Meanwhile, on the ground, the heart of Manhattan had become a slaughterhouse.
"Boss! We can't hold the line! There are too many of these bastards!" a patrol officer screamed into his radio, huddling behind the mangled remains of a cruiser.
Captain America slammed his shield into a Chitauri soldier's sternum, sending the alien flying back into a brick wall. He was breathing hard, his iconic suit dusted with pulverized concrete. "Hold on! Stark is working on a way to shut down that portal!"
"He'd better move fast!" Natasha Romanoff's voice crackled over the comms, punctuated by the rhythmic thwip-crack of her stingers. "I've got another 'big guy' coming about three o'clock!"
A few blocks over, the Hulk let out a guttural roar as a barrage of dense energy fire peppered his skin, temporarily pinning the green giant behind a wall of fallen masonry.
Seeing the gap in the Avengers' perimeter, a Chitauri flight squad veered off course. They dipped low, their sleds humming with lethal intent as they aimed their cannons at the thin line of police officers and the super-soldier standing between them and the civilians. The air around the barrels began to glow with an eerie, ionizing blue light.
"Get down!" Steve Rogers roared, planting his feet and raising his shield.
He braced for an impact that would have leveled the block.
But the explosion never came.
"...What?" Steve muttered, blinking as the expected wall of fire failed to materialize.
He looked up.
A pair of polished red boots was hovering perfectly still exactly ten feet above his head.
A man was floating there—suspended in the air with a casual, god-like indifference. He wore a deep blue bodysuit that shimmered under the New York sun, and a star-spangled cape that snapped sharply in the wind.
Behind him, the Chitauri flight squad didn't just crash; they were in pieces. The sleds had been sheared perfectly in half, their remains tumbling to the asphalt in twin streaks of orange flame.
"Who... who the hell is that?" The officer behind the cruiser poked his head out, his eyes wide enough to see the individual stars on the stranger's cape.
Steve was paralyzed for a second. The silhouette was too familiar, yet entirely wrong.
"Sarge," a younger cop stammered, his voice trembling. "Is that... is that Superman? I mean, I read the comics as a kid, but..."
"Shut up, Miller," the older cop snapped, though his hands were shaking. "Superman is a movie character. Who is this guy?"
Steve pressed his fingers to his earpiece. "Fury! Is this your guy? Did you have a heavy hitter in reserve you forgot to mention?!"
Silence met him on the other end.
Aboard the S.H.I.E.L.D. Helicarrier, the atmosphere had gone from frantic to frozen.
Nick Fury, the director who prided himself on knowing every secret in the hemisphere, stared at the main monitor with his one good eye.
"Hill," his voice was a low, dangerous growl. "Analyze that target. I want a name, a file, and a blood type five minutes ago. Why is he dressed like he's headlining a Fourth of July parade?"
"Sir," Maria Hill's fingers were a blur across the glass interface, "I've got nothing. No matches in the superhuman database, no facial recognition hits on the global grid. He's a ghost. But the sensors... My God, his bio-thermal signature is off the charts. It's like looking at a localized fusion reactor."
In the center of the war zone, Mason Vance floated, letting the silence stretch.
As an actor, he knew the value of a beat. He lived for the "hero shot." He could feel the weight of a thousand eyes on him—awe, confusion, terror, and that sweet, burgeoning spark of adoration.
[Ding! Gained Popularity: +120]
[Ding! Gained Popularity: +45]
[Ding! Gained Popularity: +109]
Too slow, Mason thought, a faint flicker of dissatisfaction crossing his handsome features.
He didn't want a standing ovation; he wanted a god-complex-level following. He needed a bigger stage.
His internal monologue was interrupted by a hiss. A Chitauri soldier, sensing an opening, had leapt onto a nearby fire escape and lunged. It thrust its energy spear with everything it had, aiming directly for the center of Mason's back.
"Watch out!" Steve Rogers yelled from below.
Mason didn't move. He didn't even blink. He simply stayed suspended in the air, a bored expression on his face.
Pfft.
The tip of the spear hit the blue fabric of his suit and stopped dead. The alien shoved, its muscles bulging, its screeching breath hot against the back of Mason's neck. The spear didn't bend. The suit didn't tear. Mason didn't even sway.
Slowly, Mason turned his head. His face carried a look of mild annoyance, the way a billionaire might look at a waiter who'd spilled a drop of wine.
"Trash."
His hand moved faster than the human eye could track. He gripped the Chitauri's head in a vice-like hold.
Under the horrified gaze of Captain America, Mason gave a casual, effortless squeeze.
Splurch.
It was like a ripe tomato hitting a sidewalk. Green ichor and gray matter sprayed across the brickwork. Mason let go, and the headless corpse plummeted to the street below.
He shook the stains off his hand with a grimace of pure disgust. "No wonder the 'Big H' prefers the lasers. This is barbaric."
He looked up. A swarm of Chitauri flyers was diving toward him, a V-shaped formation of screaming engines and plasma fire.
Mason felt the power swelling behind his retinas—a hot, pressurized thrum of pure energy.
ZZZT!
Two beams of searing, blood-red light erupted from his eyes. They weren't just lasers; they were concentrated lances of sun-fire. He swept his gaze across the horizon in one fluid motion. The five flyers were sliced through like hot wire through butter.
Molten metal and charred alien limbs rained down on the intersection.
For a moment, the sounds of war actually dimmed.
"Jesus..." an officer named John whispered, his service weapon clattering to the ground.
"Fury!" Steve called out again, his voice tight. "I'm asking one more time. Is this guy yours?"
"He's very strong," Natasha's voice cut in, her tone wary. "And... he seems to be enjoying the hell out of this."
Suddenly, a red-and-gold blur streaked through the air, pulling a sharp U-turn to hover directly in front of Mason. The faceplate of the Iron Man armor slid up, revealing a sweating, skeptical Tony Stark.
"Hey! Star-Spangled Boy!" Tony's voice was dripping with its usual snark. "The costume party isn't until October. Who are you? Fury's latest secret project?"
Mason hovered at eye level with the armored genius, flashing a smile so perfect it looked digitally enhanced.
"That suit of yours looks more like a toy than I do, Mr. Stark," Mason replied, his tone smooth and reassuring. "I'm just here to help."
"Help? You've got a funny definition of 'help.' You're a little flashy for the quiet type," Tony quipped.
"I'll take that as a compliment."
"It wasn't a—"
"Tony!" the Captain's voice barked over the comms. "Cut the chatter! We've got a situation! A Leviathan is charging down Fifth Avenue. Hulk and Thor are tied up with the other two."
"I'm on it," Tony said, his faceplate slamming shut as his thrusters flared.
"Don't bother, Mr. Stark."
Mason didn't wait for a response. He moved.
To the people below, he simply ceased to exist in one spot and appeared in another. The Iron Man sensors only registered a blur of red, white, and blue.
The next second, Mason was hovering directly in the path of the mountain-sized Leviathan.
Under the collective, terrified gaze of New York, he didn't dodge. He didn't use his heat vision. He simply balled his fist and flew through it.
Pfft—BOOM!
At supersonic speed, he punched a hole straight through the beast's armored skull. A massive, circular crater of meat and metal erupted from the back of the creature's head.
The Leviathan's massive body lost all momentum, crashing into the street with an impact that registered on local seismographs.
Mason hovered on the other side of the carnage, his suit pristine, his cape fluttering as if he'd just stepped out of a dry cleaner. He turned back toward the crowd, looking down at the huddled masses with a look of profound, heroic warmth.
He spotted a news helicopter hovering nearby, its camera lens zoomed in on his face. Mason didn't miss his cue. He looked directly into the lens, a brilliant, righteous smile spreading across his face as he waved a hand.
"Don't be afraid, everyone!" His voice echoed with a natural authority that carried for blocks. "I'm here now."
He paused, letting the weight of the moment sink in for the millions watching at home.
"Don't worry," he promised, his voice softening into a tone of pure, unadulterated heroism. "I am going to save every single one of you."
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