The power of thunder, divine and suffocating.
Thor bathed in the storm descending from the heavens. His shattered armor was rewoven by dazzling lightning into a regal suit of silver and black—the armor of a god.
Mjolnir hummed joyfully in his grasp, as if celebrating the king's return.
The indestructible metal frame of the Destroyer was nothing but rotten wood before the might of the Thunder God's hammer.
One strike, and the sky cracked.
Another, and the earth split.
Amidst deafening roars, the celestial weapon that had once brought despair to all was torn apart by Thor's tempestuous fury, scattering into countless fragments.
The battle was over.
Smoke and dust mingled in the air, drifting across the scorched earth.
Jane Foster pushed past S.H.I.E.L.D. agents, sprinting toward the towering figure.
The awe and adoration in her eyes spilled over—this man was both the endearingly simple giant who marveled at a cup of coffee and the sovereign of thunder, radiant as a deity.
"Thor!"
He turned, and as his gaze landed on Jane, the lightning wreathed around him receded into a gentle warmth.
He stepped forward, clasping her hand, the heat of his palm banishing all her fear.
"I'm back."
Three simple words, yet more powerful than any vow.
Nearby, S.H.I.E.L.D. agents secured the area as Coulson directed the collection of every scrap of the Destroyer's remnants.
But someone was faster.
Paul paid no attention to the reunited lovers. His eyes were fixed on those dull-glowing shards.
"Bai, activate material scan and deploy micro-arms. Priority one: recover all fragments with A-rank energy signatures."
With a telepathic command, nearly invisible micro-drones swarmed from his sleeves like a hive of mechanical bees, homing in on the core debris with precision.
Uru metal.
A material unique to the realms of the gods, a perfect conductor for runic energy.
This was the true prize of today's battle.
Tony Stark's Arc Reactor was still bound by human science, but this? Here was the key to unlocking an entirely different branch of knowledge—magitech.
Greed and calculation flickered behind Paul's calm exterior.
"Mr. Stark."
Coulson approached with his practiced smile, but his sharp gaze never left Paul's hands.
"All materials will be under S.H.I.E.L.D. jurisdiction—for safety reasons."
"For safety?" Paul cut him off with a faint sneer. "Tell me, Agent Coulson—do you honestly believe your labs could even identify its atomic structure? Or are you planning to melt it down for a new Captain America cookware line?"
Coulson's smile faltered.
In that brief hesitation, the most vital shards—the ones thrumming with the strongest energy—had already vanished into Paul's hidden compartments.
He dusted off his hands, as if clearing away mere dirt.
"The leftovers are all yours. Enjoy."
Coulson: "…"
Words died in his throat under Paul's piercing stare. No fieldcraft he'd mastered ever prepared him for a boy who saw through him like glass.
Just then, a Quinjet descended soundlessly nearby. The hatch opened, revealing Nick Fury's iconic eyepatch and billowing coat.
His presence alone commanded the scene.
"Thor." Fury's gaze swept over the thunder god, then flicked to Jane. "Welcome back. And thank you… for cleaning up the mess."
Thor, reinvigorated by reclaimed divinity, thumped his chest in magnanimous fervor.
"Director Fury! Asgard owes Earth a debt. In the name of Odin's son, I propose an alliance between our worlds! Asgard will stand as Earth's shield!"
Coulson's face lit up with exhilaration.
An alliance with a godly civilization? Unprecedented!
Even Jane watched Fury with hopeful anticipation.
A spark of interest crossed Fury's eye—before a soft scoff skewered the moment like a needle.
All heads turned to the indifferent teen, hands in pockets.
A muscle twitched in Fury's jaw.
"Something amusing, kid?"
Paul lifted his eyes, scanning Thor before settling on Fury.
"An alliance? Thor, no offense—but this is you crouching down to some ant on the sidewalk going, 'Hey little guy! Wanna be friends? I'll protect you!'—isn't it?"
Thor stiffened.
"What are you saying? Our offer is genuine!"
"Genuine?" A humorless smile curled Paul's lips. "Your genuineness is worthless. Let me ask—if a cosmic armada warped toward Sol right now, could your Bifrost activate in time? If some light-year-sized space beast decided Earth looked like a snack, would your hammer scare it off?"
Thor's mouth opened. Nothing came out.
Paul turned to Fury, every word a scalpel.
"Let me tell you a story, Director."
"Imagine an endless dark forest. Every civilization is a hunter with a gun. They move like ghosts, silent, barely breathing. Because out there, others are hell. Any life that reveals itself? Annihilated. Not out of hate, not for conquest—no morals. Just survival."
His soft voice sent chills crawling up spines.
"Now, Thor—you and your brother? You're two kids who just lit a bonfire in that forest, blasting party music while screaming—'Hey universe! Check out this backwater planet called Earth! Weak, rich, and defenseless! Come and get it!'"
Silence.
Deafening.
Color drained from Thor's face. His proud stance bent, as if buckling under the weight of Paul's words. Every noble ideal in him shattered against that truth.
He wasn't a hero. He was the herald of doom.
Fury's expression remained steel, but beneath that eyepatch? A storm raged.
A lifetime spent safeguarding Earth—S.H.I.E.L.D., the Avengers Initiative—all of it, a paper umbrella against the apocalypse.
We're not even chess pieces. We're dust on the board.
Paul voiced Fury's own dread:
"One gust of wind, and we're gone."
A suffocating weight pressed down.
Thor had to leave. The Bifrost couldn't linger.
When he looked at Jane, his eyes held only remorse and resolve.
"Wait for me. I will return."
This time, it wasn't a promise—it was an oath.
One last glance at Paul: respect, frustration, and the dazed clarity of a man shaken awake.
The rainbow bridge engulfed him, vanishing into the cosmos.
Only S.H.I.E.L.D. and Paul remained.
Fury's voice was rough when he finally spoke.
"That 'Dark Forest.' Where'd you hear it?"
"Fun little sci-fi book." Paul shrugged and turned to leave—then paused, glancing back.
"Oh, and Director? That book mentioned another concept—'Wallfacers.'"
"When a weak civilization can't fight openly, it picks a few, grants them absolute authority. These Wallfacers devise strategies—but share nothing. They hide everything here." He tapped his temple.
"Because the enemy can monitor transmissions, crack encryptions, track every move…"
A slow, knowing smile.
"…but not thoughts."
With that, he walked off, leaving Fury rigid in his wake. The Quinjet ramp felt colder than ever.
"Your Avengers? Gathering Earth's mightiest in shiny suits, then parading them through that forest with glowing targets on their backs. Good luck, Director."
The words weren't a jab.
They were a curse.
---
Aboard the Quinjet, Fury sat alone.
Files flickered on-screen: AVENGERS INITIATIVE. SECURED. EYES ONLY.
Tony Stark. Steve Rogers. Bruce Banner…
His chosen defenders.
Now? Just bright, flashing bullseyes in a pitch-black woodland.
His fingers hovered over a blank document. Frozen.
Paul's voice haunted him.
Dark Forest. Hunters. Wallfacers…
For the first time in decades, fear slithered into Fury's resolve.
One conversation had unraveled everything.
He exhaled, and when his eye reopened, the doubt was gone—replaced by something colder. Darker.
A new plan.
A real one.
His fingertips struck the keyboard. Two words blazed across the screen:
ORBITAL—