The air in the Stark Tower briefing room was heavy, thick with the silence that follows bad news. A massive holographic globe floated in the center of the room, angry red icons pulsing over the Amazon, the Great Rift Valley, and a dozen other volatile locations. Tony Stark, his face illuminated by the grim display, gestured toward the swirling mass of icons.
"Alright, let's get the newcomers up to speed," he said, his usual glibness replaced by a clipped, weary tone. "We're currently tracking four primary hostiles—what we're calling the Elementals. The fire elemental has nested within a volcano, drawing strength from the planet's molten heart. We are attempting to pinpoint its exact location."
He swiped a hand, and the globe zoomed in on Africa. "The earth elemental has buried itself deep within a tectonic fault line. We believe the recent seismic activity in East Africa was its doing. The wind elemental remains elusive, a ghost in the atmospheric currents. Rhodes encountered it briefly. It toyed with him before vanishing."
Tony's fingers danced across a console, highlighting a network of underground river systems. "And that brings us to the water elemental. It escaped into a subterranean river. We have to intercept and destroy it before it contaminates the world's oceans. If that happens…" He didn't need to finish the sentence. The implication hung in the air, cold and vast.
"There is another," Thor added, his voice dropping low, commanding the attention of everyone in the room. "A greater threat that Heimdall has only just perceived. He is not an elemental. He is a dimensional demon."
"A what, now?" the first-generation Spider-Man asked, his quiet voice cutting through the tension. He leaned forward, the familiar red and blue of his suit looking stark against the room's cool chrome. Fighting aliens was one thing, but this was a new level of cosmic horror.
Thor turned to him, his brow furrowed in thought. "It is… difficult to explain. Imagine a being whose very existence is a reality unto itself. The Earth is one dimension; he is the absolute sovereign of another. These elementals are merely his puppets, his probes. To him, we are nothing more than a world to be consumed. He possesses power beyond our comprehension and, like a true god, cannot be killed—only repelled."
"Whoa," the first-generation Spider-Man breathed, leaning back. "So, we're actually fighting a god lurking just outside our reality?"
"In essence, yes," Thor confirmed with a solemn nod. "He is a god of a different kind than us, ancient and utterly alien."
The weight of this revelation settled over the room. Tony, who had thought the elementals were the final boss, now faced the reality of an even more powerful entity pulling the strings from behind the curtain.
He ran a hand over his face, the silence stretching. "Maybe… maybe I should call Wanda and Stephen. See if they've made any progress."
Captain America, ever the stoic anchor, shook his head, holding up his phone. "No signal. They're still off the grid, hunting Kaecilius. For now, we're on our own."
Tony's shoulders slumped almost imperceptibly. "Okay," he sighed, straightening up. "Okay. One crisis at a time. Let's focus on the elementals. We take them out, we cut the puppet strings."
Sensing the dip in morale, Rhodes spoke up, his voice a practical balm. "This dimensional demon… the Sorcerer Supreme has to have a contingency for this, right? The Ancient One has protected Earth for centuries. Surely she can handle one more."
"We can only hope the sorcerers have a plan," Tony agreed, though his eyes remained fixed on the menacing red icons painting the globe. He knew all too well that sometimes, even the best plans weren't enough.
Half an hour earlier…
In a sterile, windowless room deep within a S.W.O.R.D. facility, Mysterio stared down at the man who wore his face. The original Quentin Beck, the liar and charlatan from this universe, was a pathetic sight. He was huddled in a corner of the stark white room, trembling, his eyes wide with a fear that Mysterio knew intimately.
"What… what do you want?" Beck stammered, flinching as if expecting a blow. The past few weeks of captivity, punctuated by terrifying interrogations with his heroic doppelgänger, had shattered his nerve.
Mysterio stood over him, his presence filling the room, his voice a low, dangerous rumble that echoed with the ghosts of a dead world. "Relax, Quentin. I'm not here to hurt you today. I need information. Tell me everything you know about the Elementals."
"The Elementals?" Beck's face went blank. Confined as he was, he was ignorant of the chaos unfolding across the globe.
Mysterio leaned in closer, his helmet's ethereal glow casting long, distorted shadows on the wall. "Don't play dumb with me. Everything you know. Now."
The quiet intensity in his voice was more terrifying than any physical threat. Beck swallowed hard, his mind racing. "I… I don't know how I came up with the plan… the drones…"
Mysterio's posture stiffened almost imperceptibly. "Hmm?"
"Wait! Wait!" Beck threw his hands up, his voice cracking. "I have… I have seen something like them before! I swear!"
A flicker of something—not quite hope, but desperate curiosity—flashed in Mysterio's eyes. "What do you mean?"
"In a dream!" Beck said, the words tumbling out in a rush. "It was a nightmare, really. Not long ago. I dreamt of them—four monsters, made of earth, fire, water, and wind. They were… they were terrifying. Unstoppable. Believe me!" His voice trembled, a mixture of raw fear and a desperate need to be believed.
From the observation window, Nick Fury's voice cut through the intercom, sharp and commanding. "Hill, get a sketch artist in here. Now." To Beck, he ordered, "Describe them. Every last detail."
As an agent with a sketch pad entered the room, Beck began to recount the nightmare. He spoke of a colossus of molten rock that tore cities apart, of a tidal wave with a face contorted in rage, of a hurricane that ripped the sky. His words were shaky, but the images he conjured were vivid and horrific. Soon, the artist's charcoal strokes had given form to the very monsters now plaguing the planet.
"What else?" Mysterio pressed, his voice tight. "What else did you see in this dream?"
"Nothing! Nothing else!" Beck insisted, racking his brain. "Just… destruction. The world was on fire, the ground was splitting open… so many people… dead…" He knew better than to lie. He could feel Nick Fury's single, penetrating eye on him from behind the one-way glass, and he knew whatever strange technology S.W.O.R.D. possessed would expose any deception. Cooperating was his only path.
Satisfied, Mysterio finally stepped back. Fury gave a curt wave, and guards entered to escort the trembling Beck back to his cell.
Fury entered the interrogation room, his long black coat sweeping behind him. "Any thoughts?"
Mysterio rubbed the smooth, cold surface of his helmet. "A dream…" He shook his head. "I'm going back to the Tower. See what Tony's group has found."
"Go," Fury said. "I'll continue monitoring the Elementals from here."
As Mysterio departed, Maria Hill joined Fury by the observation window. "When will Carol get here?"
Fury stared out at the distant city skyline, his expression unreadable. "She's on her way. Another day, maybe two."
"Earth needs her," Hill stated, her tone grim.
"Indeed," Fury sighed, a rare note of weariness in his voice. "What an eventful time to be alive."
When Mysterio phased back into Stark Tower, the briefing was already underway. He listened as the second-generation Spider-Man and his team were brought into the fold, a cold knot of anxiety tightening in his chest. He had always believed the Elementals were his burden to bear, a plague that had followed him from his ravaged universe to this one.
But the arrival of these other heroes, these other Spider-Men, meant something more. It meant the stakes were higher, that the cosmic balance was so threatened that reality itself was pulling in champions to defend it. The destruction he had witnessed, the world he had failed to save, flashed before his eyes—the screams of the innocent, the desperate, futile last stands of his comrades.