"Tony. Steve."
Antony's voice cut through the room.
"Do you know what we're really up against this time?"
He projected a holographic star map, pointing to a vast, lightless region of space.
"The Dark Elves. Their leader, Malekith, wields the Aether."
"He's not here to conquer Earth. He's not after oil or territory."
"He intends to use the Convergence to unleash the Aether and drag this entire universe into eternal darkness."
Antony's voice turned glacial.
"If he succeeds, there won't be casualty reports anymore."
"Because everyone will be dead."
He stepped directly in front of Tony Stark, locking eyes with him.
"And you want to talk to me about protecting kids in the face of that?"
"But—" Tony started.
"There is no 'but,' Tony," Antony cut him off.
"This is total war. We need every ounce of power we can get."
"Those trainees chose this path. The moment they decided to become heroes—this became the gate they have to pass through."
Tony fell silent.
He looked at Antony, wanting to argue—but the words lodged in his throat.
Steve Rogers took a slow breath and picked up his shield.
"If things are really as bad as you say…"
His eyes hardened.
"…then there is no retreat."
"That's why this show exists," Antony said, gesturing toward the door.
"They chose the spotlight. The suits. The applause."
"Then they pay the price."
"This battle is their coming-of-age."
"Only those who survive earn the right to stand beside me… to become part of the Seven."
"And those who die—"
Antony's gaze was utterly indifferent.
"—that's the fate of heroes."
"He's right," Jessica said hoarsely, taking a long drink.
"The world's screwed up. It's better to learn that early than live in a fairy tale."
Tony was quiet for a long moment.
Finally, he exhaled.
"Fine."
He stood up, hesitation gone from his eyes.
"I'll give them the best gear I have. JARVIS will monitor them in real time. If anyone can't hold the line, I pull them out immediately."
"I'll do the same," Steve said, lifting his shield.
"I'll lead from the front. As long as I'm standing, they won't die."
"That's what I wanted to hear."
Antony smiled, satisfied.
He extended his hand to the center of the table.
"For my Earth."
"It's mine too," Tony muttered, placing his hand on top.
"For surviving," Jessica added, joining in.
Steve placed his hand last, eyes steady.
"For… tomorrow."
-----
Vought Studio Hall
The air was thick with tension and electricity.
Thirty finalists stood below the stage, each wearing their own flashy, mismatched costumes.
Antony stood at center stage—no microphone—yet his voice echoed through the entire hall.
"Originally, today you were supposed to fight one-on-one. Tear each other apart for a few lousy promotion slots."
He paused, his gaze sharp as a blade.
"But the rules just changed."
"No more playing house."
"War is coming."
"The Dark Elves—a race of aliens determined to wipe Earth off the map—are already on their way."
"S.H.I.E.L.D. is unreliable. The military is too slow."
"The only ones who can protect human civilization…"
He pointed at the thirty of them.
"…are us."
"I know why you joined this show. Money. Fame. Billboards in Times Square."
"No problem. Vought can give you all of that."
"But first—"
"You have to prove you're worth it."
"From this moment on, Who Is the Next Superhero enters live combat mode!"
"No ring. No referees. No timeouts."
"The battlefield is Earth itself!"
"You will follow your mentors straight into combat against the Dark Elf invasion!"
"Live broadcast. Global audience."
"The top performer earns immediate entry into the Seven!"
"And even if you don't—President Ellis himself will award you the Defender of Earth Medal, plus a Vought S-Rank Contract!"
BOOM—
The room exploded.
Some faces flushed with excitement.
Others turned ghost-white.
"Wait—Homelander!"
A massive man who could enlarge his body raised his hand, voice shaking.
"You're sending us to fight aliens? For real? That's not in the contract!"
"Yeah!" a plant-controlling girl shouted.
"We signed up for a competition! What if we die?!"
Steve Rogers stood up from the mentor's seat.
"Kids," he said firmly,
"this is the price of heroism. This isn't a game. If you're not prepared to sacrifice—"
"You can leave," Antony finished calmly.
"The exit's right there. No one will laugh at you. Being a hero was never meant for everyone."
"Even if you leave, Vought will still offer you an A-level contract."
Silence followed.
After a full minute, the big man lowered his head and stepped out of line.
"I'm sorry… I have a family…"
"I don't want to die…"
One by one, others followed.
Eleven people left.
Nineteen remained.
Some legs trembled.
But none of them moved.
"Heh."
A quiet chuckle broke the tension.
Pietro chewed his gum, watching the deserters with a bored expression.
Then he turned to Antony, ambition blazing in his eyes.
"Hey, superstar. If I kill that alien boss…"
"…does that mean I get your captain's seat?"
The room gasped.
Antony laughed. He liked ambition.
"If you can do it, Pietro," he said, tapping his own chest,
"I'll hand you the position myself."
"But—"
His eyes sharpened, dangerous.
"—if you're all talk, I'll hang you from Stark Tower's lightning rod and dry you like jerky."
"Cool," Pietro shrugged.
"And me! And me!"
Wade Wilson jumped out, waving twin blades enthusiastically.
"I wanna kill aliens! Oh my God, aliens! I've never fought aliens before! You have no idea how much I regret missing the first invasion! What color is alien blood? Green? Does it stick like slime?!"
"Wade," Tony pinched the bridge of his nose,
"if you shut up for five minutes, I'll make you two gold-plated swords."
"Deal! Dad! Awesome! Dad! You have no idea how jealous I am of Little Spider for having a dad like you!"
"…Little Spider?" Tony frowned. "What little spider?"
"Did I say Little Spider?" Wade waved his hands frantically.
"Nah. Must've been your imagination."
The ultimate trial had officially begun.
--------------
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