Nick Fury was fuming mad; he was worried he might lose his voice from yelling, but clearly, only by causing others to have a splitting headache would they bother to listen to him.
"You are all mad! How could you possibly authorize such an attack? And on your own fucking people!"
"Watch your tone, Fury." The angry voice of a powerful general came through. "We did what we had to do. We had no choice. We gave your little Avengers a chance, and they didn't close the portal."
Fury groaned loudly in frustration. "And I told you, according to the man who built the portal device, a nuclear explosion won't do anything! It'll only kill those trying to stop the tide!"
"I'm sorry, Fury, but we have to do it." Another, more diplomatic voice came—the Secretary of State.
"Had to do it, my ass!" Fury screamed. "Not only are you attacking your own people, but also the fucking King of Albion and the forces of Asgard. This is nothing more than declaring war on the two only allies we have in this situation!"
He might not like the fact that his Avengers were struggling, that they couldn't fix the situation as he had hoped, but clearly, he just needed more time. He could have gotten some more mutants on his side, a few more metas, and his team would have handled it.
It wasn't that his idea was bad—he had just been held back for too long, not given enough time when it mattered.
He considered this proof that his Avengers Initiative worked, and that it was the future.
Because he too agreed that having Asgard and Albion be responsible for Earth's safety wasn't good, but that didn't mean they currently didn't need them.
They were already pressed by one alien army, and now they were going to risk another? Fury doubted that even if he called for help, even if he got Danvers down here, it would help all that much.
Surely she alone couldn't handle two entire alien civilizations?
Sure, the invaders shouldn't be too difficult in the grand scheme, but Asgard? Fuck those fools, had they no idea that attacking them while they were helping would be the end of things? You didn't negotiate after such a betrayal.
"And what," Fury snarled, pacing across the ruined deck, "exactly do you think will happen when Albion and Asgard realize they were nearly vaporized by their ally?"
Silence.
Not guilt.
Not shame.
Just silence—the kind born from arrogance, the kind that meant they hadn't even considered it.
The general cleared his throat. "Fury, I understand your—"
"You don't understand a DAMN THING!" Fury roared. "Arthuria Pendragon alone is enough to take over any nation on Earth if she wanted to. Asgard has been doing it for thousands of years. And you idiots just tried to nuke them!"
"We had no choice," the general insisted. "The situation is uncontrollable."
Fury's voice dropped to a dangerous whisper.
"It was controllable. You just panicked."
The Secretary sighed heavily. "Director… you must understand. If New York falls—"
"It was already falling!" Fury snapped. "And you know what was stopping it? Asgard. Albion. My people. Heroes. Not your pathetic brass-button committees."
A third council member—an older woman, polished voice hiding steel—chimed in.
"Director Fury, we reviewed every scenario. A nuclear strike is projected to reduce Chitauri numbers by—"
"ZERO!" Fury screamed. "Zero percent! It'll just kill the Avengers, the Asgardians, Arthuria's knights, and EVERYONE ELSE! And the portal will stay open!"
He slammed his fist onto a console; the metal dented.
"This isn't just reckless. It's suicidal."
There was a rustle on the other end. Someone whispered, "Cut communications—"
Fury leaned closer, voice trembling with fury.
"You cut this line and I swear—"
The general interrupted him.
"Director, the greater picture is beyond you right now. We do what is necessary."
Fury blinked once.
Then he laughed—a cold, humorless sound that even Hill flinched at.
"Necessary? Necessary?" He shook his head slowly. "You want necessary? Let me tell you what's necessary."
He grabbed the comm so tightly the leather of his glove creaked.
"What's necessary is that we survive this invasion and keep the only damn allies we have. Because unlike you idiots, they aren't throwing nukes around like candy."
On the other end, someone groaned. "Fury, please—"
"No, YOU listen," Fury growled. "Arthuria Pendragon is down there right now saving your ungrateful asses. Asgard is losing warriors for your country. And Tony Stark is flying into space with a nuclear bomb because YOU FAILED."
Hill quietly murmured, "Sir…"
Fury didn't stop.
"Mark my words—when this is over, they'll remember who tried to kill them. And it won't be me."
The Secretary's tone sharpened. "Director Fury—this line is being terminated. The Council will reconvene after the crisis."
Fury spat the words like venom.
"You won't have a Council by then."
Click.
The line cut.
Fury stared at the dead comm for a long moment, chest heaving.
Hill spoke gently. "Sir… what do we do now?"
Fury finally turned—and for the first time, he looked tired. Old. Human.
"We pray," he said softly.
Then he straightened, snapping back into the man who had held SHIELD together for a decade.
"And we prepare for the fallout."
Hill asked quietly, "From the nuke?"
Fury shook his head.
"From Arthuria Pendragon when she comes for reckoning."
-----
Tony's heart was hammering away in his chest. Today really wasn't his day at all. Not only was the world being invaded by aliens coming through a portal in his brand new tower, but he had somehow ended up as one of the few trying to fix it all.
From going to Germany to recover Ben Grimm, to the fight aboard the almost-not-flying flying aircraft carrier, to the battle of New York.
Fighting with his life on the line, struggling to keep up with an endless host of aliens coming for him and his world, threatening to end them all—it wasn't pretty, not at all.
Still, he and this ragtag bunch of misfits Fury had put together had managed to almost win; at the very least, they'd gotten to the machine opening the portal and saved Reed.
But that was when things were already bad, because they couldn't close the damned portal.
Thankfully, not only had Arthuria showed up, but she had brought with her the army of Asgard. And while they didn't have any flashy tech he would have expected to see from an advanced alien civilization—though that much was expected—even still, they were kicking ass.
Finally, things were looking up. Maybe he would get to enjoy a bottle of something nice tonight, maybe even with Pepper at his side.
Finally, with literal gods there, he could relax a little, right?
But no, because there were too many idiots out here, and now he had to deal with a fucking nuclear bomb. And with barely any time to react at all.
"Jarvis, please tell me we can shoot this thing down?" he said as he reached the missile.
"Negative, sir," Jarvis answered in that eternally calm tone Tony was beginning to resent. "Any attempt to detonate the warhead at this altitude will still produce catastrophic fallout over the city."
Tony gritted his teeth. "Of course it will. Because why would anything be easy today?"
The missile jerked violently, almost wrenching him free. Tony clamped down harder, thrusters roaring as he wrestled with a weapon designed to end nations.
"Alright, alright—options, Jarvis! Give me something!"
"The missile cannot be safely redirected to the ocean, sir. Our current altitude and vector will not permit it."
"What about aiming it at the Council building?" Tony snapped bitterly.
"Tempting, sir, but still inadvisable."
Tony swore loudly, forcing the missile upward, armor groaning from the effort. The poor suit had sustained quite a bit of damage already, and while it wasn't failing just yet, it was far from in its best state.
His heart felt like it was trying to punch its way out of his chest.
From below, Steve's voice crackled through the comm:
"Stark! Do you have eyes on it?!"
"Yeah," Tony gasped. "And it's uglier up close."
Natasha cut in through gunfire. "Can you disarm it?"
"Wish I brought a screwdriver, Romanoff!"
A Leviathan roared beneath him—only to have Thor slam into its skull, smashing it downward with a crack of thunder.
Tony risked one look down.
Asgardians and Avengers were fighting like hell—not for glory, not for victory, but for him.
To give him a chance.
To keep the sky open long enough for him to reach the missile.
And now that he had it, the question clawed at the back of his brain:
What the hell do I do with it?
"Jarvis," he said quietly, "please tell me there's a miracle hiding in the back pocket of this suit."
A long pause.
"Sir… I fear the only remaining course is clear."
Tony followed Jarvis's gaze—upward.
The portal glowed like a second sun, pouring death into the world.
Open.
Endless.
A direct line into deep space.
Tony's breath caught.
"Oh no," he whispered. "You've gotta be kidding me."
"I am not, sir."
Natasha's voice returned, strained. "Tony? What's happening?"
He didn't answer at first.
He just stared at the portal.
At the swirling blue.
At the Chitauri pouring through.
At the widening tear in reality.
At the place where a bomb could vanish… without killing eight million people.
Tony closed his eyes.
"…I think I know what I have to do."
"Tony?" Steve pressed.
"I need a clear line, gonna throw this thing into their damned hole," he groaned as he steered the missile toward the target.
It wasn't easy. He couldn't slow it down too much or it would risk detonating; he had very little steering, and only two minutes left.
A pause.
Then Steve:
"…We'll clear it."
"Let's move, Avengers!" Steve shouted. "Fantastic Four—support us!"
The teams moved like they'd trained for this their whole lives.
Captain America sprinted across a ruined rooftop, shield ricocheting through a wave of Chitauri fliers, clearing a corridor in the sky.
Natasha leapt onto a damaged police tower, firing controlled bursts to drop anything that tried to flank Tony.
Clint landed on the broken backbone of a Leviathan corpse, firing explosive-tipped arrows into the air, blowing apart airborne chariots.
Ben Grimm roared, throwing pieces of collapsed building like artillery shells at anything approaching Tony's flight line.
Johnny Storm streaked ahead of Tony, creating a tunnel of fire through the swarm. "This path's hot and ready, metal man!"
Susan Storm's voice crackled: "Tony, I'm projecting force fields to keep the debris off your trajectory—GO!"
Reed extended his body like a living slingshot, wrapping around crumbling beams and snapping them aside. "The line is open!"
The Chitauri realized too late what they were doing.
A Leviathan tried to move into Tony's path—
Ben grabbed it by the jaw and twisted, snapping its head sideways.
Another swarm darted in—
Susan's force bubble slammed them into a building.
Johnny burned a streak through the sky.
Clint nailed the survivors.
Natasha picked off stragglers.
Steve cut down anything that got too close.
And Reed—
Reed Richards calculated the precise movements needed to keep the path open for at least five seconds.
A lifetime.
"Tony!" Steve yelled. "NOW!"
Tony swallowed.
"Jarvis… full power."
"Sir—this will—"
"JUST DO IT!"
(End of chapter)
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