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The blaring red alert tore through Max's hidden base like a dagger through silence.
An automated voice echoed, urgent and cold:
"WARNING: Unidentified aerial entities approaching. Security lockdown initiated. Threat Level: Critical."
Max's expression turned to stone.
The warmth, the goofy grandpa mask — gone.
"Gwen. Bunker Alpha. Now."
"Ben — with her. No questions. No hesitation. Move!"
His voice cracked like thunder.
No time for doubt. No space for fear.
He shoved them toward the blast door, eyes blazing.
"Your safety — that's all that matters."
The kids bolted.
Max turned, moving with the precision of a warrior born.
No hesitation. No wasted motion.
He stepped into his S.H.I.E.L.D. tactical armor — sleek black and green, alien alloys gleaming under the emergency lights. With a hiss and click, it sealed to his body. Circuits lit up, humming like a beast awakening.
He looked like war.
From his belt, he unclipped a trio of stroboscopic grenades, their chrome shells pulsing faintly. Checked the charge of his plasma rifle. Extended the razor-sharp edge of his retractable blade.
Every move was practiced, purposeful — muscle memory born from battles most could barely imagine.
Then, the shimmer.
The tunnel warped with energy. Max flattened to the wall, becoming shadow.
Two figures phased into existence — one cloaked in divine arrogance, the other in silent obedience.
Max's eyes narrowed as he recognized the archer.
"Clint…?"
Hawkeye didn't react. No wink, no smirk, no acknowledgment. Just silence. He stood tall beside Loki — bow drawn, expression blank.
Max hesitated. His instincts screamed danger, but his heart — the human part, the one that remembered old missions and coffee breaks with Barton — it wanted to believe this was a misunderstanding.
"Clint, what the hell are you doing with him?" Max asked, stepping out of the shadows, rifle still lowered.
Hawkeye didn't answer.
Instead, Loki stepped forward, smirking like the devil himself.
"Oh, don't take it personally, Magister. Your friend here simply found a... better purpose."
Only then did Max see it — the faint violet shimmer in Clint's eyes. Artificial. Wrong. Controlled.
"Damn it," he muttered, jaw tightening. "He's not himself…"
He raised the rifle.
No more hesitation. No more doubts. Just duty.
"Well, well… if it isn't the legendary Magister," Loki sneered, his voice silk-wrapped venom.
"The fly I can never seem to squash. You've lasted longer than I expected, old man. But rust claims all relics."
Max stepped into the light, rifle raised, suit flaring with azure pulses.
"And you talk too much for a 'god' hiding behind puppets. Afraid to bleed?"
He smirked.
"Looking for a picnic spot, Loki? I've got pie — explosive."
He slammed his foot down.
The floor split — concussion grenades erupted, bouncing and blinding.
Deafening thunder swallowed the corridor.
Loki reacted instantly. A translucent shield bloomed around him and Hawkeye, absorbing the worst of the blast.
But Max was already moving.
He surged from the smoke — a dark comet — plasma rifle blazing.
Bolts hammered into Loki's shield, the tunnel echoing with each impact.
"Pathetic," Loki hissed, though behind his smugness, something flickered — surprise.
Max's barrage intensified. Then, with a roar, he slammed his shoulder into the shield — and cracked it.
Shards of energy splintered off. One more blow — and it shattered, scattering like glass under a hammer.
Max lunged.
But Clint moved.
One explosive arrow — fast, perfect — detonated at Max's feet.
The blast hurled him back, crashing into a wall.
He grunted. Rolled. Stood. Already assessing.
Hawkeye was down, groaning against twisted metal, ribs likely cracked.
Max's HUD blinked:
[TARGET: NEUTRALIZED – NON-LETHAL]
One punch from the gauntlet finished it — Clint slid unconscious across the floor.
"Sorry, Barton," Max muttered. "This'll hurt tomorrow."
Then — just Loki.
He stood calm, conjuring a new shield — stronger, layered with swirling sigils of Asgardian design.
Max squared up.
"Still need a shield, 'god'? Against one old man?"
He attacked — a storm in human form.
The first strike fractured the barrier. The next — deeper.
Blow after blow, gauntlets ringing like war drums.
Sparks flew. The shield groaned.
Then — gone.
Max's punch cut through empty air.
Illusion.
From behind — a beam.
Blue. Blinding. Brutal.
Tesseract-powered.
It tore through Max's back.
The armor screamed.
Metal hissed, fused, cracked.
Blood hit the floor. Sparks danced across his chestplate.
He staggered, chest heaving, agony painted across his face.
He turned, slow, defiant.
Loki watched, the real one now, Tesseract glowing.
"Hmph. You were right, Barton," he mused. "Old men lose their instincts. Or maybe just their nerve."
Max didn't fall.
He raised a hand. Trembling, shaking — but not to strike.
He pointed forward.
Past Loki.
Through him.
Toward the future.
His voice was gravel and fire.
"You… coward. No courage in the back. No spine in the light. But hear me…"
"The true heir of this galaxy… he's already watching."
Then silence.
His eyes closed.
He collapsed.
The suit hissed one final time, sparks trailing into the dark.
Somewhere deep beneath the earth, in the cold glow of a bunker monitor, two young faces stared in silence.
The screen flickered with static.
Ben. Gwen. Frozen.
The beam. The fall. The blood.
Gwen's hand clutched her chest, the sound that escaped her barely human — a sob crushed in her throat.
Ben trembled.
The screen reflected in his eyes — a dying light replaced by something new.
Something vast. Raging.
The Omnitrix flared.
No longer blinking.
Pulsing. Alive.
The dial spun like it felt the pain. Like it understood.
"He… he killed Grandpa!" Ben screamed. "MY GRANDPA!!"
Gwen grabbed his arm.
"Ben — NO! We have to hide! You can't! You'll die!"
But he didn't hear her.
Didn't see her.
Only Loki.
Ben roared — a sound that shook the walls.
A scream of pure grief. Pure rage.
The Omnitrix answered.
A green nova of light exploded around him.
Four fists clenched. Metal twisted.
The reinforced doorframe buckled as his transformation finished.
His eyes — glowing emerald.
Locked.
Targeting.
Hunting.
Then he ran.
The ground quaked beneath his feet. Each step a thunderclap.
He wasn't a boy anymore.
He was fury.
He was fire.
He was Four Arms.
And he launched.
Straight at Loki.
A crimson blur of vengeance.
All four fists drawn.
The air screaming around him.
No hesitation.
No mercy.
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