Debris flew—sharp metal fragments sliced through the air, embedding themselves in the necks of nearby soldiers.
Natasha was thrown backward, her body a rag doll, tumbling and crashing hard against the metal wall behind her.
Boom!
"ROAR—!"
The Hulk roared, hammering the ground with his massive fists.
Thor arrived, drawn by the sound, and looked at Natasha—or rather, where Natasha had been—in disbelief.
"You killed her!"
Fury surged through Thor. He charged, sending the Hulk flying into the adjacent cabin. Mjolnir in hand, he smashed it down furiously. The Hulk, not to be outdone, landed a brutal fist on Thor.
The battle between god and monster began.
Thor hurled Mjolnir, and the Hulk flew away with it, crashing through another wall.
This amount of damage was not enough to make the Hulk bleed. He grabbed Mjolnir, intending to fight back, but found he couldn't lift it at all.
Thor rushed forward, punched the Hulk in the face, and followed with a devastating rain of fists.
The pain only fueled the Hulk's anger. His large hand seized Thor's right foot. He swung Thor around like a toy and threw him, smashing him into a parked fighter jet.
Ripping off the plane's wing, the Hulk slammed it heavily towards Thor.
Summoning Mjolnir back to his hand, Thor sent the Hulk flying again with a powerful strike.
The two continued to exchange blows. If they kept going, they could destroy the entire Helicarrier.
Fury clearly understood this. He had pilots fly fighter jets to support Thor and simultaneously lure the Hulk away.
"Romanoff, are you alright?" Fury contacted Natasha, his voice tight with concern.
Hearing no response, his heart sank.
Had something happened?
Clint Barton led the S.H.I.E.L.D. agents—also controlled by Loki—into the Helicarrier.
They headed directly for the central control system.
Fury and the others were caught completely off guard.
Barton nocked an arrow, his gaze sharp as an eagle's. He aimed at the control panel and shot.
The arrow, loaded with a computer virus, accurately inserted itself into the interface. The virus quickly destroyed S.H.I.E.L.D.'s control over Engine Number One.
The Helicarrier was driven by four engines. With two now shut down, the entire sky behemoth began to tilt, threatening to fall from the sky.
Losing balance, the Helicarrier listed dangerously, sending people scrambling.
Fury shot and killed the controlled soldiers who entered the central control room. He saw Barton's retreating figure.
On this Helicarrier, besides those few individuals with unique abilities, there were no other options to deal with Barton.
Fury felt a knot of anxiety tighten in his chest as he continued to exchange fire with the controlled agents, preventing them from advancing further.
The King of Agents, who always planned strategically, had been outmaneuvered by the God of Mischief.
"Barton broke our system."
"He went to the sealed area."
"Does anyone hear me?"
On the metal wall, a deep dent showed the astonishing impact force it had withstood.
And the body that had caused all this—at this moment, its fingers twitched.
Her eyelids trembled open. The moment Natasha opened her eyes, her body tensed, instantly ready for battle.
Seeing that the Hulk, who had been towering in front of her, had disappeared, she relaxed slightly, leaning against the wall. She gasped for breath and looked down at her feet.
Several broken pieces of wood lay scattered there.
She then turned and touched the dented mark on the wall, her thoughts returning to that fatal punch.
A phantom armor—a golden, ethereal outline—had appeared in front of her, blocking the deadly blow.
Her eyes were slightly moist. Even a strong agent, at the moment Death arrived with a huge monster swinging its fist at her—her heart would race, and tears would well up, a raw surge of emotion.
Hearing Fury's call over the comms, she forced herself to calm down.
"This is Romanoff. I hear you."
Fury heard Natasha's voice and finally received some good news.
Natasha gritted her teeth, dispelled her fear, got up, and rushed towards the sealed area where Barton was headed.
Tony and Steve went to repair the engine that had been initially damaged and had stalled.
This kind of delicate, high-stakes repair naturally had to be left to Tony, the one who could fly.
Tony was responsible for clearing the obstacles stuck in the engine and resupplying it with power so it could run again, while Steve assisted from outside, dealing with attacking agents.
The plan was beautiful—on paper.
Steve looked at the pile of complex circuit boards and felt his head spin.
Fortunately, Tony could analyze the problem even just by hearing Steve's description.
He used a laser to cut away the obstructions and then kicked the debris away with a flying kick.
He briefly wondered if the falling debris would randomly kill someone below. Oh well.
Now, all that was needed was to resupply the starting power, and this engine could run again.
Tony flew between the massive engine fan blades, accelerating to full power to physically push the engine into motion.
Turning faster and faster, Tony called out to Steve, "Captain, pull the lever!"
Steve, who was currently hanging on a wire, exchanging fire with infiltrating agents, and basically flying a kite, said with difficulty, "Give me a moment!" Steve finally managed to climb back to his original position near the lever.
The attacking agent hadn't stopped, constantly shooting and harassing him.
"Lever, quick!" Tony felt the rotation speed of the engine getting faster and faster—so fast it was even slowly pulling away from his pushing hands. The thought of being sucked in made his voice tremble slightly. The fan blades were getting further and further away from him, and the blades behind were coming.
Tony clung to the engine casing, already imagining his rather messy fate.
He was sucked in. Fortunately, his armor quality was up to par.
Inside the engine housing, he was like a marble, carried by the fan blades, colliding and rubbing against the interior.
Steve finally found an opportunity and pulled the lever.
Tony fell from the rapidly spinning engine.
"Sir, there's a problem with the flight system." Jarvis's voice was calm, but the implications were dire.
Red warning lights flashed under Tony's faceplate. He tried to control his descent.
He assumed a flying posture. The flight systems in his palms and soles sparked, paused, and then went out.
"No, no, no!"
Tony's body plummeted rapidly.
"Stark!"
Steve noticed Tony wasn't rejoining him and called out anxiously.
Tony was still falling, constantly trying to reignite his thrusters.
He wasn't an Asgardian. Falling from this height, he would become a pile of mush inside his expensive armor.
The descent continued.
He slammed his palms together hard, a desperate attempt to reset the systems.
"Sir, flight system restored."
Narrowly escaping death, Tony adjusted his body and took off with a trail of fire.
Natasha met Barton.
Both were top agents. Although Barton was controlled by Loki, he was still an extremely dangerous opponent.
Archers have always been surprisingly good at close combat, and Barton was no exception.
He and Natasha—one Hawkeye, one Black Widow.
They exchanged blows for dozens of rounds. Natasha was knocked down. She kicked Barton in the knee, making him fall as well.
Both got up with a sudden, explosive spring.
After another brutal round of fighting.
A drop of cold sweat beaded on Natasha's forehead. She reached out and touched her left ribs. The previous impact from the Hulk had not been without injury.
Barton's face was expressionless, his hand ready to reach for an arrow.
The distance between them was no more than two meters. At this range, using an arrow was advantageous because the space was narrow, and the opponent couldn't easily dodge.
Understanding each other's thoughts, they both moved simultaneously.
Barton immediately drew an arrow and aimed. Just as he was about to shoot, a hand suddenly rested on his shoulder.
The blue color in his eyes, like a receding tide, dissipated, returning to clarity.
He saw Natasha and asked, confused, "Natasha?"
Natasha, not missing a beat, jumped up and punched Barton hard on the chin, delivering a high-quality, lights-out sleep. He crumpled, unconscious.
Panting heavily, strands of hair stuck to her cheek, Natasha stood there, looking at the person who had been calmly watching the show from the opposite side of the corridor.
"Want some breakfast? Hmm, it should be almost lunch now."
John held a sandwich in his hand, his clothes impeccably clean, as if he had just gone home and taken a shower. It was a stark contrast to Natasha, who was bruised, battered, and had been crashing against walls and rolling around on the floor.
Natasha stared at him without a word.
She walked over, snatched the sandwich he had already taken a bite out of, and took a big, forceful bite herself.
Seeing his breakfast snatched, John shrugged. "Okay, actually, I bought you one too."
He looked around at the damaged corridor and quipped, "Having a party? This is really wild."
"Where did you go?" Natasha swallowed a mouthful of sandwich and said angrily, "Loki planned an attack here! The Helicarrier is falling!"
"I told you," John said with an innocent look, "It's the same thing—inside and out. You just didn't take it seriously."
"There's a certain bald, one-eyed man who wouldn't let me stay here, so I had to pop home for a bit."
John sighed. "It's really too much. He clearly invited me here, and then he still wanted to drive me away."
He clicked his tongue and shook his head. Seeing Natasha wolf down the sandwich in a few bites, he took out a paper bag. "There are two more."
A voice crackled in Natasha's earpiece. "Coulson is injured. The medical team is on their way."
A moment later. "They've arrived."
Then, the final, grim update. "They've declared him. Time of death..."
The news sounded in Natasha's earpiece, a cold finality.
Coulson...
Sacrificed.
***********
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