It was on a day like this...
"Are you sure you're going to be fine?" Steve Rogers inquired, his voice soft yet worried, cutting through the roaring quinjet's engine in the background, while his gaze travelled to his friend, who was standing by the exit, Natasha.
Yet, the Black Widow kept her silence, her blue eyes intently watching the rain pouring outside, a flicker of the past flashing in her eyes; wasn't it on a day like this?
It was on a day like this that I met him, raining.
Is the world crying for him? The woman wondered as she looked up at the dark, brooding clouds; and somehow, they resembled him, always grim he was, his eyes dull and always living in the past.
".....I'll be fine," she whispered, her voice low, a mixture of reassurance and uncertainty; will she, though?
Steve didn't argue, yet kept a watchful eye on his friend for a moment; he caught the emotions behind her words, the weight of them was something he understood, "....fine. But call in if you need any help," he said with a small sigh to himself.
It was a week after New York…
"....Thanks," Natasha replied, turning towards the captain, her lips spreading into a thin smile. She appreciated his words, his concerns, yet….
Turning back to the exit, her hand reached towards an umbrella, her grip, fragile, like that of an old woman, "I'm going…," she informed, opening up the umbrella and stepping out of the jet into the downpour.
It was a call from Fury, a terrorist group taking advantage of the chaos.
The Avenger walked in the rain, each step slower than the last, feeling her feet to be tangled by chains—chains of her past, her past…with him. Yet she persisted; it was important that she persisted. And with the rain pouring on her umbrella like a thundering drum, she reached the entrance—entrance of a park.
It was just like this… I entered a building that day, a building that the terrorists had turned into their base.
She then halted in her steps, her breath a shallow whisper of resemblance to her breath on the day she entered that building, one that had changed her life forever.
It was dark in that building, a flicker of light once in a while from a broken tube.
As she entered the park, the Russian woman felt as if the world was closing in on her; whatever the light that had pierced through the dark clouds couldn't penetrate the shielding of the large trees surrounding her, with the only source being the occasional lightning and the distant echoes of thunder.
It was the first thing I noticed after I entered the building; it was sprayed on the walls, like a twisted canvas. It was on the floor, spilled enough to form a large puddle. It even lingered in the air, its pungent stench churning my stomach.
BLOOD
As Natasha walked through the park, she noticed it, on the trees, getting slowly washed up by the rain, forming a small stream of pure red. And it even lingered in the air, mixed with the pleasant smell of earth and rain, was the twisting stench of pure carnage. A sight that she had been accustomed to all too well yet churned her stomach every single time.
She wasn't new to blood; in fact, as she puts it, her ledger is filled with blood that she had spilled. But his? It's dark, so dark that it had turned black, as black as the moonless night. She gripped her umbrella hard, her fingers twisting around the handle, like a snake coiling around a vine.
It was flesh that was next. Some stuck to the ceiling while others lay in a pool of blood. Severed hands and legs dotted the floor, with a paste of flesh, blood, and organs painting the walls…
It was a horrible sight; my hands grabbed my two handguns, my fingers curling around the triggers, ready to squeeze.
Natasha stood in the middle of the park, her legs standing in front of a large, ornate fountain. Once the people's hope, a small amusement that it would grant a wish if a coin were thrown. But now, it—
BADUMP
Natasha's breath ceased, her blue pupils swelled in a familiar terror, and amidst the downpouring rain, she felt her throat dry. Floating quietly in the basin of the fountain were hands. Legs that were severed with precision and organs pulled out with force. Yet her gaze wasn't on them; it travelled up to the head of the fountain, where there lay a…heart, stabbed at the top, like a crown to his masterpiece…
It was but a moment later that I had moved on. It was a gore that I haven't seen, a dread I haven't felt. And after a long time, I was afraid. Afraid of what lurked in here, and what it could do to me. I pressed the earpiece on my left, requesting backup. Clint would be nice, but reinforcements were many minutes away.
"H-haahh…." Natasha's hand hovered around her ear, her trembling finger a mere inch away from her earpiece. Should she call Steve? He would know how to handle… this, right? But she never pressed it.
It was a long wait, full of terror. My eyes darted around and my senses on a high alert, a sing movement was all it needed for me to panic ... and it was then I noticed.
The Black Widow continued on her path, her hands visibly shaken at the sight, yet she continued; she had to, her friend's life was at stake. The whole universe's survival is at stake.
It was tucked away in a corner, a door with paint darker than black and a stench worse than a rotten corpse. I knew then in my gut that whatever did this, it was lurking behind that door, so I walked.
Natasha had now reached the far side of the park; the trees had now become a thick canopy, a blanket covering the sky, halting the rain from directly hitting the earth, and there… she saw him in the darkness.
BADUMP
It was easy; opening the door, a glimpse of what was inside fell on my eyes: darkness.
Natasha's eyes quivered, her gaze a muddle of fear, familiarity, love, anger, and abandonment. Her breath was stuck, refusing to come out in front of him.
BADUMP
It was all darkness that I could see. My heart thumped with dread while my shivering hands glided all over the room. And in the darkness, I saw…
In the distance, where the earth was dry of rain but drenched in blood, was a mountain, a mountain of severed heads.
BADUMP
I-It was— he was a child, I thought. A boy in his late teens…
Throned on the mountain of corpses was a man, perhaps in his early twenties, his skin as pale as the full moon and his hair a long spell of pink with a green hue at its end, with his sickly pale hand holding a severed yet half-eaten head while he closed his eyes.
I-It was a black katana, in his other hand, blending into the darkness surrounding it. It was sharp; I could feel it on my skin, on my neck, pressing against me.
BADUMP
Natasha stood in her place; the soil beneath her seemed to have buried her feet, while the heads seemed to have sucked all the air around her. She opened her mouth, yet no words came out. But she had to; it was important that she spoke.
W-Who are you?! I blurted out, panic taking over as my voice echoed in the dreadful silence, and that was when he opened his eyes…
Natasha had mustered all the courage that was left in her body, her free hand curling into a tight fist as she spoke, "W-We need your help, someone's after Vision's stone!"
BADUMP
"Haah Haah Haah!" Natasha dragged her breath, her chest heaving up and down as her heart thumped against her chest. And as she lifted her gaze back to him, his gaze met hers.
Pale green were they, and broken they were, cracks weaving like spider webs all heading to the centre of his eyes…
It was his master's, he said to me one day. A position he had achieved after replacing his master by killing him—UPPER ONE! But seeing them for the first time, they were terrifying; but then, he spoke… my name.
Unalienable and unmoving was his gaze as it landed on the Black Widow, who had lowered her gaze, trying to cover her wavering eyes with her umbrella as the man opened his mouth and spoke.
"".....Nat.""