The air above Sokovia was still heavy with the st of death.

  Wanda Maximoff stood alone on a cracked, bloodstaireet. Her boots pressed into the scorched ground where hundreds had fallen. Her crimson coat fluttered faintly in the breeze, but the silence was louder than any storm.

  This was her kingdom now—a graveyard built from her grief.

  Her truth.

  Her fiwitched at her sides, faint tendrils of agic curling around her wrists. Red, wild, aiful—just like the day she had first let it e her.

  The day Pietro died.

  She saw it all again—the moment that broke her.

  Her brother’s body, riddled with bullets, hitting the dirt with a lifeless thud. The screams. The sho the faces of the Sokovians—their neighbors, the people they had grown up with—doing nothing.

  No one moved to save him.

  No one fought back.

  They just watched.

  That was when Wanda saw the truth.

  These people—the so-called i—were not i at all.

  They were weak.

  Cowards.

  And weakness was a sin.

  That day, her grief burned inte. And that rage became power.

  The Hydra soldiers had died first—ripped apart by her red tendrils like paper dolls. But wheuro the civilians, their terrified faces broke something inside her.

  “You let him die,” she whispered to them back then, voice trembling with madness and crity alike.

  “You watched… and you let him die.”

  And so she judged them.

  Men, women, children—it made no difference. plicity was guilt.

  When the smoke cleared, Sokovia was silent forever.

  Now, Wanda stood in that same street, her boots resting where Pietro had fallen.

  The world called her a madwoman.

  A witch.

  A monster.

  She smiled softly.

  The world was wrong.

  They g to their lies—justice, peace, freedom—but she had seen past the veil.

  Power was the only truth.

  That was why they feared her.

  Because she had freed herself.

  Her firaced the air, crimson wisps dang from her fiips.

  “I am not crazy,” she whispered to the dead.

  “I am enlightened.”

  Then it happened.

  A pulse—faint but potent—reached her through the ether. Her agic reacted instinctively, like a current drawn to a storm.

  Wanda’s eyes flickered red as she felt it—felt her.

  A power unlike anything she had ever known—pure, raw, and untamed. It wasn’t just strength. It was freedom.

  Her heart raced, not with fear, but with excitement.

  “What are you?” she whispered.

  The magic whispered back—guidio a name. A location. New York.

  Kara Zor-El.

  Her lips parted, and for the first time in what felt like eternity, she smiled with hope.

  Not for peaot for redemption.

  But for something she could finally call hers.

  Kara would be hers.

  With Kara’s power beside her, Wanda would rise beyond the petty straints of this world.

  Together, they would break the weak.

  Or burn the world trying.

  Kara Zor-El was bored.

  Her fiapped against the table in her holding cell, but her strength had mostly returned. Her body was still adjusting to the ic radiation from this world’s sun, and every minute, she felt stronger. Her teleportation trick was ing more naturally now, and she had a sneaking suspiore abilities were on the way.

  But right now?

  She was just hungry.

  The door opened, and a young S.H.I.E.L.D. ageered, carrying a pizza box.

  Kara blinked.

  The agent blushed.

  Kara smirked.

  “Oh, is this for me? You’re too kind.”

  The pent nearly dropped the box. “U-uh… Y-yeah. Someohought you might, um… be hungry. It’s pepperoni.”

  Kara’s eyes sparkled. “Oh. I’m in love.”

  The agent flushed beet red, nearly sprinting out of the room after pg the pizza down. Kara watched her leave, shaking her head in amusement.

  This universe is weird… but at least the pizza’s good.

  She grabbed a slice, taking a big bite, sav the greasy goodness.

  As she chewed, her mind wao that straingliion in her chest—the feeling that someone was watg her.

  Her Kryptonian instincts whispered danger, but there was something else beh it… something alluring.

  She shrugged, wiping sauce from her lip.

  “Eh. Probably just someo thinking about me.”

  Natasha Romanoff was livid.

  She stood in the observation room, arms crossed, gring at the s showing Kara happily mung on pizza like a goddess of carbs.

  Who the hell authorized pizza delivery for the alien?

  That was her job.

  Taking care of Kara was her job.

  Keeping Kara safe was her job.

  Natasha’s brow twitched.

  This… was uable.

  Her eyes narrowed as Kara ughed to herself. Natasha’s heart did a little flip—whily pissed her off more.

  She muttered under her breath:

  “Who the hell bought her pizza? That’s my job.”

  Her fingers gripped the table.

  Weaklings. All of them.

  She was starting to agree with Kara—this universe was weird.

  Far above the S.H.I.E.L.D. facility, perched on a rooftop shrouded in shadows, Wanda Maximoff watched the building like a predator.

  Her eyes glowed faintly red as she sensed Kara’s power radiating from within.

  She licked her lips, her heart thrumming with anticipation.

  This was the one.

  The key to her future.

  Her fingers caressed the air, juring faint tendrils of agic.

  Soon.

  She whispered to herself, voice dripping with both desire aainty:

  “You will be mine.”

  The magi her veins pulsed in agreement.

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