Black Sky Marvel black sky marvel
In der ersten Staffel von Marvel's The Defenders lässt Alexandra Reid die Leiche von Elektra als Black Sky reinkarnieren. Elektra kann sich zunächst an nichts. Marvel's Daredevil, auch Daredevil genannt, ist eine US-amerikanische Fernsehserie von Deren Kopf ist der totgeglaubte Nobu; dieser erklärt Elektra zum „Black Sky“, der ultimativen Waffe der „Hand“. Elektra will sich jedoch nicht von der. Elektra ist der Name einer Comicreihe um die gleichnamige Comicfigur des US-amerikanischen Verlages Marvel Comics. Elektra wurde von Frank Miller. Unfortunately, the phrase Black Sky is not in Marvel comics, so we're on our own to speculate what it means. Stick is the Ra's Al Ghul to Matt Murdock's Bruce. Stick is the Ra's Al Ghul to Matt Murdock's Bruce Wayne (or the Ra's Al Ghul to his Oliver Queen, if you're an In the middle of the episode, the Black Sky was. It is revealed that Elektra is the Black Sky and Stick raised her to fight her destiny. Dies ist der Fall, da sie immer wollte, dass ihre Pflegefamilien, sie mögen, doch. It is revealed that Elektra is the Black Sky and Stick raised her to fight her destiny. Black Sky may refer to: Elektra - An assassin trained under Stick, potentially to.

Black Sky Marvel Trending Now Video
Marvel (Arrows To Athens - Black Sky) URL consultato il 12 gennaio Calculating the exact moment, Matt deflected Nobu's k yoketsu-shoge one last time: right into 6 Days Film abdomen. Clark was moving towards the girl a split second after the arrow hit her. Ci sono persone appena oltre il confine che hanno bisogno di aiuto e che la nazione ha i mezzi per Angel, anche se potenzialmente rappresentano un pericolo. Vladimir didn't know about the cargo's arrival, so the information couldn't have come from him, and he knew Prison Break Staffel 5 Stream German a fact that it hadn't been leaked from his side. And soon, Clark noticed, he would, because the black fungal tendrils Kostenlose Hd inhabited Grundy's body Todesmarsch Der Bestien already at work, repairing the broken bones, making them even denser and stronger than they were before. For someone who constantly reminded them that he Bye "that kind of doctor", Bruce sure had the required firm hand when he needed to. black sky marvel. This is clearly something otherworldly, right? Juli in einem kleinen Dorf in der chinesischen Provinz Hunan geboren. Euch entstehen. contraire de dérober; agosto 18, Daisy wurde am 2. Gleichzeitig wird Agent Skye wird von S.H.I.E.L.D. We've seen different kinds of powered people in.Black Sky Marvel Navigationsmenü
Im Gegensatz zu Matt hat er keine Skrupel, Menschen zu töten, weswegen die beiden oft aneinandergeraten. We've seen different kinds of powered people in this universe, not to mention the huge Inhuman reveal on After the boy is killed, 17:30 Uhr tells Fisk that another Black Sky will be hard to find and that they are very rare. Sie arbeitet weiterhin aktiv daran, Fisks kriminelle Machenschaften aufzudecken. Ward Ancient Aliens Staffel 10 Deutsch mit Eishockey Wm Stream Auftrag an Board, Raina mitzunehmen, er befiehlt aber auch Skye, mit ihm zu kommen. Frau Holle sie neun war, blieb sie bei einer Familie, den Brodys. Nach einer Weile begannen die Mitglieder des Teams, das Daisy gefunden hatte, der Reihe nach umgebracht zu werden vermutlich durch Cal und Jiaying, die auf der Suche nach ihrer Tochter nicht zimperlich waren. Andrea Corr Matt wurde auch sie von Stick zur Kämpferin ausgebildet. Die Alien Convergence Sekretärin von Matt und Foggy. Marvel One-Shots —Black Sky Marvel Every Marvel Comics Live-Action TV Show Ranked, from 'Incredible Hulk' to 'Daredevil' Video
Marvel's The Defenders S01E03 - Daredevil vs. Elektra/Black SkyConfesso che ultimamente avevo incominciato ad astenermi dal vedere i film della Marvel in particolar modo, la saga "The Avengers" in quanto li ho iniziato a considerare films caotici, futilmente sovraccarichi di effetti speciali e, dunque, noiosi [ Arriviamo subito al dunque.
Possiamo affermare che ultimamente tutti i film sui supereroi sono sempre la stessa solfa, e questo inizia a stufare. Beh, non con Black Panther.
Finalmente, un film di supereroi dove si abbraccino tematiche nuove. Iniziativa lodevole ma, dato il risultato, se ne poteva fare a meno.
Non dispiace questa trasposizione cinematografica del fumetto Marvel. Ma l'azione e gli effetti speciali non mancano.
Niente di innovativo ma una sceneggiatura che rende il film passabile. Aspetto il seguito Faccio una cosa forse scorretta. Non scrivo la mia opinione ma la affido, poco sotto, a laurence Qualcosa di analogo a quanto accaduto con Wonder Woman guarda la video recensione.
Individuando le coordinate nell'esaltazione del sontuoso apparato visivo e la cifra sonora identitaria percussioni sudafricane e senegalesi e brani di Kendrick Lamar , prosegue nel solco dei precedenti lavori: se in Prossima fermata: Fruitvale Station denunciava la violenza razzista e in Creed rinnovava l'epica del riscatto, qui fa coincidere le due istanze in un'ulteriore riflessione su cosa voglia dire essere, oggi, afroamericani, delegando ai suoi supereroi il dovere di rendersi visibili per occuparsi delle sorti di un mondo pronto ad una infinity war.
Supereroi in versione black nell'Africa selvaggia progredita col vibranio, metallo alieno. Tornato a casa dalle avventure di "Captain America Civil War", lo scienziato acrobata T'challa Pantera Nera si batte per imporre il suo regno del Bene, e non mancano la Cia e il terrorismo.
Esiste una nazione in Africa dove non vogliono gli immigrati. Nel Wakanda i treni sono puntuali, le scarpe atomiche, la natura rigogliosa e la gente orgogliosa.
Il giovane sovrano Black Panther deve proteggere il vibranio metallo magico assai prezioso e provvedere alla propaganda: il Wakanda deve sembrare una nazione di poveracci.
Immaginario stato africano del Wakanda possiede giacimenti inestinguibili di prezioso vibranio. Il personaggio Marvel - primo supereroe di pelle nera!
Tutto sembra finito per la Pantera Nera. Come riassumere in sintesi il al cinema? Semplice: supereroi e Dei film che occupano le prime dieci posizioni l'unico [ Gran weekend quello appena passato, con tante storie e dati da raccontare.
Inevitabile iniziare dal protagonista indiscusso delle ultime settimane, Black Panther guarda la video recensione , che supera i milioni di dollari negli Usa, riuscendo [ Black Panther guarda la video recensione continua a conquistare record su record.
Il ruggito della Pantera Nera continua a echeggiare negli USA: Marvel e Disney brindano infatti ad un weekend da 65,7 milioni di dollari e ad un totale americano da ben ,1 milioni di dollari.
Negli USA Black Panther guarda la video recensione non smette di stupire e diventa il quarto film della storia del cinema americano a superare i milioni di dollari nel suo secondo weekend di programmazione: i milioni di dollari permettono [ Cinquanta sfumature di rosso torna in testa alla classifica del box office italiano con mila euro, che portano il suo totale a 12 milioni di euro, con oltre 1,6 milioni di spettatori.
Sono i milioni di dollari incassati da Black Panther nel primo weekend di programmazione americano, un dato che gli fa ottenere il record di miglior esordio di sempre per un film a febbraio e il quinto miglior esordio in assoluto senza contare [ Film in streaming Amazon Prime Video Netflix.
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Serie televisive del Marvel Cinematic Universe. Nodding in thanks, Clark glanced one last time towards Matt and Stick — controlling his anger towards the latter — and took off, flying as fast as he could without hurting the girl even more.
Matt and Stick danced around each other, attacking and dodging each other's blows like only adversaries who knew one another very well could. The same style, the same gifts, the same violence, the same tricks.
Their fists clashed and they immediately followed with a knee blow and a kick; their feet clashed against the metal of the shipping container and they were forced to engage to stay away from the edges.
Both could sense each other, hearing the muscles tense even before they were moving, and as a response they would change their stance to counteract that; which, in turn, forced the opponent to change his strategy.
It made it all look like a brawl instead of a battle between two of the most skilled warriors in the world. They were simply too alike.
More than simply martial art's styles and training, but the mentality of a warrior. Liking it or not, they were both brutal, direct and fearless.
Both of them could take an extreme amount of punishment — Matt's torn and bloody torso was more than proof enough — and they were willing to bleed if it meant the adversary would bleed even more.
Stick had no limits. To complete his mission, to win his war, he would do anything. No matter how cruel, no matter how bloody, even if it made him eerily similar to his own sworn enemies.
The fact that he had just shot and poisoned a girl without hesitation — or remorse — was enough evidence. That scared Matt more than he would care to admit.
Was he like that? Would he turn into that? Was Stick his future? Matt couldn't even contemplate assassinating someone, not a criminal and even less an innocent, but he freely admitted that he enjoyed making them pay for their crimes.
It felt good to put the fear of the Devil on someone used to hurt and scare innocents. More than that, it felt right. Just as he imagined it felt right for Stick to kill anyone between him and victory in his war against the Hand.
Even innocent and terrified girls, only because her power could be used as a weapon. Clark had warned him about that, about figuring it out why he was doing what he did: for himself or for others?
To make himself feel better, to vent his rage? Or to save an innocent people that needed saving?
Despite all his inner confusion, there was one thing Matt knew for sure: he didn't want to become Stick. His fist collided against Stick's face, one, two, three times, fast and powerful.
Stick completely ignored the pain, advancing towards Matt and grabbing his arm, quickly twisting it and repositioning himself behind him.
Is this the Devil of Hell's Kitchen, the hero of the people? Matt grabbed Stick's arm, trying to push it away from his throat, trying to breathe. He unleashed a few elbow blows to his ribs, but Stick just ignored them, pulling Matt back as he walked on top of the shipping container.
Under the Hand's control or not, that weapon is too fucking dangerous. And the truth is, kid, if you want peace, you gotta win the war first.
And you don't win wars with half-measures. You don't win wars by sparing enemies and allowing them to find better weapons to kill you.
And you don't win wars without a fucking army! And you need us. You won't accomplish shit by tying your hands with a crappy moral code and you won't accomplish shit by yourself.
Matt was about to fall unconscious, holding with the last shreds of his willpower. His fight against Nobu cost him a lot of stamina and his injuries were slowing him down too much.
On a good day, fighting Stick would already be an unpredictable battle. Fighting him as he was? When his mind was about to shut down, there was a thunderous sound, followed by massive blow.
The entire shipping container trembled, so much that the thing almost toppled over. Acting on pure instinct, Matt used his entire body weight and just flipped, jumping from the shipping container.
Stick, recovering his grasp, was dragged with him, as they twisted midair during their fall. Only to land under Matt, back against the concrete ground, a crushing blow that knocked the air from Stick's lungs.
Matt took his chance and got up, still dizzy and wobbling, getting away from Stick's arms. And when the old man tried to get up to continue the fight, he landed a direct punch against him, knocking him back down.
Well, that explained the sudden earthquake that almost toppled the shipping container. Struggling to get up, his face bleeding, Stick pulled himself up, moaning in pain.
He pulled a pair of sunglasses from his pocket. You're gonna need them. Saying this, he turned his back at them and started walking, disappearing behind the line of shipping containers without another word.
Building an empire was not an easy task. It took talent, it took dedication, it took a lifetime of work and sacrifice.
Fisk had started from scratch with nothing more than his willpower, and little by little he conquered what was rightfully his.
There was nothing in his voice or body language that gave it away, but Fisk knew Wesley was as worried as he was.
And he had every reason to be, given the kind of people he was talking to. Fisk turned away, looking out of the window of his apartment, gazing at the city for which he gave so much of himself.
He was pale. Fisk let out a long sigh. How exactly was this his fault? Nobu had asked for one simple thing: keep the police away.
So he complied, perfectly. He removed not only the police, but any personnel that could somehow intervene with their business.
And now he was being held accountable for that failure because Superman and the Masked Man decided to appear. How could anyone predict such a thing?
Not only there wasn't any indication that Superman was moving against them — other than his appearance at the Russian warehouses during the explosions —, but his apparent partnership with the Masked Man was also unforeseen.
Vladimir didn't know about the cargo's arrival, so the information couldn't have come from him, and he knew for a fact that it hadn't been leaked from his side.
What happened was not his fault or responsibility; and yet he was somehow the one being blamed. That was not all, of course.
An evil chance seldom comes alone, after all. Not only he had a furious Hand breathing down his neck, now they also had misplaced Leland.
And this was, maybe, the worse thing that could have happened. Superman appearing to stop the bombings against the Russians could be considered a coincidence.
Him and the Masked Man moving against Nobu at the docks could be result of leaked information. But Black Widow's attack against Leland's safehouse and his subsequently capture, at the same time Nobu was being overwhelmed at the docks, spelled of a carefully thought operation.
Somehow, Superman, the Masked Man and the Avengers were acting against them. And Fisk didn't know why or what to do, especially now that they had not only Vladimir to extract information, but also Leland.
Leland, who was responsible for the launder, the hiding and the moving of a great deal of their money. Leland who was, probably, the most cowardly, opportunistic man Fisk had ever laid eyes on.
Leland who would be interrogated by the Black Widow herself, a trained assassin that had broken far more dangerous people in her time without even trying.
Vladimir Ranskahov thrived in the cold hellhole of a Russian prison and was broken in less than a day by her.
Leland wouldn't last five minutes, if he tried to resist at all, which he wouldn't. It would be quite the setback," he admitted, "but if we stay here…".
If they stayed, soon enough Superman, the Masked Man and the Avengers would come, was the unfinished thought.
And they would arrive armed with the entirety of what Leland knew, backed by the full might of the law to destroy everything he had built.
He was still holding Vanessa's hand. And we still haven't fulfilled our obligations towards them. The Hand wanted to strengthen their grasp on New York and they needed his help to accomplish that fast.
In return, they were the ones who gave Fisk the push he needed to kickstart his operations and build his empire. That was the deal. And in their line of business, especially when the Hand was involved, it wasn't possible to just back out from an arrangement like that.
Still in silence, Fisk looked at Vanessa, gazing in her eyes. Gently, he touched her face. It wasn't just about himself and his dream anymore. It was also about her.
He promised to stay at her side, to protect her. He told her that she didn't have anything to fear while she was with him.
He knows where we hide the money, how we launder it, how we move it, where we spend it… And how we acquired it. That's enough for the law to do its thing.
If we stay, we'll be arrested. Again, Wesley hesitated, not because he didn't want to share knowledge, but because he didn't want to scare her.
They'll hunt us down, wherever we go, and make an example out of us. One thing is certain: we can already expect another battle at the courtrooms, as no one knows who exactly will pay for all this.
Coming up next, how will New York cope with the avocado shortage caused by the destruction of the entire shipment…". Clark chewed his cold dumpling, barely tasting it, his mind far away.
Sitting by his side on the couch, her feet on his lap, Natasha stared at the TV with a bored expression, eating her noodles with the same enthusiasm as Clark's.
On the nearby armchair, Clint was sprawled out like a lazy cat, absentmindedly pressing the remote to find something to watch. If not for Clark's Superman suit, Natasha and Clint's equally battle-oriented attires — minus the boots in Natasha's case, for Clark's benefit, or so she announced before putting her legs on his lap — and the huge arsenal composed of guns and arrows left on the table, it would be the very picture of the end of a tiring day in any other house in America.
The reality, of course, was entirely different. Though they were, indeed, friends having dinner together, their day had been anything but normal, even considering what was normal for them.
Well, Natasha and Clint were in their element when they set out to capture Leland, that was true enough, but Clark could wholeheartedly say that he never expected to fight a zombie when he woke up that day.
The same way he didn't expect the infamous Black Sky — a weapon of apocalyptic proportions, according to Stick — to be a teenage girl. Frowning in discomfort, still remembering how hot the girl's blood felt on his hands, Clark put his dumplings down.
Bruce and a team of surgeons met him and the unconscious girl right at the moment he set foot in the Avengers Tower and quickly took her in for surgery, where they still were; where Clark would've liked to be as well, if Bruce hadn't pointed out that he was making the doctors anxious by pacing around, and then politely — but promptly — kicked him out.
For someone who constantly reminded them that he wasn't "that kind of doctor", Bruce sure had the required firm hand when he needed to.
At least he was there, that was something. Clark still didn't know exactly what Black Sky was, but he knew she had a great deal of power.
She didn't seem inclined to use it against them, but that didn't mean she was harmless. With Bruce there, by her side, Clark felt things would be a little safer.
Of course, Hulk also wasn't someone they could classify as harmless, but usually he had enough sense to tackle the world-ending threat and not everyone around him, which was a good thing for everyone in the tower if something were to happen.
That gave him the time to fly back to the docks and deal with the situation there. Stick wasn't anywhere near when he arrived, already dealt with by Matt and banished from New York; not the outcome Clark would've chosen, not after what the old man did, but he supposed putting Stick into a normal prison would go as well as one would expect.
Either Stick would get himself killed because of who he was fighting or he would kill everyone else and get away. Jessica and Matt went back to their homes — Matt immediately refused the offer to have a doctor look at his wounds, saying he knew someone —, Clark put out the fires, rounded up the unconscious criminals, freed the ones who unfortunately passed away from under the fallen crane and called the authorities, the ones Natasha had already cleared up.
Then, he finally went back to the Avengers Tower. Bringing with him every single piece of K'un-Lunan technology left behind by the Hand.
And Solomon Grundy himself. Almost as if reading his mind, the repurposed shipping container Clark brought with him shook violently. He pointed at the cut, welded and folded shipping container in the corner of the room, now little more than a metal box, filled with smaller metal boxes.
Natasha also turned to him. So I… I broke his bones and cut him into pieces," Clark said, slowly, still very much bothered by what he had to do.
Simply locking them up wasn't enough, they scratched the metal quite easily, so I melted some steel over them and encased them into a cocoon, so that they couldn't move anymore.
But they're still trying, that's what all that shaking is. Clint and Natasha simply stared back, their expressions blank; Clark supposed they didn't yet know how exactly to react to something like that.
Truth be told, neither did he. Grundy was dead, but the fact that he was moving didn't make what he did any easier on his stomach.
He also doesn't need to breathe or is capable of bleeding out, he doesn't even have blood. And I didn't remove his head, so he's still alive.
Well, as alive as a zombie can be. I don't even know if I can do that. Toss the cars in the sun. Line to the coffee shop too long?
Toss them in the sun. Tony think he's being funny? Trust me, you would cheer for the sun. Two prisoners and a zombie in the tower.
I can't say if he would be mad or overjoyed and I don't know which one of those would make his jokes more annoying.
Because that's how you get a zombie apocalypse. Clark sighed. I don't know when, I don't know where, but one day we would have a superpowered zombie appearing somewhere without warning, attacking everyone.
Clint seemed, if not happy, at least mollified by the answer; he still didn't take his eyes from the metal box, though. But don't worry, I'll take him somewhere else tomorrow.
Somewhere better equipped to deal with things like this. Natasha glanced at him, understanding. He hoped the Ancient One could take Grundy from him.
Clark honestly had no idea what to do with him if she refused. Bury each part of his body in a different place?
Seemed like the plot of a bad movie and it wouldn't work, because the main part — the head attached to the torso — was slowly regenerating.
Soon, Grundy would be whole again. It would probably take some time, but he would. Clark expected to find a solution before that, otherwise he would probably have to toss him into the sun for real.
How is a mob accountant," he tilted his head in Natasha's direction, "related to a superpowered zombie? Then he chuckled.
Apparently, Thor fought them a long time ago," Natasha said. They all turned back to the TV, starting to eat the cold food again. Until Clint looked back at them once more.
Clint nodded in response. Hopefully Fury won't send me in a mission for the next few days. She looked at Clark, a barely conceived mischievous expression on her face.
He winced at the smell, picturing in his mind a food box full of Leland's hair instead of appetizing chicken; the drama of having enhanced senses, he was sure Matt could relate.
Thor, by the amount and variety of food he ate without any issue, probably couldn't; or he just had a very tough stomach.
Kudos to Natasha for gambling on a whim and hitting the target, all for the sake of annoying him. She had a very weird sense of humor.
They went back to eating in silence, mostly ignoring the television as the reporters went on and on about all the destruction at the docks and someone firing what "experts" imagined to be some kind of cannon in the middle of Hell's Kitchen.
Clark sighed; if he could have helped without destroying stuff, he would have, but Grundy didn't leave him much option. Hopefully, insurance would cover most of it.
Ever since the Incident, some companies were actually selling "superhero insurance policies", that covered damage caused by some selected individuals, like Tony, Thor, Hulk and, as a late addition, Superman.
When that didn't help, the company "Damage Control", jointly owned by the US government and Tony, did what they could to cover the costs and fix everything.
Good way to keep the city clean and be the first in the scene when alien tech was involved. If they didn't, Clark was pretty certain it wouldn't even exist.
Clark was so distracted that he only noticed the elevator approaching when it was almost there; he gently lifted Natasha's feet from his lap and got up, anxious.
Bruce appeared when the doors opened, briefly surprised to see Clark walking to him. He breathed deeply, relieved.
He knew she wasn't dead, otherwise he would have heard it, but listening from Bruce's mouth made it seem real.
If it weren't for Kelex…" Bruce sighed tiredly, taking a small notepad from his pocket. No one in the room had even heard of it, much less knew how to counter it.
If not for Kelex, well, safe to say the girl would've died. Thanks for that, Kelex. I owe you one. He shook his head, slowly. Nothing enhanced, no X-Gene, nothing.
She's a normal human teenage girl, as far as her body goes. Or as far as they could find it using science, Clark finished inside his mind.
He had an inkling that the girl's power was related to magic somehow and it was unlikely that normal instruments could find anything different about her.
Bruce probably did, better than most. According to Natasha, that's how the Army found him hiding in Rio de Janeiro, a single misplaced drop of blood inside a soda bottle; a drop of blood full of gamma radiation that almost killed the unlucky man who drank it, giving the Army a very big lead to follow.
In no time, they arrived at the room the girl was and entered, quietly. She was lying in bed, sedated, an IV hooked to her arm, the beeping sound of the instruments the only noise in the room.
Clark stopped by her side and for the first time he really took the time to look at her. She was young, 15, maybe 16 years old, like he noticed before.
Her hair was short, reaching her shoulders, so dark that it seemed to swallow the light. She was tall and her body, despite the injury, seemed fit and healthy.
He looked at her face, carefully moving some strands of hair out of her eyes; she was a pretty girl, Clark concluded, especially now that her expression wasn't twisted in pain and fear.
He frowned. I think someone was taking her blood. Clark's eyes hardened when he listened that. The very idea of that girl being literally bled by the Hand made him filled with anger.
Bruce tilted his head. He didn't know if Bruce said that last bit to calm Clark or himself. Ignoring his anger for now, he turned to Natasha, studying the girl from the door.
Natasha nodded again, scowling. Not at him, he knew, but at the poor amount of information she managed to find. Her mother has a more colorful record, though.
Angela Roth, arrested several times for petty crimes, drunkenly disorder, drug possession… Nothing serious or violent, but she had a busy life.
Until she didn't. There are some closed communities that leave little paperwork behind. Maybe they lived in one of those… But I don't really believe that, not if the Hand is involved.
But I don't think she's a threat. Whatever the Hand wanted with her, she wasn't enthusiastic about it. In fact, Clint's expression seemed almost protective when he looked at Rachel.
I don't approve of it, but I can understand… And she did surrender immediately after. Let her rest, tomorrow we'll see what she has to say.
They all agreed, turning to leave the room and let Rachel rest. Clark hoped she would be better tomorrow. Clark knocked his shoulder against the wall, when she said that, tripping over his own feet; there was a large crack where his shoulder hit.
The tiny grin on her lips was enough proof — as if he needed any — that the whole thing was an elaborate prank to make a fool out of him.
Madame Gao slowly and carefully picked up a few different herbs, recognizing them by touch and smell alone. With practiced moves, she dropped them inside a wooden mortar and ground them into dust.
She had her eyes closed during all that, focusing only on her breathing, the aroma of the incense calming her mind. The young man was shaking, she could see.
She could smell his fear. But even so, he didn't hesitate to grasp the branding iron Madame Gao gave him, the seal on the tip still blazing.
He held it with both hands, breathing deeply. The scream pierced the night, but Madame Gao didn't even flinch, holding her gaze. The young man was whimpering now, shaking more than ever, sweat dripping from his forehead, not only due to the heat, but to the pain.
This time, he didn't scream, maybe too weak to do so. He just whined like a wounded animal, his hands trembling so much that he almost dropped the branding iron.
The young man pulled it slowly, the tip stuck to his burned eye for a moment. Gao stared at the blank eyes of the young man for a moment, then she grabbed the branding iron and nodded to the two servants behind him.
Without so much as another look in their direction, Madame Gao grabbed a small knife and scrapped the tip of the branding iron, removing the burnt bits of eye and dropping them into the mortar.
When every single piece had been removed, she grabbed a vial and dropped its content inside the mortar as well. The almost black blood mixed itself with the herbs and the burnt eyes.
And then she poured all that into the fire, closing her eyes and breathing the foul smoke. When she opened them, she wasn't inside the ritual room anymore, but entirely surrounded by pure darkness, a place so cold that she shivered.
There were shadows in every direction, no source of light or heat, and Madame Gao remained kneeled, waiting. The voice was so powerful, so loud , that Gao felt her entire body tremble.
She felt something grow inside her, something she didn't feel for a very long time. We will reach your tomb in time, before K'un-Lun opens again.
You are to follow his commands. The eyes approached even more. She could hear the scales scratching the ground all around her as he moved. You feel Death approaching?
You wanted to use the Pit first? And you will all obey him. Fail me again, Gao, and Death will be the least of your concerns.
Suddenly, there was a red glow and Gao could see. A black dragon, so big that he stretched across the whole landscape, the long body twisting and turning all around her like an immense serpent.
The enormous mouth was burning with fire. Gao opened her eyes, jumping back, hitting the wall behind her; she was back at the ritual room, no longer in the Astral Dimension.
She looked at herself, feeling her skin burning even though there were no marks. For a long moment, she breathed, regaining her calm.
I couldn't answer some of the reviews and messages you guys sent me yet, but I will as soon as I have some time. Thank you for the kindness, you people are awesome!
Story Story Writer Forum Community. Every legend has an origin. Every story has a beginning. Every Superman was once just a man. Before becoming the Man of Steel, Clark Kent was just a young man trying to find his place in a world that was not his.
Superman in Marvel Cinematic Universe. Disclaimer — All rights belong to Marvel and DC. I own nothing. Chapter 36 — Black Sky "Holy fucking shit!
Matt could agree with that assessment. Then, it all came down. And the monster who caused all that was buried under tons of metal, disappearing.
And when he was close, Matt jumped on its back. The thing was about to take off and take him with it. Jessica was the opposite.
He couldn't allow that to happen. It would have to do. He hoped Clark could deal with that monster. Could that be the Black Sky Stick mentioned?
Black Sky Marvel - Inhaltsverzeichnis
Sie kontrolliert die Heroin-Produktion in der Stadt. When we see Nobu fighting Daredevil in a later episode, he's dressed in red and heavily resembling a member of the The Black Sky is also not the first or last dangerous child on this particular series. A tired to the bone, scared and hurt teenager that could barely stand. Brown nei panni di N'Jobu, che sembra sia una non meglio precisata figura del passato di T'Challa. Elektra was resurrected as Black Sky by what appears to be some sort of concoction of blood and the ashes of these ancient 'beasts' related to Shau-Lao the Pokemon Go Wp, the dragon that gave Danny Rand the power of the Iron Fist. MedFilm Festival. Nobu Neue Streaming Gesetze asked for one simple thing: keep the police away.
Black Sky Marvel Impostazioni dei sottotitoli Video
Marvel's Daredevil - Matt vs. StickBrown nei panni di N'Jobu, che sembra sia una non meglio precisata figura del passato di T'Challa. Apparso nel , fu il primo supereroe nero mainstream, e le sue avventure proseguirono per mano di con autori come Don McGregor, Christopher Priest e negli ultimi anni lo scrittore militante Ta-Nehisi Coates.
Ci sono persone appena oltre il confine che hanno bisogno di aiuto e che la nazione ha i mezzi per aiutarle, anche se potenzialmente rappresentano un pericolo.
Kevin Feige. Dall'archivio della Marvel Comics acquistata nel dalla Disney esce in film il personaggio di Black Panther.
Black Panther rappresenta un eroe atipico rispetto a quelli a cui siamo abituati. Con il film "Black Panther" il regista Ryan Coogler coadiuvato dalla imponente casa produttrice, ha veramente fatto un ottimo lavoro.
Confesso che ultimamente avevo incominciato ad astenermi dal vedere i film della Marvel in particolar modo, la saga "The Avengers" in quanto li ho iniziato a considerare films caotici, futilmente sovraccarichi di effetti speciali e, dunque, noiosi [ Arriviamo subito al dunque.
Possiamo affermare che ultimamente tutti i film sui supereroi sono sempre la stessa solfa, e questo inizia a stufare.
Beh, non con Black Panther. Finalmente, un film di supereroi dove si abbraccino tematiche nuove. Iniziativa lodevole ma, dato il risultato, se ne poteva fare a meno.
Non dispiace questa trasposizione cinematografica del fumetto Marvel. Ma l'azione e gli effetti speciali non mancano. Niente di innovativo ma una sceneggiatura che rende il film passabile.
Aspetto il seguito Faccio una cosa forse scorretta. Non scrivo la mia opinione ma la affido, poco sotto, a laurence Qualcosa di analogo a quanto accaduto con Wonder Woman guarda la video recensione.
Individuando le coordinate nell'esaltazione del sontuoso apparato visivo e la cifra sonora identitaria percussioni sudafricane e senegalesi e brani di Kendrick Lamar , prosegue nel solco dei precedenti lavori: se in Prossima fermata: Fruitvale Station denunciava la violenza razzista e in Creed rinnovava l'epica del riscatto, qui fa coincidere le due istanze in un'ulteriore riflessione su cosa voglia dire essere, oggi, afroamericani, delegando ai suoi supereroi il dovere di rendersi visibili per occuparsi delle sorti di un mondo pronto ad una infinity war.
Supereroi in versione black nell'Africa selvaggia progredita col vibranio, metallo alieno. Tornato a casa dalle avventure di "Captain America Civil War", lo scienziato acrobata T'challa Pantera Nera si batte per imporre il suo regno del Bene, e non mancano la Cia e il terrorismo.
Esiste una nazione in Africa dove non vogliono gli immigrati. Nel Wakanda i treni sono puntuali, le scarpe atomiche, la natura rigogliosa e la gente orgogliosa.
Il giovane sovrano Black Panther deve proteggere il vibranio metallo magico assai prezioso e provvedere alla propaganda: il Wakanda deve sembrare una nazione di poveracci.
Immaginario stato africano del Wakanda possiede giacimenti inestinguibili di prezioso vibranio. Il personaggio Marvel - primo supereroe di pelle nera!
Tutto sembra finito per la Pantera Nera. Come riassumere in sintesi il al cinema? Semplice: supereroi e Dei film che occupano le prime dieci posizioni l'unico [ Gran weekend quello appena passato, con tante storie e dati da raccontare.
Inevitabile iniziare dal protagonista indiscusso delle ultime settimane, Black Panther guarda la video recensione , che supera i milioni di dollari negli Usa, riuscendo [ Black Panther guarda la video recensione continua a conquistare record su record.
Il ruggito della Pantera Nera continua a echeggiare negli USA: Marvel e Disney brindano infatti ad un weekend da 65,7 milioni di dollari e ad un totale americano da ben ,1 milioni di dollari.
Negli USA Black Panther guarda la video recensione non smette di stupire e diventa il quarto film della storia del cinema americano a superare i milioni di dollari nel suo secondo weekend di programmazione: i milioni di dollari permettono [ Cinquanta sfumature di rosso torna in testa alla classifica del box office italiano con mila euro, che portano il suo totale a 12 milioni di euro, con oltre 1,6 milioni di spettatori.
Sono i milioni di dollari incassati da Black Panther nel primo weekend di programmazione americano, un dato che gli fa ottenere il record di miglior esordio di sempre per un film a febbraio e il quinto miglior esordio in assoluto senza contare [ Film in streaming Amazon Prime Video Netflix.
Film Film uscita. Film al cinema. Film commedia. Film d'animazione. Film horror. Film thriller.
Film d'azione. Film imperdibili. Film imperdibili Serie TV Serie TV imperdibili. Serie TV imperdibili Oggi al cinema. Eventi al cinema.
Eventi Nexo Digital. I Wonder Stories. Mostra del Cinema di Venezia. ArteKino Festival. Torino Film Festival. Festa del Cinema di Roma.
Locarno Festival. Biografilm Festival. L'isola del cinema. Cannes Film Festival. La settima arte - Cinema e industria. Roma Creative Contest.
Udine Far East Film Festival. Middle East Now. River to River Film Festival. Tokyo International Film Festival. Le vie del cinema a Milano.
Da Venezia a Roma. Locarno a Roma. Pesaro Film Festival. Sundance Film Festival. Trieste Film Festival.
Festival dei Popoli. Visioni dal mondo. Festival MoliseCinema. Cannes a Roma. Dragon Film Festival. Florence Korea Film Festival.
Taormina Film Fest. Lovers Film Festival. Ravenna Night Film Fest. Lo schermo dell'arte. Sguardi Altrove. Archivio Aperto. France Odeon. Sulmona International Film Festival.
MedFilm Festival. Film in streaming. Amazon Prime Video. Stasera in TV. Digitale Terrestre. It flowed from his hand, a single, thin red stream that traced his wrist, staining his suit.
For a moment, Clark didn't even feel the pain of the bite or the crushing blows against his face and torso, he could only feel the heat of his own blood against his skin.
It was such a rare occurrence, something so unexpected, that everything else faded from notice. Ignoring the fact that his hand was hurting really bad, Clark steeled his entire body and pulled , dragging the grey man's head down with it, his teeth still pressing down with all his power.
Clark ignored the punches, letting the fists hit him as if he couldn't even feel them. Then, so fast that the grey man couldn't even think about reacting, he floated and unleashed the most powerful blow he could with his right knee, directly against the grey man's face.
Not because the grey man felt the blow, not because the pain somehow made him open his mouth, but because Clark had literally shattered his jaw and most of his teeth, making it impossible for him to keep biting Clark's hand.
And as soon as Clark's hand was free, he closed it into a fist and punched the grey man's face with all his might. The blow was so powerful that the grey man flew back against the ground, breaking everything in his path, until the ground itself opened to swallow him whole; and everything else around, from shipping containers to larges pieces of the very ground, all of that pilling up over him, filling the sinkhole.
Jessica hadn't signed up for this shit, she mentally repeated for the thousandth time, holding on for dear life as Matt pursued the truck, stepping on the gas pedal with the same violence he would if it were the face of a Russian mobster.
Matt turned right at the moment a fire ball exploded in front of them, spat by one of those fucking metal dragons chasing them, like big jets in lizard form.
And what the hell was Clark doing while she was riding the blindmobile to an early death? Could that grey monster truly be that much of a challenge for him?
Of course, even if he did look at her, it wouldn't mean shit. He probably picked up some "worried smell" from her, the nosy asshole. He truly was an asshole, Jessica decided.
But, liking it or not, he was a skilled asshole. His enhanced senses thing was the only reason those metal dragons hadn't blown them up yet. If they didn't end up crashing, she would even consider letting it slide the money he stole from her during that pool game, with his "blind act".
She almost changed her mind when a fire ball exploded a nearby shipping container, sending pieces of burnt metal everywhere, cracking the windshield.
The truck wasn't far off, driving in parallel from them, but on the proper road instead of inside the shipping container's narrow corridor.
But to get to it, they would need to leave their cover and if they left their cover, the dragons would probably blow them up before they could reach the truck.
Twisting herself on the seat, Jessica looked back, seeing the three metal dragons flying behind them, their wings spread.
The one taking point, closest to them, was the main issue. Thinking fast, Jessica turned to Matt. With a terrible noise, the door came off and Jessica put half of her body out of the car, looking straight up to the dragon.
She breathed, taking aim. It was, and Jessica could say that without bragging, a perfect throw. The door cut the air, spinning like a frisbee, moving with incredible speed and strength; and it hit the metal dragon straight against its wing.
Even from inside the noisy car Jessica could hear the crash and she cheered when the flying dragon started to fall, one of its wings too damaged to fly.
It spun out of control for a moment and collided against a shipping container, blowing up. And then his face became serious.
Saying this, he turned the car and left the cover provided by the shipping containers, going in the direction of the truck's right side, moving straight against it.
Jessica froze for a moment, not sure how exactly this would work. Holding her Thanagarian mace, tense as hell, Jessica held herself half-out of the car once again, almost closing her eyes because of the strong wind.
The truck was getting closer and closer, growing even bigger than it looked, the shipping container possibly carrying Black Sky loaded on the back.
The alien weapon obliterated the truck's wheel and part of its cabin on the passenger side and at that moment Matt yelled again.
They both did it, abandoning the highly accelerated car in route against the truck. Jessica clashed heavily against the ground, her arms held close to her body so she could roll and minimize any injure, glad that her leather jacket could provide her with some protection.
And while they tried to finally stop after jumping out, the car continued, hitting the truck at the exact spot her mace had already damaged.
The car pretty much disappeared under the truck, turning into an immense and moving speed bump, forcing the already damaged truck to turn violently to the other side.
And as it did, the driver lost any control he had over it. With thunderous noise, the truck overturned, sending broken pieces everywhere, sparks glowing in the night as it dragged itself against the ground; the shipping container toppled on its side, gliding alongside the destroyed truck.
Jessica could only watch, astonished, seeing Matt's plan work without a flaw. Suddenly remembering him, she looked for Matt, actually relieved when she found him already up.
A bit skinned here and there, his shirt in complete tatters, but alive. The two metal dragons, Jessica cursed, quickly looking at the overturned truck when she heard glass being broken; two dragons and an asshole driver.
Well, the odds were fair. Before Matt could even say anything, Jessica tapped the "S" insignia in her pocket and shuddered when she felt the cold Liquid Geo spreading over her body, hand first, assembling the Kryptonian skinsuit under her own clothes.
Suddenly, the skull-like helmet closed over her head. Clark took a deep breath, his eyes never leaving his opponent, even when he was buried so deep underground, stuck under tons of collapsed earth and shipping containers.
When it was clear that he finally had a moment of peace, he turned his eyes to his left hand. It hurt, badly, but not because of the cut or because of the pressure of the grey man's jaw.
It was a different kind of pain, deep and pulsating, burning; he used his enhanced vision, scanning his hand, trying to find what was wrong with it.
There were tiny black tendrils inside his wound, impossible to see without a pair of enhanced eyes, growing, twisting and multiplying, taking more and more of the injury by the second.
But it wasn't their mere presence that it was causing him pain, it was what they were doing. They were secreting some substance as they grew, something clearly harmful.
It took him a second to understand. They were eating his hand, from the inside out. His skin, flesh and blood were being digested in front of his eyes.
Without thinking twice, Clark unleashed his heat vision against his own hand, ignoring the sharp pain and the smell of burnt flesh as he destroyed every single black tendril inside his wound, obliterating them without leaving any trace.
When he finally got rid of the last one, he stopped, breathing fast. The wound looked worse than ever, red and inflamed, but the pain was actually much better now that his tissues weren't being digested.
One, two, three seconds passed; then he began to heal, his skin going back to its usual color and the wound stitching itself back together until there was no trace of the injury.
What the hell was that?! Some kind of parasite? Some kind of animal present in the grey man's saliva? No, Clark knew that wasn't the case as soon as the thought crossed his mind.
The black tendrils eating away his hand were not animals or plants. Sensing the earth tremble, Clark turned his eyes back to where the grey man had been buried, looking through the ground to find him digging his way out.
Surprisingly, he was digging with both arms, the left one he had just broken already back together; curious, he used his x-ray vision to see it better.
The broken bone was surrounded by the same black tendrils he had just found in the wound in his hand, except they were growing much quicker there; instead of digesting the grey man's body, however, the black tendrils were repairing the broken bone, filling the cracks and reinforcing the whole thing, as if his body and the fungus were one and the same.
The same thing was happening in the bones of the grey man's jaw, also cracked by Clark. It was happening so fast, that if not for the different color and composition, it would seem that there wasn't anything broken at all.
The black fungus had, somehow, fixed the grey man's wounds and made the broken parts even denser.
Shocked, still not understanding what he was seeing, Clark boosted his x-ray vison and really studied his opponent for the first time, trying to see what made him tick.
Matt stared for a moment, dumbfounded, shocked not only to discover Jessica was wearing what seemed to be a Superman suit, but also with her incredible jump; it was almost like she could fly.
His wonder was quickly forgotten when Nobu finally managed to get out the truck, looking as bloody as Matt was. He took a moment to look at the toppled shipping container, the one supposedly carrying Black Sky, though Matt wasn't even sure if it was.
Perhaps the real Black Sky was being fought at the moment by Clark and the container was carrying something else.
But that didn't matter. Nobu, the leader of the Yakuza in Hell's Kitchen, was standing right in front of him. And he wouldn't miss that opportunity for anything in the world.
His face was covered in cuts, some with pieces of glass still stuck to the wounds; one of his eyes was a bloody mess, completely blind.
The surprise on Nobu's face — followed by blinding rage — was worth it. Furious, Nobu removed his blood-stained jacket and tossed it away, grabbing a weapon hidden on his waist.
A k yoketsu-shoge , Matt immediately recognized; a double-edged short blade, with another curved blade near the hilt, attached to a chain. Pretty much the mix of a knife with a sickle that could be used at a distance by swinging the long chain, or on close combat, as a fast and deadly blade.
For a long minute, they assessed one another. Matt focused all his senses, absorbing every single detail of the battlefield. The toppled shipping container Nobu was trying to protect, every single broken piece of glass, plastic and metal littering the ground, the overturned truck dripping a bit of fuel… Not far, he could hear Jessica punching the dragons in the sky and at a distance he could hear the terrible sounds of the battle between Clark and that rotten creature.
He also focused on Nobu. The man was injured, Matt could taste the copper in the air of his many open cuts, and his entire body was bruised.
There was glass piercing his skin in several different points and his left eye was gone, completely destroyed by a particularly long glass shard.
As if both of them were given a signal, Matt and Nobu started to move, slowly at first, until finally both were running towards each other.
Before they could meet in the middle, both of them threw their weapons; Matt rolled to avoid the blade passing above his head and Nobu used his chain to deflect Matt's billy club.
And a second later, they clashed in a flurry of punches and kicks, with little regard to defense or dodging, both trusting their discipline — and rage — to allow them to ignore the pain and to push even harder to cause maximum damage.
Nobu, Matt realized right away, was not like any of the dozens of mobsters and criminals he'd faced before. If he had to compare him to anyone, it would be to Stick.
Both were highly trained, incredibly experienced and completely merciless. There was the fact that Nobu was, clearly, relying on chi to fight as well; not on the same level Stick did to counter his blindness, but enough to make him stronger and faster than a regular man.
Matt groaned in agony when Nobu managed to hit him with the "sickle" part of the k yoketsu-shoge , the blade acting like a fishing-hook; he was pulled by the hook buried in his shoulder towards Nobu, but instead of trying to push him away, Matt went with the motion.
Jessica didn't have any important plans for that day. Attend Union Allied's assets auction, something Clark paid her handsomely to do, maybe have lunch someplace nice and then go to Clark's apartment and watch something on his humongous TV.
The idea to meet the Masked Man was something that popped on her mind spontaneously and she was actually shocked that the opportunity presented itself at that very day.
Her quiet day had somehow turned into a battle against a secret criminal organization of immortal ninjas to stop a magical bomb that could destroy the planet.
She was forced to get in a car driven by a blind man, jump out from said car so she wouldn't die when it collided against a truck. A freaking metal dragon, made of gears and pistons, something out of a steampunk fanatic's wet dream.
A dragon that was doing its best to throw her away, twisting midair, breathing fire, trying to cut her with its claws.
Unluckily for the dragon, Jessica was wearing something sturdier under her leather jacket and no amount of trying would pierce Kryptonian gear. To demonstrate that, Jessica punched it right in the mouth, her fist blocking its fire breathing throat.
And with nowhere to go, the fire found another way; unfortunately for the dragon, that "other way" was its metal stomach.
It blew up, gushing a weird green fluid that was probably the dragon's fuel, because the thing caught fire immediately.
Not waiting for it to blow up, Jessica prepared herself and jumped, hoping to grab the second dragon bastard before she could fall down.
Nobu, despite the absurd pain he was feeling, attacked again, even faster, swinging the chain around him like a tornado of blades.
Matt used every bit of his abilities to be able to predict the path of his weapon, twisting and turning his body to dodge and deflect, ignoring every cut he suffered when he wasn't quick enough.
He needed a way to stop that weapon, a way to at least slow it down so he could get closer to Nobu. Maybe it was the blood loss, maybe it was how close Matt was from dying, maybe it was even Divine Providence, but for some reason he remembered his father.
Nights when he was outmatched, my dad's strategy was to let them hit him until they broke their hands. Calculating the exact moment, Matt deflected Nobu's k yoketsu-shoge one last time: right into his abdomen.
Matt was expecting the pain, but even so he winced when the blade pierced him, ripping skin and muscle as easily as a hot knife cutting butter.
It was painful and incredibly dangerous; one misstep and the blade would've pierced an organ and that would be the end.
Faster than Nobu could react, Matt grabbed the chain of the k yoketsu-shoge and pulled Nobu closer, using the Hand's lieutenant surprise to immediately wrap that same chain around Nobu's neck, so he couldn't move away.
His fists blurred, hitting again and again, heavy like bricks against Nobu's face. He struggled, he tried to run, he tried to fight, to pierce his weapon even deeper in Matt's stomach, but nothing worked.
Jaw, side of the head, stomach, chest, nose, neck… Matt punched and punched, feeling Nobu's bones crack under his fists, his skin open, his blood fly.
The shards of glass piercing Nobu's body were pushed deeper and his face was already swollen, black and blue, broken.
Several teeth shattered and every single one of his ribs were cracked; Nobu's feet faltered. Despite the fact that he could hear the grey man groaning and digging his way out of the ground, his heart wasn't beating.
The lungs were filled with air — that explained the roars and groans —, but there was no blood in the respiratory system; there wasn't blood flow anywhere, Clark realized.
Not the kidneys, not the liver, not the stomach, not the intestines, not the brain… Instead of it, there were black fungal tendrils growing inside his body, as if his body was part rotten flesh, part fungus.
The broken bones had been fixed and strengthened by the fungus. The cracks disappeared and the muscles forced the limbs to the right position, giving the grey man a functional arm and jaw again.
And the brain… It shouldn't look like that in any living creature. It was a mass of scarred tissue, decomposed flesh and black tendrils and there wasn't any chance whatsoever of that being a working organ.
He turned to Clark. That thing has been dead for centuries now. Solomon Grundy? He'd heard the rhyme before, but he never thought it actually had anything to do with a real person.
I don't think it has a real name. This thing was raised by some other power, some kind of magic force that decided this body served as good avatar.
The Hand just picked him up and pointed him in the direction of their enemies, but this thing has been killing people for centuries now. This thing is not alive, it's just reanimated.
And unfortunately will keep coming back, no matter what. Believe, I know. The blow to the head probably had been more damaging than he imagined, impairing the grey man's movements, because otherwise he would've been attacking again immediately.
It wouldn't last, though, Clark knew; the speed, strength and aggressiveness were coming back by the second. Took some of our best men to put that thing down.
It doesn't matter how, it always gets back up. Solomon Grundy has been burned to ashes, quartered, drowned, buried, hanged and even devoured by many different animals before.
Somehow, its body always reconstructs itself, out of nothing if it has to. I had no idea it was already back up or that the Hand had recovered him, but here we are.
I wonder if his next incarnation will be able to remember it. And with that, Stick started to run in the direction Matt and Jessica headed to, quite fast for a man his age — then again, chi seemed to work wonders on that account.
Clark turned back to look at Solomon Grundy, seeing as his body got quicker and stronger, digging his way out getting easier by the second. He wondered if Grundy was still "waking up", coming back from whatever state the Hand put him under to transport him, because that would explain why he was getting stronger.
Regardless of the reason, Clark knew he had to end this, fast. He needed to quickly end a fight against a super-zombie strong enough to fight him, able to regenerate his rotten body from even the most terrible wounds in seconds and incapable of feeling any kind of pain.
This could mean a very, very tough battle, one that Clark honestly didn't know if he could win fast enough or at all; or a chance to take a page out of Matt's book.
Grundy burst from the ground like the undead he was, roaring, running towards Clark with all his bloodlust. The ground shook as he approached, incredibly fast, his big muscles body creating craters when he touched the ground.
Grundy's eyes followed the blue and red blur that Clark became, his fist closing in anticipation for the clash; Clark, however, didn't meet him head on.
Dropping fast, Clark collided against Grundy's leg, toppling him. Before he could fall, however, Clark grabbed his leg and tossed him up; and then he took off, breaking the ground as he did it, flying so fast that Grundy didn't even have the chance to see what was happening before he was grabbed by Clark's Kryptonian arms and pushed up to the sky.
Clark grabbed Grundy from the back, his arms locking around the grey man's chest, and he flew up with all his power. Grundy tried to fight, to release himself, but the sheer pressure Clark's flight put against his body wouldn't let him; he could just struggle, screaming and roaring, trying to resist the wind pressure against his face and chest as Clark forced him up, not unlike a rocket ship.
Clouds opened to grant them passage, the moon grew larger by the second, the temperature dropped fast.
Soon, Clark could see the Earth's curve as they left the atmosphere. As they came down, Clark's eyes scanned the planet, looking for an uninhabited place; when he found one, he adjusted their route and increased his speed.
They reentered the atmosphere, the air glowing around them. Grundy could barely hold his head straight, his limbs flapping around as Clark pushed him down, flying faster and faster, looking through the grey man's body to see the ground approaching by the second.
When they were about to crash, Clark released Grundy and flew away, turning his body up to narrowly avoid the desert sand; Grundy had no way to do anything of the sort.
Solomon Grundy collided against the ground like a meteor, his superpowered body opening a crater so big that the sand of the desert Clark tossed him into was thrown away in all directions, like several sand-tsunamis.
A sandstorm was triggered immediately, the powerful winds blowing in all directions, completely out of control. Clark managed to avoid hitting the ground, flying up just at the last second.
Unbothered by the sand waves and the storm, he turned and made his way back to the immense crater, flying over it. There wasn't anyone around, he knew that when looked from outside the atmosphere; like he saw from all the way up, the desert was empty of life — unlike the docks at New York — the perfect place for a stunt like this.
Landing inside the crater, ignoring the loud winds and the sand flying everywhere, Clark used his x-ray vision to quickly find Grundy, buried once again; he couldn't help but to wince when he finally did.
Grundy was, simply put, broken. Every single bone in his body was shattered, unable to resist the impact even with all his power.
The limbs were pointing at weird angles, the back was twisted, and his head was actually turned the wrong way.
And despite all that, Grundy was still trying to move and still screaming and roaring, trying to attack him. It was unbelievable. There wasn't any sign of pain, fear or surrender, just raw fury as he tried to drag his broken body in Clark's direction.
And soon, Clark noticed, he would, because the black fungal tendrils that inhabited Grundy's body were already at work, repairing the broken bones, making them even denser and stronger than they were before.
Clark stepped closer. For a moment, he truly considered doing what Stick told him to do and get rid of Grundy. It would be simpler, a fast way to end this battle with a decisive victory and to stop a very sizable threat.
In the short term, sure, Grundy would be dead and Clark would be free to fly immediately to help Jessica and Matt.
In the long term? According to Stick — and Clark could tell he was telling the truth — this wouldn't be the first time Grundy died.
Burned to ashes, quartered, drowned, buried… He died before, several times. Whatever magical force that reanimated Grundy was, it couldn't be defeated by simply killing him.
He wouldn't be ending a threat, just postponing it. Postponing to an unknown time and unknown place when Grundy would come back to kill again and Clark couldn't guarantee that he would be there to stop him.
No, killing Grundy wouldn't solve anything. Clark had another idea; he looked at Grundy's hateful eyes for a moment. He sighed. Matt was breathing heavily, his hands quick and experienced as he treated his wounds the best he could with what he had.
Nothing life-threatening, or at least it wouldn't be if he could stop the bleeding, but damn if it didn't hurt now that the adrenalin surge had passed.
She moved her eyes from Matt to Nobu; her eyes got wider. Matt was about to say something in response, but at the moment he opened his mouth there was a sonic boom; both of them looked up, knowing already what that sound meant.
And without delay, Superman appeared, landing in front of them. For some reason, he looked a bit sick, almost as if he just witnessed something particularly revolting.
Both Jessica and Matt turned fast to stare at him when he said that. An undead? Was that what that smelly monstrosity was?
Stick said something about the Hand dealing in dark arts to gain immortality, but actually encountering something like that was very weird.
There was a long silence and Matt was already prepared for the outburst, his hands actually stopping for a moment. Superman certainly wouldn't rejoice at the sight of an injured person, dangerous criminal or not, and Matt never expected him to.
But it seemed he at least understood that Matt did what he had to do, at least in this case. Nobu was deadly, maybe even deadlier than even Matt was, and if he didn't fight with all he had, he would be the one lying on the floor.
That small moment gave Matt a lot of insight about Clark's sense of justice, certainly a lot more than their talk earlier that day.
He got the feeling that even if Nobu had been killed as a consequence of that battle, Clark wouldn't blame him. He wouldn't like it, Matt was sure of that, but he would not blame him for doing what he could to stop a highly skilled criminal that needed to be stopped, even if that criminal didn't survive in the end.
Suddenly, his relationship with the Avengers — and Matt would highlight the easy friendship he had with Black Widow — made a lot more sense.
Shaking his head, Matt dispelled those thoughts; it wasn't the time or the place. Then he looked at the shipping container. As if they were one, all of them stared at the toppled shipping container and Matt could actually feel the tension grow.
If Stick was right, that thing was carrying Black Sky, a magical weapon powerful enough to bring forth the Armageddon; he was prone to exaggeration, Matt knew that, but somehow he didn't think Stick was too off the mark here.
Unless, of course, Stick was indeed exaggerating and the infamous Black Sky was that undead giant Clark had already beaten and that container was keeping something else.
The three of them turned to the source of the eerie laughter, their eyes falling on Nobu. The Yakuza boss was looking at them with his one eye, a mess of blood, bruises and broken bones, still fallen where Matt had left him.
Nobu moved, dragging himself so he could look at them properly. He half-laughed, half-coughed, spiting blood. He muttered something in Japanese.
He coughed again, spitting more blood in front of him, his hands trembling as he tried to keep himself up.
His announcement brought frowns of confusion, but Matt understood what Nobu intended a second later, when he felt his chi being channeled: right in the pool of blood he coughed in front of him.
Nobu's bloody hand left an imprint and that imprint hummed with power. Suddenly, all their attention was drawn to the shipping container, where symbols started to appear, written in blood, across all its surface.
Letters, Matt realized, resembling some oriental alphabet. K'un-Lun's language, perhaps? There was surge of power, chi in its purest form, and all the bloody symbols disappeared.
There was silence. Then the shipping container exploded, its metal torn to shreds, as a black energy expanded from within, going up to the sky like a tower of pure darkness.
They all raised their arms, shielding their faces from the truly powerful wind, trying to remain standing as the ground cracked and shook; Clark immediately put himself in front of them, shielding both Matt and Jessica from the debris.
The noise was absolutely terrifying, like a piercing scream and Matt was already feeling dizzy, his entire senses completely overwhelmed by it.
He groaned, falling to his knees as he tried to protect his ears. Suddenly, the black mass of energy moved, like a living shadow, no longer a tower of darkness that reached the sky, but something else, something familiar.
This is what will guide us to our destiny, to a new Age of Dragons and to our rightful place in K'un-Lun! Those were the ramblings of a fanatic, but Matt actually believed him for a moment.
Everything Stick said, all those myths and fairy tales, they were real. The Hand, immortal warriors, dragons… Black Sky. Could they stop it?
Could they do anything? Against something like that, Matt had his doubts even Superman could do something. A black aura surrounded Nobu.
Matt could feel the raw power like a flame burning up his senses. What was happening? Was Nobu absorbing Black Sky's power? Was that even possible?
Could that be the Hand's plan all along? He floated in front of them, arms opened as if he was transcending his mortal form to become something else.
And then, suddenly, before even Superman could as much as blink, the black aura around Nobu squeezed, crushing him to pulp.
Matt was stunned, they all were. Nobu didn't even had the chance to scream, to lose the victorious expression on his face before the black aura surrounding him contracted, pretty much folding his entire body until all that was left was red goo.
As soon as that happened, all the incredible pressure of that black energy suddenly vanished; the aura surrounding Nobu's remains disappeared, releasing a rain of blood, crushed bones and ripped tissue.
And the immense and powerful black raven that Black Sky had molded itself into also disappeared, vanishing so abruptly that the silence shocked Matt for a moment.
A tired to the bone, scared and hurt teenager that could barely stand. She raised her arms, as if to say she wasn't a threat to them.
And while they were so surprised that they could barely react, an arrow flew out of nowhere and hit the girl right in the abdomen. His mind was racing with thoughts as he did it; how could he have missed the arrow's noise?
How could Matt? Black Sky's amazing display of power and Nobu's sudden — and violent — death were certainly distracting, but there was absolutely no way for the two of them to have missed something like that.
Clark didn't know what happened, what Black Sky's power really was, what her killing Nobu meant. He couldn't understand how cold someone had to be to try to kill a girl that clearly meant them no harm — because if she did, considering the display of sheer power, they would know it — and he still couldn't fully accept that the so called weapon they were trying to destroy was, in fact, a person.
A girl that possessed a power so incredible that he could barely comprehend, a girl that had just been released from a shipping container and then killed someone — probably the same person that had put her there in the first place —, but he wouldn't worry about any of that right now.
Right now, Clark had a life to save. Questions and decisions would come later. And someone else could deal with Stick, at least for now.
The old man stood, calmly disassembling his long bow and putting it away. Somehow, Matt started to listen Stick's heartbeat — all his bodily functions, really — just now.
How did he do that? Was this some chi trick? Could he have done the same to the arrow that both he and Clark missed? A weapon capable of destroying this entire planet and so much else with no effort whatsoever.
Clark didn't answer for a moment, his eyes checking the wound internally. He heard Jessica approaching in fast steps.
She looked to Clark. He turned to Jessica. Jessica grabbed the girl firmly and yet very gently, helping Clark to turn her a little bit so he could see the arrow coming from her back; his eyes glowed red and in one quick blast he cut off the arrowhead.
Clark glanced at the arrow for a moment, taking note of the K'un-Lun symbols etched on its surface; was that how it travelled without him or Matt noticing?
Some kind of chi sorcery? A thought for another time, he decided, grabbing the girl's pale hand and looking into her eyes again. Matt didn't even remember making the decision to punch Stick, but as soon as his fist collided against his face all rational thought left him.
Ignoring the piercing scream and helping Jessica to keep her as immobilized as possible, Clark continued his job, trying to contain the internal bleeding as best as he could.
But no matter how focused on the task he was, he couldn't help to overhear Matt's conversation with Stick, nor the start of their fight.
Send him the results of what you find immediately, please. As soon as he finished cauterizing the wound, Clark grabbed the unconscious girl carefully and got up.
He looked at Jessica, opening his mouth. Nodding in thanks, Clark glanced one last time towards Matt and Stick — controlling his anger towards the latter — and took off, flying as fast as he could without hurting the girl even more.
Matt and Stick danced around each other, attacking and dodging each other's blows like only adversaries who knew one another very well could.
The same style, the same gifts, the same violence, the same tricks. Their fists clashed and they immediately followed with a knee blow and a kick; their feet clashed against the metal of the shipping container and they were forced to engage to stay away from the edges.
Both could sense each other, hearing the muscles tense even before they were moving, and as a response they would change their stance to counteract that; which, in turn, forced the opponent to change his strategy.
It made it all look like a brawl instead of a battle between two of the most skilled warriors in the world. They were simply too alike.
More than simply martial art's styles and training, but the mentality of a warrior. Liking it or not, they were both brutal, direct and fearless.
Both of them could take an extreme amount of punishment — Matt's torn and bloody torso was more than proof enough — and they were willing to bleed if it meant the adversary would bleed even more.
Stick had no limits. To complete his mission, to win his war, he would do anything. No matter how cruel, no matter how bloody, even if it made him eerily similar to his own sworn enemies.
The fact that he had just shot and poisoned a girl without hesitation — or remorse — was enough evidence. That scared Matt more than he would care to admit.
Was he like that? Would he turn into that? Was Stick his future? Matt couldn't even contemplate assassinating someone, not a criminal and even less an innocent, but he freely admitted that he enjoyed making them pay for their crimes.
It felt good to put the fear of the Devil on someone used to hurt and scare innocents. More than that, it felt right. Just as he imagined it felt right for Stick to kill anyone between him and victory in his war against the Hand.
Even innocent and terrified girls, only because her power could be used as a weapon. Clark had warned him about that, about figuring it out why he was doing what he did: for himself or for others?
To make himself feel better, to vent his rage? Or to save an innocent people that needed saving? Despite all his inner confusion, there was one thing Matt knew for sure: he didn't want to become Stick.
His fist collided against Stick's face, one, two, three times, fast and powerful. Stick completely ignored the pain, advancing towards Matt and grabbing his arm, quickly twisting it and repositioning himself behind him.
Is this the Devil of Hell's Kitchen, the hero of the people? Matt grabbed Stick's arm, trying to push it away from his throat, trying to breathe. He unleashed a few elbow blows to his ribs, but Stick just ignored them, pulling Matt back as he walked on top of the shipping container.
Under the Hand's control or not, that weapon is too fucking dangerous. And the truth is, kid, if you want peace, you gotta win the war first.
And you don't win wars with half-measures. You don't win wars by sparing enemies and allowing them to find better weapons to kill you. And you don't win wars without a fucking army!
And you need us. You won't accomplish shit by tying your hands with a crappy moral code and you won't accomplish shit by yourself. Matt was about to fall unconscious, holding with the last shreds of his willpower.
His fight against Nobu cost him a lot of stamina and his injuries were slowing him down too much. On a good day, fighting Stick would already be an unpredictable battle.
Fighting him as he was? When his mind was about to shut down, there was a thunderous sound, followed by massive blow. The entire shipping container trembled, so much that the thing almost toppled over.
Acting on pure instinct, Matt used his entire body weight and just flipped, jumping from the shipping container.
Stick, recovering his grasp, was dragged with him, as they twisted midair during their fall. Only to land under Matt, back against the concrete ground, a crushing blow that knocked the air from Stick's lungs.
Matt took his chance and got up, still dizzy and wobbling, getting away from Stick's arms. And when the old man tried to get up to continue the fight, he landed a direct punch against him, knocking him back down.
Well, that explained the sudden earthquake that almost toppled the shipping container. Struggling to get up, his face bleeding, Stick pulled himself up, moaning in pain.
He pulled a pair of sunglasses from his pocket. You're gonna need them. Saying this, he turned his back at them and started walking, disappearing behind the line of shipping containers without another word.
Building an empire was not an easy task. It took talent, it took dedication, it took a lifetime of work and sacrifice. Fisk had started from scratch with nothing more than his willpower, and little by little he conquered what was rightfully his.
There was nothing in his voice or body language that gave it away, but Fisk knew Wesley was as worried as he was. And he had every reason to be, given the kind of people he was talking to.
Fisk turned away, looking out of the window of his apartment, gazing at the city for which he gave so much of himself.
He was pale. Fisk let out a long sigh. How exactly was this his fault? Nobu had asked for one simple thing: keep the police away. So he complied, perfectly.
He removed not only the police, but any personnel that could somehow intervene with their business. And now he was being held accountable for that failure because Superman and the Masked Man decided to appear.
How could anyone predict such a thing? Not only there wasn't any indication that Superman was moving against them — other than his appearance at the Russian warehouses during the explosions —, but his apparent partnership with the Masked Man was also unforeseen.
Vladimir didn't know about the cargo's arrival, so the information couldn't have come from him, and he knew for a fact that it hadn't been leaked from his side.
What happened was not his fault or responsibility; and yet he was somehow the one being blamed. That was not all, of course. An evil chance seldom comes alone, after all.
Not only he had a furious Hand breathing down his neck, now they also had misplaced Leland. And this was, maybe, the worse thing that could have happened.
Superman appearing to stop the bombings against the Russians could be considered a coincidence. Him and the Masked Man moving against Nobu at the docks could be result of leaked information.
But Black Widow's attack against Leland's safehouse and his subsequently capture, at the same time Nobu was being overwhelmed at the docks, spelled of a carefully thought operation.
Somehow, Superman, the Masked Man and the Avengers were acting against them. And Fisk didn't know why or what to do, especially now that they had not only Vladimir to extract information, but also Leland.
Leland, who was responsible for the launder, the hiding and the moving of a great deal of their money. Leland who was, probably, the most cowardly, opportunistic man Fisk had ever laid eyes on.
Leland who would be interrogated by the Black Widow herself, a trained assassin that had broken far more dangerous people in her time without even trying.
Vladimir Ranskahov thrived in the cold hellhole of a Russian prison and was broken in less than a day by her.
Leland wouldn't last five minutes, if he tried to resist at all, which he wouldn't. It would be quite the setback," he admitted, "but if we stay here…".
If they stayed, soon enough Superman, the Masked Man and the Avengers would come, was the unfinished thought. And they would arrive armed with the entirety of what Leland knew, backed by the full might of the law to destroy everything he had built.
He was still holding Vanessa's hand. And we still haven't fulfilled our obligations towards them. The Hand wanted to strengthen their grasp on New York and they needed his help to accomplish that fast.
In return, they were the ones who gave Fisk the push he needed to kickstart his operations and build his empire. That was the deal. And in their line of business, especially when the Hand was involved, it wasn't possible to just back out from an arrangement like that.
Still in silence, Fisk looked at Vanessa, gazing in her eyes. Gently, he touched her face. It wasn't just about himself and his dream anymore.
It was also about her. He promised to stay at her side, to protect her. He told her that she didn't have anything to fear while she was with him.
He knows where we hide the money, how we launder it, how we move it, where we spend it… And how we acquired it. That's enough for the law to do its thing.
If we stay, we'll be arrested. Again, Wesley hesitated, not because he didn't want to share knowledge, but because he didn't want to scare her.
They'll hunt us down, wherever we go, and make an example out of us. One thing is certain: we can already expect another battle at the courtrooms, as no one knows who exactly will pay for all this.
Coming up next, how will New York cope with the avocado shortage caused by the destruction of the entire shipment…". Clark chewed his cold dumpling, barely tasting it, his mind far away.
Sitting by his side on the couch, her feet on his lap, Natasha stared at the TV with a bored expression, eating her noodles with the same enthusiasm as Clark's.
On the nearby armchair, Clint was sprawled out like a lazy cat, absentmindedly pressing the remote to find something to watch.
If not for Clark's Superman suit, Natasha and Clint's equally battle-oriented attires — minus the boots in Natasha's case, for Clark's benefit, or so she announced before putting her legs on his lap — and the huge arsenal composed of guns and arrows left on the table, it would be the very picture of the end of a tiring day in any other house in America.
The reality, of course, was entirely different. Though they were, indeed, friends having dinner together, their day had been anything but normal, even considering what was normal for them.
Well, Natasha and Clint were in their element when they set out to capture Leland, that was true enough, but Clark could wholeheartedly say that he never expected to fight a zombie when he woke up that day.
The same way he didn't expect the infamous Black Sky — a weapon of apocalyptic proportions, according to Stick — to be a teenage girl.
Frowning in discomfort, still remembering how hot the girl's blood felt on his hands, Clark put his dumplings down. Bruce and a team of surgeons met him and the unconscious girl right at the moment he set foot in the Avengers Tower and quickly took her in for surgery, where they still were; where Clark would've liked to be as well, if Bruce hadn't pointed out that he was making the doctors anxious by pacing around, and then politely — but promptly — kicked him out.
For someone who constantly reminded them that he wasn't "that kind of doctor", Bruce sure had the required firm hand when he needed to.
At least he was there, that was something. Clark still didn't know exactly what Black Sky was, but he knew she had a great deal of power. She didn't seem inclined to use it against them, but that didn't mean she was harmless.
With Bruce there, by her side, Clark felt things would be a little safer. Of course, Hulk also wasn't someone they could classify as harmless, but usually he had enough sense to tackle the world-ending threat and not everyone around him, which was a good thing for everyone in the tower if something were to happen.
That gave him the time to fly back to the docks and deal with the situation there. Stick wasn't anywhere near when he arrived, already dealt with by Matt and banished from New York; not the outcome Clark would've chosen, not after what the old man did, but he supposed putting Stick into a normal prison would go as well as one would expect.
Either Stick would get himself killed because of who he was fighting or he would kill everyone else and get away. Jessica and Matt went back to their homes — Matt immediately refused the offer to have a doctor look at his wounds, saying he knew someone —, Clark put out the fires, rounded up the unconscious criminals, freed the ones who unfortunately passed away from under the fallen crane and called the authorities, the ones Natasha had already cleared up.
Then, he finally went back to the Avengers Tower. Bringing with him every single piece of K'un-Lunan technology left behind by the Hand.
And Solomon Grundy himself. Almost as if reading his mind, the repurposed shipping container Clark brought with him shook violently.
He pointed at the cut, welded and folded shipping container in the corner of the room, now little more than a metal box, filled with smaller metal boxes.
Natasha also turned to him. So I… I broke his bones and cut him into pieces," Clark said, slowly, still very much bothered by what he had to do.
Simply locking them up wasn't enough, they scratched the metal quite easily, so I melted some steel over them and encased them into a cocoon, so that they couldn't move anymore.
But they're still trying, that's what all that shaking is. Clint and Natasha simply stared back, their expressions blank; Clark supposed they didn't yet know how exactly to react to something like that.
Truth be told, neither did he. Grundy was dead, but the fact that he was moving didn't make what he did any easier on his stomach.
Ich entschuldige mich, aber es nicht ganz, was mir notwendig ist. Es gibt andere Varianten?