Previously. . .
The system blinked.
[Host Proposal Acceptable and approved!]
The prompt finished rendering.
And Elias—filled with immediate, profound regret—managed only one word.
"Shit."
Earlier that evening. . .
The Generals' Group Chat lingered in silence for a few seconds after the decision was made.
No arguments remained. No clever retorts.
Just a shared understanding that whatever came next would be bigger than all of them.
[General's Group Chat]
[Natasha:
We move with Fury's plan. For now.
Bruce:
Agreed. It gives us legal cover—and time.
Tony:
Don't like it. But I hate surprise alien invasions more.
Steve:
Then it's settled. We act as Avengers first. ]
…And we stay alert.
There was a pause.
One by one, the chat blinked with departures.
[Natasha has gone offline.]
[Bruce Banner has gone offline.]
[Steven G. Rogers has gone offline.]
[Anthony E. Stark has gone offline.]
The channel went dark.
.
.
.
Stark Tower — Top Floor
Tony stood by the glass wall overlooking Manhattan, arc reactor humming softly beneath his shirt.
The city looked peaceful—too peaceful—for a world that had just lost an artefact holding one of the aspects of the universe.
Pepper stepped closer and rested her head against his shoulder.
"You're shaking," she said quietly.
"I'm not," Tony replied automatically.
She pinched his side.
"…Okay," he sighed. "Maybe a little."
He turned to her, arms coming up instinctively, pulling her into a hug that lingered longer than usual.
Pepper wrapped her arms around him just as tightly.
They might've stayed like that—
If the elevator hadn't chimed.
Tony stiffened.
"Jarvis?" he asked without looking away from the doors.
"Why is my security system letting people up here?"
There was no reply.
The doors slid open.
Phil Coulson walked in, calm as ever, hands folded behind his back like this was a perfectly normal evening visit.
Tony stared.
"…Did my building just betray me?"
"Evening, Tony," Coulson said pleasantly.
Pepper straightened.
"Agent Coulson. You're… early."
"Sorry," Coulson replied. "World-ending emergency. We're cutting ahead of schedule."
Tony groaned. "You're here to recruit me, aren't you."
Coulson smiled and handed him a thin tablet.
"Homework."
Tony blinked. "That's it? No dramatic speech?"
"I find you work better when you feel challenged," Coulson said. "Read it. We'll talk soon."
Pepper squeezed Tony's hand. "I've got a business trip to prepare for anyway," she said gently.
"You should start."
Tony opened his mouth to argue—then closed it.
"…Fine."
Pepper kissed his cheek and headed for the bedroom.
Coulson turned for the elevator.
"Oh—and Tony?"
"Yeah?"
"Try to get some sleep. Tomorrow's going to be busy."
The doors closed.
Tony stared at the tablet.
"…I hate it when he's right."
Earlier That Night
Coulson stood alone in a dim corridor, phone pressed to his ear.
"Natasha," he said. "Status?"
"Finished," Widow replied calmly.
"Clean extraction. Minimal noise."
"Good," Coulson said. "I need you to pick someone up."
There was a pause.
"…Bruce?" she guessed.
"Yes."
A hint of amusement colored her voice.
"Sure."
The call ended.
Seconds later, Natasha dialed another number.
"When and where should I pick you?" she immediately said when the line connected.
Bruce sighed softly on the other end and gave a location and time.
.
.
.
Brooklyn — Abandoned Gym
Steve Rogers sat on a worn wooden bench, elbows on his knees, hands loosely clasped.
The punching bags hung untouched. No sweat. No bruised knuckles.
Just silence.
The door creaked open.
Nick Fury stepped inside.
Steve didn't look up. "You're late."
Fury smirked. "You're early."
He tossed a file onto the bench beside him.
Steve opened it.
Photographs. Surveillance stills. Loki, smiling as the Tesseract vanished into his grasp.
"…So he took it," Steve said quietly.
"Yes."
"You going to ask me to help?"
Fury studied him for a moment. "I was hoping you'd volunteer."
Steve closed the file.
"You should've left the cube in the ice."
Fury chuckled. "You're not wrong."
Quinjet — En Route to the Helicarrier
Coulson sat across from Steve, trying—and failing—not to stare.
"So," he said, adjusting his tie, "I just want to say—it's an honor. Sir."
Steve smiled faintly. "You don't have to call me that."
"I know," Coulson said quickly. "I just—well—"
The quinjet touched down.
The ramp lowered.
Natasha was already waiting, Bruce beside her, hands in his pockets.
Steve stepped out.
No awkward pauses. No introductions needed.
"Hey," Bruce said.
"Good to see you," Steve replied.
Natasha nodded once. "Captain."
Coulson blinked.
Then he smiled to himself.
Of course they already knew each other, he thought.
They survived a zombie apocalypse together.
As the three walked ahead—calm, composed, united—Coulson followed, silently fanboying and completely unaware just how much deeper their connection truly ran.
The Avengers had Assembled.
.
.
.
Several Hours later
Stuttgart, Germany
The gala glittered.
Crystal chandeliers bathed the hall in warm light.
Laughter spilled between conversations, champagne flutes clinked, and a string quartet played softly in the background.
Wealth, power, and comfort mingled freely—men and women who believed themselves untouchable, protected by status and walls of glass.
No one noticed the temperature drop.
No one noticed the silence spreading like a ripple through the air.
Until he appeared.
Loki of Asgard walked through the crowd as if he belonged there—tailored black and green coat, posture relaxed, expression faintly amused.
Guests glanced at him in passing, assuming he was part of the spectacle.
He wasn't.
His gaze locked onto a man near the center of the hall.
Dr. Heinrich Schaefer.
The man turned, confused, just in time to see emerald eyes burning with intent.
Before anyone could react, Loki seized him by the collar.
"What—?!" Schaefer gasped.
Loki plunged the scepter forward.
The blade-like device snapped into place against the man's eye socket.
Schaefer screamed.
The sound tore through the gala like shattered glass.
People froze for a heartbeat—
Then chaos erupted.
Guests screamed and fled, heels slipping, tables overturning as panic spread in every direction.
Loki released the man and let him collapse to the marble floor, twitching.
Dead.
Loki watched with quiet satisfaction.
Above him, far from the city lights, another operation unfolded with mechanical precision simultaneously as Loki made his move.
.
.
.
Somewhere Else — Iridium Facility
Clint Barton moved like a ghost.
Security systems failed one by one.
Doors opened. Guards fell—not dead, merely unconscious.
The team moved fast, silent, efficient.
The Iridium core was extracted and secured within minutes.
Barton's eyes flickered faintly blue as he signaled completion.
The scepter hummed.
Loki smiled.
.
.
.
Back at the Gala
Loki stepped through the fleeing crowd untouched, their fear washing around him like a tide.
A police car screeched towards him.
Loki turned lazily.
A flash of green light burst from the scepter.
The car exploded, flipping onto its side in a fireball that sent the officers inside to their maker.
Smoke filled the air.
Loki raised his voice—not shouting, but commanding.
"Kneel."
No one did.
They were too busy running.
Too busy screaming.
Too human to understand the weight of the word.
Loki's smile vanished.
His image split—projections of himself appearing across the plaza, surrounding the terrified crowd.
The scepter glowed brighter now, pulsing with power.
"KNEEL."
The word echoed from every direction.
This time, the crowd collapsed.
Men and women dropped to their knees as if gravity itself had betrayed them. Fear etched into every face.
Loki stepped forward, pleased.
"Is this not simpler?" he said calmly.
"To exist without free will? To surrender… and be spared the burden of choice."
An elderly man slowly rose from the crowd, shaking but resolute.
"Not to men like you," the old man said.
Loki's eyes narrowed.
"There are no men like me."
"There are always men like you." the elder spoke from experience.
Loki raised the scepter as he intend to make a demonstration.
"Look at your elder people. Let him be an example.
Metal screamed.
A blur of red, white, and blue slammed in front of the elder, shield raised.
The energy blast ricocheted harmlessly off a vibranium shield.
It was Captain America with firm stance, ready to protect humanity once more.
Loki tilted his head, studying him.
"…Ah," he said softly. "The soldier."
Steve didn't lower his shield.
"You know, the last time I was in Germany," he said evenly, "and saw a man standing above everybody else, we ended up disagreeing."
Loki's lips curled. "You speak as though time itself favors you. Yet here you stand—out of it. A relic playing hero in a world that has already moved on."
Steve's jaw tightened, but his stance never wavered.
"I don't need to belong to the time," he said.
"I just need to stand where I'm needed."
A shadow swept over the plaza.
Above them, a quinjet hovered into position, engines roaring low as its weapons locked onto Loki.
Natasha Romanoff's voice came through external speakers, cool and precise.
"Loki, stand down now."
For a heartbeat—
Silence.
Then Loki smiled.
He raised the scepter and fired.
A bolt of green energy streaked upward.
Natasha's instinct kicked in.
The quinjet rolled hard, narrowly dodging the blast as it tore through the air where it had been a second earlier.
Steve didn't hesitate.
He charged.
The shield left his arm in a perfect arc—spinning, deadly, precise.
Loki slammed his staff into the ground, emerald light flaring as the shield was knocked aside and skidded across the plaza.
Loki turned, already smirking—
—and nearly lost his head.
Steel flashed.
A fire axe crashed toward his face.
Loki twisted at the last possible instant, the blade tearing across his cheek instead.
Blood—golden and bright—spattered the air.
He staggered back, eyes wide.
A scar burned into his skin.
Silence fell again.
Then Loki's expression twisted—shock giving way to fury.
"You DARE—"
He lunged.
The scepter and the axe collided in a violent spark, energy screaming as metal met cosmic power.
Somehow—impossibly—the fire axe held.
Steve met every strike head-on, movements sharp, relentless, fueled by discipline and anger.
Loki struck harder, faster, arrogance bleeding into desperation.
Then—
The shield vanished from the ground.
Gone.
Loki didn't notice.
He raised the scepter and fired point-blank.
Boom!
The blast slammed into something solid midair—and rebounded.
The energy ricocheted straight back into Loki, hurling him across the plaza in a violent explosion.
He skidded to a stop, smoke curling around him as he groaned and raised both hands slowly.
"Alright," Loki said breathlessly. "I yield."
A heavy guitar riff suddenly tore through the air.
🎸 "Back in Black—"
The quinjet's speakers blared as a red-and-gold figure rocketed in, landing with theatrical flair.
Iron Man straightened, palms glowing.
"Please tell me you guys didn't start the party without me."
Tony looked at Loki—kneeling, restrained, defeated.
"…Oh come on," he groaned. "That was a perfect entrance!"
Bruce came out of the quinjet moments later, magnetic restraints snapping around Loki's arms and torso.
Loki was surprised to see Bruce. He knew exactly who he is or the other him.
There was one tiny problem with Loki's infiltration. He wasn't aware of the 'Zombie' event.
As they hauled the god of mischief away, Loki glanced back at Steve—eyes lingering on the fire axe in his hands.
"Interesting choice of weapon," Loki murmured.
Steve said nothing.
For the battle had only just begun.
End of chapter