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The air was thick with tension, camera lenses, and stage-managed silence.
The American flag snapped overhead in grim, rhythmic bursts, each crack of fabric sharp against the air.
Floodlights bathed the White House lawn in a pale gold glow, the kind that made everything look too clean, too composed. The wind carried a faint scent of ozone and burned metal from distant cleanup crews still sweeping ash off D.C. streets.
At the podium stood Valentina Allegra de Fontaine, dressed in a sharp black suit.
She wasn't mourning. She was making a statement.
Behind her, a massive screen cycled silent footage from the Yankee Stadium disaster.
Sif cutting through flames. Civilians running. The Bifrost flashing overhead.
Smoke. Screams.
Bodies.
The cost of chaos, framed in light.
Then it froze to a single frame.
Sif, wreathed in smoke, Hofund raised high above her. A silhouette of myth. A wrathful deity descending upon mortal ground, caught in the amber glow of catastrophe.
Val didn't raise her voice. She didn't need to.
"Yesterday," she began, her voice low and steady, "we watched a stadium collapse."
A beat.
"We watched Americans burn. We watched children cry. And we watched a 'goddess' descend with a deadly weapon on American soil."
Her eyes never blinked.
"…and cause unprecedented chaos."
Silence followed.
It hung in the air like a suspended verdict. Like a noose no one dared cut down.
"Lady Sif may call herself a protector," she continued, just above a whisper, "but thirty-seven people are dead. Ninety-four more wounded. One city councilman never made it back home."
She let the words linger before turning, just slightly. The lights shifted with her, flooding the screen behind.
"But ask his wife," she said, "if intent matters."
The crowd didn't move. They didn't blink.
"But I promised you something more than speeches. I promised you action. I promised you safety."
Her voice lifted just slightly. Enough to cut through breath and doubt.
"And today… I deliver."
From the wings of the stage, five figures stepped forward in synchronized silence.
Not performers. Not heroes. Instruments of will.
Chess pieces carved from war.
Sentry was the first to emerge, glowing faintly with a golden haze that didn't come from the lights.
His cape trailed behind him like smoke off a flame. His gaze held steady, but distant, like he was watching galaxies collide behind his eyes and trying not to blink.
Iron Patriot followed, each step controlled, deliberate. His armor gleamed in the spotlight with red, white, and blue tempered with gunmetal edges. A symbol repackaged. Hope dressed in military-grade technology.
Ares came next. Ancient. Blackened armor still etched with cracks from old battles. His helmet leaked slow smoke from the top like the first tremor before a volcano screams.
He did not wave. He did not smile. He smoldered.
Amora the Enchantress arrived like a whisper wrapped in silk. Green velvet shimmered with each graceful step. Her eyes glinted like radiant emeralds: bright, ancient, and full of unspoken threats.
No wind blew, and yet her golden hair moved as if the air bent to please her. The very ground seemed to soften beneath her feet.
She didn't need to command attention, she was built from it. All quiet elegance and veiled danger. Her smile was subtle. Knowing. The kind that promised trouble and made you lean closer anyway.
And then came Hawkeye.
Not Clint Barton—his replacement.
He strolled up with easy confidence, bow slung over one shoulder, shades resting on his nose like this was just another day on the job.
He popped his gum once. Smirked.
The new Hawkeye.
Nothing seemed off. Not yet.
Val turned back to the podium as the five lined up behind her, casting elongated shadows across the lawn.
"To the enemies of order," she said, "to the gods who have forgotten their place…"
Her smile was almost imperceptible.
"…sleep with one eye open."
Val's gaze swept the press like a loaded rifle.
"These are the New Avengers."
Val's voice cut through the air, calm and deliberate, but with the weight of iron beneath it.
"They are not gods. They are not myths. They are soldiers. Protectors. Chosen not by birthright, but by necessity. And if New Asgard will not give us answers…"
she let the silence hang, just for a beat.
"…then they will give us peace."
A longer pause.
"By force, if necessary."
She turned then, slow and commanding, to face the cameras. The wind caught the edge of her coat, flaring it just slightly behind her like a war banner.
Her gaze swept the crowd, press, civilians, politicians, skeptics.
"To the people of Earth, sleep easy tonight. The age of recklessness ends here."
She lifted her chin.
"Our champions fly now."
And the sky answered.
Sentry rose first. No fanfare. No sound. Just radiant ascent. Light poured from his form like a silent sun rising, gold and white bleeding through the gray cloud cover as if the sky itself bowed to him.
Then came Ares.
With a bellow that split the air like a bomb, he ignited in rage as his god-like form burst to life in a plume of flame. A war cry echoed across the hills, shattering windows and setting off car alarms in a two-mile radius.
From the top of his helm, fire burst like a crown. A burning cape flared behind him, reshaping itself into jagged wings as he hurled into the sky like a meteor seeking vengeance.
Next, Iron Patriot launched precise, clean, and vertical. Twin thrusters ignited beneath his boots, flaring red-white-blue as he climbed through the smoke Sentry left behind, all polish and calculation.
And finally Hawkeye.
No glow. No fire. Just a wry smirk as he strolled across the platform toward a sleek black Quinjet.
He offered the cameras a lazy two-finger salute, like he was heading to brunch instead of war, then vanished up the ramp without a word.
Amora stood at the edge of the stage, just behind the rows of lights and cameras.
While the others launched toward New Asgard with flames, flight, and noise, she remained still. The press barely registered her presence. They were too focused on the spectacle overhead.
She didn't look at them. Didn't speak.
She lifted one hand, fingers drawing a small circle in the air. A faint shimmer appeared, no brighter than a heat mirage on pavement.
Then she stepped through it.
The portal closed behind her with barely a sound.
The crowd stood frozen.
Some in awe. Some in fear. Some just... silent.
Val Fontaine stood still at the center of it all, untouched by the wind, eyes steady on the horizon.
Then, into the mic, low and quiet enough to make the world lean in, she said:
"Gods do not rule this world."
Her voice was barely more than a breath.
"We do."
The skies above New Asgard churned with storm-gray clouds, roiling in slow spirals like the breath of a sleeping god. Lightning pulsed faintly behind them, distant and moody, casting flashes of pale light across the fjords.
Beneath that endless dome, the land was quiet save for the hum of something vast approaching.
A shield stretched across the city, arcing from cliff to cliff in a shimmering hemisphere of ethereal light.
It was no simple force field.
Carved into it layer by layer were runes older than Midgard itself. They glowed faintly, alive with purpose. The dome breathed. It pulsed like a living thing. A celestial heartbeat.
It had never once skipped.
Until now.
A streak of gold split through the cloud cover.
Sentry descended from the sky in silence, his body casting radiant light in all directions, less like a hero, more like a second sun awakening above the earth.
His cape fluttered once, then stilled as he hovered directly above the barrier, light bleeding off him in soft, golden waves.
Seconds later, Iron Patriot sliced in behind him, his arc a smooth precision glide. Twin stabilizers hissed as he decelerated, hovering with military poise just off Sentry's left flank.
Then came the fire.
Ares ripped through the clouds like a comet, wings of living flame trailing behind him. His god-form flared fully to life.
Armor molten at the edges, helmet crowned in smoke and heat. He looked like a phoenix sculpted from pure war, pure rage given wings.
Last came Hawkeye.
A black Quinjet emerged below the cloud line, cutting through the wind on a smooth, deliberate course.
It banked lazily toward the others, the cockpit glowing faintly. Through the screen, Hawkeye could be seen lounging in the pilot seat, one hand on the controls, the other casually feeding gum into his mouth like this was just another Tuesday.
Now, they hovered.
All four of Earth's chosen stood suspended before the barrier. Just beyond reach. Just outside understanding.
Something, or rather someone was missing however.
A moment passed.
The runes sparked faintly. Watching and waiting.
"Well?" came Justin Hammer's voice over comms, his tone dry. "We knocking, or breaking in?"
Sentry drifted closer, eyes narrowing. The light from the dome reflected in his pupils like starlight caught in glass.
"There is no door," he said.
"Then we break our way in," Ares growled, and his voice rolled like thunder dragged across jagged stone.
He didn't dare wait.
The God of War surged forward, lifting his burning axe overhead. With a roar that echoed across the mountain range, he brought it down in a flaming arc straight into the heart of the barrier.
CRACK.
A shockwave exploded outward on impact, fire and force erupting in all directions. But the barrier did not give.
It rebounded.
Energy surged through the dome, rippling like disturbed water then snapped outward with violent precision.
The backlash flung Ares backwards through the air, spinning once before he caught himself. His wings flared wide, stabilizing in a blaze of fury.
The axe spun in his grip, groaning from the distortion. The flames around it hissed and danced with agitation.
"Hnh," Ares grunted, expression darkening. "Cute trick."
"That's... unexpected," Sentry muttered.
He raised one hand, slow and deliberate as he clenched a fist.
There was no technique in his motion. No martial focus or elegant precision. Just power. Brutal, raw, clumsy power.
He reared back and drove his fist straight into the barrier.
BOOM.
The sound was deafening. The force cracked the air like a lightning strike. The barrier shuddered from the hit.
Waves rippled across its surface like water punched from above. Runes flared bright, responding in kind to the attack.
Then, the rebound.
A blast of kinetic energy erupted from the shield and hurled Sentry backward like a ragdoll. He flipped in the air once and twice before righting himself, arms outstretched.
His fist stung. He looked down.
A faint bruise was already healing.
"That's... stronger than it looks," he muttered, voice edged with confusion.
Iron Patriot didn't speak. His HUD was still scanning. "It's not just a wall," he finally said. "It's almost like it's alive."
Ares scowled. "Then let's kill it."
NEW ASGARD - WAR ROOM
Everyone was watching in wait.
The attempt replayed across the central display: An enormous wall of crystal-paneled monitors infused with magical enhancements and Stark-tech precision.
The image resolution was so sharp it felt real: the glint of Ares' flaming axe, the moment it struck the barrier, the eruption of light.
And the way the dome rejected him.
Twice, the footage looped. Ares flying backward, flailing midair like a kicked-out stage prop.
Kamala blinked. "Did that barrier just slap him?"
Across the room, America Chavez leaned back in her chair, legs kicked up on the table like she owned the place. "Serves him right. Dude's all rage, no rhythm."
Valkyrie stood at the edge of the war table, eyes fixed, hands resting on the pommel of her sheathed sword.
Her expression was unreadable, but pride tugged at the corners of her mouth.
"The Asgardian Dome," she said softly. "A spell forged during the era of King Bors by the Asgardian mages. It's not just protection. It's the conviction of our people. A living wall of willpower. It doesn't just block force."
She glanced back at them.
"It pushes back."
Naruto leaned forward, elbows on the table, his gaze sharp and unreadable. "For now."
Kurama stirred inside his chest, the rumble of his voice a private growl.
"You felt that too, huh? That was too easy. There's always a second act."
Across the room, Nick Fury said nothing for a long moment. Then he crossed his arms.
"She'll keep pushing," he said. "Fontaine doesn't lead with muscle unless she's already holding a back door."
Then,
The barrier flickered.
Not an explosion. Not a rupture. Just a whisper. Like a breath catching itself. The glow pulsed unnaturally, almost imperceptibly, but it was there.
Valkyrie's head snapped toward the feed.
"No."
The shimmer became a pulse. Then a sharp crack as golden light fractured across the dome's surface. Thin lines danced like lightning trapped beneath glass. The runes began to twitch.
Kamala's eyes went wide. "What the hell is that?!"
Valkyrie took a step back from the table, hand reflexively going to her sword.
"That shouldn't be possible. That can't be possible. This shield was built to repel cosmic threats! Not even.." She cut herself off.
The dome rippled again, slower now. The glowing runes that had held the barrier tight began to unravel. Not shattered. Not broken.
Unwritten.
As if the spell work itself was being carefully dismantled by something that understood it better than the ones who made it.
Fury's voice was tight. "Someone's bypassing it."
Kate swore under her breath. "Is that even a thing?!"
"No," Valkyrie answered, flat. And somehow, that was worse.
Then the feed changed.
A shape emerged in the breach: elegant, slow, deliberate.
Heels tapped lightly on stone as a figure stepped through the parting dome, green magic soft around her like breath in cold air.
Long golden hair. A cloak that moved like smoke. Her hand traced one of the unraveling runes with casual intimacy, and it faded beneath her touch.
Valkyrie went still.
Her voice dropped to something close to a whisper. "That's not possible."
Naruto glanced at her. "Who is that?"
Valkyrie didn't answer.
Amora turned, just enough for the feed to catch her smile. It was calm. Knowing. Cruel.
"She was dead," Valkyrie said, finally. "I killed her myself over a hundred years ago."
Kamala blinked. "Wait, killed who?"
"Amora." Valkyrie stared at the screen. "The Enchantress."
Even the dome seemed to hush as it resealed behind her, good as new.
"She should be dead. She was dead."
Fury's jaw tightened. "Then how is she standing in your city?"
Valkyrie didn't speak.
Amora raised a hand on the screen.
And waved.