AVENGERS THE EXTINCTION KEY, page 1
Contents
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Title Page
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Copyright
Dedication
Prologue
One
Two
Three
Four
Five
Six
Seven
Eight
Nine
Ten
Eleven
Twelve
Thirteen
Fourteen
Fifteen
Sixteen
Seventeen
Eighteen
Nineteen
Twenty
Twenty-One
Twenty-Two
Twenty-Three
Twenty-Four
Twenty-Five
Twenty-Six
Twenty-Seven
Twenty-Eight
Twenty-Nine
Thirty
Thirty-One
Thirty-Two
Epilogue
About the Author
Acknowledgements
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MARVEL’S AVENGERS: THE EXTINCTION KEY
Print edition ISBN: 9781789092066
E-book edition ISBN: 9781789094244
Published by Titan Books
A division of Titan Publishing Group Ltd
144 Southwark Street, London SE1 0UP
www.titanbooks.com
First edition: August 2020
10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1
FOR MARVEL PUBLISHING
Jeff Youngquist, VP Production and Special Projects
Caitlin O’Connell, Assistant Editor, Special Projects
Sven Larsen, VP, Licensed Publishing
David Gabriel, SVP of Sales & Marketing, Publishing
C.B. Cebulski, Editor in Chief
FOR MARVEL GAMES
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Bill Rosemann, Vice President & Head of Creative
Tim Tsang, Creative Director
Cover Art by Steve Epting
Avengers created by Stan Lee & Jack Kirby
Marvel’s Avengers developed by Crystal Dynamics
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental. The publisher does not have any control over and does not assume any responsibility for author or third-party websites or their content.
No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means without the prior written permission of the publisher, nor be otherwise circulated in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.
A CIP catalogue record for this title is available from the British Library.
For Jack Simmons
PROLOGUE
THE Sorcerer Supreme danced on the wind, her bright-pinioned wings beating beneath the blazing noonday sun. Through dark syllables, arcane gestures, and the force of her will, Shaushka bent the elements to serve her fury, striking lightning through the Aegean skies as she descended toward the gathering below. There were twelve of them, assembled around a circle of nine monoliths standing on the rocky surface of the Isle of Penthos, a dot in the turquoise expanse of the sea.
Her target was Pabil, the Archer, but her thunderbolt dissipated before it reached him. His response was swift. Arrows as bright as the sun flashed from his bow with unnatural speed. Shaushka invoked Raggadorr, and seven cyan rings of energy enveloped her, shielding her from the deadly missiles, but even through the Eldritch Bands she felt the impact and heat.
The light blinded her for an instant.
In the middle of that heartbeat, something wrapped around her arcane defenses and yanked her from the sky. She beat her wings harder, but to no avail; she slammed hard into the rocky isle.
She struggled to stand, but as the spots faded and vision returned she saw the lash of energy that had pulled her down. A powerfully built dark-eyed woman held the other end of the whip. Shaushka knew her by reputation: Ab-Sin, the Maiden of the Stellar Knout.
“Oh, goddess,” the Maiden said. “How you have fallen.”
The rings still protected Shaushka from the searing weapon, but it was tightening. Sparks flashed, and she knew the Rings of Raggadorr would soon collapse. She implored dread Ikthalon, Lord of Stagnation, and long tendrils of intense cold curled from her fingers. The air itself condensed about the strands and then wrapped around her enemy. At their touch, the Maiden became rigid, encased in frost. Her glowing whip sputtered and vanished.
As Shaushka leapt up, a huge man appeared, with bull’s horns curving up from his skull. He charged her. Laughing, she danced and vaulted over him, recalling her days posing as a priestess in Knossos on Crete-that-was. As she whirled through the air, she bound him in Cyttorak’s Crimson Bands, so he fell heavily to the rocky soil, struggling against his mystical imprisonment.
As she dodged more of the Archer’s arrows, she felt a sharp prickling on her face—or at first she thought so. But then as the barbs sank deeper her thoughts became confused. She realized that her mind itself was under assault, and her psychic shield slammed down as she turned to the culprit, a man whose skin looked like the armor of a sea-creature. His black eyes bulged from his skull and antennae protruded from his cheekbones. Dub, she guessed. The Pincered One. Whirling through the air she struck Dub in the face with the blades of her wings, slamming him into one of the standing stones, and the attack on her senses faded as quickly as it had begun.
The distraction cost her.
A bolt of energy appeared in her peripheral vision. Shaushka turned almost in time to deflect it. Almost. Everything went white as maleficent force surged through her nerves and sinews. A human would have been slaughtered on the spot, but Shaushka was born of the immortal Enna, a more ancient race. Still, she was staggered, and her limbs trembled.
A numinous shield around each hand, she deflected the next bolt, more arrows, a blast of heat from a woman with ram’s horns. But her foes closed in now, totally encircling her.
She flapped her wings and rose above the ground, beginning a terrible and irrevocable invocation to Dormammu. Before she could finish, the element of Air itself attacked her, beating her back to the stony earth. There the Earth also defied her will, gripping her feet like manacles. Holding her fast. The power was astounding. She felt the first creep of terror in her soul.
But she was Shaushka.
She pushed down the fear. Panting, she faced her enemies, turning as best she could to see all of them.
He had changed since she had last seen him, but she would recognize him in any guise.
“Atherwan,” she said, and spat. “Traitor.”
He smiled.
She had known him as a tall, pale man with narrow features. He had styled himself as a magus from the distant northern land of Bakhlo, and found favor in her court in Nineveh. Now his skin was bluish-black, and appeared almost rigid, like the armor of an insect. His hair and beard had fallen out, and in his eyes, otherworldly stars gleamed.
“Goddess of Nineveh,” he said, mockingly. “Queen of Heaven. Sorcerer Supreme. How can I betray someone I never served?”
“You were my vizier,” she said.
He shook his head. “You believed that,” he said, “but everything I have ever done, every word I whispered into the ears of the mighty—into your ears—has all been for this.”
In his hand, he held a gleaming golden object. It was shaped much like an ankh—a cross with a loop on one end, but with the shorter part of the cross curved like horns. Power emanated from it, more raw energy than she had ever felt in a single object. Yet Atherwan wasn’t drawing her attention to the thing—he was using it to gesture at the sky.
It was almost noon, the sky was at its brightest, but along the ecliptic stars were appearing. Constellations, outshining the sun itself.
They were growing larger, brighter—closer.
“That is what I serve,” he said. “The Mulapin. The Shining Herd.” As she watched his fingers fused into pincers. A gleaming black scorpion tail rose from behind him and curved above his head, the wicked, venom-slick sting threatening her.
The others were changing, too, their human bodies distorting. The Bull was free, and nearly twice the size he’d been just a moment ago. Energy shivered from his horns as his legs shortened and arms lengthened so his fists rested on the ground.
She nodded her head at the object in Atherwan’s hand.
“That’s it?” she said. “The Key?”
“You know of the Key?” he said, his face darkening. “And you knew of our gathering here. You know about us. How?”
She lifted her chin. “I am Shaushka,” she said. “Mistress of Love and War, Queen and Goddess, Mother of Sorcery, Empress of Heaven. Sorcerer Supreme by right and by trial. Did you really believe you and these other fools could plot beneath my very nose? In my own city? On this world I protect? I don’t know all of your so-called herd, but I know of them. The cat, there. The Lion. A magus in the court of Mycenae, come there from the distant Kuru Kingdom. Ab-Sin, the harlot with the whip, a mistress of that doddering idiot Il-Keshub in Karkemesh and not at all the virtuous maiden whose title she usurps. Guanna the Bull, hitherto a royal scribe in Kolkhis. All of them—like you—worms in the apple of civilization. Like you, little schemers, playing at being the powers behind the throne. For what? Discord for the sake of discord, Atherwan?”
“I am not Atherwan,” he said. “I am Gir-Tab, the Clawer, the Cutter. The Scorpion. And if we seek discord, it is only to bring order, and an end to the vanity of human rulers. Freedom from the whims of self-styled gods and goddesses like yourself. And you are half right—in the past, our ultimate goal eluded us. But no longer. Now we have this.”
He brandished the Key in his claws.
“Yes,” she said. “That I can see.”
“You thought too little of us,” he said. “You were too slow to act, and even now, in your pride, you believed you could defeat our combined might—by yourself. It is your final misjudgment.”
He frowned. “Why are you smiling?”
“I’ve made mistakes,” Shaushka admitted. “Coming here alone was not one of them.”
His face was still human enough to show puzzlement.
Fist of Khonshu, Shaushka thought. Now.
Her answer was a rush of air above her. All eyes turned up as her champions appeared and hurled themselves down on the Shining Herd. Ares, war god of Olympus, resplendent in his armor and horse-comb helm, hurling his javelin at Guanna the Bull before his feet even hit the ground. Brunnhilde of Asgard, golden locks flowing from beneath her steel cap, her mighty sword Dragonfang cutting toward the Ram. The Black Panther from the Hidden Land of Libia dropped toward the Lion, who leapt to meet him, massive claws raking at the lithe warrior.
And Kandé, the Fist of Khonshu, who had brought the others from Shaushka’s palace by the arts of the Moon God. She now drifted down in front of Shaushka, her bone-white cloak billowing in the wind, her features masked in darkness. The earth released Shaushka’s feet and the air her arms, and with a cry of triumph she blasted Atherwan—Gir-Tab—with an eldritch bolt.
The battle began.
Caught unaware, Gir-Tab was knocked from his feet. Kandé sprang forward and grabbed the Key. Shaushka felt a surge of power as the Fist of Khonshu attempted to teleport away with it, but it didn’t work—Gir-Tab still gripped it tight. He and Kandé faded for a moment, but then snapped back to solidity. Shaushka added her effort to Kandé’s, but the Key was like a short, unbreakable tether. It would not be teleported—not without its master.
The Fist of Khonshu shrieked and her hands flashed through the colors of the rainbow. They seemed to vibrate like the plucked string of a lyre, and a high-pitched hum cut through Shaushka’s skull.
Gir-Tab snarled and thrust the Key forward.
“Away!” he shouted. A sphere of expanding force slapped the Fist of Khonshu and Shaushka back.
Gir-Tab swung the Key again, and a burning wind entered Shaushka, parching her from the inside. Her throat closed and her chest heaved, seeking breath that was not there. Kandé moved to help, drawing her crescent-shaped sword, but the Maiden had recovered from Ikthalon’s tendrils. She lashed at the Fist, who vanished before the whip could touch her. Shaushka saw Kandé reappear above the Maiden, but before she could retaliate a fist of water leapt from the Aegean Sea and enclosed her.
It didn’t hold her long; she might have failed to destroy the Key, but the Fist of Khonshu was no mere mortal, her weapon no ordinary metal blade. The sword bit into the water as if it were a solid thing, shattering it like ice. The bits flew apart, then came back together and reformed into a human shape. Shaushka recognized Gula, the Great One, the Waterlord. The Fist of Khonshu did not relent, but struck again and again with her sickle-shaped blade.
Then Shaushka had to return her attention to her own battle. She sent the Maiden hurling back and cast the Flames of Faltine upon the Scorpion. The ball of fire engulfed him, burning not his flesh but his soul, his spells, the powers contained within him. The Key combusted with a clear azure flame, and an unholy scream escaped Gir-Tab’s inhuman lips.
Ares came thundering between them, grabbing the Bull by the thigh and neck, lifting him, and slamming him down to earth. In the distance, she saw the Lion swiping clumsily at the Black Panther, while the Libian cut him mercilessly with his metal claws. Brunnhilde was beset by four foes at once, and doing well enough, but Shaushka blasted one of them, a woman with scales like a fish and the horns of a goat. Howling a battle song, Brunnhilde the Valkyrie put her blade through the Pincered One; the spray of blood was not red, but blue.
They were stronger than Shaushka had anticipated, but the tide was turning. She felt it in her ancient bones.
Then Gir-Tab raised the Key high, and thunder rocked the island—thunder with no flash of lightning. The Flames of Faltine blew off of it as in a high wind, flickering for another few heartbeats before extinguishing for good. He twisted the Key in a strange, intricate pattern. Shaushka felt space and time swell, like a wave building and then breaking, pulling her under…
* * *
SHE was alone on the island.
The sky dark, the sun further south—another season, another year…
“No!” she shrieked. She sent her senses scrambling up and down the timelines, through day and night and the seasons, until again she saw the battle at the moment she was ejected from it. She tried to open a portal to the same instant, but was denied re-entry by whatever force powered the Key.
Moving ahead an hour, she found a way in.
From just outside of time she studied the tableaux beneath her, trying to understand how the battle had gone. Was going. Gir-Tab had been right. Shaushka hadn’t taken the Shining Herd seriously enough. When their silly games had come to her attention, she had watched them almost with amusement, certain she could turn their antics to her own purposes.
