[ Forest Area, Somewhere in Japan ]
Teleportation, when done properly, was still a nauseating affair for Daisy Johnson. But this time? This time felt like being yeeted through a cosmic washing machine set on "death tumble." Her body had already been exhaust in the temple fight—vomiting blood was just the cherry on top.
The unstable portal she'd cracked open had zero safety features. So it yanked Logan and Mariko through like luggage on a baggage claim. They landed hard, gracelessly, as if the universe had no time for gentle landings.
Logan—aka everyone's favorite adamantium-laced uncle—recovered like a champ. Claws out, muscles tight, eyes darting. He looked ready to rip apart a small army. Possibly even a large one.
Mariko groaned and rubbed her back. "Where is this?" she asked in Japanese. When Wolverine blinked at her like she'd just quoted Shakespeare, she switched to English. "Where are we?"
Logan grunted. "Somewhere leafy."
That was putting it mildly. The landscape around them was tall trees swaying in the breeze, the distant calls of birds, and enough green to make Central Park look like a sandlot.
Daisy coughed, winced, and pushed herself upright. "Can't... stay here. My blood. It's too valuable. Help me—dispose of it."
From her tactical suit, she pulled out a tiny syringe—the "blood-melting agent." Custom-designed for wiping away any samples that could be used against her. Even half-dead, she planned ahead.
Logan caught it mid-air. No labels, no instructions. Just one big "trust me, bro" energy.
Still, Logan wasn't dumb. He might not be Hank Pym with his lab goggles and quantum-whatever theories, but Logan knew enough about shady people wanting powered blood. Probably had a few notches of experience disposing of inconvenient bodies, too.
So, he got to work. Found a splatter of her blood on a nearby rock, squirted a few drops of the mystery formula. The blood hissed, steamed, and evaporated like water on hot iron.
"Huh," he muttered. Then he dug a small hole with one hand and buried the rock, just in case.
Meanwhile, Mariko had Daisy slung over her shoulder like she was smuggling precious cargo in the world's most inconvenient kimono. The garment—while elegant—wasn't built for field work. It tangled around her legs, made her wobble like a newborn deer, and the straw sandals weren't helping.
Daisy, half-conscious and bleeding from everywhere that mattered, tried to help but mostly just leaned into Mariko. Her brain was foggy, her powers still there but scattered, like someone had shaken a soda can full of vibration and sealed it shut. Like her body and mind were out of sync.
"I swear... that wrinkled banshee... I'll kill her," Daisy slurred. Red ninjas weren't Viper's. They were Hand. Sent to kill me.
Her vision blurred again, this time catching the exposed back of Mariko's neck from the kimono's open collar. The distraction was oddly calming.
Don't pass out. Don't ogle. Don't pass out while ogling.
Too late.
She collapsed.
....
Consciousness wasn't so much regained as... borrowed. Daisy found herself floating in an endless void, all golden-hued and otherworldly. She was weightless, drifting like duckweed on a river that didn't obey gravity.
And then—somewhere far away—a dragon roared.
A giant red one, ancient and powerful, its awareness brushing hers like a predator sniffing a sleeping deer. It saw her. Not with eyes. With... something deeper.
Words tried to reach her, tangled in golden threads stretching across the sky. The threads didn't just connect to her—they merged into her. Bonded.
Then came the pull. A narrow vortex sucked her under, and the golden dream turned to black.
....
Pain hit first. Followed by the world. Daisy groaned softly, hand to her temple.
"She's awake," Mariko's voice reached her like a whisper wrapped in concern.
"Change the incense," said another female voice—unfamiliar, calm, yet firm.
A new scent wafted into her nose. Warm, spicy, strangely soothing. The fog in her head lifted, like a curtain being drawn back from her consciousness. She blinked, focused, and sat up with a grunt.
"Ms. Mariko... where are we?"
Wooden beams. Tatami mats. A clay stove near the wall. And in the center, an incense burner letting off curling streams of smoke that looked almost deliberate in how they moved.
Mariko gestured toward a woman sitting cross-legged by the burner.
"This is Miss Colleen Wing. We're in her private retreat, north of Sendai."
Colleen nodded politely. Ponytail, athletic frame, loose sportswear. Pretty face. Those eyebrows could cut a man.
Apparently, the trio had stumbled on Colleen during her sword practice. She recognized Mariko—Tokyo's golden girl—and offered help without hesitation. Classic noble move.
"You've been out for two days," Mariko added gently.
Daisy looked down and blinked. She wasn't in her usual gear. She was in a soft T-shirt and sweatpants. Loose, comfortable, and clearly borrowed.
"Did you... change my clothes?"
Mariko smiled. "Colleen did."
Colleen nodded again, utterly unbothered. "You were half-dead. I wasn't letting you sleep in bloodstained combat armor."
Fair point. Daisy cleared her throat, glanced at the ceiling, and mumbled, "Thanks... I think."
The T-shirt was snug around her chest, and the sweatpants bunched around her ankles. Miss Wing was shorter. Noted.
And then the hunger hit.
Like, Saber's epic hunger.
Daisy's stomach growled so loudly it might had startled a bird outside.
"Um... not to sound dramatic, but... is there anything to eat? Like... a buffalo? A vending machine?"
Mariko giggled. Colleen stood up with grace that screamed trained fighter and walked off to prepare something.
She was about to commit a crime if someone didn't bring her food.
To Be Continued...
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[ POWER STONES AND REVIEWS PLS ]