Black sky part 2

Matt was breathing heavily, his hands quick and experienced as he treated his wounds the best he could with what he had. Nothing life-threatening, or at least it wouldn't be if he could stop the bleeding, but damn if it didn't hurt now that the adrenalin surge had passed.

"Holy shit, did you just lose a fight with a lawnmower?" Jessica exclaimed, arriving on the scene. She moved her eyes from Matt to Nobu; her eyes got wider. "Or won it, apparently." Jessica looked back at him. "Seriously, though, do I need to call an ambulance?"

"I would love to hear you explain all this if you did," Matt replied, a small smile on his lips.

"You're blind, tell them you fell," Jessica suggested. "Or that you have a drinking problem."

"How would a drinking problem, or a fall, explain this?" Matt deadpanned.

"You fell in front of a lawnmower," she shrugged.

"No, just… No. Thanks, though. What about you? Did you manage to destroy those dragons?"

"Wouldn't be here if I didn't, would I?" Jessica retorted.

Matt was about to say something in response, but at the moment he opened his mouth there was a sonic boom; both of them looked up, knowing already what that sound meant. And without delay, Superman appeared, landing in front of them.

For some reason, he looked a bit sick, almost as if he just witnessed something particularly revolting.

"Look who's here! Bit late, huh?" Jessica asked, looking at Clark.

He just sighed. "I was fighting a super-zombie, Jessica. A literal undead."

Both Jessica and Matt turned fast to stare at him when he said that. An undead? Was that what that smelly monstrosity was? Stick said something about the Hand dealing in dark arts to gain immortality, but actually encountering something like that was very weird.

Not noticing their surprise, Clark went on.

"I had to make a stop and grab one of those shipping containers to store… Something." He sounded sick again; what exactly had happened? "Forgive me if it took me a while."

Clark glanced at her, relief plain to see on his expression.

"I'm glad you're okay." Then he turned to Matt. "Okay-ish." Clark focused on him for a moment, studying his wounds. "You don't have any internal bleeding or punctured organs, but we really should do something about that blood."

Too tired to be impressed by the display of his x-ray vision, Matt just shook his head.

"I got it, thanks," Matt said, showing Clark the rags he was using.

Clark nodded, then glanced at Nobu with the same expression, probably also assessing his state.

"He's not in an immediate risk either, but he really does need a hospital."

There was a long silence and Matt was already prepared for the outburst, his hands actually stopping for a moment.

Yet, it never came.

Superman certainly wouldn't rejoice at the sight of an injured person, dangerous criminal or not, and Matt never expected him to. But it seemed he at least understood that Matt did what he had to do, at least in this case. Nobu was deadly, maybe even deadlier than even Matt was, and if he didn't fight with all he had, he would be the one lying on the floor.

And he wouldn't be breathing, of that he had no doubt.

That small moment gave Matt a lot of insight about Clark's sense of justice, certainly a lot more than their talk earlier that day. He got the feeling that even if Nobu had been killed as a consequence of that battle, Clark wouldn't blame him. He wouldn't like it, Matt was sure of that, but he would not blame him for doing what he could to stop a highly skilled criminal that needed to be stopped, even if that criminal didn't survive in the end.

Suddenly, his relationship with the Avengers – and Matt would highlight the easy friendship he had with Black Widow – made a lot more sense.

"One of those you're doing for others. The other you're just doing for yourself."

Shaking his head, Matt dispelled those thoughts; it wasn't the time or the place. Then he looked at the shipping container.

"We have to deal with that."

As if they were one, all of them stared at the toppled shipping container and Matt could actually feel the tension grow. If Stick was right, that thing was carrying Black Sky, a magical weapon powerful enough to bring forth the Armageddon; he was prone to exaggeration, Matt knew that, but somehow he didn't think Stick was too off the mark here.

Unless, of course, Stick was indeed exaggerating and the infamous Black Sky was that undead giant Clark had already beaten and that container was keeping something else.

"You're sure you didn't already deal with that?" Jessica asked, thinking along the same lines as Matt. "'Cause a super-zombie capable of fist fighting you does qualify as a pretty dangerous weapon in my book."

"I don't… think so," Clark answered, clearly uncertain. "Stick apparently crossed paths with Grundy before."

"Grundy?" Jessica asked.

"Where's Stick?" Matt questioned at the same time.

Before Clark could answer any of those questions, a laugh interrupted their conversation.

The three of them turned to the source of the eerie laughter, their eyes falling on Nobu. The Yakuza boss was looking at them with his one eye, a mess of blood, bruises and broken bones, still fallen where Matt had left him. Nobu moved, dragging himself so he could look at them properly.

"After all this… And you don't even know what Black Sky is?" he slurred, probably concussed, though it was hard to assess injuries on people who could channel chi. He half-laughed, half-coughed, spiting blood. He muttered something in Japanese. "Such ignorance… Like blind worms stumbling in the dark."

He coughed again, spitting more blood in front of him, his hands trembling as he tried to keep himself up.

"The power of Black Sky is immeasurable," Nobu finally said. "It is the key to our victory." He stared at them. "I will enlighten you."

His announcement brought frowns of confusion, but Matt understood what Nobu intended a second later, when he felt his chi being channeled: right in the pool of blood he coughed in front of him.

Nobu's bloody hand left an imprint and that imprint hummed with power. Suddenly, all their attention was drawn to the shipping container, where symbols started to appear, written in blood, across all its surface. Letters, Matt realized, resembling some oriental alphabet. K'un-Lun's language, perhaps? There was surge of power, chi in its purest form, and all the bloody symbols disappeared. There was silence.

Then the shipping container exploded, its metal torn to shreds, as a black energy expanded from within, going up to the sky like a tower of pure darkness.

They all raised their arms, shielding their faces from the truly powerful wind, trying to remain standing as the ground cracked and shook; Clark immediately put himself in front of them, shielding both Matt and Jessica from the debris. The noise was absolutely terrifying, like a piercing scream and Matt was already feeling dizzy, his entire senses completely overwhelmed by it. He groaned, falling to his knees as he tried to protect his ears.

Suddenly, the black mass of energy moved, like a living shadow, no longer a tower of darkness that reached the sky, but something else, something familiar.

A raven. Gigantic, threatening and incredibly regal.

"Do you see now?" Nobu all but yelled, as he did his best to turn and face the dark raven. "Unlimited power! This is what will guide us to our destiny, to a new Age of Dragons and to our rightful place in K'un-Lun!"

Those were the ramblings of a fanatic, but Matt actually believed him for a moment. Everything Stick said, all those myths and fairy tales, they were real. The Hand, immortal warriors, dragons… Black Sky.

It existed and Matt was witnessing its full glory.

Could they stop it? Could they do anything? Against something like that, Matt had his doubts even Superman could do something.

Was that the end?

A black aura surrounded Nobu. Matt could feel the raw power like a flame burning up his senses. What was happening? Was Nobu absorbing Black Sky's power? Was that even possible? Could that be the Hand's plan all along? He floated in front of them, arms opened as if he was transcending his mortal form to become something else.

And then, suddenly, before even Superman could as much as blink, the black aura around Nobu squeezed, crushing him to pulp.

Matt was stunned, they all were. Nobu didn't even had the chance to scream, to lose the victorious expression on his face before the black aura surrounding him contracted, pretty much folding his entire body until all that was left was red goo.

Just like that, Nobu Yoshioka, leader of Yakuza in Hell's Kitchen, was gone forever.

As soon as that happened, all the incredible pressure of that black energy suddenly vanished; the aura surrounding Nobu's remains disappeared, releasing a rain of blood, crushed bones and ripped tissue.

And the immense and powerful black raven that Black Sky had molded itself into also disappeared, vanishing so abruptly that the silence shocked Matt for a moment.

In its place, was a girl.

A tired to the bone, scared and hurt teenager that could barely stand. She raised her arms, as if to say she wasn't a threat to them.

No one knew what to say or what to do.

And while they were so surprised that they could barely react, an arrow flew out of nowhere and hit the girl right in the abdomen.

Clark was moving towards the girl a split second after the arrow hit her.

His mind was racing with thoughts as he did it; how could he have missed the arrow's noise? How could Matt? Black Sky's amazing display of power and Nobu's sudden – and violent – death were certainly distracting, but there was absolutely no way for the two of them to have missed something like that.

Not only the arrow's noise, but the proximity of the one who shot it: Stick.

Clark didn't know what happened, what Black Sky's power really was, what her killing Nobu meant. He couldn't understand how cold someone had to be to try to kill a girl that clearly meant them no harm – because if she did, considering the display of sheer power, they would know it – and he still couldn't fully accept that the so called weapon they were trying to destroy was, in fact, a person.

He was confused as hell. And now he had a terrified girl bleeding to death in his arms.

A girl that possessed a power so incredible that he could barely comprehend, a girl that had just been released from a shipping container and then killed someone – probably the same person that had put her there in the first place –, but he wouldn't worry about any of that right now.

Right now, Clark had a life to save. Questions and decisions would come later. And someone else could deal with Stick, at least for now.

"STICK!" Matt screamed, turning to face the shipping container his old master was perched upon.

The old man stood, calmly disassembling his long bow and putting it away. Somehow, Matt started to listen Stick's heartbeat – all his bodily functions, really – just now. How did he do that? Was this some chi trick? Could he have done the same to the arrow that both he and Clark missed?

"Matty," he greeted, normally, as if he hadn't just shot an arrow at a girl.

"What have you done?" Matt all but roared, approaching the shipping container in big steps.

"What we're all here to do, kid," Stick said, turning to him. "The mission to destroy Black Sky doesn't stop because its packaging looks unthreatening."

"That's a girl, you sick bastard!"

"No, Matty, that is Black Sky. A weapon capable of destroying this entire planet and so much else with no effort whatsoever." Stick pointed to the girl being tended by Clark. "That thing is what the Hand needs to kill us all and we need to destroy it."

"Look at me, look at me!" Clark asked, grabbing the girl's hand and forcing her to look into his eyes. "You're going to be okay, I promise."

"I-It hurts…" the girl said, her voice weak.

Clark didn't answer for a moment, his eyes checking the wound internally. He heard Jessica approaching in fast steps.

"Holy shit… It went through her," Jessica muttered to herself, crouching close. She looked to Clark. "Did it get anything important?"

"Nothing it can't be fixed," Clark answered after a few seconds. He turned to Jessica. "Hold her tight, please."

Jessica grabbed the girl firmly and yet very gently, helping Clark to turn her a little bit so he could see the arrow coming from her back; his eyes glowed red and in one quick blast he cut off the arrowhead.

And then, without warning, he pulled the rest of the arrow out.

"AHHHHH!" the girl yelled, trying to move, but Jessica didn't let her, even though a spurt of blood hit her straight in the face.

Clark glanced at the arrow for a moment, taking note of the K'un-Lun symbols etched on its surface; was that how it travelled without him or Matt noticing? Some kind of chi sorcery?

A thought for another time, he decided, grabbing the girl's pale hand and looking into her eyes again.

"Now squeeze my hand… This is gonna hurt."

His eyes started to glow once again; the girl's scream pierced the night.

Matt skillfully climbed on the shipping container, walking towards Stick.

"You've seen what it can do, you felt it," Stick went on. "Do you want to see Black Sky unleashed in this world?"

"That's what your war's come to? Killing girls?"

"That thing is not a girl–"

"I can hear her heartbeat! I can sense how scared she is!"

"If you could focus beyond your crybaby feelings, you would sense what that thing really is," Stick retorted. "You're blind as you ever were. A kid, stubborn and naïve."

"Maybe you should've stuck around and finished training me yourself," Matt snarled.

"I needed a soldier, you wanted a father."

"Well, I guess we're both disappointed then."

"I guess we are," Stick agreed, slowly.

Matt stepped in front of him, both of them assessing each other.

"I'm not gonna let you kill that girl," Matt finally said.

"Oh, she's already dead," Stick piped up. "First rule of archery: if you're not 100% sure you can kill the target on the first shot, use poison." He glanced up, staring at Matt with his white eyes. "Something for you to remember when you decide to step up and fight the real war, Matty."

Matt didn't even remember making the decision to punch Stick, but as soon as his fist collided against his face all rational thought left him.

There was only rage left.

"ARRRGGGHHH!" the girl yelled, feeling Clark's heat vision cauterizing her wounds.

Ignoring the piercing scream and helping Jessica to keep her as immobilized as possible, Clark continued his job, trying to contain the internal bleeding as best as he could.

But no matter how focused on the task he was, he couldn't help to overhear Matt's conversation with Stick, nor the start of their fight.

"Kelex, I need you to run a blood analysis," Clark said, still working with his heat-vision. "Compare it against every single kind of poison on your database and find the proper antidote and treatment."

"Right away, sir," Kelex answered, extending its previous bracelet form and acquiring a bit of the girl's blood.

"Also, call Bruce in the Avengers Tower, tell him to prepare the emergency room. Send him the results of what you find immediately, please."

As soon as he finished cauterizing the wound, Clark grabbed the unconscious girl carefully and got up. He looked at Jessica, opening his mouth.

"Just go," Jessica said, before he could say anything. "I'll help Matt take care of things here."

Nodding in thanks, Clark glanced one last time towards Matt and Stick – controlling his anger towards the latter – and took off, flying as fast as he could without hurting the girl even more.

Matt and Stick danced around each other, attacking and dodging each other's blows like only adversaries who knew one another very well could. The same style, the same gifts, the same violence, the same tricks.

It was like fighting a mirror-image.

Their fists clashed and they immediately followed with a knee blow and a kick; their feet clashed against the metal of the shipping container and they were forced to engage to stay away from the edges. Both could sense each other, hearing the muscles tense even before they were moving, and as a response they would change their stance to counteract that; which, in turn, forced the opponent to change his strategy.

It made it all look like a brawl instead of a battle between two of the most skilled warriors in the world. They were simply too alike.

And that was probably the first time Matt realized how much of Stick he had into him.

More than simply martial art's styles and training, but the mentality of a warrior. Liking it or not, they were both brutal, direct and fearless. Both of them could take an extreme amount of punishment – Matt's torn and bloody torso was more than proof enough – and they were willing to bleed if it meant the adversary would bleed even more.

But there was a big difference between them: how far they were willing to go.

Stick had no limits. To complete his mission, to win his war, he would do anything. No matter how cruel, no matter how bloody, even if it made him eerily similar to his own sworn enemies. The fact that he had just shot and poisoned a girl without hesitation – or remorse – was enough evidence.

And yet, in his point of view, Stick considered himself one of the good guys.

That scared Matt more than he would care to admit. Was he like that? Would he turn into that? Was Stick his future? Matt couldn't even contemplate assassinating someone, not a criminal and even less an innocent, but he freely admitted that he enjoyed making them pay for their crimes. It felt good to put the fear of the Devil on someone used to hurt and scare innocents. More than that, it felt right.

Just as he imagined it felt right for Stick to kill anyone between him and victory in his war against the Hand. Even innocent and terrified girls, only because her power could be used as a weapon.

Clark had warned him about that, about figuring it out why he was doing what he did: for himself or for others? To make himself feel better, to vent his rage? Or to save an innocent people that needed saving?

Despite all his inner confusion, there was one thing Matt knew for sure: he didn't want to become Stick.

His fist collided against Stick's face, one, two, three times, fast and powerful. Stick completely ignored the pain, advancing towards Matt and grabbing his arm, quickly twisting it and repositioning himself behind him.

And then he caught Matt in a chokehold.

"Can't even tag an old man, Matty," Stick taunted, pressing Matt's throat. "Is this what criminals in this city fear? Is this the Devil of Hell's Kitchen, the hero of the people? Ha!"

Matt grabbed Stick's arm, trying to push it away from his throat, trying to breathe. He unleashed a few elbow blows to his ribs, but Stick just ignored them, pulling Matt back as he walked on top of the shipping container.

"That thing you wanted to protect so much?" Stick continued. "Give her half a chance and she would blow up this entire city, even if not on purpose. Under the Hand's control or not, that weapon is too fucking dangerous."

"She… is… just a girl!" Matt groaned, his face red.

"And you are just a little boy, blind to the truth. And the truth is, kid, if you want peace, you gotta win the war first. And you don't win wars with half-measures. You don't win wars by sparing enemies and allowing them to find better weapons to kill you. And you don't win wars without a fucking army!" Stick snarled. "We need you, kid. And you need us. You won't accomplish shit by tying your hands with a crappy moral code and you won't accomplish shit by yourself."

Matt was about to fall unconscious, holding with the last shreds of his willpower. His fight against Nobu cost him a lot of stamina and his injuries were slowing him down too much. On a good day, fighting Stick would already be an unpredictable battle. Fighting him as he was?

It was suicide. And his inability to get out of Stick's chokehold proved that.

When his mind was about to shut down, there was a thunderous sound, followed by massive blow. The entire shipping container trembled, so much that the thing almost toppled over.

And in that one second, Stick loosened his chokehold.

Acting on pure instinct, Matt used his entire body weight and just flipped, jumping from the shipping container. Stick, recovering his grasp, was dragged with him, as they twisted midair during their fall.

Only to land under Matt, back against the concrete ground, a crushing blow that knocked the air from Stick's lungs.

Matt took his chance and got up, still dizzy and wobbling, getting away from Stick's arms. And when the old man tried to get up to continue the fight, he landed a direct punch against him, knocking him back down.

Stick groaned, face bleeding.

"I would stay down if I were you, old man," Jessica threatened, surprising Matt's woozy mind. Well, that explained the sudden earthquake that almost toppled the shipping container. "I don't give a shit if you're 100 years old, I'll kick your ass back to the nursing home if I have to."

Against all odds, he chuckled, still lying down.

"Maybe I should recruit you instead of the kid," he joked, spiting blood.

Matt was too pissed and too tired to find anything remotely funny.

"Get out of my city!" Matt ordered. "If you ever come back, Stick, I swear to God, I'll make you wish you'd died today."

Struggling to get up, his face bleeding, Stick pulled himself up, moaning in pain. He pulled a pair of sunglasses from his pocket.

"Maybe there's hope for you yet, kid," Stick said, breathing heavily. "Nice catching up, eh?" He pointed at the billy clubs Matt dropped in the beginning of their fight. "You can keep the sticks. You're gonna need them."

Saying this, he turned his back at them and started walking, disappearing behind the line of shipping containers without another word.

Somehow, Matt didn't think it would be the last time he saw him.

Tiredly, he turned to Jessica.

"Did the girl…"

"Still alive," Jessica answered. "Clark took her to the Avengers Tower." She shrugged. "Let's wait and see."

It was all they could do, after all.

"Meanwhile," Jessica added, "let's see if anyone of those mobsters we beat up are waking up before they should." She looked around her, seeing the scene of utter destruction at the docks. "You don't think they have another one of those zombies, do you? 'Cause I had enough for one night."

Matt agreed. It had been a long day.

Wilson Fisk was having one of the worse nights of his life.

Building an empire was not an easy task. It took talent, it took dedication, it took a lifetime of work and sacrifice. Fisk had started from scratch with nothing more than his willpower, and little by little he conquered what was rightfully his.

And now he was seeing everything fall apart in a matter of hours.

"Yes, of course," Wesley answered in the phone. "I understand."

There was nothing in his voice or body language that gave it away, but Fisk knew Wesley was as worried as he was. And he had every reason to be, given the kind of people he was talking to. Fisk turned away, looking out of the window of his apartment, gazing at the city for which he gave so much of himself.

Vanessa grabbed his hand, looking at him. He felt himself getting calmer.

"I will relay the message, certainly," Wesley said, extremely polite. Then he hang up.

He looked at Fisk for a long time, the silence stretching as if he couldn't find the words.

"I just got a call from… Them," Wesley started. He was pale. "They were informing us of how things went at the docks."

Something Fisk already knew, of course, if not down to the last detail.

"They wanted to tell us that… You-Know-Who and the Masked Man intercepted their cargo's arrival," Wesley went on. "Their men were beaten, the cargo was taken and Nobu died." He looked down, swallowing. "They were… Unhappy."

Fisk let out a long sigh. How exactly was this his fault? Nobu had asked for one simple thing: keep the police away. So he complied, perfectly. He removed not only the police, but any personnel that could somehow intervene with their business.

And now he was being held accountable for that failure because Superman and the Masked Man decided to appear.

How could anyone predict such a thing? Not only there wasn't any indication that Superman was moving against them – other than his appearance at the Russian warehouses during the explosions –, but his apparent partnership with the Masked Man was also unforeseen. Vladimir didn't know about the cargo's arrival, so the information couldn't have come from him, and he knew for a fact that it hadn't been leaked from his side.

What happened was not his fault or responsibility; and yet he was somehow the one being blamed.

That was not all, of course. An evil chance seldom comes alone, after all. Not only he had a furious Hand breathing down his neck, now they also had misplaced Leland. And this was, maybe, the worse thing that could have happened.

Superman appearing to stop the bombings against the Russians could be considered a coincidence. Him and the Masked Man moving against Nobu at the docks could be result of leaked information.

But Black Widow's attack against Leland's safehouse and his subsequently capture, at the same time Nobu was being overwhelmed at the docks, spelled of a carefully thought operation.

Somehow, Superman, the Masked Man and the Avengers were acting against them. And Fisk didn't know why or what to do, especially now that they had not only Vladimir to extract information, but also Leland.

Leland, who was responsible for the launder, the hiding and the moving of a great deal of their money. Leland who was, probably, the most cowardly, opportunistic man Fisk had ever laid eyes on. Leland who would be interrogated by the Black Widow herself, a trained assassin that had broken far more dangerous people in her time without even trying.

Vladimir Ranskahov thrived in the cold hellhole of a Russian prison and was broken in less than a day by her. Leland wouldn't last five minutes, if he tried to resist at all, which he wouldn't.

"Sir, I suggest we go back to Europe for a while," Wesley said, hesitantly, to break the long silence. "Our operations there are still going strong. It would be quite the setback," he admitted, "but if we stay here…"

If they stayed, soon enough Superman, the Masked Man and the Avengers would come, was the unfinished thought. And they would arrive armed with the entirety of what Leland knew, backed by the full might of the law to destroy everything he had built.

"We cannot abandon the city, Wesley," Fisk finally said, turning to look at him. He was still holding Vanessa's hand. "We made a deal with Madame Gao and her… Associates. And we still haven't fulfilled our obligations towards them."

The Hand wanted to strengthen their grasp on New York and they needed his help to accomplish that fast. In return, they were the ones who gave Fisk the push he needed to kickstart his operations and build his empire. That was the deal.

And in their line of business, especially when the Hand was involved, it wasn't possible to just back out from an arrangement like that.

They couldn't go back, they couldn't go forward. And staying still meant they were easy prey.

Still in silence, Fisk looked at Vanessa, gazing in her eyes. Gently, he touched her face. It wasn't just about himself and his dream anymore. It was also about her. He promised to stay at her side, to protect her. He told her that she didn't have anything to fear while she was with him.

It was a promise he had every intention to fulfill; he just didn't know how yet.

"What happens if we stay?" Vanessa said, suddenly, looking at Wesley.

Wesley hesitated, but Fisk simply nodded.

"Leland will tell them everything he knows," he explained. "And he knows a lot. He knows where we hide the money, how we launder it, how we move it, where we spend it… And how we acquired it. That's enough for the law to do its thing. If we stay, we'll be arrested."

"And if we leave?" Vanessa asked.

Again, Wesley hesitated, not because he didn't want to share knowledge, but because he didn't want to scare her.

"If we leave," Fisk said, answering for him, "we will be unable to fulfil our end of the deal with some very powerful people. They'll hunt us down, wherever we go, and make an example out of us." He looked at her, seeing no fear in Vanessa's eyes. "I can fight and I will die to protect you… But I don't know if I can win."

Vanessa seemed deep in thought for a moment. Then she looked at him.

"Remember what you said about ruling both worlds to reach a peaceful resolution?" she asked. "The criminal underworld and the lawful world of heroes." Fisk nodded, remembering their conversation well. "The outcomes you see will only happen if we stay in one of those worlds: the criminal underworld."

Vanessa touched his face.

"But what if we left the shadows and stepped willingly into the light?" she continued. "What if you didn't run or didn't face them like a criminal, but like a hero?"

Wilson Fisk listened enraptured.

"… specialists estimate hundreds of millions in damages caused by the gang-war stopped by Superman at the docks. One thing is certain: we can already expect another battle at the courtrooms, as no one knows who exactly will pay for all this. Coming up next, how will New York cope with the avocado shortage caused by the destruction of the entire shipment…"

Clark chewed his cold dumpling, barely tasting it, his mind far away. Sitting by his side on the couch, her feet on his lap, Natasha stared at the TV with a bored expression, eating her noodles with the same enthusiasm as Clark's. On the nearby armchair, Clint was sprawled out like a lazy cat, absentmindedly pressing the remote to find something to watch.

If not for Clark's Superman suit, Natasha and Clint's equally battle-oriented attires – minus the boots in Natasha's case, for Clark's benefit, or so she announced before putting her legs on his lap – and the huge arsenal composed of guns and arrows left on the table, it would be the very picture of the end of a tiring day in any other house in America.

The reality, of course, was entirely different. Though they were, indeed, friends having dinner together, their day had been anything but normal, even considering what was normal for them. Well, Natasha and Clint were in their element when they set out to capture Leland, that was true enough, but Clark could wholeheartedly say that he never expected to fight a zombie when he woke up that day.

The same way he didn't expect the infamous Black Sky – a weapon of apocalyptic proportions, according to Stick – to be a teenage girl.

Frowning in discomfort, still remembering how hot the girl's blood felt on his hands, Clark put his dumplings down. Bruce and a team of surgeons met him and the unconscious girl right at the moment he set foot in the Avengers Tower and quickly took her in for surgery, where they still were; where Clark would've liked to be as well, if Bruce hadn't pointed out that he was making the doctors anxious by pacing around, and then politely – but promptly – kicked him out.

For someone who constantly reminded them that he wasn't "that kind of doctor", Bruce sure had the required firm hand when he needed to.

At least he was there, that was something. Clark still didn't know exactly what Black Sky was, but he knew she had a great deal of power. She didn't seem inclined to use it against them, but that didn't mean she was harmless. With Bruce there, by her side, Clark felt things would be a little safer.

Of course, Hulk also wasn't someone they could classify as harmless, but usually he had enough sense to tackle the world-ending threat and not everyone around him, which was a good thing for everyone in the tower if something were to happen.

That gave him the time to fly back to the docks and deal with the situation there. Stick wasn't anywhere near when he arrived, already dealt with by Matt and banished from New York; not the outcome Clark would've chosen, not after what the old man did, but he supposed putting Stick into a normal prison would go as well as one would expect. Either Stick would get himself killed because of who he was fighting or he would kill everyone else and get away.

Jessica and Matt went back to their homes – Matt immediately refused the offer to have a doctor look at his wounds, saying he knew someone –, Clark put out the fires, rounded up the unconscious criminals, freed the ones who unfortunately passed away from under the fallen crane and called the authorities, the ones Natasha had already cleared up. Then, he finally went back to the Avengers Tower.

Bringing with him every single piece of K'un-Lunan technology left behind by the Hand. And Solomon Grundy himself.

Almost as if reading his mind, the repurposed shipping container Clark brought with him shook violently.

"Okay, that's the third time this thing moved," Clint said, jumping up and looking at Clark. "What the hell is that?"

He pointed at the cut, welded and folded shipping container in the corner of the room, now little more than a metal box, filled with smaller metal boxes. Natasha also turned to him.

"I, um, fought a zombie," Clark started, not knowing exactly how to explain all that in a simple way. "A superpowered one that could regenerate very fast and could also reincarnate himself if killed, even if there was nothing left of the body. So I… I broke his bones and cut him into pieces," Clark said, slowly, still very much bothered by what he had to do. "I stored the limbs separately because they were… Moving towards the torso and trying to reattach themselves. Simply locking them up wasn't enough, they scratched the metal quite easily, so I melted some steel over them and encased them into a cocoon, so that they couldn't move anymore. But they're still trying, that's what all that shaking is."

Clint and Natasha simply stared back, their expressions blank; Clark supposed they didn't yet know how exactly to react to something like that. Truth be told, neither did he. Grundy was dead, but the fact that he was moving didn't make what he did any easier on his stomach.

"He doesn't feel pain," Clark felt the need to tell them. "I mean, not one bit, at all. He also doesn't need to breathe or is capable of bleeding out, he doesn't even have blood. And I didn't remove his head, so he's still alive. Well, as alive as a zombie can be."

"Why the hell didn't you toss that thing in the sun?!" Clint finally exploded, looking horrified at the shaking shipping container Clark had folded into a smaller metal box.

"You know, you're the second person to suggest this," Clark realized. "What's this fascination about tossing things into the sun? I don't even know if I can do that."

"I would toss a lot of things in the sun if I could," Natasha mentioned, turning back to the TV. "It seems like a good way to deal with problems. Traffic? Toss the cars in the sun. Line to the coffee shop too long? Toss them in the sun. Tony think he's being funny? Sun."

"That's not a very healthy way to deal with your problems, Natasha," Clark pointed out, a tiny smile on his lips.

"Then you haven't been subjected to Tony's antics long enough. Trust me, you would cheer for the sun." She thought for a second. "I thank all the gods that he's not here today, we wouldn't hear the end of it. Two prisoners and a zombie in the tower. I can't say if he would be mad or overjoyed and I don't know which one of those would make his jokes more annoying." Natasha looked up. "Thanks for not telling him, Jarvis."

"You are welcome, Miss Romanoff," the AI answered, politely. "But I will have to inform him once he and Miss Pepper return from their business travel, I hope you understand that."

"We'll be long gone by them, so that's not a problem."

"Seriously, why the hell did you bring this here?" Clint insisted, interrupting them. "Do you want a zombie apocalypse? Because that's how you get a zombie apocalypse."

Clark sighed. "Like I said, if I had killed Grundy – that's the zombie's name –, he would just come back eventually. I don't know when, I don't know where, but one day we would have a superpowered zombie appearing somewhere without warning, attacking everyone." He shrugged. "I rather deal with limbs moving by themselves than have that in my conscience."

Clint seemed, if not happy, at least mollified by the answer; he still didn't take his eyes from the metal box, though.

"And I don't think he can infect people," Clark went on, remembering the painful feeling of the black fungal tendrils digesting his hand. "If Grundy bites you, well, he probably won't leave much behind to be reanimated. But don't worry, I'll take him somewhere else tomorrow. Somewhere better equipped to deal with things like this."

Natasha glanced at him, understanding. He hoped the Ancient One could take Grundy from him. Clark honestly had no idea what to do with him if she refused. Bury each part of his body in a different place? Seemed like the plot of a bad movie and it wouldn't work, because the main part – the head attached to the torso – was slowly regenerating. Soon, Grundy would be whole again. It would probably take some time, but he would.

Clark expected to find a solution before that, otherwise he would probably have to toss him into the sun for real.

"Well, you two have been busy," Clint said, eventually, finally taking his eyes from the metal box. "What exactly is going on? How is a mob accountant," he tilted his head in Natasha's direction, "related to a superpowered zombie?"

"The Hand," Natasha answered, simply, slurping her cold noodles. "Turns out they're real."

There was a long silence.

"Well, fuck," Clint breathed. "Fury's gonna love this."

"Could you–" Natasha started.

"Not even at gun point," Clint interrupted. Then he chuckled. "You're not nearly charming enough to convince me to call Fury and tell him the Hand is real."

"And about the superpowered zombie," Natasha added, pretty much ignoring his refusal. "I'm sure he'll like that part too."

"What about the dragon tombs?" Clark asked, smiling. "Or K'un-Lun, the dragon nation that has a gate right in the middle of China?"

Natasha turned to Clint. "It might be kinder if we just shoot the man, Clint."

"Shoot me while you're at it," Clint retorted. "We have dragons now?"

"Yep. Apparently, Thor fought them a long time ago," Natasha said. "Can you believe he never mentioned that?"

"Yes, yes I can," Clint answered, immediately. He sighed. "I miss the old days."

"Just normal spy things," Natasha continued, wistful. "Ah, the nostalgia." Then she looked at Clint again. "So, could you talk to–"

"No."

She rolled her eyes. "Fine, be like that. I'll remember it."

They all turned back to the TV, starting to eat the cold food again. Until Clint looked back at them once more.

"Can you handle it?" he asked.

Slowly, both of them nodded.

"Probably," Natasha said. "But I wouldn't mind backup if the need arises," she added.

Clint nodded in response. "I'll be around, then. Hopefully Fury won't send me in a mission for the next few days."

Natasha smiled at him, before stretching her hand to grab a takeout box from the small table.

"Does anyone want the Szechuan Chicken?" she asked. She looked at Clark, a barely conceived mischievous expression on her face. "Clark?"

He winced at the smell, picturing in his mind a food box full of Leland's hair instead of appetizing chicken; the drama of having enhanced senses, he was sure Matt could relate. Thor, by the amount and variety of food he ate without any issue, probably couldn't; or he just had a very tough stomach.

Kudos to Natasha for gambling on a whim and hitting the target, all for the sake of annoying him. She had a very weird sense of humor.

They went back to eating in silence, mostly ignoring the television as the reporters went on and on about all the destruction at the docks and someone firing what "experts" imagined to be some kind of cannon in the middle of Hell's Kitchen. Clark sighed; if he could have helped without destroying stuff, he would have, but Grundy didn't leave him much option.

Hopefully, insurance would cover most of it. Ever since the Incident, some companies were actually selling "superhero insurance policies", that covered damage caused by some selected individuals, like Tony, Thor, Hulk and, as a late addition, Superman.

When that didn't help, the company "Damage Control", jointly owned by the US government and Tony, did what they could to cover the costs and fix everything. Good way to keep the city clean and be the first in the scene when alien tech was involved.

SHIELD, no doubt directly involved in all this, approved. If they didn't, Clark was pretty certain it wouldn't even exist.

Clark was so distracted that he only noticed the elevator approaching when it was almost there; he gently lifted Natasha's feet from his lap and got up, anxious. Bruce appeared when the doors opened, briefly surprised to see Clark walking to him.

"She's alright," Bruce announced, quickly, raising his hands.

He breathed deeply, relieved. He knew she wasn't dead, otherwise he would have heard it, but listening from Bruce's mouth made it seem real.

"It was touch and go for a while," Bruce continued, removing his glasses to rub his eyes. "You did a good job stopping the bleeding, but that poison made it tough for the team to operate properly. If it weren't for Kelex…" Bruce sighed tiredly, taking a small notepad from his pocket. "What was it called?" He opened and closed his mouth a few times, finally giving up. "I can't pronounce this… Anyway, the poison was made using an old Chinese herb, one that's been considered extinct for a few centuries now. No one in the room had even heard of it, much less knew how to counter it. If not for Kelex, well, safe to say the girl would've died."

Clark raised his eyebrows, looking at Kelex in her bracelet form.

"Huh, I guess it pays off to have access to all the knowledge acquired by the Kryptonian Thinker Guild," he mentioned. "They have been studying Earth for a few thousand years. Thanks for that, Kelex. I owe you one."

"You are welcome, sir," Kelex answered, polite as ever.

"Can I see her?" Clark asked.

"She's still asleep, but sure, I'll take you there."

"Thanks, Bruce. Really," Clark said, as they walked to the elevator. Natasha and Clint followed.

"Oh, I did very little, it's the surgeons you have to thank for her pulling through this."

"And I will, personally, just as soon as I see her." The elevator's doors closed and it began to move, fast. "Say, Bruce, did you find anything… unusual about her?"

He shook his head, slowly. "We tested it, but there isn't anything uncommon. Nothing enhanced, no X-Gene, nothing. She's a normal human teenage girl, as far as her body goes."

Or as far as they could find it using science, Clark finished inside his mind. He had an inkling that the girl's power was related to magic somehow and it was unlikely that normal instruments could find anything different about her.

"I, of course, disposed of all samples," Bruce added. He sighed. "I know well what a single drop of blood found by the wrong people can lead to."

Bruce probably did, better than most. According to Natasha, that's how the Army found him hiding in Rio de Janeiro, a single misplaced drop of blood inside a soda bottle; a drop of blood full of gamma radiation that almost killed the unlucky man who drank it, giving the Army a very big lead to follow.

It wouldn't be nice if something similar happened with the girl.

In no time, they arrived at the room the girl was and entered, quietly. She was lying in bed, sedated, an IV hooked to her arm, the beeping sound of the instruments the only noise in the room. Clark stopped by her side and for the first time he really took the time to look at her.

She was young, 15, maybe 16 years old, like he noticed before. Her hair was short, reaching her shoulders, so dark that it seemed to swallow the light. She was tall and her body, despite the injury, seemed fit and healthy. He looked at her face, carefully moving some strands of hair out of her eyes; she was a pretty girl, Clark concluded, especially now that her expression wasn't twisted in pain and fear.

The one thing that bothered him was her paleness.

"Did she lose too much blood?" Clark asked Bruce. "Her skin is–"

"Pale as snow, yes," Bruce finished. He frowned. "And yes, there are several marks on her skin. I think someone was taking her blood."

Clark's eyes hardened when he listened that. The very idea of that girl being literally bled by the Hand made him filled with anger.

Bruce tilted his head. "But she does seem to be naturally pale as well, that's her skin tone," he added. "So maybe is not as bad as it looks."

He didn't know if Bruce said that last bit to calm Clark or himself. Ignoring his anger for now, he turned to Natasha, studying the girl from the door.

"Did you find something about her, Natasha?"

Slowly, she nodded.

"Her name is Rachel Roth. She's 15."

Clark waited for her to go on, but she didn't.

"That's it?" he asked, surprised.

Natasha nodded again, scowling. Not at him, he knew, but at the poor amount of information she managed to find.

"I have a birth certificate and that's it," she said. "No other documents, school admissions, hospital records, bank account, juvenile records… It's like she was born and disappeared, only to reappear right here. Her mother has a more colorful record, though. Angela Roth, arrested several times for petty crimes, drunkenly disorder, drug possession… Nothing serious or violent, but she had a busy life. Until she didn't."

Clark frowned. "What do you mean?"

"She had a daughter – father unknown – and that was the last we heard about them." Natasha shrugged. "It's not common, but it happens. There are some closed communities that leave little paperwork behind. Maybe they lived in one of those… But I don't really believe that, not if the Hand is involved."

He looked back at the girl.

"She's powerful," Clark finally said. "Very powerful. But I don't think she's a threat. Whatever the Hand wanted with her, she wasn't enthusiastic about it."

"Didn't you say she crushed a guy like a fly?" Clint mentioned, though there wasn't any bite to his words. In fact, Clint's expression seemed almost protective when he looked at Rachel.

"She did kill Nobu, yes," Clark agreed, remembering the horrific scene, "but I'm beginning to think he's the one who put her inside a shipping container and bled her like cattle. I don't approve of it, but I can understand… And she did surrender immediately after." He looked at Clint. "Believe me, if she wanted to fight, I'm not sure I could beat her."

That seemed to surprise all of them.

"Well, I think it's best to ask her questions when she awakes tomorrow," Bruce finally said. "As someone who can occasionally go too far when I'm angry," understatement of the century, Clark thought, "I can tell that it's best to talk when everybody is calm and relaxed. Let her rest, tomorrow we'll see what she has to say."

They all agreed, turning to leave the room and let Rachel rest. Clark hoped she would be better tomorrow.

"Is it okay if I crash here today?" Clark asked as they moved to the elevator. "I rather stay close if I'm needed."

Translation: if Rachel woke up and decided to "Black Sky" the entire tower.

"Of course," Natasha answered immediately. "I'll show you to my room."

Clark knocked his shoulder against the wall, when she said that, tripping over his own feet; there was a large crack where his shoulder hit.

"Your room, I mean," Natasha corrected herself, as if completely oblivious to what just happened, ignoring Clint and Bruce's stunned looks at the broken wall. "Tony set aside an entire floor for you."

He just kept staring, exasperated.

"Are you coming?" Natasha asked, holding the elevator door for him.

The tiny grin on her lips was enough proof – as if he needed any – that the whole thing was an elaborate prank to make a fool out of him.

And damn if she didn't succeed.

Madame Gao slowly and carefully picked up a few different herbs, recognizing them by touch and smell alone. With practiced moves, she dropped them inside a wooden mortar and ground them into dust.

She had her eyes closed during all that, focusing only on her breathing, the aroma of the incense calming her mind.

Finally, she opened her eyes, gazing at the kneeling young man in front of her. She smiled.

"You will become a part of something greater than you," Madame Gao said in the K'un-Lunan dialect. "Soon, you will see more than you ever could."

The young man was shaking, she could see. She could smell his fear. But even so, he didn't hesitate to grasp the branding iron Madame Gao gave him, the seal on the tip still blazing. He held it with both hands, breathing deeply.

Then he placed the blazing tip directly against his eye.

The scream pierced the night, but Madame Gao didn't even flinch, holding her gaze. The young man was whimpering now, shaking more than ever, sweat dripping from his forehead, not only due to the heat, but to the pain.

And then, holding breath, he put the blazing tip against his other eye.

This time, he didn't scream, maybe too weak to do so. He just whined like a wounded animal, his hands trembling so much that he almost dropped the branding iron. The young man pulled it slowly, the tip stuck to his burned eye for a moment.

Gao stared at the blank eyes of the young man for a moment, then she grabbed the branding iron and nodded to the two servants behind him.

"Leave me," she ordered and in no time they dragged the young man away to be treated.

Without so much as another look in their direction, Madame Gao grabbed a small knife and scrapped the tip of the branding iron, removing the burnt bits of eye and dropping them into the mortar. When every single piece had been removed, she grabbed a vial and dropped its content inside the mortar as well.

The almost black blood mixed itself with the herbs and the burnt eyes. And then she poured all that into the fire, closing her eyes and breathing the foul smoke.

When she opened them, she wasn't inside the ritual room anymore, but entirely surrounded by pure darkness, a place so cold that she shivered. There were shadows in every direction, no source of light or heat, and Madame Gao remained kneeled, waiting.

Two gigantic red eyes opened in the sky.

"You have failed me once again," the thunderous voice said in K'un-Lunan.

The voice was so powerful, so loud, that Gao felt her entire body tremble. She felt something grow inside her, something she didn't feel for a very long time.

Absolute fear.

"My Lord, we–"

"You have lost Black Sky," the voice continued, like a storm, ignoring her. "You have yet to reach my tomb and the Gates of K'un-Lun will open soon." There was a long and deep snarl and she felt the place shake. "Your failures have put our alliance with Trigon in danger."

The red eyes were suddenly closer and Gao could feel the air moving as he breathed.

"Perhaps I was wrong to trust humans. Perhaps you have lost sight of our destiny."

"Never, my Lord!" Gao pleaded. "We can recover Black Sky. We will reach your tomb in time, before K'un-Lun opens again."

There was a long silence.

"I have lost faith in your ability to do so," the voice announced and Gao felt her blood turn cold. "It has become clear to me that humans need to be guided." The eyes glowed. "Revive Ao Shun. You are to follow his commands."

"My Lord, the Pit is not stable yet. We needed more blood from Black Sky to make it so."

"Is it not strong enough to revive him?"

Gao hesitated. "It is, but it will fade after that."

The eyes approached even more. She could hear the scales scratching the ground all around her as he moved.

"So that is why you are hesitating? You feel Death approaching? You wanted to use the Pit first?"

Gao did not answer, lowering her head submissively.

"Take this as an incentive to move faster," the powerful voice continued. "Linger for too long, fail again, and you will die as I did."

The eyes went back to the sky again.

"Ao Shun will recover Black Sky and reach my tomb. And you will all obey him. Fail me again, Gao, and Death will be the least of your concerns."

Suddenly, there was a red glow and Gao could see. A black dragon, so big that he stretched across the whole landscape, the long body twisting and turning all around her like an immense serpent. The enormous mouth was burning with fire.

And he breathed the fire everywhere.

Gao opened her eyes, jumping back, hitting the wall behind her; she was back at the ritual room, no longer in the Astral Dimension. She looked at herself, feeling her skin burning even though there were no marks. For a long moment, she breathed, regaining her calm.

The Hand could not fail again.