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BOOM!
The explosion was deafening, a concussive wave that shook the very foundations of the cliffside villa.
Tony had no time to react. The shockwave lifted him off his feet and threw him across the room like a rag doll. He slammed into the far wall with a sickening thud and slid to the floor, gasping for air, his vision swimming in dark spots.
At the exact same moment, two shimmering, transparent shields materialized out of thin air. One wrapped instantly around Pepper, and the other encased Hermione. Maya Hansen, who had been standing close to Pepper, was miraculously caught within the protective radius.
The debris—glass, concrete, burning furniture—slammed into the invisible barriers with terrifying force, cracking and screeching against the magic, but the shields held firm.
As the dust began to settle, Maya looked down at her completely unharmed body. She touched her face, then looked up at the shimmering dome of energy above her. Her throat was dry, her mind reeling.
I was just hit by a missile, she thought, the reality struggling to sink in. Point blank range. And I'm… fine?
She turned her head slowly, her eyes wide with shock, looking at Hermione. The girl stood calm amidst the wreckage, her hand raised, her expression bored.
BOOM!
The second wave of missiles hit. The villa groaned and began to collapse into the sea.
Hermione didn't flinch. She grabbed Pepper with her left hand and Maya with her right. With a thought, she telekinetically pulled the scattered pieces of the Mark 42 armor toward Tony's unconscious form.
Then, with a loud CRACK, the three of them vanished.
They reappeared instantly on a grassy cliff edge overlooking the burning ruins of the Stark mansion. The sudden displacement was disorienting. Maya Hansen stumbled, fell to her knees, and vomited violently onto the grass.
"It's always like this the first time you Apparate," Hermione said casually, dusting off her pajamas. "You get used to it."
She turned back to the ocean. The two black helicopters were still circling, preparing for a confirmation run.
Hermione raised her wand. She didn't shout a spell. She simply flicked her wrist with a sharp, dismissive motion.
High above the water, the first helicopter stopped dead in the air as if seized by a giant, invisible hand. The metal fuselage groaned, a screeching sound of tortured steel that carried over the waves. Then, it began to twist.
Maya watched in horror as the helicopter was crumpled like a soda can. The rotors snapped. The cockpit imploded. Strands of blood leaked from the cracks in the crushed metal. Then, with a similar motion, the second helicopter suffered the same fate.
BANG! BANG!
Two massive fireballs erupted over the ocean, the twisted wreckage plummeting into the waves.
Maya, pale and shaking, stared at Hermione. Instant teleportation. Invulnerable shields. Telekinetic destruction of military hardware.
"You're the Witch," Maya whispered, her voice trembling. "The one from New York. The God-slayer."
Hermione glanced at her, offering no denial, only a cool, terrifying indifference. "I'm going to check if Tony is still alive," she said, and vanished again with another CRACK.
Hermione reappeared moments later, shaking her head. "Didn't find him. But he's not dead. The armor's automatic defense protocols must have engaged and flown him out. He's alive."
Pepper let out a sob of relief, clutching Hermione's hand.
Maya remained silent, terrified. She realized with chilling clarity that she was standing next to a force of nature. If this girl found out she worked for Killian—the man who ordered the strike—she would be dead in seconds. The helicopters were proof enough of that.
"I'll take you both to safety," Hermione said. "Pepper, contact S.H.I.E.L.D. Maya, you stay with Pepper. I have business to attend to."
Hermione wasn't worried about Tony. He was Iron Man; he would survive. Her real priority lay elsewhere.
She concentrated, visualizing the familiar, serene courtyard high in the Himalayas. With a twist of space, she appeared in Kamar-Taj.
The air was thin and cold, smelling of incense and snow. The Ancient One sat quietly at a low table, sipping tea, her bald head gleaming in the sunlight.
"Hey, Master Ancient One," Hermione greeted cheerfully, walking over as if she owned the place. "Long time no see."
The Ancient One didn't look up. "Why aren't you rescuing Tony Stark? What are you doing here?"
"Hehe, I just missed you," Hermione lied smoothly, sitting down and pouring herself a cup of tea. "So, tell me… when are you planning to die?"
The Ancient One paused, her cup halfway to her lips. She turned her gaze—a look that held centuries of abyssal knowledge—onto Hermione.
"No, no, no!" Hermione corrected quickly, sweating slightly under the pressure. "I mean, when do you plan to ascend to a higher plane of existence? You know, retire? Take a vacation?"
The Ancient One's lips quirked in a faint, amused smile. "You want the Time Stone."
Hermione nodded frantically, abandoning all pretense. "Mmm-hmm!"
"It is not impossible," the Ancient One mused.
Hermione's eyes lit up. Hope!
"However," the Sorcerer Supreme continued slowly, "you must wait until I leave this universe. Or…"
"Or?" Hermione leaned in, breathless.
"Or you do two things for me."
"Name them," Hermione said instantly.
The Ancient One set down her cup. "First, you must help me find a suitable successor for the title of Sorcerer Supreme."
"Huh?" Hermione blinked, looking around at the monks practicing in the courtyard. "There are hundreds of people here! Just pick one! What about Mordo? Or Wong? Why do I have to find one?"