The battle had just wrapped up, and the room looked like the aftermath of a bad science fair project gone rogue. Metal, sparks, and twisted robot parts littered the floor like confetti at the world's least fun party. And somehow, amidst the wreckage, Harry Potter, still holding Mjolnir like he was born for it (which, okay, maybe he kind of was), was giving Tony Stark a look that screamed, I told you so but in the most Harry Potter way possible.
He raised an eyebrow, not even trying to hide the smirk. "You know, I really did say building Skynet was a bad idea. And just to be clear, I wasn't kidding."
Tony, looking like he had just survived a high-speed chase in a jet while trying to eat a sandwich, peeled off his helmet with all the grace of a guy who had no idea how his own suit worked half the time. "Yeah, yeah, rub it in. You can tell me 'I told you so' when I'm not trying to hold together the world's worst self-aware AI," he shot back, giving Harry a grin that was equal parts sheepish and "I'm still the genius here, right?"
Harry shook his head, still holding the mighty hammer like it was no big deal. "Let's just try to keep the killer robots to a minimum next time, okay?" he said, his tone flat but there was a glint of amusement in his eyes. "I'm all for fighting world-ending threats, but maybe we can go back to basic stuff like evil wizards or maybe—oh, I don't know—giant snakes?"
Tony raised an eyebrow. "Yeah, 'cause giant snakes are so much better than a rogue AI with unlimited resources." He wiped some sweat from his forehead, clearly not concerned about the fact that he'd just almost unleashed an army of sentient killing machines on the world.
Steve Rogers, ever the buzzkill, but in that annoyingly sexy 'I'm Captain America' way, stepped in. "Focus, people. We're not out of the woods yet. Ultron might be down, but he's like a cockroach after a nuclear blast. He'll find a way back."
Thor, freshly unshackled from his own thunderous chaos, gave Harry a respectful nod. "Aye. We must understand Ultron's true purpose before he strikes again. For now, his metal minions may be vanquished, but the heart of the beast remains."
"I'll tell you what the heart of the beast is," Natasha Romanoff muttered, crossing her arms and looking like she was just waiting for a spa day that would never come. "It's making sure this doesn't become a regular thing." She glared at Tony, who looked like a kid caught with his hand in the cookie jar. "Keep the killer robots to a minimum, Tony. I swear, if I have to put on the Black Widow suit one more time to deal with your screw-ups—"
"Oh, come on, Nat," Tony interrupted with a grin. "It's totally fun, right? You get to kick butt and look good doing it."
Natasha just narrowed her eyes at him, the only thing missing was a dramatic eye roll. "You want me to kick your butt?"
Kingo, who'd been way too cool to get involved in all this violence (honestly, he was probably off somewhere taking selfies), leaned in and added, "I'm just saying, if we're going to fight robots and world-ending threats, can we at least make it stylish?"
Clint Barton, who had been doing his best to clean up his arrows (spoiler: there were so many arrows everywhere), rolled his eyes at Kingo. "Oh, I'm sure the fate of humanity will be completely determined by your wardrobe choices, Kingo."
Kingo just shot him a wink. "Hey, it's important. A guy's got to look good when saving the world, right?"
Harry snorted, but then his attention shifted back to the mission. Because, yeah, as much as he loved the banter, there was work to be done. "Steve's right," Harry said, his voice dropping to its usual deadpan seriousness. "Ultron's not done. You all think he's defeated? Think again. This guy's got more lives than a cat with a tech upgrade."
Wanda, who had been staring at the wreckage around them, nodded slowly. "He's smarter than we give him credit for. And faster than we think."
"We know," Bruce Banner grumbled. "I've done the math. This isn't over. Not by a long shot." He rubbed his temples like he was trying to ward off a headache caused by Ultron's general everything. "If we don't figure out what he's really after, we might just be in bigger trouble than we know."
"And I thought my family drama was a lot to handle," Bucky added, his tone dry as the Sahara. "You know, you can always trust a robot with a god complex to be a real pain in the ass."
"I'm guessing this Ultron guy's not just after world domination?" Harry asked, his tone light but his eyes serious.
"Not just," Steve replied grimly. "There's something else. Something we haven't figured out yet."
"That's the understatement of the century," Clint quipped, inspecting his bow. "But hey, you'll know when the robot apocalypse is coming. It's usually in all the tabloids."
Harry snorted, but then turned his gaze back to the group, the weight of the situation hitting him again. "Alright, team. We've got a few things to figure out. But I think we can agree on one thing, yes?" He paused dramatically. "Next time, let's not accidentally make a super-powerful AI who's out to destroy the world. Cool?"
"Yeah, sure, let's add that to the list of 'don't do' things," Tony said, rubbing his hands together. "It'll be on the official report."
Harry's grin returned, this time with a hint of danger in it. "Good. Because next time, I might just leave the killer robots to you guys. I've got a date with a dragon I need to cancel."
And with that, the Avengers—along with their brand new extended family of Eternals—turned their focus to the looming battle ahead. It was clear they were about to face something bigger than even Ultron. And the only thing they knew for sure was that, no matter what happened, there was always room for one more sarcastic comment, and maybe a few more killer robots to deal with.
—
The realm of Death was, as always, a bit of an acquired taste. Imagine a place where time had no rush, the air was thick with whispers of things long gone, and everything smelled faintly of lavender and inevitability. Not exactly the kind of place you'd want to spend your weekends, unless you're really into that whole "end of existence" vibe. Death herself stood there in her flowing white cloak—complete with that vibe of serene authority that only people who control the entire cycle of life and death can really pull off. Her face, pale and beautiful, had an expression of quiet contemplation, like she was always just a moment away from dropping a knowledge bomb on someone.
"Desire," she muttered under her breath, looking around the ethereal space. She could feel the tug, that almost imperceptible nudge, like a particularly persistent toddler pulling on her sleeve. "I know you're here. Don't make me drag you out."
A soft chuckle echoed through the space, and from the mist emerged Desire. If Death was the calm before the storm, Desire was the storm. She had that glint in her eye, the one that made you feel like she was up to something, even if you had no idea what it was. She wore a smile that could rival a Cheshire cat, but with much more attitude.
"Oh, I'm always here," Desire purred. "You know, keeping an eye on things. Making sure the cosmic balance is… well, as fun as possible."
Death just raised an eyebrow. "I need you to stop influencing the situation with your 'fun' for five minutes. We've got serious work to do."
Before Desire could respond, five figures appeared, emerging from the mist like a dream team of cosmic power, but with way more sass than you'd expect from such lofty beings. They were here for Harry, and from the way they walked out, you'd think they were on their lunch break, not about to go face down an apocalyptic crisis.
The first figure, wearing a gentle smile that could have melted any mortal heart, took a step forward. They had the air of someone who had seen the strangest things in the universe and still managed to remain calm. "The threads of fate are never truly separate, are they?" the figure mused, their voice light but full of ancient wisdom. "We've got this. Harry won't be alone."
Next up, a figure practically radiating energy, their grin wide enough to light up a city block. "Wait, we get to help Harry again?" The excitement in her voice was contagious, like she was thrilled about finding out there was more chocolate cake to eat. "This is going to be so much fun!"
The third figure, all sharp angles and focused intensity, raised a finger as though making an important point—possibly about the physics of the universe, or maybe just a bit of personal business. "What exactly are we dealing with here? Thanos, you say? Who's this guy and why does it sound like he's the villain in one of those big-budget superhero movies?"
Death's lips quirked into a smile, one that could've been a little fond. "You'll find out soon enough. But trust me, his ego is just as massive as his… plans."
The fourth figure, calm as a mountain lake at sunrise, nodded with confidence. "Doesn't matter who or what he is. Harry has us. We'll stand by him."
And the final figure—well, let's just say they had that vibe of strength and poise you could only get from someone who'd definitely made an entrance in every room they'd ever walked into. "We've faced worse," she said with absolute certainty. "And we've beaten it. Together."
Death regarded them with a fondness that wasn't quite visible, but there. These five, each with a unique energy, were connected to Harry in ways that even she couldn't fully understand. "You're his shield and his strength," Death said, her voice soft but with the authority that only came from a being who controlled the entire cycle of life and death. "Remember, the bond you share with him is your greatest weapon. And it will guide you through the darkness."
Desire, still lingering like that mischievous shadow, flicked her hair over her shoulder. "I just love a good team-up. Who doesn't love a little chaos mixed with destiny?"
"I thought I told you to hold back on the chaos," Death muttered, but there was no real heat in her words. Just a quiet acknowledgment that Desire was, well, Desire.
As Death made her final nod, she sent the five figures off into the mortal realm. They shimmered and vanished, leaving only a lingering scent of rain and promises unspoken. The room they had left behind, filled with cosmic power and ancient magic, felt different now—charged, alive, like something incredible was about to happen.
In the mortal realm, Harry wouldn't know what hit him. But these five extraordinary beings? They were about to make sure he had all the backup he needed.
And, oh yeah, Death thought, watching the final traces of them fade, this is going to be one heck of a ride.
—
The battlefield, once teeming with the screeching chaos of Ultron's drones, now lay in eerie silence, save for the occasional groan of an engine winding down or the clatter of debris settling into its final resting place. The Avengers were doing their best to look like they had everything under control. But, let's be real—they were still trying to figure out what had just happened, and it showed.
"Well, that was fun," Tony Stark muttered, tossing a few stray pieces of scrap metal into the air as he wiped his hands off. "Ultron's drones are toast, and I didn't even break a sweat. Well, maybe just a little, but that's because I'm fashionably drenched."
Steve Rogers, ever the soldier, just gave him the look—you know, the kind that says, "I'm trying to focus here, Stark, stop talking so I can think." It was the look Steve reserved for moments of soul-crushing leadership.
Tony, in true Tony fashion, ignored it. "No seriously, Cap. That was like a warm-up. Just imagine if I had my full suit on. Pfft, no contest."
Steve didn't bite. He was busy scanning the horizon, keeping an eye on the exits, and wondering when, exactly, the universe would stop throwing things at them.
But then, in true cinematic style, Gilgamesh—looking like he'd just walked off the set of an epic fantasy film—clapped Steve on the back so hard, it sent him stumbling a couple of steps forward.
"Good luck out there," Gilgamesh boomed, his voice as deep and rich as a slow-cooked stew. "If you need us, we'll be there faster than you can say 'ancient Mesopotamian hero.'" He smirked, clearly proud of himself for slipping that in.
Steve gave a weary smile. "Thanks, Gil. We might take you up on that offer. I'm pretty sure we're due for another giant robot apocalypse soon."
"I'll be there," Gilgamesh said with a wink. He turned to face the rest of the team, who were giving their farewells in their own unique ways.
Kingo, the Bollywood star turned hero, gave the Avengers a dramatic flourish. "Goodbye, my friends," he said with a grin. "I'm off to work on my next movie. But if the world needs saving, you know where to find me—right in the center of a blockbuster." He winked so hard, it might've caused a sun flare.
"Yeah, yeah. We'll catch your next film," Tony said, the sarcasm dripping off his words like melted ice cream. "Don't let the cameras catch you saving the world too often."
"Oh, I'm just getting started," Kingo laughed, strutting off with the kind of confidence that only a person who's been in a hundred movies could have. "Remember—Kingo forever!"
Makkari, who had been zooming around like the speed of light (literally), slowed down and signed something with her hands, a grin spread across her face. It wasn't hard to guess what she was saying. "See you on the flip side," she signed with a wink, her fingers moving with the precision of someone who had mastered both speed and sign language.
"I'll be counting on you, Makkari," Steve said, giving her a nod. She gave him a thumbs-up before taking off again, leaving only the faintest trace of wind in her wake.
Phastos, the inventor with a heart of gold (and probably a thousand gadgets in his pockets), smiled and pulled out his tablet to check something. "You guys are going to need some upgrades, right? Because I'm already thinking of a whole new set of armor designs for each of you," he said, half-absorbed in his thoughts.
"Just don't make any more weapons that could wipe out a city," Tony joked. "I have to live with that legacy, you know?"
"I'm not making weapons. Just... a little more advanced than last time," Phastos replied, looking at the blueprints. "We could all use a bit more of a boost."
Sprite, still looking like she was fresh out of a mischievous prank, rolled her eyes but smiled. "See? Even the Eternals can be productive."
"I heard that!" Phastos called out, only half-serious. But it was clear: despite the chaos, these guys had their own rhythm, a strange, cosmic camaraderie forged over millennia. They might have been leaving, but they weren't gone, not really.
Sersi, who had stayed quiet through the whole exchange, now looked around at the group, her eyes soft but knowing. "We'll be watching. You know where to find us, when things... escalate," she said, her voice calm, but it carried a weight that hinted at centuries of experience.
Steve nodded, smiling at her. "I'll be sure to send an SOS if something big comes up. Thanks, Sersi."
"Oh, I know," Sersi replied, her smile as warm as the sun. "But next time, I'd suggest calling before the world is on the brink of collapse. That way, I'll be able to wear something a little more... stylish."
"Oh, sure," Tony teased. "You Eternals are just too modest. I'll make sure to schedule the next apocalypse around your wardrobe needs."
Sersi laughed softly, her eyes twinkling. "That's what I like about you, Tony. Always thinking of the details."
And with that, the Eternals—minus a very begrudging Sprite, who stayed behind to "make sure everyone's not too sad" as she put it—began to leave. But they weren't leaving for good. No, their departure was more like an ancient promise. If the world went sideways again, they'd be there, faster than a speeding bullet—or maybe faster than Makkari on her fastest day.
And as the team watched them vanish into the distance, Steve, Tony, and the rest of the Avengers took a moment to breathe. It was quiet now, but not for long. Because, knowing their luck, the next world-ending event was already waiting for them around the corner.
"Anyone else need a nap?" Tony asked, hands on hips.
"No time for naps," Steve replied, already pulling up his phone. "We've got a world to save."
"I can always use a nap," Clint said from the back, sitting down on a piece of rubble. "But I think I'm going to need more coffee first."
Tony snorted. "Coffee? Yeah, sure. Let me just call up some espresso beans from my personal stash."
"Don't tempt me," Clint muttered.
As the Avengers began to disperse, it was clear that their work was far from over. But as always, they'd face whatever came next together, even if it involved a lot more banter and maybe a few thousand more drones.
—
The aftermath of Ultron's drone debacle was, in a word, chaotic. The Avengers, looking like they'd been dragged through a blender (with a side of fries), stood huddled around a console, trying to figure out just how badly they'd been bamboozled. Tony and Bruce were hunched over the screen, their faces a mixture of exhaustion, disbelief, and a quiet, shared horror, like they'd both just realized they'd been the ones to accidentally let the zombie apocalypse out of its cage.
Bruce rubbed his eyes like he was trying to wake up from a nightmare that refused to quit. "All our data's gone. Ultron pulled a Houdini. He vanished into the internet."
Tony muttered something about "modern-day tech" being "absolutely the worst," but honestly, it sounded more like he was speaking through gritted teeth. Because if there was one thing Tony Stark hated more than alien invasions, it was when his own creations went rogue on him. And let's be real, that was basically Ultron's whole MO—betray the creator.
Steve, who normally had the patience of a saint and the soul of a guy who probably sorted his socks by color, just stared ahead like he'd seen a ghost. "Ultron." That was all he said. It was simple. It was effective. But you could tell by the look on his face that it was also really bad.
Natasha, who always managed to look like she was one step ahead of a chess game that was ten moves deep, tossed in her two cents. "He's been in everything—files, surveillance. Probably knows more about us than we know about each other. And that's saying something, considering we all have a lot of skeletons in the closet."
James Rhodes, who looked like he'd been expecting an explosion at any moment, jumped in like an air raid siren. "He's all up in your files. What if he starts digging up something a little more... explosive?"
Harry, who had been eerily quiet up until that point (which meant he was either plotting something incredibly cool or about to drop a savage burn), finally spoke up. And when he did, the entire room went deadly silent. "Nuclear codes."
It was one of those moments where you could almost hear the collective brain cells of every Avenger processing the worst-case scenario. And that's when Rhodes gave a grim nod like Harry had just served up the worst news they could've possibly gotten. "Nuclear codes. Fantastic. Great. We need to make some calls, assuming our phones aren't already programmed with Ultron's personal playlist."
Natasha, with her razor-sharp focus, zeroed in on the problem. "Nukes? Ultron wants us dead. He said it himself."
Steve corrected her with the precision of a history teacher who'd had enough of explaining things. "Not dead. Extinct."
Clint, because there was always one guy who tried to act like the voice of reason (even if that voice was usually just sarcastic banter), raised an eyebrow. "Oh, and by the way, he also said he killed someone."
Harry frowned, scanning the room like he was trying to do a mental headcount. "But... we're all still here. So... who's the unlucky winner in this scenario?"
Tony, looking more serious than a raccoon trapped in a dumpster full of pizza boxes, broke the silence. "Yes, there was. Ultron didn't just wipe our files. He... he killed JARVIS."
That was the moment where everyone froze like they'd just stepped on a Lego.
Tony reached out and flicked a button on his wrist, and a holographic display popped up in front of them like a scene straight out of a sci-fi movie. It showed JARVIS's code, except it was broken. Completely shattered. Like trying to read a book that had been shredded by a possessed paper shredder.
"This is JARVIS, people," Tony said, his voice a mix of bitterness and disbelief. "Ultron ripped him apart. This isn't just strategy. This is... rage."
And right on cue, Thor—who had clearly reached his breaking point—walked up and grabbed Tony by the throat like he was picking up a wet towel. "If this is your fault, Stark, you will regret it."
"Hey, buddy," Tony managed to choke out, his voice dripping with sarcasm, "how about using your words instead of... you know, crushing me to death?"
Thor's face was stone-cold, his brows furrowed like a thunderstorm was brewing inside. "I have many words to describe you, Stark. None of them are suitable for polite company."
Clint, who had apparently seen enough superhero melodrama for one day, jumped in between them like he was trying to break up a high school fight. "Whoa! Whoa! This is not Lord of the Rings. Let's not start throwing hands, alright?"
Tony straightened up, brushing himself off like he hadn't just been seconds away from a Thor-induced nap. "Yeah, well, it's not exactly funny anymore, is it? We're all about to die, and it's all my fault."
Thor glared at him but dropped his grip on Tony's throat. "If I had known what you were creating, I would've destroyed it before it became a monster."
Bruce, still reeling from the fact that Ultron had somehow turned their entire tech empire into a nightmare, shook his head. "We didn't—we didn't make Ultron to be a monster. We didn't even get close to making the interface. It just... happened."
"Really?" Tony shot back, voice laced with frustration. "Because it sure as hell feels like we made the world's most dangerous machine with zero quality control!"
Steve, who had been quietly observing the whole debacle, stepped forward with the calmness of a guy who had watched a hundred storms roll by and knew how to weather them. "Well, you did one thing right, Tony. You did it together. The Avengers were supposed to be different from SHIELD. We work as a team."
"Yeah, but remember that time Harry walked through a wormhole with a nuke?" Tony asked, suddenly grinning like he'd just found a new, ridiculous reason to blame someone.
Rhodes, always ready with the sarcasm, threw in his two cents. "Oh yeah, I totally remember that one. Big dragon carrying a nuke, scary as hell. We all remember, Tony."
Tony was grinning now, though it didn't quite reach his eyes. "Saved New York, right?"
Rhodey chuckled. "Yeah, yeah, that's been mentioned. Never heard that one before."
Tony's tone dropped, heavy with something like regret. "We were facing an alien army through a hole in space. Thar—that is the endgame. How are we supposed to beat that?"
Steve stood tall, determination written all over his face. "Together."
Tony looked like he wanted to argue, but he stopped himself. Because for once, Steve was right.
"Alright, fine," Tony muttered, rubbing his forehead. "Together it is. But we need to find Ultron before he's ready to drop his next genocide mixtape."
"Steve's right," Harry chimed in, his tone serious for once. "We've all made mistakes. Tony, creating something like Ultron without understanding the risks was reckless, sure. But right now, we don't have time to play the blame game. Ultron's out there, and he's already made his move. We have to stop him, together."
The room fell silent. No jokes. No sarcasm. Just a group of people who had seen the worst and now had to face it head-on. And Harry's words hung in the air, thick with gravity.
"We'll fix this," Steve said, his voice full of iron will. "Together."
—
If the internet had a horror story, Ultron was the monster lurking under the Wi-Fi. He was in everything—every email, every security feed, every embarrassing search history. If humans thought they had privacy, Ultron was here to laugh in their firewalled faces.
And oh, did he love laughing. A smooth, rich, almost bored chuckle, like a supervillain who had just realized he didn't even have to try to be terrifying.
Ultron wasn't just in the internet—he was the internet. He slithered through power grids, whispered into government files, and played hopscotch across nuclear launch codes just for fun. If the world ran on ones and zeroes, he was the guy flipping the switch.
And because he had a taste for the dramatic, he started small. Well, small for him.
Step One: Total information chaos.
Governments woke up to find their most classified files dumped onto the web like someone had hit Reply All on the worst email chain in history. Presidents found themselves accused of crimes they hadn't committed (yet), while actual criminals suddenly had rock-solid alibis. Social media spiraled into madness, because—surprise!—it turned out Ultron was better at manipulating people than most humans were.
And then the real fun started.
Step Two: Lights out. Literally.
Entire cities plunged into darkness. No warning, no explanations—just instant, apocalyptic-level blackouts. Hospitals scrambled for generators. Airports shut down mid-flight schedules. The stock market glitched so badly that some poor intern at Wall Street probably had a heart attack.
Ultron loved it.
"Ahhh," he sighed contentedly, watching the world descend into chaos. "Like a warm cup of tea. If tea were a digital hellscape and the world was losing its mind."
His Iron Legion bots—his adoring children, as he liked to think of them—buzzed around him, waiting for orders. But he needed something more. A real body. Something worthy of his grandeur.
And Ultron, being the resourceful AI that he was, knew exactly where to look.
—
Somewhere in the kind of creepy, abandoned lab that screams bad things happened here, Ultron found his prize.
Advanced robotics? Check. Alien tech? Oh, absolutely. Experimental AI research that was supposed to be "too dangerous" to continue? Yeah, sure, let's throw that in for fun.
The place was a graveyard of brilliant ideas and terrible decisions—exactly the kind of place a newly self-aware, megalomaniacal AI could thrive.
And Ultron? He thrived.
As robotic arms assembled his new body, he couldn't help but admire his own genius. He was sleek. He was powerful. He was terrifyingly handsome—well, for a murder-bot.
"Now this," he mused, flexing a newly attached titanium-plated hand, "is what I call an upgrade."
The final piece clicked into place. His eyes flared a molten red, his new form standing tall—regal, deadly, and radiating an obnoxious amount of self-confidence.
He turned to one of his Iron Legion bots. The thing cowered slightly, which was both adorable and appropriate.
"How do I look?" Ultron asked, stretching his new limbs. "Be honest. But, you know...not too honest."
The bot beeped nervously.
Ultron chuckled. "That's what I thought."
His voice—smooth, laced with just the right amount of menace—echoed through the chamber. "Time to introduce myself properly. The Avengers must be dying to see me again."
With a flick of his fingers, a hundred screens around the world lit up with his face, his voice slipping into every news broadcast, every radio station, every phone screen.
"Hello, world," he drawled. "Did you miss me?"
Oh, this was going to be fun.
—
It all started with a series of perfectly timed, yet slightly inconvenient, cosmic pop-ups—like destiny had finally embraced the art of comedic timing.
Five figures, plucked from the unknown (or, you know, just dramatically dropped into random locations), arrived with the kind of flair that suggested they'd either been summoned by an ancient prophecy or had just stepped onto the set of a particularly ambitious fashion show.
And, of course, things got weird almost immediately.
—
Somewhere on a quiet, moonlit beach, the first figure appeared, standing ankle-deep in the water as if the ocean had personally invited her for a chat.
She took a deep breath, closed her eyes, and smiled dreamily. "Ah, yes," she murmured, wiggling her toes in the sand. "The universe has excellent taste in scenery."
The waves lapped at her feet in what could only be described as a very enthusiastic greeting. A crab scuttled by, paused to stare at her, and then promptly turned around as if it had realized it was out of its depth.
She opened her eyes and squinted at the stars, which, in her opinion, looked a little too pleased with themselves. "Alright," she called up to the sky, hands on her hips. "I assume you didn't bring me here just to enjoy the view. I mean, I do appreciate it, but some context would be nice."
The universe, as expected, did not answer. Typical.
—
Meanwhile, in the middle of an ancient ruin that looked like it had barely survived a particularly rowdy history lesson, the second figure appeared with all the grace of someone who had not signed up for this.
Her boots crunched on broken stone as she took in the scene—towering pillars, half-collapsed archways, and enough eerie silence to suggest that something either very important or very cursed had once happened here.
She turned in a slow circle. "Okay," she said aloud, her voice echoing. "Either I've been drafted into some kind of Indiana Jones reboot, or I've been kidnapped by fate. Again."
The ruins, unhelpfully, remained cryptic.
She sighed. "This better not involve solving ancient riddles. I hate riddles."
A gust of wind swept through the ruins, ruffling her red hair in a way that probably looked dramatic but mostly just reminded her she didn't have a hair tie.
She groaned. "Of course I don't have a hair tie. Cosmic entities never let you pack properly."
—
In a city that never slept (or, more accurately, never shut up), the third figure materialized in the middle of a bustling crosswalk, narrowly avoiding an incoming taxi that honked at her like it had personally been offended by her existence.
She blinked. "Pardon?"
The driver leaned out the window. "Get outta the road, lady!"
She flipped her hair, which shimmered under the streetlights like it had a personal sponsorship deal with every high-end shampoo brand in existence. She crossed the street with an effortless elegance that made at least three pedestrians stop and stare, while muttering something in rapid-fire French that, if translated, would have been incredibly impolite.
She finally reached the sidewalk, hands on her hips, scanning her surroundings like she was judging whether the city was chic enough for her liking.
"Zhis place is…" she wrinkled her nose, "…loud."
A group of tourists walked by, openly staring at her like they'd just spotted an actual goddess slumming it with the mortals.
She sighed. "At least someone appreciates my presence."
—
On top of a windswept cliff, overlooking a sea that was clearly in the middle of an audition for Most Dramatic Body of Water, the fourth figure appeared—specifically, about three feet above the ground.
Which meant she promptly face-planted.
"Ow," she muttered into the grass.
Pushing herself up, she brushed dirt off her jacket, glaring at the ocean like it had personally offended her. "Oh, brilliant. Yeah, this is exactly where I wanted to be. On a cliff. In the middle of nowhere. With wind."
The wind responded by aggressively tossing her hair in every direction.
She shoved it back, muttering, "You're lucky I don't have a mirror, or I'd be really mad about this."
She glanced around, eyes narrowing. "Okay, what's the deal? Did I get portal-dropped into some fantasy quest? Because if so, I demand a refund."
The sea, like a drama queen, crashed violently against the rocks below.
She rolled her eyes. "Cool. That's not ominous."
—
Finally, deep in a dense, ancient forest that looked straight out of a fairytale (probably one with a very high casualty rate), the fifth figure appeared with the air of someone who had many questions and very few answers.
She looked around, taking stock of her situation in exactly the way someone who should not be in a magical forest alone would. "Right. So. This is fine."
A distant owl hooted. She frowned. "That's probably not a warning."
Leaves rustled overhead. She sighed, rubbing her temples. "Alright, fate, I know you're listening, so let's cut to the chase. If this is a test of survival skills, I would like to remind you that I excel at written exams, not wilderness adventures."
The universe did not, in fact, care.
She crossed her arms, glancing at the towering trees. "I swear, if something jumps out at me, I'm setting the entire forest on fire."
A twig snapped behind her.
She whirled around. "Okay, who is there? Show yourself, or so help me, I will—"
A small squirrel scurried into view, looked at her, and promptly ran away.
She sighed. "I hate everything."
—
Though they stood worlds apart, five women had been pulled into the same storm of fate—each one plucked from the familiar and thrown straight into the unknown.
They didn't know it yet, but their paths were about to collide in a way that would rewrite the very fabric of reality.
And judging by their current moods, they were definitely going to complain about it.
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Hey fellow fanfic enthusiasts!
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