"Natasha!" he shouted again, voice cutting through the roar of the alarms. "It's me! Snap out of it!"
She didn't answer.
From the shadows ahead, a faint sound echoed—a wet, sinewy stretch, followed by a sharp metallic hiss.
Clint barely had time to roll aside before a razor-thin webline slashed through the air where he'd been standing. The line embedded itself in the wall, burning through alloy plating like acid.
Out of the smoke, she emerged—Black Widow, but not the one he knew. Her movements were flawless, almost alien. Blue light flickered in her eyes as she stepped forward, threads of living silk trailing from her fingertips, each one pulsing faintly with venom.
"Nat," Clint said softly, his bow lowering slightly. "Don't do this."
Her expression didn't change. She tilted her head—then lunged.
He reacted instantly, rolling backward and drawing his bow in one motion. A flash of crimson light rippled through the shaft of his arrow as Viper's spirit flared to life—a spectral falcon of shadow and flame bursting into view behind him.
"Viper—cover me!"
The falcon's screech echoed through the corridor, and a surge of demonic wind whipped past him. Clint leapt upward, wings of black energy unfurling from his back. He rose above the deck just as Natasha's threads lashed upward, missing him by inches.
He fired three shots in rapid succession. Arrows of pure demonic energy streaked down the corridor, exploding into bursts of fire and concussive force. Widow twisted through them effortlessly, flipping off the wall and landing in a crouch. Her threads extended, spinning into a web that caught two of the arrows mid-flight and dissolved them in sizzling venom.
She looked up at him through the smoke—expression blank, eyes like ice. Then she smiled, but it wasn't her smile.
"Natasha, come on," Clint said through clenched teeth. "You're stronger than this."
She didn't answer. Instead, she spread her hands wide—and the air around her came alive with motion. Hundreds of fine, glowing threads shot out from her fingertips, weaving together into a massive net that filled the corridor.
Clint swore under his breath. "Alright then. You want to dance?"
He raised his bow high, drawing in a deep breath as the sigils along its limbs flared bright red. Viper shrieked again, circling him, infusing the next arrow with pure demonic energy.
"Pierce the shadows—Venom Break Arrow!"
He loosed the shot. The arrow streaked forward, splitting into seven smaller bolts midair, each one glowing with pulsating crimson light. They struck Natasha's web and detonated, tearing the threads apart with explosive precision.
For a heartbeat, Clint saw her face—just her face—through the smoke. There was a flicker of recognition in her eyes. A flash of pain.
Then it was gone. The blue glow returned, stronger than before.
She launched forward again, venom threads whipping like blades. Clint blocked one with his bow, the steel melting slightly on contact. Another caught his arm, burning through his sleeve and searing his skin.
He gritted his teeth, dropped low, and fired point-blank—a flash arrow detonated between them, the light blinding. Natasha stumbled, shielding her eyes, and for an instant her movements faltered.
The light burned through the corridor, searing across the walls as smoke and sparks filled the air. Clint staggered back, shaking off the static from his own blast. His arm stung where the venom had grazed him, a dull fire spreading beneath his skin.
Natasha lowered her hands slowly, her head turning toward him—eyes still faintly glowing blue beneath the haze. Her lips parted just slightly, almost human again, before a sharp pulse of energy rippled through her body. Loki's control reasserted itself.
She hissed—an inhuman sound—and lunged.
Clint leapt back, wings of black mist flaring out behind him as Viper's shadow streaked overhead. He fired another volley, arrows of red and violet light forming a pattern around her. Each one exploded in a burst of concussive force, but she was already moving, gliding between them like a phantom.
She spun, her threads whipping outward—one catching the edge of his bow, yanking him forward. Clint twisted midair, cutting the line with a blade-tipped arrow and landing in a crouch, skidding across the scorched deck.
"Damn it, Nat…" he muttered under his breath. "Don't make me do this."
She didn't stop. Another webline shot toward him, this one thicker, glowing faintly with her spider familiar's venom. Clint ducked, the thread slicing through a bulkhead behind him like it was paper.
He raised his bow again. "Viper!"
The falcon spirit shrieked from above, its wings spreading wide. A surge of black wind roared down the corridor, buffeting Natasha back. She stumbled, her threads snapping taut.
Clint used the opening. Three arrows, drawn in one smooth motion—one standard, one explosive, one pulsing with faint green light. He fired them all at once.
The first struck the ground, bursting in smoke. The second detonated near her feet, knocking her balance. The third—glowing with Viper's sigil—slammed into her chest and discharged a pulse of demonic static that disrupted her venom threads.
Natasha screamed, clutching her head. The blue in her eyes flickered violently, struggling against the sigil's interference. For a second, Clint saw her—really saw her—through the haze of Loki's control.
"Clint…" she breathed, voice trembling. "Run…"
He didn't.
Instead, he sprinted forward, dodging the wild lashes of thread that came as Loki's hold tightened again. He drew a single arrow—the one etched with the Seal of Slumber, one of Viper's gifts meant to incapacitate, not kill.
As she raised her hand for another strike, he leapt into the air—black energy flaring from his wings—and flipped over her. Time slowed in that breath between motion and stillness.
"Sorry, Nat."
He loosed the arrow.
It struck the base of her neck, the magic discharging instantly. A ripple of violet light spread across her body, freezing her mid-strike. The threads dissolved into smoke. She swayed once, twice—then collapsed into his arms.
Clint dropped to his knees with her, catching her before she hit the metal floor. The corridor was silent now, save for the distant groaning of the Helicarrier's engines and the fading echo of thunder.
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