Of Winter & Of Wonder [Tempt x insufferable]

[Temptationist]

Of Winter & Of Wonder

There was evil in mankind. A deep, unrelenting darkness that threatened even the brightest gleam of light. It was a curse; perhaps an omen against the humans - an inherit flaw Zeus had overlooked upon their creation. He gave man the power of free will, the power of choice. And this... this was one of the most dangerous freedoms of all. From this freedom came grave vulnerability; a weakness Ares, the God of War, used to court his evil intentions. He invited man into his darkness, poisoning their minds and souls with thoughts of hate, greed, and jealously. He corrupted the human race, using his divine entity as a weapon of mass destruction against love and justice. If there was anything I had learned from Man's World, it was that it was unstoppable. If filled with hatred, they are cruel. If filled with love, they are compassionate; righteous.

In Ancient Greek history, it was our purpose - our very creation – intended to breathe life, love, and passion back into the emboldening hearts of men. But the women of my land, the Amazons... they were enslaved, raped, ridiculed. So Zeus, horrified by mankind, hid us away from the world. Hid us from man. Thriving in a tropical utopia, the gods gave us Themyscira, the Paradise Island – home to all Amazons. The island, shielded from the eyes and existence of Man's World, has remained fruitful and wonderful for over three thousand years. But a world without man also meant a world without children. The hearts of the Amazons soon began to weaken as a void in their motherly nature grew bigger and bigger. The ruler of Themyscira, Queen Hippolyta of Amazonia, molded a baby out of clay in the sand. Six members of the Greek Pantheon then bonded the soul to the clay, giving it life. Each of the six also granted the baby a gift: Demeter, great strength; Athena, wisdom and courage; Artemis, a hunter's heart and a communion with animals; Aphrodite, beauty and a loving heart; Hestia, sisterhood with fire; Hermes, speed and the power of flight.

From this moment forward, I – Princess Diana of Themyscira – was born. But my birth had a sole purpose; one that would change the course of history as we knew it. I was the “God-Killer” - a child born of both mortal and God, created from the womb of sand to serve in Zeus' army against his brother, Ares, the God of War. I had been designed, every bit of me, to destroy his evil. But my efforts to restore the good man kind had been intended to embrace became my greatest challenge. The world of men was not just black and white – there was a lot of grey, and it was the grey that prove so difficult to sculpt.

Despite the odds of darkness pitting against me, I returned to Man's World only once more after the Great War and death of Captain Steve Trevor. Though this second war was far greater in its atrocity than even that before it. I met another fierce soldier, Captain Steve Rogers, who had been granted the power of strength like I had from a magically serum. He, too, sought to destroy evil – a vile creature known to the human world as Red Skull. I had seen no evil like this before, one far greater in ferocity than Sir Patrick before him. Ares had truly evolved in form, taking to a face of blood-color. Red Skull was the essence of death; of all that is bad in the world. Steve and I fought to destroy him, though in the end, the spirit of Ares vanished into the virtue of the Tesseract, never to be seen again.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
Return to Amazonia​

“Only those of pure heart; those free of sin, shall pass these walls!”​

My return to Paradise Island was one of victory. I had gained new strength and with that new magic. Still feeling the emptiness of my fellow sisters, I used my divine forces to cast a spell over the shield that protected us from evil, but also, allowed for good from outside to exist within Amazonia. It did not take long for boats to arrive, and when they did, they sailed to our shores with dead men and women. But among them were children, and they were alive. Displaced by the barbaric destruction of civil war, many were civilians fleeing their countries for solace, others perhaps lost at sea by compass error. Man's World had truly proved time and time again to be a desperate, troubled place. Though despite their circumstances, they had fallen to our island as an act of the Gods; of fate.

For years there had been only a few, but as the 21st century unfolded in the human realm, darkness came with it. Boats made of strange materials passed through our borders. Many were destroyed, half sunk – others inflated but without anyone to sail them. The boats were filled with more children than man, a mark of anguish in the hollow eyes of women with scarves around their heads. Many children were dead in these rafts, but some still clutching for life. They came ill, diseased, and famished. But they had a will for life, and they were innocents - victims - of this wicked world.

As we sailed in our own ships to their aid, I discovered too many lives lost to the heavy ocean and the madness of man. Dirty and war-torn, I noticed a young toddler, sprawled face down on the side the raft, with just her mother's cold, frozen hand guarding her from falling overboard. My mouth parted open, the sight horrifying. As dozens of boats passed through the shield, Themyscira had come face-to-face with a real-life human crisis. My dark eyes found the child again, afraid to touch her lifeless body. Leaning over, I slowly and carefully peeled the dead woman's fingers from the child's life vest. Something called to me. The child, her silence called for me. Freeing the refugee infant from the side of the raft, I caught her stiff body. Turning her over in my strong arms, I cradled her, crying for her. My tears falling from my cheeks and sprinkling over her cyanotic skin. Her eyes flickered open, reveal a pair of mesmerizing green eyes. Too sickly to even cry, the beautiful girl just looked at me. I held her closer, pinning her to my chest as I wrapped her in a blanket. She was safe, now. Forever.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
Several Years Later​

“Amena!” Hippolyta would call, searching for the Arab-born human among her shores. “The sun has fallen. Come now.” Her olive eyes gleamed as her bright smile spread over her face. She waved excitedly to her adoptive grandmother, Queen of the Amazons. It was a stark contrast to the frail infant that was once on the brink of death at the shores of Themyscira. Now her, alongside dozens of other children, flocked these ancient streets and filled them with jovial laughter and a light of spirit unlike any other. Paradise Island was booming – the lives of Amazons fulfilled with the blessing of these little girls and boys alike. Though despite this newfound joy, darkness was stirring within these very walls.

General Ludendorff, Sir Patrick Morgan, even Johann Schmidt may have been lost to the Tesseract's glowing blue abyss, but deep in my soul, I felt Ares' corruption. Although I had returned to Themyscira, tragedies of the past followed me home. They stayed with me in my dreams; haunting me – torturing me at night. I had fallen deeply ill, a trait unfathomable to Amazonian women. Several sisters worked tirelessly to care for me, but my body wanted nothing but to sleep. In a room void of any light but that of a lambent fireplace, I dreamed endlessly of evil.

I felt something grabbing me, choking me - I felt suffocated, panicked. It was an entity I could not seem to control. I was rendered useless within my own body - completely paralyzed from head to toe. Yet this darkness preyed on my soul; plucked at it with its sharp fingers. "Diana..." He hissed in my ears. My body began to sweat profusely, a thin layer of glistened over my skin. "Di-an-NAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!" Screaming myself awake, my body suddenly became hysterically invigorated. With eyes black as night, sprouting from the ashes of the underworld itself, I grabbed Ares by the head, hurling a gold-plated dagger straight into his un-shielded abdomen. Blood spat from his quivering lips, spraying my face with a freckled layer of red. My eyes went red, closing tightly only to open again. But when I opened them afrash, it wasn't the blackened eyes of Ares I was staring into, it was the eyes of Amena.

"No... no-no-no... NO!!!" My voice thundered throughout the city, a bloodcurdling scream emitting from my lips as I held her trembling body in my arms. My entire body collapsed to the ground, the dagger falling from my barren hands. With lips agape, my mouth locked into that of shock, my eyes flooded my face. The pain was too great to release any other sound. In agonizing silence, I watched as Amena bled out before me. My trembling hands became feeble as I held her, unable to process the event that had just unfolded. Amena's body stiffened as her tiny fingers held defiantly to a rare ancient relic she had dug up from the shores of the beach just moments before... eagerly awaiting to show me.

Queen Hippolyta, a mother and grandmother, came barreling into my room. Falling to her knees as her eyes came to fall on the puddle of blood forming at my knees, she heaved in sound; choking on her own voice as her heart broke in two. "N-no!" I began to shriek uncontrollably, calling to attention the way my heart felt like it had been ripped right out of my body. My soul had been tampered, and my daughter a victim of the darkness I allowed to consume me. "D-Dia-" My mother clamored at my side, "Diana-" But I could not hear her words through the sheer hair-raising volume of my cries.

"What have I done!?" I wailed to her, desperately. "WHAT HAVE I DONE!?" Cradling Amena in my arms, I wept over her lifeless body. Her hands soon fell to her sides, the Amulet of Harmonia falling from her lithe fingers. The amulet, bronze in form, rolled from her hand to settle flat before the fire. The flames of the fire spat and sparked, the outline of Ares' demonic horns in flashing in the galvanized flames.

Evil.
Evil had finally found its way to Paradise.

 

[insufferable]

Bucky moved like water through the crowd, slipping through hundreds of unsuspecting pedestrians without as much bumping shoulders into one; the slight adjustment in his cadence was done so masterfully, refined over the many years of his training, there was not a single observer in view noticing his altered pace, the narrowing gap between him and his target.

He did not know his target’s name, but he recognized the man’s gait; faces could be disguised, height could be adjusted, clothing could be changed in an instance, but a person’s gait, their most basic movements, in his target's case - long, confident strides, a light swaying of his hands, and the occasional stretch of his neck, weren’t as easy to conceal, especially from a person in his previous line of work, someone who knew exactly what he was looking for.

He named his target Thumb, for upon closer inspection, the man was missing one on his left.

He first noticed Thumb three days back during one of his nightly reconnaissance, seated outside a small café two blocks from the apartment he was staying. Thumb was facing away from him that day, a cup of iced coffee and the day’s newspaper in hand, as inconspicuous as a stranger passing through the night, but Bucky felt it, that old animalistic instinct so deeply embedded into his psyche it was a part of him, that constant prickle of paranoia that never seemed to dissipate, the soft whisper only he could hear – you’re being hunted…

He spent the rest of the day shadowing Thumb, and when he memorized the man’s gait, it allowed him to process all the information his subconscious had stored over the past few days, recognizing all of the times he’d seen Thumb before; outside the marketplace, across the street from the town’s center, two trams behind on the subway.

It was clear to Bucky that he was being followed, but he did not know of Thumb’s intent.

Strangely, he felt a sense of thrill from that piece of information.

The hunt… is on.

He led Thumb into the busy streets of Bucharest, weaving between the weekend crowd, ducking into a nearby store and waiting until Thumb crossed by in front of him.

It was then the hunter became the hunted.

Bucky stepped out behind the man who was trailing him only minutes before, shadowing him through the crowd, keeping a constant shield of people between them two, far enough not to be spotted, but close enough to keep tail.

Thumb was an easy target to follow, he did not observe his surroundings, he wasn’t taking the necessary precautions to prevent himself from being followed, like he had never even considered the scenario of being tracked himself.

Bucky kept his distance and considered his options. The man was clearly an amateur, an easy kill. Two steps ahead, lunge, and his knife would sink into the man’s unguarded side, a hand over his face to muffle his voice; ten seconds more and Thumb would bleed to death, and Bucky would then disappear back into the crowd, leaving behind nothing but a lingering shadow that would too soon fade.

But that meant whatever information Thumb had would also die along with him, and Bucky needed that information. He needed to know who Thumb was working for and how they found him. So he continued his silent pursuit, following Thumb through the city square and back into the subway station.

They alighted three stops later – Strada Lipscani, an older part of town still untouched by Romania’s crackdown on drugs and sex trafficking; a dark speck on Bucharest’s tourism board; with brothels and gambling dens around every corner; where the streets were ruled by gangs and opium was king.

It was also where Bucky had been staying since the attack that took the life of Wakanda’s president three weeks back.

It also meant Thumb knew exactly which part of town he was staying.

Dangerous, dangerous.

But it didn’t matter. Thumb wasn’t going to live through the night; only what he knew mattered.

Bucky watched Thumb sitting down onto one of the nearby benches overlooking the subway, no doubt a vantage spot to wait for his return. He stopped to think. It could work to his advantage. He headed back into the subway and waited there for an hour before returning to where he last saw Thumb, purposely crossing their paths and making sure that the man was following before heading in the direction of the night market.

They passed by dozens of street hawkers, each peddling their specialties from their pushcarts, the delicious aromas reminding him that it’d been a long day since his last meal. Bucky pushed those thoughts aside, continuing his way through the marketplace, occasional slowing down his pace purposely so that Thumb could follow.

He led Thumb through the market, towards an area of winding alleyways, a place he had familiarized himself with over the last few days. He stepped past a homeless man propped against a streetlamp, surrounded by dozens of empty liquor bottles, and disappeared into the shadows.

It was a long minute wait until Thumb followed into the alleyway.

Bucky heard the footsteps first, the same long strides, coming closer, and closer – and when the man finally came within distance, he stepped out into the shadows, straight into Thumb’s path.

Thumb’s eye bulged wide open, but before he could do or say anything else, Bucky shot forward, the back of his palm jutting into Thumb’s neck, then without missing a beat, pivoted downwards, sweeping Thumb’s legs out from under him.

Thumb crashed down onto the ground, heaving for air.

Bucky stepped in behind him, locking onto his arm and twisting it against his spine at an unnatural angle, close to complete dislocation; a warning to stay down.

Thumb complied.

“Make a move… and I’ll break your arm.”

Thumb nodded.

“Who else knows.”

“N-No one,” Thumb stuttered. “I… I’m just a reporter, I’m only doing my job… please… I have a family, I…”

He was interrupted by the sound of his bones snapping, his screams quickly muffled by Bucky’s palm.

“Lie to me again…” Bucky’s voice dripped low, dispassionate. “And I’ll break your other arm.”

Thumb nodded, his demeanour changing, hardening.

“Who else knows.”

“Everyone who accessed the bulletin board.”

“What bulletin board.”

“For open bounties. Five million on your head.”

“Who put the bounty.”

“Tony. Tony Stark.”

Bucky fell quiet for a long second. “How did you find me.”

“Mr. Stark… he provided satellite scans of your last known locations in Bucharest.”

“Bucharest is a big place.”

“I… I found you by luck. I was having dinner at the night market and you… walked right past me.”

Bucky exhaled, annoyed by the turn of events. “Who else knows."

Thumb shook his head. “No one, I wanted to claim the bounty for myself, but if you let me go, I swear I won’t tell anyone, I’ll-“

“Then I am sorry.”

Bucky swung forward, his knife plunging into the side of Thumb’s rib, his momentum forcing Thumb down onto the ground. The blade then twisted upwards, punctuating the man’s lungs, a simple procedure Bucky had done over and over before. Fifteen seconds. Thumb would drown in his own blood in fifteen seconds. It was the average time for most of his targets around Thumb’s build and height to die the same way.

Exactly fifteen seconds later, Thumb’s hand fell limply into the nearby puddle of dirty water, disturbing the reflection of Bucky’s still dripping blade.

When all was quiet and calm, Bucky got up to his feet and cleaned the scene, removing the dead man’s wallet and adding a few more slashes across his body to make it look less like a premeditated attack and more of a mugging gone wrong.

Then he left the alleyway behind and disappeared once more into the crowd.

--------------------------------------​

Bucky needed an immediate exfil. He didn’t know if Thumb was telling the truth; the man swore he had not revealed his location to the rest of the bounty board, but a dying man would say anything to save himself. Bucky knew that first hand, he’d seen plenty of powerful, arrogant men, reduced to bumbling children at the other end of his pistol, crying, pleading for their lives.

He waited in the building across his rented apartment for the rest of the night, a good enough vantage point, until he was absolutely certain that there was no ambush hiding in waiting, before entering his home for the past three weeks and leaving minutes later with a light duffel bag.

It was all he owned; he was prepared since the first day to leave at a moment’s notice; the two long minutes he’d spent inside were to remove any traces of him ever being here.

He made his way to the train station next, passing by the bench which Thumb had sat on while waiting for him only hours ago, before getting onto the first arriving train and leaving the city of Lipscani behind.

Two days later, Bucky arrived at Satu Mare, a small city near the border between Hungary and Ukraine.

He found a tiny rundown motel near the outskirts of the city; a place with steel bars between the counter, a shotgun under the cashier’s desk, no identification needed, and only dealing in cash.

He booked a room and changed his appearance, putting on a trench coat which hid his slouched frame and a thick hat which concealed most of his features, before returning to the counter and booking another room down the hall from his.

The cashier did not even bother looking up when taking his money.

He headed to the second room, tossing his duffle bag onto the bed. The place was old and dusty, it smelled of cheap tobacco and rot, but he wasn’t complaining. This part of town was somewhere where people minded their own businesses and walked with their heads down.

Perfect to lay low and plan his next move. But first…

He opened his bag and emptied the contents onto the bed; a silenced pistol, a few spare magazines, his combat knife, a few old grenades, and two bundled up notes of cash. There wasn’t much, he was already running low on resources since his escape from HYDRA; the frameup at Vienna burned all his remaining contacts, making his situation even more dire.

He was completely alone now, with no possible way of procuring any further resources. Not that it mattered. He always worked best alone, and weapon and cash were only luxury, he could operate without.

He crossed over to the first room with the grenades in hand, tearing apart the bedsheets and using them as makeshift ropes to tie the grenade’s pin to the doorknob. If anyone attempted to open the door from the outside, the strings would pull and the grenades would explode. It was a trap and also a warning.

He wasn’t worried about room service or the motel’s management coming by, judging from the establishment’s current state, it seemed that the person behind the counter was the only employee. He then made sure the lamps were turned on before exiting from the window and heading back to the other room, which he made sure to keep in complete darkness, creating the illusion that only the first room was occupied.

Then he laid down on the bed and for the first time in three days, fell into fitful, nightmare-ridden sleep.

 

[Temptationist]

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
Man's World
Present Day​

The skies roared of thunder and hate, crashing through the skyline with fury, and not forgiveness. Paradise island would feel my wrath, and soon... so would Man's World. The shield known to keep Themyscira hidden now became to fracture. With an armored stallion at my mount, I grasped the reigns with intensity as I raced to the beaches of Amazonia. Without even the thought of a boat, the steed below me bellowed into the waters. As if walking on earth itself, it raced to the shores of the mortal world, stomping through the ocean as if it were ground. The cuffs on my eyes and the dark in my eyes flickered of red shine – a statement of the power of my magic in the heat of the moment. A crowd of Amazonians awed at the unnerving sight of black skies and a gravity-defying stallion. The pain in my heart, now converted to pure violent vengeance, had unsettled even the most sound of Gods. The shield shimmered as I crossed its protective barrier. It flashes and cracked as I did so, the true sign that war was ahead... and the fate of Paradise uncertain.

As I crossed its weakening borders, my magic-fueled rage would connect me straight to the waters of New York City – Man's World. Approaching the shores at nearly one hundred miles kilometres an hour – twice that speed of a normal horse – my steed huffed and heaved, the power of the God-Killer, Princess Diana of Themyscira, flooding his system. With every pounding gallop, the water splashed around his hoof but did not sink him in. Even the skies of the mortal world would weep at my arrival – lightning sweeping through the city, striking suddenly and without mercy. Within minutes the city had turned from shining summer to a dreadful daze. With fog descended in the city, humans around looked around in confusion.

“Uh... Steve...” Sam Wilson – also known as Falcon - standing at the mercy of his apartment's balcony, squinted his eyes at the fast-changing skies. Sensing not only its abnormality but also its supernaturalism, he brought his morning coffee mug to his lips. Taking one, last deep gulp, he continued. “... We've got a problem.”

Nearing the cruise ports of lower Manhattan island, to me, all that was known was that this was Man's World – nothing more. My stallion galloped to the shores, taking a great leap at an abandoned sliver of wooden dock. Just meters from a neighbouring ship, my raging steed jumped to the platform, the weight of his strong body shifting the wood on its floats. With his reigns at the control of my hands, he continued his furious bolt towards the busy streets of New York City. Leaping straight into oncoming traffic, vehicles and buses from both sides began to honk and swerve to avoid us. I flung the reigns backwards, sending my startled companion onto his hind legs. Veering backwards, he kicked his front hooves up in the air, releasing a heated neigh that seemed to echo even among the chaos of the city.

Fog weaved itself between the vehicles and depleted visual conditions, wreaking havoc. Several vehicles had collided, and steam sizzled from the hoods of their cars. The city streets around me had come to a complete halt, all but me and my stallion at the center of attention to blame. Humans gathered around the discord, shouting profanity as their exited their calls to blame the culprit. Though, as the fog and steam would begin to lift only barely enough for them to see, all that would be left in the middle of the stand-still road would be a lonesome black mustang, still, confused, and without rider. Clack, clack, clack. His right hoof would pound repeatedly against the cement.

Clack, clack, clack.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
Manhattan Island
NEW YORK CITY​

With a cloak as black as the darkening skies, my face remained shadowed. Hidden in the abyss of my hood, I navigated the panicking streets of Manhattan. Little did people realize among the turmoil of the accidents, that a semi-God walked among them, and evil not far behind. Keeping my head low, I noted the major differences the years spent away had evolved the world into. Technology and architecture had surely advanced, but people - busy in their lives and oblivious to the world around them - had not. I maneuvered the hectic crowd with ease, making my way past a newspaper and cigarettes stand that caught my attention. Grabbing the paper from the pile, my jaw lowered as I read the headline.

"CAPTAIN AMERICA A FUGITIVE?"
"Sokovia Accords wreak havoc with the Avengers"​

My red eyes glowed as they read those words. CAPTAIN. AMERICA. Captain America. The last time I had seen Steve Rogers, he was dead - having sacrificed himself by sinking a bomb-ridden sky vehicle into the middle of the Atlantic. Looking over the paper with curious eyes, I took in the dandy Avengers logo printed in the front-page article. Lifting my head, I looked the vendor right in the eyes. "Where is this?" I demanded, though the look on his face was that of fear. Seeing the shimmer of red in my eyes reflecting in his own, I realized just now fueled I truly was. Speechless, the man could say nothing. Before he could even muster up the breath to respond, I depressed my head and disappeared back into the crowd. The skies had begun to cry at my asperity, the storm growing in the mortal world as it was in Themyscira. Rain began to pour over the entire city, unrelenting in its ferocity as it drowned the streets of Man's World. Pulling my cloak further over my head, I ventured to find source of the unidentified "A", allowing the hysteria of the rain to wash me away.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
890 Fifth Avenue,
AVENGERS HEADQUARTERS

Barrelling through the doors of the Avengers Headquarters, I stormed right for the Falcon himself, who guarded the transparent glass doors to the summit room behind him. "What the-" He would mutter as he watched a foreign, yet stunning, woman approach him with glazing eyes. Unsure of what I would do, he put his hand out to signal for me not to enter. "Whoa, whoa, whoa Steeeeeeeeeeeeeeee-ve!" Sam would call out, the utmost concern in the tone of his voice. Without so much as thinking, I grabbed his forearm and used the strength of the Amazons to twist him right upside down. He came crashing to the floor, becoming immediately winded as his back hit the ground. Gasped for air and with eyes nearly bulging from his sockets, he wheezed breathlessly, "What... kind of... woman..."

Steve Rogers, casual in a leather jacket and jeans, would turn his head away from the conversation the serious conversation he was attempting to have with Tony Stark. Suddenly being interrupted by Wilson's unusual cry for help, Steve turned his head. His neck twisted twice as he whipped his gaze in a double-take. His mouth dropping in awe as I stood 6 feet tall in the glass doorway just feet behind him. Tony, who was muttering under his breath as he fiddled with the gadget watch on his wrist, had not even noticed me had it not been for Steve's unusual silence.

"Steve..." My voice was exotic, harboring an unmistakable Amazonian accent, that which resembled most of Hebrew and Arabic.

Steve immediately rose from his chair, moving slowly as his eyes widened. He looked to me in complete astonishment. "Diana."

Tony Stark, consumed with his technology, soon looked up at nearly jumped out of his chair. Although he had been born long after my disappearance, tales from his father of the Amazonian beauty stayed in his memories forever. "Holy shit." He would gasp, "Is that...!?"

"Wonder Woman." Falcon would iterate, now standing behind me after being knocked off his feet.

Though, the soft eyes I was known for had died on Paradise Island. Captain America would be met with intense eyes, the kind of gaze only witnessed in battle; in war. Slamming a wad of several different newspapers and articles down on the glass table separating the two feuding men, I looked to Steve as I announced, "Ares has returned." There was a chill in the room, the paper I clenched hard under the grasp of my palm was that of Bucky on the cover of Wakanda International news. The hair on the back of Steve's neck lifted as he came to realize my notions.

"Diana..." He would jump to Buck's defense, his startled response holding too much delay to salvage the situation. "No-"

Tony's eyes glanced over the papers, quick to read the situation and the depth of my understanding. Raising an eyebrow, he sunk back into the back rest of his chair. "He's killed hundreds of innocent people." Tony would interrupt.

"No!" Steve would retort. "Diana!" Steve would be quick to reach his hand for mine, trying to gain my attention as my mind scattered with Tony's words. Feeling my heart begin to race, Steve tried to reason with me. "Listen to me, Bucky is my best friend. He fought with us in the war. He's not who people think he is."

"He's a murderer." Tony pushed. "He's destroyed the lives of men, women... children."

My eyes burned into Steve, a look of anger as I watched him try to defend the man I believed to be Ares. "I don't need my Lasso of Truth to see the lies behind your tired eyes."

Steve would retort, "Diana, please..." A desperate tone in his voice, "Bucky is being controlled-!"

"Yes!" I raised my voice, "By Ares! He has taken the will of the God and has killed innocents in his name. He will not stop until he is dead."

"Hold up!" Sam would wave his hands dramatically - "Ares? As in... God of War - Greek Mythology shit?"

"The sacred teachings of Ancient Man." I glared at Falcon, though returned my gaze to Steve again. Pointing to the many pages of papers I had scattered over the table; I had reports dating from WWII all the way to Wakanda tracking the infamous "Winter Soldier". Shaking my head, "You defend an entity that is evil." I scoffed, "The man you once knew, your friend, he does not exist. Just look at what he has done!”

“It's over, Cap.” Tony would fuel me, “The Princess said it-” Tony's manipulative ways would bring Falcon to an annoyed, nearly furious gaze. “Ares – that's his name? Right. So, he's returned. Hell is breaking loose. And guess who's at the center of it all?” Looking to Steve, he did not even gaze to the finger he slammed down. Under the digit his hand was the face of the infamous Winter Soldier. Preying on my ignorance and naivety, Tony drove his point home. “Makes sense a hell of a lot of to me.”

“Stop it.” Steve would grit his teeth. "Bucky is my friend. I won't give up on him."

"He must be destroyed." I said firmly, backing away from the table. "That is why I have returned, Steve." Walking over to him, I closed the inches between us to look him passionately in the eyes. "I'm sorry." Lowering my head down, I pulled my body away, taking big strides as I exited the room.

Steve would try to follow, "Diana, wait!" Stark and Wilson quickly acted to stop him. His eyes filled with fear, the first time in years Captain American would show despair for the uncertain future that was to come.

“Steve...” Falcon would sigh, walking up to place a comforting hand on his shoulder. “Listen, I don't know about no hocus pocus and God of War, but...” Sighing again, he looked down sadly to the piles of evidence against Bucky. “Who ever he used to be... Who he is now – maybe he's not the kind you save... He's the kind you stop.”

"No." Steve would shake his head. "Not like this..." Turning to Falcon, he pleaded, "We have to find him... before she does." Rogers would exhaust the desperation in his eyes, gazing over the plethora of information I had gathered in just hours, perhaps days, since my arrival.

Stark would swipe the pen he had previously tried to convince Steve to yield to sign the Sokovia Accords. Knowing full well this would seal the fate of the rift in the Avengers, Tony hustled the pen into his inner vest pocket. "Let the race begin."

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
Satu Mare, Romania
WEEKS LATER​

With little to no paper trail, it was up to the power of my senses and the wit of the media that helped lead me straight to a musky and dilapidated motel. Entering the dingy territory, I came with nothing but a trench coat, a pocket full of cash, and a small rolling suitcase. The the ordinary eye, I appeared to be a travelling business woman. Perhaps not the most fitting for a run-down trash-house like this, but it was better than a body full of armour and a wielding lasso. Upon my arrival, no one – not even the woman at the counter – was even present at reception. Raising my eyebrows, I attempted to call for service in perfectly fluent Romanian. “
Buna? Aş vrea o cameră... Buna?” Hello? I would like a room... Hello? To no avail, the woman was gone, the faint sound of thudding and moaning coming from the office nearby. Bump, bump, bump. Da, da, da! Yes, yes, yes! Clearly preoccupied with other desires, I swindled my way around the counter and reached through the bars. Looking around, I took tabs on which rooms were currently vacant... and more importantly, which weren't. With just over a dozen rooms, only 4 weren't occupied, two on the second floor and two on the main. Keys for apartment 101 and 106 respectively seemed to be missing.

Taking the key for room 107, I walked slowly down the outdoor hallway which leads each potential occupant to their dingy rooms. With each step I took, the sound of rolling wheels stirred the silence of the otherwise abandoned station. Though, as I passed Apartment 101, the sound of rolling stopped. I swiped my eyes over the window, looking for signs of life. Two lamps were illuminated within the apartment. Puzzled, I continued down the hall, the whirling of my wheels coming to life again. Approaching Apartment 106, I stared suspiciously at the room window that appeared to be empty and vacant. Thinking back to the reception, I noted that the key for room 106 was indeed MIA, therefore occupied despite the room's darkness. Raising an eyebrow, I continued to the neighbouring room, Apartment 107. Slipping my key into the hole, I turned it until it unlocked but then paused. Squinting my eyes, I turned my head to gaze upon the room next door. Something about the key being missing for 106 continued to irk me. Opening the door to my room, I looked behind me and down the hallway once more before shutting the door.

Placing my luggage on the bed, I unzipped it to reveal a cloak, shinning armour, my tiara, shield, the Sword of Athena, the Lasso of Truth, Bracelets of Submission, and lastly, the Amulet of Harmonia – the same amulet that had fallen from the cold hands of a dead child. Picking up the amulet, I closed my eyes, my mind flashing me back to the last breath Amena took. Opening the eyes again, a single tear streamed down my golden-skinned face. Clamping onto the amulet, I nearly crushed it in my holy grasp. Releasing a vicious exhale, I stared blankly at the wallpapered walls before me. I could smell you, the Winter Soldier. I could smell the fluid secretion, how the sweat rolled down your head as night terrors consumed you.

It took only moments for my image to transform from business classy to warrior ready. Slipping the tiara onto my forehead and the cloak over my shoulder, I exited the room. Sword and lasso at hip, I stepped foot before my door and into the void hallway. Grabbing the shield on my back, I took a deep breath and launched it towards Apartment 101. The Amazonia disc flung in a curve like a Frisbee, aiming right for the handle of the door. The moment it impacted the handle, the force of its strike blew the door right off its hinges. Instantaneous, the grenade detonated, causing an immediate explosion and blasting the room to bits. The blast caused an array of discord including sprayed rubble coupled with a new, blazing fire as a result of a gas stove in the office next door.

As the smoke began to clear, I stood confidently next to the “vacant” Apartment 106, waiting for your reaction. At a towering 6 foot tall, my blue studded cloak swayed at my voluptuous Amazonian sides with the eruption's heated breeze. Raised in arms to protect myself from the blast, the gauntlets at my wrists glowed as I lowered them from my striking brown eyes. The gleam of the sun kissed my forehead, seducing the eye into the Star of Amazonia embedded into the tiara I wore with pride. There was no mistaking my identity. I was she in the very flesh, back from the depths of divine mythology.

I was Wonder Woman.

 

[insufferable]

Хамелеон -- The Chameleon.

It was one of the many identities given to him by the men of the Red Room.

The moniker suited him well, he supposed. Since he was a child, he'd always had the ability to blend seamlessly with his surroundings, no matter how foreign, no matter how unfamiliar. It was how he’d survived as a young orphan on the streets of pre-war Brooklyn, and it was an ability he’d only further fine-tuned since then.

It was Bucky's first time coming to Satu Mare, a small poverty-stricken town, where stores closed before nightfall, walls were high with razor-wires, vulgar graffiti lining the streets as far as the eye could see, and dirty beggars populating every visible street corner. The atmosphere reeked of desperation, of hopelessness and despair. It was all too familiar. He’d operated in places like this before, an easy transition, taking him less than a day to adjust to his surroundings, transforming himself from a wandering fugitive into another faceless resident of this small, insignificant town.

The first twenty-four hours went by quickly. He spent most of his remaining daylight tweaking with the barely-functioning radio he’d picked up from one of the small roadside vendors, trying to connect to an international frequency. But other than a few pathetic bursts of static, his attempts were otherwise futile. He slept little during the day, in short shifts of minutes, and spent his night prowling the streets, mentally mapping the entire block from the motel to the train station, from all of the available vantage points, to every escape route, to possible ambush spots. He committed everything to memory, every store to every street corner, and within the next day, he was no longer the unfamiliar visitor, but someone who knew the layout of the town as well as a person who’d lived there their entire life.

On the third day, he found himself a neighbor: male, heavyset from the sound of his footsteps, along with a lighter, younger companion, likely female, from the tap of heels against creaky floorboards. It wasn’t a difficult guess as to why the two of them were here, and the sounds of scraping furniture and moaning that soon came through the thin walls quickly confirmed Bucky’s suspicions.

His two newfound neighbors were likely harmless, probably a tourist finding a local “date” and stopping over at the motel to consummate their “transaction.” But even still, Bucky couldn’t stop the adrenaline that surged almost painfully through his veins, every possible outcome repeatedly running through his head, straining his psyche, leading to a pounding headache that wouldn’t go away. His two neighbors went at it the entire night, and so, he waited till morning, until they left before managing to catch up on some sleep, and even then, only minutes passed before he shot upright, the hairs at the back of his neck standing sharp, his weapon instinctively drawn and pointed forward at the empty space before him.

He breathed heavily, eyes darting frantically across the room – and eventually finding the source of his agitated senses: a tiny rodent, scratching at the wall behind the closet space. He exhaled, releasing his grip on the weapon and falling back down onto the bed, fingers digging into his skull, trying to alleviate the headache that quickly returned.

He still hadn’t quite gotten used to it. His enhanced senses, created by years of extreme conditioning and experimental HYDRA drugs, allowing him to see, sense, and feel, things that a normal person couldn’t in the same circumstances; like a bead of sweat dripping down the back of a nervous suspect, the released pheromones of a female target he was seducing or, in the case of his abrupt awakening, the sounds of a tiny rodent searching for nearby crumbs.

It was different, and easier under HYDRA control; he was pumped full of drugs back then, inhibitors that targeted most of his nervous system, keeping his emotions and his impulses in check and under control, keeping him as functioning and as calculative as they needed him to be. But now, without the same drugs, he could barely hold on, his mind unable to cope with all the extra information it needed to process, allowing fear, anxiety, to quickly take its place in the vacuum. He could no longer control the part of him that was always wounded so tightly like a trapped tiger waiting to pounce, the primal part of him that couldn’t stop looking for danger, screaming at him to watch your back or DIE.

In the months since his escape from HYDRA’s control, he’d learned that there were ways to drown out the voices, for at least a few long hours of relief, a concoction of drugs and alcohol strong enough to suppress his senses, to dull the headaches that’d been plaguing him for the past week. He needed it desperately, a short reprieve, but he knew he couldn’t. Not since he’d been framed for the attack on the Wakanda President. Not since half the world painted him as a wanted terrorist. He needed to stay focus, to keep himself one step ahead of the people hunting him, he needed the voices.

------------------------​

[-REDACTED-]
SOMEWHERE DEEP WITHIN SOVIET RUSSIA
194(???)​

James “Bucky” Barnes came to suddenly, lungs burning, limbs twisting painfully in their confines. Someone had splashed a bucket of ice water over his face, bringing him back to consciousness; he blinked, momentarily disorientated by the experience, trying to focus on his surroundings, trying to find clues as to where he might be: a small unmarked room, fluorescent lighting, no windows, white surgical walls. Unfamiliar. He didn’t know where he was.

Then the door in front of him swung open and a tall lanky figure entered. The man wore a surgical mask and a pair of gloves, his eyes hidden behind a pair of tiny rimmed-spectacles. He nodded to someone beyond the room, to where Bucky could not see, and two more men entered. The newcomers wore regular army slacks, but with an insignia Bucky did not recognize. A strange symbol, enveloped by brushes of scarlet red.

The man in the surgical mask stopped in front of him. “Who are you?” he asked, his accent Russian, his tone strange, like it wasn’t a question, but more a confirmation. “What is your name?”

Bucky did not hesitate. “James Buchanan Barnes, United States Army Sergeant, Serial No. 32557038.”

The man was quiet for a second, then he repeated. “Who are you? What is your name.”

“James Buchanan Barnes, Unite-”

Bucky did not manage to finish his sentence, as one of the two soldiers that entered took a quick step ahead, a cold towel quickly wrapped around Bucky’s face. He tried to twist away from the towel, but there was little he could achieve being strapped down to his seat. The man pulled, the towel tightening, restricting the flow of air. Bucky started to heave, desperately trying to inhale when a dose of ice water shot straight towards the center of the towel, soaking it completely. He tried to avoid the water, but it kept coming, and within a short minute, he was choking and coughing and buckling against his restraints.

He must had blacked out until someone poured another bucket of water over his face.

“Who are you?” the man in the mask asked again. “What is your name?”

Bucky squeezed his eyes shut for a long second, his teeth chattering, the restraints digging so painfully into his skin that he was bleeding. “James Buchana--”

The towel was thrown over his face once again.

------------------------​

SATU MARE
current day
​

It was a strange thing, to wake from a dream of a memory.

The Red Room.

It was a place he hadn’t thought of in the longest time. A period of his life long before falling into HYDRA’s control, the memory itself so long passed it felt like he was looking through the viewing-lens of another’s life. The men of the Red Room were the ones who pulled him out from the ice and brought him back to Russia, they were the ones who wiped his memory, indoctrinated him to their cause, and gave him his bionic arm. They were the ones who turned him into the person he was today.

It was a long time since he’d last thought of them. The majority of them were already dead, either from old age or by his hands. It was the first thing he did since breaking free of his mental implants. It didn’t matter if they were HYDRA or the Red Room. He hunted them down and killed them all.

On the fourth day, came another.

Bucky’s eyes slowly flickered open, listening to the approaching footsteps, accompanied by the wheeling of a luggage case, which, in the quiet motel hallway, was as deafening as an air siren. He stepped away from the bed at the sound of approach, moving over to the doorway and pressing his ear against the wooden frame.

The footsteps came closer, closer, then stopped… right in front of room 101.

The decoy room.

His senses went into overdrive, his body coiled, ready to spring into action depending on the outcome of the next few seconds. He waited, time slowing down as he focused, but a few long seconds passed… and the hallway still remained quiet, untouched by the fiery eruptions he planted. His trap was not triggered.

The footsteps continued.

Slowly, one steady step followed by another. There was only a single person. He’d expected an entire strike-team to descend on the motel, not a single being. He waited until the footsteps neared his room… then stepped right past, stopping at the one directly next to his. The sound of an unlocking door came next, and all was quiet for the next minute. Too quiet. He could hear his own heartbeat pounding loudly against his chest, almost like a warning, alongside the voices in his head screaming at him to run.

Then he saw her, through the viewhole of the door. She stepped outside of her room and into the hallway, lasso glowing, sword and shield in hand, cloak swirling forward with each strong, confident step.

He stumbled backwards, blinded by momentary spots of pain, as memories shot forth like insistent stars in a dark sky, his head throbbing so painfully in its aftermath he half expected his skull to crack right open.

That woman. He’d seen her before. So long before it was like from another life.

------------------------​

LEIPZIG, GERMANY
1952​

He’d been waiting at that exact same spot for almost two long days now, hidden by the foliage of the forest’s opening, a tiny spot in the mud between thick shrubbery, the front end of his rifle as inconspicuous as the dozens of protruding twigs and branches around him. He was hidden deep in the middle of an active battlefield, watching soldiers from both sides of the war exchanging fire, but joining neither end.

He was on a mission, but he wasn’t here to win them the war. That fight was long over. The men of the Red Room knew of their defeat. It wasn’t why he was here today. They’d chosen him for this specific task not because of his ability to kill, but because of how efficient he was at operating undetected behind enemy lines. They’d sent him not because they needed soldiers, but a ghost.

He watched the battlefield through the scope of his rifle, like he’d been doing for the past two days, watching as hundreds of soldiers charged and hundreds of soldiers fell, watching as the mist rose slowly from the wet ground from last night’s rain like the souls of the dead living their bodies behind. A haunting sight, but strangely beautiful.

On the third day, came his target.

She crashed into the battlefield, a tall woman in armor, charging through the trenches, deflecting bullets with her bracelets and cutting down dozens of men with nothing but a sword of steel. He followed her movements with his rifle’s scope, its ranged magnified so closely he could see the individual droplets of blood splattered across her chest guard – none of it hers.

Чудо-женщина - wonder woman

That was what the men of the Red Room called her. He’d read the file on her, he knew how dangerous she was. He knew of the many rumors surrounding her, from being a genetically enhanced human to an actual Amazonian god. But her origins did not matter to him. He only wanted to know if she bled. The scope moved towards her unprotected flank, and his finger pressed lightly against the trigger, curling inwards, holding, but not quite with enough pressure to release the loaded chamber.

Because she wasn’t his target, at least not today. Firing at her would only reveal his position, and it would be detrimental to finding a better opportunity to landing a shot on his actual target. His scope moved forward, past the woman and her four escorts, zooming instead onto the one stumbling person in-between them all: a man dressed in the colors of Nazi black-white-red. The traitor. Or so he’d been told. A defector planning to release details of experimental soviet weaponry to the Allied forces in exchange for amnesty. A traitor to his country. Not that Bucky actually cared. It was a mission to him, nothing more.

He inhaled. Exhaled. Then pulled the trigger. All was calm for a single second, and in the next, the man’s head exploded into a mist of red, his body’s forward momentum sending him crumpling into a nearby ditch. The men around him immediately rushed to his side, some in shock, incomprehension at the scene, others, Bucky did not know, because in seconds, he was already gone, slipping back into the shadows, leaving behind only a small disturbed spot in the foliage.

------------------------​

SATU MARE
current day
​

It was her. The woman from that time. More than half a century passed and not looking a single day older. He didn’t quite believe his eyes, momentarily lost between reality and hallucinations, a dream of the past. Then in the next second, he watched, eyes widening, as she lanced her shield forward, sending it flying in the direction of the decoy room. There was a loud boom, and as fire washed over the hallway, Bucky came to the quick conclusion that the woman standing beyond the doorway… was very, very real, and very, very dangerous.

He reacted in the next second, training and instinct taking over, launching himself across to the opposite side of the room, drawing his pistol in midleap and firing two shots in the direction of the doorway where he’d lodged his last two grenades against the wooden beams holding up that side of the wall. The explosions were instantaneous, the concussive waves swallowing the entire hallway as the shockwave sent him crashing through the window and towards the street below. He rolled across dirty asphalt, his bionic arm taking the brunt of the impact. Another explosion erupted above him, his hands reaching up to shield himself from the falling debris as he staggered away from the burning building, pausing for a second to pull a shard of glass out from his shoulder.

Ignoring the ringing in his ears, he steadied himself and started sprinting in the opposite direction. He did not know if the woman survived the explosion, but he wasn’t about to stay and find out.

 

[Temptationist]

The explosion was unforgiving.

The detonation of decoy room 101 was a blip in comparison to the detonation that soon followed it. Rather than being faced with the man I had so desperately searched for weeks, instead, I was met face-to-face with a devastating blow. Too consumed in my own efforts to destroy you - the Winter Soldier - I found myself enthralled by the discord. Rather than properly defending myself, I became a victim to the blast. The explosion launched me feet in the air and meters out; leaving my body to crash against a cement structure. The wall collapsed with the impact of my body, unable to handle the vigor of my divine form.

As the fire from the blast raged on, I saw the demonic figure of Ares in the blazing flames. The eruption of the building only fueled my own ravaging fire. Perhaps it was my own delusion showing me the horns of the God of War, but in my mind, it didn't matter whether or not it was a figment of my imagination or reality. He was here; on earth. Ares walked, breathed, and lived here on Earth. He taunted me; called for me in the shrieks of the explosion - seducing me into his fire by infecting me with rage and vengeance. As my body fell to the ashes as it had done time and time before, I shook my head in disbelief. A haunting, nearly wicked smile grew on my once-soft lips, grimacing at the chaos as the motel burned and fell. No man would stop me now. No mortal, no God.

Peeling myself off the ground, there was a new-found adrenaline that now pumped in my veins. It wasn't one of defeat nor of victory, but one of determination, and fortitude. Although noble in its creation, my spiraling emotions only made me heinous and malevolent in this moment. My head shot to the side, my dark vision searching for the target as the blaze caught my irises. The flames danced in my chocolate-coloured eyes. There was a darkness in my eyes. One that was all-too familiar.

My pupils dilated as I found the Winter Solider running for his life. How cowardly, I thought. How typical of Ares to run in fear as the God-Killer returns for her dominion. "You cannot run from ME-EEEEEEEEEEE!" I would growl, a deep voice uncharacteristic of my well-documented sweet nature. It was as if, I too, had become possessed, controlled by another force.

With the winds drastically shifting, I found myself under a darkening sky. The brisk breeze passed through my luscious hair as I picked the shield and sword from the ground and armed myself again.
With the Lasso of Truth at my hip, I abandoned the wreckage behind me; a true symbol of the chaos that would soon unfold at my hands.

I took a menacing step, propelling my entire body up into the air as I escaped the fumes of the deteriorating motel. Rocketing several dozen meters in the air, I came crashing down on a near-by vehicle just a hectometer from your fleeing form. The Dacia Solenza crumbled at my feet; the sheer force of the landing causing the Romanian-made compact car to flatten beneath me. I was no ordinary enhanced human; nothing like the Red Room or HYDRA had ever seen. I was a beast; a monster in feminine form. I was capable of great destruction; a feat I was about to prove with my every breath, every step, and every move.

Slipping the sword into its designated sheath between my shoulders, I subsequently threw myself forward. I began to run towards you with extraordinary speed. But my race for you was swiftly interrupted as the sound of chopping filled the air. Soon we found ourselves chased by a blaring military helicopter. Although the chopper was new and clearly well-funded, it was completely unlabeled, black in its colour and threatening in its sound. It descended quickly, using its precise technology to hover just feet over the ground without actually landing. Although, it had no plans to solidify its state. It wasn't lowering to land - it was lowering to kill.

"Permission to terminate." The pilot's headpiece would demand. His partner, a hitman kneeling at the edge of the craft's wide open doors, would grasp on to his sniper rifle and nod. As the chopper swiveled towards me, its true target was not my Amazonian self and but actually, you. Opening its grave attack, the pilot flipped the tag on his controls and quickly pressed down on the red button at the mercy of his thumb. The helicopter ignited as the button activated, launching a sizable missile right in our direction. Although the projectile had its thermal ware locked on your figure, I was unwilling to give it that satisfactory kill. Still in a hot pursuit, I used my fierce, muscular legs to drive my body in an adrenaline-filled charge. In a moment of desperation, I thrust my body in a great heap and intercepted the incoming missile. With one immense swipe of my shield, I slammed the rocket to the ground. The cartridge was wiped from its trajectory, losing its thermal signal and spiraling out of control. It struck a vehicle just seconds later, obliterating a 20-meter radius around it.

The chopper quickly reprises his attack, bombarding the surrounding area with excessive spit fire; allowing its bullets to barely lick your feet as you attempted to run. In an immediate panic, I snatched the lasso and my hip and tossed its golden wonder into the air. The lasso wrapped quickly around the right-side landing skid, interlocking it in its grasp. In one furious grunt, I slammed my right foot into the ground, the red-plated armor at my foot glistening as I used the leverage to pull the entirety of the aircraft backwards. The unit jolted to the side, as if Zeus himself had reached down grabbed the railing to pull it back. The chopper wobbled with the heave of my lasso, acting as a anchor as it heeled the vehicle on to its side. The sudden jerk launched the sniper rifle right out of the aircraft.

My eyes filled with intensity. I looked angrily at the chopper, sealing the aircraft's doomed fate in my mind. It had to come down. It had to go. So long as it was firing at you, my chance at terminating Ares - The God of War - would be interrupted, delayed, and even lost. The lasso marked the beginning of an epic, yet disastrous take-down. Raising my shield, I shipped the steel disc right for the fallen sniper. The shield struck him right in the head, causing his skull to explode upon impact. There was a spray of misty red blood as the shield tore through his head. One down, one more to go.

Springing into action, my right hand maintained its position. Wrapped in the tugging lasso, the pilot struggled to keep the swaying helicopter in its grasp.
He retaliated, attempting to free himself by downshifting his controls. With his dashboard illuminating and chiming with caution alarms, the contesting pilot tried rigorously to aim his launchers towards his designated target. It seemed no matter the fight I put up, he still refused to fire at me, but rather, chose to channel his efforts continuously on the Winter Soldier. You were a wanted man, that I knew. But none more wanted than by me, the very Wonder Woman.

Relentless in my ambition for your head, I reeled the copter in with all of my superior, God-like might. Spinning on the back of my heals, I loudly and furiously exhaled as I pulled the aircraft into a dangerous shift. Combating the force of the pilot's confutation, I used the bound of my abilities to dig my feet into the ground again and swing the helicopter around like it was a mere toy. Suddenly releasing the lasso, the off-centered vehicle was flung out of its orbital control and right into the building you had just used as refuge. The copter faulted in its attempt to regain control, and within a split second, came crashing into the weakened run-down structure that shielded you. With the impact of the helicopter, the building came swiftly crashing down.

With every intimidating step I took, I left a cluster of catastrophe behind me. Multiple explosions had taken out nearly half of the entirety of this small town. Smoke filled the darkening skyline as debris and fire littered the area. What started as a small decoy room in a crusty motel had now expanded to a war-like battlefield. I stood now, void of any threats, with only one enemy at path. As the dust from the rubble began to fade, I would find a horror far worse than looking into the eyes of Ares himself. There the Winter Soldier lay; the very enemy I had fought so hard to secure, sprawled among the chaos I had created, shielding another human; a child; an innocent.

​

The girl's bright emerald eyes haunted me. They seemed to stare right into my soul, a reminder of the tragedy I had recently experienced in Themyscira. She reminded me so much of my beloved Amena. I saw her in that moment; I saw Amena alive and happy in my mind. She ran around the gardens chasing a monarch butterfly - something I would never see her do again. The girl, petrified and in shock, had been guarded by the deliberate protection of the man I sought to destroy. And as a result of my negligent and blood-lusting actions, I had nearly taken the life of a guiltless and beautiful being. As I walked through the fog towards the two of you, there was a look of dreaded uncertainty in my horrified eyes. I looked at the utter devastation I had created, and in that moment, did not even recognize who I was.

But that uncertainty soon turned cold. My brows curl in the center of my forehead, reforming as I growled towards you. Swiftly changing from a soft, vulnerable demeanor, I suddenly sprung into action again to grab you. Despite your efforts to stop my unidentified attack, I was quick to catch your strapping cybernetic arm. Contrary to any woman combatant before, I not only deflected your arm, but I caught it. I took a quick moment to gaze upon the alloys' brilliance. The human world amazed me in its lightning-paced technology. I found myself all the more confused the more I looked at it, not quite understanding why Ares would require such an accessory in this realm. Despite my split-second pondering, I could not hold your mighty brawn. My inhumanly biceps bulged in my arms as I clasped my left hand around your bionic limb. Although incredibly difficult to match in strength, my death-grip allotted enough time for me to engage my whip. Swaying my shining golden rope once more, the Lasso of Truth wrapped rapidly around your neck. Tightening its hold immediately, I jerked it towards me. The motion degraded your body before me, rendering you nearly defenseless at my feet.

"Who are you!?" ​

I barked, bearing bone-chilling affinity to the Russian white-coated madman who once tortured you. My strange, ethnically ambiguous accent barked orders at you as I leaned down to stiffen the coil around your throat.

"What is your name?"​

 

[insufferable]

He stumbled into the dark alleyways, shadows flickering from every corner; fire and mortar rained from the heavens as the night sky lit scarlet by fiery explosions, the scene reminiscent of the warzones he’d been in almost half a century ago.

His head pounded painfully with each step, and his ears were still ringing from the aftermath of the concussive grenades he’d placed by the entrance of his room. He stopped for a second, desperate for rest, for a second to breathe. His hands left his side and pressed into a nearby wall, and when he continued onwards, a wet bloody imprint was left behind.

He took a few more steps before stumbling to the ground, weak from blood loss, close to losing consciousness; darkness danced at the edges of his vision, unforgiving, like demons waiting to pull him back to the depths of hell. He fought against the darkness, straining against the pain, pulling himself back up onto his feet—when her screams tore through the night.

Чудо-женщина. The Wonder Woman.

She was alive. He had hoped otherwise, but it wasn’t unexpected.

The chances of his grenades taking out someone like her were astronomically low, and he wasn’t someone who depended on chances and wishful thinking, but planning, statistics, and proper data.

The many nights he’d spent learning the layout of the town was planned specifically for this reason.

But first, he needed to stem the blood loss.

He knew from his reconnaissance trips that an abandoned building was nearby. There were still signs of life inside the apartment, but old, like as if the previous owners had moved away or was on a prolonged holiday. Either way, it suited his needs. The doorway was old, giving in easily to a firmly placed kick. He staggered into the kitchen; it was hard to see in the dark, but his eyes quickly adjusted, finding the stove and flipping on the switches.

He leaned forward and inhaled from the first one.

Nothing.

He tried the next.

Nothing either.

He moved on the last and, finally detecting a hint of gas, scrapped the edge of the table with the surface of his arm. The contact created tiny sparks which quickly ignited the little stove.

Studying his wound for a quick second, he pulled out his knife and stuck it into the fire, a few long seconds until the blade glowed red, then he took a deep breath, bit down onto his sleeves and pressed the blade flat against the surface of the wound until he was sure it was cauterized.

There wasn’t enough time nor did he have the tools to clean his wounds, so all he did next was to tear a strip of fabric from his shirt and tie it around his chest, securing the wound. His only priority now was his escape; he’d deal with the infection later.

After making sure the streets were clear, he exited the building and headed in the direction of the woods, where he was hoping to seek cover under the refuge of darkness.

He didn’t get very far.

Two blocks were all he made when she crashed into the street across from him, the impact of her landing shaking the ground beneath his feet, the car she landed on crushed like it was nothing more than an insect on the sidewalk.

Then, without another word, she leapt in his direction.

He held his ground. He knew he couldn’t outrun her at this point. His only chance was to face her head-on. The valves in his arm opened as his fist clenched shut, strengthening his entire arm, but before the two of them could clash, a loud whirling noise crossed the horizon.

He looked towards the sky as she did, and a massive shadow emerged from between two towering buildings—a military helicopter, he recognized it as a Boeing AH-64 Apache, military fit, with no visible marks and as black as the obsidian sky.

For a long second, neither moved, and in the next—there was a loud roar as one of the missiles onboard the helicopter came to life as it tore straight towards the ground.

It took him another second to realize he was the target.

He grabbed onto the car beside him, fingers scrunching into metal as he prepared to use the vehicle as an intercepting shield. But before he could even life the whole car, she had leapt into the air, straight into the pair of the missile and, to his utter surprise, simply slapped it aside with her shield.

He watched as the missile veered off-course and struck a nearby grocery store, quickly obliterating everything in its vicinity. Fiery heat washed over him as he took cover; smoke started to fill the skies, obfuscating his view of the helicopter.

The sound of gunfire then rippled through the smoke. He vaulted over the car as the ground he stood on exploded, the large calibre bullets sending chunks of concrete flying into the air, raining down rubble and asphalt.

He did not know who the assailants were, there were no identifying marks, but he knew they weren’t Steve’s men; the men in the helicopter were shooting to kill, not to capture, which meant they were either H.Y.D.R.A or the mercenaries after the bounties on his head.

Whoever they were, they complicated things. But on the other hand, it seemed that the chaos they created had caught the attention of the powered woman, and if there was one thing he was always good at, it was slipping away undetected under the guise of distraction and chaos.

He took cover in a nearby shop, hiding behind dusty old furniture as the helicopter patrolled the above skies. The streets were completely empty now, the residents had long fled the scene, as only overturned cars and burning debris remained.

She stood in the middle of it all, tall, focused, without a hint of fear in her face.

Somehow, he knew she wasn’t the least bit afraid. Not with some of the things he’d learned about her in the Red Room’s files, and if their intel had been right about her being some kid of demigod, then there was no chance in hell for the men in the apache to stand even the slightest of a chance.

It seemed he was correct in that assumption, as the woman threw out her golden lasso—it whipped across the night sky, circling in on the helicopter’s tail, holding it still. Then her shield followed, and the side compartment erupted in an explosion of red.

That made him pause.

It wasn’t the amount of blood that caught him off-guard, he’d drawn a lot more himself. But the act of it, of what she’d done—killing another person.

It wasn’t something that someone like Steven or any other member of the Avengers would do. In fact, he knew they’d even give their lives just to save another, even if it was someone shooting at that only moments ago.

Heroes, they’d like to call themselves.

He had thought she was one of them. But for her to kill like that, without even battling an eyelid. It meant that she wasn’t with the Avengers. She wasn’t here to capture him and bring him back to the States. Her intentions were clear. She wanted his head.

He needed to get out now.

He sprung out of his hiding spot as the helicopter whirled across the night sky, no longer by its own will, dragged forth by the woman’s lasso. It streaked towards the building in his path, the wail of the helicopter’s engine straining like a banshee screaming through the night.

He ran in the other direction, as hard as he could, blood pumping in his veins—when something caught his eye.

A young girl standing in the middle of the street, no more than the age of ten, holding a tiny little toy bunny, her white dress strained black by the rubble, watching as the military helicopter crashed into the building in front of her.

She did not move as the building started to collapse, undoubtedly rooted in place by fear.

He did not hesitate, his movements instinctual, coming as a surprise even to himself.

He knocked into the girl, sending the two of them tumbling across the ground as the building collapsed around them. He shielded her with his body as the debris fell all around, gigantic pieces that smashed him bloody and broken. Her saw her mouth opening in mid-scream, but he couldn’t hear her, he couldn’t even hear his own thoughts through the roar of the falling concrete.

Then it was over.

Everything fell into silence, so utterly quiet he could hear the individual pieces of rubble falling off his back as he pulled himself up to his feet. Something felt dislocated. He checked and grunted as he popped his shoulder back into the socket.

Then he checked on the young girl.

She was screaming and crying for her mother. She was fine.

That was when he noticed her. Standing across from the collapsed building.

The metal valves in his arm flexed solid as she leapt towards him. He waited as she neared—and his arm shot forward with all his might—which she caught with her own. The ground trembled at the collision, the nearby rubble grounded into dust by the impact. The cement beneath her feet shattered, and she was pushed backwards by pure momentum as the gears in his arm whirled even louder.

He caught confusion in her eyes, but only a flicker of a second, as she immediately adapted to his strength. She released his arm, her lasso pulled out. He swung again, but she ducked almost immediately, using his own momentum to send him tripping forward as her lasso tightened around his neck.

He fought against it, battling her for control. She knocked him down to the ground, the noose tightening as his face strained red for oxygen. He tried to get up, only to get swept back down to the ground once more, her knee pressed firm into his chest, preventing any other movement.

“WHO ARE YOU?!”

He did not reply, but strained against the lasso. It was a futile attempt, he couldn’t move, not with the weight of a demigod pressed down against him. He was only human and he could hardly even breathe.

He growled, not willing to submit, when the lasso suddenly turned golden, and immediately, he felt a strange form of warmth engulfing his entire form. It emerged as a mild warmth, which soon grew to an uncomfortable heat, then finally in a fiery blaze that had him gasping for air, like he was stuck in an oven and left to burn.

He had been trained against every form of torture, willingly undergoing even the cruellest of them in order to train his resilience, but her lasso, it was different. It wasn’t his body fighting against the torture, but his body itself the source of torment; like it wanted nothing more than to shout out the answers to every question she had for him.

“WHAT IS YOUR NAME?”

“I…” he gasped, his body tensed so tightly the veins were visible in his face. He struggled harder, arm pounding into the ground. He swung at her, but he had no angle, she deflected him easily.

Then lasso tightened—and he finally broke.

“JAMES,” he sputtered, his eyes squeezed shut, like he was trying all he could to stop himself from speaking, even if it meant biting off his own tongue. “J-James… James Buchanan Barnes.”

She said something in response, but he didn’t hear her clearly, the heat still scorching him from within.

“United States Army Sergeant,” he gasped. “Serial No. 32557038.”

Then with that, his eyes rolled backwards and he lost complete consciousness.

 

[Temptationist]

Tears streamed down the child's pale cheeks as the rubble's dust burned her bright green eyes. She clenched desperately to a dirty old stuffed bunny - one so aged the stuffing had either flattened or disintegrated altogether. Yet still, even despite its unappealing smell and appearance, she held on to it as if it was the last thing she had. But not even her cries would be enough to shatter the thick of my hazed illusion. As I fought tooth and nail for dominance over your physically superior form, not even the sound of a dying child could break calm this beast. With a heart filled with vengeance, I pummeled and pawned until I finally succeeded over you. Finally having you within my grasp, and at the mercy of my lasso, I wasted no time in seeking the truth.

But the truth was not what I was looking for. It was not what I wanted to hear. As the golden whip tightened firmer and firmer around your neck, your responses became longer and more precise. But with every word you uttered, my grasp only became stiffer. My brows lowered as I became angrier and angrier with every reply.

“JAMES,” You would sputter. “J-James… James Buchanan Barnes.” But I wanted more. “United States Army Sergeant - Serial No. 32557038.”

And you were gone.​

As your eyes rolled to the back of your head, your body grew limp in my death wrap of my rope. The moment you fell unconscious, my eyes widened and my stomach sank. Releasing the lasso all at once, as if my hands had forgotten how to hold, I watched as the golden simmer lost its glowing color. It fell lifelessly to the floor, as did your body, and immediately, I knew something was wrong. Even despite my focus slowly coming to reality, there was still silence around me. No explosions. No deafening bullet chimes. Not even the cries of an innocent little girl.

Snapping out of my daze, I shift my head to the side. There stood the young Romanian child, no younger than my own Amena, just a foot away from me. She held her tattered rabbit in one hand, while the other tiny fingers clasped on to an small circular object. Holding it up to me, her glossy olive eyes looked at me. Without a single word, or a single sound, she handed to me the very item Amena had striven to deliver. The Amulet of Harmonia. A pendant once secured to a rope chain had been lost in battle. Opening the palm of my hand, my eyes found the dusty copper pendant. Harmonia, the child of Ares, had created the Amulet before her father could destroy her, blessing it with the ability to see his weakness.

"COSMINA!!!" A woman shrieked at the top of her lungs. The child, seemingly awed by my presence, turned to look at her mother running towards her at a far distance. "COSMINA!" She would shriek once more before the young child would look back at me for the last time. Holding up her disheveled friend, she offered me her greatest gift: the stuffed rabbit. Taking it from her, she quickly turned around to return to her mother. In an energized run, she raced for her mother, who soon collapsed to her knees to embrace her child with a deep embrace.

My eyes watered as I watched their loving reunion. A single tear streamed down my ash-smeared cheek. Clenching both the Amulet and the rabbit in my hands, I looked at the disaster before me; the rubble I had created; the destruction I had begun. Feeling nothing but shame, regret, and dishonesty - this was not the life I wished to live. Looking over to your unconscious corpse, I secured the amulet to my armor and stepped over to you. With one foot planted heavy to either side of your waist, I looked suspiciously down to you. Crouching down over your hips, I stuffed the toy rabbit into your belt. It was not a gift for me, but a gift for you.

The breeze blew smoke and ash in the air - creating a fading image of clarity for anyone in the distance. I could hear someone call my name, but my only focus now was on you. With lasso at hip and shield at my back, I was ready to leave this mess behind. Grabbing your bionic arm, I hauled you in one heaping lift. Pulling your body over my shoulder, my divine strength was unmatched by any mortal female.

"Diana!!!"​

Steve Rogers had emerged from the depths of hideout as Captain America once more - determined to rescue a man he thought was his ultimate partner on the battlefield. As she shouted my name, I paid no attention to his calls. He shouted for me to wait. He shouted for me to stop. He even shouted for me to spare you. But he didn't know the truth here. He certainly didn't know mine. I slowly rotated my body to look at him. Fully in-gear, with a new partner in justice by his side, I did nothing but pierce my dark eyes into his own blue wonders. It was a look of defeat, but not that of my own. "Diana, please!" He begged, but it was already too late. With your limp body at the mercy of my grip, I lowered my stance down, balancing the weight of both of us on my strong thighs.

The two extended into a desperate bolt, Steve running furiously to reach us before I could escape with you again. Sam Wilson responded with technology, his jet pack spreading into Falcon wings. The ground shook below me, and within a second, I was gone. Vanished as if in thin air, leaving nothing behind but the crumbling asphalt that once supported my feet. I had launch my body so hard into the air that even a blink of the eye was enough to miss the sight of me. And just as quickly as Sam took off, he returned to the ground to land beside his best friend, Steve. Having watched me take off, Steve's came to a sudden stop and dropped his head in disappointment.

"You didn't tell me she could FLY AT THE SPEED OF LIGHT." Sam exclaimed. She hauled his 200-pound ass up like he was a DAISY." Steve returned his gaze to Sam, still huffing from the sprint with no future. There were no words to describe the fear he felt inside, but the worried look in his eyes was enough to spook Sam into cooling it down. "Alright, alright. What's the plan, Cap? How we gonna get to Miss Amazonia over there before it's too late?"

[ * * * ]​

Bucharest, Romania - 6:37am - Apartment 1P

Your eyes began to twitch, and this time, I knew you were finally waking. The moment your mind came to consciousness, your senses would surely know exactly where you were. The damp, dingy smell was distinct in its odor - the smell of a penthouse apartment, or what was left of it from what used to be. It was at the very height of the apartment complex, once a lavish project now turned to junkie-filled dumps after abandonment just years ago. Nevertheless, it made for a good hideout, one you had been using on and off around Romania in assumed discretion. But it wasn't so secret anymore, now that I was sitting right in the middle of it.

I had lay you on the bed to rest, something I had expected to last minutes, not hours. But your body wasn't the only thing I lay out. In the hours you were asleep, I had searched your apartment; found every single weapon hidden in every nook and cranny, or at least... the bulk of it. Rather than keeping them in their hide-away duffel bags, wrapped newspapers, and whatever other materials you used to stash, I unwrapped every single piece of equipment, and one-by-one, laid them all out on the dining room floor. With my back to the couch and facing you - between you and I - there was an ocean of weapons that separated us. And even though your bed was nearly to the ground, held off the floor by only a couple of wooden crates, you were still higher than me. I sat promptly on the floor, facing the rows and rows of guns and explosives I had never seen before. With my legs crossed towards me, one would think I was ready to meditate, not ready to fight.

Without any sort of proper introduction or caution or truce, I started with a quote, instead. "A wise Queen once told me..."

"Be careful in the world of men, Diana. For they do not deserve you."

My voice was calm and nonthreatening as your eyelids fluttered open completely. Whatever your waking reaction, I didn't seem bothered nor alarmed by it. Instead, I swallowed hard. It wasn't out of nerves, but out of disappointment for myself. "But today..." I continued, "... I witnessed an innocent child who deserved to be saved, and a man who sacrificed his own flesh to save her." My eyes shifted from the amulet I had been clutching in my palm to look at you. My dark chocolate eyes met your own deep blues, and without blinking, I stared intensely into them.

"You were not the man - the God - I thought you were." I continued, "And for that," I added, "I apologize." Fully realizing that it was in fact not Ares I was speaking with, I owned up to my mistakes, and to the harm I had caused just hours ago.

"Steve was right about you, James." My head nodded ever so softly. "You are not evil. But I do believe you are being controlled by it..." Taking a breath in, I looked to you with sympathy. "And I think I can help you destroy it." Pausing, I pulled the stuffed rabbit out from behind me. I offered it to you as a sign of peace, as Cosmina had done to me before. Whether or not you accepted the tattered toy or not, my mind and senses stayed focus on you.

My eyes fell to the weapons once more. "I am not from your world: Man's World. And I do not know this new age of weaponry you use..." Referring to the guns and grenades just inches from my knees, I looked to you with engaging eyes,

"Will you teach me?"​