Chapter 5

Alexander Pierce stood at his office window, gazing out over the Potomac. The afternoon sun cast long shadows across the Triskelion's pristine grounds, but his attention was focused on the tablet in his hands, displaying footage from New York. The images flickered across the screen: medieval warriors moving with deadly precision through modern streets, their ancient weapons gleaming against the backdrop of shattered buildings and smoking ruins.

"So," he said, his voice carrying its usual calm authority, "we have warriors from another dimension." He watched as the video showed Garen and Darius fighting alongside the Avengers, their medieval weapons proving surprisingly effective against modern technology. "And they just... appeared?"

"Yes, sir," Jasper Sitwell adjusted his glasses, standing at careful attention. The fluorescent lights reflected off his balding head as he shifted his weight, a subtle tell that Pierce had learned to recognize when his subordinate was holding something back. "During the cleanup after the Chitauri invasion. Initial reports suggested they might be Asgardian, but Thor's absence and their own accounts indicate otherwise."

Pierce set the tablet down on his desk, next to a framed photo of himself with the World Security Council. The image showed him standing proud among his colleagues, all of them unaware of the true nature of the organization they served. His fingers traced the edge of the frame thoughtfully. "Their weapons?"

"Potentially more interesting than the warriors themselves," Sitwell replied, producing another tablet with practiced efficiency. "Preliminary scans show energy signatures unlike anything we've encountered. The sword appears to nullify certain types of energy, while the axe..." He pulled up a damage assessment from their recent battle, showing twisted metal and shattered concrete. "Well, the results speak for themselves."

Pierce studied the destruction pattern with the eye of someone who had orchestrated far worse. "And what does our asset make of them?"

Sitwell's expression tightened slightly, a bead of sweat forming at his temple despite the room's comfortable temperature. "The Winter Soldier's handlers believe medieval combat experience would be... insufficient against his capabilities."

"The same was once said about Captain Rogers. Look how that turned out." Pierce's smile didn't reach his eyes as he recalled the reports from the Asset's early encounters with super soldiers. "Their world – Runeterra. Tell me about it."

"A complex civilization, sir. Multiple nations, advanced magical capabilities, but limited technological development. Their accounts suggest significant military forces, though their true capabilities are difficult to verify." Sitwell pulled up a series of notes, compiled from hours of debriefing sessions. "The magical aspects are particularly concerning. Our scientists are still trying to understand the implications."

"And these two represent opposing factions?"

"Yes, sir. The one called Garen serves a kingdom named Demacia – structured, hierarchical, almost fanatically opposed to magic despite their world's saturation with it. Their society bears some resemblance to medieval European kingdoms, but with a level of organization and military discipline that suggests far more sophistication." Sitwell swiped through several screens of data. "The other, Darius, comes from Noxus – an expansionist empire that values strength above all. Their meritocratic system allows anyone to rise to power, regardless of birth, but the cost in human life and suffering is... substantial."

Pierce's eyes narrowed thoughtfully. "Former enemies working together in a crisis. Sounds familiar." He set the tablet down with deliberate care, remembering his own words to Captain America about the price of freedom. "What do our scientists say about their arrival?"

"Dr. List is particularly interested in the energy readings from the event. He believes there might be a connection to his other research." Sitwell lowered his voice, though they both knew the room was secure. "The quantum fluctuations show similarities to what we observed in Sokovia."

"The twins?"

Sitwell nodded, his glasses catching the light. "The energy signatures show some similarities. He's requesting permission to expand the scope of his studies. The potential applications, if we could harness this kind of interdimensional travel..."

"Granted," Pierce turned back to the window, watching agents move across the grounds below like pieces on a chessboard. "But carefully. We can't risk drawing attention, not with Fury already involved." He paused, considering. "Speaking of which..."

---

"Absolutely not."

Nick Fury's voice carried the weight of years of command, filling the conference room at Avengers Tower. His single eye fixed on Tony with an intensity that would make lesser men flinch. The late afternoon light streaming through the floor-to-ceiling windows cast dramatic shadows across his face, emphasizing the stern set of his features.

"Come on, Nick," Tony leaned back in his chair, the picture of casual defiance. He spun a holographic display between them, showing combat footage from their recent encounters. "You saw what they can do. They've already proven themselves. That thing with the Hammer tech drones? Poetry in motion."

"What I saw," Fury replied, his leather coat creaking as he leaned forward, "was two extremely powerful individuals from another dimension appearing right after an alien invasion. Forgive me if I'm a little cautious about adding more unknown variables to an already volatile situation."

Garen and Darius sat at the conference table, their postures rigid but attentive. The contrast between their medieval armor and the modern setting would have been almost comical if not for the tension in the room. Garen's armor gleamed under the artificial lights, each scratch and dent telling stories of battles fought in another world. Darius's darker plate seemed to absorb the light, his scarred armor matching the weathered features of its wearer.

"Director," Steve interjected, his voice carrying that particular tone of reasoned authority that even Fury had trouble dismissing, "they fought alongside us. Saved civilians. Helped with cleanup. If they meant us harm, they've had plenty of opportunities." He gestured to a holographic display showing footage from their recent operations. "Their combat experience is invaluable, especially against threats that don't play by our usual rules."

"And their capabilities complement the team's existing strengths," added a new voice. Phil Coulson stepped forward from where he'd been quietly observing, his perfectly pressed suit and mild manner a stark contrast to the armored warriors. "Their combat experience alone would be invaluable, especially against threats our standard tactics aren't designed for. Plus," he added with his characteristic slight smile, "they've shown remarkable adaptability to our world's customs."

Fury turned his attention to the warriors, his single eye studying them with the intensity that had made junior agents crack under questioning. "And you two? Willing to sign up for something more permanent? To follow orders from people you barely know, in a world you don't understand?"

Garen and Darius exchanged glances – a wordless communication born from weeks of forced cooperation. The tension between them was still visible, but it had evolved into something more complex than simple enmity.

"In Demacia," Garen began, his voice measured and carrying the weight of years of diplomatic training, "we believe that those with the power to protect others have a duty to do so. While we seek a way home, we would be honored to serve alongside Earth's defenders." His hand rested unconsciously on the hilt of his sword, a gesture that spoke of both readiness and respect.

"Noxus teaches that true strength comes from action, not words," Darius added, his scarred hands resting on the table. Each scar and callus told stories of battles fought and won through sheer determination. "We've seen your world's threats. Better to face them with allies than stand aside. Even if those allies," he cast a sideways glance at Garen, "would normally be enemies."

Fury studied them both for a long moment, his expression unreadable. "Coulson?"

"Their psychological evaluations show stable personalities, strong moral frameworks – even if those frameworks differ from our usual parameters." Coulson pulled up several files on the holographic display. "Combat assessments are off the charts, obviously. Their tactical knowledge, while rooted in different traditions, has already proved adaptable to modern warfare. And having them under the Initiative's oversight is better than the alternatives."

"The alternatives being?" Tony prompted, though his tone suggested he already knew the answer.

"The World Security Council is very interested in our visitors," Coulson replied diplomatically, his mild tone belying the seriousness of his words. "As are several other organizations we'd rather not name. Organizations that might not share our concerns about proper integration and oversight."

"Speaking of oversight," Fury turned back to the warriors, his voice taking on an edge of steel, "there would be conditions. Training protocols, mission parameters, chain of command. This isn't a medieval battlefield where you can just charge in swinging your weapons."

"We understand hierarchy," Garen nodded, his military bearing evident in every movement. "In Demacia-"

"This isn't Demacia," Fury cut him off, though not unkindly. "Just like it's not Noxus. You want to be part of this team? You play by our rules. That means learning our tactics, our technology, our way of doing things."

"And if we disagree with those rules?" Darius asked, his voice carrying an edge of challenge that made several hands in the room twitch toward weapons.

"Then you discuss it through proper channels," Coulson stepped in smoothly, defusing the tension with practiced ease. "Like any other team member. We're not asking you to abandon your principles or your fighting styles. We're asking you to adapt them to work within our framework."

A moment of tension stretched between them, the air heavy with unspoken questions and concerns. Then, surprisingly, it was Darius who broke it with a short laugh that seemed to startle even Garen.

"Your diplomacy reminds me of Swain," he said to Coulson, a note of grudging respect in his voice. "Though you hide the iron fist in a nicer glove."

"I'll take that as a compliment," Coulson replied with his characteristic slight smile. "I think."

"Fine," Fury's eye moved between the warriors, his decision evidently made. "Provisional status, effective immediately. Coulson will handle your orientation and integration. But," his gaze hardened to diamond sharpness, "first sign of trouble, first hint that you're not what you claim to be..."

"Then you'll do what needs to be done," Garen finished, meeting Fury's gaze steadily. "As would we, in your position. A commander who doesn't consider all possibilities is a commander who fails his people."

Fury studied him for a moment longer, then nodded, apparently satisfied by what he saw. "Welcome to the Avengers Initiative. God help us all."

As the meeting began to break up, with various team members filing out to return to their duties, Tony hung back, that familiar gleam in his eye that usually preceded either brilliant innovation or spectacular disaster. "Hey, Nick. One more thing. About their equipment – Bruce and I have some ideas..."

"No."

"You haven't even heard-"

"The answer's still no, Stark."

"But the applications-"

"The last thing we need," Fury said with finality, "is you trying to replicate thousand-year-old magical weapons with modern technology. We've got enough problems without you creating more."

As their voices faded down the corridor, Coulson turned to the warriors, his expression professional but with a hint of genuine welcome. "Well, gentlemen. Shall we begin your orientation? I think you'll find our training facilities quite interesting, even if they're not quite what you're used to."

"One question," Darius rumbled, his tactical mind already working through implications. "These 'other organizations' you mentioned..."

"Above your clearance level," Coulson replied smoothly, though something in his eyes suggested he was pleased by the question. "For now."

Garen caught the subtle emphasis on those last two words, filing it away for later consideration. Something in Coulson's tone suggested there were depths to this world's politics they had yet to understand. The political maneuvering reminded him of the Demacian court, where words often carried multiple meanings and today's allies could become tomorrow's enemies.

In his office at the Triskelion, Alexander Pierce reviewed the meeting's surveillance footage with careful attention, noting every gesture, every glance, every subtle shift in posture. "Interesting," he murmured, making a note in a secure file. "Very interesting indeed."

"Sir?" Sitwell inquired, hovering near the door.

"Tell Dr. List to proceed with his analysis. Priority level Alpha. And keep our asset on standby. Something tells me we're going to need him sooner rather than later." Pierce's fingers drummed thoughtfully on his desk. "And Sitwell? Have our people in R&D take a closer look at those energy readings. If there's a way to replicate or counter their capabilities..."

"Yes, sir. And if they resist?"

Pierce's smile was colder than a Freljordian winter, though he didn't know the reference. "Then we'll show them that even warriors from another world can bleed. Hail HYDRA."

"Hail HYDRA," Sitwell replied softly, before slipping out of the office.

The sun had begun to set over Washington, casting long shadows across Pierce's office. In the fading light, his smile held secrets darker than any shadow, plans within plans that would shake both worlds to their foundations. On his desk, the tablet displayed frozen images of Garen and Darius in battle, their ancient weapons gleaming with power that HYDRA had only begun to understand.

Soon, Pierce thought, watching the last rays of sunlight paint the Potomac in colors of blood and gold. Very soon.

———————————————————

Somewhere in the Nevada desert, a flash of light split the evening sky. The crack of displaced air echoed off distant rocks.

Ahri hit the ground rolling, nine tails appearing instinctively as she came up in a defensive crouch. She blinked sand from her eyes, fox ears swiveling to catch any sound of threat. Nothing but wind and the skittering of small creatures.

"Not the Spirit Realm," she muttered, standing and brushing red dust from her clothes. No trees, no cover, no familiar landmarks - just endless desert stretching to the horizon. The magic felt wrong too, thin and strange compared to Ionia's rich spiritual energy.

She picked a direction and started walking. The sun was setting behind her, casting her shadow long across the cracked earth. Her footprints stretched back across the sand, the only mark of civilization in this empty place.

An hour passed. Then another. The stars came out, more brilliant than she'd ever seen them, but in patterns she didn't recognize. The cold started setting in - she'd forgotten how quickly deserts could turn from scorching to freezing. At least her tails kept her warm.

She passed rock formations that looked like giant's fingers reaching up from the earth. A small creature - something like a lizard but definitely not one she knew - scurried across her path. She thought about catching it, more out of habit than hunger, but let it go.

The third hour brought only more desert. She was considering finding shelter for the night when her ears caught something new - a strange whirring sound, coming from high above. Not birds, not wind. Something mechanical, but unlike anything she'd heard before.

Ahri summoned an orb of essence to her hand, its blue light bright against the dark. No point hiding what she was - she'd learned long ago that secrets had a way of revealing themselves at the worst moments. Whatever was coming, she'd deal with it the way she always did.

The sound grew louder, and now she could feel the air disturbing her tails in an unnatural pattern. Something big was approaching from above.