggled to keep her hat firmly planted on her head. The barn’s support columns and walls creaked under the newfound tension.

For his own part Stark felt a wave of relief in being able to fire his repulsors on the first go. The manual systems were already imprecise. He could likewise remember the beating his suit suffered in the battle with Loki. Those two factors combined had left him with a palpable sense of doubt.

But as Stark gradually lifted off the floor, his confidence likewise rose. Besides, as far as his ego was concerned, an opportunity to show off in front of the alien ponies was a grand thing in and of itself. Asgard and Equestria had their magic; Tony Stark could build a flying armored suit—from a box of scraps, if need be. So long as he could help it, he would not be reduced to a second fiddle.

The repulsors held steady. Stark flashed a toothy grin, hovering triumphantly in place, disregarding Twilight and Applejack’s panic-stricken expressions. “Yeah, I can fly!”

The boast was immediately countered by a dying whine from the repulsors. The white flames they emitted wavered before completely flaring out. Stark bellowed in shock as he crashed onto his back. The sounds of metal chips clinked and clattered all around him.

“Mr. Stark!”

Twilight, Applejack, and Spike rushed over to the now prone Stark. All three looked over him, openmouthed and gazes wide.

“Mr. Stark!” Twilight repeated, her voice scratchy. “Are you okay?”

Stark’s spine burned with pain. He moaned feebly. “Okay. That didn’t work out… the way I had hoped.”

“Well…” Applejack’s eye wrinkled in her search for words. “That there was, uh, certainly somethin’.”

“I’ll tell you what that was,” Spike said, grinning. “That was awesome!”

“And noisy,” Applejack retorted. “I swear, that display was loud enough to wake a hibernatin’ bear in the dead of winter.”

“I guess there’s just no pleasing everyone,” Stark said. “Or everpony.” With a lick of his lips he turned to Twilight, who continued to stare at him, both astonished and alarmed. “Wanna play tie-breaker? A 66 percent approval rating is pretty good these days.”

“Applejack!”

Whatever reply Twilight might have mustered was preempted by the shrill screeching of her friend’s name from beyond the barn door entrance.

“Huh. That sounded like Granny Smith,” Spike said, peering at the door.

Applejack yelped. “Oh no!” She turned away from the group and barreled over toward the entranceway. “If Granny sees this one here, she’s liable to have a conniption!”

Stark appeared dismayed mostly for his own amusement. “This one? It’s like I’m not even a real person.”

Stark’s comments fell on deaf ears. Applejack had managed to reach the doorway when she was greeted by the sight of Granny Smith hobbling alongside Big McIntosh, both on course for the barn.

Applejack glanced over her shoulder and whispered, “Twilight, find somewhere to hide Mr. Stark!” She turned back around to give her family a weak wave. “Granny Smith! Big Mac! Uh, what’re y’all doin’ out here?”

Granny Smith came skidding to a halt in front of the doorway, as did Big Mac. “We heard an awful racket comin’ from this here barn is what! I was in the kitchen, makin’ some breakfast for y’all, when all of a sudden there came this terrible roar.” Granny began waving her forelegs in the air dramatically. “The whole dang house was shakin’ floor to ceilin’! Ain’t that right, Big Mac?”

Big Mac nodded. “Eeyup.”

“Why, ain’t that a hoot!” Applejack exclaimed. Beads of sweat were already forming on her forehead. “We barely heard a thing. Must’ve been some kind of stampede. But nothin’ ‘round here.” She shot another quick but desperate look over her shoulder to Twilight, who lingered near Stark. “Right, Twi? Nothin’ ‘round here.”

Granny Smith leaned ahead, trying to peer into the barn. “Hmm. Didn’t sound like no stampede I’ve ever heard.” Applejack matched her movements by tilting her head whichever direction Granny looked. The older mare squinted at Applejack in response. “It’s true I’m a mite old, and my hearin’ ain’t what it was, but I coulda sworn that roarin’ came from inside this barn.”

Sweating profusely, Applejack scrunched her lips. “Heh heh. Might’ve been termites? Or birds nestin’, always up in the rafters!”

Big Mac lifted a brow. “Nnnope.”

“Applejack,” Twilight spoke up, trotting over to the doorway. “I understand why you’re doing this, but it isn’t necessary. Sooner or later they’re bound to find out. We’d just delay the inevitable.”

“Bound to find out what?” Granny Smith asked, casting a vigilant eye upon Twilight.

Applejack exhaled loudly, at last wiping the cumulative sweat from her eyebrows. “I reckon you’re right on this one, Twi. Better late than never, I guess.”

“Dangnabbit! Y'all bein’ more elusive than a couple of field mice on a summer afternoon!” Granny Smith scowled. “I’m waitin’ for answers, the both of you!”

Twilight nodded politely at Granny Smith. “There’s something—or someone—we’d like to show you. He may look very different from us, but he’s actually quite friendly and more than able to communicate.” Twilight stepped aside to grant a better view for the Apple Family. With a hint of elation she announced, “Granny Smith, Big McIntosh—I’d like for you to meet Tony Stark, of Earth.”

Only after speaking did Twilight turn and see that Stark had shifted position: he reclined on one side, grinning, using his fist to prop up his head. He appeared to Twilight as an entitled pony might in front of an adoring audience. All the while Spike stood off to the side, rubbing the back of his head in confusion.

“So I heard talk of breakfast earlier,” said Stark, who whiffed the air. He arched an eyebrow in a combination of recognition and delight. “Are those… flapjacks I smell? I’ll take mine gluten-free, if you don’t mind. A good diet is always important—especially when on the road.”

Twilight’s jaw hung open. Granny Smith and Big Mac followed suit, more confused than aghast. For Applejack’s part, she quietly slid the brim of her hat over her eyes in vain hope of warding off the situation altogether. But none of their responses could undo Stark’s wide smile.

No matter the world or reality, Tony Stark remained the master of first impressions.

Rainbow Dash stretched herself out across her bed, only half-awake in the morning hours. There could be no high-octane tricks, no dreams of joining the Wonderbolts without a full-night’s rest. She knew she needed every ounce of energy to remain the top flyer in Equestria. In her mind Dash hazily envisioned practicing her newest routine once she got up.

For now, however, Rainbow let out a yawn. She curled herself back into a near ball. Awesome adventures and daring new tricks could wait a few more hours, along with the prospect of a late afternoon nap.

Thump.

Dash’s head jerked up at the sudden sound, sending one of her pillows flying from the bed. She looked to her bedroom window: the morning sunlight barely pierced through her curtains made of clouds. “What the hay?”

As the seconds went by, Dash remained upright and alert. Distant bird songs from Equestria below were all she heard. She at last settled down into her bed, keeping one half-open eye on the window. The warmth of Rainbow’s soft sheets, however, began to lull her back into the sweet groove of sleep.

Then there was another thump that had Rainbow up and looking around again. Soon afterward the energetic cry of a familiar party pony beckoned her from just beyond the window. “Good morning, Rainbow Dash!”

Rainbow flopped onto her back and groaned. Pinkie Pie’s unmistakable silhouette was visible even through the curtains. Rubbing her tired eyelids, Rainbow pulled herself off of her bed and floated lazily over to the window. Whatever hope she had for dozing off for the rest of the morning had been lost.

Dash reached for the curtains when Pinkie yanked them apart and stuck her head inside. “Oh good! You’re awake!” Pinkie floated backwards on a bundle of balloons wrapped around her body, allowing Rainbow space near the windowsill. She clutched a pogo stick with her legs. “For a moment I thought I woke you up from a nice, deep, cozy sleep!”

“Actually, Pinkie, you kinda did,” Dash grumbled.

“Well, that’s still okay because a certain somepony thought you might be a teensy bit grumpy this morning and came prepared.” Pinkie then reached behind herself and produced a steaming muffin on a plate. “And that somepony was me! I made this myself, just for you, because breakfast is the most important meal of the day—right after dessert!”

“That’s… cool, Pinkie. Thanks.” Rainbow accepted the muffin and set it off to the side, stifling a yawn. “Look, no offense, but could we maybe hang out later? I’d let to go back and get some more shuteye.”

“Sure thing!” Pinkie’s grin faltered only slightly when she continued. “Oh, but first you might wanna pick up that hammer you dropped outside.”

It took a moment for Dash’s eyes to widen. “Huh? I didn’t drop any hammers.”

“Sure you did!” Pinkie said, shaking her tail. “I got a super-duper twitch today that was definitely you dropping a hammer. I even said to myself, ‘Hmm. I think Rainbow Dash might’ve dropped her hammer and forgot all about it!’ I’d be a terrible friend if I didn’t tell you. That’s why I came over. And the muffin. Make sure to eat it before it gets cold and stale!”

Dumbstruck, Rainbow murmured, “But I don’t even own a hammer.”

“Well now you do! Congratulations!” Pinkie swung a foreleg upward as confetti and streamers exploded from the balloons. She nudged nearer to Rainbow Dash. “Wanna go see it? Huh? Huh?”

Rainbow leaned back slightly, minding the narrowing gap between herself and Pinkie. “Sure, I guess. Where is it?”

“I already told you, silly! It’s just outside your house. Where else would it be? You dropped it.”

“But I didn’t—”

“Uh uh.” Pinkie held up a hoof to silence Dash. Her smile gave way to a serious and intense stare. “My Pinkie Sense is never, ever wrong.”

“Ugh! Fine!” Dash exclaimed as she flapped her wings open. “Let’s go see this stupid hammer that I know I didn’t drop because I don’t have one.”

Pinkie remained visibly unamused. Suddenly, she giggled. “Okie dokie lokie!”

Dash bolted out the window and past Pinkie, whose balloons spun around in the gust created by Rainbow’s wake. Once high in the sky Dash began scanning the nearby landscape. “If this is some sorta weird prank, I’m gonna get you back—”

Rainbow came to an abrupt stop when she spotted the enormous crater beneath her home. Tiny coils of smoke rose from the impact area. Even from such a high altitude she could make out the unmistakable glint of a giant metal mallet at the center of the hole. Its long handle leaned out of the ground, wrapped in a brown fabric and caked with soil.

Of one thing Dash was certain, having left behind enough craters in her time: that mallet had hit the earth hard and fast.

Rainbow entered a steep dive, coming to a stop well above the hole. She caught sight of electrical sparks arcing across the hammer’s handle. The mere prospect of a colossal, nigh indestructible thunderbolt-charged hammer sitting in her backyard sent her hairs standing on end.

“Whoa…!”

“Told ya there was a hammer!” Pinkie called out while descending slowly next to Rainbow. “Although I might’ve been a bit off, because now that I think about it, the twitch I got was actually more like two and a half twitches and a shake, which means a big hammer is going to fall out of the sky.” She sighed, dejected. “Sorry, Dashie. I guess this hammer wasn’t yours after all.”

“I guess not.” Dash turned to Pinkie, unable to hold back a grin. “But it’s definitely mine now!”

Author's Note

IS RAINBOW DASH WORTHY???

I enjoy having Stark trolling Applejack way too much for my own good.

A Subtle Aurora

Prologue
A Subtle Aurora

Perfect. Everything was just perfect.

Equestria’s skies had never looked so beautiful. That was saying quite a bit, given how many nights Twilight Sparkle spent underneath the blanket of stars. Stargazing had always been one of her favorite hobbies ever since she was filly; while other ponies snuggled underneath blankets or took to late night socializing, Twilight regularly found herself drawn to studying the celestial bodies until they disappeared with the arrival of the morning sun. Regardless of how long she spent awake through the night, she almost constantly felt refreshed after becoming reacquainted with the stars. This time was no exception.

As Twilight gazed through her mounted telescope, she could see the first hints of sunlight well over the horizon. Princess Celestia would soon raise the sun, as she always did, and usher in a wonderful new day for Equestria. For the time being, however, Twilight remained entranced by crispness of the predawn sky. Not one single cloud obstructed the waning moonlight; the darkness of Sweet Apple Acres’ orchards ensured no artificial light would obscure the view. Standing atop the grassy hills gave Twilight the feeling she could stretch out a hoof and tap the moon. It was a rare sense of complete and total ease. A soft wind blew through tree branches, their rustling enhancing the serenity.

No enormous dragons. No invasions. No vengeful kings made of shadows. Everything was finally perfect.

“Sorry for the wait, Twi. Just wanted to make sure this here apple tea was nice and hot for ya!”

Twilight turned to see Applejack trotting up the hill, balancing a tray of steaming cups on her head. She had a small but distinct pep in her step and a broad smile on her face.

“I can’t thank you enough for your hospitality, Applejack,” Twilight said as she watched Applejack place the tray on the grass. Carefully Twilight levitated one of the cups over to her mouth and blew away some steam. “I should be the one apologizing, actually. It must be an inconvenience to have to wake up so early just so I can do a little bit of stargazing.”

“How many times do I have to tell ya? You ain’t bein’ a burden, sugarcube. I was already plannin’ on gettin’ a head start on the harvest today.” A scowl flashed across Applejack’s face as she glanced off to the side. “Can’t say the same for Apple Bloom, though.”

The cup hovered in front of Twilight. “Even so, you have my gratitude.” Taking a tentative sip, Twilight hummed in delight. “This is really delicious!”

“Darn tootin’ it is!” Applejack exclaimed. She drew down a whole cup with one gulp, gasping as hot steam left her mouth and nostrils. “Youch! Maybe I should have let it cool off first…”

After a short giggle, Twilight returned to her telescope. “I should probably take the opportunity to go over my reference materials one last time. Spike, did you bring my copy of A Complete Guide to Auroras and Atmospheric Phenomena?”

Crickets chirped and Applejack desperately tried to cool her tongue—but to Twilight Sparkle’s request, there was no reply.

“Spike, are you listening?” Twilight let out an irritated snort. “Spike?”

Turning her head, Twilight spotted Spike curled beneath a nearby tree. A snore rattled out from his open mouth, and a sliver of drool dripped further down his chin with each breath. Beneath his body sat a large, weathered book. Twilight’s eyes widened at the sight of saliva threatening to fall upon her precious tome.

“Spike!”

“Whoa-huh-what-here’s the book…!” Spike shot up to his feet. Confronted by Twilight’s disapproving glare and Applejack’s amused grin, he chuckled sheepishly. “Heh. Uh… I guess I sort of dozed off.”

Twilight kept scowling; her eyebrow slowly rose. “My book, Spike?”

“Oh, sorry!” Spike hopped off the book just as Twilight’s magic enveloped it. His shoulders sank as he watched his former pillow float away. “Shoot. It was really comfortable, too…”

Applejack chuckled. “Looks like you ain’t much of a morning dragon, now are ya, Spike?”

“I prefer to sleep in,” Spike replied. He let out a large yawn. “Speaking of which, can I go back to bed now, Twilight? I’ve got a power nap I’ve been meaning to catch up on.”

“Honestly, Spike, I don’t know how you can’t stay awake for this.” Twilight began flipping through the pages of the book. “The Crystal Lights are not something you can see every day.”

“Crystal Lights?” Applejack scratched the side of her head. “Beggin’ your pardon, Twi, but I ain’t ever heard of that before.”

Twilight, still engrossed in reading, did not bother to look up when she said, “The Crystal Lights are the prismatic display emanating from the Crystal Empire.”

Applejack blinked. “Uh, come again?”

“Remember when we”—Twilight stopped and looked up, clearing her throat—“well, when Spike and Princess Cadance restored the Crystal Heart and cast out King Sombra from the Crystal Empire? And how there was a wave of energy and we all became… crystally?”

“Sure do! And by the way, Spike,” Applejack said, winking at the dragon as she did, “that was some brave thing you did to save those Crystal Ponies. We couldn’t have done it without you.”

The compliment caused a pink flush to rise on Spike’s cheeks. He teetered back and forth on his heels. “Aww, come on, AJ. You guys would have figured out how to stop King Sombra.”

Twilight smiled, her heart warmed by Spike’s humbleness. Whatever irritation she held toward him melted away against the memories of their adventures in the Crystal Empire. “I’m not so sure about that, Spike…”

“So are these Crystal Lights the same ones that we saw all over Equestria when we left the Crystal Empire?” Applejack walked over to Twilight and took a quick peek through the telescope. “How come we don’t see ‘em now?”

“As I understand it, the Crystal Lights are most vibrant just when the sun rises, or whenever the Crystal Heart is filled with a surge of love from the Crystal Ponies.” Twilight sighed as she settled the large book down on the grass. “But trying to see the display from the library has been all but impossible, thanks to the buildings, ambient light, and hills in the north. That’s why I wanted to try to observe them from a highest point outside of Ponyville.”

“Well, we here at Sweet Apple Acres are more than happy to oblige, Twilight!” Applejack’s grin was as wide as ever. “After all, what are friends for?”

“And I promise it will be worth the wait,” said Twilight cheerfully. “If the Crystal Lights are anything like they were when we first saw them, it will be a wonderful memory to cherish.” She then glanced off into the distance. The mountains of the Frozen North were barely visible in the low-light, but a small glimmer flickered across their snowy peaks. “I wish the others were around to enjoy it, too.”

“Actually, I don’t blame them for staying in bed,” Spike muttered, waddling up to the two ponies while rubbing his eyes. “I don’t get why watching a rainbow is such a huge deal. We see them all the time.”

“The Crystal Lights are not rainbows, Spike,” Twilight said, her tone flat. “A rainbow is the result of sunlight refracted through water droplets.”

“So? They’re both the same color.”

Groaning in annoyance, Twilight slapped a hoof against her forehead. “The Crystal Lights have nothing to do with rainfall or residual water in the air. If I had to offer a hypothesis, I’d say they’re closer to an aurora.” Twilight then rubbed her chin in thought. “Actually, that makes a lot of sense, if the rising of the sun causes some electromagnetic disturbance. But that still doesn’t explain—”

Twilight felt the light tap of a hoof on her shoulder. She turned her head to see Applejack, smiling sincerely if awkwardly.

“I’m sure it’s gonna be beautiful all the same, Twilight.” Looking to the sky, Applejack’s eyes lit up in recognition. “Say! Looks like they’re already starting!”

Vague wisps of light snaked through the darkness high above Equestria. They twirled through the air from every corner of the sky, winding across one another like ribbons. The lights brewed together in a twinkling aura. A small ball of illumination swelled in the skies between Ponyville and Canterlot. The brightness increased as the strands met, their tails swirling around the single glowing point.

“That’s strange,” Twilight said, following the display. “The sun isn’t scheduled to rise for another 10 minutes 24 seconds.”

“Maybe it has to do with the Crystal Heart?” Spike offered.

“It can’t be. These lights aren’t even coming from the Crystal Empire.” Twilight magically snatched up the large book she had been reading, desperate to find answers. But as the pages flipped in rapid succession, Twilight's eyebrows grew only tighter. “I can’t find anything like this in my reference guide!”

Applejack gestured to the telescope with a hoof. “Might be worth a closer look, then.”

Twilight’s face shot up from behind the large book cover, and the anxiety that had gripped her lifted as she smiled in recognition. “Right! Good thinking, Applejack!”

Dropping the book back onto the grass, Twilight tentatively pressed an eye against the telescope. A closer look stoked her confusion. The strands of gathering lights had since grown in radiance. They spun faster, producing what looked to Twilight to be a whirlpool of energy. If a unicorn was responsible for the display, Twilight mused, their origin would be traceable, but she saw no indication of a caster manipulating a spell.

The whirlpool pulsed brighter. Blue plumes poured forth from the vortex’s mouth, like fire escaping a room, to unveil a pocket of darkness. Rubbing her eye in disbelief, Twilight gazed at the yawning hole centered inside the massive storm. The energies swirled around the darkened point in a manner reminiscent of studies on black holes and spells that collapsed in on themselves. Twilight felt the leaping thump of her heart by merely entertaining the farfetched thought of Equestria sucked into a spiral of nothingness.

Applejack, sensing Twilight’s uneasiness, spoke gently when she asked, “Is everything all right, Twi?”

“I-I thought it was just supposed to be a subtle aurora!”

Spike, watching the vortex in awe, idly scratched the scales on his cheek. “I guess those aren’t the Crystal Lights after all…”

“No, they’re not!” Twilight looked at Spike and Applejack. Her ears were folded back and eyes wide with alarm. “In fact, I have no idea what this is!”

Streaks of glittering light spilled forth from the vortex’s mouth. The dazzling display arrested the trio’s attention as fresh beams flashed across the landscape. These lights were different than those which had gathered earlier, for they were smaller, faster, and hurtling down upon Equestria. The vortex spewed forth larger clusters; the skies bloomed with the fresh arrivals.

Applejack tipped back the brim of her hat. “Shooting stars?”

Frantically Twilight took hold of her telescope again. The ambient light produced by the spinning clusters of energy blotted out the falling objects. “I can’t tell what they are exactly, but they seem to be disappearing before they hit the ground.” She shifted back the vortex. “I’m more worried about knowing what that thing is and where it came from.”

“You know me, Twi: I’m not much into magic.” Applejack gave a frown with her concession. “And even though you said otherwise, all this reminds me a bit of the Crystal Heart.”

“But it can’t be! Like I said, these energies are nowhere near the Crystal Empire.” In the midst of her hurried speech, Twilight followed the path of several beams rushing through the sky. “And I’m pretty sure the Crystal Heart wouldn’t spew mysterious junk all over Equestria.”

“How ‘bout Discord, then?” The very thought of the mischievous monster and his antics sent a shiver up Applejack’s spine. “Remember how he first showed up with the pink clouds and crazy weather?”

“He’s still locked away in stone—though I admit, this looks a lot like something he would do.”

“Changelings? That Queen Chrysalis was awfully powerful.”

“And they were defeated by my brother and Cadance. I don’t think they’ll be bothering us for a while.”

“How about a great and powerful demon king wizard, with a dark and haunted past, who wants to rule all of Equestria as part of some mad scheme for revenge?”

Twilight Sparkle and Applejack promptly turned and narrowed their gaze on a grinning Spike, who proudly held a single claw pointed up in the air. Confronted by looks of disdain and impatience, he withdrew his raised arm back to his side. Spike cleared his throat and, under a blush of embarrassment, eyed his feet and said, “Well I thought it was good guess.”

Twilight rapidly shook her head. After a hasty glance back at the sky, she realized she did not need the telescope to see the display’s increased intensity. Beneath the radiant blue shade of the vortex, the falling lights poured forth in rapid streams. Many of them burned out before they could make landfall. In the midst of the volleys, an especially bright object escaped the vortex. Twilight’s keen eyes spotted the newest arrival, drawing her back to the telescope.

An unfocused lens tracked the flashing object on its descent. She tweaked the focuser in hopes of improving her view. The most she could see was the object’s rapid plunge toward Equestria. It grew larger and brighter with each passing moment.

“I see something!” Twilight angled the telescope back further. “I might be able to figure out what those little lights are. I just need a closer look…”

“Uh, Twilight…” Applejack said, her voice wavering.

Twilight remained glued to the eyepiece. “What is it, Applejack?”

“I reckon you’re right about gettin' a closer look…”

“Hmm?”

“Because that thing is headed right for us!” Spike bellowed.

Twilight found enough sense to pull back from the telescope to see the harrowing sight. The object blazed a path toward Sweet Apple Acres. A growing roar accompanied radiant light. Mere seconds separated the object from impact. Despite Twilight and Applejack’s many adventures together, the incoming object, with all its furious noise and speed, froze them in place. The ponies simply gawked in horror beneath the burning light zooming toward them.

Spike, performing a panicked dance in one place, wailed, “Hit the deck, everypony!”

Spike’s cry at last sent the trio onto their stomachs. None of them dared to peek up at the screeching ball of light that rocketed over and beyond the hill. The sound was deafening; Spike squeezed the sides of his head with his claws while Twilight and Applejack’s ears folded backwards. Twilight’s telescope rattled on its legs before tipping over onto the soft grass with a clatter. All the tea cups Applejack had brought clinked along their saucers. The whole of Sweet Apple Acres shook at its foundations.

The earth continued to quake. A tremendous crash jolted Twilight, Applejack, and Spike into the air with such force that it felt as though Equestria had been yanked out from underneath their bodies like an old rug. The sound of trees falling replaced the object’s roar. As the echo of the impact rolled throughout the orchard, a hiss swept through the leaves of the trees.

A tense moment passed without word from any of the three. On the ground and disoriented, Twilight tried to gather her wits. She stretched out her forelimbs and opened her eyes. Everything was in working order, it seemed, once the object had passed. She hoped the same could be said for the others. She rose cautiously, if unsteadily, from the ground. “I-is everypony okay?”

Applejack poked her muzzle out from beneath the brim of her hat. Fumbling the hat out of her face, she wobbled as she stood. “I-I think so. I’m just a bit shaken up, is all. How ‘bout you, Twi?”

“I’m okay,” said Twilight as she checked herself over. “I thought for certain that thing was going to hit us!”

“Y-you’re t-telling me!” Spike exclaimed through chattering teeth. He remained curled halfway into a ball, his tail wrapped tightly around his body. “S-so much for watching rainbows…”

As Twilight leaned over to tend to Spike, Applejack slowly rotated. All things being equal, she wanted to be certain most of her family’s farm and lifeblood remained intact. A careful scan gave Applejack relief; against the odds, the orchards were in one piece. She felt confident the Apple Family had been spared from a disaster.

“Whew…”

Then Applejack’s throat locked into a knot. Her mind caught up with her senses. Above the cluster of trees rose a giant plume of dark smoke—undoubtedly the crash site—coming from one of the prized, ripened orchards. The thickness and breadth of the smoke was enough for Applejack to realize not all was well after all. Equestria might have been in peril, but it did not remove the powerful sting produced by months’ worth of labor snuffed out in an instant.

“Muh-muh-muh…” Applejack found herself at a loss for words. Her gut continued to sink. The the same queasy feeling returned from when she tried to harvest the orchards all on her lonesome. “My apples…”

By this time both Twilight and Spike had gotten a glimpse of the pillar of smoke. The two stood on either side of Applejack, sharing similar expressions of disbelief and distress. For Twilight, the magnitude of the destruction indicated by the apparent aftermath was enhanced by how it hit her friend so personally.

The prime cause of the devastation returned to the forefront of Twilight’s mind. Although the dark smoke was an alarming sight, the billowing debris remained dwarfed by the swirling vortex. Its energy and size had not diminished. A blue, vibrant hue glowed across the horizon; the endless parade of small, flickering objects poured over the Equestrian landscape.

“We were fortunate that thing didn’t hit us,” Twilight stated while scanning over the orchard. She glanced at Applejack, whose ears drooped and tail limply swished. “I wish it hadn’t crashed here in the first place, and from the look of things, all of Equestria might be suffering the same fate.”

Applejack drew in a deep breath, then exhaled. With a tilt of her hat, she said, “I reckon you’re right, Twilight. Doubtful we’re the only ones who have a long haul in front of us.” She finally returned Twilight’s look. “What do you suppose we do now?”

“The only possible clue we have regarding what’s happening up there”—Twilight directed a hoof at the blue whirlpool in the sky—“is down here. That object is our best chance to understand the situation.”

“So we head on off into the orchards and see what we find?”

Twilight gave a quick nod. “Precisely. With any luck, we’ll have a means to perform a more thorough analysis.”

“Wait a second!” With a small leap, Spike landed in front of the ponies and raised his palms. “Let me get this straight: you guys want to run off and see what just crashed? Alone? Without any idea what might be waiting?”

“Well, yes,” said Twilight, lifting a brow at Spike, perplexed by his outburst. “That’s kind of the idea, Spike. We have to investigate.”

Letting out a long sigh, Spike folded his arms behind his back, hung his head, and stubbed a toe into the grass. “I get it. You and AJ are gonna handle this one.” He exerted no effort in hiding his downcast tone as the familiar yet unwelcome sensation of being left behind washed over him. “And I guess you want me to stay here to warn Princess Celestia or to see if anything else happens…”

Twilight’s quizzical expression softened. A gentle, knowing smile curled her lips. Without uttering a word, she cradled Spike’s small form with her magic. He let out a yelp of surprise but offered no resistance as he floated through the air and softly landed on Twilight’s back.

“How could I not have you come along with me, Spike?” Twilight’s horn continued glowing as she idly returned the fallen telescope upright on its legs. “You’re my number one assistant, after all.”

Spike squinted at Twilight. “Hold on. What about warning the princesses? Or going back to the library? Or standing around—”

“I’m sure the princesses are seein’ the same thing we are,” Applejack said. “Besides, it ain’t exactly safe to be standin’ around in one place, all things considered. You’re a lot safer stayin’ with us, Spike.”

A sly grin crept over Spike’s face. Cupping a claw over his mouth, he leaned around Twilight’s neck and quipped, “And I guess you know that I can bail you out in a pinch, huh?”

Jaw tightening, Twilight’s smile became strained. “Don’t push your luck too much, buster.”

Yet another swooshing roar swept over the hill. Twilight, Applejack, and Spike jointly craned their heads back and looked upward to find a giant black bird careening through the sky. Black smoke poured from its wings and tail. The creature emitted a whine as it swept over Ponyville, apparently unable to control its own flight. As quickly as it had appeared, the bird disappeared among the treetops that led into the nearby Everfree Forest, smoke following it into the depths of the woodlands.

“Heavens to Betsy!” cried Applejack, her mouth agape. “What in Equestria was that?”

“That’s just it, Applejack: it isn’t from Equestria.” Twilight looked to the sky brightened by the vortex and the streams of lights. “Strange flying creatures and falling objects—if we don’t find answers soon, a lot of ponies could get hurt!”

“Then we oughta get a move on, Twi! Who knows how many more things are gonna make their way through?” In a burst of energy, Applejack hopped ahead, signaling it was time to go. “I know these orchards like the back of my hoof! Follow me!”

Applejack leapt and entered a full gallop. Twilight followed with Spike in tow as they rushed down the hill. The two ponies kicked up a cloud of dirt in their wake, beating a path around the many apple trees. Despite her relative lack of athleticism and the additional weight from Spike, Twilight managed a steady pace, huffing and puffing in rhythm with her clopping hoof falls. Clearly Applejack was not running her fastest, for she could have easily left the bookish unicorn in her dust; yet her gait remained effortless, even as they ascended another small yet steep hill.

Enough light from the dawn sky and the vortex gave Applejack and Twilight all they needed to navigate the once darkened orchards. Not too far ahead was the crash site. Neither pony could see the rising smoke through the thick batch of trees, yet the faint smell of burning wood reached their nostrils. Soon they entered into an apple grove which greeted them with fresh smoke. Unable to see their way clearly, and battling the dust tickling their throats, both slowed to a wary trot.

Small wooden splinters cracked beneath Applejack and Twilight’s hooves. As they moved deeper into the grove, they were greeted by apple trees knocked on their sides. Although the damage to each tree varied, many of them were ripped up by their roots or shattered. Red apples were strewn across the dirt and smashed.

“I can’t believe it,” mumbled Applejack, her ears drooping and steps dragging. “All of my apples. Big Mac and I worked so hard to make these the best of the crop. Now look at ‘em…”

Twilight’s expression tightened in distress. “This is worse than I thought. Whatever landed must have been enormous.”

“How could something like this happen, Twilight?” Spike asked. He anxiously gazed over the devastated orchard. “I mean, it’s gotta be some weird magic.”

Twilight sighed in resignation. “I honestly don’t know. I’ve read every volume of Advanced Magical Manifestations, and nopony I know of—not even the princesses—should be able to create a portal on this size and scale.”

“Portal?” Applejack chimed in. “You mean like teleportin'?”

“Sort of. Portals are typically linked to an enchanted object. For example, in the Crystal Palace, Spike and I entered a magical doorway created as a trap by King Sombra to keep anypony from reaching the Crystal Heart.”

Spike shuddered. “Yikes. Don’t remind me…”

Twilight continued. “But this portal—the one responsible for this mess—doesn’t appear linked to any point. It just came out of nowhere.”

Applejack let out a huff. “If you ask me, I still think Discord could be behind all this. He escaped once; it ain’t a stretch that he’s done it again.”

“Applejack,” Twilight began with annoyance lacing her tone, “Princess Celestia is personally watching over Discord to make sure he won’t escape again. I doubt she would—”

“Look over there!” Spike cried out, pointing over Twilight’s head.

Ahead of the trio was a giant hole from which wisps of fresh smoke still climbed. The ponies immediately picked up the pace, careful to avoid tripping over loose pieces of wood and crushed apples. Despite getting closer to the crater, its contents remained shrouded by smoke, embers, and dust dancing through the air. Not even the pulsating light from the vortex could break through the fog. Applejack, Twilight, and Spike nonetheless managed to find the edge of the crater, though the depth could not be seen.

Coughing from the smoke, Applejack brushed her hat in front of her face and squinted. “Dang it! I can’t see a thing!”

Twilight closed her eyes in mild concentration. Her horn flickered to life, letting loose one sizzling pulse before releasing a flash. A soft hum accompanied the horn’s glow, and the curtain of dark gray smoke quickly lifted from across the crash site.

All three gasped in unison. Cradled in the hole was not an inanimate object but a creature, one with a long, scaly body and enormous limbs. It was not a pony, as it had claws and legs apparently made for bipedal movement. Its scales, though covered in soot and soil, were red and gold with patches of metallic silver. The head appeared skeletal, for it lacked a muzzle, snout, and ears. Only the eyes bore any resemblance to a natural face, though they were evidently shut.

As Spike leaned over Twilight’s shoulder for a better view, his jaw dropped. “Whoa…”

“Land sakes!” Applejack craned her head forward and squinted. “Is that a… dragon?”

“I don’t think so,” Twilight said tepidly. “It doesn’t look like any dragon I’ve ever seen. It doesn’t have wings, ears, or even a snout.”

“Maybe that’s because of the crash? I reckon it was a nasty fall.”

“Hold it, hold it,” Spike cut in, nonchalantly lifting himself off of Twilight’s back. “I’m a dragon, remember? That makes me the resident expert on all things dragon and dragon-like.” He strolled over to the crater. “After all, what kind of dragon would I be if I couldn’t identify my own kin?”

While Twilight rolled her eyes and mumbled to herself, Applejack snickered. “Gotta admit that this thing is pretty ugly, even for a dragon—no offense, Spike.”

Spike shrugged his shoulders as he stepped toward the crater’s edge. “None taken—although I’ve gotta say, I like his style.” Once he stood over the hole, Spike rubbed his chin as though he were impressed. “Not a lot of dragons can pull off red and gold scales.”

Twilight leaned over next to Spike and glowered. “So, what does the ‘resident dragon expert’ have to say?”

“Hmm. Let’s see…” Spike tapped a clawed thumb on his lips, raising his brow in mock studiousness. “We’ve got scales and claws; the face is pretty scary, except I don’t know where his mouth went.” He then placed his claws on his hips. “Sorry. I’ve got nothin’.”

“But there is something else,” noted Twilight, moving in between Spike and Applejack. “Take a look at its chest: there seems to be some sort of light.”

A dim glowing white light flickered unevenly within the being’s broad chest cavity. Twilight recognized, much to her curiosity, the light was in a triangular shape. Neither the light nor its profile matched the rest of the creature’s scaly body

Applejack tilted her head to one side and squinted. “What in tarnation is that?”

“My guess is that it’s this creature’s heart.” Eyeing her horn and its glow, Twilight pondered, “Maybe it’s the source of its magic as well—assuming it has magic.”

“Whatever the case, sugarcube, we need to find somewhere to move this thing.” Applejack hummed in thought. “I reckon we want to put it somewhere safe, in case it wakes up—provided it can wake up.”

“Bringing this creature to the library would allow me to study it further,” said Twilight, her attention having returned to the alien. “All of my instruments and references are at home.”

Spike rubbed the back of his head and said, “I don’t know, Twi. I don’t think Ponyville would like it if we dragged some dragon from outer space through town and dumped it in our basement for you to experiment on.”

Twilight groaned in irritation and crunched a block of hardened soil beneath her hoof. “I’m not going to experiment on it! I just want to perform some basic analysis to see if I can determine its origin.”

Spike offered an indifferent shrug. “That sounds like experimenting to me.”

“Graaaaahh!”

The creature shot upward with a horrific shout. Unnatural sounds of metal grinding together accompanied the beast’s manic breathing. Still grunting wildly, it rocked its head forward and scraped long claws through the dirt. Soil crunched within its grip. Glowing eyes locked onto a petrified Twilight Sparkle. Even when seated, the monster seemed to be almost twice her size. She could hear the creaking from the creature’s limbs. The sound reminded her of rusted gears grinding against one another after years of disuse.

Lifting an arm in lumbering fashion, the monster lurched for Twilight and Spike. Their eyes went wide as they stood shivering in place. The vacant, emotionless face of the monster drew nearer to them, its breaths growing louder and heavier.

“Watch out!”

Twilight and Spike were shoved to the ground. Applejack now stood in their place, body lowered in preparation for a fight. With a whoop she spun and reared her hind legs high into the air. A painful yet satisfying jolt ran through Applejack’s spine as her hooves smashed against the monster’s head. The creature shuddered and moaned from the buck kick, promptly collapsing back into the hole with a soft thud.

And as quickly as it had risen, the beast was felled.

“Consarn it!” Applejack began hopping back and forth on her hind legs, hissing in pain as she did so. “Feels like my legs are gonna fall right off!”

Poking his head up from the ground, Spike threw his arms upward in triumph. “Woohoo! Way to go, AJ!” He bounced to his feet. “You showed that thing how it’s done!”

“Y’all right there, pardner?”

“I’m good.” Spike flicked a speck of soil embedded in his scales. “How about you, Twilight?”

“Fine, fine,” Twilight said, stretching her back out as she stood. “Thank you so much, Applejack. I-I don’t exactly know what happened. My entire body just froze.”

“For the record, it wasn’t the scariest thing I’ve ever seen.” Spike added in a barely audible voice, “It was pretty close, though.”

“Think nothin’ of it,” said Applejack. “You don’t have to keep thankin’—”

A long, agonized moan cut Applejack off in mid-sentence. Spike wasted little time in scrambling behind Twilight, covering his eyes and using her hind legs as a shield. Applejack and Twilight dropped prone and shared widened, fearful expressions.

“How in the world is it still movin’?” Applejack said quietly.

“I’m not sure,” said Twilight, likewise keeping her voice low. “I might be able to contain it with my magic, but I don’t know how long it would last.”

With another groan rising from the crater, Twilight at last took the initiative. Curiosity beckoned her to carefully crawl closer to the hole. Applejack followed suit, likewise staying low to the ground.

Two colorful sets of eyes poked out over the trench, ready to disappear at a moment’s notice. The ponies instantly locked onto the alien, now lying flat on its back. It tried in vain to crane its head up from the ground, grunting miserably while struggling to do so. Twilight and Applejack quietly gasped in horror: the monster’s blank face sat off-center, knocked loose by Applejack’s buck. In spite of the gruesome sight, the once fearsome creature had all the ferocity of a turtle turned over onto its shell.

“I think it’s in pain,” Twilight said, her voice low but no longer quite as hushed. “Look at the face—”

“I can see the face just fine, Twilight,” Applejack interrupted in a harsh whisper. The monster’s misshapen visage gave her stomach a turn. “This thing sure ain’t natural.”

“Unnatural for Equestria, maybe, but for all we know, there could be an entire world of these creatures.”

Applejack shivered. “Mind tellin’ me how that’s a good thing?”

“Is it safe to look yet?” called out Spike from behind the two mares.

Twilight stifled an uneasy chuckle. “Wait just one more minute, Spike.”

“One thing’s for sure,” Applejack continued, “we gotta move this thing somewhere safe. It’s too dangerous to bring into Ponyville.”

Renewed sounds of metallic screeching emanated from the hole. Twilight and Applejack hunkered down closer to the ground in preparation for the worst. They watched the creature move a claw up to its misshapen face as its palm enveloped the deformed golden scale. With a small snap, the alien tore its own face clean from its head.

Twilight and Applejack covered their eyes. What kind of being could intentionally mutilate itself without so much as an afterthought? Could any creature truly be so callous? What did the act say about how this alien would treat others?

“Hi…”

The ponies’ ears twitched in tandem, having heard an intelligible utterance come from the hole. Twilight dared to look up see who had spoken. To her surprise, a grotesque scene did not greet her; yet she was bemused by the appearance of a new face amongst the scales. The being’s features were apelike—a pair of eyes, a small nose, and a mouth were surrounded by a minimal amount of dark fur, save for above the eyes and around the lips. The creature smiled pleasantly, if a bit lamely.

The alien kept grinning and lifted a claw with the palm facing outward. The digits fiddled as the claw swayed from side to side. Twilight remained silent, her lips curled in hesitation and confusion. In spite of the silence—or perhaps because of it—the alien kept waving.

As the silence persisted, Spike finally crawled out from behind Twilight, his curiosity too great to ignore. At first he recoiled, placing a claw over his mouth as his gut squeezed with queasiness. Yet Spike swallowed the rising sickness and lowered his claw, slowly returning to Twilight’s side as he did.

Finally the enforced silence fell when Applejack shuffled closer to Twilight. Out of the side of her mouth she said, “Did that thing just speak?”

“I-I think so,” Twilight murmured. She felt the hairs of her mane standing on end as her inner scientist wrestled with the implications. A common language would implied some connection between the being and Equestria. Perhaps it meant the alien came from another part of Equestria not yet discovered. The Crystal Empire, after all, had lay dormant for over 1,000 years prior to its reemergence. Was another land unveiling itself in the form of a portal?

“Maybe we should say somethin’?” Applejack added, her uneasiness palpable even in her lowered voice.

Jolted from her thoughts, Twilight gently nodded. Looking down at the creature, she cleared her throat and stood upright, seeking to embody a calmer posture. For lack of anything else, she went with the greeting she knew best: “Hello. I, um—my name is Twilight Sparkle.”

The creature stopped waving. Its smile broadened. “Is this heaven?”

“N-no,” Twilight said, trying to gloss over bemusement with a pleasant tone. “This is Equestria.”

The alien let out a soft sigh, as though it were relieved. “Oh, good. I don’t think I’d handle the afterlife very well. Same goes for Iowa. I’m not… really… into corn.” Following a brief yet pained hiss, the creature continued. “Well, except for bourbon. Speaking of which, I could really go for a drink. Do they have cocktail bars here, or is this a strictly dry establishment?”

Twilight’s lower eyelid twitched. “Uh, I think you might be hurt, um… sir.”

“No, no. No ‘sir’ business. I’m not knighted—not yet, anyway.” The creature’s head lolled to one side before snapping back into place. “Whoa! I must’ve taken a… pretty nasty shot there. You know what? Grab me an Aspirin and a Diet Pepsi. I can… walk this off. Just… just give me five…”

The creature’s speech, once rapid paced and crisp, devolved into a jumble of incoherent mumbling. Its eyes flickered and closed in tandem with its head craning back against the dirt. The fast-talking alien fell silent, apart from labored nasal breathing. The sound was in part relieving, as its chest did not rise and fall as one would expect.

After eyeing up the alien’s enormous, battered, and dirt-covered frame, Spike tilted his head to the side. “Huh. That wasn’t so bad.”

“I guess,” Twilight said, her tone leaping towards uncertainty. “At least we know it—he doesn’t seem interested in hurting anypony. In fact, aside from obviously being delirious with pain, he was rather… friendly.”

“Friendly or not,” Applejack cut in, “I still reckon it’s a bad idea to bring this thing back into Ponyville. It’s liable to start a panic. Nopony needs that right now.”

“Unfortunately, I think you’re right, AJ.” Twilight looked over at her friend. “If you don’t mind, I’d like to use your barn to keep him under close observation.”

Applejack winced but briefly as her tail twitched. “Bein’ perfectly honest, Twilight, I ain’t all that thrilled by luggin’ this thing ‘round near my family. Still”—Applejack trailed off into a light sigh—“I know we can’t just leave this thing sittin’ out here in the open. Somepony might stumble across it, or it might just wander on off. And since Apple Bloom is havin’ a sleepover with the Crusaders at Rarity’s, we won’t have to worry ‘bout them blabberin’ to the whole town ‘bout how I got an alien in our barn loft.”

Twilight nodded and smiled. “With enough time, my analysis might allow me to better understand this creature and where it came from. I can also promptly inform Princess Celestia about his arrival, as well as request that she send the Elements here to Ponyville for additional security.”

“Now that’s somethin’ I can get behind!” Applejack’s shoulders then sagged as she took another glance at the large alien in the crater. After a short sigh, she said, “Shoot. Guess I better get some rope.”

Kicking up loose soil, Applejack galloped off into the distance. Once Applejack disappeared from view, both Twilight and Spike assumed watch over the alien. They stood closely next to each other, refraining from commentary or idle chatter. Every now and then Spike’s eyes would shift between the creature and Twilight; Twilight, however, studied the alien’s body as best she could from a distance. Already her research had started, and she anxiously awaited the opportunity to see and ask more of the unexpected visitor once it regained consciousness.

A multitude of thoughts and expectations rattled around in Twilight’s mind: the repercussions of first contact; the confirmation of intelligent life from beyond Equestria; the existence of a common language. Were there more bipedal beings that shared unusual likeness with apes and dragons? How exactly did their civilization develop? Centuries’ worth of scientific analysis and magical studies could be overturned in a single day. Twilight Sparkle, always eager to seek out new questions and their answers, understood she was literally standing on the edge of an event horizon, an inescapable instance of change. Equestria was bound to be forever altered, and Twilight could not help but feel excitement tingle across her body. Though she did not neglect the safety of her homeland, she realized the opportunities presented from this encounter.

“Hey Twilight,” Spike spoke up at last, “I’ve got a question.”

“Mhmm?”

“What’s a Diet Pepsi?”

Author's Note

Revision made 9/4/2014.