The air in the control room seemed frozen.
Paul's fingers flew across the virtual keyboard, leaving behind faint blue afterimages. His eyes were locked onto the massive holographic screen before him, deep within his pupils, countless arcane runes swirled, recombined, and decoded at an astonishing speed.
No longer were they the mystical symbols of myth and legend—in Paul's eyes, they had been broken down into cold, calculable formulas, stripped bare by the pinnacle of human logic and algorithms.
Magic, that ethereal concept, was being quantified.
Done.
As the final rune slotted into place within the model, the entire complex magical system cracked open before him, laying bare all its secrets.
An indescribable surge of exhilaration seized his heart—a maddening, euphoric thrill akin to dragging a deity from its throne and dissecting its essence with a scalpel.
His lips curled into an uncontrollable smirk, his eyes gleaming with near-manic fire.
This was true power. Not granted by bloodlines or divine favor, but born of knowledge—of cracking and commandeering the fundamental laws of the universe itself.
On another screen, Thor's genetic map had completed its analysis. Within its helical strands lay an energy efficiency and matter-conversion code far beyond human comprehension. The might of the Asgardians wasn't just in wielding so-called "divine power." Their very bodies were miniature bio-energy reactors.
This was the key to ascending to greater lifeforms.
Loki thought himself cunning, believing he had Thor dancing in his palm.
But he would never know—his carefully orchestrated scheme had, in the end, gifted an unassuming mortal lurking in the shadows the power to steal the mantle of the gods.
"Dummy." Paul's voice was soft but left no room for disobedience.
"I'm here, Paul." The AI's calm tone answered.
"Continue monitoring Thor's vitals. Report any anomalies immediately. Additionally, prioritize the runic magical formulas and Asgardian genetic sequences. Initiate deep-learning simulations. I want results—fast."
"Directive acknowledged. Commencing execution."
Then, without warning, a shrill alarm blared across the control room.
"Alert! High-intensity Einstein-Rosen Bridge disturbance detected! Coordinates locked—above the temporary New Mexico facility!"
Dummy's voice turned urgent. A three-dimensional star map unfurled before Paul's eyes, a violently pulsing red dot tearing through space toward Earth at terrifying speed.
"Estimated arrival: 7 minutes and 12 seconds. Energy signature match—confirmed Asgardian source. Hostile count: 4."
They were here.
All fervor drained from Paul's gaze, replaced by the icy focus of a predator sighting prey.
He'd expected this. Loki wouldn't leave Thor on Earth for long. Sending him was meant to break him. And now, someone would come to confirm that despair.
The Warriors Three and Lady Sif, then?
Perfect. One sample was insufficient. More subjects meant richer research material.
A cold smile flickered across his lips.
He turned. In the corner of the control room, a towering crimson figure stood in silent vigil—a mech, sleek and lethal, radiating raw power.
"Sideways."
"Orders, Commander." The robot's deep, metallic voice rumbled as its scarlet optics locked onto Paul.
"Switch to combat mode. Full weapons release. Authorization granted for 'Hive' and 'Stasis.'"
Sideways' optics flickered, processing the threat assessment.
"Commander, hostiles have not yet demonstrated aggression. Deployment of high-risk armaments is—"
"Execute."
Paul cut him off. No hesitation. No mercy.
"Affirmative."
With a series of mechanical clicks and shifts, the war machine's armor plates slid apart, revealing ominous blackened barrels. Energy hummed to life within, vibrating the air with a deadly pulse.
The control room's atmosphere turned deadly.
Paul's fingers danced once more, summoning a torrent of data models onto the screens.
"Dummy—based on current Earth tech, simulate the energy required to create an Einstein-Rosen Bridge equivalent."
"Processing… According to existing models, global nuclear output from Stark Industries' reactors, sustained for 37 years, yields less than a one-in-a-trillion success rate."
Paul stiffened.
Thirty-seven years?
He prided himself on standing at Earth's technological zenith—yet the Asgardians ripped open dimensional rifts like stepping through a door. Humanity's total energy reserves couldn't even scratch the math.
This wasn't a gap in technology. It was civilizational enslavement.
For the first time, a sliver of unease wormed into his chest.
Could he truly… capture gods?
He had to.
The doubt lasted less than a second before being crushed beneath his ambition.
The wider the gap, the greater the prize. Decipher their secrets, and humanity would ascend.
"Sideways. Tactical adjustment—priority: live capture. Only neutralize if resistance is overwhelming."
"Understood."
Time bled away.
Outside, the once-clear skies had darkened. Winds howled, whipping sand into frenzied dust devils. Above the small town, an ominous storm gathered—streaked with shimmering, prismatic light, as though the heavens themselves were fraying at the seams.
Agents scrambled outside, staring in horror at the gathering maelstrom.
Only Paul remained still—seated upon his command throne, watching the monitors with unnerving calm.
He lifted a hand and issued his final order.
"Agent Coulson—evacuate all non-essential personnel. Then bring out our 'guest.' Let him watch… as his kin come to 'retrieve' him."
Thor would witness—with his own eyes—how his cherished comrades would be shattered, seized, defeated by mortal hands.
Paul would break more than just Thor's body. He would obliterate the last pathetic shred of a god's pride.
Above, the radiant bridge blazed brighter—the passage between worlds fully forming.
The storm had come.