The sudden appearance of the dark elves caused a great stir across the world.
Luke received the news almost instantly, relayed through Bumblebee's report. He had long suspected that the dark elves might still find their way to Earth, though he once entertained the idea that his own interference in Asgard might have altered the course of events. Perhaps Malekith's ambitions had been stifled, or the Aether had slipped out of their reach.
But no, fate seemed determined to unfold. Despite his actions in Asgard, the dark elves had still secured the Aether and set their sights on Earth.
Luke's lips curled faintly. Since they had come, he naturally had no reason to sit this one out.
After all, the arrival of Malekith and his forces marked nothing less than the climax of Thor's second great trial, the final battle of Thor: The Dark World.
And for Luke, such decisive battles always meant one thing: plot points.
By his estimate, this confrontation would grant him at least five. After returning from Asgard, his tally had already risen to eleven. But to reach the system's next level, he needed fifty in total. Thirty-nine more remained. A daunting climb, so opportunities like this were golden, and he had no intention of letting them pass.
"Bumblebee!" Luke called out sharply.
"Let's go. Destination: Greenwich, London."
"On it, boss," Bumblebee replied, his voice laced with eagerness.
A rumble shook the air as the massive thrusters on the helicarrier ignited. Fire blossomed behind them, and the colossal airborne fortress slowly heaved itself into motion.
For the first time, the helicarrier departed from New York. And for the first time, the world would see its shadow darken the skies.
…
Greenwich, London.
Not far from the London Sanctum, the air trembled as reality itself tore open. A massive black spaceship descended, blotting out the sun as it forced its way into existence.
The ground quaked violently. Streets split. Glass shattered. Pedestrians screamed as they scrambled for safety, their terror multiplying as the craft carved destruction into the cityscape. High-rise buildings buckled and collapsed into clouds of dust and debris.
Yet, strangely, no slaughter followed. The dark elves had not come to wage war upon humanity. Their goal was much grander. They sought not conquest, but transformation. Through the power of the Aether, they intended to plunge the entire universe into eternal darkness.
The spaceship slowed, finally coming to rest upon a wide square. Its colossal hatch opened with a hiss, releasing a wave of stale, alien air.
Malekith emerged at the head of his warriors, his pale features etched with grim determination. He lifted his gaze skyward, and his expression tightened with something like anticipation.
The Nine Realms were nearly aligned. He could feel it in his bones, in the thrum of cosmic energy that echoed through his veins. The Aether had already merged with his body, flooding it with its crimson malice.
At that very moment, a bolt of lightning split the sky. Thor landed in Greenwich, Stormbreaker balanced on his shoulder, arcs of electricity crawling restlessly over his frame. His face was shadowed by grief, his fury radiating outward like a storm on the verge of breaking.
Loki was gone, cut down before his eyes by the kursed warrior. He might have been mischievous, conniving, often treacherous, but he was still his brother. For Thor, the wound was raw and unbearable.
Malekith sneered, his voice like ice. "Asgardian. Still clinging to hope?"
His own anger simmered beneath the surface. Thor's persistence was like a thorn in his flesh, an Asgardian pest who refused to be crushed.
Thor's grip tightened around Stormbreaker's haft. His voice was cold, stripped of banter and pride. "You're going to die for this."
There would be no further words. He sought no bargains, no negotiations. Only blood, only vengeance.
Thor, of course, did not know the truth, that Loki's death was but a deception, his trickster brother already slinking back into Asgard's shadows.
…
At the same time, a silent figure stood atop the roof of the London Sanctum, her yellow robes rippling faintly in the wind.
The Ancient One.
Her gaze cut unerringly through the chaos, finding Malekith even across the distance. She could see the faint glow in his eyes, the Aether's stain.
Yet she did not intervene. Not yet.
Because her greatest concern did not lie with the dark elves. It lay within her own body.
The green energy she carried, that malignant seed she had drawn from beyond the mirror dimension, revealed its true nature the moment she returned to reality. It pulsed inside her like a living thing, whispering at the edges of her mind, urging her toward corruption. Worse, its influence bled outward, threatening to warp those around her.
This was not Dormammu's darkness, familiar and controllable that she had mastered long ago. This was something different. Something sly, much more insidious.
The Ancient One stood motionless, her expression calm but her thoughts wary. If Thor faltered, she might have to act. But for now, to draw on her power would be to risk herself, and perhaps the world.
Then, suddenly, she stiffened. Her eyes turned skyward.
Something vast stirred beyond the veil of reality. She could not see it with mortal sight, but her senses screamed of its presence. The air vibrated with unseen pressure.
Her eyes narrowed. A shadow loomed over her thoughts. This battle would not be as simple as she had believed.
…
On the battlefield, Thor and Malekith halted their advance, their instincts pricked by the same disturbance. Both tilted their heads skyward, suspicion tightening their faces.
High above, on the deck of the helicarrier, Luke stood at the very edge, clothes fluttering in the wind. His eyes swept over the confrontation unfolding below with measured calm.
Beside him, Wanda and Sharon lingered. But their attention was drawn not to the fight, but to the vast phenomena unfurling just beyond the ship.
Eight enormous portals hovered in the air around them, each opening into a different world. One roared with rivers of molten magma, flames belching upward in volcanic fury. Another glittered with endless sheets of ice, a realm of frozen silence.
The two women stared spellbound. The sight was unlike anything Earth had ever known.
The convergence of the Nine Realms, a cosmic alignment that came only once in tens of thousands of years.
Luke leaned forward slightly, preparing to leap into the fray to collect some plot points.
But just then, the familiar chime of the system resonated in his mind.
[Ding~ The host's summon, the fel warlock Gul'dan from the plane of World of Warcraft, has sensed the fel coordinates he left on Earth. Space itself is mutating, bridging his position with the coordinates.]
…
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