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The medical bay was silent except for monitoring equipment and Yasuo's ragged breathing. Dr. Cho had examined him for two hours, running every scan S.H.I.E.L.D. possessed, before declaring she had no idea what had happened to his eyes beyond "catastrophic evolution of an already impossible ability." His Sharingan had sealed itself not dormant but locked away, as if his own body recognized the danger of accessing what it had become.
Fury had debriefed him. Demanded details about the vortex, the loss of control, the evolution. Yasuo had answered mechanically, leaving out only one detail: the visions. The hundreds of futures he'd seen, all ending in shadow and consumption. That information felt too heavy, too devastating to share while his mind still struggled to process it.
Eventually, they'd left him alone. Or tried to. But Yasuo couldn't be alone with his thoughts without drowning in them, so he'd walked. Through corridors lit by emergency lighting as night settled over the facility. Past empty training rooms and quiet offices. Up to the residential level where his temporary quarters waited.
He made it halfway there before his legs gave out.
Yasuo collapsed against the wall, sliding down until he sat on the cold floor, his entire body shaking. The visions replayed behind his closed eyes with perfect clarity Earth's cities burning, heroes falling, the sky turning black as something vast and hungry descended. He'd seen Tony Stark's armor crushed like paper. Seen Thor's lightning swallowed by darkness. Seen Captain America's shield shattered beneath cosmic indifference.
And in every timeline, Yasuo himself died. Sometimes fighting. Sometimes running. Sometimes simply ceasing to exist as reality around him was consumed. The specifics varied, but the outcome remained constant.
Humanity would fall. Earth would be devoured. And nothing Yasuo could do would change it only delay it by hours or days at most.
"What's the point?" he whispered to the empty corridor. "Why fight when the ending is already written?"
In his old life, he'd accepted death because guilt had made living unbearable. In this new life, he'd found purpose in protecting a world that had given him a second chance. But what was the point of purpose when failure was inevitable? When his best efforts would amount to nothing more than prolonging suffering?
The weight of it crushed him. Not physical weight but existential the burden of foresight without the power to change what he'd seen. Elder Souma had called him necessary, but necessary for what? To witness the end? To give Earth false hope before cosmic forces snuffed it out?
Footsteps approached. Yasuo didn't look up, didn't have the energy to care who'd found him having an existential crisis in a hallway.
"The cameras showed you collapse here about ten minutes ago." Natasha's voice, concerned but not pitying. "Are you injured?"
"No."
"Are you lying?"
Despite everything, Yasuo almost smiled. "Probably."
She sat beside him without asking permission, close enough that their shoulders touched. For a long moment, neither spoke. The companionable silence was broken only by the facility's ambient hum and the distant sound of late-shift personnel.
"I read Dr. Cho's report," Natasha finally said. "Your Sharingan evolved into something she's calling a 'MangekyĹŤ Sharingan' a level of ability that shouldn't exist even by your world's standards. She thinks the dimensional energy accelerated your eye's development by decades, maybe centuries."
"She's not wrong."
"And now your eyes are sealed. Your body protecting itself from abilities it can't safely use." Natasha's hand found his, their fingers intertwining with surprising ease. "But that's not what's breaking you right now. It's what you saw during the evolution. Isn't it?"
Yasuo was quiet for so long she might have thought he wouldn't answer. But the weight was too much to carry alone. "I saw the future. Futures. Hundreds of possible timelines branching from every decision, every action." His voice was hollow. "And in every single one every one the Devourer arrives. Earth falls. Everything ends."
Natasha's grip on his hand tightened, but she didn't try to contradict him. "How long? In these futures, how much time do we have?"
"Weeks. Maybe months, depending on the timeline. But never years. Never enough time to prepare, to evacuate, to do anything meaningful." He finally looked at her, and the devastation in his expression made her chest ache. "I was brought here to be a warning beacon. A dimensional anchor. But what good is a warning when there's no escape? What good is an anchor when the entire ship is sinking?"
"Did you see every possible future?" Natasha asked. "Every single timeline, or just the ones your mind could process in that moment?"
The question made him pause. "I... the MangekyĹŤ showed me hundreds of futures. Maybe thousands."
"But infinity is larger than thousands." Her voice carried careful logic. "If there are truly infinite timelines, infinite possibilities, then what you saw was a sample. A significant sample, yes, but not comprehensive."
"You're reaching for hope that doesn't exist."
"I'm being pragmatic." Natasha shifted to face him more fully. "I've lived my entire life in impossible situations. Trained from childhood to be a weapon, told I had no value beyond what I could kill or steal. Every logical analysis said I'd never be anything more than that that redemption wasn't possible for someone with my history." Her green eyes held his with unwavering intensity. "But someone gave me a chance anyway. And I took it. Not because the odds were good, but because the alternative was giving up."
"This is different. This is "
"Cosmic scale instead of personal scale. I understand." Her free hand moved to his face, making him meet her gaze. "But the principle remains the same. You saw probable futures, not certain ones. Probabilities can be changed by introducing new variables, new choices, new factors that weren't present in the initial calculation."
"Like what? What variable could possibly shift odds this catastrophic?"
"Like finding the other champions Elder Souma mentioned. Like mastering abilities you've barely begun to understand. Like having Earth's heroes united against a common threat instead of scattered." Natasha's thumb traced his cheekbone gently. "Like having people who refuse to accept that your visions are the final word on reality."
"You don't understand what I saw. The scope of it. The inevitability "
"I understand that you're terrified." Her voice softened. "I understand that you've been given knowledge that's crushing you. That you feel responsible for an outcome you can't prevent. And I understand that right now, you want to give up because fighting seems pointless."
"Isn't it?"
"No." The word carried absolute conviction. "Fighting when victory seems certain is easy. Fighting when defeat seems inevitable that's when it actually matters. That's when you prove who you are." She leaned closer, her forehead nearly touching his. "You threw yourself at the Hulk to save civilians. You used abilities that were killing you to drive back dimensional horrors. You keep getting up despite knowing your body is deteriorating. None of that was pointless, Yasuo. It all mattered to the people who lived because of it."
"But in the end "
"The end isn't here yet." Natasha's voice dropped to barely a whisper. "And until it is, we keep fighting. Keep trying. Keep believing that maybe just maybe the future you saw can be changed. Because the alternative is sitting here in this hallway, giving up before the real battle even begins. And that's not who you are."
Yasuo wanted to argue. Wanted to explain that she didn't understand, that she hadn't seen what he'd seen. But looking into her eyes seeing the determination there, the refusal to accept cosmic inevitability something in him shifted. Not hope, exactly. More like the stubborn refusal to die quietly that had kept him alive through years of being hunted.
"I don't know how to do this," he admitted. "How to keep fighting when I know it's futile."
"You do it the same way I do. One day at a time. One fight at a time. One small victory that might not matter in the grand scheme but matters in the moment." She smiled slightly. "And you let people help carry the weight. You don't shoulder cosmic responsibility alone."
"Is that what you are? Someone to help carry weight?"
"I'm someone who's choosing to stand beside you despite knowing the odds." Her smile widened fractionally. "Also your handler, but mostly the first thing."
Despite the crushing weight of visions and doom, Yasuo found himself almost smiling back. "Thank you. For finding me. For not letting me drown in this."
"Always." Natasha's hand was still on his face, her touch warm and grounding. "We're in this together now. Whatever comes, whatever your visions showed, we face it "
The words died as their eyes met, and something shifted in the air between them. The same recognition that had existed since the rooftop conversation, the understanding of shared pain and shared determination. But now, in this moment of vulnerability and connection, it became something more.
Natasha leaned in slowly, giving him time to pull away. Yasuo didn't. Instead, he closed the remaining distance, and their lips met in a kiss that was equal parts desperation and hope, grief and defiance.
It was his first kiss in either life, and it tasted like tears and possibility.
Natasha's hand slid into his hair, pulling him closer. His arms wrapped around her, anchoring himself to something real and present and alive. The visions receded slightly, pushed back by the immediate sensation of another person choosing to be close despite knowing his cursed existence.
Energy built around them unnoticed at first, just a faint shimmer in the air. But as the kiss deepened, as emotion intensified, Yasuo's dimensional manipulation responded. Not consciously controlled but instinctive, his abilities reacting to the powerful emotions flooding through him.
Space around them began to compress, to fold, to create pockets where time itself moved differently. The corridor's lighting took on a strange quality, as if reality was struggling to decide what state it should be in.
When they finally broke apart, both breathing hard, Yasuo realized something was wrong. The emergency lighting that had been faint red was now bright white daytime settings. And his internal sense of time, usually reliable, suggested hours had passed rather than the minutes the kiss had felt like.
"Did you feel that?" Natasha asked, her voice slightly unsteady. "Like the world skipped forward?"
Before Yasuo could answer, footsteps approached urgent but measured. They both turned to find a woman striding toward them with inhuman grace. She was tall, strikingly beautiful, with white hair styled in a mohawk and wearing a blue uniform adorned with an X-symbol. Her eyes pure white, no visible iris or pupil fixed on them with unsettling intensity.
"You must be Yasuo," the woman said, her voice carrying traces of an accent Yasuo couldn't place. "I am Ororo Munroe. Some call me Storm." She stopped a respectful distance away, her expression concerned. "For the past three hours, unusual weather patterns have been centered on this facility. Lightning without clouds. Wind that flows in impossible directions. Atmospheric pressure that defies physics." Her white eyes focused on Yasuo specifically. "All of it leading directly to you."
"Three hours?" Natasha checked her watch, her face paling. "It's been three hours since I found you in this hallway. But it felt like "
"Minutes," Yasuo finished, dread settling in his stomach. "I created a time distortion field. Accidentally. My abilities responding to emotional state and " He looked at Natasha, then at Storm. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to "
"Abilities responding to emotion is nothing new," Storm said, her tone gentler than her appearance suggested. "Many of us with power struggle with control during times of stress or intense feeling. The question is whether you need help stabilizing, or if the distortion was temporary."
Yasuo reached inward, checking his dimensional pathways. They were agitated, yes, but settling back to baseline. The time distortion had been a spike, not a permanent state. "It's passing. Should be stable within minutes."
"Good." Storm's white eyes studied him with what seemed like genuine curiosity rather than suspicion. "Charles Xavier asked me to check on you. He's been monitoring unusual energy signatures and believes they may be connected to the dimensional crisis. He would like to meet with you, if you're willing. The X-Men have resources and experience with cosmic-level threats that might prove useful."
"More people trying to help carry the weight," Natasha murmured, squeezing Yasuo's hand.
"The X-Men understand what it's like to be feared for your abilities while trying to protect those who fear you," Storm said. "Your situation is unique, Yasuo, but the emotional burden is familiar to many of us. You don't have to face it alone."
Standing in that corridor, with Natasha beside him and Storm offering alliance, Yasuo felt the crushing weight lift slightly. Not disappear the visions of doom remained, the knowledge of probable futures unchanged. But maybe Natasha was right. Maybe introducing new variables new allies, new resources, new determination could shift the odds.
Maybe the future wasn't as fixed as his MangekyĹŤ had shown him.
Or maybe it was, and they'd all die anyway. But at least they'd die fighting, surrounded by people who'd chosen to stand together against impossible odds.
"I'll meet with Xavier," Yasuo said, finding his voice steadier than expected. "And Storm? Thank you. For not treating me like a threat."
"We are all threats, Yasuo." Storm smiled, and it transformed her intimidating presence into something warm. "The question is what we choose to threaten. I sense in you someone who has chosen to threaten those who would harm the innocent. That makes you an ally, regardless of where you come from."
As they walked together toward whatever came next toward new alliances, new training, new chances to change impossible futures Yasuo's hand remained intertwined with Natasha's.
The visions had shown him doom. But they'd also shown him that one thin thread of possibility where he stood with three others, pushing back against the shadow.
Finding those others had seemed impossible. But then, everything about his second life was impossible.
And impossibility, Yasuo was learning, was just another word for "not yet achieved."
The Devourer was coming. Earth would face cosmic extinction. But maybe just maybe the future could be rewritten by people stubborn enough to try.
And if it couldn't? Well, at least he'd spend his remaining time fighting alongside people who mattered, for a world that had given him purpose when his first life had offered only condemnation.
That, Yasuo decided, was enough reason to keep going.
Even if the ending was already written.
Even if hope was a lie.
Sometimes, the fight itself was the point.
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