Notre Dame Cathedral, Paris.
Captain America Steve Rogers was badly injured. Near the wreckage of the crashed Quinjet, Hawkeye (Clint Barton) and Black Widow (Natasha Romanoff) stumbled out, both shaken and wounded.
Although Allens hadn't directly targeted them earlier, the Quinjet's violent crash left the two Avengers in rough shape.
"Captain Rogers, did we succeed?"
Natasha's tone was solemn as she and Barton hurried to Rogers' side. They were still unsure about this "Future Rogers", but the shock and awe they felt toward him were undeniable.
"I've exiled the AI Allens to another dimension," Rogers said, forcing a weary smile. "If nothing goes wrong… we've won."
He looked ahead at the ruins of the once-majestic cathedral. From a distance, several priests stared at them in horror, crossing themselves in disbelief.
"Sir, our mission's complete, but we've got a problem here. We need cleanup support."
Natasha picked up her communicator and directly contacted Nick Fury, giving her report.
"Understood," Fury replied calmly. "I'll send someone to pick you up and handle the aftermath."
Standing with his hands clasped behind his back, Director Nick Fury's single eye gave nothing away. Hanging up, he turned to the bald man waiting nearby.
"Agent Sitwell," Fury said, his tone sharp and commanding, "I need you to head to France. Our people are at Notre Dame. Make sure they're picked up safely and deal with any fallout from the incident."
Agent Jasper Sitwell, glasses glinting under the office lights, nodded stiffly. "Yes, sir."
Fury's gaze lingered on him for a long moment — intense, probing. Ever since the events involving Future Rogers, Fury's trust in others had grown razor-thin.
And yet, he had no idea that the man standing before him — Agent Sitwell — was a HYDRA spy.
"Yes, sir," Sitwell repeated firmly. He turned and walked out, a faint smirk creeping across his face.
"Mr. Allens wanted me to keep a close eye on Captain Rogers," he murmured under his breath. "Looks like it's finally time to make contact."
Pushing his glasses up with one finger, Sitwell nodded politely to Agent Maria Hill as he passed, but his mind was already racing with dark intent.
Stark Tower, New York City.
Atop the gleaming skyscraper, Allens sat before a holographic screen. Through J.A.R.V.I.S., he had linked into a satellite feed, once again monitoring Captain America's every move.
He was slightly surprised that Rogers could use Kamar-Taj magic, but not entirely shocked.
After all, this was the Marvel Universe. In the comics, even Tony Stark had once become the Sorcerer Supreme.
What truly fascinated Allens was Rogers' banishment spell — the same one that had made the "Rise of Heroes System" warn him to stay clear of Future Captain America.
As Rogers and his team boarded the Quinjet and disappeared over the ruins of Notre Dame, Allens' cold expression shifted into a faint, satisfied smile.
Ding!
"Congratulations, Host — you have successfully evaded a pursuit from Captain America Rogers. You are rewarded with one random draw."
"Would you like to begin the lottery now?"
The long-silent mechanical voice of the Rise of Heroes System suddenly echoed in Allens' mind. He couldn't help but grin — his pulse quickening.
This was what he lived for.
The chance… to become stronger.
Let the Avengers chase him. Let them hunt him. Each time they did, he would only evolve further.
"Captain America can use magic," Allens mused aloud. "Then maybe it's time I get something even better."
His eyes gleamed.
"Start the lottery."
Countless abilities flashed across his mind — superpowers, skills, divine techniques. Under his eager gaze, the mechanical voice spoke again:
"Ding! Congratulations, Host. You have obtained Hiro Nakamura's Time Manipulation ability."
For a brief moment, Allens froze — then laughed out loud, unrestrained and delighted.
Among superhuman abilities, time manipulation was a god-tier power — allowing one to pause, slow, rewind, and even travel through time itself.
Hiro Nakamura might not have been the strongest wielder of it, but Allens knew full well the terrifying potential this ability held.
Except for cosmic beings or masters of time magic like Doctor Strange, few could ever hope to challenge him now. Even Thor would have to kneel.
"Time… stop."
Allens raised his right hand slightly.
And the world froze.
Cars halted mid-street. Pedestrians hung in the air mid-step. Drops of coffee suspended themselves in mid-splash, forming a liquid curtain frozen in place.
A waitress stood motionless, cup halfway tilted. Everything — utterly still.
Allens smiled faintly. "Interesting. So this… is the power of time."
He summoned his Iron Man-style armor, the golden-red suit forming around him with a hiss of nanotech. In an instant, he was hovering over New York City, watching the motionless world beneath him with a cold, satisfied grin.
The time stop didn't affect him — not at all. He could even choose to exempt others from it if he wished.
Snap.
Allens snapped his fingers.
Time resumed. The city continued as if nothing had happened. Cars honked. People walked. Coffee spilled.
Only Allens knew that he had been sitting in that café, calmly drinking his coffee — for an entire hour — while the rest of the world was frozen.
"Perfect," he said softly. "I was wondering how to acquire magical power… but now, it seems things just got easier."
His eyes hardened.
"Soon, Mjolnir will fall from Asgard. The Mind Stone embedded in my forehead allows me to lift it — but I can't yet awaken its magic."
His lips curved into a predatory smile.
"Even Captain America can use magic now. Then I'll master something far older… far darker."
He turned toward the window, his reflection gleaming against the night skyline.
"Not the borrowed power of Kamar-Taj, but one of Asgard's oldest and most forbidden arts — the magic of the Asgardian Necromancers."
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