(AN: As I have mentioned in the earlier chapters I am a teacher, a substitute. So, I didn't have time to cook a chappie. This is the latest one I have cooked. I'll be conducting an exam next week so I'll be off in hiatus for a week. I'll be back next weekend and start the battle of New York then! Bye!)
It began without warning.
Every screen in Manhattan—
billboards towering over Times Square,
televisions in quiet apartments,
phones in trembling hands,
monitors in subways, cafés, hospitals, police precincts—
went black.
Then the image returned.
Cold. Still. Centered.
A man stood framed by darkness, clad in blackened armor etched with frost-blue runes.
His presence felt heavier than the screen could contain, as if the city itself were holding its breath.
At his side stood a Xenomorph—tall, sleek, glistening under harsh white light.
Its elongated skull tilted slightly, tail coiled with predatory patience.
Behind him, half-shrouded in shadow, stood two towering figures.
Predators.
Yautja Hunters.
Their masks reflected the camera's light.
One clicked softly. The other remained perfectly still.
The man spoke.
His voice was calm. Absolute.
"I am Arthas Menethil."
The name rolled through the city like a death sentence.
"I am not a politician.
I am not your savior.
I am not a rumor."
A pause.
"I am here to claim Manhattan."
The image shifted.
Footage began to play.
Grainy. Security-camera quality.
A prison facility in Queens.
A restrained man screamed as something pale and spider-like leapt from containment—
latched onto his face.
The feed cut.
Another angle.
The same man convulsing on a gurney.
Doctors shouting. Alarms blaring.
Then—
His chest burst open.
Blood sprayed the walls.
A slick, shrieking creature tore free and vanished into the shadows.
The footage jumped again.
The creature—now larger—moved through corridors with terrifying speed.
Blades failed. Bullets bounced.
Men died screaming.
The video froze.
Returned to Arthas.
"This," he said evenly, "is what hunts those who remain."
His eyes gleamed.
"And this is what hunts those who hide."
The feed changed once more.
Night vision.
Rooftops.
A man running.
A shimmer in the air—
then a Yautja decloaked mid-leap.
The hunt was brief. Brutal. Silent.
The footage ended with a single frame:
the Predator standing over its kill.
Back to Arthas.
"Do not test me by sealing doors.
Do not test me by going underground.
Do not test me by praying I am lying."
The camera pulled back.
The feed went live.
Times Square.
People screaming as the Xenomorph emerged from between buildings, its claws scraping pavement.
Above them—
Two Predators landed on opposite rooftops.
One raised its plasma caster.
The other roared.
Cars screeched. People fell. Phones dropped.
Sirens wailed.
The camera snapped back to Arthas' face.
He smiled.
Just slightly.
"You have until daylight."
A beat.
Then one final word—
Spoken softly.
Almost kindly.
"Run."
The broadcast ended.
And Manhattan exploded into motion.
People flooded the streets—
abandoning cars, shoving past strangers, dragging children, screaming names.
Highways locked solid in minutes.
Subways overflowed.
Unfortunately some ferries capsized under desperate crowds.
No one stayed to argue.
No one stayed to doubt.
Because above the city—
Something watched.
And it was waiting.
.
.
.
Helicarrier - Loki's Prison
Not one person from the Helicarrier was aware of what was happening to New York, Manhattan.
This was thanks to FRIDAY's intervention.
The corridor outside the cell was silent except for the low hum of engines and the steady vibration of the Helicarrier's massive turbines.
Natasha Romanoff stepped inside alone.
The transparent walls of the containment chamber glowed faintly as Loki looked up from where he sat, posture relaxed, hands folded as though he were a guest rather than a prisoner.
His eyes sharpened with interest the moment he saw her.
"Ah," Loki said pleasantly. "The spy. Have you come to gloat, or to beg?"
Natasha stopped just short of the glass.
"I'm here for Clint Barton," she said evenly. "His life."
Loki tilted his head.
"A bargain, then." A smile curved his lips. "How… predictable."
"Why?" he asked, circling slowly within the cell.
"Why him? Of all the fragile little humans in your world."
Natasha didn't hesitate.
"Because he's the reason I'm here," she said.
"The reason I'm with SHIELD. He made a call when he didn't have to."
Loki's smile widened.
"Oh, how touching," he purred.
"Loyalty. Gratitude. Such quaint emotions."
He stopped pacing and looked directly at her.
"You should know," Loki continued softly, "I could make him kill you. Slowly. Mercilessly. I would let him watch himself do it, every second burned into his mind."
The words were precise. Cruel. Designed to split her open.
Natasha's jaw tightened—but she looked away and feigned being weak.
"You're a monster," she said while trembling.
Loki laughed, a short, sharp sound.
"No," he replied. "I am not."
His eyes flicked toward the ceiling, toward the steel and glass and men beyond.
"You brought the monster with you."
Something shifted.
Natasha's expression changed—not fear, not anger, but recognition.
"So that's your play," she said quietly.
"Thanks for your cooperation."
She turned away from the glass.
"Unfortunately," she added over her shoulder, "we don't give rewards."
Loki's smile faltered.
For the second time since his capture, surprise pierced his composure.
First, when the so-called monster—the Hulk—had been there during his apprehension, controlled, cooperative, standing among them instead of locked away like a weapon they feared to unsheathe.
That alone had unsettled him.
Now this.
Natasha reached the door.
Loki stared after her, mind racing.
Barton's knowledge was old. Outdated.
Focused on guarding Selvig, on the experiments, on the Tesseract.
He hadn't seen this.
He hadn't anticipated this version of SHIELD.
And that—
For the first time since his arrival on Earth—
Made Loki uneasy.
Natasha lifted her hand to her comm.
But not the one where SHIELD is included .
It was another line—quiet, encrypted, privy only to 4 people who stood during the zombie incident.
"I've got Loki's play, does anybody copy?" she asked calmly.
They answered immediately and everyone was on the line despite having tasks.
"Loki's play is the Hulk," Natasha said. "He's going to make Banner turn."
Tony's voice cut in first, sharp and unimpressed.
"Yeah, that tracks. Classic misdirection. He must've another trick in play."
Bruce followed, quieter—but steady.
"Then if I feel anything at all," he said, "I'll let it in. Pretend it's working."
A brief pause.
Then Steve gave the verdict.
"I agree, we wait for the right moment to intervene. I'll keep my eyes on Loki."
"I'll wait out for Clint. If any of you see him, just tell me where."
"I guess that leaves me looking out for any technical trouble that might happen to Helicarrier itself."
As everyone confirmed their roles, the line was cut off.
Natasha still tries to warn Fury of Loki's schemes which prompted the spy master to immediately head to the lab where Bruce was.
But not even a second later.
The Helicarrier shuddered.
Not turbulence.
Impact.
Bruce staggered as the deck lurched beneath his feet.
Consoles sparked.
Alarms screamed to life.
He felt it immediately—pressure, adrenaline, that familiar burn crawling up his spine.
"Yeah," he muttered.
"That'll do it."
Just seconds earlier
External Engine Bay
A ship's engine roared as Barton landed lightly on the maintenance platform, bow already drawn.
His eyes were glassy, focused, wrong.
He loosed an explosive arrow.
BOOM.
The first engine detonated in fire and twisted metal, the shockwave ripping through the carrier's spine.
Barton pivoted, already lining up the second—
"Clint!" Natasha shouted.
He turned just in time to block her strike with the bow.
The impact echoed through the bay as they clashed, steel on steel.
"You don't want to do this," she said, spinning low, sweeping his legs.
He flipped back, firing an arrow point-blank. Natasha barely rolled aside as it detonated, heat licking her boots.
They moved fast—too fast. Every strike was familiar. Every counter remembered.
He disarmed her baton.
She broke his grip.
He kicked her into a railing.
She recovered, slammed her widow's bite into his chest.
Barton screamed—but didn't fall.
"Still pulling punches," he said coldly.
"Always," she snapped—and then she stopped.
She waited.
Just long enough.
Barton lunged.
Natasha stepped inside his guard and smashed the butt of her pistol into his temple.
Once.
Twice.
He collapsed, unconscious, skidding across the deck—alive.
Barely.
She exhaled shakily.
"I'm sorry," she whispered.
.
.
.
Interior — Hangar Deck
Bruce doubled over as the transformation ripped through him.
"Just smash," he growled to himself. "No killing."
Green swallowed him whole.
The Hulk roared.
Thor landed in front of him, but no lightning crackles across his armor, eyes or hands.
"Banner!" Thor shouted.
"Hold fast!"
Hulk didn't listen.
They collided like gods.
Steel warped.
The deck buckled beneath their blows.
Hulk drove Thor through a reinforced bulkhead, pummeling him with relentless force.
Thor grunted, blood running from the corner of his mouth—but he smiled.
"Now this," he said, wiping the blood away, "I have missed."
He raised his hand.
The hammer screamed through the air.
Hulk turned just in time—
WHAM.
He was launched across the hangar, smashing through equipment and skidding to a halt in a crater of twisted metal.
Thor rolled his shoulders, lightning dancing along his arms.
"Again," he said.
Loki's Prison
The guards never saw it coming.
Controlled agents swarmed the prison, systems overridden, protocols ignored. The glass opened.
Loki stepped out, smoothing his coat as if leaving a gala.
"Retrieve my scepter," he ordered calmly.
They obeyed without question.
As they left, a familiar voice stopped him.
"Not another step."
Agent Coulson stood at the far end of the corridor, holding a rifle unlike anything SHIELD had fielded before—sleek, angular, humming with contained power.
"Put the tricks away," Coulson said. "Go back in the cell."
Loki smiled.
"You mortals," he said, spreading his hands.
"So brave."
Coulson fired.
The blast tore through Loki's chest—
And passed through him.
The illusion shattered.
The real Loki was already behind Coulson, knife raised—
CLANG.
A shield slammed into his wrist, sending the blade skittering across the floor.
Loki hissed in fury as the shield rebounded back into its owner's grasp.
Coulson spun around, eyes wide.
The illusion vanished completely.
Loki straightened, snarling.
"You again," he spat. "Soldier."
Footsteps approached.
Steve Rogers stepped into the corridor, suit scuffed, helmet gone, shield in hand.
"End of the line, Loki," Steve said calmly.
Loki's eyes burned with rage.
And no one was still aware of the disaster in Manhattan.
End of Chapter