M98- Battle Ends!

The ground twisted under an unseen force, metal screaming as it was ripped from the city itself. The streetlights bent unnaturally, their poles twisting into spirals before snapping free. Cars lifted from the pavement, crumpling in mid-air, crushed into jagged, useless orbs of steel.

Magneto stood amidst the chaos, his fingers raised, guiding the flow of destruction like an orchestra conductor. The battlefield bent to his will.

Across from him, The Other moved without motion.

There was no grand gesture, no need for theatrics. Where Magneto manipulated the world through metal, The Other’s control was raw, absolute. The air itself turned heavy, invisible hands gripping the very fabric of reality.

Magneto flung a wrecked bus toward him with a flick of his wrist.

The Other didn’t dodge. He didn’t need to. The vehicle stopped inches before impact, suspended in the air as though gravity had forgotten its purpose. Then, without warning, it reversed—fired back at Magneto at twice the speed.

Magneto barely turned his hand, and the bus twisted apart mid-flight, its pieces scattering harmlessly around him.

Magneto smirked, raising both hands. The battlefield responded immediately. Weapons wrenched from the hands of Chitauri soldiers, armor plates peeled off their bodies, bullets and shrapnel hovered in midair like frozen raindrops.

With a snap of Magneto's fingers, the storm of metal shot forward. Hundreds of jagged shards, railguns, street debris, and even entire lampposts hurled toward The Other at impossible speed.

The Other raised a hand.

Everything stopped.

The wave of metal hung frozen in the air between them. Not magnetized, not controlled—but simply denied movement.

Magneto’s eyes narrowed.

The Other clenched his fist.

The wave of metal twisted, folding in on itself, crumpling like paper before collapsing to the ground. Magneto barely had a second to react before the same unseen force slammed into him, launching him backward through a parked truck.

He grunted, rolling to his feet, dust shaking off his shoulders. With a flick of his wrist, the truck reversed direction, flying straight back at The Other.

Again, the telekinetic force stopped it. But this time, Magneto didn’t let go.

The truck vibrated violently, the metal within rejecting The Other’s hold. The two forces clashed, fighting over the same object, pulling it in different directions at once.

The truck imploded.

The air between them rippled, the sheer force of their abilities bending the environment itself. Buildings shook, glass shattered, and the battlefield around them seemed to distort, gravity momentarily uncertain where it belonged.

Magneto lifted both arms.

The entire street lifted with him.

Pavement cracked apart, sewer grates ripped free, electrical lines snapped and sparked as an entire city block was raised into the air like a battlefield torn from the earth itself.

He sent the wreckage forward.

The Other raised a single hand to meet it.

The ground between them erupted.

A shockwave rippled outward, sending soldiers—both Chitauri and human—tumbling. Cars were overturned, and the very air seemed to distort from the force of their clash.

For a moment, neither moved.

--Addition made above this point.

Then the air shimmered.

The battlefield, already chaos, froze for just a second. It was subtle—an unnatural shift in the air pressure, a ripple across the sky that didn’t belong. And then, without sound, seven figures materialized above the city, floating effortlessly in the air.

Their masks were distinct, their eyes glowing in different hues—each a different color, each impossible to mistake.

Nero. Nigel. Maria. Donald. Diego. Sofia. Anthony.

The Seven Masked Vigilantes.

Loki exhaled, amusement flickering across his face as he tilted his head slightly, studying them. He knew. Of course, he knew. "Ah, my dear—"

And yet—

He tried to speak, to say their names, to rip away the theatrics and call them what they were. But the words didn’t come. A subtle block in his throat, a barrier woven through reality itself.

His browns frowned. “I can’t even say it?”

Nigel’s mask glowed faintly, his purple eyes fixed on Loki. He didn’t need to answer.

Loki frowned.

This was unacceptable. He tried again, shifting his tone, his intent, even his focus—but the words still refused to come. It wasn’t magic in the conventional sense. No spell had been cast, no rune inscribed. It was something deeper, something woven into the fabric of reality itself.

Unacceptable.

He raised his staff, weaving an illusion to bypass the block. If his voice couldn’t carry the words, then sound itself would do it for him. Echoes of his own voice spun into existence, whispering, calling, forcing the names he knew to shape themselves in the air.

Nothing.

His illusions flickered, the sound warping before dissolving entirely. It was as if the very concept of uttering those words had been erased.

Loki flicked his wrist. If sound wouldn’t work, then surely text would.

Above the battlefield, the sky rippled as glowing letters attempted to form. He was precise, careful. No theatrics, no flourish—just the names, plain and simple. The moment they began to take shape, they fractured. The symbols twisted, breaking apart before dissolving completely.

His grip on his staff tightened.

Fine. If not words, then images.

A simple illusion—a projection, a reflection of what was standing before him. The masked figures. Their faces. Their real names.

Nothing.

Not even static. It wasn’t like the illusion had been dispelled. It was as if the very concept of displaying it had been stripped away before it could even exist.

Loki frowned. This wasn’t magic. Not the kind he understood. He could break spells, counter curses, bypass divine interference with enough effort. But this wasn’t a spell. This was something deeper.

“Impossible.”

The word left his lips before he even realized he had spoken it.

He rolled his tongue slightly, testing the sounds. If direct names didn’t work, maybe syllables—maybe something similar—

“Torture,” he murmured.

It came out clearly.

He smirked. Too easy. Whoever was behind this had underestimated him. If direct names were blocked, he would rephrase, distort, weave the words in a way that allowed him to say what needed to be said.

He adjusted his grip on his staff, straightened slightly, and smirked.

“Ah, my dear br—”

The second he intended to form the word, it was gone. Not just the sound, but the entire concept of speaking it. The thought itself was severed, wiped from existence before it could be completed.

His smirk vanished.

Loki clenched his jaw. He was not easily disturbed, but this—this was different. He had been silenced before. He had been bound, gagged, imprisoned, even stripped of his voice by magic stronger than his own. But this wasn’t suppression.

This was erasure.

His eyes narrowed.

“It’s not the sound,” he muttered. “It’s the intent.”

He turned his gaze back to the masked figures, focusing on the one in the center. The leader. The one they called Sky. The one who should not—could not—exist the way he did.

Loki took a slow breath, steadying himself.

“I see,” he said, his voice quieter now, more measured. “This is not ordinary trickery.”

Sky said nothing.

Loki exhaled. “You truly are fascinating.”

Still no response.

Loki tilted his head slightly. “No corrections? No grand speech? I expected more, given the circumstances.”

Again, silence.

Then Sky finally moved.

He didn’t respond. Didn’t react to Loki’s words, didn’t acknowledge the curiosity laced in his tone. He simply raised a hand.

The air around them shifted.

Loki felt it before he saw it—the way the space itself seemed to bend, the way the very fabric of reality adjusted to accommodate something that wasn’t supposed to be there.

His amusement returned, but it was tempered now. Careful.

“Ah,” Loki murmured. “You’re going to be a problem.”

Sky’s fingers curled slightly, and the heat in the air spiked. It wasn’t just temperature—it was something more fundamental. The presence of something beyond flame, beyond heat, beyond mere combustion.

Loki inhaled sharply.

A challenge, then.

His grip on his staff tightened, and for the first time in a long while, Loki found himself preparing for something he couldn’t quite predict.

This was going to be interesting.

The battlefield reacted all at once.

SHIELD’s command center erupted with activity. Fury’s single eye flicked across the screens as the masked figures settled in the sky. He had seen them before, but they had never entered a fight like this so openly. Hill adjusted the tactical overlay, tracking their movements.

“They finally show up,” she muttered.

Erwin crossed his arms, studying the battlefield. “And everyone just stopped.”

Not entirely. Below, the heroes and villains had frozen for only a second, their fight stalled by the sheer presence of the seven. Those who had seen them before—Captain America, Fury, a few scattered SHIELD agents—recognized them instantly. Those who hadn’t, like the younger heroes and Loki’s forces, were just beginning to understand what they were dealing with.

Tony Stark, floating just above a group of villains, exhaled sharply. “Fucking great. These assholes again.”

Steve didn’t look away from the battlefield. “They saved my life.”

“They also don’t answer to anyone,” Tony shot back. “That should bother you.”

Steve didn’t argue, but he didn’t agree either.

Below, Iron Fist shifted his weight. He had heard rumors, but seeing them in person was something else. “Okay, uh… that’s new.”

Daredevil’s grip tightened around his billy club. “Not new. Just rare.”

Luke Cage exhaled through his nose, watching from a distance. “Looks like the big players finally decided to clock in.”

From the villain side, the reaction was immediate. Fisk’s people, Goblin’s enforcers, and even the more reckless criminals—every single one of them recognized what this meant. The plan had changed. The advantage they had been counting on wasn’t so certain anymore.

Shocker muttered something under his breath. “Goddamn it.”

Rhino, still recovering from his earlier clash with Hulk, shook his head. “Nah, man. I ain’t fighting them.”

Vulture stayed quiet. He had seen enough battles to know when the tide had shifted. “Loki better have a backup plan.”

Loki did. Probably.

Standing where he was, he studied the figures hovering above, still considering his next move. The block on their names still frustrated him, but now wasn’t the time to linger on it. He was far more interested in their presence.

The battlefield had been a careful balance of chaos and control. Now, the balance had cracked.

Then, the first move came.

Nigel’s voice cut through the silence. “Storm.”

Diego tilted his head slightly, then moved. A burst of crimson energy crackled around him as his flames surged outward, ripping through the space ahead like a living force. He didn’t aim at anything specific. He didn’t need to. The disintegration spread, forcing anyone in its path to scatter or be erased.

Rhino jumped back. “Shit—”

The nearest Chitauri weren’t so lucky. Their bodies broke apart mid-motion, their weapons falling uselessly to the ground as Diego’s flames swallowed them.

That was the sign.

Chaos returned, but this time, it was different.

Anthony dropped from the sky like a hammer, his landing cracking the pavement. The golden glow of his flames pulsed as he swung. A single strike, and the enemy line buckled.

Maria flicked her wrist. Shadows twisted, bending in ways that shouldn’t have been possible. A moment later, half of Loki’s forces hesitated, suddenly unsure of what they were seeing.

Sofia moved without a word, water rising from the air itself, solidifying into sharp formations before crashing down on the nearest wave of enemies.

Donald, standing beside Nero, raised a hand, electricity crackling between his fingers. “I’ll take care of the air.”

A second later, Vulture’s forces screamed as their flight gear short-circuited midair, sending them spiraling toward the ground.

Spider-Man watched the scene unfold. “Yeah. Okay. That’s ridiculous.”

Hercule Lucifer, still on the ground, whistled. “I like these guys.”

Kira, still standing above the battlefield, let out a small laugh. “Finally, something interesting.”

Magneto didn’t react immediately. He had already made his decision before they arrived, but now, he was reassessing.

Then, quietly, he spoke. “This is still my world.”

Loki, standing on the opposite side, smirked. “Then keep it.”

He raised his staff, and the battlefield exploded.

The Chitauri surged forward, pushing against the sudden shift in momentum. Loki’s forces, realizing they weren’t retreating, re-engaged with full force. The battle was back on, but now, it was a different fight.

The battlefield exploded into chaos.

Hulk cracked his knuckles, a grin spreading across his face. “Time to smash!”

Without hesitation, he leaped forward, crashing into a wave of Chitauri soldiers. The street cratered beneath him as he grabbed the nearest alien, slamming it into the ground so hard the pavement split. Another lunged at him from behind, and he barely turned before backhanding it through a wrecked car.

“More!” Hulk roared.

Above, Chitauri dropships poured from the sky, weapons lighting up as they rained plasma fire down on the city. The skyline was alive with destruction, towering infernos licking the air where missiles had struck.

Iron Man weaved through the chaos, repulsors firing in rapid bursts. “Alright, bird boy, give me a little cover here.”

Falcon swooped in behind him, wings cutting through the air as he banked sharply to avoid incoming fire. “I got your six, but you better be buying drinks after this.”

Tony fired a concentrated blast, taking down a Chitauri sniper perched on a rooftop. “Yeah, yeah, tab’s on me if we don’t all die.”

Below, Captain America’s shield ricocheted off three enemies before returning to his grip. He caught it mid-run, not breaking stride as he smashed it into another Chitauri’s head. “We need to push them back!”

Hawkeye released an explosive arrow mid-air. It landed in the center of a squad, detonating and sending limbs flying. “Yeah, working on it, Cap!”

On the ground, Natasha moved like a ghost between the enemy ranks. A Chitauri swung at her with a bladed staff—she ducked, twisted, and jammed a shock baton into its ribs. The creature convulsed before collapsing. Another rushed her, but before she had to react, a bullet ripped through its skull.

She barely glanced up. “Thanks, Barton.”

“Anytime,” Clint called from his perch, already nocking another arrow.

In the sky, the Seven Masked Vigilantes tore through the enemy’s aerial forces.

Donald raised his hand, and green lightning crackled across the battlefield. A moment later, a Chitauri warship’s engines overloaded, sparks bursting from its underbelly before it lost control and crashed into the Hudson.

Sofia gestured, and a wave of water surged from the sewers below, sweeping entire squads off their feet before freezing them solid.

Anthony’s flames intensified as he fought through the streets, each punch sending shockwaves through the enemy ranks. Chitauri who got too close found themselves burning, their bodies breaking apart under the sheer force of his attacks.

Diego moved in the center of it all, a walking storm. His flames consumed whatever they touched, disintegrating weapons, armor, and flesh alike. A Chitauri commander snarled, raising a blade to strike him—only for its arm to vanish into dust before the strike could land.

“You should’ve run,” Diego muttered, finishing it with a flick of his fingers.

Nigel appeared and disappeared across the battlefield, each flicker of motion followed by a gunshot. A Chitauri fell. Then another. Then three more in the span of a breath.

Maria, unseen to most, twisted reality itself around her. Chitauri fired at illusions, struck at enemies that weren’t there, fell into nonexistent holes in the ground. By the time they realized they had been tricked, it was too late.

Nero stood in the heart of it all, watching.

Loki, still hovering above, studied the battle with mild amusement. He twirled his staff between his fingers, observing how the balance had shifted so dramatically.

“Well, this is becoming a bit of a problem,” he muttered.

The Avengers, X-Men, and street-level fighters held the line, keeping the invasion from overwhelming the city.

The Other was locked in combat with Magneto, the two forces clashing in raw, elemental power.

Metal bent, twisted, and shattered mid-air as Magneto forced entire structures into projectiles, launching them at The Other with precision. The alien commander countered, his unseen force stopping each attack just before impact, crushing the debris into dust.

“You struggle,” The Other said, voice layered and unnatural. “But struggle means nothing. This world is already lost.”

Magneto scoffed, flinging a coil of rebar like a whip. “You speak like a conqueror, yet you fight like a child.”

The Other extended a hand, freezing the metal mid-air. A pulse of energy sent the rebar flying back. Magneto barely flicked his fingers, redirecting it into a squad of Chitauri below.

Neither moved from their spot. The battle waged around them, but for now, it was a deadlock.

Meanwhile, the Chitauri swarmed the city, their ranks seemingly endless.

Spider-Man zipped between buildings, webbing enemy weapons and yanking them out of their hands. “Hey, uh, I don’t suppose any of you wanna just… go home?”

A Chitauri lunged at him. He ducked, webbed its feet, and slung it into another. “Guess not.”

Black Cat landed beside him, her claws slicing through an enemy’s armor. “I think you talk too much.”

“Habit.”

Luke Cage grabbed a Chitauri by the head and slammed it into the pavement hard enough to crack the concrete. “Less talk, more fight.”

Nearby, Iron Fist’s hand glowed with chi as he punched straight through an enemy’s chest. “Gotta agree with Cage on this one.”

Vulture barely dodged one of the falling wrecks. “Damn it, this is getting out of hand.”

Goblin swooped down next to him, cackling. “Oh, don’t sound so miserable, bird boy! Isn’t this exciting?”

Vulture glared at him. “If we don’t get a handle on this, we’re dead.”

Goblin tilted his head. “So?”

Loki was no longer smiling. The battle wasn’t playing out the way he wanted. The masked ones were ruining the pacing. They were pushing back too hard.

Then, something shifted.

Loki turned his gaze upward. The sky rippled. Something large was coming.

In the SHIELD command center, alarms blared.

Hill’s hands flew across the console. “We’ve got a problem.”

Fury didn’t look away from the screen. “Just one?”

Hill’s expression was grim. “The World Security Council just launched a nuclear missile. Target: Manhattan.”

Silence.

Coulson’s jaw tightened. “They’re going to wipe the city.”

Tony’s hand clenched into a fist. “Unbelievable.”

Erwin exhaled, watching the battlefield below. “They don’t think they can win.”

Fury turned sharply. “Hill, tell me we can override it.”

Hill’s fingers danced across the keyboard. “No. It’s locked in.”

Natasha’s voice came through the comms. “How long?”

Hill checked the trajectory. “Four minutes.”

Steve grabbed his shield. “We stop it.”

Tony was already moving. “On it.”

Erwin didn’t blink. “That won’t be enough.”

Fury’s fingers tapped against his arm. He knew Erwin was right. They had too many enemies, too much interference. The missile would hit before they cleared the air.

Then—

Nero’s voice crackled through the comms. “We’ll handle it.”

Fury's eye twitched. “How the hell are you in our comms?”

He gestured at Hill, who was already scanning the system for breaches. Nothing.

Then, Nero chuckled. “Director, I’m not in your comms. I’m in your heads.”

Silence.

Fury ignored the comms. It didn’t sound like Nero was in their heads, but after the way their last meeting had gone, he wasn’t ruling anything out. The illusion that time had been damn near unbreakable.

“How will you stop the bomb?”

A chuckle crackled through the line. “By embarrassing the World Security Council. What I hate most is bureaucrats with big toys in hand thinking they have the power to decide, well, basically anything on this planet.”

Hill's fingers flew over the console. “Still no trace of a hack.”

Fury exhaled sharply. “Forget the comms. Focus on the missile.”

The battlefield didn’t pause for the Council’s decision. The invasion was still in full force, and both sides knew this was the breaking point.

On the ground, Hulk was tearing through waves of Chitauri like they were nothing. One leaped at him—he caught it mid-air, crushed its skull, and tossed the body into a group of its own. Another fired a plasma rifle at his back. He barely reacted, turning to grab the shooter and slam it into the pavement hard enough to make the ground shake.

“More,” he muttered.

To his left, Luke Cage was throwing bodies in every direction, shrugging off energy blasts like they were pebbles. A Chitauri warrior tried to lunge at him with a blade. Luke grabbed its wrist, snapped the bone, and used the same arm to club another attacker.

“Not your night, huh?”

Up high, Falcon weaved through aerial combat, dodging bursts of plasma fire while keeping an eye on the battlefield below. “We are way past crowd control.”

Iron Man blasted past him, two Chitauri ships on his tail. “Yeah, no shit. You got room to breathe?”

“Not much.”

Tony scanned the field. “Banner’s handling the ground. I need a minute for that damn missile.”

“Don’t suppose you got a magic trick?”

Tony gritted his teeth. “Working on it.”

Meanwhile, the Seven had split up, carving through the enemy ranks.

Anthony was in the thick of it, his Sun Flames turning the battlefield into his playground. Every strike sent bodies flying, the raw energy boosting his already ridiculous strength. He ducked under a Chitauri’s spear, grabbed its arm, and sent it crashing into two others with a single motion.

Donald had already made himself a nightmare for the aerial forces. Green lightning crackled through the sky, frying ships mid-flight, sending pilots spiraling out of control. A squadron tried to flank him—he twisted, pointed, and a bolt of lightning jumped between them, frying their circuits instantly.

Maria was making sure the ground was a living hell for their enemies. Illusions weaved through the fight, turning allies into enemies, making whole squads vanish before their eyes. A Chitauri general bellowed orders to fire—his own men turned, confused, seeing a field of clones. By the time they realized what was real, it was too late.

Sofia moved like water, quite literally. The street below her rippled as she moved, bursts of liquid solidifying into jagged spikes before launching into enemy lines. She lifted her hand, and a column of water surged upward, encasing a charging group before flash-freezing them in place.

Nigel was untraceable. He flickered in and out of sight, each reappearance marked by a gunshot. A Chitauri assassin lunged at him from the shadows. He caught its wrist, twisted, and put a bullet between its eyes before it could react. Then he was gone again.

Diego, well—Diego was making a statement. The red flames around him churned as he walked forward, leaving only dust in his wake. A Chitauri tank unit tried to lock onto him. He lifted a hand, and the machine started to crumble, its structure breaking apart molecule by molecule before it could even fire.

Nero called Sofia back. "Do we have the footage?"

Sofia chuckled behind her mask. "Oh yeah. World Security Council caught in 8K, deciding to sacrifice millions by sending a bomb into the heart of the city. When it's about to explode in our ass, you do your magic, I’ll do mine."

Nero didn’t respond, but he didn’t need to. She already knew the plan.

Below, the battle was collapsing in on itself. Kira had stopped holding back.

The streets glowed with the remnants of his fire. Entire squads of Chitauri burned where they stood, their bodies reduced to flickering embers before they could even scream. The air shimmered with the heat, warping the cityscape like a mirage of hell.

A mercenary tried to run. Kira barely flicked his hand, and the man burst into flames mid-step, collapsing before his foot touched the ground.

Goblin, still circling above, finally realized the problem. "Shit," he muttered.

Vulture had already figured it out. "We’re done."

Goblin snarled. "We can still—"

Vulture didn’t wait for him to finish. He hit a switch on his gauntlet, and his flight pack activated, propelling him away from the fight without a word.

Goblin watched him go, eyes narrowing. Then, he turned back to Kira, considering.

A Chitauri soldier lunged toward him—he casually blasted it apart with a pumpkin bomb. The explosion reflected in his eyes as he tilted his head slightly.

Then he smirked. "Ah, well. Next time, then."

He pulled back, his glider roaring as he shot off into the night.

Loki had already made his decision. He had seen enough. The battle was lost, the tides had turned, and he had no interest in sticking around for the cleanup.

With a wave of his hand, he vanished.

Fisk was next. Or rather, he tried to be.

The Kingpin stood at the edge of a rooftop, gripping his cane tightly as he watched his empire collapse beneath him. His enforcers were either dead, burning, or running. His allies were retreating. The Chitauri had stopped advancing.

He turned to Frank Martin. "We leave. Now."

Frank nodded. Then he pulled a gun and shot Fisk in the head.

Silence.

The massive body of Wilson Fisk crumpled to the ground, his cane falling from his grip, rolling across the rooftop. Blood pooled beneath his skull.

Frank exhaled, lowering the gun.

From the streets below, people noticed. Mercenaries, criminals, even heroes. The Kingpin of New York had just been executed by his own man.

Luke Cage stared up from the wreckage. "What the hell—?"

Spider-Man blinked. "Wait. What?"

The last of Fisk’s men hesitated, looking between each other. Then, as one, they dropped their weapons and scattered.

Frank stood over Fisk’s body for another moment, then turned and walked toward the edge of the building. He didn’t hesitate before stepping off.

He landed on the street below, rolling into the impact, then stood. Kira was waiting for him.

Frank looked him in the eye. "I’m in."

Kira studied him for a moment. Then he nodded. "Alright."

Above them, the missile was incoming.

Sofia’s voice came through the comms. "Thirty seconds."

Nero didn’t look up. He raised his hand slightly, his fingers curling as if gripping something unseen. The air trembled.

From the SHIELD command center, the missile's trajectory flickered.

Hill frowned. "Uh—"

The missile abruptly changed course.

Not slightly. Not as if something had nudged it. The entire thing stopped mid-flight, frozen in the sky as if reality itself had pressed pause.

Tony Stark, still rocketing toward it at full speed, nearly crashed into it. "Whoa—okay, not me! That wasn’t me!"

Steve, still watching from below, narrowed his eyes.

Fury exhaled. "That’s not possible."

Erwin didn’t even look surprised. "It is for him."

The missile began to descend—but not toward the city. It arced upward, twisting, moving like a guided predator rather than an inanimate weapon.

In the Helicarrier, the WSC’s transmission came through. "What the hell is happening to our missile?!"

Fury turned off the comms. "Not your missile anymore."

Sofia’s fingers danced across her tablet. "I’m making sure they don’t delete the evidence."

The missile kept rising. The WSC’s command center was in chaos, their feeds hijacked, their voices demanding explanations that nobody could give them.

Then, before anyone could react, the missile simply vanished.

Gone.

No explosion. No impact. No trace.

It was just… erased.

Silence stretched across the battlefield.

Then, the first Chitauri ships started retreating.

The invasion was over.

The fight was done.

The war never even had a chance to start.