The city screamed.
Sirens wailed beneath the howling shriek of Chitauri skiffs tearing the sky to ribbons. Fires licked upward from shattered windows, casting the overpass in a hellish orange glow.
On the cracked asphalt, a battered yellow taxi cab served as the team's barricade. Behind it, Clint Barton crouched low, drawing another arrow from his quiver with a wolfish grin and a glint in his eye. Beside him, Natasha Romanoff was already up on one knee, twin pistols cracking with cold precision. Her face, framed by red hair and framed by smoke, was a mask of calm focus.
On either side of the cab, Val and Allyria moved like wolves on a hunt — swords flashing silver as they darted between cover and struck down anything that dared get close. Dacey flanked the rear, her heavy iron mace already slick with ichor as she swung it with satisfying, skull-crushing weight.
And crouched just behind Clint, Bruce Banner pressed his hands into the pavement, his breathing rough, controlled… but only just. There was already a faint, unsettling green shimmer to his eyes.
The cab shuddered as another blast from above rattled it.
And then, with a metallic clank of boots against the concrete, Steve Rogers vaulted into view.
"Status?" he barked as he dropped behind the cab.
Clint didn't even glance up as he notched his next shot. "We've got civilians pinned on that bus," he said, jerking his chin toward a smoking vehicle halfway down the block. His tone was dry, but there was a sharp edge of urgency to it.
Steve's bright blue eyes darted across the chaos — a Japanese family sprinting for their lives as a skiff strafed the street behind them, the twisted wreck of a Dr. Pepper truck still hissing steam, and further down, the unmistakable green silhouette of Loki atop his Chitauri craft, cloak snapping in the wind like some royal banner of conquest.
Steve's jaw clenched. "Loki…" he muttered under his breath.
The trickster god and his escort of skiffs dove low, peppering the avenue with plasma fire. Cars and storefronts exploded as civilians and NYPD officers scrambled for cover. A young patrolman and his sergeant braced themselves behind a burned-out cruiser, shouting orders, trying to form some kind of line against the unstoppable tide.
Behind the cab, Natasha suddenly stood, her black silhouette framed by firelight, pistols blazing as she dropped two Chitauri mid-charge before ducking back down with a faint smirk.
"We've got this," she said flatly. Her green eyes met Steve's without a hint of fear. "It's good. Go."
Steve looked between them — between Clint's wolfish grin and Natasha's deadly calm — and raised his shield slightly.
"You sure you can hold them?"
Clint finally looked up from his bow, his grin widening just a little.
"Captain," he said, drawing his arrow to full extension, "it would be my genuine pleasure."
With a twang, the arrow shot forward, embedding itself in a Chitauri's skull before splitting midair into three, each razor-tipped shard burying itself in another soldier.
Val and Allyria were already moving — Val's sword hacking through an armored chest plate with brutal efficiency, Allyria's blade darting in and out like silver lightning. Dacey followed, her mace whistling through the air and crushing a soldier straight through the hood of an abandoned car.
Behind them, Bruce hunched lower, his knuckles white. His breathing was faster now. His hands trembled as green began to pulse faintly beneath the skin.
Steve gave them all one last, approving nod. Then he vaulted the barricade, his boots slamming down on the roof of a crushed city bus before rolling off the other side, shield raised, charging straight into the fray.
"Clear that bus!" he called back.
"On it," Clint muttered, already moving with Natasha in seamless tandem. The two of them slipped through the battlefield like a pair of ghosts — Clint firing with mechanical precision, Natasha weaving between cover and dropping Chitauri one by one, each bullet finding its mark.
As they moved, Natasha smirked faintly. Her voice was cool but edged with nostalgia.
"Just like Budapest all over again," she murmured, reloading one of her pistols with a satisfying click.
Clint snorted as he fired another arrow, watching it split midair and take down three more enemies.
"You and I," he said, deadpan, "remember Budapest very differently."
They both ducked as another skiff roared overhead, plasma scorching the pavement where they'd just been standing.
Behind them, the street lit up.
On the far side of the block, Harry Potter — emerald eyes glowing like fire — raised both hands, his palms sparking with raw, wandless magic. The air around him shimmered as a shimmering barrier of golden light flared up, blocking another Chitauri barrage from cutting down a line of fleeing civilians. Fleur stood at his side, her wand flashing as arcs of silver-blue frost carved through three more soldiers.
"Fleur!" Harry shouted through the noise, his voice cutting through the chaos. "Left flank!"
"Oui!" she called back, her French accent curling like velvet around the word as she pivoted and unleashed another deadly sheet of ice.
Further down, Daphne and Susan wove their own shields over another family huddled in a doorway, striking down enemies with precise, brutal hexes whenever they drew too close.
And beyond them, Shaak Ti and Aayla Secura were already in the Chitauri ranks, their lightsabers slashing arcs of green and blue through the smoke, each step cutting down another alien.
Through it all, HK-47 stalked like a copper nightmare — claws dripping ichor, optics glowing. His laughter carried over the roar of battle, disturbingly cheerful.
"Statement: This… is delightful!" he crowed, tearing another soldier's head clean off. "Request: More meatbags, please."
Val, wiping her blade on her thigh, shot him a dry look.
"Don't get greedy, droid."
"Observation: Greed is merely ambition in its finest form, mistress," HK replied, crouching to rip another Chitauri's rifle from its hands and use it to bash its skull in.
And still the battle raged.
On this one block — at least for now — Earth was hitting back.
—
The street was a warzone.
Car horns blared endlessly, glass crunched underfoot, and the acrid smell of ozone and burning fuel hung heavy in the air. Overhead, a Chitauri skiff screamed through the smoke, strafing the ground with plasma fire and sending civilians scrambling for cover.
And then—cutting through the bedlam like a force of nature—came Captain America.
Steve Rogers ran full tilt down the middle of the street, his boots hammering the cracked asphalt, his shield raised to deflect the occasional blast. He vaulted onto the hood of a half-crushed taxi, then leapt clean over another car, hitting the ground in a crouch and springing back up without missing a beat.
Ahead, two NYPD officers were pinned behind their cruiser, exchanging desperate shots with Chitauri on a nearby rooftop.
The younger cop cursed as another bolt blew apart a mailbox near his head, sending letters fluttering like dying birds.
"It's gonna be an hour before they even scramble the National Guard!" he shouted to his partner, voice cracking.
The sergeant—older, broad-shouldered, salt-and-pepper hair—just shook his head, ducking low as another blast shredded the asphalt beside them.
"National Guard?!" he barked back, voice equal parts anger and disbelief. "Hell, does the army even know what the hell's happening here?! Do we?!"
They never saw the shadow until it landed.
THUNK.
Steve dropped from above, landing square on the hood of the car in front of them, the shield gleaming even under layers of soot. The cops froze mid-breath as he straightened to his full height, blue eyes sweeping the chaos around them.
"Alright," Steve said evenly, his voice carrying over the din, sharp but not harsh. "You've got civilians in these buildings. People still inside who could run right into the line of fire."
He gestured sharply toward the nearest cross-street.
"Get them down. Basements, subway tunnels, anywhere underground. Keep them off the streets."
The young cop just gawked at him, while the sergeant narrowed his eyes, still crouched low.
"I need a perimeter," Steve continued, already turning his head, scanning for the next hotspot. "Far back as Thirty-Ninth Street. If they try to break through here, you stop them. Everyone who can hold a weapon holds it here. Got it?"
The sergeant finally found his voice, though it was edged with disbelief.
"And why the hell," he demanded, standing up straighter, "should I take orders from you?"
Steve didn't even flinch.
At that exact moment, a guttural hiss sounded from behind, and two Chitauri dropped from a skiff, landing hard and already raising their weapons.
Steve was on them before either cop could blink.
He surged forward in a blur of motion, smashing his shield into the first Chitauri's chest so hard it crumpled like a tin can, ricocheted it into the hood of a delivery truck, then spun low, hooking the second's legs out from under it. It crashed to the ground, snarling, and Steve drove his knee into its throat before standing, shield raised.
Both creatures lay twitching on the pavement as Steve straightened, calm as if nothing had happened.
He glanced back at the sergeant and tipped his head slightly.
"That good enough for you?"
The younger cop's jaw dropped. The sergeant just blinked, then barked a short laugh under his breath and grabbed his radio.
"You heard the man!" he shouted to his squad, snapping back into command. "We need men in those buildings, clear out the civilians! Lead 'em down, keep 'em off the streets!"
He pointed toward the next corner.
"And set up a perimeter! All the way to Thirty-Ninth! Move it, move it!"
The young cop shot Steve one last awestruck glance before running to join the others.
Steve gave a small, satisfied nod, adjusted his grip on the shield, and took off at a run again, disappearing into the smoke and fire, already moving toward the next fight.
Behind him, the sergeant muttered to nobody in particular as he pressed his radio to his mouth again:
"…Who is that guy…?"
And thunder rumbled faintly over the skyline in reply.
—
The air was a choking soup of smoke, ash, and heat as Iron Man banked hard over the jagged skyline. The world below him was on fire — cars burning in the streets, civilians scattering like startled ants, Chitauri skiffs streaking overhead like locusts.
Inside the helmet, Tony Stark's eyes flicked between HUD readouts, red blips blooming on the display like angry hornets.
"Alright, let's see…" he muttered to himself, fingers flexing as the suit hummed in response. "Six… no, seven… nope. Eight bogeys. Okay, that's adorable. Nothing I can't—"
And then he saw it.
The big one.
His voice caught for half a beat as his eyes went wide.
"…Ohhh, mama."
The Leviathan emerged from the portal in the sky like some ancient, armored god, its massive, serpentine form coiling through the air. Its hide was plated in black and cobalt, lined with jagged spines and faintly glowing glyphs of alien design. Its head alone was bigger than most city buses, serrated tusks flaring as it roared loud enough to rattle the glass in nearby skyscrapers.
Tony hovered for a moment on thrusters, staring.
"You are… a very big fish," he said under his breath, his mouth curling into a grin that didn't quite reach his eyes.
JARVIS chimed into the helmet, voice dry and perfectly calm.
"Sir, you appear to have attracted its attention."
Tony's grin sharpened.
"That's the idea, J. Big fish bites bait, big fish chokes on shiny metal man. Everybody wins."
He raised his gauntlets, locking on.
"Showtime."
Twin shoulder cannons folded forward and opened fire, spitting a blinding stream of armor-piercing rounds that stitched across the Leviathan's plated skull. Sparks and scales flew.
The creature shrieked — a guttural, metallic bellow — and swung toward him, six burning eyes narrowing.
"Oh, yeah," Tony murmured, watching the beast pivot in midair. "We got its attention. That's good. Attention's good. That was…"
The creature's wings snapped wide as it lunged forward, faster than anything its size had a right to be.
"…that was definitely the plan," Tony finished weakly as warning tones blared in his ear.
The Leviathan plowed through a pair of office buildings as it accelerated, glass exploding outward, steel beams crumpling as the skyscrapers groaned and leaned.
"Okay!" Tony barked into comms, his voice pitching up as the creature gained on him. "Okay, well, we got its attention!"
He broke into a dive, thrusters screaming, zig-zagging between towers as the beast's sheer bulk tore a deadly path behind him.
JARVIS spoke up, maddeningly calm.
"Might I inquire, sir… what exactly is step two?"
"Step two?" Tony shot back, weaving past a skiff so close he could see the pilot's snarl before the craft exploded behind him. "Yeah, funny story about that, J…"
"Sir, I await with bated breath."
"…working on it!"
The Leviathan roared and lashed out with a wing, missing his suit by mere feet as Tony corkscrewed through a narrow gap between two towers.
"You know what they say," Tony muttered under his breath, eyes darting between his trajectory and the monster's shadow looming over him. "If you can't impress them with brilliance…"
"…then dazzle them with reckless endangerment?"
Tony grinned behind the faceplate.
"Bingo."
He spun into another dive, repulsors flaring brighter as he streaked through the canyons of midtown with the Leviathan barreling after him — a deadly wall of teeth and steel and rage.
Below, the people of New York could only watch as a streak of gold and red danced ahead of the monster tearing their city apart.
The chase was on.
And if Tony Stark didn't have step two yet…
Well, he'd improvise.
He always improvised.
—
The street was a furnace of fire and steel. Smoke belched from burning wrecks, storefronts shattered from the shockwaves, sirens wailed in the distance — and the air was thick with the acrid stench of ozone and Chitauri ichor.
But the fight never stopped.
Not for them.
Clint Barton was already moving before the next skiff screamed overhead. He tripped a Chitauri with a sharp sweep of his bow, planting a foot on its chest and driving an arrow into its throat. It shrieked, claws scrabbling at him before going limp.
"Stay down, ugly," Clint muttered, already pivoting, drawing another arrow.
A few feet away, Natasha Romanoff straddled another Chitauri's neck, her Widow's Bite sizzling and sparking as she jammed it into the side of its skull. The creature convulsed once beneath her and collapsed. Natasha rolled lithely to her feet, swept her crimson hair out of her face, and snatched up its jagged rifle.
"You're welcome," she purred to no one in particular, and unloaded a burst into the next wave.
Behind them came Bruce Banner, hunched forward in his black bodysuit, clutching a stolen Chitauri rifle like it might explode in his hands. His breath came measured, deliberate — but his eyes glowed faintly green now, his control fraying with every passing second.
Ahead, Val cut through the horde like a golden storm. She spun on the balls of her feet, twin swords flashing as she cleaved two warriors at once, her voice rising in a battle cry as her blonde braid whipped around her shoulders.
Allyria, dark and dangerous, fought with a quieter, more predatory grace — every movement precise, every strike calculated. Her blade buried itself in a warrior's neck, and she wrenched it free without even blinking, her blue eyes cold as ice.
And then there was Dacey. Dacey was a force of nature — a hammer in a sea of scalpels. Her mace smashed another Chitauri into a wrecked taxi, leaving a dent the size of its ribcage as she roared:
"WHO'S NEXT?!"
Further back, Shaak Ti and Aayla Secura held the rear. Their twin lightsabers carved through the smoke in arcs of blue and green, each strike sizzling and sparking as it met alien steel.
And HK-47—oh, HK-47—just laughed. His copper frame glinted in the chaos as his claw punched clean through a warrior's chest and he fired his blaster into another's face.
"Statement: Organic combatants remain every bit as fragile and amusing as I recall! Delightful."
To their left and right, magic flashed — brilliant and defiant. Harry Potter moved through the chaos like a green-eyed juggernaut, cloak whipping behind him as his emerald gaze swept the battlefield. With a flick of his wandless hand, a skiff was hurled sideways into a building.
"You lot really don't learn, do you?" he muttered, his grin flashing briefly before he shielded another cluster of fleeing civilians with a shimmering wall of light.
Beside him, Fleur Delacour was elegance and fire — her blonde hair wild, her French accent biting as she dispatched two Chitauri with a burst of blue fire.
"Zut alors," she hissed, ducking under a blade. "Do none of you 'ave manners?"
Daphne moved more deliberately — cold, calculating precision as she transfigured debris into spears and sent them sailing into the horde, her blonde hair streaked with soot. And Susan Bones stood firm, red hair flaming in the light as she shielded children behind her and fired off stunning spells with deadly accuracy.
Clint slammed another warrior to the ground, his bow striking hard enough to crack its helm, then loosed an arrow without even looking.
Natasha was already swarmed by three more — her rifle barked once into the first's chest before she spun, stabbed the next in the throat, and back-kicked the third square in the knee.
"You're getting sloppy," Clint called over, even as he got slammed against the hood of a car.
"Watch your mouth, Barton," Natasha growled, gutting another warrior and cracking the next over the head.
Clint was tackled hard to the asphalt by another one. He groaned, twisting and driving his arrow into its neck before throwing it off him. Another caught him off guard and slammed his head into the roof of a cab.
Natasha caught sight of him just as she was backed onto another taxi, two warriors pressing her. One tore the rifle from her hands and threw her flat on her back with a hard thud. She screamed, pain blooming in her ribs — but her eyes stayed sharp.
"Nat—!" Clint shouted, even as another warrior bore down on him.
"I've got it," she hissed back, breathless.
She surged back up, kicking one warrior's knee out and tearing her rifle free as Clint slid across the street on his side, loosing another arrow and taking two more down.
The two of them came back-to-back in the middle of the chaos, gasping, bruised, bleeding — but still swinging.
The circle was closing now. Val and Allyria cut their way toward them, their swords flashing; Dacey's mace smashed through two more, but even she was slowing now, her breath ragged.
And then the air shifted.
Steve Rogers charged back into the fray, his silhouette cutting through the smoke like a blade. His shield slammed into one warrior's face, ricocheted into another's chest, and came spinning back into his hand. His voice was low, but it carried:
"Nobody falls here. Not today."
Clint groaned as Steve hauled him back to his feet, and Natasha gave a faint, sardonic smile as Steve planted himself between them and the horde, shield raised.
"Took you long enough," Natasha drawled, firing a burst into the crowd.
Steve just smirked faintly.
And then the heavens split.
A blinding bolt of lightning crashed down in the middle of the street, lighting the wreckage blue-white. Chitauri screamed and scattered as the air boomed.
And when the light faded, Thor stood there, cape snapping in the wind, Mjolnir crackling with stormlight in his fist.
"MIDGARDIANS!" he bellowed, his deep voice carrying above the chaos. "HOLD THE LINE!"
Another bolt. Another clap of thunder. The street shook as the ranks of Chitauri faltered, stunned by the sheer fury of the storm god.
Natasha slid a fresh clip into her pistol. Clint straightened, his bow already notched again. Harry raised a hand, magic flaring bright in his palm.
The team re-formed in the center of the burning street — shoulder to shoulder, weapons raised, eyes blazing.
The fight wasn't over.
But neither were they.
—
The battle lulled — but only slightly. Sirens wailed through the smoke as the air filled with heat and ozone, and debris still fell from the fractured skyline. Fires burned high in every direction, but for the first time in what felt like hours, the team found themselves back in formation, shoulder-to-shoulder.
Steve Rogers planted his shield into the pavement, the clang echoing like a war drum as he scanned the ruins with those flinty blue eyes. His jaw was set tight, his voice even tighter when he raised it over the comms.
"What's the story upstairs?"
Thor strode forward through the haze like a god should, Mjolnir already alive with electricity, his long blond hair catching the light. He sniffed disdainfully at the sky as another ripple of energy shimmered above the tower.
"The power surrounding the cube," Thor intoned, "is impenetrable."
Tony's voice crackled through their earpieces next — casual as ever, but with just enough clipped urgency to tell them he was working on borrowed seconds.
"Yeah, Goldilocks is right," he drawled. "We gotta deal with the bugs crawling all over your streets first. Not a fan of the infestation vibe. Very 'New York slumlord chic.'"
Natasha holstered one of her pistols and glanced around at the horde gathering in the periphery, already rearming themselves. Her hair was dark with sweat and ash, but her smirk was cool as a knife's edge.
"And… how exactly do we do this?" she asked, dry as cracked earth.
Steve stood straighter, his shoulders squaring. He glanced around the circle of battered, bloody, unbowed teammates and said it simply — with a certainty that left no room for argument.
"As a team."
Harry leaned lazily against a half-crushed taxi, one knee bent, arms folded. His emerald green eyes glinted from beneath a few dark strands of soot-streaked hair as he chuckled softly.
"Way to point out the obvious, Cap," he said, his voice smooth, deep, almost amused. "Next you'll tell us to breathe."
Thor's nostrils flared, and a wolfish grin spread across his face.
"I have… unfinished business with Loki," he said, his voice low, dangerous.
Barton notched another arrow without even looking up, his mouth tugging into a humorless smirk.
"Oh yeah? Get in line."
Daphne twirled her wand lazily between two fingers, blonde hair streaked with soot and glowing faintly gold in the firelight. She didn't even glance up as she added, her tone droll:
"I've heard it's a long one."
Steve cut through the chatter with a sharp gesture.
"Save it. Loki's gonna keep this fight focused on us — and that's exactly what we need. Without him at the center, these things run wild. Stark's up top. He's gonna need us to—"
He stopped mid-sentence. His gaze slid past Clint, catching sight of Banner — still in his black bodysuit, calmly discharging two Chitauri rifles with surgical precision, each shot sending another alien tumbling into the rubble.
HK-47 stood next to him, his copper plating streaked with gore and his claws dripping. The droid hummed almost cheerfully as he drove one claw into a warrior's throat and shot another clean through the chest.
Thor's eyes widened just slightly at the sight of him.
"By Odin," he murmured under his breath. "I am… glad he fights on our side."
HK's glowing photoreceptors swiveled toward him.
"Observation: Flattery will get you nowhere, Odinson. Though your endorsement of my efficiency is… noted. Commendable carnage always deserves applause."
A few of them chuckled despite themselves, and even Steve's mouth threatened a faint smile.
Banner surveyed the wreckage around them and finally muttered, more to himself than anyone:
"So… this all seems horrible."
Natasha didn't even glance at him, her mouth quirking faintly.
"I've seen worse."
"Sorry," Banner said flatly.
"Don't be," Natasha shot back. "We could… use a little worse."
Fleur, idly spinning her wand, gave a musical laugh, her French accent curling through the air.
"Ah… amen to zat," she murmured, her blue eyes sparkling despite the grime.
Steve pressed his hand to his earpiece.
"Stark. Where are we on taking down the Leviathan?"
HK suddenly straightened, claws flexing with an audible scrape.
"Query: When, exactly, am I authorized to dismantle that insufferable slab of armor-plated meat? Clarification: My trigger finger grows… restless."
"Soon," Steve promised, his mouth twitching faintly.
Tony's voice came back over comms, smooth and sardonic.
"Banner in play yet?"
Steve glanced at Bruce — who gave a faint, grim nod.
"Just like you said," Steve confirmed.
"Good," Tony replied. "Then tell him to suit up. I'm bringing the party to you."
They didn't even need to look. The roar of repulsors and the sound of screaming metal announced Tony's arrival — and his problem.
Around the corner came Iron Man at full burn, pursued by a Leviathan the size of a city block.
"And by party," Tony added dryly, "I mean nightmare alien caterpillar. I'll be sure to save you a dance, Rogers."
Natasha stared at the thing bearing down on them.
"I… don't see how that's a party," she deadpanned.
Susan tucked a loose strand of fiery red hair behind her ear, smirking faintly.
"Depends on your definition of party."
The Leviathan roared and dropped lower, its wings shredding air, its tusked head swinging toward them.
Bruce inhaled slowly… and began walking forward.
Steve called after him, voice calm but urgent.
"Doctor Banner. Now might be a really good time for you to get angry."
Bruce paused, turned his head just slightly, and smiled faintly.
"That's my secret, Cap," he said softly. "I'm always angry."
And then he exploded — the bodysuit stretching and tearing as the Hulk surged forward in all his green, furious glory.
He met the Leviathan head-on, slamming his massive fist into its jaw and sending it crashing into the street with a deafening impact.
"Hold on!" Tony barked, circling back.
Iron Man fired a salvo of micro-missiles into the creature's flank. On the ground, HK raised his blaster and fired in perfect rhythm.
"Commentary: Ahhh, yes. That's the good stuff."
The Leviathan screeched, staggered — and then Harry stepped forward. His emerald eyes blazed as he raised his palm, magic swirling around him like a storm.
"Bombarda Maxima," he intoned, his voice low, dangerous.
The spell struck the creature dead center — and vaporized it in a flash of red-gold brilliance. The ground shook. The Chitauri screamed in confusion and fear as their behemoth disintegrated into ash.
When the dust settled, the team stood together in a circle at the heart of the wreckage.
Hulk roared, baring his teeth.
Hawkeye raised his bow, arrow drawn.
Thor spun Mjolnir, lightning crackling.
Black Widow loaded another clip, her smile razor-thin.
Harry stood in the center, his black-and-crimson armor glowing with magic.
Daphne, Susan, and Fleur flanked him, wands raised.
Shaak and Aayla ignited their lightsabers, their blades hissing.
Val and Allyria crossed their swords, deadly and unflinching.
Dacey hefted her mace over her shoulder, her smirk promising pain.
Steve straightened, raising his shield, eyes blazing with resolve.
Iron Man dropped to the ground beside Hulk with a metallic thunk.
Above them, the Marauder swept into position, Riyo's bright voice chiming over the comms.
"Hope you boys left me something to shoot," she teased.
And up on a crumbling ledge, Loki watched them — his smile faltering, his eyes narrowing as he finally seemed to realize… he might have underestimated this team.
For the first time, the trickster god looked… unsure.
—
The circle of heroes held, weapons at the ready, eyes skyward. Overhead, the portal flared brighter — like a second sun tearing through the clouds — and Loki's smug baritone floated down from his perch on a crumbling ledge.
"Send the rest."
And then the sky darkened.
Another Leviathan slid through, then another, and another — massive armored behemoths slithering between skyscrapers, their roars rattling the windows. Hundreds — no, thousands — of Chitauri warriors followed in their wake, ships blotting out what little light remained.
Natasha's pistols lowered an inch as she stared upward, her voice flat.
"Guys…?"
The comms crackled, Tony's voice cutting in with perfect timing, dry as desert sand.
"Call it, Captain."
Steve exhaled, shoulders squaring, and planted his shield against the cracked asphalt like a battle flag. His voice cut through the roar of engines and war cries, crisp and unyielding.
"Alright. Listen up!"
They all turned to him — eyes sharp, hands flexing around steel, wood, hilts, wands, and glowing blades.
"Until we shut that portal," Steve barked, "our job is containment. Keep them here. Keep them off civilians. Fight smart. Fight as a unit."
He jabbed a finger at Clint.
"Barton — up high. Eyes on everything. You see a pattern, you call it. You see a stray, you kill it. Every damn one."
Clint gave a crooked grin, stringing his bow as he glanced at Tony.
"Wanna give me a lift?"
Tony's visor gleamed as he smirked under the faceplate.
"Right. Better clench up, Legolas."
And with that, Tony wrapped an arm under Clint's ribs and rocketed skyward, the archer already nocking an arrow before his boots even left the ground.
Steve's gaze moved to Thor next, who was already rolling his shoulders and twirling Mjolnir lazily, sparks crackling in the haze.
"Thor — bottleneck the portal. Slow them down. You've got the lightning — light them up."
Thor's answering grin was positively wolfish.
"With pleasure."
He launched himself skyward in a boom of thunder, his laughter mingling with the peal of the storm.
Steve's eyes found Harry next — black bodysuit, gold-and-crimson armor plating, and a faint shimmer of raw magic already crawling over his fingers. He stood calm as ever, emerald eyes locked on the portal above.
"Potter," Steve ordered. "You're our power play. Stay center. If a Leviathan breaches the line — you vaporize it."
Harry's lips quirked into an infuriatingly calm grin, his deep voice even.
"Don't worry, Cap," he said. "I was planning on showing off anyway."
Steve allowed himself the faintest of smiles and moved on to Shaak and Aayla — who stood on opposite ends of the circle, their lightsabers casting twin glows in the dark.
"Shaak. Aayla. Flanks. Nothing circles behind us. If it tries, cut it down."
Shaak's dark gaze didn't flinch.
"As you wish."
Aayla tilted her head, lips curving into a dangerous smile.
"Let's make this interesting."
Next, his eyes fell on Val and Allyria — both crouched slightly, swords at the ready, their hair already wild from the wind.
"Val. Allyria — sweep the streets. Every civilian gets out alive. If they can't run, you run for them."
Val cracked her neck and let out a sharp little laugh.
"That's my kind of order."
Allyria just smirked faintly, her voice low and smoky.
"You really do know how to charm a girl, Captain."
Steve ignored the jab and swung his attention to Dacey, her mace resting across her shoulders like it weighed nothing.
"Dacey — hold the line. Nobody gets past you."
Dacey's smile was almost feral.
"Like always."
Then came Susan, Daphne, and Fleur — all three with their wands raised high, eyes blazing.
"You three — crowd control. Shield the civilians. Drop anything that gets too close. I don't care how you do it, just make it hurt."
Daphne twirled her wand in her fingers, smirking.
"Oh, we specialize in 'hurt,' Captain."
Susan rolled her eyes but couldn't help grinning faintly, while Fleur simply arched a brow like he'd stated the obvious.
Steve's head tilted skyward to the Marauder, circling overhead.
"Riyo — keep that ship moving and those cannons hot. Anything breaks perimeter, you light it up. Stay mobile."
The comm crackled with Riyo's bright, teasing voice.
"Copy that, Captain. Don't hog all the fireworks, okay?"
Finally, his gaze landed on HK-47, who stood at Harry's side, claws flexing and photo-receptors glowing faintly red.
"HK — stick with Potter. Priority is big targets. If it breathes fire or has teeth bigger than my arm — kill it first."
HK tilted his head, voice a guttural metallic purr.
"Acknowledgment: A truly inspiring command. Murder mode engaged, with relish."
Steve allowed himself a breath before turning to Natasha, who was already snapping a fresh mag into her pistol.
"You and me. Ground team. Keep them focused here."
Natasha's smirk was faint but unmistakable.
"Wouldn't miss it."
Finally, Steve turned to Hulk — who towered over the circle, fists clenching and unclenching.
Steve's finger pointed directly at him.
"And Hulk…"
Hulk's massive head turned, his green lips pulling back into a grin.
"…smash."
Hulk roared his approval and launched forward, plowing into a skimmer and sending Chitauri scattering like bowling pins.
Above, Thor landed atop the Chrysler Building with a thunderous boom. He raised Mjolnir high, summoning a bolt of lightning so bright it turned the clouds white — and hurled it into the portal, sending a wave of screaming Chitauri tumbling.
On the ground, Steve's shield locked into place as the first ranks of warriors closed in.
"Avengers—"
A pause, his voice steel.
"…hold the line."
And then they charged.
—
The war played out across a dozen screens.
Manhattan burned on every one of them — live feeds from news helicopters, traffic cams, drones. Plumes of black smoke snaked into the sky. The flash of lightning split the clouds above the skyline. A Leviathan fell in a fiery heap between skyscrapers. The Avengers' circle held the center of it all, the camera catching them in silhouette, just a few determined figures against the madness.
Nick Fury stood at the center console, hands braced on the edge of the table, one eye fixed on the chaos below. He didn't blink.
The sound of hurried heels on metal approached behind him. He didn't need to look to know who it was.
Maria Hill stopped at his shoulder, her tablet tucked under one arm, her voice crisp but quieter than usual.
"Sir. The Council is on."
Fury's jaw tightened. For just a second, the faintest glint of irritation crossed his single visible eye — not at her, but at what he knew was coming.
He straightened slowly, his long coat settling into place around his legs, and turned his head just enough to glance at her.
"Of course they are," he muttered, his tone flat, but loaded with dry venom.
Hill didn't flinch, though she raised a brow ever so slightly.
Fury's gaze swept back to the largest screen, where the camera lingered on Captain America, shield raised, calling orders, lightning flashing behind him. The kind of image that would sell on every paper in the world tomorrow.
"Patch them through," he said finally, voice low and steady.
Hill tapped her tablet and nodded, already moving toward the side station where the Council's secure channel would appear.
As she went, Fury murmured under his breath — too soft for her to hear — his lips curling into something between a grimace and a grin.
"Let's hear what wisdom the peanut gallery's got for me today."
And his eye stayed on the battle, even as the line connected.
---
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