Chapter 37: Gianna's Mass Teleportation Spell

Skye rolled her eyes at this: “Slicing again? Wang, are you just craving the lamb slices from that Chinatown hotpot place?” Robbie snorted, and the spirit of vengeance muttered in his mind, “This guy’s a bit wicked.” Boss, you’re basically threatening us… Lucy immediately volunteered, “I’ll go!” Vincent, Frederick, and Hugo exchanged glances and spoke in unison, “I’ll go!” Eli had wanted to ask if he could go somewhere different from Lucy and the others, hoping to avoid a rough time later, but the moment he saw Wang’s smiling face next to him, he understood everything: “I’ll go!”

“But how are we getting out?” Skye raised her hand to ask. How are we supposed to leave the power plant? How do we get to Puerto Rico, thousands of kilometers away? The thousand dollars in your bank card clearly isn’t enough, and mine won’t help either. As for the rest, they don’t even have a bank card… Are we supposed to buy a piece of wood and try to float there?

“Ladies and gentlemen, the moment of witnessing a miracle has arrived.” Wang pulled up the map of Puerto Rico on Skye’s phone, got the coordinates, and let a wisp of his spirit slip into the Heart of Azeroth. Smiling at the lady within, he asked, “I’d like to exchange for Teleportation—one that can take all of us several thousand kilometers away!”

“Men really are all the same—you only think of me when you need something!” The lady huffed, her face cold. “Hyjal War: Jaina’s Mass Teleportation… That’ll be 0.11 grams of my blood!”

…

Outside the power plant.

High in the sky.

Within the invisible Quinjet, Melinda was bandaging Coulson’s wounds. Her hands were deft, though a bit heavy-handed. It was hard to tell if she was doing it on purpose.

“Mel, it’s so good to have you here.” Coulson gritted his teeth, forcing a smile. “Looks like you’ve come out of the shadows. We can fight side by side again. After the Bahrain incident, we—”

“Don’t bring that up!” Melinda frowned, visibly agitated, clearly sensitive to the very mention of it. “Coulson, how many times have I saved you now?”

“The sixth.” Coulson’s face softened with nostalgia. “That year I was a level four agent, you were level three, we worked missions together. We were so young then. I thought you’d leave me behind to finish the job, but you came back… ah, that hurts!”

“Then stop talking.” Melinda’s tone was cold, but her gaze showed a rare mix of gentleness and guilt. If I hadn’t switched to desk duty, I’d have joined this mission, and maybe Coulson wouldn’t be in such bad shape…

Two minutes later, the bandaging was done. The jet landed on the open ground beside the plant, still cloaked.

“The operation begins.”

Coulson stood, addressing the team: “This mission has three goals. First, rescue Agent Natasha Romanoff, who’s trapped inside. Second, secure the power plant and collect all useful items and intel. Third, make contact with the people inside—no one opens fire without my order! Let’s move!”

The others filed out, dispersing quickly. Teams of five switched on their scanners, searching systematically, hauling bodies out to the open ground and searching them.

Coulson led Melinda and a few others down a path into the plant. After twisting and turning, breaking down a few doors, blasting through some walls, they finally found the Black Widow, slumped against the wall.

“At last, you made it.” Natasha barely managed to lift her head, unable even to stand.

“Agent Romanoff, you’re badly wounded. You need immediate medical care!” Coulson saw the bullet holes riddling Natasha’s body and realized how dire things were. With wounds like these, she’d been shot several times and so much time had already passed—it was only thanks to her extraordinary constitution that she was still alive. Anyone else, himself included, would probably be dead by now.

“You’re losing too much blood. Mel, get her out now. Take the Quinjet, straight to the hospital. That’s an order, no arguments. Of everyone I know, you’re the best pilot.” Coulson gave the command with utmost seriousness, then bent down to check Natasha’s injuries.

He froze a second later.

Something wasn’t right.

With all those bullet wounds, it would be one thing if she had survived, but she wasn’t even bleeding much—her face wasn’t pale at all, in fact, it looked rather flushed.

Agent Romanoff, I remember you never carry coagulants or anything like that. Even if you did, they aren’t like healing potions in online games—they just stop bleeding, not make you look rosy. And with that skintight suit, there’s nowhere to hide anything anyway…

“He saved me.” Natasha could still feel the strange power flowing through her, constantly repairing her wounds. In her mind appeared the masked martial arts master… no, the grandmaster. It was when he carried her that he infused her with that “chi,” protecting her internal organs, sealing her wounds, and continuously healing her.

That’s why she hadn’t bled out. That’s why she didn’t feel cold, but instead, a comforting warmth spread through her body. It tickled, in a pleasant way.

He was a good man.

Just a little old.

To reach that level of mastery, she’d never even heard of it—it had to take at least forty or fifty years, maybe seventy or eighty? His stamina, speed, and strength—was that all the effect of “chi”? How incredible!

Coulson’s hand hovered, unmoving, before Natasha.

Something was off in the way she spoke—and in her choice of pronoun. “He?” Just who was this “he,” anyway?

The one who called himself the “Iron Fist of K’un-Lun”?

Of course, now wasn’t the time for questions, and besides, she wasn’t obliged to answer. Agent Romanoff was a living legend of S.H.I.E.L.D., answerable only to the Director.

“Someone stay here with Agent Romanoff. The rest, with me.” Coulson and Melinda pressed deeper inside, calling out as they moved:

“To whoever’s inside, this is Agent Phil Coulson of the Strategic Homeland Intervention, Enforcement and Logistics Division. I’m here on behalf of Director Nick Fury. We mean no harm!”

“Please do not attack! I repeat, please do not attack!”

…

No one answered.

Coulson hesitated for a moment, then gave a hand signal. Proceed with caution. Keep your guard up.

With the Quinjet’s support, they had the latest cold-freeze and stun guns from Tech Division, more powerful but nonlethal, plus all manner of tear gas, smoke bombs, flashbangs—surely enough to deal with whoever was inside.

It was less than two hundred meters, but it took five minutes to cover.

At last, they reached the innermost chamber.

Coulson stopped in his tracks.

Where was everyone?

Where was Ghost Rider?

Where was Eli?

Where was the Iron Fist of K’un-Lun?

And what had happened here?

He looked around, bewildered. Not only were the people gone, but much of what should have been intact had been dismantled. The floor bore the marks of heavy dragging and scraping.

They had scanned the area from outside earlier, and there should have been plenty of things here. Now, nothing remained but a few lonely wires lying on the ground.

Coulson looked further out, stunned again.

The drag marks simply ended.

Had someone carried everything out?

But the doors were too small—things couldn’t possibly fit through them.

“So, what on earth happened here?” Coulson was utterly at a loss.