"Fuck you!" Nick Fury slammed his fist on the table. "Who the hell is he?! What's he doing—putting on a goddamn show?!"
"Sir," a S.H.I.E.L.D. agent said, adjusting his glasses, "whoever he is… he's strong. Very strong. And… look at the public's reaction."
On a bank of monitors in the corner, live feeds from news stations flickered nonstop.
"We saw it! An unbelievable scene! This mysterious hero—he just blew that monster apart!"
"Who is he? Is he really Superman? But he doesn't have an 'S' on his chest!"
"Mom! It's Superman! It really is Superman!"
The roar of the crowd bled through the speakers—wild, ecstatic, disbelieving.
Ding! You have gained 50 popularity points.
Ding! You have gained 44 popularity points.
Ding! You have gained 64 popularity points.
…
Current popularity score: 50,124
Popularity skyrockets!
New York City's popularity status: Emerging!
Power boost unlocked: Thermal Vision – Temperature Amplified!
Anthony felt the surge of raw power ripple through his veins. He nearly groaned—almost let the pleasure slip past his lips—but caught himself just in time. This was the high he lived for.
The battle raged on.
With Anthony now on the field—a seemingly unremarkable superhuman at first glance—the Chitauri invasion forces were swiftly overwhelmed, unable to mount even a fraction of a defense.
He cut through the sky like a bolt of red-and-blue lightning, fluid and unstoppable.
This wasn't just a fight. It was a performance.
Every punch had to land with cinematic flair.
Every thermal blast had to slice with surgical precision.
Every rescue had to unfold at the absolute brink of disaster.
He spotted a city bus—packed with commuters—about to be crushed beneath a collapsing office tower.
In a flash, he was on the roof.
BOOM!
One hand shot up—and caught a multi-ton slab of concrete mid-fall.
"Oh my god…" the passengers whispered, faces pressed to the windows.
Above them, Anthony stood silhouetted against the smoke-choked sky, his billowing Stars and Stripes cape snapping like a war banner. He looked every inch a god descending to earth.
He even had the presence of mind to wink at a wide-eyed child in the back seat.
"Wow…"
"He saved us!!"
"It's Superman! It's really Superman!!"
"I'm posting this on Facebook right now!"
Cheers erupted. Phones, cameras—anything with a lens—swung toward him like compass needles to true north.
"That's right…" Anthony breathed, drinking it in. "Look at me. Worship me."
Ding! You have gained 55 popularity points.
Ding! You have gained 60 popularity points.
Ding! You have gained 66 popularity points.
…
Current popularity score: 70,124
Massive popularity surge detected!
With a casual flick of his wrist, he hurled the concrete slab into a cluster of Chitauri infantry—then soared off in search of his next scene.
He moved like an elegant butcher: heat vision carving clean lines through alien ranks, fists reducing warriors to mist before they could raise their weapons. Efficiency wrapped in spectacle.
And when he spotted Black Widow pinned down—surrounded, outnumbered—he couldn't resist.
He dropped from the sky in a swirl of red and blue, landing lightly in front of her with a confident grin.
"Madam," he said, voice smooth as silk, "do you need any help?"
Before she could answer, his eyes flared crimson.
A searing flash—and the dozen Chitauri surrounding her were halved, then ash.
Natasha tightened her grip on her weapon, eyes narrowed as she watched him warily. "Thank you… but you're standing too close."
"It's my honor," Anthony said with a wink from his left eye. He bent his knees slightly—then shot straight up into the sky like a missile.
"…Bastard," Natasha muttered under her breath. Still, she couldn't deny he'd just saved her life.
---
On a nearby rooftop, Hawkeye nocked another arrow and fired, blowing three Chitauri soldiers to smithereens with a single shot. "That guy in the cloak," he said, squinting at the distant figure soaring through the smoke, "is really hard to miss."
Black Widow flipped over a Chitauri energy blast, rolling to her feet mid-combat. "He fights better than Thor," she remarked coolly.
"He's powerful," Captain America's voice crackled through the comms, steady but cautious. "We don't know who he is—but right now, anyone helping is an ally."
"Agreed," Stark cut in. "But let's worry about Loki first. I'm almost at Stark Tower—he's already there."
---
At that very moment, Loki stood atop a Chitauri sky-chariot, scepter in hand, savoring the chaos he'd unleashed upon Manhattan.
"Found him!" Hawkeye locked on and fired a custom explosive arrow.
Without turning, Loki caught the arrow midair with one hand. A smirk curled his lips—until the warhead detonated.
BOOM—!
The blast hurled him backward in a violent arc. He smashed through the air and slammed into Stark Tower with a thunderous crash.
Anthony watched from above, expression bright with interest. With a flick of his cloak, he dove after him.
---
Inside the ruined lobby of Stark Tower, Loki groaned, dazed and disheveled, dirt smudged across his once-pristine armor.
He pushed himself up—only to freeze.
Standing before him was a man draped in a cloak emblazoned with a national flag, arms crossed, eyes gleaming with mocking amusement.
"Uh…" Loki clutched his head. His dignity as a prince of Asgard had just taken a catastrophic hit.
"Enough!" he snarled, surging to his feet. "Who do you think you are? I am a god! You insignificant—"
He never finished.
Anthony vanished.
Loki's pupils shrank. Too fast!
Before he could react, Anthony reappeared—right in front of him—and seized his throat in an iron grip, lifting him off the ground as if he weighed nothing.
"What was that?" Anthony smiled, but his eyes were glacial. "Try saying it again."
"You dare—!" Loki choked, face reddening as he thrashed.
Anthony's grin widened.
He hurled Loki skyward—then shot up after him even faster. At the apex, he stomped down with both feet square on Loki's gut.
BOOM!
The impact cratered the marble floor, spiderwebbing cracks across the entire lobby.
Before Loki could even gasp, Anthony seized his ankle and swung him like a wrecking ball.
WHOOSH—CRASH! CRASH! CRASH!
Pillars cracked. Walls buckled. Ceilings crumbled. Loki's body became a screaming blur as he ricocheted through the tower's interior like a ragdoll in a hurricane.
His helmet was long gone. Foam dripped from his lips. Stars danced behind his eyes.
"What did you say you were?" Anthony asked sweetly—then slammed Loki's skull into an alloy support column hard enough to buckle the metal.
"A… god?" he asked again—before launching him through a reinforced glass curtain wall, shattering it into a million glittering shards.
He landed silently, then strolled over and hoisted Loki's limp form by the scruff of his coat like a sack of trash.
With a casual flex of his wrists, Anthony flashed a blinding, picture-perfect smile.
"Come on," he said. "One last time."
In a burst of speed, he rocketed upward, blasting through the ceiling. Midair, he flipped, grabbed Loki's arms, and executed a flawless vertical drop—
BOOM—CRACK!
Loki's upper body embedded itself deep into the reinforced concrete floor. Only his legs stuck out, twitching feebly.
Silence.
Then—
The elevator doors slid open.
Iron Man, Captain America, and Black Widow stepped out—only to stop dead in their tracks.
Natasha blinked. "…Did he just… plant Loki in the floor?"
Stark's helmet retracted. He stared for a beat, then whistled. "Okay. That was… weirdly impressive."
Thor descended like a thunderclap, Mjolnir crackling in his grip. His eyes locked onto his brother—legs akimbo, half-buried in the ground—and his face turned beet red.
He raised his hammer, pointing it at Anthony with a roar: "You mortal! How dare you—how dare you—"
He sputtered, fists trembling.
After a long, awkward pause, he muttered, "…He did invade Midgard…"
Then, with far less conviction: "But… you humiliated him!"