Nathan stood atop a high-rise, arms crossed and eyes half-lidded, watching the city from the edge of the rooftop. He wasn't transformed—no alien form, no glowing aura—just himself, using Mana Sense to track the chaos brewing below. The events of the so-called Avengers Incident were unfolding more or less as expected.
But then he felt it—an abrupt shift in the magical currents behind him. Like a drop of ink disturbing still water.
He didn't turn. His magical awareness offered him a perfect 360-degree field. He already knew who stepped through the portal that shimmered open behind him.
"Good evening, Mr. Winterson. You seem to be enjoying the view," said a calm voice, almost amused.
A woman in flowing yellow robes now stood there—elegant, poised, timeless.
"Good evening to you as well, Sorcerer Supreme," Nathan replied without moving, gaze still on the distant skyline.
"The bait worked," the Ancient One said, stepping closer to the ledge. "Now it all depends on whether you can force the battle to happen... even without him."
Nathan let a small grin curl his lips. "Don't worry. I used my Chronosapien transformation to double-check the timeline."
A pause. Then her voice grew quieter. "Be careful. You're tampering with forces far beyond your threshold. This path may solve many problems... but it could create twice as many."
Her silhouette shimmered again as she stepped backward into the golden portal. With a faint hum, the gateway vanished.
Nathan finally exhaled. "Yeah, yeah. Warnings logged."
He tapped the H-Omnitrix. A soft glow ran over his body as his form blurred and lifted into the sky.
His destination? One of the largest adult film studios in the world.
Inside, the office reeked of incense and irony. Gabriel sat behind a desk, reclined, swirling a glass of something amber. His face—eerily reminiscent of Loki's, if Loki had grown up on sarcasm and bad ideas—lit up when Nathan walked in.
"Oh, back so soon," Gabriel said with a smirk. "Managed to convince her?"
Nathan shrugged. "Some people just have better credibility than you."
Gabriel raised his glass in mock toast. "Touché. So... ready?"
"Yeah. You?"
"As long as I get rid of those douches sitting upstairs? Always."
With a snap of his fingers, Gabriel vanished.
Nathan blinked. "If he had nothing else to say, why the hell did he ask me to come in person?"
He turned to leave—only to walk straight into a wall of space.
Literally.
No matter which door or window he stepped through, he came back in from the opposite side. The space was looping, locked, folding in on itself like an invisible Möbius strip.
[It was to be expected. If he intends to flee toward the cosmos under Loki's identity, then trapping the only one who knows the truth would be a logical step.]
"Still stings," Nathan muttered. "I thought we were almost friends."
He glanced around. "Got any backup plans, Raph?"
A chime rang out. The monitor on Gabriel's desk flickered on, playing a recorded message in Gabriel's smug voice.
"If you're seeing this, congrats—you're trapped. Don't pout. The space'll reset itself in a few weeks, tops. There's a warehouse in the basement loaded with snacks. Internet still works too. Go on, watch some porn. Laugh. Cry. You'll be fine. Love ya."
[Which is precisely why I never told you I did have backup plans.]
Nathan sighed and tapped the Omnitrix again. His body shimmered and shifted, light bending around him as the form of Homelander peeled away, replaced by the cold, methodical gleam of Brainiac.
Gabriel clearly hadn't accounted for Brainiac's tech affinity—especially not when he left the internet on.
Still, even after slipping through the digital backdoor and exiting the containment field, Nathan didn't go after Gabriel. He didn't even bother trying.
Orion Form wasn't in control enough to give him any comfort.
And if Supernatural taught him anything, it was that Archangels weren't just strong—they were untouchable.
And here, in this tangled Multicross?
He really didn't want to find out how untouchable. Not yet.
Even before switching to his Brainiac form, Nathan had been tracking Loki through Raphael's access to the city's surveillance network. But even now—hovering silently in the upper atmosphere, tech-laced vision scouring satellite feeds—his vantage points remained frustratingly poor. The best cameras only caught fragments. A side profile. A shoulder twitch. Lips moving, but unreadable.
Still, he watched. Loki stood with Gabriel at the far end of a rooftop—no sound, just movement and gestures exchanged like stage actors at a distance. Then, with a deliberate slowness that made Nathan lean forward, Loki handed the Tesseract over.
A swirling portal bloomed open behind him.
Gabriel's form shimmered subtly. His clothes shifted in hue and texture, threads realigning until they mirrored Loki's green and gold attire. He stepped back into the portal, clutching the cube.
Now he was Loki.
And the real one was gone.
Nathan's HUD pinged. A message blinked into existence at the edge of his vision.
Coordinates. A location.
From her.
Without hesitation, he activated teleportation protocols, warping into the sky above the target zone. The location was a fractured concrete plaza ringed by shattered glass and flickering streetlights.
And there—standing like a misplaced monarch amidst the chaos—was Loki.
No, not just standing. Smirking.
Nathan dropped fast. Mid-fall, he stretched out his arms and pulled energy from every circuit and processor in the vicinity. Phones, traffic lights, broken drones—everything sparked as he funneled raw electricity into his hands. He landed like a meteor and unleashed the charge in a blinding arc of lightning that blasted Loki off his feet.
The trickster god tumbled back, cape scorched and eyes wide with surprise. But only for a moment.
Loki raised his hand, magic pulsing to life, ready to retaliate.
But something was faster.
A golden portal tore open above him, and thick radiant chains shot down like divine lightning. Before Loki could even utter a spell, the chains wrapped around his limbs, yanking him down. A moment later, the Ancient One descended through the rift, robes billowing as if caught in a storm that obeyed only her.
She landed with eerie calm, one hand outstretched. The chains tightened further as she reached forward and plucked the scepter from Loki's grasp.
But her expression faltered.
The gem was missing.
Before either of them could speak, a laugh rang through the air—mocking, theatrical, and echoing from nowhere.
"You think your puny minds can trap me?" the voice sneered.
Loki shimmered.
And then he was gone.
No blood. No wounds. No body.
Only vanishing threads of illusion dispersing into the wind.
The Ancient One's face tightened, her eyes narrowing. She slowly turned to Nathan, who still hovered with hands crackling.
A beat of silence passed.
"Come on," Nathan muttered. "You want me to believe Loki managed to trick the greatest sorcerer alive with illusions?"
Her reply was cool and unwavering. "Infinity Stones are better left in the hands of those who cannot access their full power." She turned to face him fully. "And you have yet to show me anything that would earn my trust."
Nathan clenched his jaw, eyes dimming slightly as the glow from his suit receded.
[The Mind Stone was simply a bonus. Even without it, the plan continues without issue.]
He didn't respond. Not out loud.
Instead, he vanished again, teleporting with a shimmer of blue.
This time, he appeared in the center of his living room. Lights still off. Curtains half-drawn. The only sound was the faint hum of the H-Omnitrix recalibrating.
Nathan stood there, motionless, staring at nothing in particular.
One illusion. One swap.
And somehow, Loki still got the last laugh.
INT. STARK TOWER – TOP PLATFORM – NIGHT
The faint whirr of the Tesseract reverberates through the air, pulsing brighter with each second. Electric-blue arcs dance between metal coils as Loki stands tall beside the looming portal generator. Beside him, Dr. Erik Selvig mutters equations under his breath, eyes glassy—mind still shackled by the Mind Stone's control.
The final key clicks into place.
A beam of energy blasts skyward from the arc reactor platform, piercing the clouds like a lance. The sky ripples—and tears.
The first portal opens.
Then another.
And another.
Soon, above New York and across American skies, rips in space bloom like blooming flowers—beautiful, terrifying, and unstoppable.
Loki watches, arms folded behind his back, grinning like a man who's just rigged the world's largest mousetrap.
"Well," he says, voice rich with satisfaction, "I'd say that's dramatic enough."
INT. STARK TOWER – LOWER LEVELS – MOMENTS LATER
The elevator doors slide open.
Tony Stark steps out, armored in his Mark VII suit. His HUD blinks with alerts, audio channels flooded with panicked radio chatter. He surveys the situation with a grim scowl.
"I leave the city alone for one hour," he mutters.
He rockets upward in a blur of red and gold, bursting onto the rooftop platform.
"Fancy seeing you here, Reindeer Games," Tony calls as he hovers, repulsors at the ready. "You throw this party, or are we just using my roof for fireworks?"
Loki doesn't turn. "Do you always interrupt art in progress?"
"Only when the art starts throwing monsters at Manhattan."
A blast of magic lashes out toward Tony, who dodges mid-air and returns fire. The two clash—repulsors against sorcery, iron will against divine mischief. Their fight is fast, chaotic, but it's clear Loki isn't going all out.
He doesn't need to.
Because the portals have begun pouring.
EXT. NEW YORK CITY – SKYLINE – NIGHT
The sky splits open like a cracked mirror. Chitauri warships descend in droves, spewing foot soldiers by the hundreds. Streets flood with chaos—explosions, gunfire, terrified civilians fleeing in every direction.
It's not an invasion. It's a siege.
INT. S.H.I.E.L.D. QUINJET – APPROACHING THE CITY
Steve Rogers adjusts the straps on his shield as the Quinjet tilts hard to the left. Natasha Romanoff, calm as ever, checks her pistols. A thunderclap echoes overhead as Thor leaps out ahead of them.
Jessica Drew stands across from them, already suited up.
Classic red and yellow. The spider emblem gleams beneath the interior lights. Her hair's tied back, her stance grounded and tense.
She glances at Steve. "So. This is your welcome-back party?"
Steve exhales slowly. "Was hoping for something quieter."
"I was hoping for something I could punch."
The Quinjet banks sharply again.
"Well," Natasha mutters, "you're both in luck."
EXT. CITY STREETS – MIDTOWN – NIGHT
Jessica explodes into the scene, leaping off the descending Quinjet and landing in a three-point stance atop a taxi cab.
A Chitauri trooper lunges. She swings upward in a flash—venom blast. The alien convulses and drops.
She springs forward, flipping mid-air and landing on a Chitauri glider. Two rapid punches knock the pilot off. She commandeers the skimmer, whipping it toward another cluster of enemies.
Above her, Iron Man spirals into the fray, lighting up enemy lines.
On the ground, Steve uses his shield like a sledgehammer, deflecting blasts, rallying the cops, and barking commands.
Natasha dives through wreckage, dual-wielding pistols, always moving, always precise.
Thor descends like a meteor, Mjolnir tearing through enemy ranks with every crack of thunder.
Jessica lands beside Steve between clashes. "You guys do this often?"
"First time," Steve says, brushing debris off his shoulder.
Jessica zaps a Chitauri that tried sneaking up on them. "Let's make it count."
EXT. STARK TOWER – ROOFTOP – SAME TIME
Back on the rooftop, Tony flies backward, evading another blast. His armor is scorched but still functioning.
"You're stalling," he says through gritted teeth.
"I'm savoring," Loki replies, a smug glint in his eyes.
But just then—Loki flickers for half a second. A brief visual distortion. Almost nothing.
Tony's eyes narrow. "The hell was that?"
Loki just smiles.
5 MINUTES EARLIER - UNKNOWN CELESTIAL REALM – NIGHT
The sky isn't black here. It's endless white—pure, still, and far too quiet.
At the center of this nothingness, a throne of silver and bone floats above a shimmering lake of light. Seated upon it, wings half-folded, is Michael—Heaven's greatest weapon.
His expression is unreadable. Cold. Calculating.
Before him, a host of angels kneel. Not golden, not glowing, but forged of silence and storm—cloaked in robes that barely shimmer, swords unlit.
Michael's voice carries no echo. It doesn't need one.
"The scepter must be retrieved."
His gaze does not flicker, but his fingers tighten around the arm of his throne.
"Loki carries it still. The Mind Stone is too dangerous to remain in mortal hands… even one half-divine."
A beat.
"No direct action. No wings overhead. No thunder in your wake."
He leans forward slightly, wings spreading just enough to suggest pressure without motion.
"Go. Quiet as breath. Swift as guilt."
The angels rise, vanishing one by one into invisible gates that fold space with no sound.
Michael remains, alone again.
But his eyes narrow—just faintly.
Something... doesn't feel right.
And yet, he says nothing.
Because in Heaven, even doubt is a sin.