As soon as we stepped back out onto the street, amid the chaos, the countless Chitauri stood out as a shocking sight. A reporter and a cameraman were recording the scenes, sending it live around the world right from the scene of the action.
This wasn't really that strange a sight, had it not been for the fact that not even rescue workers were getting around here yet. The fighting hadn't even stopped yet—still pockets of resistance across at least half a dozen states and cities—and yet… here one was, sharing this story with everyone.
"Here they are, the brave heroes who fought against the alien threat!" the reporter said loudly enough that we could all hear her as she quickly rushed over to us.
I had to admit, I was surprised to see who it was: a familiar face, one from far back when I first arrived in this world.
The young reporter who traded her body for a chance to speak with me—someone who played a small role in building Albion into what it is today, sowing the seeds for my reign.
After all, if I hadn't gotten my will out, then I would never have gotten the support of my people, and without that, I wouldn't have been the noble beloved king I am today, but a bloody tyrant.
"Greetings, Your Majesty, King Arthuria Pendragon, and greetings, Your Highness, Prince Loki of Asgard, Lord Regent of the Nine Realms," she greeted us, making sure to be extra respectful. "Do you perhaps have a minute to answer some questions?"
While everyone was taken aback by the appearance of a reporter here at this moment, Loki was easily won over by the flattery. "Why yes, I'm sure we can spare a few moments."
"Thank you, Lord Loki," she said as she waved her cameraman over. "Amy Hardy here with the heroes who saved the day. We all saw them fight, but the question everyone has is: what happened here? Who attacked us, and why?" she asked, pointing the microphone toward Loki.
Loki lifted his chin the way only Loki could—regal, elegant, and absolutely aware that millions were watching him.
"The creatures you saw," he began, voice smooth enough to pour over glass, "were the Chitauri—a war-thrall race bound to a tyrant known as Thanos. Their purpose was simple: to kill as many of you as they could. Their master travels from planet to planet, wiping out half the life on every world."
Amy sucked in a breath of air as she heard that madness. Even then, she recovered quickly and nodded, eyes bright, microphone angled with careful precision. "And how did these Chitauri get to Earth? Was Earth a random target, or was there something more behind it?"
Loki gave a soft, disdainful laugh. "Because your masters—those in charge—decided to play around with powers they didn't understand. They used an old Asgardian relic and tried to make weapons. In doing so, they arrogantly broadcasted that Earth was ready for a higher form of war—something I'm sure you can agree that they weren't."
"So are you saying that this is the consequence of some secret weapons project? Did the military cause this?" she pushed, leaning in, eyes sharp as a blade. She ignored the "Asgardian relic" part almost entirely—a reporter's instinct for political blood outweighing her curiosity about divine artifacts.
Loki tilted his head slowly, as if studying a particularly amusing insect.
"Oh, I am not saying it," he replied with a smile far too gentle to be sincere. "I am stating it as fact."
The cameraman stiffened.
Amy's pupils widened.
The Avengers collectively inhaled.
And I merely smiled. Because while I had been surprised to see Amy here, I knew someone would be—arranged by the Veiled Hand to ensure the U.S. government and the UN didn't have a chance to hide anything.
I didn't know how the original MCU made it look like life just went on as if nothing had happened, but whatever magic was used, I wouldn't let it happen here.
A new future was coming. Thanos was coming. And the world needed to be ready for it—it needed to change… humanity needed to evolve past their petty worries of today.
They had to stop fighting one another, stop treating mutants as monsters, stop treating the strong as criminals while secretly trying to make super soldiers of their own.
They needed to wake up, and I would gladly force them to do it.
The people of Albion were already waking up. Now it was time for the rest of the world.
"Loki speaks the truth," I entered the conversation. "This could have been avoided altogether, but recklessness was the cause. Yet clearly—given their attempt to deploy a nuclear weapon on this very city—they have learned nothing of the dangers inherent in their arrogance."
Amy's eyes snapped to me so fast that she nearly hit the cameraman with the microphone.
"Just to clarify for our viewers—"
Her voice trembled, but not with fear. With anticipation.
"You are confirming, on record, that the U.S. military attempted to launch a nuclear strike against New York while you were fighting off the Chitauri invasion?"
I nodded once.
Calm. Controlled. Unshakably certain.
"They attempted it despite being told it would not work," I said. "Despite being told it would kill millions. Despite knowing their bomb could not affect the portal, nor the army pouring through it."
The cameraman swallowed so loudly that the nearby microphone caught it.
Amy stepped closer, her voice a whisper sharpened into a blade.
"Why? Why would they do that?"
Loki laughed softly—a silvery sound that somehow carried over the rubble, smoke, and ruin.
"Because," he said, "mortals in positions of power often panic when they realize they have none."
Tony pinched the bridge of his nose.
Steve's jaw tightened.
Natasha folded her arms, face unreadable.
Reed Richards muttered something that sounded suspiciously like, "Idiots."
Amy pounced.
"And who, exactly, made that call? Who ordered the strike? Who should be held accountable?"
The street went silent.
Even the distant thunder of collapsing buildings faded for a moment.
I looked directly into the camera—not at Amy, not at the Avengers, but at the millions watching around the world.
"The ones in power," I said slowly, "those who sat in a distant room watching this battle unfold through screens. Those who believed they could sacrifice this city to preserve their own authority."
Amy's breath hitched.
"Make no mistake," I continued, "much has been lost in the fighting. Many died, many homes lost, but it is only thanks to Tony Stark that this city still stands. He bravely carried the nuclear bomb into the portal, risking his life to save what remains. Your leaders were ready to destroy everything." I paused for dramatic effect.
"Yet these heroes you see here—they risked their lives to save not just this city, but this world. While Albion and Asgard did step in, that doesn't diminish the bravery of these men and women. They are Earth's mightiest heroes."
Amy looked stunned for half a heartbeat—not because she doubted me, but because she knew exactly how heavy the words Earth's mightiest heroes would land when broadcast to billions.
Her eyes flicked toward Steve Rogers, toward Tony, toward the others.
She saw what I intended her to see: symbols. Icons. Living proof that the world didn't n
eed its fearful, bumbling politicians half as much as it needed those standing beside me.
"…And what happens now?" she finally asked, voice tight. "What will you do next? What should the world expect from you, Your Majesty?"
I allowed the silence to stretch—just long enough to make every viewer lean a little closer to their screens.
Then:
"Now?" I said softly.
"Now we seek truth."
Loki stepped forward, smile razor-thin. "And judgment."
The cameraman almost dropped his equipment.
Amy held her ground—but her breathing quickened.
"You mean… there will be a formal response? From the U.S. government? From the President?"
"There must be," I answered. "For their actions today nearly doomed this city, and their negligence nearly doomed this world."
Amy wet her lips, the way reporters do when navigating the edge of a headline and a career-defining moment.
"And will these leaders be… questioned? Investigated?"
"No," I said.
She froze.
"No?" she echoed.
"Well, we're going to head there now, to the White House. There, we will have our answers, and the world its truth. Nothing will be hidden, and if necessary, judgment will be carried out, for they didn't just attack their own city, wanting to murder their own people." I paused, looking straight into the camera for a moment before looking back at Amy.
"They also attacked me, my knights, and Loki and his forces; they will answer for that, for nearly starting a war."
Amy's pupils dilated. She could barely breathe, barely blink.
She had asked for clarity.
What she received was history.
"…You're saying—" she tried, voice trembling, "—that what happened today could have sparked a war between Albion, Asgard, and the United States?"
"A war they nearly started," I said.
A hush fell—not just among those with us, but across every living room, every phone screen, every café and shelter watching this broadcast. Even the Chitauri corpses seemed to lie a little quieter.
"As I said, we are going to the White House now," I continued, my voice low and clear. "They will answer for their actions. They will speak truth, under the eyes of the world. Nothing will be concealed. Nothing buried."
Amy's throat bobbed as she swallowed.
"And if… if they refuse?" she whispered.
Loki's smile sharpened like a blade drawn in moonlight.
"Then we shall… encourage cooperation," he said, with theatrical sweetness.
Somewhere behind us, Thor hummed in agreement.
Mordred cracked her knuckles.
The Knights stood tall and silent—executioners dressed in chivalry.
I stepped forward, drawing the camera's entire focus.
"They did not simply fire upon their own city," I said. "They attempted to murder their own people. Their own soldiers. Their own defenders."
My gaze swept slowly across the ruins, across the shattered skyline, then back into the camera.
"But worse," I continued, "they attacked us."
The air seemed to freeze.
"They sought to annihilate my knights. To annihilate Loki's forces. To annihilate me."
I let that land for a moment before adding,
"That is an act of war. And the only reason war has not begun… is because Tony Stark carried their bomb away and saved them from their own hand."
Tony shifted uncomfortably. Steve looked down.
Natasha's jaw clenched.
Loki beamed like a cat watching chaos unfold exactly as desired.
"But make no mistake," I said, finishing softly, dangerously, "we have not forgotten."
Amy Hardy stood there, trembling—not from fear of us, but from the sheer weight of what she was holding in her hands.
Live.
Broadcast worldwide.
Uncensored.
"Th-thank you, Your Majesty," she breathed, stepping back on shaky legs. "Thank you, Lord Loki. This is… this is Amy Hardy, reporting live. In what appears to be the beginning of one of the most consequential political confrontations in human history. The world… the world will be watching."
She signaled to cut the feed.
The camera light blinked off.
Silence lingered for a heartbeat.
Then Loki exhaled a pleased sigh.
"Well," he said lightly, "that should stir the pot."
Mordred grinned. "I like her. She's got fire."
(End of chapter)
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