Doomed

Chapter Eighteen

         Carol awoke to an aching in her calves.  She looked through the lashes of her left eye and found that her legs were dangling over the armrest on the side of the love seat.  A thin white blanket had been tossed over her, and she heard her hair rustling a slip of paper behind her head.  She reached back and found a sticky note on the armrest that was serving as her pillow; it read: “You’re welcome for that crick that’s not in your back.  –Jess.”

         She curled her knees, bringing her feet off the edge, and rolled over to face the back of the sofa.  Her eyes opened halfway as she turned her head to glance at Peter.  He was on the other side of the room, now, silhouetted against the nighttime lights of Manhattan piercing the translucent curtains; apparently the love seat had been moved after she fell asleep.  He was still unconscious, the tubes still funneling their way into his mouth, though the heart monitor beeped a slower, steadier rhythm.  They’d removed the bandages from around his knuckles, but the ones around his left arm and head remained.

         Carol turned her head back toward the rear of the couch, sighing into the material.  It was cool against her forehead, and little comfort, but she hoped it would be enough to get her through what she feared was the first of many nights there.  She blinked backwards several times, and could feel the wavy haze of sleep washing over her mind just as the dull glow of purple light shined into the room.

         She turned her head back around, not opening her eyes at first, and listened.  “My golden opportunity has arrived,” the man said, the room echoing the hollow sound of his metallic footsteps.  “The Avengers are hobbled.  Their precious tower is powerless, Captain America is gravely injured, Captain Marvel is dead, and Spider-Man lies comatose before me.”  The voice snapped her awake, sweat beading on her forehead as adrenaline rushed through her veins.  She sat up, throwing the white blanket off herself, and saw the city lights glinting off the green-and-purple armor of the man standing over Peter.  A large knife was in his hand, and he was lowering it toward Peter’s throat.  “Today is a day unlike any other,” the man said, “For today, starting here, the Avengers fall, and my conquest of this era…”

         “Kang!” Carol screamed, slamming her shoulder into the time travelling villain and sending him flying.  “Stay away from him!”  She turned to Peter, her hands gently shifting his head, checking for more injuries.  It seemed that he was no worse for wear, and Carol exhaled a breath she didn’t know she’d been holding.  She brushed some hair out of the way before placing a short kiss on his forehead.  She turned back to Kang just as he fired a blast from a large cannon he’d pulled from the time-stream.

         Carol jumped in front of the beam, felt the energy absorb into and rejuvenate her cells.  She focused, and her uniform materialized, replacing her white t-shirt and yoga pants.  When the smoke and dust settled, Captain Marvel stood between Kang and his prey.  “Not quite as dead as you thought, huh?”

“Impossible!” Kang said, lowering the futuristic weapon.  “The historical record… Spider-Man failed!  He wasn’t…"

“Don’t you dare,” Carol cut him off, her eyes flaring almost white.  “Don’t you dare say he wasn’t good enough.”  She floated through the hole in the wall, until she was hovering only inches from Kang.  “I’m going to give you one chance run away back through your little time portal before I break every bone in your body.”

A smile crossed Kang’s lips, and he kicked out, catching Carol in the stomach and throwing her back into Peter’s room.  “You overreach yourself,” Kang said.  “I am not some foolish supervillain or petty criminal.  I am Kang the Conqueror; I have ruled more realms and timelines than you can imagine.”  He raised the cannon again, readied it to fire.  “And I will not be denied this one.”