The Ehangwen descended like a star falling toward the earth.
Clouds parted around us in luminous sheets, glowing white-gold as my ship carved a path through them. The air grew heavier, thicker, vibrating faintly with the tension of the world below — a nation bracing for judgment.
Washington D.C. stretched beneath us, deceptively peaceful from above. Streets choked with stalled traffic. Civilians staring at the heavens. News helicopters hovering at cautious distances, cameras trained on us as if trying to discern whether salvation or doom was arriving.
"They look… nervous," Bruce said quietly.
Tony snorted. "Nervous? Banner, they're terrified. Half of them think we're about to level the place."
"Are we?" Johnny asked, half-joking, half-not.
"No," Galahad said. "But they should pray we do not change our minds."
That shut Johnny up.
Even Thor, still braced proudly against the wind, grew somber as we dipped lower. Even he knew that the time for fun and games was over, and now came the time to be serious and deal with politics.
"The people gather," he murmured. "Midgard feels as it did in the old days… to watch punishment be carried out in public."
Loki smiled faintly. "Indeed, this almost feels like a public execution, doesn't it?" His voice was jovial, but there was a bite to it; he clearly wouldn't mind a bit of blood being spilled.
Clint swallowed. "Is it too late to get off?"
"Yes," several voices answered at once.
The Ehangwen slowed as we approached the National Mall, its brilliant hull shimmering with barely contained conceptual power. Soldiers clustered below, forming shaky perimeters. Secret Service agents barked orders into radios. Snipers tracked us with trembling hands.
None of it mattered.
None of them could stop this ship.
None of them could stop me.
The earth trembled as my vessel came to rest — not touching down, but hovering inches above the ground, an act of deliberate superiority. Its sheer presence cast a golden reflection across the Capitol Dome, the Washington Monument, and the façade of the White House itself.
The wind from our descent rippled across the lawns, flattening grass and snapping flags taut as if saluting a higher power.
The world went silent.
Then the Ehangwen unfurled.
Golden platforms extended like petals blooming, forming stairs that spiraled downward in impossible geometry, each step glowing as though lit from within. Soldiers flinched. Cameras zoomed. Civilians gasped.
I stepped forward.
My knights followed.
Loki strode at my side, wearing a smile meant for enemies who did not yet realize they were defeated.
Behind us, Tony whispered, "Well… subtlety's dead."
Steve exhaled slowly. "Arthuria… maybe try not to frighten them too much."
"I am not here to frighten them," I said, beginning my descent.
"But I am here to be seen."
The ground shook faintly as I touched the final step.
Every rifle lowered instinctively.
Every eye widened.
Every camera in the world turned toward me.
And for a heartbeat, all of Washington — no, all of Earth — held its breath.
The King had arrived.
The moment my foot touched the ground, a cluster of black SUVs screeched to a halt at the edge of the White House lawn. Doors flew open. Agents spilled out first — forming defensive lines, establishing paths, whispering frantically into radios.
Then came the officials.
The very nervous officials.
A man in a dark suit rushed forward so quickly he nearly tripped over his own feet. His badge glittered in the sunlight — Chief of Staff.
Behind him, a general with too many medals followed, flanked by Secret Service and senior advisors wearing expressions halfway between awe and cardiac arrest.
"Your Majesty!" the Chief of Staff called out, breathless. "Welcome to Washington. Allow me to say—"
"No," I interrupted.
The man froze mid-bow.
"We are not here for pleasantries."
The general cleared his throat, stiffening. "Ma'am — Your Majesty — rest assured, we have prepared an appropriate reception. If you and your delegation would simply follow standard security protoc—"
Kay took a single step toward him.
Just one.
The general shut his mouth with an audible click.
I continued walking, each stride carrying the weight of inexorable judgment. My knights followed with perfect discipline. Loki walked with the satisfied elegance of someone who had been waiting his entire life to see mortals scramble like this.
The Chief of Staff hurried to keep pace, sweating visibly. "The President is waiting in the East Room. We've assembled the— the appropriate leadership. Cabinet members, military advisors, national security counsel, and representatives from— from the intelligence community."
"Good," I said, without slowing. "Then this will be swift."
The general grimaced. "Your Majesty, before entering the premises, we traditionally—"
"This is not a state visit," I said.
"This is a reckoning."
Loki nearly clapped from joy.
The doors to the White House opened for us automatically; whether by order or fear was unclear.
Agents lined the entrance hall — backs straight, hands clasped, eyes wide. Not a single one dared raise a weapon. They had all seen what we had done in New York, and these people weren't paid enough to anger a god.
Much less someone who ordered a nuclear strike on New York City.
The Chief of Staff led us through the corridors with the frantic energy of a man escorting a hurricane.
"Ah— as you can see, we've secured the building. Emergency protocols are active. Only essential personnel have been permitted to remain. The… ah… representatives you requested have been assembled in the East Room."
"Then take us to them," I commanded.
"Yes — of course — this way, Your Majesty."
We rounded the final corner, and the double doors to the East Room stood before us. Thick wood. Gold trim. Guards on either side, tense and pale.
The Chief of Staff inhaled sharply, trying to gather courage.
"Before we enter," he began, "I must emphasize that everyone inside is prepared to cooperate fully. There will be questions, investigations, and—"
I placed a hand upon the door.
He fell instantly silent.
And waited.
I pushed.
The doors swung open.
The chamber was full.
Cabinet officials. Generals. Senators. Intelligence directors. The Vice President. The National Security Advisor. Joint Chiefs. SHIELD liaisons. Representatives from FEMA, Homeland Security, NSA, CIA — all gathered like schoolchildren before a tribunal.
And at the center of them all:
The President.
Many people considered him the single most powerful person in the world, commander in chief of the most powerful military, leader of the free world and the strongest economy. Yet to those who knew, he was little more than a child playing at being in charge.
Forget people such as the Ancient One; even Wenwu from China was far more powerful than this man. Even without taking superpowered individuals into account, there were countless people above the president.
The real elite — the rich and powerful who put the president in charge, who whispered into his ear and wielded him like a puppet.
Despite that, he was still the center of this room. He was clearly in charge here, and because of that, my gaze locked onto him first.
For a moment, the room held its breath.
The President straightened — shoulders square, chin raised — the posture of a man desperately trying to remember he was supposed to be powerful.
He was not.
Not now.
Not today.
Not after what he had used his supposed power on.
He visibly swallowed when the knights stepped in behind me, the air rippling faintly with the pressure of their mere presence. Loki drifted to my left like a living shadow; Thor walked to my right, a mountain of authority in every step. The Avengers entered last, spreading out behind me as if forming a wall between the world and its consequences.
The President finally spoke.
"Your Majesty," he began, voice carefully controlled, "welcome to the United States. I assure you, we are committed to—"
"Do not greet me," I said softly.
It cut deeper than shouting would have.
A ripple traveled through the assembled officials — not outrage, but fear. Respectful, coiled fear, like men and women standing at the edge of a cliff while the ground shifted beneath their feet.
The President's next words faltered. "Then… perhaps we should begin by addressing—"
"Behind me stand your heroes, those who risked their lives for this nation. You will stand, and you will applaud their actions and sacrifice," I cut him off once more.
There was no hesitation.
There was no time for anyone to think.
They rose.
Every senator.
Every general.
Every cabinet member.
The Vice President, two intelligence directors, the Chairman of the Joint Chiefs — all of them scrambled to their feet like puppets on strings, driven not by respect but by instinct.
An instinct older than politics.
Fear.
Primordial fear of death.
Their applause began unevenly — a few claps here and there, timid and brittle — but quickly it swelled into something more cohesive, driven by fear, obligation, and the knowledge that eyes all around the world were watching.
The sound echoed beneath the crystal chandeliers.
Clap. Clap. Clap.
Every person in that room clapped for Tony Stark, who had carried their bomb into the sky.
For Steve Rogers, who had led the charge on the ground.
For Natasha and Clint, who fought an army with nothing but skill and will.
For Bruce Banner, who risked losing control.
They clapped for a mutant who endured pain and shed blood enough to kill a normal man. They clapped for the Fantastic Four.
And for Loki's help, and for that of my knights and his army. They gave the greatest standing ovation the White House had ever seen.
Tony shifted awkwardly, rubbing the back of his neck. "Wow. Okay. Didn't think we were doing… this."
Clint leaned sideways. "Is it bad that I kinda like it?"
Natasha didn't smile, but she almost smiled. "Don't get used to it."
Steve simply bowed his head in embarrassment. "Arthuria… this isn't necessary."
"It is," I said, stepping further into the room. "Because they must understand who saved their nation, and who endangered it."
The applause died instantly.
No one wanted to be the last one clapping.
The President sat slowly, trying to regain his posture. "Your Majesty, with all due respect—"
"You nearly murdered your own people."
The words landed like a blade cleaving stone.
The President's mouth opened, then shut. His advisors shifted. Several senators avoided meeting my eyes as if that could spare them.
I let the silence stretch.
Let the weight settle.
Let them feel it — the consequence of their actions.
"This nation," I said softly, "was under attack from a foreign enemy. And instead of leading, instead of trusting your heroes, instead of acting with courage—"
I pointed to Tony.
"You chose to kill him."
Then to Bruce.
"You chose to kill him."
Then to Steve.
"And him."
My gaze swept the room, cold as judgment.
"You chose to slaughter millions of civilians. Men. Women. Children. All living here. All trusting you."
The President swallowed. "We believed the situation was beyond hope. We believed—"
"Why did you believe, when you had some of the smartest people in the world telling you a nuclear bomb would do nothing?" I shut him down. "Did you believe yourself smarter than him?" I pointed at Tony. "Or him?" I pointed at Reed.
The President's breath hitched as both Tony and Reed became the center of every pair of eyes in the room.
Tony lifted one hand awkwardly. "Yeah, uh… for the record? I definitely said 'don't do that.' Multiple times. Loudly."
Reed adjusted his glasses. "And I provided mathematical confirmation that the bomb could not close the portal, nor penetrate the energy field surrounding it. You received our advisories."
My gaze returned to the President.
"So."
My voice flowed like steel submerged in ice.
"You ignored the warnings of the brightest minds on this planet."
A ripple of shame — or fear — passed through the room.
The National Security Advisor stepped forward, clearing his throat. "Your Majesty, the decision was… made under extraordinary duress. Our projections showed catastrophic spread of alien forces—"
I instantly raised a hand toward the man, and he exploded into a shower of blood and gore.
"You think that was under duress?" I said coldly. "No. You haven't yet known the meaning of that."
The room was as silent as a grave.
(End of chapter)
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