Showing Peter the error in his ways was more enjoyable than I'd ever admit to him. It was clear from the get go that he was heavily reliant on his superhuman physique, since when facing someone of similar strength and agility, his incompetence was clear as the path of suffering that awaited the young hero.
His spider-sense was strong, stronger than mine most likely, especially so if I didn't have my Force fused spider-sense—I'd struggle to even touch the guy. Yet, even with his insane bullshit senses he still managed to get walloped around during the Civil War fight, like — he tried to drop kick fucking Captain America. What moron does that?
His intentions were too telegraphed, his moves amateurish, and his stance? Whack. He's lucky that all the people he's faced so far have been base-level humans and people who didn't actually want to kill him. Ironically enough, his "luck" in not facing true threats may be exactly what gets him killed. This wasn't a movie after all, it was my reality.
I'd wager even Mike could give him a run for his money, Fury could easily kill him — Nat would absolutely body him.
Of course, given that he doesn't succumb to the dark-side.
But I didn't intend to turn our 'friendly neighborhood Spider-Man' into a cold blooded killing machine. Peter just isn't that kind of guy—and I sure hope he never has to be—but he needs to learn that not all of his enemies deserve his kindness, his mercy.
We were setup in an abandoned warehouse, a number of large steel beams about the place. Makeshift training equipment I'd setup to find his limits and begin to push them.
It was surprisingly easy to convince him to let me train him—all it took was calling him my Padawan and the guy crumpled like a sack of potatoes.
To say that he was holding back was an understatement. He was about half as strong as me, with an insane durability profile, regenerative abilities withholding.
He could squat 10 tons—10 fucking tons—and the son of a bitch had never touched a weight in his life. I had a theory that this wasn't even his limit, not even close.
With a good routine and targeted training regimen he could probably double his strength, at minimum. Reaching levels far beyond most enhanced/mutant beings on Earth.
Which reminds me to also start training again, as I'm probably only scratching the surface of my true potential.
"You're strong, stronger than you think — but god man, you suck ass at fighting." I said bluntly while dodging a flurry of his telegraphed punches and kicks.
He had a terrible habit of coiling his punches and overtly shifting his stance before he kicked. For most people, his sheer agility and speed made him seem like an expert fighter, but for anyone worth their salt? I honestly didn't even need my precognition to dodge his attacks.
"Hey Jedi sir?" Peter asked me as he missed his 50th attack in a row.
"Yeah man?"
"Can I ask why you're helping me?"
People have been asking me that a whole lot as of late…
It's kinda ironic having heroes ask me why I'm helping them. As if the act of helping someone is exclusive to them—though I guess they're just used to being on the giving end, not the receiving end.
It's like people pleasers being pleased for the first time in their lives, it's hard for their mind to comprehend such a ridiculous act.
"I'll just say it straight up—you're cursed."
"Wha?" He suddenly paused, fist cocked back in stunned—dramatic fashion.
"Yeah, full on, destiny is going to try to fuck you seven ways over and you won't even realize it."
"Uh… I still don't get it."
"Listen Peter, Pete—can I call you that? P-man? P-dizzle, let me lay it on thick as creme pie, you are fated to be fucked by fate. Crystal ball says yikes; your tarot card—Death with six hundred and sixty six swords—It's not going to be pretty, to say the least."
"A… are you some kinda seer or something? How do you know all of this?"
I shook my head. "I'm a Jedi." I said, matter of factly.
"Oh, right—still not over how cool that is."
"Me neither, now come on, two more rounds and we're done for the day." I said, yanking him up with the Force and yeeting him across the warehouse. His yelps echoed throughout the building before he was able to web himself to the steel rafters above us.
Peter kept to the ceiling and walls, making fighting him an awkward neck-aching endeavor. Which was exactly what I wanted. It was important for him to make full use of his wall-climbing abilities—having him realize that he didn't need to use his hands to stick and subsequently 'stand' was the first of many steps to refining his skills.
Plus it just looks cooler walking up walls like its nothing—Gwen's wall-climbing is already leagues better than Peter's despite him having had his powers for longer… must be her acrobatic history—but maybe she's just built like that, maybe its maybelline…
—
By the end of our first training session Peter had made leaps and bounds in his combat abilities. He knew how to throw proper punches and kicks, knew how to roll better as to not shatter peoples hands when they tried and failed to punch him, and importantly, the basics of positioning.
"So… is this going to be an everyday thing or--uh, y'know since I got homework and school is stating again soon and all that…"
Oh god I almost forgot about school…
I held a finger up, silencing him. "First of all Peter, yuck—I'm going to pretend you didn't say that, you're like, a pseudo-avenger, have some self-respect!"
Peter scratched his cheek, "Stark said the same thing." He admitted, slightly embarrassed.
I nodded sagely, "Tony sometimes knows what he's about, though most of the time he goes overboard—oh, and talking about the metal man try not to tell him about me."
"What if he asks? It's hard to hide things from him—he was the first to figure out my identity and it only took him like two months, tops."
"Then just tell him the truth."
"The truth?"
"That I'm a Jedi."
He shook his head, "He's not going to believe me."
I chuckled, "Peterodactyl, my guy—he works with an alien 'god of thunder' from myth and legend, not to mention outer space, I doubt a Jedi is going to change his paradigm too much."
"Oh right, yeah, I guess you're right." He shifted awkwardly, before giving me a half-bow, "Thanks for the training, um, master?" He said making a shiver run down my spine, before he turned and left.
I watched as Peter crawled away, my arms crossed with a satisfied job well done. Today had been a long day, from Gwen to Peter to toting the line between Jedi & Sith.
In retrospect it was surprisingly easy to mutilate the mugger that Peter was fighting… a little too easy.
Perhaps the Force was influencing more than I anticipated, or at least, more than I realize. It doesn't feel at all to the lengths of say—Anakin, I haven't seen my eyes turn all Sith Lord yellow or anything, but I've noticed that my outbursts whether good or bad have been amplified. As if the Force itself was my hype man, just, without a moral compass and all that jazz.
Well, its just one more thing to keep in mind—
My ruminations were cut-off by a cosmic scream. A piercing pain that stabbed through my entire being. The Force around me began quivering, wafting off me in waves that lifted dust and shoved nearby steel beams away like they were made of paper.
What the—
A voice wrenched its way into my skull, prying open and through my mental barriers to scream directly into my conscious.
RIVEN!
It clicked the second I heard her, Yelena.
I focused with every fiber of my being, I hadn't done this before—the chances it doesn't work at all were high—but I simply refused.
I pulled on the Force, drawing and following the stream of emotion that flowed to me through space.
My hand shot outwards, fingers clawed like a tigers paw and with a furious swipe I ripped open a space door.
The moment I stepped through a wave of pain and worry slammed into me, the calm of the warehouse tore into a barrage of gunfire and screaming.
My eyes adjusted in a split second, my head twisting around to find Yelena clutching a bleeding Nat in one hand with my token in her other. Her face was dirtied, smears of blood an soot staining her face, the look of terror in her eyes didn't fit the stoic assassin I had seen leave.
Beside her was another woman dressed in a slick black spy-suit, similarly injured yet calmly unloading an assault rifle down a hallway. The darkness split open with muzzle-fire and flashing red emergency lights, illuminating thick bands of smoke that clung to the ceiling in choking plumes.
I heard screams echo from down the hallway, "Она ранена!" Shouts flooded in as more and more gunfire followed.
I stepped forwards, crouching next to Yelena who was desperately clutching the token I'd given her.
"Yelena." I whispered, the softness slicing through the chaos.
Her head whipped to me, blue eyes revealed by muzzle flashes, widening as she saw me still dressed head to toe in my Jedi helmet and Master Robes.
"Riven!?" She shouted, but I could hardly feel the relief laced between her fear & worry through the Force.
"You called, want to leave?" I said, reaching out and pushing aside a strand of sweat soaked hair from her face.
She shook her head vigorously, "They have Alexei!" Natasha stirred below her, eyes fluttering as she heard Yelena shouting above her. Her head turned weakly to me, eyes scantly able to focus.
"Riven?" She muttered.
I smiled beneath my mask, "Yes, it is me, your beloved business acquaintance."
She gave me a weak smile, "We lost the Quinjet…" She grimaced, "Sorry?"
I shook my head, placing my hand over her rib and casting a healing spell over her. "Shush, who gives a shit about the Quinjet—replaceable, unlike you."
She winced as the spell worked its magic, the metallic ping of a bullet-head ringing out as it clattered to the floor, forcibly pushed out of her flesh.
"Thank you." She muttered while trying to pushing herself off of Yelena.
I gave her a nod, turning my head towards the incoming swarm of guards.
"Where is your dad?"
"Second floor, fighting some masked copy-cat."
"Dreykov?"
Nat cut in with a satisfied growl. "Dead."
"Nice, and the other Widows?"
"We got them out first, likely waiting for us outside in a jet—the station is falling apart, we need to leave soon."
I gave them both a nod and stood with a sigh, stretching my arms and cracking my neck.
Long day getting longer.
"I'll get your dad, see you back at home."
"Wha--" They both tried to say but their voices drowned away as I opened a portal under them.
I heard Yelena curse me out in russian as she fell, something about me being a bastard son of a bitch.
I'll make it up to her later, right now they'd just get in the way.
I walked over to who I assumed to be Melina Vostokoff, Nat and Yelena's 'mom'.
"Hello? Ms. Vostokoff, I'll take over from here."
The woman whipped around, assault rifle barrel twisting for my face, yet she didn't get the chance to fire as she dropped into another portal, joining her daughters in my house.
The sudden lack of return fire made the incoming swarm of guards pause, likely wondering if they had killed their targets—maybe even worried they had damaged the goods.
But with Dreykov dead, it's a futile thought.
The hallway was eerily quiet even despite the creaking of steel and flashes of red filling the space.
The guards tentatively stepped into what used to be the line of fire, confusion painting their faces when they saw my silhouette standing at the end of the hall, flashes of emergency red contouring my form.
A tearing sound filled the air, my lightsaber igniting with a roar—a crimson purple glow illuminating my helm.
There was a moment of hesitation—just a moment, then a cacophony of gunfire exploded to life.
Bullets tore towards me in the wake of a blinding muzzle-fire.
Yet to their dismay I held out a hand—and the world froze.
Bullets abruptly stopped, hovering in space, spinning under an invisible hand, unable to break free from my Force hold.
I twisted my hand, turning hundreds of bullets simultaneously and flicked my fingers, returning the projectiles to sender.
Screams erupted as nameless guards crumpled to the floor, others tried to fire again, only to find their weapons suddenly ripped from their hands and crushed into scrap metal heaps.
I strode forwards, plasma carving a superheated line as I walked. The scent of molten metal filling the air with each step I took forwards.
I didn't think, didn't bother to register the first kills—the first lives I'd stolen—the abrupt deadening of being echoing through the Force.
I yanked my hand to my chest in a tight fist, tugging a guard to me, his screams sliced into silence as I bisected him.
Bullet continued to rain towards me, freezing like stars in the sky, comets barreling back to kevlar flesh. Guns began to float around me, triggers pulled by invisible fingers. I unloaded their magazines on the rapidly dwindling swarm of guards.
Some fools thought that close-quarters was the only option left—unsheathing knives and electric batons alike, charging me with futile war cries.
My blade blurred in paintbrush strokes of plasma, searing arms and legs off flesh amidst wails of suffering.
My body blurred as I moved, elbow strikes shattering skulls into smithereens—a bullet slammed into my chest, the pain drowned away by a rage-fueled scream that had overtaken my conscious thought.
A swarm of guards formed a firing line before me, some crouched others standing.
Force filled my saber hand, my Kyber crystal roaring in glee as it lapped up every drop of energy I poured into it.
My lightsaber blurred, slashing out at the firing line in a blinding wave of superheated fire—steel flooring melted as it passed—walls twisting in molten globs of glowing metal, the hallway flipped from darkness to eye searing day.
I didn't even hear the screams this time, human viscera and sinew reduced to ash instantly melded into the molten steel that began ebbing throughout the hallway.
I de-ignited my lightsaber, and the world fell to a mind grating silence.
A metallic ping echoed into the hallway, the bullet pushed out of my chest.
Flashes of red filled my vision, my HUD scanned over the environment, finding no life remaining.
"Nex."
[…yes?]
Her voice was… fearful. Worried—laced with emotions I didn't think she was capable of. Yet I ignored it.
"Give me a route to Alexei."
[Yes Riven.]
My HUD flashed as Nex drew a line to the Red Guardian.
My solemn steps echoed against the deteriorating sky-fortress, the Red-Room collapsing more and more with every passing second.
Only a handful of minutes passed before I found myself surrounded by glass-holding rooms.
A figure stood at the far end of the hall, Taskmaster. Dressed head-to-toe in combat gear that screamed mercenary killer.
A skull mask graced her face as she stared stock still into holding cell like some kinda mannequin. A large Russian man wearing a too-tight spandex suit, screamed profanities from behind the reinforced glass at her.
Taskmaster's head turned slowly to me, her visor flashing red as her HUD scanned me from head to toe.
With a flurry she pulled a shield from her back and spun, sending the disc of death at me with a speeding whistle.
I lifted a hand, fingers clawing down as I felt the shield slam into my palm. I grunted as I felt the metal cut into my skin, yet the gash healed within the blink of eye.
I saw Taskmaster tilt her head curiously, scanning the anomaly that I surely was.
She took a single step towards me—which was all I allowed—before I snatched her throat with a Force choke.
Her hands clawed to her throat, trying to wrench herself free of the invisible hand crushing her esophagus, but, as you know—there is nothing to grab.
Alexei stared wide eyed as I walked towards him while Taskmaster flailed fruitlessly in the air.
The moment passed in awkward silence until she finally passed out, body slumping under my invisible hold.
I dropped her to the floor, Force ripping her helmet off and bringing out a spare vial of Red Dust from my storage.
With little fanfare I smashed the vial next to her head, her veins pulsing as the reversal agent flooded her system.
I turned to Alexei, "Red Guardian?" I asked, despite knowing exactly who he was.
The large, bear of a man gave me a tentative, slow nod, his accent thick.
"Who is asking…?"
"You have good daughters." I said and swiped my hand through the air unceremoniously shoving the man through a space door with a Force push.
Then I opened another door beneath Taskmaster, letting her unconscious body fall onto one of my guest beds.
Once all was said and done I let out a tired sigh, my head falling back on my shoulders. The sky-fortress creaked, a monstrous metal groan before a thunderous explosion rocked the world around me.
A section of the fortress sheared away, revealing the bright world beyond. The clouds swarm my vision, a sinking feeling starting to tug at my stomach.
I saw a VTOL carve around, two female pilots peering into metal mass, their eyes narrowing as they spied me. How convenient.
With a simple swipe of my hand I stepped into the cabin of the vehicle.
A chorus of gasps erupted and before any of them could attack me I spoke.
"Natasha & Yelena are safe, as well as Madam Vostokoff, and even Alexei."
Even while I spoke a number of pistols bared down at me, I even heard a baton fizzle to electric life just behind.
"You must be Riven." One of them said.
"In the flesh. Now don't panic and set the VTOL to hover."
Not a breath goes by and the Pilot does what I say, they're incredibly efficient.
I focus, using both hands to pry open a space door which I suddnely drag across space, swallowing the VTOL whole and bringing us into my Base.
The abrupt change in scenery causes even more gasps to fill the cabin, as the pilot looks at me with eyes of disbelief, I give her a curt nod, and she carefully touches down.
"Lower the ramp, we're safe."
A hydraulic gush fills the air as the ramp lowers… to reveal a very pissed off pair of assassins.
Nat & Yelena stared daggers at me, arms crossed across their chest, bodysuits stained with blood—cuts across their faces.
Long day… getting longer.