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S.H.I.E.L.D. Helicarrier - Situation Room
An emergency online meeting flashed across the main screen of the S.H.I.E.L.D. Helicarrier. Fury listened, his expression hardening as the World Security Council proposed the unthinkable: nuking Manhattan.
He scoffed, his voice laced with contempt. "Absolutely not." He decisively rejected the inhuman proposal. What he hadn't anticipated was the Council going behind his back, directly ordering bombers on his Helicarrier to arm nuclear warheads.
A new voice crackled over the comms, cold and official. "Commander Fury has been suspended. Execute Order 7A11."
Another clipped response: "7A11 confirmed. Preparing for takeoff."
The pilot was a soldier. Soldiers obey orders from higher authorities. It was duty.
Agent Hill, however, sensed something was terribly wrong. A jet was powering up on the deck without authorization. She urgently patched through to Fury. "Sir, we have a situation on the deck! Unauthorized takeoff in progress!"
Fury's voice boomed over the carrier's PA: "All personnel, be advised! An F-35 is taking off illegally! Shoot it down! Repeat, take off was NOT authorized!"
He cursed under his breath, "Damn it, not this again!"
He sprinted towards the flight deck. In the corridor, he smashed the emergency glass of a weapons locker, yanking out an RPG. Bursting onto the deck, he saw the jet already accelerating down the runway.
No hesitation. He shouldered the launcher, aimed, and fired.
BOOM! The rocket slammed into the fighter's right wing, shredding it. The plane veered violently, its takeoff aborted in a screech of metal.
Fury let out a ragged breath, a small measure of relief washing over him. He'd been caught off guard like this once before; he'd learned his lesson.
But his relief was short-lived. The RPG was a single shot. And there were two planes.
The second fighter, unimpeded, roared past him, lifting off the deck and streaking towards the New York skyline.
"Mother$ucker!" Fury hurled the empty launcher aside, instinctively drawing his pistol. He aimed, knowing the gesture was utterly futile against a speeding jet. The absurdity of it wasn't lost on him. "Next time," he snarled to the empty air, "I want ten rocket launchers stationed right here!"
He spun on his heel, storming back into the passage, already patched into the Avengers' comms.
"Stark, do you read me?" His voice was grim. "A fighter jet just left the deck. It's carrying a nuke."
Kamar-Taj Sanctum, New York - Ten Minutes Earlier
Within the tranquil confines of the Kamar-Taj Sanctum, hidden in plain sight amidst the chaos of New York, time itself seemed to ripple and rewind by ten minutes.
The Ancient One, Sorcerer Supreme, raised a hand almost casually, and a wave of shimmering energy vaporized a squad of Chitauri soldiers attempting to breach the Sanctum's mystical wards.
Everything, she mused, was now in motion, the gears of fate grinding, inexorably deviating from the paths she had once so clearly foreseen. She dispatched another wave of Chitauri passing overhead with an effortless flick of her wrist. To the Supreme Mage, these alien invaders were no more than autumn grasshoppers, none daring to venture too close to the hallowed ground.
A new worry creased her brow: could the future Sorcerer Supreme truly be born under the blinding light of this emergent "Witch King"?
When she had accepted her own mortality, the future she could once perceive with crystal clarity had become veiled, the path ahead visible for only five more years. The dead, after all, should not meddle with the future's course. Now, that future was a swirling fog, and she could only navigate by the landmarks of what she had previously known.
Loki. He possessed the Casket of Ancient Winters. He had frozen Stark Tower, preventing the closure of the portal, thereby ensuring the catastrophe's expansion. The Ancient One pondered this, her fingers idly tracing a complex rune that sent another Chitauri skiff spiraling out of the sky in flames.
Just then, a massive green form landed heavily on the Sanctum's rooftop. Banner. He should have been on another battlefield, facing down the Chitauri hordes. He didn't seem to notice her presence, his attention focused on finding an entry point into the building.
"Be careful where you step," the Ancient One said, her voice serene as she executed a perfect cutting spell on a stray Chitauri drone. She glided over to the colossal figure. "The floor was just waxed."
Banner whirled around. Despite his green skin and immense build, the rage and frenzy of the Hulk were absent. Instead, there was a weariness, a familiar intelligence in his eyes that was pure Banner. He looked at her, a touch embarrassed. "I'm… I'm here to find Doctor Strange."
A flicker of understanding in the Ancient One's eyes. "You're about five years too early for that, I'm afraid." Hearing the name, however, brought a sliver of relief. The future Supreme Mage was still on his path, it seemed.
"Right now," she continued, a hint of amusement in her tone as she studied this Hulk from a different timeline, "Doctor Strange is performing surgery about twenty blocks from here. What is it you need from him?"
Banner pointed to the amulet around her neck—the Eye of Agamotto. "That."
The Ancient One's gaze followed his, a knowing smile playing on her lips. "I'm afraid not."
Banner's expression turned apologetic, yet resolute. "I'm sorry, but I don't intend to negotiate." He was here to take it.
"You will regret it," the Ancient One said, her amusement unwavering as she looked at this surprisingly arrogant green giant.
"You're right, I might," Banner conceded, the weight of his own world pressing down on him. "But I need that gem." He reached out, intending to take the Eye by force. "I don't have time to argue with you—"
Before he could finish, the Ancient One moved.
With a single, precise palm strike, Banner's soul was jolted from the Hulk's massive frame. His translucent, human-sized astral form floated in the air, stunned.
Strange never used this move before, did he? Banner thought, disoriented. He had been careless. Or perhaps none of the Avengers from his time truly understood the power wielded by the serene, bald woman in the yellow robes who stood before him.
Just then, a deafening roar of thunder split the sky.
Immediately after, an immense owl, wreathed in lightning, swooped past the rooftop, effortlessly obliterating a Chitauri gunship. A moment later, a throne, seemingly conjured from shadow and starlight, materialized high above, a figure seated upon it, holding a gleaming sword.
Banner stared, utterly bewildered. "What… what is that?"
The Ancient One frowned, a new unease settling in. "You don't have him in your time?" In their future… there was no Witch King?
Banner looked genuinely surprised. "Never seen anything like it."
"What?" The Ancient One stared at Banner, her mind racing. If the Witch King wasn't in his future… where did he go?
Stark Tower—Rooftop
Loki, broken and battered, could no longer offer any resistance.
Natasha's Quinjet landed hard on the platform, skidding to a halt.
"Your back not killing you after a landing like that?" John quipped, watching Natasha roll out and onto the debris-strewn floor. He made no move to help her.
Natasha pushed herself up, wincing and holding her side. She glanced at the crumpled form of Loki. "Is he… no longer a threat?"
"Theoretically, yes," John replied, his tone indifferent. He strode over to Loki, grabbed him by the throat, and hauled him effortlessly to his feet. "He can be killed at any moment, in fact."
Loki's face began to turn a mottled red as he struggled for breath, but he couldn't lift a single finger against the man holding him. Death itself didn't frighten the God of Mischief, but this involuntary, soul-deep terror… that was new, and it was leaving a permanent shadow.
John's fingers tightened slightly. Loki's eyes bulged, bloodshot.
"John!" Thor's voice cut through the air. He landed heavily on the platform, looking at John, then at his brother, his expression torn. Plead for Loki? After everything he'd done?
John eased his grip, turning to face Thor. He casually tossed Loki aside like a discarded doll, then with a flick of his wrist, muttered an incantation. Loki immediately slumped into unconsciousness.
"Don't worry," John said, noting Thor's tense stance. "If I wanted him dead, it wouldn't be a Stupefy. It would be Avada Kedavra."
He cocked his head, a curious glint in his eye. "Are all Asgardian families this… demonstratively affectionate?"
Thor didn't know what to say. By all rights, his brother deserved whatever John chose to mete out. But the thought of Loki dying before his eyes… he couldn't bear it.
"Alright, gentlemen," Natasha interjected, pointing upwards at the ominous machine spewing out Chitauri. "We need to shut that thing down."
Thor hefted Mjolnir, his gaze fixed on the portal where another wave of Chitauri was emerging. "I'll clear the immediate area. You two figure out how to close it."
Natasha nodded, and Thor launched himself back into the fray.
John and Natasha were left alone on the platform.
"That scepter," Natasha said, gesturing towards where Loki had dropped it. "Doctor Selvig said we can use it to close the portal."
John picked up the Mind Scepter, weighed it for a moment, then tossed it to her. "I have one more thing to retrieve. This is all yours." He waved a dismissive hand; according to the script he knew, Natasha was the one meant to close it anyway. He remembered the Casket of Ancient Winters he'd discarded earlier. That little artifact still had its uses.
Natasha sighed, a familiar resignation settling in. She'd learned during her brief tenure as his 'assistant' that John would seize any opportunity to delegate. She glanced up at the machine, then at the scepter. She'd have to climb up there again. Couldn't one of the flyers give her a lift?
After a considerable effort, she finally reached the device. She quickly checked Selvig's vitals, he was unconscious but stable. Remembering the specific point Selvig had indicated, she took a deep breath and touched the tip of the Mind Scepter to the swirling energy of the portal.
The barrier, which had moments ago shrugged off even the intense cold of the Casket of Ancient Winters, yielded instantly, the scepter's tip sinking into it as if passing through water.
Natasha's voice crackled over the comms, triumphant. "I can close it! Does anyone copy? I can close the portal!"
Steve, having just finished off another group of Chitauri on the ground, immediately responded, "Do it, Natasha! Close it now!"
"No, wait!" Tony's voice cut in, urgent.
"Stark, the enemy numbers are still increasing!" Steve shouted.
Tony's reply was like a splash of ice water. "I have a nuclear missile headed this way. It's going to detonate in less than one minute."
It seemed the World Security Council hadn't had much faith in their impromptu alliance. If they'd just waited a few more minutes… This was an entirely unnecessary catastrophe, and someone would have to answer for it. Clever fools, Tony thought, always thinking they know best.
A nuclear bomb was inbound. There was only one solution left.
Push it through the portal.
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