THE RETURN OF THE LADY LIBERATORS

Part I

By Curtis Fernlund

Manhattan, Times Square.
Late October…

Natasha Romanoff perched on the edge of the building’s parapet, the toes of her boots hanging over the empty space some twenty stories above the teeming streets of Times Square, Broadway at 44th Street. She watched the steady flow of traffic far below, both pedestrian and vehicular that never, ever really seemed to stop, but rather only slowed a bit in the wee hours of the night. She shifted her stance, wincing slightly as the autumn chill seeped into her bones, a wind ruffling her hair.

It was dark already, but the Deuce was alight as high noon with the blaze of spectacle that it was known for around the world. The neon signs that had lit the square not so long ago had been replaced for the most part with massive, jumbo-tron video displays that flashed and flickered movies and logos and drew in tourists and residents alike to the magic of the Disney renovated landmark. Double-decker buses surged through the sea of yellow taxis, city buses and SUVs, the current fad of every size and shape, headlamps glaring and brake lights flashing a staccato rhythm that was almost hypnotic in the steadily thinning, post Rush Hour traffic.

She could smell the odors of the streets as well from her perch, drifting skywards. The burnt stench of pretzel mingling with the rancid odors of garbage wafting up from enclosed dumpsters well out of sight from the tourists and their wide wondering eyes. Exhaust as a bus churned forward in a swirling cloud of blue. Steam rose from a Con Edison tent, a pipe covering an open manhole while men worked round the clock under the packed streets.

Horns blared, and somewhere in the distance a siren wailed, receding into the distance of the eastside. Someone shouted down below as a cab ran a red light, cursing and flipping a finger at the taxi as it raced to a screeching stop at the next traffic light just a few yards further down 7th Avenue…

“God, I love this city,” Natasha whispered, smiling to herself. She had been around the world, in space and even visited other dimensions and had seen things that man was not meant to see, but somehow she always returned here, to her home. There was no place like New York.

“You and me both, sister.”

Natasha flinched, glancing back over her shoulder at the sound of the voice, her arm coming up to defend or attack before she realized that she recognized the speaker. She relaxed, lowering her Widow’s Bite with a wry grin.

“Spider-Man,” she said, shifting to face the wall-crawler as he perched on the roof’s short wall a half-dozen feet away, mimicking her pose.

“That’s: ‘Your friendly, neighborhood Spider-Man’,” he said deadpan. “There are copyright laws, y’know. How’d you like me to go around just saying ‘Black Widow’, without throwing ‘The Beauteous’ in front of it. It just ain’t right, I tell ya.”

Natasha smirked and slid about on the wall, dropping her feet to the roof’s tarpaper and sitting on the parapet. “Is this a social call, or are you on some mission?” she asked as she brushed her windblown auburn locks from her face. The Spider-Man shrugged.

“Just paying my respects, ‘Tasha,” he said, his wiry frame leaping lithely to the rooftop proper. “Saw you poised over the Deuce and thought maybe you had something. Need a hand?”

“I was just out,” Natasha said with a shrug. “It’s a nice night, and I thought I would patrol a bit.”

“I hear that…” The Spider-Man tensed suddenly, cocking his head. “D’you hear that?”

The Beauteous Black Widow listened, filtering out the noise and drone from the streets far below. Somewhere in the distance she could barely make out the clanging bell of an alarm. She turned east, staring, trying to focus…

“The Diamond District,” she said, raising her arm and firing her Widow’s Line in the direction of the alarm. She felt it connect and ran for the roof’s edge, leaping into space without a care. The Spider-Man sailed past her on silken strands of webbing.

“Last one there’s an insect!” the Spider-Man shouted as he spiraled down toward the streets in free fall. Natasha Romanoff, the Beauteous Black Widow laughed and followed suit…

“In the bag, old man!” Desaun Jackson shouted as he pressed the muzzle of the snub-nosed .38 against the old Jew’s temple. The Hassidim looked terrified, all wide-eyed and bushy bearded as he stared up at Desaun, mumbling pleas not to kill him as Desaun pressed harder, angling his hand way up with the gun cocked at one bad-ass angle; stylin’ to the max!

“Easy, Bro,” he heard Davin say as he kept his Tech trained on the other few people in the shop; a blonde bitch decked to the nines and a couple Jew workers with their beanies on. Desaun sneered, wantin’ to say somethin’. He was in control of the situation. Long as the Hymie did as he was told there was no reason to get Black on his ass. Long as old man Levine fed the bag with all those diamonds and shit, weren’t no worry.

“S’cool,” he said, watching as the old man shoveled diamonds into the satchel, whimpering with every new load. It was killing the old man to give his stash up, but Desaun knew he was lovin’ life more. “I got this.”

They’d been casin’ the joint for a month, either him or Davin or both across the street every night, watchin’. They saw on Friday’s they was always late gettin’ out. Always late with the day’s cash goin’ to the bank an’ always takin’ a few more customers before the weekend when they was closed. Levine & Sons was a cash cow waitin’ to get gutted- fuckin’ Jews all high an’ mighty, fuckin’ untouchable. Right!

They’d come bustin’ in after the white bitch, shoved right up through the door an’ rattled the rafters with a spray from the Nine. Took control an’ started guttin’. Fuckin’ Jew boys looked ready to piss. Blondie though, she looked cold. Like she was enjoyin’ the show. Wouldn’t mind hittin’ that, Desaun thought as Davin started backin’ to the door.

“Got enough. Let’s move,” he said even as the alarm started ringin’.

“Fuck, man!” Desaun shouted, shovin’ the pistol into the old Jew’s head and pressin’ him all the way to the floor. “Ya fuckin’ with me, old man?! Ya wanna die? I one eighty-seven yer ass right now!” Desaun cocked the hammer of the .38 back, his eyes dancing with fire as adrenaline surged through him.

“Please…” the old man whined and Desaun saw his pant’s crotch darkening. “Please…”

“Shit!” Desaun laughed.

“C’mon, D!” Davin said glancing warily out the door. “Let’s roll!”

“Hymie jus’ pissed his ass, D!” Desaun was beside himself, almost giggling. “Ought’a cap his ass jus’ for that.”

“Don’t!” Davin hissed, looking back and waving the Tech-9. “We gotta go!” he said, pushing his back into the door…

And the door suddenly exploded in a shower of glass and twisted metal. Davin went flying, slamming into the closest table and folding face first into the display with a crash. A splash of violet swirled into the shop, landing and finally coming to rest atop one of the display cases. It hunkered there as Desaun focused, recognition finally setting in.

“Holee fuck!” he shouted, arising his .38, but silky gray webbing spewed out of the Marvel’s wrists and swirled into a thick, sticky ball about his gun and hand. Desaun could hear Davin crying out and glanced to see his older brother staggering, blood flowing from his raggedy nylon-clad face from the tiny sparkling shards of glass that had riddled his dark skin. “Fuck! Fuck!”

Desaun tugged and pulled at the webbing that encompassed his hand and gun, cursing all the while as the Spider-Man shook his head.

“Does your mother know you use that kind of language?” he mocked and Desaun sneered, raging at the webbing. “Can’t imagine she does. You need to get to church, son. Give God the glory.”

“Fuck you!” Desaun shrieked as he raised his arm and pointed the gun, hand, webbing and all at the Marvel freak. No way the webbing would hold against a metal- jacketed hollow point. No way!

“I wouldn’t,” the Spider-Man said. Desaun pulled the trigger…

And fell to the ground screaming bloody murder as the gun seemed to explode in his hand. The webbing did not even flutter as the bullet blew up in the muzzle of the gun having nowhere to go. Desaun was waving his arm about, smoke seeping through the silken mesh, blood trickling down his arm as the Spider-Man jumped lithely from the display case. The smell of burnt flesh made him vomit, the pain of nausea made him wet his pants and foul his boxers.

“I warned you,” the Spider-Man said as he sprayed his webbing over Desaun, pinning him to the floor. “Tasha?”

Desaun looked through tear-filled eyes and saw a stone cold fox of a white bitch standing over his brother. Davin wasn’t moving, lying crumpled on the floor by the door.

“Didn’t leave me much,” the woman said in a husky voice with an accent.

“Hey, you had all the fun the last time,” the Spider-man said, spraying his webbing over Davin too, sticking him to the floor. Desaun saw the Jews gettin’ up, findin’ their balls, comin’ closer. The white bitch sauntered right past them, right up to the Spider-Man.

“Thank you,” she purred, almost collapsing into his arms. Desaun squirmed as another wave of pain washed through him, making him whine.

“No problem, lady,” the Spider-Man said, pushing her back to arm’s length. “That’s what I’m here for.

“Do I know you?” the fox said, stepping closer even as the blonde suddenly pulled up the Spider’s mask and kissed him full on the lips before he could move. He ain’t never seen no shorty move that fast. Desaun moaned as the Spider-Man seemed to struggle a bit, then went limp in the woman’s arms. He saw the fox reach out and pull the blonde away.

“Hey!” she shouted, and the white woman smiled, stepping back and the Spider looked like a zombie alla the sudden, standin’ there swayin’ in the breeze. Desaun saw a flare of red, and the fox suddenly went slammin’ inta the far wall. She hit hard and slid to the floor moanin’, half out of it, shakin’ her head.

“You might remember me,” the blonde said, “but I doubt it. Best you forget me all together, little girl. You’ll sleep better.”

Desaun saw a flash of light an’ suddenly the blonde and the Spider was gone. He saw the fox strugglin’ to get up, an’ he fought against the pain in his hand, tryin’ to break outta the freak’s webs but he was held fast to the floor.

‘Bout then the blues came pushin’ through the front door…

Manhattan, The United Nations General Assembly.
The Next Day…

“And so, I hope that our people, and all the people of our home world, the Earth can reach agreement, and at last find peace.”

Medusa Amaquelin Boltagon stepped back from the podium as her husband, Blackagar stepped forward, arms raised in a sign of peace before the assembled body of the United Nations. There was a slight pattering of applause, but Madame Medusa saw more unrest as her speech- Black Bolt’s ideals were considered. She saw representatives nodding, smiling, whispering and frowning as the automated and human translators did their jobs so that all would understand the words of Black Bolt, ruler of the Inhumans and king of all Attilan.

Madame Medusa sighed, feeling tired as she stepped away upstage and into the background. She had seen the look on the faces of the delegates from Saudi Arabia and many of the Russian states. They were leery, wondering at the advanced sciences of the Inhumans that might jeopardize their control of the world’s oils. Likewise the Japanese at the new technology that might be dropped into their markets if the Hidden Realm was included in the world market. There was so much to do, and so much mistrust.

“You did well, Medusa.”

Medusa Amaquelin Boltagon looked up and saw Namor the First, King of Atlantis standing beside the row of plush chairs lining the back wall. Beside him was T’Challa T’Chaka, King of all the Wakandas seated comfortably. Both men were dressed in their finest attire, as was she. Namor was wearing a ceremonial armor of black and gold that seemed to swirl and flow over his masculine body mimicking the ocean’s waves and currents. T’Challa, the Black Panther was garbed in a long, colorful, voluminous robe befitting his African heritage, meager jewels and bangles adorning his attire. For her part, Medusa was dressed in a flowing gown of varying shades of purple, her scarlet hair piled high atop her head and straining to be free.

“I concur,” T’Challa said standing. “Having been here many times, it is a… tough audience?” He glanced at Namor and saw the Sea King smirk.

“Tough indeed,” Namor agreed, offering Medusa a chair. She gratefully sat. “Having had to deal with the likes of Magneto and Doom over the years, they are naturally wary of our kind. Still, they will be fair. They all want peace, after all. It is their petty bickering over borders and wealth that hinder their better judgement.”

“I just hope that they reach some decision,” Medusa said as she allowed the cramping high-heeled shoes that she had worn to drop to the floor with a sigh of relief. “We have been outcast so long.”

She looked up to see Blackagar give a final nod and step away from the podium. At the same time she saw a blonde woman dressed in a form-fitting, slate gray business suit striding across the stage. She had a fierce look of determination on her face, her hair coiled into a tight bun as she strode towards Blackagar. There were two men walking in her wake dressed in black suits, tall and stocky and wearing sunglasses, which seemed odd. Medusa stood as the woman cut in front of Blackagar, as he headed towards the back of the stage.

“Mister Bolt! There’s some discrepancies in the paperwork that you filled out for the export tariffs,” the woman said as she stepped right up to Medusa’s husband. Even in her high, stiletto heels Blackagar towered over her by at least a foot. She seemed unfazed as she produced a sheaf of papers seemingly from nowhere and thrust them at Medusa’s husband.

“Who is that?” the Panther asked, but Namor simply shrugged raising an eyebrow.

Black Bolt reluctantly took the papers and glanced at Medusa, confusion on his face. She sighed and started forward, wondering what this was about…

And gasped as the blonde woman leapt up and encircled her arms about Blackagar’s neck. He seemed to draw back even as the woman kissed him, his eyes wide for a moment, then glazing over, his body swaying as he went limp.

“Blackagar!” Medusa shouted, surging forward as the woman lowered to the floor still clinging to her husband’s neck. Medusa could hear the Panther and the Sub-Mariner at her heels as the blonde turned her way and smiled. The two stocky men shot past her, running at them with snarls curling their lips.

Medusa’s hair exploded in a writhing fury of scarlet locks and silken lavender strands as she seethed. Her living hair shot past the lackeys, seeking the blonde, only to be stymied by a field of invisible force. The two stocky men ignored her, charging past even as she stared incredulously.

“Pathetic, Inhuman wench,” the woman said as she smiled wickedly. Black Bolt stood behind her looking lost, almost enraptured. She heard the sounds of battle behind her; Namor and T’Challa engaging her lackeys. And before her the Assembly was starting to churn with chaos. Screams of confusion rose, echoing about the chamber in a babble of languages.

“Who are you?” Medusa shouted as her hair whipped and battered futilely at the woman’s shields. “What do you want?”

“I have what I want,” the blonde minx said, her hand sliding down to Blackagar’s crotch and getting a grip. Medusa saw her husband squirm as the woman squeezed.

“Don’t!” Medusa shouted. She knew that like any man, Blackagar’s weak spot rested between his legs. But should the woman cause him too much pain, might Black Bolt whimper? The devastation would be tragic, and all of their hard work would be for naught.

“Gnnnggh…”

Medusa gasped as the Black Panther went skidding across the stage to come to rest at the blonde woman’s feet, sprawling against the invisible barrier. She laughed as Medusa glanced back to see Namor struggling, fighting against the two lackeys dressed in tight, black Armani. One had lost his glasses and she saw the fierce blaze of red eyes.

“Excellent,” the woman hissed as she bent into a crouch. She grabbed T’Challa’s collar and hoisted his head up, planting a kiss fully on his lips. Medusa saw the Panther shudder a bit, then lay still, limply on the floor of the stage. What in Agon’s name was happening?

“Imperious Rex!”

Medusa glanced back again and saw the Savage Sub-Mariner flex his sea-honed muscles to fling the woman’s lackeys away. They sputtered across the stage, but were quickly on their feet and charging the monarch again.

Medusa turned back and saw the Black Panther standing beside Blackagar looking just as cowed and vacant… lost… enthralled. That was it!

The blonde’s kisses seemed to be enslaving Blackagar and T’Challa to her will. But to what end? Medusa could not begin to imagine in the heat of the battle, but there was something naggingly familiar about the entire scenario. Something that seemed just at the edge of memory, but elusive…

“Gunngh!”

Medusa turned to see that the two men had bested Namor; one slamming his elbow into the Sea King’s neck, driving him to the floor even as the other drove the heel of his shoe into the Atlantean’s jaw. Blood spewed across the stage as the Sub-Mariner fell limp at their feet.

Medusa stood her hair swirling as though caught in cyclonic winds, ready to attack or defend. The woman simply laughed and strolled past her, heels clicking on the hardwood floor as Medusa pried at the shield that now encompassed Blackagar and T’Challa as well. “Who are you? What do you want?” she said as the blonde knelt at Namor’s side. She turned and smirked, cocking her head to the side.

“You’re as dense as the Widow,” she mocked, her smirk turning into a sly grin. “It should be obvious what I want.” With that the blonde woman bent and kissed Namor on the lips. Like the Panther, the monarch shivered, then his body went slack. The blonde looked up again and stood, wiping blood from her lips.

“Salty,” she said, wiping the blood between her fingers. She turned nonchalantly as shouted commands rang through the air.

“Halt! Stand where you are!”

Medusa saw armed and armored soldiers charging the stage, the United Nations emblem on their arms, chests and blue helmets. They were carrying AK-47’s, and Medusa knew they would be useless against the attackers who had bested two of the most powerful men on the planet. The blonde simply laughed and raised her arm overhead, her fist enveloped in a glowing ball of scarlet light.

“You are joking, of course.”

Medusa raised her hands to shield her eyes as the stage was suddenly awash in a red glare. There was a flash that she sensed through her closed eyelids, dazzlingly bright, and when she blinked her sight back into focus, the woman, her lackeys and the three kings were gone.

“Blackagar…” she whispered as the United Nations security troops stormed the stage – futilely – as the battle was done. Or was it? Medusa gasped as the troops lined up in formation, their guns clacking to the ready and aimed at her.

“Medusa!”

Medusa Amaquelin Boltagon sighed to hear her sister’s voice, harried and worried. She turned and saw why the soldiers were at the ready. Crystal Amaquelin Maximoff hurried towards her from stage left, Lockjaw lumbering ponderously at her side, his antennae crackling with energy. Medusa heard someone shout the order to stand down as her sister stepped up dressed in her favorite yellow and black leathers.

“What’s happened?” Crystal said scanning the stage. Lockjaw plodded to a stop beside her, his huge tongue slobbering over his thick lips. “Where’s Black Bolt? What – “

Medusa raised her hands in a calming motion, feeling anything but calm herself. “He’s been taken sister,” she said with a lump growing in her throat. She bit her lower lip, trying to stave off her fear-filled tears. “He, the Black Panther and the Sub-Mariner, all taken by some blonde harlot with immense power. She held me at bay and had two apparently strong lackeys at her whim…”

Medusa Amaquelin Boltagon stared at her younger sister as she related the tale, noting that the commander of the troops had sidled closer to hear as well. Crystal’s eyes widened as she heard, as Medusa finished.

“But why?” Crystal asked as she wrapped an arm about Lockjaw’s throat for comfort.

“Don’t make no sense to me,” the UN Major said, scratching at the back of his neck. “Beggin’ your pardon, Ma’am.” Medusa ignored the Human.

“I don’t know,” Medusa said as her living tresses churned about her, writhing with her anxiety. “But I intend to find out, and we have the means to follow.” Medusa stared at Lockjaw, the Inhuman that could traverse dimensions and Crystal nodded.

“Of course,” she said, nuzzling her pet’s thick folds of furry flesh. “Lockjaw,” she said as Medusa grabbed hold of the beast, glancing at the confused soldier. “Find Blackagar, Lockjaw. Find Black Bolt.”

Medusa felt the slightest heat, the gut-wrenching twist as reality spiraled away in a sparkling golden glow. Lockjaw stood and the UN General Assembly Chamber faded away…

Los Angeles, Avengers West Coast Compound.
Moments Later…

“Really, Janet…” Wanda Maximoff said as she strolled the palisade cliffs overlooking the sparkling blue Pacific with her old and dear friend, Janet Van Dyne. “You don’t think perhaps Warren is being a bit paranoid?”

Janet Van Dyne – AKA the Winsome Wasp – had arrived that morning at the bequest of Warren Worthington the Third. The Arch Angel once of the Uncanny X-Men had apparently had a run in with the Thing from the Fantastic Four, along with a rag tag group of adventurers that had seemed at first determined to slay Robert Kelly, but in the end had slain his aide. It was devastating news that the Thing had apparently gone rogue – why, no one knew – but the Angel had sent the Wasp out with tales of some covert shadow government that was manipulating Marvels around the world*. With all of the psychics and simply, blatantly powerful entities vying for world supremacy, the Scarlet Witch just could not imagine such a thing could possibly exist.

*For the full story, go check out The Thing #4!

“Regardless,” Janet said, kicking a stone over the cliff’s edge. Wanda could tell that her friend was truly troubled simply by the way she was dressed. Janet was a fashion designer, along with being a successful businesswoman and executive, heiress to her father’s fortune, owner of several of her ex-husband – Henry Pym’s patents, not to mention founding member of the Mighty Avengers. She was always dressed to a tee, whether in a new uniform or designer suit. Today however she was clad casually in faded blue jeans, a hooded sweatshirt and Sketchers. “Warren was spooked by what happened, and what he learned and wanted to get a first hand report from all the major players. He sent Hank to parley with the X-groups and he went to see Fury himself. I got the sunny trip to southern California.” Wanda saw her old friend smile, trying to ease the tension.

“I’m sorry that your trip was for nothing then, Janet,” Wanda said as she turned the collar of her turtleneck against the chill blowing in off the ocean. She saw Simon Williams striding their way from the main villa as she continued, a smile on his face. “None of our recent adventures hints at some conspiracy. At least no more than usual. Perhaps Benjamin was laying… disinformation, trying to distract from his true goal, whatever that is.” Janet shrugged.

“I don’t know…”

“Ladies,” Wonderman said as he got within earshot. “You’ve been talking all morning. Carlos asked me to tell you that lunch is getting cold.”

Simon Williams stopped just a few short steps away looking far too handsome and fit in his spandex running shorts and tight tank top, his wavy gray hair blowing in the breeze. He smiled his winning smile and Wanda felt herself blush, knowing that his sparkling, ionic eyes were raking up and down her body behind his red shades. Wanda smiled, wishing that she could ignore the cold as he did.

“Care for lunch, Janet?” she said as a flash of red caught her eye. She stared as several forms started to take definite shape and form in the dazzling glow. “Beware!” she shouted, even as she hesitated to see the identities of the gathered intruders…

They were five men and a woman, three of whom she knew. To the fore and taking flight was Black Bolt, ruler of the Inhumans and Prince Namor, the Savage Sub-Mariner, both dressed in odd regalia. On foot but running not far behind was T’Challa, Son of T’Chaka also dressed in the imperial robes of his native Wakanda. Behind them remained two large men dressed in dark Armani suits and stylish sunglasses, both flanking the tall, blonde woman wearing a slate gray business suit and looking hauntingly familiar.

“What the hell?” Simon Williams said as Namor swooped down and slammed fully into his chest. The impact knocked Simon back, the Sub-Mariner’s momentum carrying them both towards the cliff’s edge. Black Bolt sped by overhead in hot pursuit.

“What the devil?” Wanda heard the Wasp question even as she instantly shrank down to tiny size to take wing. Her abandoned clothes collapsed in her wake and Wanda saw that her friend was wearing an altered version of her old red and black costume sans the pointy cybernetic helmet under her casual street clothes.

The Scarlet Witch turned back and gasped to see the Panther flying towards her, his right leg extended in a high kick. She dodged back, not quite quickly enough as his heel clipped her cheek and painfully snapped her head to the side. She staggered backwards seeing stars finally tumbling to the grass as the Black Panther sailed past her to land gracefully a few feet away.

Wanda shook her head, trying to gather her wits and focus on T’Challa. In the distance she saw Namor pummeling Simon unmercifully at the cliff’s edge, Black Bolt landing near and waiting patiently. Wanda blinked back tears as the Winsome Wasp zipped past heading for the Panther.

“Focus, Wanda!” she heard Janet’s tiny voice as she passed, sparks of light from her Wasp’s stings erupting about the seemingly confused Wakandan monarch. He seemed to almost be moving in slow motion- compared to his usually quick reflexes at least- and without his full black mask she could see that his dark eyes appeared almost glazed.

“Mind controlled,” Wanda whispered even as she turned back towards the remaining trio casually striding closer. She stared at the blonde woman, so out of place and context, but finally recognition set in…

“The Enchantress!”

“Ahh…” the Asgardian witch said, “you’ve recognized me.” The Enchantress paused, and her two flanking bodyguards did likewise. “I guess play time is over. Kratos… Bia… Slay the wench.”

Wanda struggled to her feet, her head spinning as the two hulking men in tailored suits lumbered forward. She remembered the names; Titans as she recalled, and lackeys of Ares the Olympian God of War some years back when the Avengers assembled to free Hercules and Olympus from his coup. She tried to focus, blinking away the Panther’s kick as she called forth her Mutant Hex Powers…

And a streak of silver passed between them!

The Scarlet Witch gasped as she saw her brother, Pietro speeding around the two Titans. His fists were a blur as he battered at the two immortals, apparently ineffectually as they only paused briefly at his arrival, not his assault. Undaunted, Quicksilver continued his attack, trying to press the Olympians back.

“Run, Wanda!” he shouted, his voice high and almost unintelligible he was moving so swiftly. Wanda smiled at her brother’s concern. Always watching out for her, protecting her. She raised her arms out, splaying her fingers forward as she cast her Hex forth…

There was a grumbling in the earth and suddenly an improbable depression appeared; a sinkhole in the ground that staggered the Titans and sucked them down even as Pietro swirled about and sped to her side. The siblings watched as the two immortals scrabbled and clawed at the collapsing ground but eventually were dragged down into the hole leaving the Enchantress alone and hopefully vulnerable. Amora did not seem concerned, simply smiling as she pressed her hands to her face, her fingers in her ears.

Uh…

Wanda was suddenly flying forward, her brother likewise, both flailing until they sprawled and tumbled across the grass of the Avengers Compound. It felt as though a wall of force with the kinetic energy of a sledgehammer had slammed into her back. She looked trying to see what had happened and saw both Simon and Namor spiraling away into the distance out over the Pacific Ocean. She saw Black Bolt standing at cliff’s edge that was crumbling and falling into the ocean. She understood instantly what had happened as she saw the water raging, waves growing into tidal boundaries, flowing thankfully out to sea.

“My God,” she whispered. Black Bolt had barely whispered, perhaps cleared his throat and the Earth shattered and the sea recoiled and two of the strongest men in the world were whisked away like leaves in the wind. “Pietro,” she said turning, her eyes widening…

But Pietro was distracted as the Enchantress held him tightly, kissing him fully on the lips. Wanda watched as his eyes glazed over and his body shook, then went limp. The Enchantress released her grip and let Quicksilver collapse to the ground as she smiled and stood. The Asgardian looked at her with contempt.

“You were instrumental in defeat the last time, thus it is only fitting that your brother be added to my stable,” she said, slapping at Wanda’s hands as she raised them trying to conjure a Hex. Wanda yelped as her hands went numb under the impact of the Asgardian’s strength. “I will add your lover to my slaves number as soon as he and the Atlantean return. You of course will be long dead by then.” Wanda stared as the woman’s hand started to glow red, a fire crackling about her rising fist…

“I don’t think so, witch!”

Wanda looked past Amora even as the Enchantress turned and they both saw Madame Medusa and her sister and fellow Avenger, Crystal charging forward from the crackling golden glow of Lockjaw’s dimensional rift. Medusa was dressed in formal attire as was Black bolt, but her living hair snaked forward to encircle the Enchantress’ defensive screen.

“You will free Blackagar now!” Madame Medusa shouted as she surged forward. “Blackagar and all the men that you have enchanted.” Amora laughed.

“I do not think so, you incestuous slut. Your Blackagar will serve me until I am satisfied that I have achieved revenge. As will they all.”

The Enchantress raised her hand high and Wanda winced as a firestorm of scarlet energy lashed outwards. Medusa screamed as the Asgardian magic flowed along her tresses and shocked her into submission. But even as she fell, Crystal grasped at the aether and called upon her powers. Dark clouds suddenly swirled overhead crackling with energy and a harsh, chill wind whipped past.

“I don’t know what you were planning,” Crystal shouted over the rising gale, “but it ends here!” Crystal raised her arms and seemed to cup the air, then thrust her hands forward. Lightning shattered the sky and slammed against the enchantress’ shields. Wanda saw the Asgardian stagger at the impact, a sheen of sweat dotting her fair skin, but her buffer field held fast. But Crystal did not hesitate, her arms flailing as she directed lightning towards the Asgardian.

Wanda cursed as she raised her arms, her hands limp and hanging uselessly. Agony rippled through her as she tried to focus and will a hex to fore.

“Ahh…” she heard the shout of pain and saw Crystal fall. Kratos and Bia stood over her, dripping and covered in mud but obviously free of the sinkhole.

“Very impressive,” Amora said as she slammed the high-heel of her pump against Crystal’s temple. Wanda winced as her friend and ex-sister-in-law groaned and rolled aside. “Kill her.”

“No…” Wanda moaned as she saw Kratos, or maybe Bia pick up Crystal’s limp form. The Inhuman dangled as the Titan wrapped a meaty fist about her throat…

She yelped as Wonderman slammed into the Olympian’s back sending both him and Crystal sprawling to the grass. Simon too slammed to the dirt, heaving and breathing hard, obviously spent.

“Sorry,” he said as he struggled to rise. The other Titan slammed his fist to the back of Wonderman’s neck and Simon Williams fell to the ground unmoving, unconscious.

“I do so love it when a plan comes together,” the Enchantress said as she strolled forward. She crouched at Simon’s side and drew him up by the collar, kissing him full on the lips. She then let go and stood, Wonderman slumping back to the ground as the other ensorcelled males gathered about her; Black Bolt, the Sub-Mariner, the Black Panther and her brother, Quicksilver along with Kratos and Bia. She saw Medusa and Crystal lying unconscious not so far away. She did not see the Wasp.

“I was going to kill you,” Amora said with a smirk of contempt, “but I’ve had a change of heart. Far better that you should see my revenge reach fruition. I shall slay you then, when my plan is complete. You and all of these others.”

“I’ll fight you,” Wanda hissed, summoning her powers. “Beat you…”

“Oh, I doubt that, you silly girl,” the Enchantress laughed. “Go cast your little spells against your robots and your time lords and leave the true power to your betters.”

Wanda saw the Asgardian raise a closed fist that soon glowed red and she vanished along with her lackeys and all of the men. Wanda blinked as the scarlet after images began to fade, then looked to her fallen friends…

To Be Continued…