Continuously using powers takes a serious toll, even on younger mutants like Ethan. And Magneto, despite his immense strength, was clearly feeling the weight of age with every magnetic blast he launched.
But right now, the most unstoppable force on the battlefield wasn't Magneto or Ethan—it was the transformed Hulk. A living weapon of rage and durability, the Hulk was tearing through Chitauri aircraft like they were toys. One leap, one punch, and a fighter would spiral out of the sky. Hulk didn't tire. He only got angrier—and stronger.
But brute strength comes with its flaws. Unlike Ethan or Magneto, Hulk lacked strategy. The Chitauri exploited that weakness, baiting him into a trap. Dozens of their aircraft circled in on him, concentrating their firepower. The barrage was overwhelming, pinning Hulk down and giving him no room to move or fight back.
Ethan, having just obliterated a Chitauri main ship, spotted the ambush and prepared to intervene.
But before he could act, a blur of red thundered past him.
"Roar!" the red figure bellowed, hefting a jagged piece of wreckage from a destroyed Chitauri ship.
With one powerful toss, it slammed into the aircraft swarm, obliterating nearly half of them on impact.
The red figure didn't slow down.
He ripped a massive billboard from a nearby tower, vaulted between buildings, and hurled it like a missile into the remaining fighters, giving Hulk the moment he needed to recover.
As Hulk caught his breath and looked up, his eyes widened.
Standing before him was a creature that looked exactly like him—but with crimson skin and a much darker aura.
"Idiot," the red figure growled. "I'm disappointed in you."
Hulk blinked, genuinely confused. "Who... are you?"
The red figure crossed his arms. "Before you ask that, maybe you should say who you are first."
"I... I'm Hulk..." he stammered, confused and a little nervous.
Hulk wasn't used to feeling intimidated, but there was something about this red version of himself—something older, angrier, colder—that made him uneasy.
"Who am I?" the red figure repeated with a cold smirk.
Then, snorting, he added, "I'm your father."
Hulk's jaw dropped.
He'd always assumed he came from Bruce Banner's experiments—he'd never imagined he had a father.
But the resemblance was uncanny, and the feeling of unease in his chest almost convinced him it was true.
"Father..." Hulk mumbled, confused but accepting.
That's when the red figure's expression twisted. "Who said you could call me that?! Did I say yes? Don't assume things!"
And with that, he slapped Hulk hard across the face.
Hulk reeled, blinking in surprise more than pain.
He raised a fist, ready to fight back—but hesitated.
The red figure stood like a mountain, eyes burning with authority.
Hulk lowered his arm, his face falling.
He looked... hurt.
"You're mean..." he mumbled, his voice cracking.
At that moment, Ethan arrived, landing nearby with a sharp gust of air from redirected vectors.
"Who are you supposed to be?" Ethan asked, eyeing the red Hulk warily.
"Little guy," the red figure said, finally turning to him with a grin. "Name's Ross. General Ross."
"Haha, very good!" Ethan's words lit a fire in Ross's pride. Laughing loudly, Ross turned around and kicked Hulk square in the rear.
"Don't just stand there—get to work," Ross snorted, clearly enjoying this rare moment of dominance over the green brute.
After years of being haunted by Hulk's unstoppable strength, the tables had finally turned, and Ross wasn't letting the moment pass without a few extra kicks.
Hulk, stunned by Ross's so-called fatherly authority, couldn't find the words to argue. Instead, he did what he did best—unleashed his rage on the Chitauri.
One Hulk alone was enough to break battle lines. Now, with two of them rampaging—especially one with tactical intelligence—the Chitauri were pushed to their limits.
Boom! Boom!
In just minutes, an entire Chitauri main ship was torn apart in plain sight, ripped into massive chunks like paper.
If one Hulk could wreck an aircraft carrier, two could dismantle a mothership—and maybe even more.
The Red Hulk's abilities shone through. Unlike the green Hulk, Ross didn't rely on anger.
He grew stronger by absorbing radiation and energy. In the chaos of battle, that made him practically unstoppable.
Where the blasts were thickest, he charged headfirst, soaking in the energy like fuel.
The more firepower aimed at him, the more power he threw back.
Even the Hulk paused mid-swing, his massive brow furrowed in awe. "Father's... kinda awesome," he muttered to himself.
It wasn't that Red Hulk was strictly more powerful—just better suited to this kind of fight.
In a clash with warriors like the Asgardians, Ross might not last long before being cut down. But in this kind of high-energy skirmish, he thrived.
Hulk, on the other hand, endured punishment, grew angrier, and kept fighting.
Between the two, they were a perfect storm.
After reducing another Chitauri ship to flaming wreckage, Ross climbed atop the smoldering remains.
His voice boomed across the battlefield as he shouted toward the enemy vessel still hovering above:
"Despicable, cowardly invaders! Your unprovoked attack mocks every principle of decency and honor. You destroy what we've built with sweat and unity—you kill our people like insects!"
The wind carried his words across the battlefield. "Maybe right now, you think we're weak. Maybe we can't stop you today. But the blood you've spilled here will not be forgotten. We'll carve this day into our history—and one day, we'll return that pain a thousandfold!"
Ross raised his fist. "I am Thaddeus E. Ross. And on behalf of every human on this planet—I declare war on the Chitauri. You'll pay for every life lost here. Humanity will never surrender. We will never be your slaves!"
Three hovering drones captured every second from dramatic angles.
Behind Ross, three massive Chitauri ships loomed, pulsing with alien energy.
From the gaping wormholes above, new enemies poured through. And behind Ross?
A broken, burning New York. Ash fell like snow. Smoke curled from shattered skyscrapers. Civilians stumbled through rubble, bloodied but alive.
Emma, watching from her control hub, made careful cuts to the footage—just enough to enhance the raw emotion without altering the truth.
Her edits didn't fabricate drama. They amplified the human struggle.
When the footage was broadcast across the world, it sparked something deep inside people from every nation, every walk of life.
They didn't just watch.
They felt it. Rage. Fear. Hope. And unity.
Across Earth, humanity remembered what it meant to stand together.
"TOGETHER!" Ross bellowed.
...
In the unknowable future, a painting titled "Humanity, Together!" captured the imagination of the world.
It depicted a moment of defiance during the Chitauri invasion, and its influence would one day surpass even the iconic "Liberty Leading the People".
Beneath the painting, a quiet inscription read: "On this day, for the first time, humanity truly looked up to the stars and felt its own smallness. This was a day of pain, but also of awakening. We may stumble in the future, but now we see the path ahead."
Ethan, still hovering after blasting apart a Chitauri cruiser with a flick of his hand, nodded slowly.
He had seen the entire moment unfold—Ross standing tall atop a wrecked ship, declaring war against the alien invaders.
Say what you want about the man, but those words weren't the noise of some power-hungry politician.
No, that was the roar of a soldier.
A human being refusing to bow.
Ethan drifted down, landing beside a shattered street sign that read: 177A Bleecker Street. The address stirred something in him. What were the odds he'd end up here in the middle of a full-scale alien war?
He frowned.
The Sanctum should've been active by now. Could it be that the sorcerers had chosen to stay out of this fight?
That didn't make sense.
The Sorcerers had always claimed to be the planet's defenders, sworn to shield Earth from otherworldly threats.
Surely they weren't just... sitting this out?
He wasn't wrong.
Inside the scorched halls of Kamar-Taj, chaos churned.
Doctor Strange stumbled through the glowing edge of a teleportation circle, blood trailing down the side of his face.
Behind him, a group of weary sorcerers followed.
"Jarrett, has the space barrier around the New York Sanctum been restored?" Strange asked, his voice raspy.
"Partially," Jarrett replied, exhaling sharply. "But it's not enough. The Cosmic Cube's energy is overwhelming. The barriers around the Sanctums can't fully prevent the portals from tearing open. If we don't find a way to shut the source, beings from other dimensions—hell realms, dark space—they'll keep pouring in."
Doctor Strange closed his eyes, gathering his composure. "Then we hold the line. We play our part and let the others do theirs."
Just then, another sorcerer ran in, breathless. "Master Strange, a demon army is pushing through a rift—northwest quadrant."
Strange's eyes narrowed. "What demon army? Mephisto should still be licking his wounds after the last encounter."
"It's led by Devilock," the mage said. "One of Mephisto's clones."
Strange clenched his jaw. "Clone? Damn it..."
In hellspawn lore, clones weren't simple copies—they were living entities made from the essence of greater demons.
Some gained full autonomy, sometimes even rising up to overthrow their original selves.
Mephisto had many such avatars, and while they were bound by his will, they weren't always loyal.
Strange's thoughts churned.
If Mephisto was down, why throw a clone into the fire now?
Was this some kind of decoy, or a rogue entity?
It didn't matter.
"We push them back," Strange said grimly.
Grabbing his enchanted battle axe, he sliced open another portal with a flick of his hand.
"Move out! We have a world to protect."
Without another word, he led his team back into the mystical side of the war.
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Word count: 1627
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