Orbital Station
The rhythmic clang of armored boots echoed through the metallic corridors of the Plumber orbital station, each step reverberating with the weight of impending doom. Sevenseven advanced with predatory confidence, his purple armor gleaming under the emergency lighting as energy from the Sky Hammer coursed through every plate and joint.
"The Plumber Earth Command Station," he said, his voice carrying electronic harmonics through his suit's translation matrix. "Destroy this nerve center, and the terror of the humans below will reach its absolute peak."
His native language sounded like the chittering of mechanical insects, but Norman Osborn didn't need translation software to understand the threat. The alien bounty hunter's intent was written in every casual gesture, every contemptuous glance at the defenders arrayed before him.
Norman stepped forward, his enhanced armor humming with stored energy as vibranium servos responded to his movements. Behind him stood Dr. Otto Octavius, his four mechanical arms extending from his back like the legs of some technological spider, each appendage equipped with enough grip strength to crush steel. Dozens of Plumber agents filled the corridor, their weapons trained on the approaching threat with the kind of desperate precision that came from knowing this might be their last stand.
"Can we actually hold him?" Otto's voice carried the analytical calm of a man whose scientific mind was already calculating their odds of survival. The physics PhD had witnessed the energy readings from the Sky Hammer Messengers' previous battles, power output that dwarfed nuclear explosions contained within individual weapons.
"We have to," Norman replied, though he could feel cold sweat beneath his armor despite the climate control systems. The enemy before them operated on a completely different level of capability than anything they'd previously faced. Without the hammer, it might have been an even fight.
With it, they were insects challenging a god.
But Norman had learned from his son Harry that sometimes appearance mattered as much as reality when it came to leadership. Forcing confidence into his voice, he added, "Don't worry, we still have a secret weapon."
"Since when?" Otto asked, turning to give Norman a curious look.
The scientist had gained considerable weight since joining the Plumbers, the stress-free environment and excellent cafeteria food having added several inches to his waistline. Gone was the lean, driven researcher who had obsessed over fusion energy. In his place stood a man who looked like he actually enjoyed life.
Norman chose not to answer directly. The secret weapon was real, but explaining it would only create more problems.
"Resistance is futile," Sevenseven announced, finally switching to English through his translator. But this wasn't an attempt at communication, it was a declaration of conquest.
The alien bounty hunter exploded into motion like a living missile, his enhanced speed turning him into a purple blur that carved through the air with lethal intent.
Norman's enhanced reflexes, courtesy of the perfected Super Soldier Serum, allowed him to dive aside at the last possible moment. As he rolled to safety, he immediately began coordinating the counterattack.
"All units, open fire!"
The corridor erupted in strobing purple light as hundreds of energy weapons discharged simultaneously. These weren't standard Plumber sidearms, they were the emergency arsenal, each rifle drawing power directly from fragments of the Power Stone itself. The concentrated barrage struck Sevenseven like a space hurricane, the overlapping energy fields creating interference patterns that sent him tumbling backward into the station's reinforced wall.
The impact crater his body created was deep enough to accommodate a person, testament to both the weapons' effectiveness and the alien's enhanced durability.
Sevenseven shook his head to clear it, genuinely surprised. His intelligence briefings had indicated that Earth possessed only primitive technology, barely capable of achieving interplanetary travel. The existence of weapons that could actually harm a Sky Hammer wielder represented a significant intelligence failure.
But surprise didn't equal panic. These humans might have more firepower than expected, but they were still fundamentally limited by their biological constraints. All he needed was one clear moment to swing his hammer, and their numerical advantage would become irrelevant.
The alien began to tighten his grip on the Sky Hammer's handle, preparing to channel enough divine energy to vaporize the entire corridor. But before he could complete the motion, four metallic tentacles shot toward him through the hail of energy bolts like striking serpents.
CLANG!
Otto's mechanical arms seized Sevenseven's limbs with precision engineering, the vibranium construction allowing them to withstand forces that would shatter conventional materials. Within seconds, the alien was pinned against the wall like a mounted specimen, his weapon arm immobilized.
"Your hammer is the source of your power?" Otto observed with scholarly interest, adjusting his glasses with one free hand. "Then I can't allow you to use it."
Each mechanical arm possessed the lifting capacity of industrial construction equipment, their combined strength measured in hundreds of tons. Even Ben would struggle to break free without transforming into one of his more powerful forms.
Norman immediately signaled for the weapons fire to cease, not wanting to risk damaging Otto's restraining system. For a moment, it seemed like their desperate gambit might actually succeed.
Then Sevenseven's body language shifted from surprised to amused.
"Dr. Octavius!" Norman shouted in warning, but it was too late.
The alien bounty hunter simply flexed his enhanced muscles and treated the hundreds of tons of restraining force like an inconvenience. Otto's mechanical arms, designed to handle the most demanding industrial applications, bent like pipe cleaners as Sevenseven casually broke free.
Before the scientist could react, the alien grabbed two of the mechanical limbs and used them to swing Otto like a club, slamming him into the deck plating with enough force to leave an imprint.
Then Sevenseven raised the Sky Hammer.
Space energy erupted from the weapon like a contained supernova, washing over the entire corridor in a wave of destructive force that sent bodies flying in all directions. Plumber agents tumbled through the air like rag dolls, their weapons scattered and their formation completely broken.
"Activate the armor-eater," Norman gasped, rolling to his feet and retrieving a distinctive black pumpkin bomb from his belt. The device sailed through the air toward Sevenseven with unerring accuracy.
The alien didn't even bother to dodge what appeared to be a conventional explosive. Human weapons had proven their limitations, one more bomb would make no difference.
He was catastrophically wrong.
The black sphere liquefied in mid-flight, transforming into a viscous substance that struck his chest armor with a wet slapping sound. Within seconds, the material began spreading across his body like aggressive oil, and everywhere it touched, his advanced combat suit began dissolving.
Plates of armor fell away in chunks, revealing the organic form beneath. Sevenseven's weapon arm suddenly felt impossibly heavy as the power systems that enhanced his strength went offline.
"Galvan Mechamorph?," he realized with growing alarm.
"Not exactly," Norman corrected, pulling himself upright despite several cracked ribs. "But close enough. After the Ultron crisis, I asked Ben for something that could neutralize hostile technology. This seemed like the time to field-test it."
Otto struggled to his feet, his mechanical arms sparking but still functional. "You actually had a secret weapon? I thought you were bluffing."
"Originally designed to prevent your arms from going rogue and strangling you," Norman replied with gallows humor. But his satisfaction was short-lived.
"Admirable," Sevenseven acknowledged, even as his mobility systems failed and left him partially paralyzed. "But you reveal your ignorance of your own technology."
A small panel opened on his shoulder armor, revealing a diminutive gray arm that emerged like a grotesque puppet. Tiny fingers pressed a series of controls, and electrical current arced across the alien's body.
Where the electricity touched the Transformer secretions, the substance recoiled and began dissolving like ice under a blowtorch. Within moments, Sevenseven's armor systems were coming back online.
"Electromagnetic pulse," Otto observed with academic interest. "Of course. The Mechamorph's weakness is well-documented."
"Any other secret weapons?" Norman asked, watching helplessly as their enemy regained full mobility.
"Just one."
Norman didn't elaborate, but his expression carried the weight of someone about to make a decision he'd regret. Sevenseven had raised his hammer again, and this time there would be no restraining arms or technological countermeasures to save them.
The Sky Hammer began to glow with enough energy to crack the station's molecular structure.
Then something green and enormous smashed through the reinforced bulkhead like it was made of tissue paper.
"HULK SMASH PURPLE THING!"
The Hulk's roar shook the entire orbital platform as his massive fists began hammering Sevenseven with the kind of uncontrolled fury that could reshape landscapes. Each blow carried enough kinetic energy to destabilize the station's orbit, the impacts reverberating through every deck and corridor.
"This is your secret weapon?" Otto asked, struggling to maintain his footing as the platform shuddered around them.
"A living weapon of mass destruction that we can't control," Norman confirmed grimly. "Whether Hulk wins or Sevenseven wins, we're all dead."
The two titans' battle was already threatening the station's structural integrity. Cracks appeared in the vibranium support beams as forces beyond their design tolerances tore through the facility.
"Eunice.," Norman called out to the station's AI. "Begin emergency separation protocols. We need to move away from Earth's gravity well."
"Norman?" Otto stared at him in shock.
"We prepare for the worst-case scenario," Norman explained, his voice carrying the calm authority of someone who'd made peace with necessary sacrifice. "Once we're far enough from inhabited areas, we initiate self-destruct. The accumulated energy from this fight will tear the station apart anyway, better to control the timing."
He activated the general evacuation alarm, his voice echoing through every functioning speaker on the platform. "All personnel, abandon station immediately. This is not a drill."
As escape pods began launching toward Earth, Norman remained on the command deck, watching two unstoppable forces tear his carefully constructed headquarters apart piece by piece.
Sometimes leadership meant knowing when to sacrifice the fort to save the kingdom.
On the surface, Steve Rogers felt like his lungs were filled with liquid fire. Every breath tasted of copper and exhaustion, his enhanced physiology pushed far beyond its sustainable limits. Vilgax's fear-based power had aged him decades in moments, transforming the legendary Captain America into a frail old man whose body struggled to keep pace with his tactical mind.
His opponent, by contrast, moved with the casual confidence of someone who knew the fight was already over.
Sixsix ducked under Steve's shield with fluid grace, then drew a monomolecular blade that sliced through the air where Steve's head had been. In the same motion, he grabbed the famous shield and hurled it far enough away that its magnetic recall system couldn't retrieve it.
Without looking, the alien mercenary drew his sidearm and fired a precise shot that sent Falcon tumbling from the sky for the second time, his damaged flight gear finally giving up entirely.
The entire exchange took less than three seconds.
"Your reputation exceeds your capabilities," Sixsix observed, his translation software rendering his mechanical voice with disdainful clarity.
Steve rolled beneath a sweeping kick, using his smaller size to slip behind the alien's guard. The Winter Soldier, reading his partner's intent, launched himself at Sixsix from the opposite angle.
For a moment, it looked like their coordination might overcome the raw power differential. Steve locked his arms around Sixsix's neck while Bucky grabbed the alien's weapon arm.
Then Sixsix demonstrated why the Sotoraggian mercenaries commanded premium rates across the galaxy.
Hidden arm-ports opened along his shoulders, revealing secondary appendages that drew twin vibro-blades from concealed sheaths. The weapons moved with mechanical precision, stabbing toward Steve's ribs while the alien's primary arms dealt with Bucky's grapple.
"Steve!" Bucky's warning came too late.
The blades found their mark, punching through enhanced fabric and into flesh. Steve gasped in pain as Sixsix simultaneously kicked Bucky away and slammed him to the ground, one armored boot settling on his chest with enough pressure to crack ribs.
"To engage an unknown enemy using only your primitive assumptions," Sixsix said, looking down at the wounded super-soldier, "represents the pinnacle of tactical stupidity."
Steve coughed blood onto the alien's boot, but his eyes held no surrender. "I suppose... that applies to you too," he wheezed, his gaze focused on something beyond his captor.
Sixsix spun around just in time to catch an arrow aimed at his helmet.
"Stone Age savages?" he scoffed, studying the primitive projectile. Then the device began beeping.
BOOM!
The explosive arrowhead detonated with enough force to level a small building, the blast wave washing over both combatants in a sphere of superheated gas and debris. But even as the explosion consumed Sixsix, the ground beneath Steve liquefied into quicksand that pulled him to safety.
Dozens of meters away, the sand solidified and deposited Steve next to Natasha Romanoff and William Baker, whose molecular control had made the rescue possible.
"Miss me?" Clint Barton called out from his sniper perch atop a nearby building, already drawing another specialized arrow from his quiver.
"A little," Natasha admitted, though her relief was evident. "I thought you'd decided on retirement."
"That was the plan," Clint replied, notching an arrow with a crystalline tip that hummed with stored energy. "But Ben made a compelling argument about team composition."
The archer had been one of Vilgax's early victims, his mind trapped in nightmarish visions where everyone he cared about suffered because of his failures. But unlike some of the fear-power's targets, Clint had recognized the illusions for what they were and fought his way back to reality.
Ben's recruitment message had been characteristically direct: "How can you run a proper team fight without a marksman?"
"Good to have you back," Steve said, accepting Sandman's help to stand upright despite his injuries.
"We've got backup arriving from multiple fronts," Natasha reported, checking her weapons as she spoke. "The Plumber reinforcements, the Nine Realms survivors, and the mystic arts division have managed to tie down most of Vilgax's regular forces. It's basically even odds now."
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Writing takes time, coffee, and a lot of love.If you'd like to support my work, join me at [email protected]/GoldenGaruda
You'll get early access to over 50 chapters, selection on new series, and the satisfaction of knowing your support directly fuels more stories.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~