Sshhhink—
A grating, metallic screech echoed through the control room. The faint blue hexagonal energy shield, battered under the relentless onslaught of the obliterating torrent, finally gave way. Like glass struck by a sledgehammer, it shattered violently.
Countless blue sparks scattered and dissolved into the air.
Stripped of its final barrier, Crossfire's jet-black frame—glistening with a cold metallic sheen—stood completely exposed to the Destroyer's assault.
"Energy shield failure! Outer armor melting!"
The mechanical warning blared in Paul's ears. On the screen, every parameter representing Crossfire's structural integrity flashed in alarming red.
Behind the Destroyer's armored visor, the searing torrent of energy showed no sign of weakening. Instead, it grew even more frenzied, on the verge of swallowing Crossfire whole.
No retreat left.
Paul's eyes were bloodshot, teeth clenched tight enough to grind bone. He glared at the motionless divine war machine at the center of the screen, his chest burning with fury and frustration.
His technology—his pride—was so fragile in the face of absolute power.
No!
I'm not finished yet!
Paul slammed a fist onto the console and roared,
"Crossfire! Activate 'Final Judgment'!"
"Directive confirmed." Crossfire's synthesized voice remained eerily calm, as though it hadn't just received a suicide command. "Initializing chest annihilation reactor. Deploying antimatter annihilation charge."
"Warning: Energy release will generate uncontrolled spatial distortions. Immediate evacuation required to prevent neural feedback damage."
"RUN!"
Paul ripped off his neural interface, staggering out of the control room. He screamed at a stunned Jane Foster, Darcy Lewis, and the others outside,
"If you don't wanna die, MOVE! This one's a real fireworks show!"
His voice trembled with barely restrained madness—and a hint of fear even he hadn't noticed.
Antimatter annihilation.
This was his last resort. The most violent physics could get at this stage.
In theory, a single microgram of antimatter could level an entire town.
And what he had crammed into Crossfire? A whole milligram, compressed under ultra-high magnetic containment.
This wasn't fireworks.
This was artificial armageddon on a miniature scale.
To build this monstrosity, he'd nearly emptied Stark Industries' reserves of rare materials.
There's no way this damn hunk of scrap survives this!
On the battlefield, against the Destroyer's raging energy torrent, Crossfire didn't retreat—it charged forward.
Its massive obsidian chest split open like a blooming mechanical lotus. At its core, a sinister black singularity emerged—a void that seemed to devour all light.
Time seemed to slow.
Every sound, every beam of light, warped inward, swallowed by that tiny dark abyss.
The world plunged into deafening silence.
And then—
No deafening explosion. Just pure, blinding, white light.
Brighter than the sun.
The light swallowed everything—the Destroyer's energy stream, Crossfire's frame, the desert ground, the wrecked cars in the distance—all silently dissolving into their most fundamental particles.
And then—
A visible shockwave, carrying catastrophic force, erupted outward.
BOOOOM—!!
The delayed thunder shook all of New Mexico. The earth heaved like ocean waves. Clouds above tore apart. A sandstorm swallowed the sky in an apocalyptic fury.
Paul and the others, barely far enough to escape, were hurled off their feet by the wave of destruction. They tumbled across the ground, coughing up dust, ears ringing, deafened.
Paul spat out sand, scrambling upright to stare at the settling smoke.
…Was it over?
It had to be.
Nothing could survive antimatter annihilation. Nothing.
Yet no damage report came from Crossfire.
His stomach sank like lead.
The winds began to settle.
At the heart of the devastation, a vast crater of glassed earth lay before them. The scorched, half-melted remnants of Crossfire's legs littered the edges.
But at the center—
It was still standing.
The Destroyer.
Its once-pristine armor was pitted and molten, a massive dent caving its chest.
Yet its energy signature, though erratic, remained stable.
"Report… Target… Still active…"
Crossfire's fragmented transmission pierced Paul's skull like a funeral bell.
"Target energy output… stable… Structural integrity… intact…"
"Pfft—"
A coppery taste filled Paul's mouth. His vision swam.
"No… No, that's IMPOSSIBLE!" He clawed at his hair, eyes wild. "Antimatter—ANTIMATTER! How the HELL is it still alive?! What went WRONG?!"
Frantically, he pulled up the explosion's readings, and the data sent ice through his veins.
Somehow, in the heart of the blast, the Destroyer's energy field had distorted. It had absorbed and redirected the annihilation blast.
This wasn't physics.
This was magic.
Far off, Thor saw it too.
His bravest friends, motionless in pools of their own blood.
Earth's finest technological weapon, self-destructing—and still failing to scratch the Destroyer.
A crushing, hopeless weight settled in his chest.
This was his fault.
His arrogance. His recklessness.
He had brought this war to Earth, to these innocent people.
"Jane."
His voice was gravel. He turned, staring at the woman who had shown him the beauty of mortality. His gaze was an apology—and a farewell.
"Take them. Get as far from here as you can."
Then he turned, alone, and marched toward the unstoppable weapon.
"HEY!"
Thor spread his arms, planting himself before the Destroyer.
"You want me? Then take me!" His voice shook the ruins. "This ends now! Spare them!"
He stared into the Destroyer's smooth faceplate—imagining the cold, mocking gaze of his brother behind it.
"Loki… Brother… Whatever I did to twist you into this… I beg your forgiveness."
His voice cracked.
"But these people are innocent. End it."
Thor closed his eyes, ready.
The Destroyer stopped.
Its blank mask seemed to study him for a brief eternity.
Then—
Its massive metal fist pulled back—
And swung down like a falling mountain.
A fraction before impact—
A silver blur, faster than lightning, ripped through the sky.
CLAAANG—!!!
The sound of colliding god-metal rang like a bell across the wasteland.
The Destroyer's fist—strong enough to shatter peaks—was stopped cold.
Thor's eyes flew open.
A silver warhammer hovered before him, sparks flying where it braced against the Destroyer's knuckles.
Mjölnir.
Disbelief. Then—hope.
His hand reached out.
Above, the storm-choked heavens convulsed with pent-up thunder.
KRRAKOOOM—!!
A bolt of lightning, thick as a tree, blasted from the sky, pouring into Thor like a divine baptism.
The hammer sang—wrenching free from the Destroyer's grip—
And slammed into his waiting palm.
The moment skin met steel—
The storm answered.
Lightning crashed down like judgment, filling Thor's veins with the might of the tempest itself.