Capítulo 34: Chapter 34: Astral Projection
The Quinjet descended slowly onto a makeshift clearing, its powerful gusts stirring up dust and scraps of paper on the ground. As the cabin door opened, Noah and his group disembarked.
Susan's eyes were still red and swollen; she had yet to recover from the devastating truth of her husband's death. Ben Grimm, the Thing, stood awkwardly to the side, scratching his rocky head, clearly at a loss for words. He wanted to comfort her but couldn't figure out how.
After all, he'd never lost a spouse—what could he possibly say?
Since becoming the Thing, Ben's skin had turned into a layer of indestructible, earth-colored rock, but otherwise, he was the same as before—still warm-hearted and still full of humor. Yet this rocky exterior had thrown his life into turmoil. Unlike the likes of Colossus or Sandman, who could shift forms at will, Ben had no choice—whether eating, going to the bathroom, or simply existing, he was stuck in this form for life.
Back in the day, when the Fantastic Four were still college students, Ben had harbored a small crush on Susan. But after his transformation, he never dared to confess—or even entertain the thought.
On the day Reed and Susan got married, Ben, the ever-reliable "nice guy," lost his temper for once and trashed Reed's lab. Don't get the wrong idea—he never had improper thoughts about a friend's wife. It just stung to see everyone else in the Fantastic Four living such happy, fulfilling lives while he was stuck as the monstrous outcast.
Susan was beautiful, with her invisibility powers and mastery of telekinesis.
Johnny was already a ladies' man, and becoming a superhero only boosted his appeal.
Reed? Let's just say his elasticity came in handy in more ways than one, making married life exceptionally harmonious.
And Ben? Even the neighbors he grew up with now treated him like a freak. Not that he could blame them; his appearance was undeniably unsettling.
Sometimes, Ben couldn't help but mock himself internally. Wasn't it obvious? The group was the Fantastic Three, and he was just their punching rock.
Now, with Reed gone, Ben felt... surprisingly little sorrow. Maybe even relief?
The moment this thought crossed his mind, Ben gave himself a hard thump on his rocky skull. No matter what, Reed had been his teammate for years. It wasn't right to think that way.
Still, seeing Susan so grief-stricken, Ben couldn't suppress his irritation with Reed. How could the genius who always had the answers fail so catastrophically now? Hadn't he thought about Franklin and Valeria?
A few hours earlier, the infected She-Hulk had broken into the Baxter Building's secret vault. With her gaping maw...
Ben finally mustered the courage to place a hand on Susan's shoulder. "Don't dwell on it, Sue. What's done is done. We've got to look ahead."
Susan said nothing, her gaze fixed blankly on the empty air before her.
Meanwhile, Noah stood on the cracked and barren ground, surveying the desolate surroundings. The area seemed untouched by human presence for years—dry, lifeless, with not a trace of vegetation. Somewhere in the distance, a tumbleweed rolled lazily across the wasteland.
"Buddy, are you sure this is where we're supposed to land?" Noah turned stiffly to the pilot, who looked just as bewildered.
"Absolutely, Mr. White! These coordinates came directly from Doctor Doom himself. There's no mistake!" the pilot stammered, his face a picture of innocence.
Noah sighed, glancing around again. Nothing. No sign of Doom's castle or anything remotely resembling their destination.
"Wanda! Call everyone over here!"
Within moments, the team of seven gathered around Noah, awaiting his orders.
"Form a defensive circle around me. Something's not right here, and I need to check it out."
With that, Noah touched the pendant around his neck. This place reeked of something amiss. When the plane had flown overhead earlier, he'd seen a cluster of European-style buildings. Now they were gone.
Definitely suspicious.
A gentle warmth spread from the pendant, and Noah felt his soul begin to drift from his body. At first, there was a sensation of weightlessness, as though he were being cradled by a soft breeze. Looking down, he saw his physical form frozen in place, appearing lost in thought.
This was astral projection—a spell most mages used to explore the outer planes and deepen their magical knowledge. Using it here might seem like overkill, but it was the perfect tool for investigating the anomaly.
As his astral form floated higher, Noah observed his teammates standing vigilantly around his body. Thor, Wanda, and the others had formed a protective circle, weapons at the ready.
He chose a direction and drifted outward. The farther he moved from his body, the colder it grew, as though his connection to the physical world were gradually severing.
After several hundred meters, the desolate wasteland below vanished, replaced by a vast, inky void.
In the midst of the darkness stood a figure cloaked in green, a hood drawn over a metallic mask. The figure tilted its head, locking its gaze on Noah's astral form.
A chill ran through him—deeper and sharper than the cold of the void. It was as if an ancient beast had fixed its eyes on him, freezing his very essence.
Noah didn't hesitate. He slapped his astral chest, transforming into a streak of light that shot back toward his body.
His eyes flew open as his consciousness snapped back. His body was drenched in cold sweat, his fists clenched tightly.
"Thor. Ten o'clock. Throw the hammer—gently."
Thor blinked. "Gently? What do you mean, 'gently'?"
"Just throw it the way you do when you're messing with Tony. You know, when you're not really trying to hurt him."
"Oh, I get it now!" Thor grinned, giving Mjolnir a casual toss.
The hammer wobbled through the air like a drunken bird, swaying erratically. Sparks of lightning crackled faintly along its surface, but they lacked their usual intensity, as though even the hammer were hesitant to unleash its full power.
It wobbled and dipped, its trajectory unpredictable, looking almost comical—like a tipsy little dancer on a chaotic stage.
Exactly the right amount of force.
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