chapter 8 Trial of the Body

I fall to my knees in the golden sand, blood staining my teeth as I gasp in pain. I have barely any time to react to the sensation of having my nose crushed, before I can feel a great burning hand grasp me by the neck and hurl me towards the other side of the arena.

I land in a cloud of dust, coughing desperately as I feel pain lance through my back. There's just one thought consuming me as I can hear the manifestation of my inner darkness approach with snarling sounds.

'Why am I not dead yet?'

I have been smacked around for nearly a full minute now, and yet all I can think about is the fact that just that first hit should've been more than enough to turn every bone in my body into dust. Before I can think further, a foot slams down on my back and I can't hold back a scream as my entire mind is filled with pain.

The foot is only removed after what feels like an eternity to me (given that this is the Astral Plane, it very well might have been) and I can feel myself lifted off the sand by my throat, my rage personified holding me so we are face to face, mindless anger burning in those glowing eyes.

'Think! Think! Goddammit, if you don't think you'll die! Think asshole!'

But I can't think, because a flaming fist buries itself in my stomach, though the hand around my throat is keeping me from flying away, leaving me in the perfect position for another three strikes in rapid succession.

By then, my opponent has apparently become bored of using me as his punching bag and lets go of my throat. However, before I can even hit the ground, a foot slams into my chest and once more I'm thrown across the length of the arena.

Once again I slam painfully in the sand, throwing up a cloud of dust, but as I'm lying there on my back staring at the inky blackness that is the sky above me, gasping for air, I finally notice something.

The weird properties of my Astral Projection.

It wasn't just that the angles were… wrong in a way that would make Escher scratch his head in confusion, or that I just knew that there was a depth to my form stretching in dimensions only H.P. Lovecraft himself had understood.

It was also the way that sensations registered.

The faint stinging feeling of Ramonda's slap came to mind, the way it felt as if the impact of her slap had to travel unimaginable distances before the pain impulse actually reached my brain. The pain of getting punched by the rage manifestation was simply so all-consuming that I hadn't noticed it, but I suspected even its attacks were muted somehow.

Like I wasn't really completely here, or at least on the same dimensional level.

Of course, that realization did absolutely nothing in stopping the manifestation from descending upon my prone body, knees on either side of my shoulders, and to begin punching my face.

'Think!'

A punch slams into my face, snapping it to the right.

'Come on, you need to think!'

Another punch, this time slamming my face to the left.

'You're dying here! Come on think of something, anything!'

But I can't think, because this time a punch descends with such violence it knocks loose a tooth, spraying blood across the sand.

I can't think.

I can't think.

I can't think.

I can't-

A punch nearly bursts my eye socket, but the lancing pain gives a sudden clarity to my thoughts.

This is the Trial of the Body.

Of course thinking isn't doing me any good. I'm up against a manifestation of all of my darkest emotions, and I'm trying to outthink it. Considering the blood that is splattered across the sand, that approach clearly isn't working out for me.

So instead, I just stop thinking entirely and just react.

As the monster on top of me rears both arms back in order to deliver a brutal hammer-blow down upon my head, I let out a roar of my own and punch it straight in the diaphragm.

The result is… interesting to say the least.

My fist sinks far further into its flesh than it has any right to, but it also feels weird, as if I'm just stretching my arm further and further out, no end in sight. The non-Euclidian angles of my body sharpen somehow, and despite that fact that the fist of my Astral Projection is just human size, there's an imprint the size of Cap's shield on its chest.

The rage monster gets thrown off of me, but even that is wrong somehow. Instead of being blasted away due to the impact of a high-powered object (like I had been forced to endure during our entire fight) instead it almost looks as if it's being carried away from me by some giant, invisible fist.

This time, it's the manifestation which crashes into the arena wall creating a cloud of dust, and as I slowly struggle to me feet, I can see Bast sit up a bit straighter at the sudden turn-around.

A mindless roar blasts away the swirling dust, and the being made of rage seems just even more pissed off now. Before I can even think of my next move, it once again blasts off towards me, springing across the blood-stained sand on all fours, so instead of thinking I once again react.

Right as the darker side of me reaches me, raising one arm the size of tree trunk with the intention of pulverizing my head, I strike as well, our fists impacting each other's face at the same time, that feeling of being… larger underneath the skin of this Projection filling my senses.

As every time before now, I'm sent flying by the sheer force that monstrous part of me possesses, but this time I'm not the only one eating dirt. Even as I'm sent flying, I can see through my one non-swollen eye that the monster is blasted into the sand as if being bitch-slapped by the hand of God.

I crash into the unforgiving stone of the walls again, fire shooting up through my spine and I cry out in pain as I fall to my knees.

Through my one good eye I look up, supporting myself on trembling arms and I can see the monster work itself to its feet as well, while behind him, not having moved an inch, sits Bast, regally gazing down upon our duel like an Emperor watching a gladiator match.

Something about that image strikes a chord within me, and for the briefest of moments a scene flashes before my eyes: a city of skyscrapers, twisted onto its side, while an old man imperiously glares down upon two combatants wielding swords as large as they are, the one looking like a ghostly version of the other shouting something about being King with mad glee.

The scene is forcefully removed from my head as a flaming knee strikes it with enough strength to shatter stone, and I'm blasted back into the crater I had already made in the arena wall.

The monster makes to punch me again, but I shoot forwards as well, my open hand grasping his fist (but even that's wrong somehow, those angles that are off, those dimensions that are just too large making it feel like an enormous hand is clamping down upon its entire arm) gritting my bloodstained teeth against the feel of my skin burning, before I kick it in the chest.

The manifestation is carried much further away from me than my leg is actually long and it crashes into the opposite wall much like I just had.

I can tell that I'm on the right track in abandoning thinking my way out of the Trial of the Body, but I can also tell that there's still more to it.

Both my Astral Projection and my inner darkness climb to their feet, and we only lock gazes for a moment before it lets out a roar filled with mindless hate and charges once more at me.

This time I run out to meet it (though it's vastly faster than I am) and as we meet on my half of the arena its beefy arms descend down upon me with the intention of literally hammering me into the ground. This time I reach up to catch its attack, and even though I feel like the bones in my arms are snapping upon impact, I remain standing, sweat and blood pouring down my face in equal measure.

It roars in my face, its fiery breath nearly burning my eyebrows off and acting purely on instinct I roar back (though its far less impressive of course, on the account of not rattling my bones with the sheer amount of volume)

But this can't be it, right?

Just wailing on one another, until either one of us is beaten to a pulp? Sure, Bast might think my physical pain is amusing, but why use this manner to go about it? Why pit my original body from my original universe (which is probably part of why I don't really fit in this dimension) against the impulses of my new body?

My frantic thoughts are interrupted by the being kicking me in the chest, sending me to the ground yet again, but when it descends on me with a stomp I lash out in instinct by kicking it in the side.

Though my foot only makes contact with a bit of skin above its hip, the monster's entire body is lifted up, the skin yielding underneath an invisible force as large as it is, the Lovecraftian angles of my body whirling and shifting in ways that make me dizzy as I look at them too closely.

The monster is thrown clear from me and bounces a couple of times across the sand before slamming into the gate he had first come from, crumpling the metal around its massive frame. As both me and my opponent struggle to our feet again (whatever damage I have managed to inflict upon it, if any at all, has already healed) I can't help but think back towards that scene that flashed in my mind moments ago.

I glance up at where Bast is reclining, and I can feel hate building inside of me as I glare at the unmoving Goddess. Time to ruin her little show.

Every sane thought I have in my mind is railing against my actions, screaming that the risk is too great, bombarding me with every what-if scenario they can think off, crying out that what I'm about to do is a bad idea in every way, shape and form.

Thing is, this is the Trial of the Body.

This is no place for thinking, but acting.

And so I act… by doing nothing.

The manifestation has already blasted off, one of its hands lighting up with a white hellish glow, fingers held straight in a piercing move, but I don't put up a guard (which would be futile anyways) or even try to dodge or just run like hell.

I keep standing right where I am, arms held loosely at my side, broken and beaten but unbowed.

And then its hand pierces straight through my chest.

The entirety of the abuse I have suffered during my fight doesn't even compare to a tenth of the sheer amount of agony I'm enduring right now. I can't even scream, as the pain has completely paralyzed every muscle and nerve in my body.

And for a moment, I think I've made a mistake.

That this will be the end, just because I thought I was being clever. That this is where I'll die, despite everything I've done trying to avoid that fate.

But then I realize something strange.

I'm not dead.

Focusing my one good eye on the monster that currently has his arm shoved inside my chest (it's up to its elbow inside my ribcage, but there's nothing emerging through my back, as if I'm far larger on the inside than the outside) I notice that it stands completely frozen and for the first time since I've laid eyes upon it, it doesn't have an expression of mindless hate on its twisted face.

Instead, it looks utterly confused.

"I get it." I whisper through a sore throat, despite the fact that by all rights I had just had my lungs utterly destroyed.

At my words, the manifestations eyes snap towards my bloodied face, confusion warring with rage, but before rage can win I keep talking.

"You're a part of me. Which means you're scared of the same things as me. You don't want to die, I get that, for fucks sakes I get that. I want to live as well. So work with me here. Because if it's up to her-" at which I point my bashed in head in Bast's direction, who has gone utterly still after my suicidal move, "-then one of us will die. Lend me your strength and I swear I'm gonna do everything I can to keep us alive. Anything. I can help you! You just have to let me."

The monster in front of me keeps his eyes locked on mine, his free hand clenching and unclenching, his entire body trembling with rage that's barely held in check. Then its burning gaze shifts from me to the Panther Goddess, who has yet to move since she saw me apparently allowing my darker side to murder me.

"She wants us to die. Either one is fine, she doesn't care which. So why give her that satisfaction? You could play her game and kill me and a part of you will die. Or you can work with me. And together, we'll beat the ever-loving shit out of whoever was stupid or weak enough to challenge us. If we're apart we'll die, but if we're one, then we can become unstoppable."

The manifestation had unwaveringly been staring straight into Bast's burning violet eyes, but as I finish my plea, it slowly looks back towards me. Briefly it seems to contemplate something, but then I realize that I'm looking at the manifestation of the subconscious feelings that have been developed by my super serums and given sentience by the mystical properties of a Vibranium-enhanced herb.

A better description would be to say that the manifestation was merely taking the time to let its feelings guide it to a decision.

And apparently it had come to one, as the arm inside my chest is glowing a blindingly white and I can feel my torso start burning.

Fear and pain consume me in equal measure, but all I can do is widen my eye and let out a shocked gasp as I can't seem to manage to form words anymore.

But then I see that the manifestation is still looking at me without rage still consuming its expression, and once again I'm floored to find that, despite having suffered damage beyond what any human should be able to survive, I'm still not dead yet.

As the heat and light in my chest keep increasing I can see that the rest of my baser parts is beginning to light up as well, until it's more a burning silhouette of white light rather than a defined being.

Bast has placed both enormous paws on the balustrade in front of her, a growl coming from her that shakes the stands, but it's too late to stop whatever's happening to me.

Which is when the manifestation explodes.

The entire arena is consumed by a swirling whirlwind of fire, with me at the epicentre. I imagine this is what standing on the surface of the sun is like as the firestorm keeps roaring around me, licks of flame drawing closer and closer in an ever-tightening circle.

Soon I'm in a column of the hottest flame I've ever felt, and the fire start to cover my skin, flowing over it like a stream over a smoothed riverbed. I fall to my knees, curling up in a ball in a futile attempt to protect myself against the agony of being burned alive, even as the flames keep drawing ever inwards, being sucked inside my body through the flaming crevice in my chest.

However, eventually even this torture comes to an end, and the last swirls of flame sink underneath my skin, leaving me to gasp deeply for air for the first time in what feels like hours.

And as I do, I notice that I feel… good.

No, scratch that, I feel fucking amazing.

Gone are the aching pains that had begun to build up during my gladiatorial match, gone is the feeling of being on a different wavelength than the rest of the dimension. There's still that sense of being somehow more than my current form, but at least now it feels real, tied down to reality in a way.

And it's my new form as well, though the angles are still off, and the dimensions are still too deep somehow.

But it's me. More than the unfamiliar body I had woken up in more than twenty years ago and had enhanced, more even than the dizzying original body that I had entered the Astral Plane with.

This was all me.

Opening my now healed eyes, I see that the entire floor of the arena is now twisted, glowing glass, with me standing in the epicentre of all that destruction. Slowly straightening (while revelling in the absence of all the damage I had suffered only minutes before) I turn towards the still standing Bast, who despite the near cataclysmic event of both of my halves merging, remains completely unruffled.

Silence hangs thick in the air between us as we just stare at each other, before Bast finally breaks it.

"PLANEWALKER. YOU HAVE SURVIVED AND THUS PASSED THE TRIAL OF THE BODY. YOU HAVE PROVEN TO BE WORTHY OF THE POWER OF THE HERB."

She sounds as if she's tasting something foul, but despite my anger towards the goddess I have enough sense of self-preservation left to not call her out on it.

"YOU ARE FREE TO RETURN TO THE MORTAL REALM. WITH THIS, I SHALL GIVE YOU YOUR ORDER."

With that, the Panther Goddess leaps from the stands, landing on the glowing glass of the arena without even a whisper, her shadowed paws ghosting across the burning surface as if it weren't even there, before she halts in front of me, her violet eyes burning into my own flaming ones.

"SAVE EARTH."

And with that I hear a finger-snap in the background, and with that the world around me fades away into particles of dust, until only two glowing purple suns remain in the endless void around me.

Then those to fade out, and I shoot awake with a terrified gasp.

It takes a moment for me to recognize my surroundings, but as I start to regain control over my breathing I realize I'm lying on the table in the largest hut in a village in the middle of nowhere in the heart of Africa.

Hearing soft snoring from behind me, I vault over the table in a back-flip, while in mid-air I hook my toes underneath the edge of the table flipping it into the air as well. The moment I land perfectly on the balls of my feet, my hands shoot out and grasp the table, holding it out so it can be used as either a shield or a bat.

All in the span of second.

Slowly lowering the table, I glance in wonder down at my body. There aren't any visible changes other than somehow looking even fitter than before, but there's this whole new feeling to my body. As if I can feel every single part of it down the finest detail, and yet have full control over all of them. It makes me feel as if my skin had always been somewhat too tight, but now it had been turned into a handmade suit, specially crafted for my body to absolute perfection.

Seeing that the snoring had come from Sterns who was lying on a cot in the corner, I stretch my arms above my head as I stare longingly at the open space at the other end of the large hut.

Not being able to contain myself, I jump forwards, landing on my hands. There's not a waver in my form, not a moment of unbalance. Then I slowly remove one of my hands, but it feels completely natural, as if I'm still completely in tune with every single action my body makes.

And then I stretch my fingers.

I weighed in at somewhere under 470 pounds (or 213 kilo's as the rest of the world would say) and yet I was merely standing on the tips of my fingers, without any noticeable effort or the slightest twitch or waver in my form.

I use my other hand in order to flip myself upright again, a massive grin firmly glued to my face.

Still, as awesome as being enhanced by the Heart-Shaped Herb feels, that had not been the main reason for ingesting the Black Panther power-up.

But before I can try to master the mysterious ways of the Arcane Arts, I had something else to do first.

Walking towards where Sterns is still blissfully snoring away, I gently shake him awake.

"No mom, five more minutes please…."

Right, I firmly shake him awake.

"AGH! Stay back! Back! I know karaté!" Sterns yells in blind panic, whirling around and jumping out of bed with such vigour, his legs end up tangled in the thin sheet and he comes crashing down flat on the dirt floor.

Sitting down on the side of the bed, I simply look on with a grin as Sterns (with a lot of rather inventive curses) frees himself from the clinging grasp of his sheet, before he finally sees me, my glowing eyes, veins and heartbeat making me easy to spot in the near-darkness.

"Michael? Oh thank God, you're finally awake." Sterns explodes with an exhausted sigh, walking over and sitting down next to me, rubbing a hand over his tired eyes.

The sheer relief in his tone catches me off guard.

"What makes you say that? You look panicked. How long was I out for?"

At my question, Sterns blindly graps for something on his bedside table, holding up a digital watch to his face with a squint.

"Well, as of right now? About sixteen hours, give or take half an hour."

Sixteen? It certainly hadn't felt like a mere sixteen hours, but then again, time did flow differently in the Astral Plane.

"What the hell happened Michael? None of the other serums took this long, and I've never seen you so… still before. After six hours I posted someone by your side in shifts just to keep an eye on whether or not you were even still breathing."

Briefly I wonder how I should answer the concerned scientist, before settling on a half-truth as he probably wouldn't believe me if I told him the whole truth.

"Honestly Sterns, I either went on a combination of the biggest acid-trip in history combined with an out-of-body experience that would put enlightened guru's to shame, or I just had a religious experience."

For a few moments, Sterns just stares at me with a flat expression on his face, before he rolls his eyes and shakes his head.

"Only you would take the psychedelic reactions of an unknown, glowing plant as a religious experience McCole. Only you."

Standing up from the bed, Sterns makes his way to the other side of the room, where a basic kitchenette is placed and starts going through the mystical process of making himself a cup of coffee (as I've never liked coffee in either lifetime I don't know what half the steps are for, but the moment I think that my new brain starts feeding me information on possible uses of all the objects Sterns is handling).

"So, what's next?" the scientist asks over his shoulder and at his question I fold my hands underneath my chin and try to envision my map with the MCU timeline on it (which ends up being ridiculously easy to do with my new eidetic memory).

"We can't stay here. Not just here I mean, in this village, but in Africa itself. Wakanda will try to expand soon and this entire continent might end up being a hotbed for spy-activity. And a white 8-foot tall behemoth and his even whiter, literal egghead of a friend will stick out like a pair of sore thumbs." I say with a wry smile on my face, prompting a chuckle from Sterns.

"To be fair, it'd be pretty hard to find a demographic in which we wouldn't stand out."

I laugh at his joke, but secretly my mind flashes to the Afterlife, the village built for Inhumans by Daisy Johnson's mother. We could fit right in there (disregarding the whole, you know, murdering all humans bit).

"So where to shall we run, oh fearless leader?"

I barely withhold a snort at the unintentional irony in Sterns question, before I re-examine my 12 Step Program. It's November now, which means that I still have roughly five months before Loki's attack on Earth.

I have achieved my primary goal of at least managing to survive the immediate area of an Avengers battle and I have my hands on one of the most versatile materials on the planet and likely in the universe (Uru notwithstanding, but actually managing to get my grubby little hands on any of that would probably require lengths I'm unwilling to go to).

So what now?

As I keep looking at all of the names and events in my timeline a plan starts to form. Yes some of those events have yet to happen years down the line, but the people involved are very much alive today.

Alive… and useful.

"America. We're going to America, preferably New York or somewhere in its proximity. And then, we're gonna start making some friends."

As the kettle comes to a boil behind him, Sterns furrows his brow.

"Friends? What friends?"

Looking up at the scientist with a mischievous grin, I can't help but let out a chuckle.

"Tell me something Doc. Does the name Noah Burnstein ring any bells?"

/

Fun Fact: Marvel Comics and DC Comics have co-owned the trademark for the phrase "super hero" since 1981. They pursued this action because the toy company Mego, which made licensed toys of DC characters, had beat them to it. Mego gave up the trademark when the two companies threatened legal action.