STARK TOWER — SKYLINE APPROACH
The skimmer screamed toward the tower, engines roaring like a wild beast unleashed. Natasha Romanoff's fingers curled tightly on the controls, her red hair whipping in the wind, her gaze sharp and unyielding. The rooftop glittered below—a jagged jewel of steel and glass, reflecting the city's fractured firelight.
Beside her, Fleur Delacour was a vision of otherworldly grace, her stance perfectly balanced despite the turbulent rush of air. Her wand flicked with rhythmic precision, trailing shimmering arcs of sapphire and gold that lashed out at their pursuers with lethal elegance.
Natasha glanced back, smirking. "You're enjoying this far too much."
Fleur threw a sultry, wicked smile over her shoulder. "Mais oui, Natasha. What is zis, if not the most delicious sort of fun? Like a dance... with explosions."
Natasha rolled her eyes but didn't bother denying it. Instead, she jabbed a finger at the controls and the skimmer tilted, screaming in protest as she pulled back hard.
"Hold on," she warned.
Then, without hesitation, she shoved off the craft, launching herself into the smoky night like a crimson comet. Fleur followed, her lithe form twisting through the air, hair trailing like liquid silk.
Natasha executed a flawless somersault, boots thudding against the rooftop as she rolled seamlessly into a crouch, Glock already raised. Fleur landed with the poise of a ballerina—heels clicking softly, wand extended, eyes sparkling with unspoken mischief.
Both women rose smoothly, flicking their hair back as if the entire city were their audience. Natasha's voice was low and teasing.
"We should be charging admission."
Fleur's voice dropped to a velvety purr, French accent thick as honey. "Ah, but the price is incalculable, no? For such a spectacle..."
Across the rooftop, a figure stirred—limping, ragged, but far from defeated.
Loki's crooked helmet caught the flickering light, his once-regal cape torn and fluttering like wounded wings. He rose slowly, regaining his devilish smirk, though it faltered at the edges.
"You think this is over?" he spat, voice like ice cracking under pressure. "You dare presume victory?"
Natasha holstered her Glock, stepping forward with a predator's grace. "Sweetheart," she said, voice dripping venom and amusement, "we haven't even started."
Fleur's wand sparked, crackling with ozone. "And you, mon dieu, look positively pathetic."
Loki's eyes narrowed, lightning flickering along his scepter's shaft. "Insolent mortals. I shall break you."
A sudden rumble cut through the tension, a primal roar shaking the very air.
All three turned as the night was torn open by a green blur hurtling from the smoke-choked sky.
The Hulk landed with a titanic CRASH, sending shards of concrete and steel skittering across the rooftop. The force threw Loki off balance, his confident smirk replaced by stark terror.
Hulk's monstrous frame towered over them, fists clenched, eyes burning with feral wrath. "Puny god," he growled, voice a low thunder.
Loki's mouth opened to retort, but before a word could form, the Hulk's massive hand closed like a bear trap around his ankle.
"Wait—!" Loki gasped, panic flaring.
Then Hulk swung him like a ragdoll, hurling him through the massive glass window of Stark's penthouse. The explosion of glass and dust was deafening.
Natasha exchanged a glance with Fleur, both amused and relieved.
Fleur delicately brushed an errant curl from her face, her voice dripping with mock sympathy. "Well, voilà. I think 'humiliated' barely scratches the surface, n'est-ce pas?"
Natasha chuckled softly, eyes on the glittering ruins of the shattered window. "Nope. That's just the beginning of his bad day."
She gave Fleur a crooked grin as they began to stalk forward, the distant clash of battle echoing below.
"Ready for round two?"
Fleur's smile deepened, dangerous and delicious. "Mais bien sûr. Let's show him what real humiliation looks like."
Together, they moved like a storm incarnate—black and red, silver and blue—rushing headlong into the next wave of chaos, their banter sharp as blades and their resolve fiercer than ever.
—
PENTHOUSE RUINS — MOMENTS LATER
Loki lurched to his feet, grimacing through blood smeared on his pale face. His armor, once gleaming with godly grace, was battered and torn, pauldrons askew and dented. His crooked horned helm perched like a crown of shattered dignity. But those emerald eyes? Still burning with that infuriating mix of royal pride and simmering fury.
"ENOUGH!" Loki bellowed, voice rolling like distant thunder across the ruin-strewn room. "You are—all of you—beneath me! I am a god, a prince of Asgard, and I will not be bullied by—"
Before the sentence finished, Hulk's massive green hands closed around Loki's ankles with a vice-like grip. There was no hesitation—no mercy. Loki's mouth opened in protest, but the only sound was a brutal CRASH as he slammed face-first onto the cracked concrete floor.
The impact echoed through the shattered penthouse like a thunderclap. Hulk wasted no time—his fists pounded down with relentless fury, shaking the air and rattling Loki's bones with every thunderous blow.
Loki struggled, trying to shield himself, but the overwhelming strength was too much. His furious roars dissolved into pained whimpers, the arrogance draining from his voice like spilled wine.
"Hulk smash puny god," Hulk grunted, voice simple but heavy with amused disdain. "No more talky. Smashy time."
Each slam was a hammer stroke of raw power, the god of mischief reduced to a battered heap beneath the relentless green tide.
Finally, with a grunt, Hulk grabbed Loki's torso and flung him aside like a ragdoll. Loki crashed against the far wall, armor clattering loudly, then slid down to sprawl on the floor, chest heaving.
Hulk stood tall and solid, cracking his knuckles in a deliberate, almost ritualistic motion. Without a backward glance, he turned, massive footsteps thudding as he strode away—leaving silence in his wake.
Loki lay sprawled, beaten and broken, pride shattered like the glass around him. Yet in those emerald eyes lingered the faintest glimmer of defiance, a whisper beneath the ruin.
With a bitter smile twisting his lips, Loki whispered, "This is far from over. I always rise again."
A broken god in the rubble, but never truly defeated.
—
STARK TOWER — PENTHOUSE PLATFORM
The air crackled, thick with the raw pulse of unstable energy. Natasha and Fleur moved with purpose toward the center of the chaos—the glowing Tesseract nestled atop its pedestal like a trapped star. Sparks flickered over polished metal, the room humming with the ominous promise of imminent disaster.
A voice emerged from the shadowed corridor, calm but carrying the weight of too many sleepless nights.
"The scepter."
They both pivoted to see Doctor Erik Selvig, his frame slender but shoulders heavy, eyes shadowed with exhaustion yet bright with focus.
Natasha dropped to one knee, muscles tense, eyes locked on the scientist. "Doctor."
Selvig's gaze shifted downward, toward the gleaming shaft resting discarded on the platform below. The scepter's cobalt core pulsed faintly—a heartbeat of alien power still waiting to be claimed.
"Loki's scepter," Selvig said quietly, voice threading through the tension like a warning. "The energy it wields is... unlike anything the Tesseract can fight. You can't protect against yourself."
Fleur stepped forward, the faintest smirk tugging at her lips as her delicate fingers brushed a stray curl from her face. Her French accent wrapped each word like silk. "Monsieur Selvig, it is not your fault. You did not know what you were doing. Sacré bleu, who could?"
Selvig gave a dry, almost sheepish chuckle, eyes flickering with bitter humor. "Oh, but I did. Somewhere in the back of my mind—I built a fail-safe. A way to sever the power at the source, if things went... sideways."
Natasha's gaze hardened, sharp as a blade. She scanned the platform below, fixating on the dormant weapon left in the wake of Hulk's rampage.
"Loki's scepter."
Selvig's eyes followed hers, narrowing with grim resolve. "It may be our only chance to close the portal."
A long beat hung between them, thick with the weight of that fragile hope.
"And I'm staring right at it," he said, voice dropping to a tense whisper.
—
SKY ABOVE MIDTOWN — CHITAURI ASSAULT
Thor's hammer roared like a thunderclap as he swung it in brutal arcs, electricity crackling through the swirling mass of Chitauri fighters. The battered skimmer bucked violently under the onslaught, shards of shattered glass and metal raining down as the craft careened through the smoke-choked skyline.
Without warning, a colossal shadow tore through the clouds—a Leviathan smashed through a crumbling skyscraper, its massive jaws snapping like a predator unleashed.
"By Odin's beard," Thor growled, knuckles white around his hammer, "we best not let that beast catch us unawares."
Meanwhile, streaking through the chaos like a blazing comet, Iron Man's armored form flashed in brilliant red and gold. His repulsors glowed hot, firing bursts of searing energy that scorched the Leviathan's armored hide.
"Sir," JARVIS's calm, measured voice broke through the clamor inside Tony's helmet, "our power reserves will deplete before the hull breach penetrates that creature's carapace."
Tony rolled his eyes, even though JARVIS couldn't see it. "JARVIS, ever hear the tale of Jonah? Big fish, swallowed a guy whole, then spat him out. Moral of the story: sometimes you gotta take the plunge."
"I would hesitate to adopt Jonah as a tactical role model, sir," JARVIS replied, tone dry as ever.
Without missing a beat, Tony's knee plates snapped open with a hiss, blades extending like the claws of some mechanical beast. He locked onto the Leviathan's gaping maw and dove straight for it.
"Alright, fish face, dinner's served."
With a roar, Iron Man shot through the creature's cavernous mouth, repulsors flaring as he detonated a series of explosives deep inside. The Leviathan convulsed violently, jets of flame and shredded flesh erupting from its ruptured side.
Tony blasted free through the beast's tail end in a fiery explosion, armor battered but systems humming. He slammed into the ground with a shower of sparks and debris, quickly pushing himself upright.
But there was no time to catch his breath.
Chitauri warriors swarmed like locusts, energy bolts raining down in relentless waves.
Tony smirked beneath his helmet, voice sharp as a razor. "Okay, bug boys—let's dance."
—
ROOFTOP — MIDTOWN
Clint Barton's lungs burned as the Chitauri closed in, claws scraping against metal and concrete. He ducked a swipe, pivoted, and swung his bow like a baseball bat—crack!—smashing a warrior's helmet with the hollow thud of a well-placed shot.
He reached back for an arrow.
Empty.
Great.
The quiver was bone dry. Barton grimaced, voice low and sardonic as if talking to himself.
"Just peachy."
The next wave came fast, snarling and snapping, but Clint was faster. He spun, ducked under a slash, and cracked his bow against a charging enemy's ribs. The warrior collapsed in a heap, groaning.
Above the chaos, the sky was a swarm of black shapes—hundreds of Chitauri skimmers darkening the horizon like a plague of locusts.
Clint's sharp eyes caught the gleam of metal embedded in the armor of a fallen Chitauri. Without hesitation, he yanked the arrow free, fingertips brushing over a small panel.
Pressing a button on his bow, the arrow's head twisted and unfolded, transforming into a sleek mechanical grappling hook, its claws glinting like a predator's teeth.
"Alright, big guy," Clint muttered, voice dripping with grim humor, "let's see how you like this."
Time slowed.
The Chitauri warriors fired, bolts streaking past him like angry fireflies.
Clint launched himself off the rooftop's edge as a deafening explosion tore through the building behind him, walls crumbling in a storm of flame and dust.
His body twisted mid-air with practiced grace, bow pulled back, muscles coiled.
The transformed arrow shot forward, slicing the smoky air with a sharp whizz.
The grappling hook snapped open, snagging a ledge with a satisfying clang.
The wire pulled taut, swinging Clint like a pendulum, his body arcing through the sky.
Glass shattered as he crashed through a window below, sending a spray of shards into the dimly lit room.
He rolled, landing hard but balanced, bow at the ready, eyes sharp and scanning.
Clint's lips curled into that familiar half-smile—the kind that said, Bring it on.
—
STARK TOWER GROUNDS — CHAOS UNLEASHED
Hulk was a living tempest — a hulking, green juggernaut plowing through a snarling swarm of Chitauri warriors. Claws slashed, blades struck, but Hulk's thunderous SMASH echoed louder, sending enemies flying like ragdolls.
"HULK SMASH BUGS!" he bellowed, voice a deep rumble that shook the cracked pavement beneath his feet.
Chitauri warriors lunged again, but Hulk's fists became wrecking balls — each swing a cataclysm. With savage efficiency, he crushed a dozen foes, bones snapping beneath his grip.
Then his blazing eyes snapped upward.
Dark shapes swarmed overhead — dozens of Chitauri skimmers, engines screaming like banshees, weapons primed for annihilation.
A roar ripped from Hulk's throat — raw, primal, and challenge-flung straight into the heart of the storm.
Energy bolts cascaded downward in a furious barrage, igniting the air with sparks and flame. Smoke curled thick and choking, but Hulk stood resolute, his roar rising over the chaos, a thunderclap against the enemy's howl.
Cutting through the smoky carnage came the sharp mechanical whirr of HK-47, emerging with cold, lethal precision.
The battle droid unleashed a devastating storm of plasma fire, twin blasters carving arcs of brilliant light through the enemy ranks.
"Query: Shall we terminate these inferior insectoids with maximum efficiency, master?" HK-47 intoned, voice dripping with sardonic delight.
Hulk grunted, fists pounding the ground. "Hulk like new friend! HK-47 good at boom-boom!"
HK-47 emitted a synthetic chuckle. "Affirmative. Target eradication is optimal. Your physical prowess compliments my ranged devastation."
With terrifying synergy, the duo tore through the battlefield — Hulk's fists shattering armored hulls and crushing foes, HK-47's plasma bolts disabling crafts and incinerating clusters of enemies.
A Chitauri skimmer dove for Hulk's head, but with a mighty SWAT, Hulk sent it spiraling into the ground.
"More come?" Hulk demanded, eyes blazing.
"Multiple hostiles incoming. Probability of sustained assault: high," HK-47 reported, already charging another salvo.
Hulk's grin split his massive face — if a beast of fury could grin. "Then Hulk SMASH MORE!"
With a ground-shaking SMASH, Hulk thundered forward, HK-47 at his side, their warcry echoing across the battlefield.
Above Stark Tower, fire and fury raged — but the unstoppable pair made one thing clear: the tide of war was turning.
—
HELICARRIER — HANGAR BAY & FLIGHT DECK
The jet hung like a blade over the hangar bay, engines already spinning up to a deafening whine as it was lifted to the open deck. Below, personnel scrambled out of its way, confusion rippling through the crew like a bad current.
Then came the voice.
"Director Fury is no longer in command. Override seven-alpha-one-one."
The cold authority of the Councilwoman's words crackled over the radio.
The pilot didn't hesitate. His gloved hands danced across the controls, and his calm, flat reply came a second later.
"Seven-alpha-one-one confirmed. We're go for takeoff."
At her console, Maria Hill's brown eyes narrowed to slits as she watched the blip on her screen accelerate. Her hands moved fast, trying override after override—but nothing bit.
"Sir," she barked, spinning toward the command dais, "we've got a bird in motion!"
Nick Fury didn't need a second warning. He was already moving, trench coat snapping behind him as he stormed for the exit.
"Anyone on the deck," his voice growled into his earpiece, "we've got a rogue bird. Shut it down. Repeat: takeoff is not authorized."
Hill didn't even glance up from her console, fingers still flying, her tone flat but barbed.
"Little late for authorization, sir. They're already on the throttle."
"Then I guess I'd better go have a word with them," Fury shot back, his voice pure steel as he disappeared through the hatch.
—
FLIGHT DECK
Wind whipped across the deck as Fury burst out into the open. Alarms blared, crew shouted into radios, and the rogue jet sat at the far end of the carrier like a predator ready to pounce, engines glowing hot blue.
Fury didn't break stride. He strode straight to the weapons rack, snatched up a missile launcher, and slung it over his shoulder with grim determination.
"Let's talk, then," he muttered.
The jet began to roll. Fury dropped to one knee, sighting down the launcher, the roar of turbines nearly deafening.
With a squeeze of the trigger, the missile shrieked from the tube and streaked across the deck, slamming into the jet's fuselage in a fireball of smoke and debris. The plane cartwheeled off the deck in pieces, flames trailing as it plummeted into the sea.
Fury exhaled through his nose, already lowering the launcher—
When another jet screamed to life at the opposite end of the deck.
"Son of a—" he growled. He swung the launcher up again, but the second bird was already airborne, afterburners lighting up the night sky as it clawed into the clouds.
Fury stood there a moment, still aiming, teeth bared in frustration. Then, with deliberate calm, he let the launcher drop to his side.
Behind him, the heavy deck doors began to close with a thunderous clang. Fury reached out, slammed them shut himself, and muttered just loud enough for everyone to hear:
"Well… guess I'll just add that to my list of people to scare the hell out of."
His earpiece crackled, and Hill's cool, dry voice came through:
"You get it?"
Fury straightened, staring out at the dark horizon where the second jet had disappeared.
"Half of it."
"You want me to lock down the rest of the birds?"
"Damn right. And Hill?"
"Yes, sir?"
"Next time, remind me to keep my launcher loaded."
A faint smirk ghosted across Hill's lips on the bridge as she replied.
"Already noted, sir."
And with that, Fury turned and stalked back toward the bridge, trench coat billowing like a black flag of war.
—
MIDTOWN — WAR ZONE
The sky above Midtown was hell on fire—columns of smoke curling between shattered skyscrapers, Chitauri skimmers buzzing like angry hornets, and the streets below littered with burning cars and bodies.
Tony Stark lay flat on his back amid the rubble, the cracked glow of his arc reactor faint through a spiderwebbed chestplate. His HUD was screaming warnings in angry red as sparks danced off his battered armor.
He groaned, lifted his head just enough to take in the carnage, and muttered, "Oh good. Still alive. Guess my bar tab's still valid."
Then the comms in his helmet hissed to life—Nick Fury's voice, sharp enough to slice through the chaos.
"Stark. You hear me?"
Tony winced, dragging himself upright. "Yeah, yeah. Ears still work. Don't sound so happy about it."
"We've got a missile headed straight for Manhattan. You got two minutes, maybe three, before a couple hundred thousand people get turned into ash."
That got him. His head snapped up, HUD automatically locking onto a new blip streaking through the clouds above. "That's… bad." He squinted at the telemetry and added dryly, "And here I thought today couldn't get worse."
"Don't get cute with me, Stark. That payload's big enough to take Midtown and then some. What's your play?"
Tony was already moving, limping forward through the smoke. "Oh, you know me. Something dramatic, probably fatal. I'm good at that."
"Don't you—"
But Tony cut the comms and barked, "JARVIS! You still alive in there or are we running Windows Vista today?"
JARVIS's voice answered calmly, dry as ever.
"Running quite smoothly, thank you, sir. I assume you're referring to the missile currently en route to level Manhattan?"
"Ding ding ding," Tony muttered, forcing his legs to move faster, despite the angry protests from his suit's servos. "Put everything we've got into the thrusters. All of it. I want that bird moving like it owes me money."
There was a beat of silence before JARVIS replied, even drier than before.
"I already did. Two minutes and thirty-seven seconds ago, sir. One might say I anticipated your… flair for self-sacrifice."
Tony stopped short for half a second, smirked despite himself, then muttered, "You're lucky I like you."
"The feeling is… mutual, sir. Shall I clear your browser history while you're up there?"
Tony huffed a laugh and launched himself forward again, repulsors blazing as he tore down a line of Chitauri that had the misfortune of blocking his path. "Not funny, J. Kinda funny. But not funny."
Ahead, the blip on his HUD grew larger, the missile already screaming through the clouds, leaving a jagged contrail of doom.
Tony crouched low, repulsors whirring angrily as he muttered to himself, "Okay, Big Apple, don't say I never did anything for you…"
His thrusters roared and he shot skyward, cutting through ash and debris like a streak of molten light.
On the comm, Fury's voice came back, taut with that unique Fury brand of rage barely leashed.
"Stark, you still there? Don't you do anything stupid."
Tony grinned behind his visor. "Director, you wound me. Doing stupid things is literally in my résumé."
And then he was gone, nothing but a burning streak racing toward the incoming missile.
—
ABOVE MIDTOWN
The jet roared low over the rooftops, cutting through smoke and flame as if on rails. Below, the city burned, sirens wailed, and beams of blue energy slashed through the darkness — but none of it mattered to the man in the cockpit.
His hands moved in calm, practiced motions across the console. On the HUD in front of him, the targeting reticle glowed red, locked squarely on the heart of Manhattan.
A soft mechanical whine rose as the bay doors opened beneath him. Then —
Clunk.
The missile dropped into the void, a sleek silver shape vanishing in a trail of fire and vapor as its engine ignited and screamed toward the ground.
The pilot didn't flinch, didn't even look down to watch. His eyes stayed forward, already pulling the jet into a hard banking turn back toward open air.
He keyed his comm, his voice clipped, flat, professional.
"Package is sent," he said. "Detonation in two minutes, thirty seconds. Mark."
The jet engines flared, and the aircraft tore away into the night, leaving nothing behind but the faint contrail of its passing and the white-hot arc of death on its way to the city below.
—
The street was hell. Smoke curled through the air like writhing serpents, ash snowed down over the wreckage, and the whole city seemed to groan under the weight of battle.
Through it strode two figures who looked like they belonged in a saga.
Slow-motion: Steve's shield whirled through the air, its polished edge catching the orange glow of fires as it sliced back toward him. At the same instant, a streak of lightning screamed across the sky—Mjolnir returning to Thor's outstretched hand with a thunderclap.
They caught their weapons at the same moment.
The two of them stood shoulder to shoulder, breath misting in the scorched air, backs straight and eyes hard.
Around them, the horde came again—screeching, clawing, crawling over the ruins like vermin.
Steve's jaw ticked as he hefted his shield. "Alright," he said, voice rough but steady. "You take the left, I'll take the right."
Thor twirled Mjolnir lazily, grinning through dirt and blood. "You're welcome to the left, Captain," he said, his Asgardian baritone almost cheerful. "But I shall take everything else."
Steve gave him a look. "Show-off."
Then they moved.
Thor waded into the swarm like a god unleashed—Mjolnir cracking skulls, lightning searing through lines of Chitauri, sending them flying in arcs of smoke and screams.
Steve was precision and power—shield slamming, fists flying, boots driving into ribcages. Every move was a lesson in brutal efficiency. Together they carved a path, back-to-back, hammer and shield a perfect storm.
But then—
A blinding flash. A bolt of blue energy cut through the haze and slammed into Steve's ribs like a freight train.
He dropped with a grunt, knees hitting the concrete. His shield clattered away, skidding out of reach as he doubled over, breath ragged.
Thor's grin vanished. His head snapped toward the offending Chitauri cannon.
"Enough!" he bellowed, fury rolling off him in waves.
He swung his hammer hard, and a parked car—crushed and blackened—skidded across the street, plowing through a line of Chitauri like bowling pins. Without missing a beat, Thor spun and hurled Mjolnir in the opposite direction. The hammer became a streak of light, mowing through another cluster of warriors before whipping back to his hand.
Then he was crouching in front of Steve, one big hand gripping the Captain's arm as he hauled him back to his feet.
Thor's lips quirked into a wicked grin. "You ready for another bout?" he asked, his tone halfway between a challenge and a jest.
Steve let out a grunt, straightening despite the ache in his ribs. He wiped at his bloody chin with the back of his hand, his eyes blazing defiance even as his chest heaved.
"Bout?" Steve shot back, smirking faintly. "You startin' to fade on me already? What—gettin' sleepy?"
For a heartbeat—just one—they shared a low laugh.
Then Steve bent, scooped up his shield, and rolled his shoulders. Thor cracked his neck and spun Mjolnir once more.
And side by side, gods and man, they charged back into the fray.
—
STARK TOWER — ROOFTOP
The wind howled across the rooftop, carrying with it smoke, ash, and the acrid tang of ozone. The portal above shimmered like a tear in reality, spilling its alien horde into the sky.
Natasha Romanoff slammed Loki's scepter into the cracked floor, the blue glow of its tip lighting her grim expression. Sparks hissed against the shimmering barrier encasing the Tesseract. Beside her, Erik Selvig worked furiously at the battered control console he'd assembled from salvaged tech and alien scraps, his hands shaking.
Fleur crouched next to him, one elegant hand steadying the cables while the other still clutched her wand. Her hair, streaked with dust and sweat, whipped around her face as she gave the older scientist an encouraging little smile.
Selvig muttered numbers under his breath, his eyes darting between readings. Then, with a sudden jolt of clarity, he pointed at the center of the glowing field and barked.
"Right at the crown! Right there!"
Natasha spared him only a curt nod before planting her boots wider and driving the scepter forward. But the barrier resisted, rigid and unyielding.
Her lip curled.
"Oh, come on," she growled under her breath, leaning harder into it.
Fleur straightened behind her, gave a smoky little laugh, and tucked her wand into her sleeve so both hands were free.
"Tsk. You Americans," she said, stepping up beside Natasha. "Always trying to brute force everything."
Natasha shot her a sidelong glance.
"You offering, chérie?" she deadpanned.
Fleur flashed her that sly Margot Robbie grin.
"But of course."
Together, they leaned into the spear, the air alive with snapping sparks of alien energy as the blade bit deeper into the shimmering field.
Natasha thumbed her comm, her voice taut.
"We can close it," she said through gritted teeth. "Can anybody copy? We can shut the portal down!"
Down on the street, Steve Rogers bashed a Chitauri to the ground with his shield before the words crackled in his ear. He froze, eyes snapping upward to the swirling portal. His jaw tightened.
"Do it!" he barked, his voice carrying even over the battle. "Do it now!"
But another voice cut in—smooth, dry, and impossibly Stark.
"No. Wait."
Steve ducked under another swipe, scowling.
"Stark, these things are still coming!" he shouted.
Up in the clouds, Tony's voice came back, ragged but somehow still full of that maddening charm.
"Yeah, Cap, I know. Thanks for the play-by-play. Also? Heads up—I got a nuke inbound, and it's gonna blow in—"
His HUD showed the glowing missile streaking through the sky toward Manhattan. Countdown clock: 00:47.
"—less than a minute. So… let me tell you where I'm about to stick it."
In his visor, J.A.R.V.I.S. spoke up, tone smooth and faintly sardonic.
"Sir, I would advise caution when making such statements on an open frequency."
Tony grinned despite the burn in his lungs.
"Noted. Add it to the list of bad ideas."
The missile loomed larger now, a steel arrow screaming toward the skyline. Tony jetted toward it, the suit's thrusters roaring at maximum.
"C'mon, sweetheart," he muttered under his breath, fingers locking onto the warhead's tail fins. His shoulders strained, metal groaning around him. "You and me are gonna go see the universe. Field trip. My treat."
J.A.R.V.I.S. chimed in again, voice calm even as the countdown ticked to thirty seconds.
"Might I suggest, sir, that we expedite this trip? You are cutting it… exceedingly close."
Tony gritted his teeth, feeling the strain through every joint of the armor as he pulled the missile upward, thrusters screaming against gravity and momentum.
"Relax, J. It's not my first rodeo."
Back on the roof, Natasha and Fleur kept driving the spear forward, the barrier now splintering in a web of brilliant light. Selvig looked up from the console, his hands still poised over the controls, his voice a rasp.
"You're… you're almost through," he gasped, eyes wide with a mix of terror and awe. "Hurry!"
Natasha shot him a flat look, her dry wit cutting through the din.
"Working on it, Doc."
Fleur, still smiling faintly despite the strain, chimed in without looking up.
"You Americans. Always so dramatic."
Natasha allowed herself the faintest smirk before shoving again with renewed force.
Above them, Tony and the missile arced higher and higher—straight toward the heart of the portal, and whatever waited beyond.
—
Harry's voice crackled sharply in Tony's earpiece, laced with equal parts grit and dry humor.
"Stark, you do realize that's a one-way trip, right?"
Tony grinned, even though sweat stung his eyes inside the helmet.
"Save the rest of that pep talk for the turn, J."
From the AI in his ear came JARVIS's calm, ever-polite voice.
"Sir, would you like me to attempt contact with Miss Potts?"
Tony's eyes flicked toward the slowly passing plane, engines humming like a distant heartbeat.
"Might as well."
He flicked a switch on his HUD, opening a comm channel toward Pepper as the missile and Iron Man hurtled toward fate.
—
STARK INDUSTRIES JET — MIDFLIGHT
Pepper sat forward in her seat, eyes locked on the small screen mounted ahead. The cabin was quiet, save for the low hum of the engines and the faint rustle of papers.
The reporter's voice cut through the stillness, clipped and urgent.
"—streets in New York City have become a battleground. The army is deployed, but they're clearly outmatched…"
Pepper's phone buzzed insistently in her lap. She glanced down but didn't reach for it. Not yet.
The screen shifted to footage of burning cars, flashing lights, and panicked crowds.
"Billionaire Tony Stark, known to the public as Iron Man, has been spotted repeatedly entering the fray. His efforts have been pivotal in holding the line…"
Around her, three others watched the report intently, their faces grim.
Pepper's jaw clenched as the phone buzzed again—urgent, relentless. Still, she waited, eyes never leaving the screen, heart tightening with every frame of destruction.
—
Iron Man sliced through the thickening smoke and chaos, the missile clutched tight in his armored grip. Inside his helmet, Tony's mind raced, calculating the impossible with grim focus.
Below, Thor, Captain America, Harry, Dacey, Allyria, Shaak, Aayla, Daphne, and Susan looked skyward, their faces etched with a mix of hope and dread.
Tony veered sharply, barely skimming past Stark Tower's towering spires. The missile—a metal comet of destruction—shifted course, propelled upward toward the swirling portal hanging ominously above the city.
The Avengers watched, breath caught in their throats. On the Helicarrier, the tension shattered as a roar of cheers burst from the crew.
Maria Hill's eyes gleamed. Fury allowed himself a small, rare smile.
Then, silence.
The lights on Tony's suit blinked out one by one, until the armored figure was a ghostly silhouette against the sky.
"Sorry, Mis—" JARVIS's voice cut off abruptly, a note of finality lingering in the calm.
The missile struck the Chitauri mothership with a cataclysmic explosion, igniting a fiery bloom that tore the monstrous vessel apart.
The Chitauri warriors collapsed, their coordinated assault disintegrating into chaos. Above, the great Leviathans spiraled earthward, their terrible roars swallowed by the blast.
Thor planted his hammer with heavy finality. He and Cap exchanged a brief glance — relief, sorrow, resolve all mingling in their eyes.
And somewhere high above, Tony's eyes closed softly, his body falling slowly toward the swirling portal — a silent hero slipping into the unknown.
---
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