Meanwhile, at an outdoor restaurant just beside the plaza—
Cloud sat at a table draped with a white tablecloth, a steaming plate of German bratwurst with sauerkraut before him.
Knife in his left hand, fork in his right, he methodically sliced a perfectly crisped Thuringian sausage into uniform pieces, dabbed them in yellow mustard, and elegantly popped them into his mouth.
"Mm... not bad." He nodded approvingly. "Firm texture, just the right amount of smokiness. The sauerkraut, though—not fermented long enough. Not quite sour enough."
As for the "God versus Super Soldier" showdown unfolding nearby, he couldn't be bothered to even glance up.
The sounds of combat, explosions, and civilian screams were merely background music for his lunch.
He'd come to Germany purely because he was craving food.
During his days freeloading at Stark Tower, he'd conducted a "cloud survey" of global cuisine via the internet, ultimately setting his sights on German sausages and beer.
So he'd given Natasha a heads-up about "going out to explore local culture," then teleported straight from New York to Stuttgart.
He hadn't expected to encounter this "urban renewal" situation the moment he found a decent-looking restaurant.
WHAM!
Steve's fist connected solidly with Loki's face.
Loki staggered but immediately swept the butt of his scepter toward Steve's legs.
Steve reacted instantly, raising his shield to block.
CLANG—!
The tremendous clash of metal set nearby windows humming.
Cloud's brow furrowed.
Not because of the noise—but because that impact had knocked a piece of sausage off his fork.
He sighed, finally looked up, and turned his gaze toward the two combatants going at it.
"Tsk tsk tsk..." He speared the fallen sausage piece while launching into commentary like a veteran fight announcer.
"This captain dressed in the American flag has decent physical specs—strength, speed, reflexes all far beyond normal humans. Unfortunately..."
He shook his head with an expression of regret.
"His fighting style is too straightforward. By the book, all military boxing. Punches too linear, doesn't know how to generate power from the hips. Lower body looks stable but his center of gravity is too high—poor mobility. If he faced our Terry, one Burn Knuckle and he'd be completely disoriented."
Aboard the Quinjet, Natasha was monitoring the battlefield and Cloud's "commentary" through the tactical communicator. She nearly snapped the control stick in half.
She hissed into the comm: "Cloud! This isn't the time for food criticism and fight commentary! The Captain needs backup!"
"What's the rush?" Cloud's lazy voice crackled through. "It's not time for the main course yet. Besides, can't you see your Captain's having fun? He's been frozen for seventy years—finally found someone to spar with. Let him play a while."
Natasha: "..."
She was beginning to think that bringing this guy along might have been an even bigger mistake than Loki.
On the battlefield, Steve and Loki's fight had intensified.
Loki was a god after all. Though close combat wasn't his forte, his endless array of magic and illusions gave this "honest man" Steve no end of trouble.
Loki created two duplicates, attacking Steve simultaneously from three directions.
Steve could only rely on battle-hardened instinct, shield whirling desperately to defend.
"See that? The green guy is much smarter," Cloud speared another sausage piece, continuing his commentary. "His base combat power is trash-tier, but he knows how to use his brain. Duplicate illusions, mixing real and fake, combining solid and shadow. Though honestly, this technique is too basic—full of openings. Our Kagura sisters' duplicates are leagues above his!"
Steve, mid-combat, caught the words "trash-tier" through his communicator and nearly coughed up blood.
Me, Captain America, HYDRA's nightmare, the pinnacle of the Super Soldier program—in your mouth, I'm not even as good as a pair of sisters?
Just as Steve was being cornered by three Lokis—
A blast of hard rock music descended from above.
A red-gold metallic figure streaked down like a meteor, firing a precision repulsor blast that slammed into Loki's true body, sending him flying.
Iron Man. Tony Stark. Making his flashy entrance.
"Looks like the party's already started." Tony landed, flipped up his faceplate, and flashed Steve a cocky grin.
"Finally, someone in a tin suit." Cloud took a swig of beer, continuing his acerbic commentary. "The entrance was pretty cool, at least. But that repulsor's power output is like a kid's squirt gun. And the armor's joint connections have serious design flaws. If our K spotted an opening, one Heat Drive and he'd be doing a live demonstration of teppanyaki."
On the other end of the communicator, Natasha had given up all hope.
Right now, she just wanted to rush over and stuff the sausage in Cloud's mouth straight up his nostrils.
"Alright, Steve, you can rest now." Tony raised his palm repulsors at Loki.
"Wait!"
An even more powerful, more divinely imposing voice thundered from above.
A rainbow-colored pillar of light crashed down, slamming into the ground. When the light faded, a golden-maned figure in a red cape, wielding an enormous warhammer, stood before everyone.
Thor, the God of Thunder, had arrived.
"Loki! Come back to Asgard with me immediately!" Thor pointed at his brother, voice booming like thunder.
"Oh? Another one?" Cloud's eyes brightened slightly. "This hammer guy looks like he can actually fight compared to the other two. Decent energy fluctuations too—kind of like... a watered-down Orochi Power?"
"His thunder technique is pretty wasteful though." He watched the crackling arcs dancing on Thor's hammer and shook his head. "Back home, there's a girl named Shermie. When she calls down lightning, she draws on the Nine Heavens Divine Thunder—zero pollution, zero noise, and it comes with a charm effect. Way more advanced than his physically-generated hammer lightning."
Natasha silently switched off her communicator.
She was afraid that if she listened any longer, she'd be tempted to request satellite weapons authorization to erase that restaurant—and that insufferable loudmouth—from the face of the Earth.
...
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