The corridor beneath the collapsed Avengers Facility groaned with strain, fractured steel jutting out like jagged teeth from the shattered walls. Clint Barton sprinted through the ruins, the Nano Gauntlet clutched tightly in one hand. His breathing was ragged, heart pounding like a war drum. Every step sent jolts of pain through his bruised ribs, but he didn't stop. He couldn't.
Behind him came the screeches—high-pitched, shrieking wails that made the hairs on the back of his neck stand up.
Outriders.
They surged through the broken infrastructure like a plague. Claws clacked on concrete and tore through wiring, the darkness alive with their movements. Clint twisted around a corner and nearly tripped over a fallen girder. The gauntlet pulsed with faint orange light, its heat biting into his palm even through his gloves.
"I'm getting real tired of this," Clint muttered through clenched teeth, ducking into another section of broken hallway, lit only by sparking wires and the eerie light of the Gauntlet.
He ducked under a sagging support beam, only to skid to a stop—three Outriders ahead, crouched and snarling, blocking the only visible path forward. Their grotesque jaws opened wide, saliva dripping from their fangs.
Clint raised his bow, nocking an arrow in one fluid motion. His eyes narrowed. "Come on, then."
Then—movement. A flicker, just for a moment.
From the corner of his eye, shadows twisted unnaturally. One of the Outriders lunged—and something unseen yanked it violently into the darkness, the sound of snapping bones echoing through the corridor. The other two hesitated, sniffing the air.
Clint didn't wait. He bolted through a side path barely wide enough for him to squeeze through. Behind him, growls and chittering filled the tunnel again.
He never saw the figure that stepped briefly into the flickering light, a massive blade in hand, cloaked in shadow.
Nortis.
Elsewhere beneath the rubble, Rocket was pinned beneath a collapsed steel beam, his breathing shallow. Blood matted the fur around his brow, and one of his legs was clearly broken. Sparks from exposed wiring flickered dangerously close to his face.
"Get off me!" Rocket snarled, kicking feebly at the heavy debris. He winced in pain, eyes clenched shut. "Great. Just great. I survive a planet exploding, but I get crushed by a building."
"I can't move my legs," Rhodey muttered nearby. His War Machine armor was scorched, the servos in his lower half dead. He dragged himself across the floor using only his arms, groaning with each motion. He reached for Rocket but couldn't get close enough.
Between them, Bruce—still in Hulk form—knelt beneath a sagging slab of ceiling, holding it up with his trembling arms. His right side was a charred mess, his skin scorched from wielding the Gauntlet. But he didn't let go.
"I've got you both," he growled, voice trembling. His muscles spasmed under the weight, the beam above them creaking with every breath.
Rocket coughed. "You've got, like, twenty seconds before this thing crushes us. That's not a rescue, big guy. That's a slow funeral."
Hulk didn't answer, only grunted. Sweat dripped from his forehead. The ceiling creaked again.
Then came thunder.
A distant crackling hum, and then—
Mjolnir.
The enchanted hammer shattered through the rubble with explosive force, scattering debris and sending a shaft of sunlight pouring in. A moment later, Thor landed hard, lightning dancing across his body. His eyes burned with intensity, hair matted with dirt and blood.
"I believe you need a hand," he said with a smirk, planting his feet and grabbing the beam Hulk held.
He lifted the slab with one arm and reached for Rocket with the other, cradling him like a child.
"You owe me—big time," Rocket muttered, groaning.
"Add it to the list," Thor said as he slung Rocket over his shoulder and reached for Rhodey.
Not far away, Steve Rogers clawed his way out of the wreckage. His uniform was shredded, and blood smeared his cheek, but he rose to his feet with grim determination. He coughed, surveying the destruction—what was once their base now looked like a war zone.
"Tony! Thor? Anyone!" he shouted, stumbling through the debris.
A metallic groan answered him. Steve rushed toward the sound and found Tony Stark, pinned beneath a crushed console. Steve pried it away and helped Tony up.
"Remind me," Tony wheezed, "never to let Banner play with cosmic jewelry again."
Steve chuckled hoarsely. "You're welcome."
The sky above rumbled. Thunder cracked.
Thor descended from the ruined ceiling, landing beside them with purpose. His beard was scorched, and his armor battered, but he stood tall. He set Rocket and Rhodey down gently, and they immediately began taking stock of the situation.
Together, the trio climbed from the facility, emerging into the open.
And there he was.
Thanos.
The Titan sat calmly amidst the wreckage, his double-bladed sword stabbed into the earth beside him. His helmet rested atop its hilt. He stared off into the horizon, like a god waiting for the inevitable.
"He's not attacking," Steve said.
"He's waiting," Tony replied. "For us to bring him the Stones."
"Then we give him nothing but a fight," Thor growled, summoning both Stormbreaker and Mjolnir.
The three Avengers looked at one another, unspoken understanding passing between them.
This was it.
They moved forward, step by step, through ash and ruin.
Far beneath the surface, in the Sanctum of Shadows, the chamber trembled.
Alexander stood alone before a shimmering wall of ancient runes, the symbols burning with violet fire. The room pulsed with energy. The whispers of his shadows grew louder, a tide of voices echoing across eternity.
[SYSTEM ALERT: TEMPORAL STABILITY AT CRITICAL — ACTION REQUIRED]
Noctis materialized, bowing. "Thanos has arrived. The skies blacken."
Vasili followed, dragging a broken piece of stone armor behind him, his weapon humming with life. "Outriders are moving toward the surface."
Alexander nodded. His cloak billowed unnaturally, swaying as if caught in a storm. He stepped forward, extending his hand. A shimmering dark portal, swirling with anti-light, erupted in the air before him.
"Noctis. Vasili. Guard the outer circle. Let no enemy cross."
"As you will," Noctis whispered, dissolving into the darkness.
"Until death," Vasili growled, slamming his axe onto his shoulder.
Alexander turned toward the portal, his sword pulsing with the resonance of every soul within his grasp. The power of his system gathered around him like an armor of shadow and vengeance.
He inhaled, feeling the trembling of the world, the weight of fate pressing down on him.
"Let the balance be rewritten… by my blade."
He stepped through, and the shadows swallowed him.
The final war had begun.
To be continued.
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