Chapter 79 : The Avatar of Hrimthul Descends – When Heroes Converge (Part 3)
New York, Manhattan – 3rd's POV
Wasp cut through the frozen air like a bullet of gold and black, a streak of motion almost too fast to register until she snapped into visibility above the battlefield. Her wings beat in sharp, rapid pulses, scattering the thin veil of frost that clung to her suit. She was still marked by the fight she'd had minutes earlier—frost chipped along one shoulder plate, a faint scorch line across her thigh—but her posture was alert, electric, already shifting into combat mode before her brain fully caught up.
Her eyes landed on the scene below.
And widened.
Thor staggering under the weight of the Avatar's cold.
Hulk braced and frothing with anticipation.
Iron Man hovering in a controlled arc, repulsors flickering against the unnatural chill.
X-Men moving in coordinated fragments—Cyclops firing precision blasts, Storm bending the broken weather, Wolverine circling with feral readiness, Colossus shielding where he could, Jean amplifying their timing.
Spider-Man and Spider-Woman flanking the perimeter, weaving lines of silk to redirect civilians and control the area.
Ant-Man scuttling along the edge of the battlefield, half scientist, half soldier, trying to make sense of a threat that bent physical laws with every breath.
All facing the same impossible figure:
The Avatar of Hrimthul, towering, ancient, the very idea of winter shaped into a weapon.
Janet exhaled once—a fast, controlled release.
Okay. Not ideal. Not even close. But she was here.
Below, reactions rippled.
Iron Man's voice crackled through comms, not bothering to hide the relief.
"Finally, someone who won't punch me or ignore me. Welcome to the ice age, Wasp."
The X-Men, mid-engagement, didn't break formation—yet their eyes flicked upward, mentally slotting her speed and aerial mobility into the fight's geometry. Storm especially tracked her closely, instinctively reading the airflow Wasp cut through as part of the battlefield tornado now swirling around the Avatar.
Wolverine sniffed once.
"…Bug girl's fast."
Colossus grunted something that might've been agreement.
Even Hulk reacted—just barely.
A low rumble, almost curious, as he watched the tiny streak of energy dart above him. Not a threat. Not a rival. A fast ally.
And the Avatar?
It did not look—it had no eyes to look with—
but its posture shifted, infinitesimally.
Calculating.
Accounting for a new vector.
Not threatened, but aware.
Wasp rose higher, gaining altitude with quick, controlled bursts, lining herself above the conflict where she could see everything at once. Frost clung to her visor but she ignored it, studying the Avatar's structure, the runic glow under its chest plates, the rhythmic pulse of the cold that emanated from its core.
She locked her jaw.
No frontal assault.
She wasn't Hulk.
She wasn't Thor.
She wasn't going to win by brute force.
Precision. Always precision.
She began charting angles—weak points in movement, tiny irregularities in the flow of energy through the Avatar's icy anatomy.
Points she could strike.
Cracks she could widen.
Moments she could exploit.
Her wings flared once—sharp, bright, confident.
She steadied in the air—only for the wind to distort again, as new signatures pressed into the battlefield
The air quivered again as the Four Fantastics arrived. Reed led the line, stretching just enough to peer over the chaos without losing his footing. His gaze swept methodically over the battlefield: Thor, battered but unbowed; Hulk, muscles coiled, ready to strike; the X-Men, rigid in formation but slightly scattered from earlier interference; the Spider-Heroes flanking the perimeter; and, at the center, the jagged, pulsing form of the Avatar of Hrimthul.
Susan followed closely, sensing the chill and the unnatural currents of magic radiating from the entity. Her eyes narrowed, hands lightly brushing the invisible contours of a defensive field already forming. The frost didn't intimidate her—she cataloged it, gauging the energy signatures, calculating the reach of the cold, the potential vectors of magical intrusion.
Johnny hovered above, a flare of orange and red against the stark white and blue of the battlefield. His energy crackled in the chill, his skin radiating heat that fogged in the icy air. Even in the tension, his grin was uncontainable—yet there was no distraction in his expression, only preparation. He scanned the ground, noting weak points, the momentum of each hero, the trajectory of Thor's swings, the explosive potential of Hulk's next leap.
Ben moved last, every step a deliberate counterweight against the uneven frozen street. His eyes never left Thor or any of the more exposed figures, hammering a mental map of who needed shielding and when. Each impact against the Avatar or the surrounding debris threatened to ripple through the battlefield; Ben positioned himself so that if the next shockwave landed, someone—anyone—would have a buffer between them and oblivion.
The collective reaction of the heroes already present was instant. Iron Man's HUD blinked as it identified the newcomers. Relief flickered in his controlled tone, masked by quips he didn't voice. Hulk let out a low rumble, muscles tensing but settling into recognition of allies rather than immediate prey. Even the X-Men stiffened slightly, eyes sharpening, minds racing through assessments, now factoring in unfamiliar powers, new speeds, and unknown strengths.
The addition of the Fantastic Four redistributed the battlefield almost immediately. Positions shifted subtly: Spider-Heroes slid along flanks to account for Ben's protective coverage, Cyclops adjusted his trajectory to avoid Susan's expanding force fields, Wolverine and Colossus recalculated approach angles with Reed's guidance—though unspoken, instinct understood the value of the scientific mind at the front.
Reed began analyzing in real time, extending sensors via holographic constructs from the ground and from his reach. The cracks in the asphalt, the frost patterns, the residue of magical energy around the Avatar—all became data streams feeding a predictive model. Every pulse of the creature's power was logged, every spike of temperature, every flicker of blue energy traced and cataloged.
Susan's shields spread silently, subtle yet tangible, a lattice of protection around Thor, Iron Man, and the more exposed heroes. Even Hulk, nearly a mountain of rage, found his immediate vicinity buffered from stray shards of ice and fragments of frozen asphalt.
Johnny rose higher, letting the wind catch his flames, providing both light and thermal contrast to read the battlefield from above. He keyed in on weak points, cracks forming in the Avatar's chest and shoulders, noting the shifts with millisecond precision. Each flaring strike or defensive movement was recorded, the potential for an aerial strike calculated against every possible reaction.
Ben's hulking form moved in, ready to absorb or deflect incoming blows, anchoring the group. He shifted instinctively as Thor struggled with the Avatar, positioning his bulk to reduce potential collateral damage, pressing forward to safeguard both civilians and allies alike.
The battlefield, chaotic and violently alive, had suddenly taken on a more structured edge. Not harmony—the fight remained desperate, wild—but with a spine of logic threading through it. Every arrival, every movement, every shield and strike layered into the ongoing struggle against a foe that seemed impervious to individual effort. The Avatar of Hrimthul loomed, massive, indifferent, yet now faced a coordinated, if still frayed, assembly of New York's mightiest, each calculating, reacting, adapting, and preparing to exploit any misstep in the next pulse of its ancient, deadly power.
But equilibrium on this field never lasted. The next disruption came violently, engine-loud and unignorable.
The roar of engines cut through the frozen air, a new percussion against the thrum of chaos. SHIELD vehicles skidded to a halt, tires grinding against frost-laden asphalt. Glass shimmered, frosted over by the unnatural cold, and the armored transports rocked slightly as their momentum halted abruptly.
Doors flew open. Steve Rogers, Natasha Romanoff, and Clint Barton emerged instantly, fluid in motion, eyes scanning. Steve's shield reflected the fractured light of the battle, fists clenched in preparation, jaw tight. Natasha's stance was low, poised, assessing every edge, every shadow, every potential threat. Clint's bow was slung with ease, scanning for vantage points and escape angles.
Their arrival drew immediate, silent attention. Thor, chest heaving, gave a sharp glance at Steve but made no acknowledgment, too consumed with regaining balance against the Avatar. Hulk turned his head, muscles coiling, a growl rumbling deep in his chest—not aggression, but recognition of another force in the fray. The X-Men shifted subtly in response, eyes narrowing, instincts calculating the newcomers' capabilities. The Spider-Heroes adjusted their periphery coverage, web lines twitching, situational awareness sharpening. The Fantastic Four's postures stiffened; Reed's sensors flickered, recalibrating for new energy signatures, Susan's shields subtly expanding to account for more moving bodies, Johnny hovering higher, Ben shifting weight.
The Avatar, indifferent but calculating, paused for a fraction, its icy gaze sweeping across the newcomers. The cold pressure of its presence rippled outward in a subtle pulse, as though testing the cohesion of this new layer of opposition.
Even Loki's illusion—slumped against the wall—shifted slightly, head tilting, mimicking awareness. The real Loki remained unseen, a wisp of green magic curling along the alleyways, calculating.
The presence of SHIELD brought a tangible structure to the chaos. For a moment, the fractured battlefield felt slightly less anarchic. Coordination potential glimmered in the cracks of disorder, an underlying spine of command beginning to form.
Steve stepped forward first, shield ready, stance squared. His eyes swept the terrain, reading Thor's position, Hulk's tension, the spread of mutants, Spider-Heroes' flanking angles, and the looming silhouette of the Avatar. His mind ran a rapid scan of strategy, anticipating threats, calculating points of containment.
Natasha moved next, every muscle tuned to observation. Her gaze flicked toward Loki, noting the faint magical ripple betraying his hidden position, though she held her silence, letting the illusion serve as bait or distraction for now.
Clint adjusted subtly, bow raised but relaxed, seeking the angles where he could act without creating unintended chaos. His awareness extended to civilians—those already moved, those still too close—and to the precarious edges of the frozen battlefield.
Together, they established the first clear perimeter. SHIELD's presence injected both authority and tactical breathing room into a battle teetering on the brink of uncontrollable destruction. Steve's voice rose, calm and clipped but carrying weight: unspoken orders ready, to be deployed the instant he assessed safe channels. Natasha's eyes flicked again toward potential threats. Clint's stance confirmed that contingencies were already mapped.
The battlefield had shifted. More hands, more eyes, more calculation. Yet the Avatar waited, unyielding, ancient, cold, and aware of every addition. The winter it brought pressed down, relentless. And now, with SHIELD integrated, a faint structure emerged in the storm. The city trembled beneath them all, the frozen air thick with anticipation, each hero poised on the knife-edge of action.
Then, with the battlefield mapped in seconds, Steve shifted from assessment to command.
Steve's eyes cut through the frozen chaos, sharp as a blade. The Avatar of Hrimthul radiated raw, ancient power, its presence bending air, frost, and fear alike. The towering figure of Thor staggered on the ground, Hulk crouched like a coiled spring, muscles tense and ready to detonate, while the rest of the heroes improvised around them. Steve's jaw tightened. Too chaotic. Too many independent variables.
He stepped forward, voice carrying over the wind and ice. "You!" He pointed to Hulk with a sharp motion. "Frontline! Keep that thing pinned. No wandering!" Hulk responded immediately, growling low, flexing, ready to attack.
Steve's gaze flicked to the unfamiliar Asgardian warrior. "And you!" he barked, gesturing at Thor. "Hold your ground! Keep the Avatar occupied!" Thor blinked, still dazed, but instinctively braced. Steve didn't wait for recognition—he assigned roles based on what he saw, not personal knowledge.
"Cyclops! Laser focus on the Avatar! Track its every move!" His hand cut through the air to indicate Colossus beside him. "You, steel! Shield the unknown god, hold the line, no excuses!"
"Fragments!" he pivoted sharply. "Logan, claws out—unstable pieces, neutralize them!" Wolverine crouched, snarling, already responding. Steve had known Logan from Howling Commandos missions; a brief nod of recognition passed between them. "Jean Grey, psychic support—cover him!"
"Storm, wind patterns, pressure spikes—control the climate around them, predict their next move!" He gestured toward Spider-Man and Spider-Woman, flanking them. "You two, perimeter coverage—keep civilians safe and support our air operations!" Wasp zipped in, nodding, already adjusting her flight path to the new grid.
Steve's gaze shifted to the rift and magical disturbances. "Reed, analyze, and tell us where this thing's weak! Hank, scale up or down, figure out every angle!" He gestured upward. "Susan, shields—protect the perimeter, block the worst of the cold for everyone!" Iron Man's thrusters flared as he readied for recon strikes.
Steve didn't pause. Each hand gesture, each shout, cut through the battlefield like orders sharpened into weapons. "Positions, now! Spread, cover, observe, hit when you have a clear shot! No improvising without reporting to me!"
For a brief moment, the frozen, chaotic battlefield reoriented around his voice. The Avatar remained still, indifferent, but Steve's energy rippled through the heroes like an injected pulse of coordination. Chaos contained, partially—but the danger was far from over. Structure had been imposed. Each team now had a mission, a sector, a target.
The city groaned under the combined weight of ice, frost, and divine power. But in the center, under Steve's direct, commanding presence, a fragile order began to emerge. Frontline, fragment control, civilian rescue, breach closure—each node in the battlefield had a function, a purpose. And the Avatar waited, calculating, as the mortals adjusted to its ancient, merciless presence.
And in that brief moment of imposed order, a new silence carved itself into the battlefield.
Alex stepped into the frigid chaos like a shadow slipping between breaths. The Void was active around him, a silent one-meter radius, cutting a small circle of stillness through the churn of wind, ice, and urgency. He moved with no hurry, no hesitation, just deliberate precision—an anomaly of calm entering a battlefield on the edge of collapse.
He arrived just as the heroes were breaking apart into the four squads Steve had barked into order. Lines were forming, shifting, adjusting. Hulk braced like a living avalanche. Cyclops repositioned the X-Men. Reed lifted scanners toward the sky.
Alex stepped closer.
No one heard him coming.
Not at first.
Then Tony's HUD pinged. A new signal had forced its way into the shared channel—clean, quiet, and absolutely confident.
"Hello, everyone."
The voice echoed through every earpiece at once, smooth and unbothered by the apocalyptic cold.
A dozen heads snapped toward the masked figure.
Alex didn't flinch.
"Name's Jack," he continued, tone dry, almost playful. "Jack, the spirit of Halloween. I'm here to escort the spirit of Christmas back to his realm. Early arrival this year."
For a heartbeat, the battlefield froze.
Tony blinked inside his helmet. "…That's new."
Wasp was the first to react—hovering above the ground in a flicker of wings, narrowing her eyes behind her visor. "Wait. I— I know him."
An edge of puzzled relief crept in. "He helped me with that fragment earlier. I'm just… still not sure how."
The surprise didn't fully settle before another recognition surfaced.
Gwen.
She stiffened mid-movement, breath catching for half a second behind her mask. She didn't speak, didn't raise a hand. She only watched him—carefully, quietly. Because she knew that posture. That presence. That rhythm.
She recognized him beneath the disguise.
But she kept it to herself.
Around them, reactions rippled.
Jean felt nothing from him—absolutely nothing—and that alone tightened her stance. Wolverine muttered, "Don't like that smell… or the lack of one." Storm's eyes narrowed as the air bent subtly near his perimeter. Reed tracked Alex with analytic suspicion. Natasha's fingers hovered just closer to her holster.
A stranger walking into a live cosmic threat was one thing.
A stranger who walked like the chaos didn't apply to him—that was another.
But Alex?
He didn't posture. Didn't explain. Didn't try to win anyone's trust.
He simply observed.
A long, slow sweep across the battlefield—Thor recovering, Hulk bristling, Iron Man analyzing, the X-Men aligning, Spider-Heroes tightening formation, SHIELD agents securing perimeters, Fantastic Four dispersing to their roles.
Then his gaze—hidden behind the mask—settled on the true axis of destruction.