The airport had descended into complete chaos as members of SHIELD and SWORD clashed, each finding themselves battling a former ally. Amid the turmoil, weaving through explosive confrontations with a grace that could only be described as angelic, Black Widow moved toward Hawkeye in the distance. He was about to fire a special arrow at Iron Man but was forced to shift his focus at the exact moment of release. Seemingly from nowhere, Natasha appeared and delivered a swift kick, forcing Barton to roll out of the way.
BANG... CRACK
Sweat dripped from Hawkeye's chin as he stared at the spot where Natasha's long, slender legs had landed. To his astonishment, the concrete beneath her foot had not only collapsed but also spread dense spiderweb-like cracks outward, amplifying the intimidating effect of her sudden attack.
"You know, using super soldier serum is cheating, Natasha!" Clint quipped, a soft smirk playing on his lips. With practiced ease, he drew another arrow and, in a blur of motion, unleashed dozens of them toward Natasha.
Black Widow responded with a series of tight, rapid backflips, evading the first few arrows before using a parked vehicle as cover to block the rest.
The tension between them lingered heavily in the air, as dense as the smoke billowing from the battlefield. For a fleeting moment, the two agents, once allies, confidants, and practically family, stood apart, their eyes locking through the chaos. There was no animosity between them, only the inescapable certainty of what was to come.
Clint acted first.
With a precise flick of his wrist, three micro-arrows shot toward Natasha in a tightly controlled spread. The first struck the asphalt, unleashing a plume of thick purple smoke. The second and third followed in quick succession, a flashbang and a concussive charge detonating in tandem.
The resulting explosion of light and smoke engulfed Natasha completely.
But when the veil dissipated—
She had vanished.
A jolt of instinct raced down Clint's spine. He spun around just in time to see a shadow descending from above. Natasha crashed down with both legs extended, forcing Clint to dive into a roll to evade her attack. Her boots slammed into the ground with such force that the impact left a small crater.
Clint rose to one knee, bow drawn and ready. Mid-roll, he fired another arrow, this one crackling with electric energy. It missed Natasha's torso by mere inches, grazing her arm before embedding itself into the steel frame of a nearby carrier truck, where it erupted in a cascade of sparks.
The burst of light revealed her face, streaked with grit and unyielding determination.
The air between them was charged with unspoken history. Years of trust, countless missions, shared brushes with death, a bond forged in quiet loyalty, now splintered by opposing beliefs.
Natasha crouched low, her movements fluid, poised like a predator about to strike. Clint held his bow aloft, not yet drawn, his hesitation revealing not fear, but sorrow.
"Clint," she said, her voice calm but laced with warning, "don't make me stop you."
He laughed, the sound bitter as he shook his head. "You already chose your side, Nat. I'm just leveling the playing field."
Without another word, he loosed an arrow.
The shot was precise, aimed at her feet to provoke a response. Natasha twisted, dodging easily, but the arrow erupted into a flash of light and a concussive blast. The shockwave forced her back a step, yet she recovered mid-roll, her palms slapping the concrete as she steadied herself.
Her gauntlets whirred to life.
She surged forward, closing the distance in an instant. Clint tried to nock another arrow, but she was already upon him, one hand seizing the bow, the other slamming into his chest with enough force to make him stumble.
Clint grunted, shifting his grip to counter. The bow practically transforming into a staff in his hands.
He shoved her back, slashing the weapon toward her jawline, but she ducked beneath it, twisting low and sweeping his legs out from under him.
Clint crashed to the ground with a thud. Natasha's boot pressed firmly against his chest, the Widow's Bite in her hand sparking with blue energy, ready to strike.
"Yield," she demanded, her voice quiet, not mocking, but imploring.
His glare burned into her, his breaths ragged. "You're on the wrong side."
"And so are you."
With a sudden twist, he grabbed her ankle and yanked sharply. She staggered, giving him just enough time to roll away and leap to his feet. In one fluid motion, he drew two arrows from his quiver and fired them at close range.
The first arrow erupted midair into a concussive shockwave. The second scattered micro-pellets that expanded into a sticky foam, aiming to ensnare her arms.
Natasha dove to the side, letting the foam splatter harmlessly against the wreckage of a nearby car. She rolled smoothly onto one knee and hurled a pair of Widow's Discs, electrified charges that landed near Clint's feet.
A surge of blue energy burst forth, forcing Clint to vault over it just in time, landing behind a concrete pillar.
"Still relying on gadgets?" he called out, his voice strained. "Guess Stark's budget is coming in handy."
"Still running your mouth?" Natasha shot back, already sprinting toward him.
They collided in the open, exchanging a storm of punches and kicks with ruthless precision. Every strike carried weight and meaning: Natasha's calculated mastery against Clint's measured aggression.
He intercepted her punch, gripping her wrist firmly, twisting it to lock her arm behind her back. She grunted in frustration, slamming her head backward into his shoulder. A jolt of pain surged through his arm, forcing him to let go. She spun on her heel, driving her elbow into his ribs with precision.
Clint countered swiftly, executing a roundhouse kick that struck with force, sending her stumbling several feet. Natasha slid across the cracked pavement, her boots skidding but finding enough grip to stabilize her stance.
They both hesitated, breathing heavily, their eyes locked as they circled one another. The chaos of the airport battle roared in the background, Captain America's shield clanging against repulsor blasts, Wanda's energy colliding with Vision's calculated attacks, the cacophony of metal, shouts, and clashing ideals filling the air.
"This isn't you, Nat," Clint said, his voice raw with emotion. "You don't fight your friends."
Her hands wavered, lowering slightly as she met his gaze. "I'm trying to stop this before it spirals further. Before someone gets killed."
"And you think putting us under government control will prevent that?" he shot back, anger lacing his words. "Since when did you start trusting bureaucrats in suits?"
Her mouth opened as if to respond, but no sharp retort came. Silence hung between them, heavy and unyielding.
Then, the tension broke with a sound, the taut, ominous hum of an arrow being drawn.
Clint raised his bow once more, not to kill but to halt her. He hesitated, his fingers trembling over the string, a momentary lapse she immediately seized.
In a blur, she closed the gap, slapping the bow aside and delivering a sharp palm strike to his chest. Clint gasped, staggering back as her gauntlet discharged a shock into his sternum. Dropping to one knee, his teeth clenched, muscles convulsing, he struggled to recover.
Natasha took a step forward, her breathing uneven. "Clint... please. Stay down."
Through the pain, his defiant gaze met hers. "You know I don't do that."
With a final effort, he unleashed his last arrow, a point-blank EMP.
The pulse detonated between them, disabling Natasha's gauntlets and hurling both operatives in opposite directions. Smoke coiled around them as they hit the ground, coughing and disoriented.
For a moment, silence reigned, broken only by their labored breaths and the distant echoes of combat.
Natasha forced herself to stand, her voice soft. "You're out of arrows."
A weak chuckle escaped Clint as he produced a dull, symbolic arrow, devoid of tactical use. "Doesn't mean I'm out of the fight."
Their eyes locked, the weight of their shared history freezing time, two soldiers torn between loyalty and purpose.
Then an explosion shattered the stillness, shaking the earth beneath them. Both turned instinctively toward the source, where Tony Stark's repulsors clashed violently against Captain America's shield in a dazzling surge of energy.
WHOOOOOOSHHHH!
The light was nearly unbearable, but through sheer resilience, determination, and a few enhancements, they managed to discern the silhouettes of Captain America and Iron Man locked in combat. Suddenly, the immense force channeled through the iconic star-spangled shield reverberated outward, propelling Iron Man backward with such ferocity that he crashed into the bed of a semi-truck, ripping through its structure under the sheer impact of his weight.
Steve, drenched in sweat and with his arms trembling, struggled to cope with the aftermath. Despite being the one wielding the shield, the shockwave coursed through his body, rattling his bones and organs. The pain forced him to one knee, his strength momentarily faltering under the immense strain.
"If I weren't a super soldier, my arm would be halfway across the battlefield right now! Seriously, Tony, those uni-beams of yours are like something out of a sci-fi horror movie!" Steve grumbled, wincing as he flexed his sore arm. He glared at Tony, who casually hopped down from the semi's bed with all the nonchalance of someone who hadn't just unleashed a miniature sun on his teammate.
The clash of metal and the concussive roar of energy blasts echoed across the tarmac, filling the air with swirling dust and the sharp tang of ozone. Captain America stood firm, shield raised in readiness, while Iron Man steadied himself a few meters away. Through the dissipating haze, their eyes met, once allies, now adversaries.
Tony's suit emitted a low hum as his repulsors charged, their glow casting flickering orange light on the cracked ground. His voice, filtered and strained, broke the silence. "Steve... after everything we've been through, you would do this all for him?"
Steve's jaw tightened, his voice steady but weighted. "This isn't about him, Tony. It's about doing what's right."
The tension snapped like a taut wire as Tony fired the first shot. The repulsor blast collided with Cap's shield in a dazzling flash, sending shockwaves rippling outward. Steve absorbed the impact and surged forward, his steps quick and resolute. Each blast from Tony's gauntlets was deflected by the unyielding vibranium, sparks scattering with every strike.
Closing the distance, Steve spun into a powerful strike, his shield descending in a swift arc. The blow met Tony's armored forearm, the screech of metal piercing the air. With a swift counter, Tony drove a repulsor-powered palm into Steve's chest, propelling him backward across the concrete in a grinding slide.
In the stillness, their labored breathing and the echoes of battle were the only sounds. Steve lunged forward, feinting left before landing a sharp hook against Tony's helmet, the blow rattling Tony's senses as his HUD flickered erratically.
Tony countered with a backhand strike, the servos of his suit whining in protest, but Steve ducked swiftly, driving his shield into Tony's ribs. The metal gave slightly under the impact, drawing a groan from Tony.
"You don't understand!" Tony bellowed, propelling himself forward with his boosters to slam Steve into the wreckage of a grounded jet. "He killed my mom, Steve!"
The weight of those words hung heavy in the air, silence pressing in around them. Steve's grip on his shield tightened, his voice barely above a whisper. "I know."
That quiet confession froze Tony for a fleeting moment, but rage quickly overtook him. He drove his knee into Steve's abdomen, following up with a repulsor-powered uppercut that sent Steve hurtling into the air before crashing down hard.
Steve staggered back to his feet, battered and gasping, as Tony closed the distance, his suit's glowing eyes burning with unrelenting fury.
Tony unleashed a repulsor-charged punch, but Steve intercepted it mid-swing, diverting the strike into the ground. The resulting blast carved molten scars into the asphalt, the fiery glow illuminating their faces, Tony's face contorted in rage, Steve's marked by unyielding sorrow.
They exchanged brutal blows, Steve's shield colliding against Tony's armored gauntlets in a cacophony of rage and regret. Sparks cascaded like fireworks as Tony's thrusters ignited, propelling his next strike into a blur that nearly fractured the edge of Steve's shield.
With a final, resounding clash, Steve twisted Tony's arm and forced him to his knees, locking their movements in a tense stalemate. The world seemed to pause, dust drifting lazily through the air between them.
"Tony," Steve growled, his voice strained, "this won't bring her back."
Tony's gauntlet crackled ominously, a repulsor charged and aimed mere inches from Steve's chest. His eyes burned with unrelenting fury.
"I don't care!"
Before he could release the shot, the sharp clang of metal interrupted, the Winter Soldier's arm intercepting Black Panther's fierce strike just meters away. Their eyes met in a silent, smoldering standoff.
The battlefield shifted once more.
Tony and Steve remained still, their breaths ragged, as the reverberation of Bucky and T'Challa's clash echoed across the scene. That singular sound became the catalyst that reignited the storm of conflict.
Bucky's metal arm locked around T'Challa's fist with a sound like a hydraulic press engaging, the impact reverberating through the fractured tarmac below. For an instant, the two men remained frozen in a tense struggle, muscles strained, eyes locked, predator against predator, fury clashing with restraint.
"Stay down," Bucky rasped, his breath heavy from his recent clash with Stark.
T'Challa's answer was a low, menacing growl from behind his mask. "You took my father from me. I will not stop until you pay."
The words struck harder than any physical blow. Bucky's jaw clenched, but before he could respond, T'Challa twisted sharply, his claws screeching against the metal arm with a spine-chilling sound. Sparks erupted as the vibranium claws gouged deep into the alloy, sending molten fragments scattering.
"Those claws—" Bucky hissed as pain flared where nerves met unyielding metal. "—they're not ordinary steel, are they?"
T'Challa offered no reply. Instead, he drove his knee into Bucky's midsection, forcing the air from his lungs, then pivoted with fluid precision to land a kick that sent Bucky crashing through the remnants of a cracked baggage conveyor.
The Winter Soldier recovered swiftly, he always did, rolling to one knee and glancing down at his arm. The surface was mangled, fissures glowing faintly as internal servos sputtered and struggled. The sight stoked his anger. He looked up just in time to block another attack, but T'Challa's claws raked across his forearm, sparks flaring in bursts as the damage intensified.
In retaliation, Bucky delivered a brutal hook that struck T'Challa squarely in the jaw. The Wakandan king staggered but did not falter, responding with a fierce elbow that collided with Bucky's face, their battle escalating with every blow.
The world around them was an inferno of destruction, planes engulfed in flames, alarms wailing through the chaos, and the distant clash of Iron Man and Captain America reverberating in the smoke-filled air.
T'Challa lunged once more, a streak of black and gold, each attack precise and calculated. Bucky parried with his battered metal arm, but every block came at a cost, T'Challa's claws left deep, glowing scars in the alloy, and each impact sent a fresh wave of agony coursing through his spine.
"You're good," Bucky grunted, dodging a slash and retaliating with a powerful gut punch that forced T'Challa to double over. He followed it with a vicious uppercut that sent the king airborne. "But I've faced worse than cats in suits."
T'Challa landed gracefully, unshaken. "Then you have never faced a king."
He advanced again, his claws glinting crimson under the airport lights. With one devastating strike, he tore through the outer layer of Bucky's arm, severing wires and releasing a cascade of sparks. The limb spasmed uncontrollably, its movements sluggish and erratic.
Bucky winced, attempting to flex the malfunctioning fingers. They twitched weakly, like dying nerves. "Guess I'll have to rely on the other one," he muttered, charging forward with his flesh-and-bone fist ready.
The collision was ferocious, flesh met armor, claws clashed against steel. They fought like two storms colliding, neither gaining an edge for more than a fleeting moment. Bucky's strikes were heavy and desperate, while T'Challa's counters were swift and precise, leaving crimson lines where his claws grazed exposed skin.
T'Challa's final strike sent Bucky skidding across the tarmac, his arm dragging and sparking as it scraped against the ground. He rolled to a stop, clutching the damaged joint, the once-pristine metal now gouged and smoking.
Before either could react, the ground trembled violently.
A deep, resonant pulse rippled beneath their feet, reverberating as though reality itself were quaking. The hairs on the back of Bucky's neck stood on end.
Both combatants froze, their attention snapping to the distant edge of the airstrip. Through the haze of smoke and twisted wreckage, a faint red glow began to emerge. It grew steadily brighter, pulsing with the intensity of a collapsing star.
"What now…" Bucky muttered under his breath.
T'Challa turned toward the disturbance, his claws retracting as the vibrations intensified, distorting the air around them.
The glow erupted without warning.
A cataclysmic surge of crimson energy expanded outward in a blinding flash, tearing through space and time in a single devastating wave. Trucks, debris, and shattered concrete lifted into the air like weightless toys, while reality itself warped under the overwhelming force of chaos magic.
The explosion hurled Bucky and T'Challa in opposite directions, sending them tumbling across the ruined airstrip. All sound and thought were drowned out by the deafening hum of raw, unrestrained power.
At the heart of the storm, hovering above the battlefield with her eyes glowing a fiery molten red, stood Wanda Maximoff, clutching what appeared to be the lifeless body of Pietro. Within her tear-streaked gaze burned a fury that was both icy and scorching, as the chaos magic surrounding her twisted and distorted the very fabric of reality.
The world seemed to pause, holding its breath in the face of her unbridled wrath.