Chapter 98: Mystic Widow
The mid-morning sun poured through the massive skylights of the New York Sanctum, warming the heavy mahogany floors.
An hour ago, Gwen had left for work at Stark Tower. Ethan hadn't tried to stop her, nor had he insisted on walking her to the front doors like a paranoid bodyguard. Thanks to the system reward he'd earned the night before—Spider-Totem Resonance—he could feel a faint, steady hum in the back of his mind. It was a passive link. If Gwen was in any real danger, if her heart rate spiked in terror, he would know instantly and portal directly to her location.
So, with the immediate multiversal threat temporarily locked in a basement cage, Ethan was taking a rare moment of downtime.
He was lying flat on his back on the plush leather sofa in the main foyer, one arm draped behind his head, casually flipping through a leather-bound Kamar-Taj text on dimensional wards.
A shadow fell over his book.
Ethan didn't move his head. He just tilted his golden eyes backward.
Standing directly behind the headrest of the sofa, looking down at him, was Natalie.
She was still wearing the scandalous black-and-white French maid uniform. Because Ethan was lying down and looking straight up, the criminally short cut of the frilled skirt offered absolutely zero protection. He had a direct, unobstructed view of her black lace panties and the smooth, pale expanse of her inner thighs right where the thigh-high stockings ended.
Ethan didn't blink. He casually flipped a page of his book.
"Nice view up there," Ethan drawled, a lazy smirk pulling at the corner of his mouth.
Natalie didn't flinch, nor did she attempt to adjust the skirt. She simply stood her ground, her expression a mask of perfect, professional calm.
"The first-floor dusting is complete, Master Williams," Natalie reported smoothly. "And the library artifacts have been polished according to your instructions."
"Good job," Ethan said, finally closing the book and resting it on his chest. "Go take a nap. Or if you're bored, you can sit down. I give a genuinely fantastic foot massage."
"I don't require a massage," Natalie said. "I require you to fulfill your promise."
Ethan raised an eyebrow. "What promise?"
"Knowledge."
Ethan sighed. He tossed the book onto the coffee table and swung his legs off the sofa, sitting up to finally meet her eyes properly. He rested his elbows on his knees, leaning forward.
"Are you sure about this?" Ethan asked, the playful smirk fading into something much more serious. "You saw that ugly dog in the basement this morning. You know exactly what kind of freaks are out there now. Ignorance is a very comfortable shield, Natalie. Once you cross this line, you can't unsee the monsters."
"I hate not knowing what I'm fighting," Natalie replied, walking around the sofa to stand in front of him. "I want to see the actual board."
Ethan studied her face. There was no deception there. The Black Widow genuinely hated being out of her depth.
"Fine," Ethan said. "But before we do anything, I need to see if you even have the aptitude for it. Magic isn't something you can just learn by reading a book. If your spiritual circuits are dead, this whole discussion is pointless."
Natalie frowned slightly. "How do we test it?"
"Give me your hand."
She hesitated for a fraction of a second before extending her right hand. Ethan took it. His grip was firm, his calloused thumb resting directly over her pulse point on her inner wrist.
"Relax," Ethan instructed.
His eyes glowed with a faint, golden light. Natalie gasped softly. A sudden, jarring current of heat traveled from Ethan's thumb, shooting straight up her arm and spreading across her chest. It didn't hurt, but it felt like a mild electric shock tracing the veins under her skin.
He closed his eyes, mapping the flow of the Eldritch energy through her body.
Ten seconds later, the heat vanished. Ethan let go of her hand.
"Well?" Natalie asked, rubbing her wrist.
"You have the aptitude," Ethan confirmed, leaning back against the sofa. "You're not a once-in-a-generation genius, but you aren't a dud either. You have the talent of an average Kamar-Taj sorcerer. What you lack in raw magical volume, you make up for with extreme physical discipline. It's enough to work with."
Natalie nodded, satisfied. "So, where do we start? Spells? Shields?"
"We start with the mechanics," Ethan said, gesturing for her to sit in the armchair opposite him. She sat down, keeping her posture perfectly straight.
"Listen closely, because getting this wrong will kill you," Ethan began, his tone turning into that of a strict instructor. "Magic on Earth—specifically Kamar-Taj sorcery—isn't something you generate from inside yourself. Sorcerors don't have magical cores. They are not batteries. They are conduits."
Natalie absorbed the information, her green eyes locked onto him. "If you don't generate the power, where does it come from?"
"We borrow it," Ethan explained. "We draw energy from other dimensions in the multiverse, and from the entities that rule them. The Vishanti, the Faltine, the Seraphim. We use specific somatic gestures and mental focus to pull that energy into our reality to shape shields, portals, and weapons."
He leaned forward, his golden eyes narrowing.
"But here is the absolute most important rule of sorcery, Natalie: Nothing is free. Every spell has a cost. Every time you pull energy from a dimensional god, you owe a payback. It's a toll."
"What kind of toll?" she asked, her spy instincts recognizing the concept of a dangerous transaction.
"If you borrow from the benevolent entities, like the Vishanti, the payback is physical stamina and mental fatigue. Cast too much, and you'll pass out. But if you get desperate? If you borrow from the dark dimensions?" Ethan shook his head. "The payback is infinitely heavier. Dark entities like Dormammu or Cyttorak don't want your sweat. They take pieces of your soul. They corrupt your sanity, mutate your physical body, and bind you to their will."
Ethan pointed a finger at her. "Never choose a dark god to borrow from. The power feels good, but the interest rate will destroy you."
Natalie nodded slowly. "Understood. No dark dimensions."
"Good," Ethan said, standing up. "Now that the safety brief is over, let's see if you can actually cast."
He raised his right hand and snapped his fingers.
The Sanctum foyer shattered.
The warm mahogany, the expensive rugs, and the coffee table exploded outward into infinite, spinning geometric fractals. The warm air was instantly replaced by a sterile, freezing, odorless void. Beyond the invisible glass walls of their platform, the entire city of Manhattan was folding in on itself, skyscrapers grinding together like massive gears in a broken clock.
The Mirror Dimension.
Natalie's breath hitched. For a fraction of a second, her eyes widened as the sheer, impossible scale of the parallel dimension assaulted her senses. Her heart rate spiked.
"First lesson," Ethan said, his voice echoing from everywhere at once in the crystalline void. "Form a spark. Pull the ambient energy of this dimension and compress it between your fingers."
Natalie stood up. She held up her right hand.
She took a deep breath, her face tightening with intense effort. She focused on the space between her thumb and index finger, trying to will the energy into existence based on his explanation.
Nothing happened.
She frowned. She adjusted her stance, dropping her weight into a martial arts kata, treating the gesture like drawing a weapon. She snapped her fingers.
Still nothing. Just the dry friction of her own skin.
Ethan crossed his arms, watching her struggle. "You're treating it like a physical mechanism. It's not a gun. There is no trigger to pull."
Natalie gritted her teeth. She tried again. Her muscles coiled with tension.
Nothing.
"You're acting calm," Ethan called out. "You are not calm."
Natalie dropped her hand, shooting him a sharp glare. "Acting calm is usually enough to get the job done."
"Magic disagrees," Ethan countered, taking a step closer. "S.H.I.E.L.D. taught you to suppress and hide. You build walls inside your head so nobody can read you. But magic requires projection. It requires you to open doors and declare your intent to the universe. You can't cast a spell while you're hiding behind a cover identity."
That hit her harder than she showed. The idea of dropping her internal walls went against every single survival instinct drilled into her in the Red Room.
"I don't hide," Natalie lied smoothly.
"You're hiding right now," Ethan said. He stepped directly behind her.
He didn't give her a warning. He reached out and placed his hands firmly on her waist.
Natalie stiffened instantly at the sudden contact, her combat instincts flaring.
"Drop your center of gravity," Ethan ordered, his voice low, right next to her ear. "You're bracing for an attack. Magic isn't an enemy you fight. It's a current you direct."
He slid his hands slowly up her ribs, adjusting her spine to perfectly align her posture. The physical contact was highly charged. The quiet, freezing isolation of the Mirror Dimension amplified the heat radiating from his palms.
Natalie felt a sudden, dangerous spike of vulnerability. She was failing at the task, and he was completely in control of the space.
So, she fell back on the weapon she knew best.
Natalie deliberately leaned back a fraction of an inch, pressing the soft curve of her lower back flush against his chest. She shifted her weight, rolling her hips slightly, and turned her head. Her lips were mere inches from his jawline.
It was a test. A calculated distraction to regain control of the dynamic and force him onto the defensive.
Ethan didn't back away.
He simply reached forward with his left hand and firmly grasped her right wrist, physically correcting the angle of her fingers.
"Seduction is not concentration," Ethan stated flatly, his voice entirely unaffected by her proximity.
"Depends who you ask," Natalie murmured, a sultry edge creeping into her voice.
"It won't work on me, and it definitely won't work on the magic," Ethan commanded. "Stop acting like a spy. Stop treating me like a mark. Focus."
Natalie's jaw tightened. He saw right through the maneuver, completely neutralizing her attempt to derail the lesson.
She let out a slow, heavy exhale.
She stopped acting. She stopped playing the deferential maid. She stopped playing the untouchable operative. She closed her eyes and let the heavy, iron walls in her mind lower just an inch.
She visualized a thread. Silent. Precise. Lethal.
She pinched her thumb and middle finger together.
Crackle.
A tiny, sharp sound echoed in the quiet void.
A thin, thread-like filament of bright orange-red Eldritch energy flared to life between her fingertips. It buzzed with a localized, intense heat, casting a warm glow over her pale face.
It lasted exactly three seconds before sputtering out into a wisp of golden smoke.
Natalie opened her eyes. She stared at her empty fingers, her chest heaving.
A genuine, uncalculated smile spread across her face. It was a look of pure, raw amazement.
She turned around to face him. "Now. That could be very useful."
A translucent blue screen flared to life in the corner of Ethan's vision.
[ Companion Development Quest Triggered: Mystic Widow ]
Stage 1 Objective Complete: Natalia sensed dimensional energy and manifested a stable Eldritch Thread.
Skill Unlocked: Widow Thread I.
Rewards: 2,500 System Points.
Ethan swiped the screen away with a thought.
"It's a start," Ethan said, taking a step back to give her space.
Natalie looked at him, her spy instincts rebooting. "Does Fury get to know about this?"
Ethan raised a hand, preparing to collapse the dimension.
"That depends," Ethan replied smoothly. "On whether you still think you belong to him."
Ethan snapped his fingers, and the crystalline void shattered, dropping them back into the warm reality of the Sanctum.
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