2471/Black Sun: Glorious Summer of the Reich

Black Sun: Glorious Summer of the Reich
Date of Scene:	14 August 2020
Location:	Long Island
Synopsis:	Death and war gather at the footsteps of a necromancer wielding the Holy Lance. Now what?
Cast of Characters:	Jane Foster, Kara Lynn Palamas, Mikhail Uriokovitch, Gothic Lolita, Mary Jane Watson, Sam Wilson, Dane Whitman, Victoria Harrington, Jessica Drew, Jemma Simmons, Daisy Johnson
Tinyplot:	Black Sun

---

Jane Foster has posed:
"All mankind needs to be the monster he truly is is being told he can."
     -- Penny Dreadful

Wewelsburg Castle. Yaphank, New York. 9:23 PM.

Yaphank, New York. Dusk.

Night falls in truth. SHIELD's agents arrive too late. Or just in time, depending.

Yaphank's population is largely gathered in ranks and numbers around a wooded lot. The soldiers stand in their units and battalion, orderly and straight, backs to the ready. Women and children stand apart with the elders, some in seats, most standing. Everywhere burn torches like pagan rites of old, held up by youths and gentlemen, the odd woman in her neat skirt and blouse. Smoke swirls into the air, the bright patchwork in the shadows. Hymns hummed towards the front add an air of reverence. And it should.

A man tore apart an island with might and launched it into the sky. His feat is great, true; history knows of a mutant isle, a furious monarch.

But there have always been greater things than kings.

So as they catch as catch can, skidding on, hastening in, the rite begins. Or rather, the rite concludes. A figure in the throng surrounded by red banners and strange multi-point wheels, like layered swastikas, lifts something. That something burns brighter than sun, leaving the Ebony Blade keening in some dull, thirsty way wherever it is. That burns in the eyes of all, and may hurl Kara Lynn to her knees.

One moment trees spread their boughs in a green embrace of the night sky, and as the first star struggles to peer through, a capped in an upside-down tulip roof appears. Its twin stands proud and fierce a fair jaunt away. Stones and bricks simply are, constructed in the space between a collective intake of breath and the sound of the gasp. A whole castle perches on the gentle slope, resplendent in every detail, lit from within. At the windows stand figures, attentive, waving to the crowd in one or two cases until gathered back to severity. Faces they might know.

Faces that SHIELD put down, up close and personal. Faces out of memory. Nazi officers, though not the worst of them all, but more than a few from Bryant Park. Queens. Harlem. Manhattan. Staten Island. A pattern rebounding on itself in front of Wewelsburg Castle.

The will of Man, so shaping Creation.

                         https://tinyurl.com/y38z7s6a                          

Kara Lynn Palamas has posed:
Director Palamas carries on her back a miniturized Mikhail on her back. The Peggy Carter-look-alike, dressed in the role of a Nazi Commander does not look happy. Quite the opposite. In this intense mood, no doubt, the Director might seem more similiar to Fury or Hill in their own bad moods, but it's not often she gets this worked up.

She guides the small trope, with Lolita at the head, into the the rite, and the throng of the gatherd population.

Her voice goes deadly quiet, deadly severe. In low tones, she urgently tells those Agents with her: "Listen up."

"They are using the Holy Lance to rewrite reality. Our world. They -can- rewrite reality. How quickly, I do not know. But they can. They are. And they will continue to do so, until we stop them. If we fail here, you're not just going to be looking at this place being a Nazi Paradise. You'll be looking at the city. The state. The country. The world. Hitler's dream manifested. By the power of the Holy Lance."

"Most of those people, I'm guessing, are innocents. Corrupted, or changed by the influence of the wielder, and the Lance itself. The weilder is our primary target. Minimize casualties. But, retrieve the Lance. At any cost."

She turns her head to regard the tiny Mikhail, as if sizing him up, "Think in your ursine form you could create a sufficient distraction, Mikhail?"

Mikhail Uriokovitch has posed:
Mikhail is still in his youthful form, though he descends from his perch and is still rather salty at the whole predicament, especially going from largest to smallest team member, but there is still a job to do. The surly Russian looks up at Kara and nods, "Da. Distraction I can do." He hunches over a little as the uniform tears below the knee and most of the chest and sleeves burst as the child turns into a three and a half foot tall bear cub.

The now-ursine Mik checks out the rifle again, "Distraction can definitely be secured." He is able to secure his ammo belt, at least, "Though I owe these bastards for making childhood hell." His tone is barely covering his rage.

Gothic Lolita has posed:
    Lolita, who is leading the pack at the moment, says calmly. "If they can rewrite reality, it would probably behoove us to sneak as close as we can to them before revealing ourselves. Otherwise they might be able to use it on one of us to turn us to be loyal to them. Or just destroy us." the petite mecha says in her buzzing voice. "I would recommend getting a stealth team into position before proceeding with the distraction."

Mary Jane Watson has posed:
Agent Watson nods slightly, dressed as a sharp-looking SS Fahnrich (Cadet) currently. She hrms, "Alright... I think this still works the same." She glances down at the steampunk-looking electrified sword with twin blades that replaced her photonic weapon. "At least we're dressed to blend in, so we might be able to get close without raising too much of a ruckus..." Her lips quirk wryly, as she looks around at the other agents, nodding in agreement with Lolita's statement, "And that's a good idea, just to sneak in and take them by surprise, if we can."

Sam Wilson has posed:
Sam caught up with the rest of the team as quickly as he'd promised to, although he hasn't stopped picking disgustedly at the insignia on his oh-so-stylish Afrikakorps uniform. "Yeah, yeah, I get it. Sneak up to the book-burning and steal the macguffin," he grumbles. "At least Indiana Jones got to beat the shit out of a Nazi to get his disguise."

He glances over his shoulder at the chrome and brass jetpack he has been lugging around in this parallel realm and adds, "Not sure how subtle I am with this thing on, so I might be better off as part of Team Distraction." He peers down at Mik with a thoughtful expression, weighing a possible course of action, and suggests, "Hey, Ursa... you ever consider being a drop-bear?" So... possibly he was just weighing the bear himself.

Dane Whitman has posed:
"I might be able to bluff my way closer, get in a position to make a move when the distraction goes off." Dane Whitman notes, frowning behind his helmet, "Red can stick with me, I can likely pass her off as my uh...squire."

There's a pause, the frown still painted on his face, "I've heard a lot of legends of the Lance, and none of them have good things to say about trying to wield its' power. But we'll do what we have to." He glances to MJ, then to the others. "In any case, it might be worth a shot."

Jane Foster has posed:
Wewelsburg Castle Courtyard.

The sudden appearance of a proper castle in High German style earns a round of oohs and ahhs from the stunned crowd. Applause begins somewhere in the middle, on the fringes. A woman's gasp is followed by another fainting into the arms of her children, caught by a lanky youth in a Hitler Youth uniform. Explosive clapping swells up in a parade of shouts from the crowd in one voice: "Sieg heil! Hail victory!" Hands rise in a staccato phalanx against the sky and the backlit towers in their glory, everyone surging to their feet. Soldiers stand at attention, holding their torches firmly. Eyes glitter with tears and mouths turn up in smiles: hope, wonder, joy.

"My friends! My brothers and sisters, loyal citizens of the Fatherland. America rejoices in your courage and your purpose. Tonight is not a beginning, but a continuation!" shouts a man in front of a microphone, smartly dressed, dapper to the core. Ah, if only Steve were there, he might recognize his nemesis who flung a guidebook in his face, a general who escaped the hangman at Nuremburg. Or every other agent who gathered at Bryant Park, passenger in the Porsche. That's Hans -- yes, ANOTHER Hans -- who holds his hands wide to them. "Look before you and know the promise is renewed and forged in the bonds of friendship and family, at a time when you no longer will be divided by the filthy rich who think this country is their personal bank account to use for their personal aims. No longer will the hateful dividing us with their poisoned words be unaccountable, untouchable by the shield of their power while they punish your children and crush your hopes and dreams."

The man holding the Lance might be vaguely familiar, though at a distance, he is so painfully hard to see through the glow that obscures his features. Fair, ashen-blonde hair and straight of back, he's slightly older than Bucky and a dead-ringer for the gentleman who lost a balaclava and a Holy Grail.

He vanishes into the castle doors that sweep open for him, carrying with him the light, the intense and agonizing presence beyond presences, even for those without a jot of power.

Meanwhile, a kid caught up in the dancing and shouting peers around his grandfather's legs and points. "Grampa! Look, it's a bear!"

"Where's its mother?" asks Grandpa Nazi, not daring to look back. Tears stream from his eyes.

"I dunno, but he's _CUTE_!"

Kara Lynn Palamas has posed:
Director Palamar gives a decisive nod to Dane. "Go. Take her with you. You know what you have to do, Dane."

Her eyes turn to Mary Jane. "It seems Sonja's going to get her moment." The words strike true with Kara as they likely will with Mary Jane given the conversation the two had held so recently in her office. "I trust the two of you." Not her and Dane. Her, and Sonja. Dane already knows implicitly he has her trust. "But, the relic is not to be destroyed." She's not sure if it -could- be. But if it could, Sonja would likely be one to find a way to do it.

Then, her attention shifts again, smoothly, efficiently, not letting her own overwhelming anger infuse itself into her decision making ability. It's put on the backburner, for after this over when she can confront those damn Austrians.

"Sam, you wanted on Team Distraction? You're on it. Lolita, and Mikhail too. Divide their attention away from our strike team."

As for the Director? The dressed Commander? She begins walking, confidentally, as if it were her due and right, to so approach the crowd with that same severe look on her features. Heading straight into the lion's den, as it were.

Gothic Lolita has posed:
    Lolita nods, reaching out to take the bear back as the director heads off, hugging him around his middle like a stuffed animal as she turns to Sam expectantly. "How should we proceed?" she offers simply. Also better for Mik firing his rifle! He has backing now.

Mikhail Uriokovitch has posed:
Mikhail exclaims "oomph" as he is grabbed and then sees the child that sees him, "Upside, is that I am good distraction." He looks over to Sam, "But if you have plan to deliver me /safely/ as I do not have parachute, then do so. Rifle shoots slow, but I can keep Nazi scum busy." A firm nod to Falcon and partly to Gothic Lolita, who is still holding him. "Could you drop both of us?" He shrugs, "But at very least, we can keep them busy while others deal with castle?"

Victoria Harrington has posed:
When the man disapears from the sight of those in the castle courtyard other figures begin to emerge from the shadows of the newly summoned edifice. Soldiers all in SS uniforms that would put the authenticity of those gathered here to shame. Not only were they authentic to the cause, but to the time of the soldiers' original life. For these men long ago were lost to the shadows of history until the Spear again summoned them to the fight.

Soldiers step out to the fresh air of a new continent drinking deep of this chance at a second life. Some were merely there to chatter among themselves in German. Others looked over the crowds that had gathered to see their emergence to beam with pride at those showing their support. A few among these soldiers were clearly more than simply soldiers.

A bald man with arcande tattoos covering over his face and hands stands out as well as a woman. Rare was it to have a woman in the uniform of a soldier yet there she was with sharp eyes skimming the crowd. Her uniform was like the others save for her emblems of rank being gold. She stays near the tattooed man conversing quietly.

Dane Whitman has posed:
Dane nods to Kara, and then starts....walking straight towards the castle entrance. His stride is purposeful, the only extra motion being a sheathing of that peculiar sword he's now carrying (identical in function if not form to MJ's). It's a bit of a hike...simultaneously longer than he'd like and shorter than he'd wish. But more troublesome is the crowd they will have to weave their way through to get towards that entrance. And so he starts the work of it, trying to gently and "politely" for the most part brush people aide and move closer towards the entryway of the castle.

Mary Jane Watson has posed:
Agent... er, Fahnrich Watson of the Schutzstaffel blinks at the Director's words, then nods, "Yes ma'am. We won't let you down." With that, she adopts a cold stare and look that would make the Macbeth director proud as she channels Lady Macbeth once more.

And then she strides in Dane's wake, radiating the symbolic arrogance of not only a SS officer, even a low-ranking one, but also the fact that she knows what she looks like, and revels in that cold arrogance, boots clicking precisely in time as she keeps her own sword sheathed at her side for the time being as she seems bound and determined to use her glare and aura of personality to clear a path to aid Dane's advance.

Sam Wilson has posed:
Sam gives Palamas a quick nod of understanding and says to his team in his oddly accented voice, "As a matter of fact, I do have a parachute, Ursa. The Radioplane uses one to land. We'll go to where Wednesday brought it down, fit it onto you, and then stage from there."

Turning to Gothic Lolita, he brushes a hand over his jawline and says, "If you're anything like as heavy in this form, Wednesday, you will have to stay on the ground and take point. When you give the signal, I will rocket in and drop Ursa toward your position. That should be /very/ distracting."

There's a crackle from the radio hooked to his belt, and a familiar feminine voice announces, "Schutzstaffel - SS. Confirmation is right there." His brows knit as he puzzles through the passingly familiar language and paraphrases, "Protection squadron? Be careful, everyone, we may have been spotted."

Taking that as his cue to move, he heads in the direction of the primitive drone's landing area, cutting a path through the crowd that Mikhail can follow.

Jane Foster has posed:
"Grandpa, he called me scum!" The young boy pulls on his grandfather's arms, eyes shining and wide with shock. "A bear said mean things to me!"

At this, at least four or five people do turn. One in his 60s, with the brushy whiskers of a man who saw his Prussian king and then Hindenburg, and said nothing improved on that except a pith helmet. A teen. Kiddo's mother. Another lanky boy who really should have a slingshot in his back pocket. Team Distraction engaged.

Until those clunky walkies light up, a woman's voice carrying over the speaker with tinny, rattly distortion that fades in and out. Another distraction, naturally, but maybe not SHIELD they wanted.

Kara Lynn's tramp up the way ends up facing down men who very literally led armies into the Eastern Front, through the European liebensraum and across the Ardennes frontier. They fall into position, reading what they will. It's not them she needs to necessarily fear, as one calls out, "Who are you?" The writhing, joyous crowd is lost in its raptures only partly, for those in the front rows are career soldiers, servants of the Reich, dark angels to a deity of the Old Testament rather than the New. They in their black shirts spangled by the swastiska armbands turn, pistols pulled, knives drawn.

A long, low rolling note thrums through the speakers, a single chord that spills on and on and on. More like an alpenhorn than a brass instrument in Duke Ellington's hands, but a trumpet all the same.

At the doors of Wewelsburg, in the windows, shapes move. Men forged in violence every bit as much as a Black Knight - and just as much black-knights, on the right side of history - prepare to engage Dane and MJ. That means drawing on shadows, spinning them, the torpid swirls of a frozen sun locked in their hands.

All Kara Lynn can taste is death.

Gothic Lolita has posed:
    Gothic Lolita nods to Sam, then begins working her way towards the stage where the person holding the lance is, using her smalls size and her ability to gently but firmly push people to the side to get through the crowd.

Sam Wilson has posed:
Repurposing the OQ-2's landing parachute to make Mik into a fully kitted bearatrooper is a matter of less than a minute for Sam, thanks to his familiarity with parachuting rigs far in advance of anything available in this weird pocket timeline.

"There," he says, standing back to examine his handiwork, once it's done. "You will strike terror and confusion into the hearts of your enemies." The baby bear has a parachute and a gun. Cower in shame, ye of the so-called 'master race'!

The only thing to do now is wait for Lolita's signal.

Kara Lynn Palamas has posed:
Kara Lynn can taste death. See the blinding, ravaging magic in her eyes that the others, in this case, blessedly cannot. Without her long years of exposure and experience with it she might run in fear of it herself. But it is her grit, determination, her tenure in her position and all the anguish - the things that she /can/ remember that others cannot, that drive her on. That keep that severe look, unafraid, and contemptuous as the attention is drawn to her, and pistols and knives are also drawn.

The Nazi Commander, for all appearances, does not go for her own weapon. Not yet. Who is she, they ask?

Her voice betrays that self-same contempt her features showcase with the tonal slap-in-the-face of being so asked such an impertinent question. "I am Generalleutnant Jager. And I am here to observe. And make sure that everything goes as planned. Do not interrupt me again."

She moves to lift her eyes, then, to the 'celebration' at hand, seeming to ignore the men that might threaten her life, and the others in joyous rapture.

The voices on the comm system? Give her hope. There are others here. She just can't give them orders, or make such requests of them, presently. But, they give her hope.

Mikhail Uriokovitch has posed:
Mik follows Sam as they go through the crowd, knowing the eyes are on him, so he hustles as quickly as his little bear hindlegs can carry him towards the plane, and is surly as the parachute is fitted to him, and tests it out with his fingers, not to activate it, but to make sure it fits. "Terror and fear are nice, but I want vengeance." There is no mirth, no anger, just flat, blunt truth. It may be a child's voice, but Mikhail is shining through on it, "Let me know when. I do not have watch, but have jumped before."

Mary Jane Watson has posed:
Agent Watson draws the blade, and faces off with the knights, striking back and forth with style and panache, though the knights... are /good/. Good enough to hold Sonja at bay and even press her back a bit.

However, one thing Sonja does well? Is cheat.

So she takes advantage of a break in the action to crank up the electrical field on her sword, and... well, the knights are knights. Clad in metal. And with that she lunges forward, howling, "FOR FREEDOM! FOR JUSTICE!" as the electrified blade swings hard into the nearest knight.

Jane Foster has posed:
Camp Siegfried. West of Wewelsburg Castle. 9:33 PM.

Night brightens. Over that low complex of brick buildings with a distinctly institutional feel -- government or military is hard for civilians to decipher -- comes a radical change no less significant than Wewelsburg Castle just appearing rather than perching on its European hillside.

Take a generous slice of the old architecture of Vienna's Ringstrasse, the first district, or lift a pie chunk of facades out of Koln, Hamburg, Frankfurt. They suddenly exist, rooted among the barracks that leap by a storey and forming a right, proper complex. The sort that Allied HQ prioritized to bomb fucking flat.

Jane Foster has posed:
A ripple through the radios barks out, and gives up a good deal of the gig considering it's in English. Warbly, crackly, hard to hear:
    "Director, Gothic Lolita, anyone out there?" Quake asks. "Quake, Spider and Battle Cleric reporting."

Jane Foster has posed:
                               +---+
                               |   |          
          .------------DD--+---+---+         @ @ @ @ @ @    PEOPLE
         /                 |   D     -                                Kid
   +----+                  |   |     H       CROWD          PEOPLE
   |    |                  |   D     -                                Kid
   |    |                  |   |             CROWD          PEOPLE
   +----+------W------W----+---+---+
                               |   |         @ @ @ @ @ @
                               +---+                        --GUARDS--


<<----- CAMP SIEGFRIED ---                        vvvv YAPHANK ------>>
         NYC this way!

Dane Whitman has posed:
That strange dual blade is in Dane's hands in an instant, and he meets the new foes with sword and shield in-hand. No bluffing now...that plan went out the window once weapons were drawn. Part of him knows he could end this swiftly and brutally with but a change of weapon, but he resists the urge, for now. The circumstances may yet be dire enough that the threshold may be crossed, but not yet. Still, those that have seen Dane fight and spar and train might pick up very quickly that he's...different. Still absolutely controlled, precise, and perfectly balanced. But he's not fighting to wound, or to disable anymore. The would-be-lethal strikes that he parries, dodges, and counters are answered with no-less-lethal force.

Standing at the threshold of a Nazi apocalypse, this isn't just a fight, but a war. Looks like there might be more than one "distraction team" now.

Gothic Lolita has posed:
    Gothic Lolita cants her head as she hears the distant clash of battle by the castle. Well. They'll be storming the castle then, it appears. After sending an alert to Sam to proceed with Operation Bear Drop, she pauses to calculate vector,s then just kicks off from where she is, the ground denting into a crater as she goes soaring up and over the walls to land somewhere in teh courtyard.

Sam Wilson has posed:
At Lolita's radio signal, Sam slings Mik into his arms, then slowly depresses the thumb plunger stitched into his glove. Without the pinpoint control of the Exo-7's articulated wings, this rig is decidedly twitchier than what he's used to, but he wouldn't have been selected as a pilot for that experimental program if his flying talents weren't adaptable.

He takes off, gradually at first, and then with a stomach-lurching burst of acceleration. A black man in a Nazi uniform, carrying a bear cub with a rifle, riding a column of fire through the sky: if they still needed a distraction, this would make one hell of a distraction.

As they rocket nearer the sorcerously manifested castle, Sam counts down the drop for Mik: "Three. Two. One." As he finishes, he banks to the right and pulls back, swinging through a grand arc that will launch the bearatrooper forward with centrifugal force.

This has a tactical purpose: if Mik opens his chute quickly, he'll arrest his forward motion and drop onto the castle's front porch with the others. If, instead, he rides his momentum a bit farther before pulling the chute, he can drop right into the fortress's central courtyard.

Kara Lynn Palamas has posed:
As Gothic Lolita launches herself up into the air with a wake of a crater, as Sam turns the area into a rocket-induced launching paid for one serious drop-bear attack, and as Dane and Mary Jane begin an all-out sword-assault upon the Nazi castle apparated purely from nothing, the collective distractions provide Kara Lynn the moment she needs.

She realized her 'bluff' would only last so long, before it would be called, before she was in danger. And, any good Agent would know when to hold the cards, when to fold them, when to run, and of course, that it wasn't good to count your money at the table, at least not until the dealing was done.

She reaches to her belt and with a smooth motion, one, two of the electric net grenades are tossed into the field of soldiers in front of her with her left hand, pins pulled while her right hand draws the ICER and she fires it at the Hans on center-stage and playing the part of ringmaster to this hellish debacle and then moving to dash into, and push through the wondering crowd to lose herself amongst the masses.

On the comms, she calls, "All responding agents, orient on the big apparated castle in the middle of the massive courtyard. Mission objective, obtain the Holy Lance. At any cost."

Victoria Harrington has posed:
"You do not smell like us."

The simple phrase is spoken from the group that Kara Lynn had addressed in response to their queries. Though the men that had initially asked seemed confused enough by the response to halt their progress looking among one another questioningly, the voice that spoke was not a man.

The row of men in front of the figure are taken down by the net grenade leaving her free to see her target. The blonde woman smiles baring teeth that look as if they were filed purposefully sharp, jagged and animalistic. Rolling her head from one side to the other she speaks again. "Too new. Too fresh. A sheep seeking to hide among wolves."

"Und I am der Wolfin!"

Nearly howling with the joy of the hunt as Kara runs toward the stage, the woman jumps over her felled compatriots to chase after Kara Lynn with hands drawn up as they elongate into claws. So too does her jaw seem elongate with jagged canine teeth exposed as she moves on the attack going quite literally for the jugular. The SS of this castle dabbled heavily in the occult and the werewolf lunging for Kara Lynn is a reminder of this. Not all here would be mere men.

Mikhail Uriokovitch has posed:
Mik takes a deep breath as he is lifted into the air. Again making sure his rifle is ready, and it still is. He joins in the comm chatter to confirm where he wants them to land. Having figured out what Kara was indicating by her commentary and Sam's plan for the parachute, Mik elects to open the parachute late, and is ready to wreak havoc in the courtyard, going so far as to fix his bayonet once he lands, now ready to wage war.

Jane Foster has posed:
In the outer court, the desperate battle begins among civilians and SS soldiers, SHIELD agents ringed in humanity. There isn't space unless they forcibly make it. Not a few of those men pull pistols and start to shoot at Kara Lynn, Dane, MJ when weapons are pulled and the fray engaged. A pistol against a sword isn't exactly the fairest thing, but then again, the civilians don't scatter to the four winds. Crowds move like confused beasts, shoving in, cutting off views or stepping into the way as they try to squeeze pass. Dane and MJ have their work cutout for them, since the jolts hitting wool or bare skin if they slide past someone's guard are sufficient not to knock down the actual Nazis. Hurt them, yes. Leave horrid welts, of course, but taking even a punch is like being slammed into by a weight-lifter or boxer on the world stage. It hurts. A lot.

Jane Foster has posed:
Overhead, Falcon proves much more difficult to deal with given the gout of fire pouring out from the jetpack. Smoke and ash flow behind him, ephemeral cover offered. Then begins the barrage from the castle windows, one yanked open for the sorcerer within to make several ugly hand gestures. What comes forth is a black, long shard about the size of a javelin hurled by unseen power. Pure force shoots at him. Another pair of missiles zip silently through the air, and Gothic Lolita and Mikhail crash down into the castle courtyard, landing on soft grass and a ring of paths that encircle them with exactly twelve of those lightning bolt symbols converging on a ring. It only becomes clear as the electricity starts firing along the lines, forging an electrical cage of sorts. Better move fast.

Victoria Harrington has posed:
The knights that Mary Jane fights are fierce in combat, but they had not been anticipating the weapons of the modern era. With screams of agony, or none at all, the newly electrified knights go down hard into a clamoring clang of fallen armor. Some twitch, some don't move at all. At this point all the resistance they can offer is to be a roadblock of armored bodies strewn upon the ground making the footing past only slightly difficult.

From the shadows of the parapets comes another barely paying attention to the crew who had sought to create magically enhanced armor. That was clearly not a successful experiment. The tall bald man bearing arcane tattoos is quiet. Nothing is said to Mary Jane. Nothing needs be said --even if he could-- for upon closer inspection his lips are sewn shut.

That doesn't stop the voices. They whisper at MJ, potentially even at Sonja. Familiar voices. Family. Friends. Ones that were wronged, ones that had been failed. The sigils on his face begin to glow an eerie red as the ghosts of those dead or perhaps not even dead start to appear around MJ and close in around her.

Gothic Lolita has posed:
    Gothic Lolita lands in a crouch, with Mik floating down nearby as she straightens up, looking around.

    Whent he electrical bolts suddenly powers up, there's only a moment where Lolita can either leap clear....or what she does, which is to grab Mik as he floats down then bear yeet him in teh direction of the front gates and clear of the cage before it can close!

Mikhail Uriokovitch has posed:
Mikhail slowly descends, the parachute working as intended, though he was not ready to see the electricity light up, and definitely not for Gothic Lolita to throw him... again. "Not again!" he grumble yells as he is chucked out of the ring, looking back in horror at his fellow agent, "Comrade! RUN!" He levels his gun at any Nazis he can see that are armed and will open fire if he sees them, working the bolt on the rifle as quickly as possible.

Kara Lynn Palamas has posed:
"Of -course- it had to be Nazi werewolves," Kara Lynn growls under her breath as she pushes through the crowd. She is good as most any top Agent in hand-to-hand combat, but, there's a difference between fighting another human, and a werewolf that's got enhanced strength, extended arms, claws, and teeth and can move far, far faster than you.

She doesn't have time to look up to the castle to see how her team, her people, are faring. Instead, she trusts them. And she just has to buy them a bit of time - and buy herself some time as well.

This wouldn't be the first werewolf Kara Lynn had gone against - but then, it would be the first where she wasn't actually prepared to take one down. She turns as she pushes past one of the last people on the crowd before breeching their mass and headed towards Mary Jane, Dane, and the doors, and fires an ICER shot towards the persuing Lupus Garou. She doubts it'll knock it unconscious. But, it might buy her some time.

To Dane, and Mary Jane, she announces, "Incoming!" as she begins to near them.

Sam Wilson has posed:
As Sam banks through another turn, lining up to offer his allies air support, a bolt of black force from the castle crashes through his vintage flight pack, causing the engine to splutter and die. Hissing out an oath, he struggles for control of its ailerons -- /God/ he misses his wings right now -- and barely maintains enough momentum to crash into the castle roof instead of one of its walls.

As it is, the glancing impact is painful, but not crippling. Still, he finds himself rolling in toward the courtyard at considerable speed, flailing for purchase. For a second, it seems like he might be able to arrest his tumble, but then the roof is just gone. He's over the edge, staring several stories downward at the paved courtyard below.

At the last instant, his hand snaps out to grip the edge of the roof, and he ends up dangling by one hand over the void. He lets out a strangled yell, but doesn't fall. Below, guards are taking up firing positions against Mikhail and Lolita, and his immediate instinct to shed excess weight lines up with that earlier goal of air support; he reaches up with his free hand to pop the catches on his wrecked jetpack. It hangs for a second, then slips off and plummets the whole way down to those conveniently regimented stormtroopers. Vintage tech is /heavy/.

Relieved of its burden, Sam manages to get his other hand on the roof's edge and pull himself up to safety.

Mary Jane Watson has posed:
Mary Jane winces as the voices start whispering at her, taunting her as she falters a bit. But then, well, the benefit of having Sonja in her head is that it isn't /just/ MJ having to do this...

"Foul magicks will NOT avail you here!" With that, Sonja slices at the spirits with the electrified sword, looking to clear a path for the Director since she heard the shout from Palamas. Working her way to the castle as getting the Spear is the thing that matters most here.

And Sonja isn't about to give up that easily. Not to Nazis. Not to anyone.

Dane Whitman has posed:
Dane hears Kara's warning behind him, and with a swipe of a shield and a flourish of sword, he disengages from his opponent. There's a half moment where he registers what it is that's chasing Kara, and his jaw sets. He grounds the dual bladed-sword and then towards Kara, then past her, until he's racing /towards/ the werewolf almost at a sprint.

But at the last second, right as the creature might pounce, He drops into a feet-first slide, and the Ebony Blade flashes into his grip, poised to rake right through the creature from beneath as it passes, using its' own momentum against it. It's...likely to be a bit messy, but it should get the job done. The usual resistances of supernatural creatures tend...not to apply...where the Ebony Blade is concerned.

Victoria Harrington has posed:
The 'spirits' that surround MJ prove to be far more substantial than mere ghostly images as her sword soon finds. No blood spills but chunks of *something* made flesh slide to the ground. It only causes the others to dive for her. Some aim low trying to tackle around her legs. Others claw toward her face if they even get that far. Most don't, leaving the sorcerer himself standing there with gun in hand aimed toward MJ as his creations had clearly not worked. The old Walther PPK squeezes off a round toward her though perhaps she might avoid.

Meanwhile the werewolf is close on Kara's heels. Enough so that a swipe of claws can almost be felt raking through her hair. It's momentary and then gone with a frustrated growl as she slips on the body of another felled losing her grip. Then she plunges forward anew---Only to meet the Ebony Blade.

There's an inhuman shriek as it cuts through cloth, armor, muscle, and underbelly sending a red gout of blood and guts slipping from her. The rest of her seems equally off as flesh ripples over muscle. Her own body fighting against her as the magics that make her a werewolf are torn from her leaving her simply in a mutated body that is unable to sustain itself except by dying, horribly.

Sam Wilson has posed:
Once on the roof, it's a fairly simple process to locate a high window below. From one, in fact, a rifleman is taking aim into the courtyard, no doubt to open fire on his allies below. Sam walks over, grabs onto the eaves, and then swings down feet-first, hitting the rifleman in the face and dropping him to the floor inside. It's a quick one-two punch from kneeling on the man's chest to neutralize him as a threat, and Sam all too happily relieves him of his Gewehr, the better to open fire on his fellows and start clearing out the top floor of the castle's southern wing.

Jane Foster has posed:
Mikhail flies forward to the northern wall of the inner courtyard. Here only a bear and a gynoid dance with lightning, but the Russian soldier can find purchase through a door or a window. As soon as he does, though, the elegant interior with its marble halls and buildings explodes into action as two or three men around a corner take aim. One is SS, the other two in neat black uniforms that mark them as elite among the elite. The world distorts to an ashen, eerie grey as one of them pulls something essential from the world into some kind of spell. He ripples like water.

Jessica Drew has posed:
After the mother and crying child pass, the street is empty. A large saloon car, cream colored, the hood twice as the body sits in front of a shop. The impeccably polished chrome and leather interior bespeaks wealth. Jessica stops on the driver's side, looks up and down the street, then jiggles the door handle. Of course, the door is unlocked, innocently waiting for its driver to return. "Fraulein Johnson, Fraulein Simmons, one moment." The spider woman slides onto the opulent leather seat and disappears from view for a moment. The engine coughs and then purrs to life. "Kann ich euch Damen mitnehmen?"

The streets are mercifully empty till they are a block from the castle. Jessica eases the car into an illegal spot, pulls the hand brake back, "Well, here we are."

Mikhail Uriokovitch has posed:
Mik is not happy. The lightning worries him, but sadly he does not have a ton of options at this point, instead reloading his rifle as he ducks behind a corner to reload, popping his head out and sending two shots, his muscle memory back to working the bolt, as he sends them down range at the one trying to warp something. Mik does not like change. Or Nazis. So all of them need to die. He fires off anothe round and charges, bayonet fixerd, his shorter legs moving surprisingly quickly as he covers ground, ready to get some payback. From the young bear, a roar (albeit not as ferocious as his usual one) erupts.

Gothic Lolita has posed:
    Lolita is...not fast enough to clear the lightning cages as it promptly discharges into her, sparks and crackling popping sparks shooting off as she drops to a knee, staggering as her less advanced systems are much worse at being proected from surges than normal. After a moment, she begins trying to walk out of the lightning cage, a step at a time, heading deeper in the castle away from teh gate.

Kara Lynn Palamas has posed:
Any other time, Kara Lynn might make a comment, or even thank Dane for his effort in saving her life and his excellent attack against the mystical dire beast. She doesn't have time for that, now. She doesn't even have time to brush off the goo from herself. Not now.

Freed from the immediate danger of a pair of oversized jaws ripping out her throat as claws gutted her open, she pulls out her -real- gun, now a Walther PP, and shoots several rounds into the soldiers and 'in'humans guarding the front doors that Mary Jane is also contesting with to thin their numbers, "The longer we take the stronger they're going to get," she seethes.

There will be time for thank-you's, awards, and appreciation later. Right now there's a damn sorcerer to kill. She knows Sonja, and everyone else on the team agrees with her.

Into the comms, "Secondary Team, when you get here expedite to the entrance of the castle. Lethal force authorized against any resistance, do not engage the civilians. Get here yesterday," as she moves to reload the gun as quickly as she can, before synching with Mary Jane and Dane to bash down the doors.

When the other two are ready, she'll throw her weight behind it with them in synch, to break it down.

Mary Jane Watson has posed:
As Sonja carves through the spirits, finding relief that they aren't true spectres but rather some fleshy construct designed to torment, she keeps her eyes on the prize. That is to say, the doors! She runs forward once her blade clears enough of a path, leaving some of the spectres in the dust as she throws herself at the doors. The distant gunshot rings out as she throws herself at the door with all of her strength combined with Kara and Dane, the trio of them managing to break the door open.

And then Sonja looks at her left shoulder, noticing the bullet wound there, blood starting to soak into the SS uniform she's now wearing. Still, inside is better than outside, as she tears the sleeve of her uniform and starts to make an improvised bandage with it, cursing softly in Cimmerean as she does so.

Jemma Simmons has posed:
    Jemma is already out the passenger door and sprinting before Jessica finishes parking the car. Clad in a female uniform very familiar to a certain British founder of SHIELD, complete with wedge cap positioned jauntily upon her head, the brunette literally runs into the fray. There is already a weapon in her hand, a curious thing of red steel, tubes, and glass chambers seemingly bubbling with some sort of viscous red liquid. The other hand reaches down to what could only be her ICER, another technological marvel of hoses and actual steam.

    The mystery of the red weapon is put to rest as the trio at the door watch as Jemma, still in a dead run, lifts it up and fires. Quite literally. A stream of what appears to be magma jettisons from the nozzle upon the end of the weapon, erupting into flame the moment it leaps free into the air. The stream of fire arches up and over, hitting the window where one of the many sorcerers stand...and engulfs the window.

    And the sorcerer within it. The screams are enough to know that Jemma's new prototype works perfectly.

    Even so, there is a breathless reply as Jemma pulls up to the Director. "Already on it, Director..."

Dane Whitman has posed:
Ew. Well, not the first time he's been covered in gore. Dane is swiftly back on his feet, sheathing the Ebony Blade and moving back towards the door, bracing himself against it to join MJ and Kara in trying to budge the thing.

Victoria Harrington has posed:
The sorcerer that had sought to attack MJ finds at least one of his shots hit true to his target. Before he can re-aim at the distracted red head however, gunfire from a gun similar to his own plunges into his own chest. Kara Lynn's bullets rip through his black SS uniform learing him with a gut wound, and a shattered clavicle. The pain is enough to bring him to his knees as he slumps with most of his lifeblood already draining from the gaping wounds created. The gun he holds slips from his hands before he finally just collapses. One less sorcerer to worry about.

Jane Foster has posed:
The so-called dead Director of WAND isn't dead. Mind, at least twenty faces in violent combat should have been slain 75 years and more ago. Some were. Some went to their death by the cyanide pill, by the gibbet, tried and jailed for their crimes, or slain by a Nazi-hunter's hand in murky circumstances that some agencies won't talk about.

Small joys. In Wewelsburg, the influence of the Lance is beyond the soldiers and sorcerers who fight for their very lives. True, an emptied chamber will drop both unless that protective spell slows the bullets or deflects them. Bodies drop. Power radiates out from some unseen point, pressed into the leylines, brushing up against Long Island Sound. Another trio of black nightmarish darts of entropic power shriek past Sam. The ashen greyness that Mik wades through saps at his hope. Gothic Lolita just has to deal with someone trying to drop the roof on her.

It's not a large castle. Breaking down the front door -- whoever, however, Jemmaever -- leads to a hallway running north to south between the twin 'tulip' towers. It's a triangle to the west tower, so left or right doesn't matter much. All that matters is how many fallen you leave in your wake.

Daisy Johnson has posed:
Jumping out the car Daisy then shouts out. "Lets go!" the diesel-punk gloves seem to come to life, a little 'whirr' heard inside as if there was a motor within. And then those vibrations come.. She lifts herself up in the air, shooting up through the throng of civilians and unleashing hell on those guards that still remain, shockwaves thrown towards a couple of them to send them flying into a wall if she can.

"Here we are." she says, approaching the group by the door with an exhale of relief. At least they were still alive. Even if they all looked out of an horrible Nazi movie. In her case she looked like an SS officer, all in black.

Jessica Drew has posed:
@emit

So much for running point. Jemma has become their personal volcano leaving the smell of sulfur and cooked meat in her wake. Jessica breaks into a run, jumps as though having a springboard at her feet, and flips over the first group. The second group finds themselves faced with a woman in a SS field uniform who raises her hands at them in what might be mistaken for an embrace until the air fills with the force of her bio-electricity. Three fall over stiffly opening the way.

Mikhail Uriokovitch has posed:
Mik begins losing hope as he charges forward into the sullen greyness. However, hope only kept him restrained. If there is no hope of victory, then he can only try to take as many of the Nazis with him on his way out and just throws the rifle with its bayonet still affixed at the sorcerer, and with claws out dives at one of the other Nazis, turning into a mess of claws and fangs trying to rip away until his target stops moving.

Mikhail is out of mercy or cares at this point. If he has his way, none of these Nazis are walking out of here.

Sam Wilson has posed:
As more bolts of dark energy fly past, Sam ducks back into a doorway and slings his appropriated rifle over one shoulder. "Goddamn Nazi wizards," he hisses, slamming the butt of his fist onto the trigger mechanism for a belt-mounted dynamo strapped to his belt opposite his radio pack. He wasn't quite sure what it was at first, but process of elimination has cleared away most of the elements of the kit he brought with him.

Most, but not all. A thick, insulated cable runs from the dynamo up to a bulky gauntlet on his right wrist. When he rises, it's with that gauntlet extended. He uncovers a trigger switch, and two metal rods spring forward from the gauntlet. He aims this metallic fork at the magic user and hits the switch. A writhing Jacob's ladder rung shoots up between the tines and then bursts forth from the ends in an actinic fork that lances forward to lash and entangle the enemy sorcerer in electric rage.

"How do YOU like it, Nazi bitch?!" Sam yells as he marches forward, closing the distance. He doesn't let up for a second until he's close enough to switch to his fists.

Gothic Lolita has posed:
    Lolita finally breaks her way free of the electrical cage, her steps growing more steady and firm as she makes to the tower doors, then kicks them in, sending them flying down the hallway.

    She is, not, however, expecting the entire interior to be a dead fall for the entrance tunnel, and gets perhap a second to look up the first bric falls before she's buried under the rubble in an echoing rumbling crash of stone and mortar as she's promptly buried.

Jane Foster has posed:
Fewer and fewer doors stand between the scrambling agents and their quarry. Fewer and fewer steps stand between a relic unleashing its full might and them. Is it now?

Is it the creaking of a wall slewing away? Is it the shot man pushing himself off the ground, turning to look back into the greyish shadows where a bear fled? Every second counts. Every second could be the end of America as they know. Of New York. Or their own lives, caught pressed between bloody salvation and a new world order.

In death comes life, in life comes death. Run.

Mary Jane Watson has posed:
Sonja finishes the impromptu bandage, then gives Agent Simmons a smile and a wink, "Glad you could join the party." She then twirls her electro-sword in her right hand, not wanting to use the left more than absolutely necessary as she charges forward.

There's still a mission, and the Hyborean warrior in the driver's seat is going to do her best to make sure it is accomplished.

Whatever it takes.

Jemma Simmons has posed:
    With the main door now open to let the growing number of agents, Jemma pauses for only a moment, to holster her weapons, even as she fires off a comment to Mary Jane/Sonya. "Oh, you know how much I love a party..." The backpack swings down, as a hand plunges into its depths. When Jemma pulls her hand out, it is holding a similar weapon design to her 'volcanic' gun. Judging from the white motif...and the fact that there are ice crystals forming on the glass chamber, this is the steampunk version of her cryogun.

    Which she hands to Kara Lynn. "Here, Director. In case you find that standard rounds are less than effective." Not that Jemma knows one way or another. After all....her first action was to transform a sorcerer into a pop tart.

Kara Lynn Palamas has posed:
"Left path, everyone move," Kara Lynn decides, ensuring not only does the group stay together, but they do so efficiently to take out the opposing forces fiercely, fluidly, and finally, to get to where the sorcerer is as quickly as humanly possible.

She pauses only long enough to give Jemma the briefest of momentarily confused glances before a sharp nod. She efficiently takes the offered cyro-weapon and tubes, shoving her gun back into her jacket and proceeds down the hall.

As one inhuman nazi lunges at her, Kara Lynn is given chance to test her new weapon provided by Simmons - and she does so, the cold fusion of the cyro gun turning the past-come-to-life creation of the Lance into so much ice sculpture in a manner of a few brief seconds. She doesn't take the time to admire the technology, or the handiwork.

"Move, people."

She heads straight for that west tower, and the unlocked door. She points to Dane, Jessica, and Mary Jane, "Take point."

She looks back to Jemma and Daisy, "We're providing support. We get the Lance, and we get our people back."

Sam Wilson has posed:
Once he's close enough, Sam cuts the electricity and delivers a good old-fashioned beatdown to the Nazi magic user who seems to be the only opposition between him and the western tower. "Much love from the untermensche," he growls, before springing back to his feet. Rushing forward before this twisted reality can decide taht the downed sorcerer is fine, actually, what beatdown? The airman hits the door shoulder-first, slowing not one whit.

Daisy Johnson has posed:
Daisy takes in a quick assessment on how the rest of them are holding up, watching each before she offers a sharp nod. "You -have- been busy." she comments. Not that talking stops her from doing what she has to do. which in this case is to make her way along with others inside the castle.

Gaze turns here and there, ready to blast away at nazis if they come close, brows furrowed.

And if there was one sentiment she mirrored along with the rest of her SHIELD 'family' is that she was indeed ready to do what it took to get this threat gone.

The Director's orders make her nod, turning to serve as support while the others rush in the tower. And with the oncoming nazis it was time to go to town with them, hands up along with that horrible sound of her gauntlet whirring to life. Nazis that come in her direction begin to fly even if a sneaky one does go past her defenses and sticks a bayonet through, a slash across her leg that makes her wince but she promptly drives the man down to the ground with a vicious elbow smash to the mouth. But so far she appeared to be holding on.

Mikhail Uriokovitch has posed:
Once Mikhail deals with the first Nazi, his next step is to grab the rifle he threw, and sadly missed with, and thrusts it up at the sorcerer, hoping to break his concentration with a bayonet to the throatmeats.

The problem with this is that in doing so, the third Nazi is able to grab the small bear from behind and attempts to subdue Mikhail, who does not have enough experience fighting people larger than him in melee, and so he cheats. He turns and bites the wrist of the would-be captor and uses the opportunity to rake the man across the stomach with his claws as the Russian twists and slices at his throat before moving onward, hopefully keeping these three down long enough to no longer be a problem, leaving the bear to race towards the door to join the others.

Jane Foster has posed:
The West Tower rises gracefully, the largest of them all, with presumably some breakdown of two or three floors of chambers. The wooden door slips open, revealing what should be a gentleman's study, right down to a very nice, unlit fireplace and other amenities that won't stay in thought or mind, because it matters in exactly one way--

There is a single man standing there, calm as one pleases, dressed as what he is: a major of the Wehrmacht, a master of the darkest of arts that few mystics tread. In hand, the golden lance-head, point out. on the floor, twelve lightning bolts converged in a circle, Schneider in the centre. The door bangs open, the reality of a young man of the Afrikakorps facing him. The room, for all it is night, glows.

Perhaps that's the only point that -does- make sense. For Sam stands in a glade. He stands at the lost Temple, before it was sacked by Vespasian. He's in Al-Aqsa. In a field, in a circle of great bluestones. Under the shadow of Hattin. Beneath Brandenburg Gate's long shadow, fire swirling past Red Army banners. In a castle, ten different castles, next to a man with a calm countenance and a perpetual wound.

"You do know what this place is, don't you? I know why you have come," he says. The others might hear it, a reasonable, lovely English-speaking voice slippign out. "What you want. Have it, then."

All he has to do is step in. All Sam has to do is take it, the gold-wrapped spearpoint.

Gothic Lolita has posed:
    The rubble shifts after a moment in the doorway, as pieces start to shift and tumble off the stack, before several of the larger pieces are pushes clear, crashing to the side as a slightly shredded looking Lolita digs her way free. Her clothes have largely not survived the emergence, but then, she's currently all 1940s metal under most of it, with only the face and upper chest 'fleshy' so to speak. She shakes a piece free, then begins building up speed as she breaks into a run towards the center chamber of the tower.

    At this point, she's in a hurry. So she doesn't bother using the doors.

    She just goes directly through the walls.

Jessica Drew has posed:
The magical flip into a possible unwanted future has done little to change Jessica beyond giving her an awesome perm; her weapons are internal. The order to take point with Dane and Mary Jane galvanizes her into a dead run. She pinpoints the others then leaps feet first into a man uniformed in SS black. He wilts to the floor behind her, neck at an odd angle. Up ahead, a doorway beckons, a uniformed man standing, partially blocked from her view by Sam Wilson. Jessica skitters to a stop, senses alive to imminent danger in the otherwise peaceful scene.

"Sam, don't turn around. It's Jessica."

Mary Jane Watson has posed:
Agent Watson, a bit banged up, but still moving, enters the room. She frowns slightly at Schneider's words, moving to step around Sam and Mik as she looks carefully at the man, "Which is totally not a trap, I'm sure." She smiles faintly at that, holding her twin-bladed electric sword in one hand, regarding everything... very carefully as she moves to circle around, trying to draw Schneider's attention to her.

After all, she's the one that stabbed him before...

Kara Lynn Palamas has posed:
Director Palamas takes a few, slow, certain steps into the room, angling herself out from behind Drew and Sam, and somewhat opposite of Mary Jane's approach.

"Thank you," she tells him, mildly, "For the Grail. It's quite a lovely gift." Because it's always a good tactic to remind the evil nazi with the realit-altering supreme divine magic device that you've mucked up their plans, have something they needed to make their dream come true that much easier or faster, and that they made mistakes.

"You have no idea what we want. Your vision is too narrow to be able to even be able to grasp it."

She makes no move to attack him, though her hand continues to rest on the cryo weapon in an easy position to fire from. "Your werewolf made quite the mess. I'll send you my dry cleaning bill."

Sam Wilson has posed:
Sam doesn't turn around -- he doesn't even seem to notice as the others arrive. The kaleidoscopic locations flicking past (or present, or future) around him don't seem to brook the distraction of visitors. It's just this one encounter, over and over again. One choice: take the spear, or don't.

Sam was raised in the church, by a preacher, but grew up a sinner, and was molded into a savior of lives. He has traveled the world, he has fought the impossible, he has made allies and enemies so far beyond mortal ken that at times he has seemed like an afterthought in his own life. But there's a through line, a core to Sam Wilson: he's a man who charges headfirst, recklessly, into the darkest places on Earth, and finds what needs saving, and brings it home.

He takes the spear.

Mikhail Uriokovitch has posed:
Mikhail makes his way into the room, rifle still in hand, but now both he and it are covered in blood. For once, the Russian is not blocking line of sight for people, but he takes a deep breath, and looks to the others, figuring there is a reason they have not opened fire yet, and then sees the spearhead, but before he can say anything, the director talks and Mikhail figures it's better to let her talk. His eyes widen as Sam reaches out for the spearhead, but he cannot move to stop him.

Jemma Simmons has posed:
    Support. Jemma can certainly play support. With the cryo-gun passed off and functioning normally, Jemma turns to provide said support. With her lava launcher in hand, she keeps an eye out for anyone that wishes to assault her friends.

    The only problem is...in being in a castle full of people who want to kill you, it is virtually impossible to watch for all attack vectors. But....it seems that, at this particular moment...there is only creepy dark sorcerer in the middle of a slowly growing SHIELD circle. Jemma, however, remains on the castle side of the door. As long as she can see the rest of the team, she will be more than happy to guard the rear.

Daisy Johnson has posed:
A brief look is spared down to her leg, just a flesh wound. Survivable! And Daisy takes place right next to Jemma in covering their backs from stray nazis that may want to creep in on the group. Hands are up, conjuring up a barrier of vibration to keep any sharpshooter from taking a cheap shot in, a quick glance over her shoulder to check on the sorcerer.

Eyes narrow immediately upon recognizing Schneider but she remains silent.

The time for reckoning would come.

Jane Foster has posed:
"Smile a little more, ma'am. What you think you know and what actually is are miles apart," Schneider speaks with utter serenity, the same disquieting calm he presented to Bucky and Daisy hours before.

"Your organization's hands aren't innocent. They murdered a whole town with this, and called it peace." The words are there, no sooner than that, shared as a solemn gift for trainee, agents, director. Dispensed wisdom, wicked gifts.

Mikhail is superimposed there with the adult, the youth, the mature bear, the younger. Dane is all his lives. MJ and Sonja, reflected like the twins of Gemini together. One might only imagine what Bucky would look like with his ghosts, or the others. Sam reaches for the Lance.

Wielded by Longinus. Steep in blood of a god.

Bound by the seal of St. Maurice.

Blessed of life, leveler of kingdoms, a holy artifact that for an instant turns the tower into a cylinder of pure light.

Sam hits the ground, stiff and unconscious, on his back. Eyes closed, his chest moves. Burned onto his torso, the outline of the lance.

Schneider is gone.

And so is the Lance.

But the castle is still there.

And the world holds its collective breath, though they don't know it.