Unsacred Responsibility Chapter 3 - Destiny Arrives All The Same

Nebula always lost. 

She lost time without number since she was a child. Every single time she lost, their father would take her, and take a piece of her, and replace it, change it, alter it with machinery in the hopes that it would make her better. They would fight again, and she would lose again, again, and again, and more parts, more pieces would be taken and replaced.

Her father had replaced her lungs last time. There had been no anesthetic used, and even as he professed his disappointment in her, and his adoration for her sister, as she bit down to silence her screams, having no tears to shed in pain for her body had been made more steel than flesh, she swore it, swore she would do better, swore she would not fail him, swore she would be victorious in her next bout.

In this bout, she abandoned defense. Recklessly, with no care for her body, she lifted the axe and spear and swung. If she missed once, she would swing twice, and if she missed twice, she would swing three more times.

Swing. Miss. Her sister, the green bitch, dodged. Swing again, sideways, aiming for the skull. Again, she dodged. Swing again, overhead, aiming for her skull. Again, she dodged. Gamora was fast. Gamora was skilled. Gamora was better. 

Yet, Gamora was flesh. 

Because she was flesh, Nebula knew something had to give. She kept pressuring her. She kept swinging. Her arms, mechanical, long since replaced, could not burn. Her muscles, made of wire and steel, could not shriek for mercy. Even if they did, she would have ignored their pleas, and she would have silenced their cries.

They entered a battle of attrition. It became a contest of who would tire out first. She, parts replaced, swinging with fury and madness, or her sister, still flesh, modified flesh, yes, but still all flesh, avoiding the recklessness of her swings.

Swing left, miss. Swing right, miss. Swing up, swing down. Swing faster. Faster and faster and faster—

The burning in Nebula’s lungs, her machine-replaced lungs, could not and would never compare to the burning she had felt as her Father ripped out its fleshy precursor. It could never compare.

She had to swing. She had to keep swinging. She had to take her down. She had to fight. She had to win.

She could not stop. She would not stop.

She did not know what else she had left to give. She did not know what more could be taken from her, and what more could be replaced with machinery. She feared to know it. She dreaded to know it. Brain, heart, bones, flesh, tendons, stomach, womb— 

What more? What more?

Nebula lived in terror. She didn’t know. She didn’t want to know. She was scared. She was terrified. How much more could be taken from her, replaced before she stopped being her?

And why… why would her sister… her sister that she cherished—

Why won’t you let me win… even once?

Even… once, Gamora?!

Just… once…!

Please?!

Gamora would never let her win. So Nebula had to fight. She had to give her all. She couldn’t lose again.

She couldn’t. She couldn’t. She would do anything. 

Anything. 

Anything, anything, anything, anything, anything, anything!

ANYTHING!

She threw her weapons aside and tackled her sister to the ground, shrieking a raw, guttural, animalistic howl at the top of her lungs. She pinned her down with her added weight and shoved her thumbs deep and hard into Gamora’s eyes until she heard them pop. Blood and collagen and aqueous humor sank into her mechanical fingernails as Gamora shrieked and flailed blindly. She grabbed her sister’s blade and lifted it high.

“Enough.”

A hand, the hand of the Mad Titan, stopped her.

“Stand down.”

She obeyed at once. She moved away, getting down on her knees, her entire body trembling. Beside her, her sister, Gamora, flailed blindly, groaning in pain. Nebula’s throat felt choked. 

She had won. She had finally done it. She had bested her sister.

Yet, why did this victory, a victory she had craved ever since Thanos took her from her home, why did it feel so… Hollow?

“You’ve disappointed me, Gamora.” 

“N-no, father, I—”

“No matter. There is always room for improvement.”

Gamora trembled. Nebula’s heart twisted. She had foreseen this moment. She thought this moment, when she saw it years ago, in the time when she could still dream, would fill her with happiness. She thought she would feel glad that, finally, it would not be her left to float in the air as parts and pieces were cut, removed, and replaced. She’d thought she’d feel a sense of vindictive glee.

She felt none of that.

“Father… Gamora’s flesh is weak,“ Nebula said, hastily. “Your improvements would be wasted on her… I can still improve—”

“No.”

“F-father?”

“You have improved enough. It is only fair, only balanced, that your sister improves as well.”

Something in her gut churned. Ebony Maw floated her sister into the air, and they departed in silence. Nebula collapsed, exhaling, breathing, trembling. She stared at her hands, the tips of her thumbs, where flecks of Gamora’s eyes still lingered. She shook. She trembled. Yet, she stood. She couldn’t fail him. She couldn’t afford to fail him. She couldn’t afford to lose. It was her or her sister.

It was her or her sister.

She… she didn’t have a choice.

As Nebula rose to her feet, she turned around to find several individuals, clad in black, Terrans, each of whom was holding glowing sticks. Her mind reeled in shock. How had they gotten here? How had they gotten past all the sentries, the guards?

“INTRUDERS!”

One of them lunged at her. She grabbed her sister’s sword and plunged it into the woman’s forehead, before pulling it rapidly and dragging it across the throat of another man lunging for her. Blood splashed into the air, and Nebula prepared herself for slaughter—

Until she felt something strike her from behind.

How…?

A portal, a doorway, had opened quietly behind her, and a Terran had struck her with the baton. 

The next thing Nebula knew, she was in a land without a sun and without stars.

A vast wasteland, with the wreckages of countless space ships, and the floating head of a dead Celestial, jutted out in the distance as the only visible landmark in sight. Knowhere was a place she recognized, yet she could not understand how or why it was on land, on a planet? No, this could not be a planet; no planet was large enough to hold it, yet the ground beneath her feet did feel solid enough to be a planet, and there was gravity, as though it were a planet, as well as air, as though it were a planet.

Yet, how could Knowhere be on a planet?

No, now’s not the time. Those intruders… I need to warn Gam—

Her synaptic drive fired. Memories… came. Information came. Too much information. Nebula didn’t understand what she was seeing. Her, but not her, yet her, and at the same time, not her. Lives, memories, experiences. All too much. She saw herself, versions of herself, living, existing, up, until a point, all up to a point, a point—

Nebula screamed.

She clutched her head. Sparks flew from her eyes, and blood and oil dripped out of her nose. Hundreds of thousands, millions of images played at the same time, and overloaded her mind. She shook, trembled, convulsed, and foamed at the mouth.

As her systems began to shut down, one after the other—

The last thing she saw was two faces.

One, a woman with insectoid antennae, and the other, a Terran, with an odd mark on his head.

=====)+(=====

Nebula awoke with the scent of roasting meat wafting into her nostrils. She was upon something vaguely resembling furniture, a couch, with a rough piece of cloth draped across her. A small campfire flickered in front of them, and a meaty, alien, boar-like leg was placed over it, the fat slowly dripping off, melting, and dropping down into the flame below.

In front of the fire, a man, a Terran, cloaked in a black robe, sat idly twisting his hands and making slight motions to the flame. With each motion, the flame rose and grew, and the fat that dripped from the leg intensified, as did the smoky aroma of burning meat.

The strange bug-woman sat in his lap, nuzzled in his embrace as if she were his lover or mistress, trying to mimic his motions.

“This is really hard!”

“The Mystic Arts is akin to a language, and spells are simply the ability to communicate fluently in that language. When you start learning a new language, it takes time. You need to learn words, sentences, and structure.”

Spells? Mystic Arts? Nebula pretended to be unconscious, allowing the fools to reveal more information.

“When I started, I did not understand how to perform spells either. It took months before I figured out how a method: Using VSMs. Do you remember what I told you? V stands for?”

“Verbal…?”

“Verbal Components. Words, speaking aloud, reciting, and chanting. Reshaping reality through the use of words by enforcing your will upon it. A verbal component is necessary for any starting Practitioner of the Mystic Arts. Now, the second one, S stands for…?”

“Somatic!”

“Somatic Components. They’re gestures, dancing, moving, making hand motions.”

“You said the Strange Doctor always made weird hand motions.”

“I did. Those motions are a way to channel the dimensional energy properly and give system and order to the magical code.”

“And M is… Material?”

“Yes. Material Components. They are items and objects to which…”

The Terran paused. He turned his gaze towards her. Nebula attempted to reach for her weapon, her sister’s blade, which had come with her—

“Are you searching for this?”

The Terran held the blade up in his hand. Nebula cursed. There were two opponents, both of unknown skill. However, if their conversation was to go by, the Terran man was clearly the more skilled of the duo. She lunged, without hesitation, towards the bug woman. If she could take her as a hostage, she would have leverage with which to bargain. 

The man waved his hand. “Web.”

A thick, heavy, sticky substance appeared out of thin air, struck her feet, and killed all her momentum. Nebula couldn’t move. She tried to move her feet, but they felt as though they were glued to the ground. She tried again, a second time, a third time, attempting to get free of the substance that bound her feet.

The bug woman turned to the Terran Man and whispered, “Should… we help her?”

“Give it a few minutes. I am curious to see what she comes up with.”

Nebula tried ripping the webs with her hands, and it was a mistake she regretted immediately. In touching them, her hands became stuck to them. She couldn’t pull them free or tug them free, leaving her in an awkward position that looked as if she was bent over and touching her toes.

She struggled to free her hands and legs for minutes as the Terran and insect woman watched, and eventually, gritting her teeth, she forcefully detached her arms, replaced by robotic parts, at the elbows. 

“Yay!” The bug woman clapped. “She did it!”

Standing upright, her hands stuck to the webs, she glowered at the bug woman. The bug woman’s antennae drooped. “Oh no, she’s very angry.”

Nebula considered her options. The Terran had waved his hand and frozen her in place with webs that came out of nothing. The webs were of a material she had never seen before, with a tensile strength that not even her augmented body and robotic parts could best. She was not a fool. She had not been trained as a fool. Her Father, for all the hatred and fear she had of him, would not suffer foolishness. He had trained them, she and Gamora both, in threat analysis. 

When facing unknown enemies of unknown skills, in an unfamiliar environment, it was wise to gather as much information as possible.

“Who are you?”

“I’m Mantis!” The bug woman said, smiling brightly. “I am Peter’s Friend of Girl.”

“Mantis,” the Terran Man sighed.

“I mean, I am his Girl of Friend!”

Nebula gave a short glance at the bug woman. So, an idiot. She focused her attention on the Terran Man. Which means he’s the brains and the only threat.

“You’re Peter?”

“Peter Parker.”

Nebula searched her offline database for any recollection of any entities with that name. The best she could find was one Peter Quill, a petty criminal, who insisted others call him Star-Lord. Was Peter that common of a Terran name? 

“Where is this place?”

“The End Times,” Mantis chirped.

Nebula ignored the nonsense of the idiot bug woman and looked to the Terran.

“We’re in the Void at the End of Time.” 

Nebula didn’t twitch. “What?”

She couldn’t understand why anyone would tell such a bold-faced lie, but Nebula ran with it. The more information they gave, the better.

“Why did you bring me here?”

“The Time Variance Authority brought you here,” Parker said, shaking his head. There was a scoff that came, a scoff filled with so much vitriol it astounded her. “All I did was disconnect your synaptic drive from its collective network. You’re welcome.”

The fact that he gave his answers so frankly surprised her. Nebula had suspected it to be all lies at first, but… she was becoming less certain of that notion. Is he a fool? In this situation where he held most of the cards, information was his primary tool, yet he gave it away? Granted, she could not escape the webbing holding her in place, but such a cavalier attitude, did he not know who she was? 

No, he did. 

Thus, it meant that he did not, at all, register her as a threat?

Wait. Did he say he—

“You disconnected my—”

“It would have killed you,” Mantis said quickly. “You were in great pain.”

The pain, she did remember. She could not forget it. She had thought the pain her Father inflicted upon her as he took different parts of her away was something horrid, but that pain was different. Amplified. Greater.

“Your synaptic drive,” Parker tapped the side of his head. “It has a function that stores all memories on the same neural network.”

Nebula's head snapped upwards. How does he know that? No one should be aware of that except her Father, her sister, and perhaps the other Children of Thanos. Yet, this Terran, this random Terran, was aware of the specifics of her altered physiology? 

“If there’s more than one of you, such as in the event of temporal anomalies, you’d get all the memories of your second self,” he said. “One would think being from different universes would mean different networks, but unfortunately, time travel and multiversal travel are functionally identical, which means all of you that have that network all share that network.”

Temporal… anomalies? Time Travel? Multiversal…? “You’re making little sense.”

“You’re all… connected,” Mantis added. “There are lots and lots of you…  If one knows something, you all know something. But there are too many things to know and too many things to feel. It’s really, really bad for you.”

“Lots of me? There are no other—”

Her words died in her throat. It began to play, to loop. The fragments of memories she had seen, the countless memories of her doing things she did not remember doing, being in places she did not recall ever being, saying things she did not remember saying. Each memory had a different time stamp, and some memories had the same time stamp, which would be impossible, unless… 

“You’re saying… that nonsense Multiverse Theory is true?”

“Yes.”

She was raised by the most powerful Titan the galaxy had ever known, and her Father had ensured she and the rest of his children were well-versed and well-educated on countless topics. She had heard of Multiverse Theory and had seen it as nothing more than a foolish theory created by people who desired a better life, but lacked the will to take action to change their current one.

If what he’s saying is true… if it is true…

If it were true, and they were various ‘versions’ of herself, each sharing the same network…

Nebula stood there, her feet glued to the ground, her robotic eye flashing with light as she replayed the flashes of information that came to her and recollected them quietly, ignoring the scent of the roasting meat and the crackling of the fire. There were a lot of memories to parse through, and as she went through them, she saw the differences, the changes, and saw how they all connected to one endpoint… an endpoint that led to those Terrans in black.

One by one, various ‘hers’ arrived here, and one by one… all of them, connected to the network—

Dead.

Dead.

Dead.

Dead again, and again.

Some had their skulls explode instantly, others clawed into their heads to stop the agony, and some dropped to their knees and screamed, and some ran mad, wandering the lands for untold stretches of time, and some even—

Nebula collapsed, falling flat, and breathing harshly.

“You… are scared,” Mantis said. 

“Silence your tongue,” Nebula snapped. “I am a Daughter of Thanos. I do not know fear.”

“Brave Daughter of Thanos,” Parker extended his hand and clapped. Once. Twice. Three times. Each time more mocking than the last. “Ever steadfast in mind against the dreadful horrors of reality. I suppose when one’s body has been ripped apart and put back together many times, it tempers the mind accordingly.”

Nebula snapped her gaze to the man, Parker, who knew far too much about her than she would have liked. Yet, even that, she couldn’t fully parse. The information, the understanding that there were hundreds of versions of her that existed, that there were entire worlds, timelines, where she made different choices, was still something she was coming to terms with.

As she was coming to terms with the fact that merely being sent here was instant death for her. No, it was madness first, madness always, madness wandering and ambling, then death. Time without number.

“Why did you save me?”

“To make new Friends of Girls!”

“What?”

“Mantis, no.”

The bug-woman looked up to the man whose arms she was in, with genuine confusion. “But you said we would find more—”

“Not her.”

“Oh,” Mantis pointed. “Is she one of the bad eggs?”

“Perhaps,” Parker said, turning his gaze to her. “I’m hoping I do not need to crack her open to find out.” 

Parker sliced off a piece of meat from the fire, using… something. An invisible blade. She could not see it, nor comprehend it. The blade appeared to be made of reality, folded in on itself. Slowly, he extended it towards her.

“Eat.”

“My body is immune to a thousand poisons and—”

“If I wanted you dead, I would not have saved you,” Parker cut her off. “And I would not need to use poison.”

He waved it.

“Branching timelines cannot be created here at the End of Time,” said Parker. “If we were in the vast multiverse, whether you choose to eat or choose not to eat, your choice would have no meaning. Yet, here, in the greatest of ironies, it does have meaning.”

Parker hovered the meat closer towards her.

“Eat.”

The alternative was unspoken, but Nebula understood it all the same. She understood the language, all the same.

Slowly, she bit down on the meat. It was… juicy. Succulent. Rich. Overwhelming in flavor and aroma. She chewed slowly. Then chewed heartily, then swallowed. It was… good. Unexpectedly, surprisingly good. She had never tasted anything like it. She did not know what sort of creature it was.

“What… is this?”

“Do you really want to know?”

Nebula decided she didn’t.

“The Terrans who came for me. You called them the…”

“Time Variance Authority.”

“They are the ones who police the fun. Peter… really, really doesn’t like them.”

“Why did they send me here?”

“You made a decision they disliked, that would lead to consequences that deviate from the script of the multiverse."

A flash came. Gamora, on the ground, bleeding from the eyes she had gouged out. Nebula’s first and only victory against her sister.

“Worlds which deviate too far from their chosen script, and people who make choices that go against that script, are not allowed.”

Not allowed? She almost scoffed. Almost. 

“What gives them the right to decide what is, or isn’t allowed?”

“The same thing that gives anyone the right to determine anything in this wretched multiverse.”

Parker waved his hand, and the webbing holding her in place vanished.

“Power.”

Nebula grabbed her hands. They attached back to her elbows, slowly, bit by bit. She didn’t move, nor did she take any untoward actions against Parker and Mantis. She was certain of it now. She could not beat him. 

“How do I escape this place? This… End of Time?”

“There’s a device in the hands of a bald lady that can help us. Peter says she’s a Mute." 

“I said she’s a Mutant, Mantis.”

“A mutant?”

“Think of a woman with the power of Ebony Maw amplified tenfold, who is more vindictive, manipulative, and cruel than your Father.”

“Nonsense,” Nebula mocked. “There is no one more cruel than my Father.”

“You would think that,” Peter chuckled. “But you would be wrong.”

Nebula said nothing. She stared at this Terran, this Parker, trying to figure him out. To speak of her father as though he knew him personally… to casually mention Ebony Maw as though he’d encountered him before… 

Nebula wanted answers. She demanded answers. Who was this man?

However, that would have to wait.

“Where is this… Mutant?”

Parker fell silent. Mantis shook her head hurriedly.

“You don’t know?”

“I cannot find her,” Parker, for the first time, threw his head back, laughing. “The Void is near-infinite. Entire planets are here. Universes. All pruned timelines and worlds are sent here, and were it not for the Alioth’s ravenous hunger, it would always get larger. I have been searching… and searching… and searching…”

Parker’s laughter grew louder.

“I have been SEARCHING AND SEARCHING AND SEARCHING!” 

His gaze pierced her. There was a hollowness to it. A haunting madness to it. She instinctively stepped backwards.

“...I have been searching.”

“Peter…”

Mantis tugged at his hand. He held the woman close, embracing her in a hug. The odd antennae on her head began to glow, and, for a moment, the madness she saw in his eyes receded. There was only a cold, chilling, vacant expression, one that had been there before.

She… is placating him?

There was more to the bug woman than Nebula thought, and there was clearly, clearly, something wrong with the Terran… Parker.

“It’s getting late,” Parker said at last. “Rest. Tomorrow, the three of us have work to do.”

“Work?”

Parker stared for a moment, glancing at her up and down. There was genuine amusement that colored his face. “Your body is more machine than flesh. Do you really think I’m after you for that?”

“Peter,” the bug woman, Mantis, poked his cheek. “You hurt her feelings.”

Nebula shot a glare at the bug-woman. “Do not presume to believe I care enough for his words to affect me.”

“I forget, you didn’t choose to be this way,” Parker ran his hand through his hair. “If it is any consolation, I can undo all your modifications and make you all flesh again.”

Nebula almost laughed. Almost. She ignored the momentary flicker in her chest as a circuit error. “Do you take me for a fool to believe such a—”

“Peter is a Wizard!” Mantis chirped. “He really can do it.”

Wizard? She looked at him as though seeing him for the first time. That talk of Spells and Mystic Arts... the webs he created...

“You’re… a Wizard?”

“Warlock,” Parker corrected. “But also, somewhat of a Sorcerer, yes. A Sorlock would be the most fitting term, but that is just me being pedantic.”

“If you have magic, can you not simply leave this place?”

“We are at the End of Time. It is not a room that one can simply exit. There is no where and no when to go. Leaving requires a means that allows for true multiversal travel, which includes a temporal aspect to move from the end of all time back to a moment in the flow of time.”

“Speak plainly. Is that a yes or no?”

“No,” he said. “No one, not me, not a Sorcerer Supreme, not even the Scarlet Witch, can cast a multiversal range spell without the aid of a powerful material component: The Darkhold, the Blood of America Chavez, or the Altered Sling Ring in the hands of that Mutant. Of those three, the last one is what we’re after.”

Parker pointed at her. 

“You are going to help us find the woman who wields it.”

“How?”

Parker tapped the side of his head. 

“Your collective network. We are going to search your mind, search the memories of those who have come before, and those who will come after. For any trace of that woman, the Mutant, any trace of those who can lead us to her, and, if failing that, we’ll search for powerful relics I can use as material components to perform a spell that can lead us to her.”

Nebula understood. “This is why you saved me.”

“Yes!” Mantis nodded. “And to collect more Girl of Friends!”

“Mantis—”

“Then, what are we waiting for?” Nebula sat back down. “The sooner I leave this place and return to my universe, the better.”

Parker and Mantis stared at her. Silence lingered.

“What?”

“You have had a lot to take in for one day,” Parker said, after a moment. “Rest.”

“I do not have time to waste on rest.”

“When you get stuck in this accursed place, you learn quickly…” 

Parker chuckled. 

“Time is the one thing you do not lack.”