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Chapter 12 – God of Thunder and Dramatic Entrances
Maybe you could call rushing to the nearest life-threatening scenario to escape your inability to process your grief a little unhealthy.
Just a little bit.
In the grand scheme of things, Ophelia could be the poster child for 'ignore the problem until it eventually goes away'. Or until it became a problem she could punch away.
Or until it caught up to her and wrecked her world to pieces.
There was a small voice in her head, that suspiciously sounded like Dr Meadows, telling her to take her stubborn ass to therapy.
But like most things in life, Ophelia ignored the warnings of her common sense and instead went back to her apartment to suit up and hunt down the energy source.
'I mean, it's not like I'm being lazy. Saving the world is a completely valid activity.' The street fighter thought to herself, absentmindedly jumping up and landing on the top of the nearest skyscraper.
"Now if I was a weird power thing that could potentially wipe out the entire city. Where would I go?" She hummed to herself, perched on the edge of the building and scanning the surrounding London skyline.
Her ability to feel energy was one she theorised came from her ability to absorb it. She was always taking in power. At every waking moment her body was absorbing a huge amount of the energy emitted from stars. Like an unlimited receiver, the surrounding constellations essentially charged her up while she converted that energy to whatever she wanted.
But that made her extremely sensitive to her immediate surroundings. It wasn't something she could physically see or feel, the unconscious skill acting as more of a sixth sense. But she could sense the power emitted by objects and people.
Nothing precise, but enough to gage a potential threat. Like a fight or flight instinct that told Ophelia when she was in over her head. It lightly chimed when she was around Loki, it buzzed slightly when she was around Thor.
And at the moment, this unknown source screamed for her attention. The energy washed over the city like a restless wave, warping and weaving itself into the very fabric of reality. The hairs on the back of her neck stood to attention.
As Ophelia stepped off the ledge and allowed herself to hover above the building, her phone chimed with an incoming text.
From: Natasha (my future wife)
Why does Hill keep avoiding my calls?
Ophelia winced to herself. She'd forgotten that Natasha still didn't know about the whole mission incident. Of course, Maria would give the dirty work to the brawler, it's not like she was a seasoned spy or anything.
To: Natasha (my future wife)
Bc she's a wimp and scared of you
A few seconds after she sent the text, her phone started ringing with an incoming call. The brawler groaned in dread, silently cursing Maria for not having the balls to tell the Widow herself.
