London.
"How is it that none of our governments or newspapers are reporting this?"
Inside the Grangers' residence, Mrs. Granger asked her daughter in disbelief as they sat together on the sofa in their living room, watching the magical vision broadcasting live the events unfolding in a remote desert in China.
"Your mom's right, honey," Mr. Granger also agreed with his wife, lightly shrugging his shoulders. "I mean, it all looks more like an action movie to us than actual live news…"
Saying as much, the couple looked to their daughter, silently expecting her explanation. Despite being grown-ups, they both knew their daughter—a literal witch—was the authority on all things extraordinary in the house.
"As much as I want this to be some kind of fiction, it can't possibly be made up," Hermione said after a moment, her brow furrowed in thought. "We saw muggle world leaders also gathered in some conference yesterday, discussing countermeasures…"
Isabella's broadcast had indeed been running continuously since the conference began yesterday, and by now practically the entire magical world—from wizarding homes and inns to public stations and magical governments alike—was focused on the matter.
"Besides," Hermione continued, her eyes fixed on the screen with worry clear in her expression. "it's not that none of our governments are reporting it—they're clearly trying to hide it. Just think about it: nearly every major news outlet is saying that the armies and police forces of every country are on high alert. That can't possibly be a coincidence."
At her words, the couple's eyes darted from the magical vision showing Isabella's broadcast to the television screen, where BBC Breaking News was airing a live report.
"…Although the military insists this is only a practice drill, questions remain as to why nearly every major country is reporting simultaneous troop movements. Our correspondents in the United States confirm similar exercises there, with the army, navy, and even local police all on high alert.
BBC has attempted multiple times to contact the Royal Family, but so far, no official statement has been released by the British Government…"
Across London, and even the entire globe, similar conversations were unfolding in muggle households with witches or wizards among their children. Some met the news with skepticism, but most did not deny the reality unfolding before them, no matter how unbelievable or sudden it seemed.
Whereas the muggle world remained secretive, the magical communities offered full transparency—even when local newspapers sought confirmation directly from magical governments, their reports were verified without question.
The world was indeed facing an unprecedented threat from beyond—extraterrestrial life was real, and perhaps for the first time in modern history, the combined forces of the planet's mightiest—whether individuals or entire armies— were coming together to confront a danger the likes of which had never been seen before.
---
"...Remember, as soon as their formation collapses, hit them with everything you've got..."
Back where the chaos was about to break loose, Edward Garling issued the final instructions to those around him—mages, mutants, and muggles alike—while behind him, the swarm of assault units drew closer like a gathering storm.
It was Olympe Maxime's idea, and truth be told, it wasn't a bad one—certainly more practical than the straightforward head-on assault first on the table. Because even for archmages, taking down six hundred single-pilot ships would take time—and factoring in their firepower and maneuverability, even more so.
The idea was, basically, to kill their coordination and turn the swarm into headless flies, so that even if they had the numbers, the powerhouses from Earth could overwhelm them easily without having to worry about their cohesion.
"It's best to keep a certain distance from us," Dumbledore said after Edward, his gaze briefly sweeping the swarm beyond. Casting a sideways glance at Ororo, he added, "Young lady, advise your friends to fall back as well. What's about to happen… we can control only so much, and I cannot guarantee it won't affect anyone too close."
Maverick nodded in agreement and gave the same advice. "Ask Mr. Hank to move the X-Jet back at least a kilometer."
Meanwhile, inside the X-Jet, Hank let out a long breath he didn't even realize he was holding as soon as he heard Maverick's order. In fact, his hands had already pulled the controls, and the Blackbird was already banking sharply, turning back.
Only after seeing it up close did they fully grasp the scale of what they were up against. The attacks hadn't even begun, yet the sight alone was enough to break a calm resolve—cold sweat had already formed on all three of their foreheads aboard the X-Jet.
Fifty titanic Kree imperial cruisers loomed above, blotting out the sun like a storm, and beyond them, six hundred individual attack pods, each roughly the size of their own jet. How—or even if—they could contribute against such a force, they had no idea.
Fortunately, they had a literal AoE on their side, and she was with the wizards outside. At least her presence would serve as the mutants' contribution, they all thought.
"What about me then?" Ororo's brow twitched as she turned back to Maverick, watching the Blackbird pull away the instant he mentioned they should fall back.
"Back up with the rest..."
While saying, Maverick's gaze then swept over the witches and wizards on their brooms and settled on McGonagall. Better to keep her where someone could watch over her, he thought. Her ability to generate literal storms that pack a lot of power was certainly impressive, but her agility in the air was, unfortunately, not.
"Go with Professor McGonagall," he added, motioning to the stern-looking woman leading the force of great magi. "After we're done here, be ready to go all out with the rest of them."
There was no time for debate, as the storm overhead was nearly upon them. Ororo moved swiftly to McGonagall and, just as quickly—though with a hint of hesitation—sat behind her without a word. Fortunately, McGonagall was not a difficult woman either; she simply nodded with a brief smile and even, magically secured Ororo in place after she settled.
And with that, everyone fell back—either by apparition or descending rapidly—leaving only the five of them at the front.
The swarm of alien aircraft, each roughly the size of a fighter jet, hurtling together in a coordinated rush of six hundred, was a sight only a few could stomach. They could now even hear the buzz of their engines slicing through the wind, rattling eardrums, a deafening hum like a swarm of enraged bees—only these weren't insects. They were harbingers of destruction.
"Wait for it…" Edward muttered, narrowing his eyes at the approaching storm. Now, only five of them remained in the immediate front.
They waited.
At the center stood Dumbledore, flanked by Edward and Maxime on either side. Maverick and Takamura took their positions next, all of them poised and motionless, the tension almost visible. From their vantage, it looked as if a thundercloud had formed directly above their heads, pregnant with impending chaos.
"Just a bit more—"
"Now!"
All five of them widened their eyes, their pupils contracting, and then—BOOOM! Like a torrent unleashed, they surged their magic forward in perfect unison.
It is said that when two masters of dominant spirit collide their magic, even the heavens can split. Now, from a single point, five archmages had fused their arrogance into one unstoppable force, unleashing it outward. The broken clouds churned from white to deep darkness in an instant, roiling as if stirred by an invisible, godlike hand.
The heavens did not simply split—they quaked, trembling under a weight that felt like a descending apocalypse. Lightning forked across the sky, illuminating the jagged cloud edges, while thunder roared like the roar of a celestial beast.
The hundreds of Kree air units caught in the wake shuddered violently, engines straining against the invisible pressure. Normally, dominant spirit cannot affect physical matter, but this force was so overwhelming it breached every boundary.
However, the machines were not the true target of the five kings—it was their pilots. To them, it was as if their heads had been plunged ten thousand meters beneath the ocean, their capacity to think reduced to nothing.
Some—those at the very forefront—succumbed instantly, collapsing into unconsciousness as the overwhelming will of the archmages washed over them.
Booom! Boom! Booom! Boom! Booom! Boom! Booom! Boom!
It didn't take long. One moment, all six hundred aircraft were descending like a calamity, a coordinated calamity, and the next, their formation collapsed on itself. They had been flying too close, shoulder to shoulder in the skies, and when their minds got scrambled, control went out the window.
The fall turned into chaos. Metal wings clipped, tails smashed, engines screamed as they collided, one after another. Like a deadly chain reaction spreading left and right, up and down, explosions rippled across the clouds. Fire rolled over fire, thunder echoing through the heavens.
Booom! Boom! Booom! Boom!
Thunder! Crackle! Thunder! Thunder!
"That's enough!" Dumbledore said, pulling back his magic, and the rest followed his lead.
The old man's eyes narrowed. The scene before him looked almost beautiful, like fireworks on new year's night, except this was pure destruction. He tightened his grip on the Elder Wand. He felt no pity for them. None at all. They weren't human beings to begin with, and they had come here to destroy their world. The man everyone believed to be soft, sometimes too soft, felt nothing of that sort today.
He turned back, and with a flick of his wand, his voice carried across the battlefield to every witch, wizard, muggle and mutant in their ranks.
Booom! Boom! Booom! Boom!
Crackle! Thunder! Crackle!
Amid the roars of explosions, fire, thunder, and lightning, his voice cut through like a blade of ice, cold yet commanding enough that they felt it in their bones.
"Charge!"
Maxime's plan had worked perfectly, even better than they had thought it would. The swarm of six hundred had indeed become a horde of headless insects, and now, it was time to harvest.
—————————
Boom! Booom! Thunder! Thunder!
Lightning flashed. Fire and explosions, accompanied by ear-shattering thunder, reverberated through the darkness.
Screech!
In the chaos, a high-pitched cry suddenly tore through the storm as a magnificent bird of fire and majesty burst from the clouds, streaking across the sky with blazing speed, every powerful beat of its vast wings hurling flames and fierce winds that ripped through the storm, painting the heavens with fiery trails.
Screech! Screech!
There was only one creature known to possess such fearsome power and grace, a phoenix. It blazed through the storm, twisted in the air like a living flame, then plunged downward as its golden talons ripped deep into the metallic beast that dared cross its path.
Roar!
With a powerful beat of its wings, it unleashed a torrent of flames from its beak, its high-pitched roar shredding the air as its prey was engulfed in searing fire.
BOOM!
The explosion rippled through the clouds, waves of heat and force spreading in every direction. Yet the phoenix soared through it as though through a mere breeze. Its form was immense, wings spanning more than a dozen meters, its body nearly as large as the machine it had just destroyed.
And atop the phoenix's head stood a man in flowing gray robes, his black-and-silver hair whipping in the storm's wind and rain.
Crackle!
Lightning flashed across Albus Dumbledore's face, revealing a hard, cold expression. One enemy fell, but it was far from the end, and he raised his wand again, eyes locked on the countless machines swarming above.
Then, Boom! With a sharp flick, the Elder Wand unleashed a radiant, thick bolt of lightning that split into chains, striking three more enemies in his path and tearing through them, blasting them apart in quick succession.
All around, hundreds of alien fighter jets darted through the clouds like a swarm of metal insects, their engines shrieking and weapons firing wildly.
Thunder rolled endlessly as blinding flashes of light and explosions tore through the clouds.
Woosh! Wooosh!
Booom! Boom!
Dumbledore was not the only one raining havoc with spells. Olympe, Edward, and Takamura were likewise tearing through the storm like Ares the god of war, unleashing relentless barrage of spells at the swarm of machines destroying everything in their wake.
And more, all the witches and wizards that had followed were streaking through the thunder and lightning on their brooms, their robes whipping wildly in the wind as bolts of colorful spells streaked in every direction with deadly precision.
Meanwhile, at the center of the thundercloud, McGonagall spun her broom sharply and conjured a massive storm of blades, literally transfiguring the clouds into a whirlwind that annihilated a spaceship venturing too close.
Accompanying her were her colleague Flitwick, the two Unspeakables, and their true purpose was to guard someone else, shielding them from the aftermath of explosions and the relentless bursts of energy and magic erupting everywhere.
Ororo, aka the Storm. In fact, the reason the storm hadn't dissipated after the five archmages reclaimed their magic was her. The storm that had formed because of their overwhelming magic was the perfect catalyst for her mutant powers, basically setting the stage for her, and all she had to do now was keep the storm breathing.
Like a goddess, eyes glowing and bolts of white electricity coursing over her body, she commanded the cast apocalyptic thundercloud as if it were her own limbs, raining lightning down on countless aircraft, near and far, at her will. In fact, aside from Danvers and the five archmages, she was causing the most destruction, making the entire battlefield her weapon of choosing.
And speaking of Danvers—Boom! Boom! Boom! Boom!—a brilliant streak of orange darted through the lightning as she blazed faster than anyone else, a living comet radiating raw destruction. She tore through enemy aircraft one after another, and any that stood in her way exploded on the spot as if they were mere balloons.
The shockwave from her flight shredded vapor trails in her wake. One after another, they fell—five, ten, twenty in mere seconds—until her path alone looked like a burning streak carved through the storm.
Time passed slowly.
The wizards twisted and dove between energy blasts, their spells illuminating the clouds, while the cries of magical creatures rang out, rising above the roar of destruction and defying the metallic swarm filling the heavens. The sky itself was chaos—a storm within a storm, where fire, magic, and plasma clashed in brilliant flashes.
And gradually, the seemingly endless enemy spaceships no longer felt endless. The swarm of six hundred, once coordinated, became like pigs to the slaughter after being struck by the dominant spirit of the five archmages, a fraction of them even going down by their own hands—crashing into one another or falling victim to reckless firing.
In fact, it hadn't even been ten minutes, and the enemy had already lost half of their units, while the offensive from Earth, despite having ten times fewer numbers, hadn't lost a single ally.
Of course, all of this was only possible because of the initial momentum that completely shattered Ronan's forces' coordination. And with that, even if all 600 aircraft still had their firepower, when the controllers were taken down, it didn't count for anything.
Otherwise, facing a coordinated force of hundreds of spaceships armed with powerful energy blasters, even though the individual forces from Earth were powerful, they would have no way to attack and defend at the same time.
Of course, that doesn't include the five archmages and Danvers, for whom numbers mattered little—only how much time they would need and whether the enemy would continue to fight to the last ship.
---
"This old man and his pet bird really hides deep. Not even during the Second World War was there any record of this… uh, can't call it a chicken anymore… being this fierce and able to change size."
Seeing that the number of Ronan's assault units had fallen by more than half, Maverick took a moment to take in the chaos within the storm—from the team of greatmages going all out, to Ororo commanding the elements, to Olympe and Takamura harvesting spaceships like livestock, to Isabella and her group fearlessly recording and streaming everything under the cover of Ali, Lupin, Black, Sarah, and Simon, and finally, to Dumbledore and Fawkes raining fire.
It was only a matter of time before that number was reduced to zero, but surely, Ronan wouldn't just sit idle and watch his forces be massacred.
And with that thought, he sent a mental communication to the five archmages and Danvers, then raised his head, climbing higher until he passed the stormy clouds.
Above, he saw the fifty titanic Imperial cruisers had still not made a move—or perhaps Ronan was simply too shocked to issue an order.
After all, recalling Ronan's take on Earth from what he saw in Yon-Rogg's memories, Ronan hadn't taken Earth's defensive capabilities seriously at all, thinking it relied only on technology—and that technology was primitive at best. With Asgard out of the equation, he had no idea that Earth would have such a force of extraordinary powers defending it.
Woosh!
The first to arrive was the old man from Japan. With a twist in space, he apparated beside Maverick, eyes narrowing as he gave him a scrutinizing look.
"What's the matter, boy?" He fixed Maverick with a piercing look, questioning why he had been summoned while the enemy below was still very much active.
"Wait for the others…" Maverick said flatly, showing no outward reaction, then raised his head again to the fleet of behemoths blocking the sun.
Takamura followed suit, tilting his head as well. "Have those machines started moving again?"
"Not yet… but—"
And just then, with a woosh, woosh, whoosh! three more ripples of warped space echoed as Dumbledore, Edward, and Maxime announced their arrival as well, apparating nearby simultaneously.
At the same time, a streak of fiery orange also tore through the storm below like a blazing meteor as Carol Danvers burst forth, energy flaring around her in radiant waves. She halted midair, eyes glowing with power as she hovered beside them, the air around her still trembling from her arrival.
"Are we finally gonna hit the accuser head-on, wizard?" Danvers said, crossing her arms over her chest, a faint smirk playing on her lips. Clearly, taking on an entire swarm of fighter pods hadn't broken a sweat, and she was eager for a real challenge.
The four archmages also raised an eyebrow at her nonchalance. Honestly, they were still having a hard time digesting how, in Merlin's name, a muggle experiment—accidental or otherwise—could result in such a ridiculously powerful force as her.
Rumble… rumble… thunder… thunder… boom… boom.
Lightning flashed and explosions erupted continuously from below, casting flickering light across their faces. Maverick raised his head to the darkness above, narrowing his eyes as he made up his mind about their next course of action.
"There are six of us. Separate, go all in and try to cause as much destruction to as many of those behemoths as possible in the shortest time before they can react—"
"I think, little raven, we might have our hands full before that…" Maxime's voice cut in. It was no question this hybrid woman had the widest magical sense of anyone present, and she had clearly detected movement.
Hearing her, all of them surged higher, and soon they saw what she was implying. The titanic warships' hatches were opening, and what emerged left no room for doubt. Their expressions hardened instantly.
They had all seen the ultimate destruction each of those warheads could cause when Maverick played Yon-Rogg's memories for them.
It might not be nuclear—the Kree called it something else—but it was just as powerful, only without the radiation, refined by their advanced mastery of nuclear technology.
And against that much firepower, even an archmage's overwhelming magic-fueled defenses couldn't hold for long—unless they chose to avoid it entirely by jumping through space.
"Go. Don't let a single warhead get through. Blast them at long range." Maverick thought quickly and issued the instructions, looking at his teacher and the others.
Then, glancing at Danvers, he added, "You and I will take out their ships!"
—————————
Sometime earlier, aboard the Prime Imperial Cruiser, Command Deck:
Ronan lounged upon his obsidian throne, one hand resting against his chin while the other drummed idly against the armrest. Before him, the vast holographic display projected the swarm of six hundred assault units slicing through Earth's upper atmosphere, descending like judgment incarnate—an execution of his decree upon a doomed world.
"Let these primitive apes witness the might of the Kree Empire," his deep voice rolled across the chamber while his face betrayed no emotion beyond pure arrogance, as if superiority itself had taken form in him.
Around him, the bridge crew moved efficiently, the air filled with the rhythmic hum of machinery and the faint buzz of alien communication feeds. On the central display, hundreds of blue markers danced across a holographic projection of Earth's atmosphere.
But then, one after another, abnormal anomalies began to occur. The visual feeds from the units started to flicker, static distorting the images until they were swallowed entirely. One feed vanished, then another, and another.
"What is this— we're losing visuals!" one officer shouted, his hands flying across the console. "Something's interfering with our scanners! Atmospheric disturbance detected—"
Atop the throne, Ronan's brows also furrowed as he watched the sudden, inexplicable anomaly unfold on the massive screen before him.
Danger? Ambush?
However, the thoughts crossed his mind only briefly before he dismissed them, convinced it was nothing more than a temporary atmospheric disturbance disrupting their signals. After all, the single-pilot assault units of his fleet were among the Kree Empire's finest technological marvels. This backward planet and its technology, or even its natural phenomena, no mere storm could possibly pose a threat to them.
But then, just as his brows relaxed, they knitted together again when he noticed the blue dots on the large display showing the status of his units, suddenly flickering many at once before turning into flashing red warnings.
"Sir! Unit Alpha-Seven just went down!"
"...Unit 324 is down!"
"...Unit 291!"
"What… is this?" the Accuser muttered, leaning forward, a hint of unease creeping into his posture. Another screen showing the live feeds from the pilots had also turned completely static, leaving his mind racing over what could possibly be the cause.
"Turn on the microphones!" he ordered. If they couldn't see what was happening, at least they could hear it.
"Yes, Commander!"
The soldier complied, and the instant the microphones came online, the deck erupted with terrified screams and frantic sounds of chaos.
"Boom!"
"Boom!"
"Aaaaaargh!"
"Monster! Monster!"
"Boom!"
"Aaaaaargh!"
Explosions and frantic screams merged with relentless roars of thunder, reverberated through every corner of the chamber. Whatever was happening on the other side, whatever they were experiencing, it was clearly more than just some "abnormal weather." Every soldier, including Ronan, flinched, their imagination running as the sounds crashed over them, their nerves shaken by the sheer magnitude of the chaotic sounds.
"We have contact!"
Suddenly, a soldier monitoring the transmission shouted, clutching his earpiece with one hand. His voice cracked with urgency as static and faint voices came through from the other end, and he tried to make out what was happening.
"Delta 43? Delta 43… what's happening? What's—"
But before he could finish, Ronan suddenly appeared behind him out of nowhere and snatched the communicator right out of his hand.
"Soldier, this is your commander speaking!" Ronan didn't mince words and demanded into the communicator. "Explain your situation immediately!"
Meanwhile, on the other side, the soldier, the pilot operating the aircraft at this time, was completely frozen, his eyes wide, unable to even register his ruthless commander's authoritative commands.
Reflected in his pupils were two colossal birds, each as massive as his aircraft. Their feathers glimmered with a pearly white sheen that caught every flicker of light, wings spanning wide with golden iridescence along the edges. Lightning danced across their bodies, crackling like raw storm energy, and their eyes burned with fierce intelligence. On each back perched a humanoid figure, gripping a weapon that looked like a stick or a staff, slamming it down as if delivering final judgment on him.
Aaaaarrr!
In the end, all Ronan heard was a frantic scream of pure terror before the communicator went dead, swallowed by static.
Click! The communicator in his hand was crushed into minced metal, his chest heaving—not with fear, but with raw anger. Anger at the unknown, at the chaos unfolding around him. Alarms blared relentlessly as one unit after another turned red, lost or destroyed beyond reach.
At this point, not even his arrogance could argue that something had happened to his elite unit—his entire elite unit—and whatever it, or they, were, they had done it terrifyingly fast.
His eyes narrowed dangerously, disbelief flickering within them as he leaned back on his obsidian throne. Could it be the Asgardians? Was my arrival leaked in advance?
He thought for a moment, then shook his head, dismissing the idea. Impossible. It hasn't been long, and only that fool Yon-Rogg knew of my arrival. Besides, it didn't look like an Asgardian ambush. Those barbarians—if it is them—they would have attacked openly and made sure everyone knew it was their doing.
He needed answers, fast, and his face twisted from confusion to fury. "SEND MORE UNITS! FIND OUT WHAT'S HAPPENING INSIDE THAT THUNDERSTORM!" he bellowed, slamming the handle of his hammer against the floor, the impact echoing like thunder through the chamber.
But all he received in return was silence, until one of his lieutenants finally gathered the courage to speak. "Sir… by your orders, all of our single-pilot attack units had already been deployed."
Ronan let out a frustrated growl, his knuckles whitening around his hammer, but no words came out. Yes, it was he who had arrogantly ordered every fighter unit deployed at once—so what could he even say?
"Commander!"
While wondering what to do next, his head suddenly snapped toward the call of one of his lieutenants again.
"…Reporting," the soldier stammered, sounding shocked. "I… I see something. Something… individuals over the thundercloud below us."
"Transfer the feed to the main!" Ronan did not bother to rise from his chair this time.
"Yes, sir."
Moments later, his eyes narrowed, though at least one of his worries was eased. On the large screen, he saw five individuals standing mid-air without the aid of armor or thruster technology, ruling out the possibility of them being Asgardians. Those proud barbarians' and their armor could be spotted from a star away, and he was certain these were not them.
But then it begs the question: who were they? Earthlings? He had never heard of Earthlings possessing abilities like that. And just as the thought crossed his mind, he stood abruptly from his chair, his eyes locking on the unmistakable final figure—one he recognized—who had emerged from within the thundercloud and stopped near the others.
"Vers!" The name escaped his mouth like venom, dripping with raw fury.
It was the traitor. The woman, no, the dog, who had chosen to conspire with his empire's mortal enemies, and had now, allied with some unknown races, directly causing the destruction of his entire fleet's single-unit arsenal today.
The thought contorted his face with raw fury, and he tightened his grip on the hammer, craving to crush the dog's skull right then and there.
"LAUNCH THE INTERPLANETARY BALLISTICS! I WANT THE WOMAN'S BONES TURNED TO DUST!" he roared, no longer even caring about the single most important objective that had brought him to this planet, the tesseract. He knew she was the fastest way to find it, but he no longer cared.
He would settle the score with her and her allies first, then hunt down the tesseract another way. Regardless, the artifact would be on this planet, that much he knew for sure.
"How many, sir?" his lieutenant asked.
"All—" he began, then checked himself as cold reason edged back in. He could not afford blind slaughter here. His fleet of fifty Imperial cruisers each carried three ballistic warheads, one hundred and fifty in total, each with the power to strip mountains to bedrock, and unleashing them all could very well render the planet extinct. No matter how furious or desperate he was, he wasn't willing to draw the complete wrath of the Asgardian All Father.
"Including the traitor, there are five more, right?" he asked after a moment of thought.
"Yes, sir."
"Then deploy five. Assign one guided warhead to each target, activate seeker vectors, lock on, and commit them to the hunt!"
---
Back with Maverick and the others.
"Go!" Seeing the hatches yaw open and thrusters flare, Maverick thought fast and barked the order, eyes cutting to his teacher and the rest. "We cannot let a single one of those missiles get through. Blast them at long range!"
For now he could only see five warheads launching, but he knew that was a sliver of the arsenal those fifty titanic cruisers held.
To scare this blue-skinned son of a bitch off for good, there was only one way. And with that thought, he turned to Danvers and said, "You ride with me. We bury their command ships and end this."
—————————
Rumble!
Flash!
Thunder... rumble, rumble!
Millions of eyes stayed glued to their screens, watching in breathless silence as the heavens burned. Fire streaked across the sky, lightning split the clouds, and explosions rippled through the storm like strobe lights in the dark. Every flash, every roar, every flicker of destruction was captured through enchanted lenses and microphones, sending the chaos in perfect clarity to every corner of the magical world.
At the heart of it all were five—fearless, perhaps reckless, or even touched by madness—five individuals. Surrounded by four of the magical world's finest, Isabella Garling streamed live the confrontation without hesitation. Between spells and firestorms, as chaos tore across the battlefield, her group wove through the fury, dodging, twisting, and slipping between bursts of power, striking back only when danger came too close.
Thunderbirds commanded the heavens, phoenixes rained fire from above, mortals streaked through the sky like blazing meteors, and mutants bent thunder and lightning to their will. Witches and wizards cut through the battlefield like comets, their masterful spells obliterating everything in their path. The enemy swarm, countless in number, was no match for the combined, unprecedented offensive of Earth, and in a matter of minutes, it was reduced to smoking scrap.
At this point, the chaos had calmed by more than half.
"Ladies and gentlemen, the five speakers have moved on to a new battlefield, while the remaining forces are still being held back by the Greatmagi and our mutant allies. We're going to try to bring you live footage from above, so stay tuned. And if I had to guess… what we've seen so far is just the opening act. The real fight is about to begin."
Isabella's voice, calm but charged with urgency, streamed across the magical networks, keeping a world of viewers on the edge of their seats.
"Teacher Simon, please take us over the storm…" Isabella made her decision and glanced at the three Greatmagi keeping the magical construct steady, navigating their group as they recorded everything.
At her words, Simon's eyes narrowed as he scanned the chaos unfolding around them. "Are you sure about this?"
His hesitation was not without reason, one, she was his master's only daughter, and two, above them awaited the main enemy forces: fifty titanic metal monstrosities, bristling with unknown weapons.
The first wave of enemy attacks had not yet been fully neutralized, with more than a dozen Greatmagi still tearing through the battlefield, destroying unit after unit. It should be noted that each Greatmagi was a powerhouse, second only to the eight Archmages, and yet the enemy had already kept them all on full alert, completely occupied just by the first wave of attacks.
Who knew what other means the enemy possessed, or whether they had even stronger, more direct methods of destruction waiting.
"I'm sure. But just in case," Isabella replied firmly, "like we did here, we'll keep a safe distance. If things start going south, we apparate out immediately—"
"Over there!"
"I've got it, Moony!"
Boom!
Sirius Black blasted a flaming scrap of metal streaking toward them and smirked. His face, twisted in that signature chaotic grin, looked nothing like someone panicked—it was more like someone who had just survived the wildest party of their life.
"Just do as the boss lady says. We've got the three of you, plus me and Moony here. Why so much talking?"
"Black, you better wipe that smug grin off your face. This is no time for smirking." Ali's eyes pinned the reckless moron, trying to inject some sense into him. Lives were at stake, and he couldn't fathom how this fool could take it all so lightly.
"Ehem, gentlemen and ladies, let's focus on a decision." Remus interjected, covering for his friend, then leveled a look at the reckless idiot. "Padfoot, zip it and focus on only why you're here... covering us and taking out anything that comes our way. Merlin, I already regret dragging your hound ass here."
"Enough!" Sarah, Simon's twin counterpart, cut in sharply. She shot a quick glare at Black, then turned to her brother and Ali. "We do as Bella said. Take us up and out of the thundercloud."
Their momentary quarrel wasn't really an argument—more like nerves snapping under pressure. Being in the middle of an apocalypse could make anyone's tongue sharper than usual.
Did you know this text is from a different site? Read the official version to support the creator.
Anyways, with the decision made, the magical construct shot upward through the roaring storm, cutting through thunder, lightning, and fire. Under Ali and Simon's control, it twisted through the chaos, dodging arcs of energy until, finally, they burst free from the darkness above.
But then—
BOOOOOOOMMM!
"Bloody hell!"
"Hold your magic! Keep the structure stable! Remus, layer us with a Protego!" Sarah shouted, her voice cutting through the chaos as she barked orders.
A shockwave had hit them like a heavenly hammer, shaking the entire construct and nearly tearing apart the magic that kept them afloat.
Isabella nearly dropped her camera and fell on her butt, but Sarah caught her just in time.
It came without warning—a roar so loud it felt as if the heavens themselves had turned over. Even the thunderclouds below were half-scattered, shredded apart by the sheer force of the explosion.
"What... the hell is that!?"
Sirius, who was also thrown off balance, crouched low and stared toward the horizon. His eyes widened, reflecting a distant blaze—a towering mushroom cloud rising into the sky, the undeniable mark of a massive explosion.
---
"That's the direction the Headmaster went…"
Bursting through the sky like a meteor, Maverick zigzagged through the air—sometimes apparating, sometimes stopping midflight—as he led a nuke-hot missile away from the area.
Ronan, that bastard, had somehow programmed the missiles to lock on and hunt them—six against six. Fortunately, their maneuverability wasn't limited to just flying, they could jump through space as well. Otherwise, no matter how skilled each of them was, they would have been in serious trouble.
When a loud shockwave slammed through the air, he glanced to the side and saw which one had detonated — the same direction Dumbledore had gone. The plan had been simple: scatter, draw the missiles away, and destroy them from range.
That old man should be alright, right…
With that thought, he extended his magical senses, and soon enough, he picked up Dumbledore's aura burning bright in the distance. Good. The plan was holding. Now he just hoped the others would handle their tails too.
Still weaving through the clouds, Maverick kept luring his missile away from the area, preparing to detonate it—until a thought struck him.
"Idiot," he muttered to himself.
A simpler, far more effective solution, one that could even solve two problems at once, struck him so sharply he nearly smacked his forehead.
He twisted his head back, eyes darting first to the warhead hot on his tail, then to the fleet of fifty massive Kree cruisers shimmering in the distance.
A slow, knowing grin tugged at his lips as he made the decision and came to a sudden halt midair, facing the incoming missile. With a sharp flick of his hand, a portal shimmered into existence before him, and whoooosh!
The missile shot straight through without slowing, and at the same moment, a second portal opened near the rear of the Kree fleet, blasting the missile out to slam directly into one of the massive cruisers.
As expected of an alien nuke, the explosion tore through the cruiser in a blinding flash, obliterating it completely and scorching even a fraction of the nearby ships, lighting up the sky in a cataclysmic inferno.
The shockwave had yet to reach him, and all he saw was a blinding flash—but that was enough. And just then, to the east, another flash also erupted, and he turned, recalling that it was the direction where Danvers had led her warhead. He had no doubt the woman could survive that, even without teleportation abilities like theirs, and soon enough, he caught the sight of an orange streak bursting out from it faster than the mushroom cloud was expanding.
So that's three down already, and three more to go.
The rest should be fine as well, he thought to himself, and with a boom, he shot toward the Prime cruiser at the front, where Ronan himself should be.
As for why he didn't target that one first—well, he obviously wanted to keep it for himself. The center ship, just from a glance, looked much bigger than the rest and appeared to be the most advanced among Ronan's fleet of spaceships he brought with him.
---
Meanwhile, inside the command deck of the prime Imperial cruiser, the scene had descended into utter chaos. Ronan's arrogance had long since vanished, replaced by a mixture of anger and sheer disbelief at the unfolding disaster.
This was supposed to be an easy mission, yet everything was unraveling faster than he could process. First, the entire arsenal of fighter pods he had brought with his fifty-ship fleet was obliterated without warning. And now, the ballistic warhead he had programmed to hunt had somehow annihilated nearly a third of his own ships.
What the hell was up with this planet? he thought, and for a fleeting moment, he even considered asking his lieutenants if they had arrived at the wrong world.
Alarms screamed everywhere as he sat in dumbfounded contemplation, red warning lights painting the command deck in a frantic, almost violent glow. Soldiers skidded across the floor, boots clanging against metal, while holographic panels flickered and sparked in protest.
Even without striking them directly, the nuke that hit the rear of the fleet still unleashed a shockwave that tore through the hulls of every surviving ship, rattling consoles and sending loose equipment flying across the decks in wild, chaotic arcs.
Officers barked orders that were swallowed by the cacophony of warning sirens, smoke curling from ruptured conduits as sparks rained down. Faces twisted in disbelief and fear, some pressed desperately against controls, others froze, eyes wide, trying to comprehend the devastation outside.
"QUIET!"
Finally, the accuser could no longer contain his fuming rage, and he screamed across the deck, momentarily halting the chaos. Only, the panicked clamor of soldiers died down, but the alarms and warning indicators continued to flare relentlessly around them.
Rising from his obsidian throne, Ronan gripped his hammer tightly, and with heavy, deliberate thuds, he took a few steps forward.
"Damage report. NOW!"
"Re-reporting, sir." One of his lieutenants snapped to attention under the blaring alarms. "Seven cruisers down. Thirteen reporting heavy damage—"
"Commander!" another soldier shouted, jerking away from a screen as his gaze locked on the commander.
"WHAT?!"
"I… I found an incoming, sir," the soldier stammered, his words faltering under the furious glare of the ruthless commander. "Unidentified… entity, heading straight for the prime ship."
"Entity?"
"No heat signature, sir… I can only assume it's biological."
"Then move the ship, you fools! Relay the command to every unit. Do I need to spell out the simplest countermeasures?!"
Ronan's furious roar shook the command deck, and immediately, the room erupted in frantic activity. Soldiers scrambled over consoles, toggling switches and fiddling with failing controls as alarms blared around them.
"Bring up the feed. Locate this... thing. I want visuals!"
"Already on it, sir," came the reply.
The deck vibrated as the engines roared to life, ready for maneuver. Ronan's eyes stayed locked on the main screen, which was still nothing but static—until, after a tense moment of fumbling with the controls, the soldier finally brought the image to life.
Human?
The Accuser's eyes narrowed, and almost instantly, his mind snapped to the next course of action. Does it matter?
"Target the energy blasters!" he ordered.
At his command, the soldiers moved without hesitation, like a well-drilled unit, gripping their controls and readying their weapons.
For some reason, Ronan felt a sudden unease the moment he saw that face streaking toward them like a comet, eyes locked on the camera—especially when that almost amused smile played across the human's lips.
On the display, as he waited for the target to come into range, he saw the man's hand move. One arm shot forward suddenly, and immediately, the bad premonition crawling up his gut surged tenfold.
"FIRE! All units, fire!" he shouted, the heavy hammer swinging in his hand almost without thought.
But before his soldiers could even touch their weapon controls, the screen changed again. Reflected in his blue pupils, the figure had… vanished, suddenly. And just as he registered the change, once again reflected in his pupils, a hand appeared—just inches from his face.
Time itself seems to have frozen around him. His eyes widened, his pupils dilated… and before he could even move, that very hand had grabbed his face.
—————————
Whoosh!
Boom!
The air split apart, a thunderous shockwave rippling behind Maverick as he shot toward the largest ship on the horizon. His magical sense stretched forward, probing through the thick metal hull, and when he drew close, the view through the glass viewport aligned perfectly with the image pulsing in his mind.
And in the same breath, his eyes fixed on the blue-skinned brute, clad in samurai-style armor, face painted like a clown, a shiny oversized hammer gripped tightly in his hand.
His grin widened, and without hesitation, he thrust his arm forward—and vanished from the spot. To take the large Imperial cruiser into the independent expanded dimension, he first had to clear out everything that was breathing inside, starting with the Accuser himself.
As for whether or not the titanic spaceship would fit, well, the system notes say that the replicated space from Scamander's suitcase has a volume capacity of one thousand cubic meters, so he wasn't worried.
Woosh!...
Woosh!
After apparating inside, only a small fraction of a second passed, and he reemerged once again with Ronan in hand—literally. And in that same heartbeat, his magical sense flared catching Danvers blazing toward him like a comet, so without another thought he spun, swung the hand gripping the alien clown, and with the momentum hurled the bastard like a baseball straight at her.
"Catch! Keep him busy! And don't attack the main ship!" He sent her a mental communication, and Danvers, the moment his voice rang in her head, wore a bewildered expression at the sudden, out-of-nowhere instructions.
Catch? Keep him busy? What the hell does that even mean?
But just as quickly, she recognized what—no, who—had been thrown at her, and her crayzy instincts immediately took over, prompting her to pull her arm back and charge it with energy.
Danvers, smash—uh… wrong script. Whatever!
Clearly, this hot-blooded woman had more or less understood the assignment, and Maverick, the moment he hurled Ronan like a cannonball and sent the message, had already vanished back into the command deck.
In fact, from first apparating into the cruiser, to greeting Ronan with utmost respect, to escorting him out, and finally to his heartfelt farewell—it had all happened in just a second, maybe two. Inside the deck, Ronan's lieutenants had barely begun to process what had just happened, let alone react, when Maverick appeared once again.
This time, though, he did not take any action just yet. Standing in the middle of the deck, he first glanced around at the futuristic panels and controls, nodding internally with approval. Then, as his gaze swept across the very, very confused bunch of Kree grunts surrounding him, he began to count: one… two… twelve on the deck… thirty-seven in total onboard.
With the aid of his magical sense, he scanned the aircraft from bow to stern, while the Kree soldiers around him gradually began to shake off their daze and, seeing the intruder, instinctively raised their wepons.
Click, click, click.
Blasters clicked into ready positions, but no one dared to fire. Maybe it was confusion. Maybe it was fear. Either way, the silence held, until at last, one of them forced out the words trembling on all of their lips.
"You…" The Kree soldier's hands shook as he tried to maintain a stern posture. "What… what did you do with the general?"
The colorful stripes on his uniform showed he was the highest-ranking among the group. He, like every other Kree here, wasn't an ordinary soldier—anyone on the same deck as Ronan had to be one of his elite, trained to face any threat without fear. Yet even he couldn't stop his body from trembling. Because sometimes, it is the unknown that terrifies far more than any enemy one can comprehend.
After all, too many inexplicable and terrifying things had happened in the short time since they had entered this cursed planet. First, their mobility, the entire arsenal of single-unit fighters had been wiped out, and then it was their general—the one person they believed from the bottom of their hearts to be invincible—who had been taken out of the equation.
After withdrawing his magical sense, Maverick finally turned to the trembling creature that had asked the question. Seeing its terrified face, his grin only widened, and the moment their eyes met, the alien felt as if it were staring at a ferocious beast, nearly losing all strength in its trembling legs.
"Are you... the highest commander after the Accuser, Ronan?"
"I… I am…" the soldier answered almost instinctively, as if his subconscious were no longer under his control.
"State your name, and do you have full authority to operate this spaceship?" Maverick pressed, ignoring the alien's terrified, confused expression while weaving even more Confundus magic into his rapid-fire questions.
"Tal… Tal Renn. I… I know… how to operate..."
The Kree, now identified as Tal Renn, had no explanation for what was happening. Why was he answering question after question? Wasn't he supposed to be interrogating the intruder?
But then all he heard was, "Good," and the next thing he saw was the monster in front of him, its eyes gleaming crimson like a demon from hell.
The vision before him turned to a red hue, as if a filter had been laid over his eyes, and a heavy, suffocating oppression washed over him, pounding his brain from the inside, until he finally managed to take a breath—when suddenly, he felt something slump onto his shoulder.
"Wha…?" he mumbled, turning his head, and saw that it was his comrade beside him who had collapsed onto him, as if he had just lost consciousness.
Thump.
Thump.
Thump.
Not just one— all around him, he saw his comrades collapsing. Some hit the floor, some slammed into panels, some fell face-first, and others toppled into their chairs. Everyone except him was falling, their eyes rolling back as they slipped into unconsciousness.
"Wh-what's… happening…" His mind tried to process, but it was all happening too fast, too inexplicably.
All he knew was that it must have something to do with the intruding monster. Gradually, very slowly, he turned his neck toward the demon—only to see a single finger pointed inches from his temple, just as the sound of an unknown language, like a reckoning, echoed like a monstrous bell through his eardrums.
I-M-P-E-R-I-O-!
What happened next, he had no idea and perhaps he never would, before whatever had taken over his mind and body was done with him and sent him to the cycle of reincarnation.
Meanwhile, blazing pockets of infernos were emerging from all over the spaceship, but apart from the sound of something being rapidly incinerated, no other sound came. One, two... thirty-six places in total the terrifying fire materialized, but what's most incredible was that apart from their intended targets, nothing else was implicated in their wake, not even the paint on the metal floors was affected.
"Disable, completely turn off all the communication, any signals going out of the cruiser, and completely turn off all its engines!"
A few minutes later, a circle of sparkling orange appeared on the deck, and Tal Renn, the only Kree still breathing, blacked out as well. But unlike his buddies, he did not turn into nothingness; bound at the arms and legs like a mummy, he fell into the portal and disappeared to who knows where.
Now, only Maverick remained. Taking one last look around, he crouched down, placed both palms on the metal floor, and concentrated.
"Come on, daddy system. Don't let me down." Maverick muttered, brows creasing, and suddenly he felt everything around him change as if he had been teleported somewhere else. All around he saw chaos, explosions, energy blasters going off, and in the distance he could see three more mushroom clouds taking up the horizon, the scene which could only be described as an apocalypse.
In fact, he had not been teleported anywhere, and what had happened was that the spaceship he was in had disappeared. Obviously, his plan had succeeded and had scored him something really cool.
Boom!
Booom!
Just as the thought came and the corner of his lips curled up involuntarily, suddenly, two successive shock waves hit him that came from not very far.
"Interesting…"
What he saw was honestly not something he expected. The Accuser Ronan was taking on Carol Danvers in midair, hammer against fist, as they streaked like two living comets across the chaotic clouds.
He wasn't surprised that Ronan's armor, ugly as it might look but still the Kree empire's advanced technology, had thrusters or tech that allowed him to fly, but that he, or more accurately, his hammer, was able to take on Danvers's overpowered blows.
Hmm… should I ask Ronan to donate the hammer for charity as well?
And just as he was about to go and "negotiate" with the Kree general, the air near him rippled, warping, and suddenly two figures appeared close to him on his left and right.
"Where the hell have you been, kid?"
His teacher, Edward, looked like he had just had a brawl with a beast, his majestic mane of hair disheveled and even showing some burns.
"I took care of their command center. And…" he gestured toward the midair fight happening between Ronan and Danvers, "that's their commander. Danvers is dealing with him."
"Will these aliens be firing any more of those weapons?"
The other person was Dumbledore, but unlike Edward, the old wizard appeared his usual self. Appearance wise, at least nothing had changed.
"I don't think so. But we should hurry and destroy the remaining spaceships as well." He paused, thinking of something, glanced at the two of them again and added, "Destroy them completely. I don't want any of the alien technology falling into muggle hands."
The two of them did not argue about the point. In fact, they firmly agreed. The muggle advancement is already growing rapidly, and they didn't want a catalyst added on top.
"I will relay the message to the others," said Dumbledore, and with one last nod he moved toward the nearest titanic.
"Uh... teacher. What happened? Did you try to see if you could take on the explosion instead of destroying them from long range?" After Dumbledore left, Maverick turned to his teacher, and while an involuntary smirk curled his face, he asked Edward.
"Nonsense! The shock wave came too fast and I just managed to apparate a little late." His teacher said, crossing his arms over his chest, and then disappeared from the spot before he could ask anything else.
Chuckling, Maverick took one last look around before he, too, sprang ready into action. It really did, for lack of a better word, look like an apocalypse was happening here. Mushroom clouds that had turned into an inferno of thunder were in all directions, closing the space.
From below or even from above it would look like doomsday territory if they pointed their satellites or telescopes here. Any and all monitoring stations around the world would be blaring alarms about this area.
Not far from him, the fight raged on: Danvers versus Ronan. Around him, a third of the fifty spaceships were either on fire, half-destroyed, or completely obliterated. The six nukes Ronan had launched initially had detonated—one on the fleet and the rest scattered in different directions, circling the area.
Below them, the shockwaves from the nuke-like weapons had almost completely dissipated the thunderclouds, but the fighter units Ronan initially launched had almost entirely been wiped out, and some of the great magi were already raining their explosive spells on the large fleet along with Takamura and Olympe.
The only people missing were the X-Jet, which, after consideration, had flown back since their involvement would have been more of a distracting liability than any help.
And finally, somewhat further away, he saw his fearless lioness flanked by Ali, Sarah, Simon, Remus and Sirius, recording everything that was happening and broadcasting it to the entire world.
Taking a long breath, he too focused. Direct, most explosive, or most efficient. He thought of several ways to cause maximum damage to the large spaceships, and finally decided on one.
—————————
Eldritch Magic. There were countless spells within the sorcery system that could be used, but to get the job done efficiently, he had already thought of the perfect move, and it wasn't even a proper spell. Or rather, for this particular situation, he didn't need something complex or ceremonial, because the simplest use was enough, just the raw act of conjuring cosmic energy itself.
He recalled the scene from Doctor Strange in the Multiverse of Madness, where the doctor sliced a bus clean in half with an arc of Eldritch energy shaped like a spinning disk, and that single move sparked an idea. If Stephen could do it, why couldn't he, the cheater, do the same? Surely, he couldn't be worse, at least not when it came to the simplest manipulation of the Eldritch current.
Of course, he wasn't under the illusion that he was on the level of Sorcerer Supreme Strange, even if the system had allowed him to take shortcuts in learning spells and the basic manipulation of Eldritch energy. He had spent just half a month studying sorcery, and of that, perhaps only a week had been devoted to spells, and even then, the spells he had learned were very selective and specific.
Strange, on the other hand, possessed a knowledge of spells that was near limitless. There probably wasn't a book in the sanctum libraries he hadn't read, and his arsenal, combined with the countless ways he could weave and implement them, was what made him such a powerful sorcerer. And that wasn't even counting the Time Stone and the Eye of Agamotto.
But if it came down to shaping and directing raw Eldritch energy, he was confident he could match the doctor's level of control. By now, he had developed a solid understanding of the levels the system set for levels of proficiency. And advanced level, in simple terms, was a very, very high level of mastery, which was exactly where his current level of Eldritch Meditation stood.
Having said that, he hadn't really pushed his advanced-level Eldritch energy manipulation in practice either. Well, until now. Wasn't this the perfect setup?
As he floated in the middle of this apocalypse, surrounded by thundering mushroom clouds and burning, exploding titanic-sized spaceships, he found himself wanting to replicate that same feat Doctor Strange had done so casually, only this time on a far grander scale.
"Honey, make sure you get a good shot of my handsome face. I'm about to go all out."
After sending a mental message to Isabella, he got into position, spread his legs, and slowly lifted his hands, letting them move apart with his fingers curling as if drawing something in the air. Soon, a golden-orange glow appeared between his palms, spinning into a ring of light that pulsed with a low hum and shaped itself into a disk with sharp edges, perhaps even sharper than any blade forged from metal.
It was one of the first things the Sorcerer Supreme had taught him: how to shape cosmic energy into a tool of choice. It could be a weapon, a shield, or, in this case, his choice was a very, very sharp disk-slash-boomerang.
Concentrating, he extended his arms further outward, fingers flexing as he shaped the energy, while from the corner of his eyes he tracked the enormous Kree battleships ahead, now in chaotic disarray since their command had been taken out of the equation.
To their credit, they appeared extremely loyal to the warmonger, with none of them activating their thrusters to escape even after Ronan had been taken out. Or it could just be that they were simply at a loss for what to do, as the escalation from one disaster to the next was far beyond what they had been trained to handle.
But that suited Maverick perfectly. At this moment, to him, they were like sheep in a pen, completely trapped and ready to be slaughtered one by one.
The ring of energy between his palms had now taken shape, and next he needed to feed it more power. He pushed his hands forward, and as his mind focused, the disk began to swell—slowly at first, then faster—expanding outward, thrumming with energy, stretching and stretching until it reached a diameter of about a hundred meters, a monstrous spinning blade of execution looming above his head.
Sparks of Eldritch energy crackled along its edges, and light reflected off the hull, glinting like molten gold across its armored surface. He then tilted his head slightly, adjusting the disk's angle with subtle wrist movements to ensure it would strike the prey perfectly before releasing his hold.
Although it wasn't a complex spell, shaping something this large and powerful was no small feat, and he could barely spare a thought for anything else. But the tool of his choice was now ready, and it was time to unleash it.
Leaning into the motion, he pushed his hands forward as if he were moving something heavy, slowly and steadily. And with the push, the monstrous blade of pure energy looming over his head also began to arc through the air, likewise, slowly at first.
"Haa!"
A cry of power escaped his lungs. Gathering all his strength, he jerked forward, and the spinning monstrous blade also, as if released from a slingshot, streaked forward cutting through the sky like a boomerang. The sound of the energy, the spin of burning air, echoed like a piercing shreeee, spreading wide, and everyone paused, unable to resist turning their heads.
The hum then became a roar as the disk struck its first target. Like a razor slicing steel, it carved through the immense structure with surgical precision, cutting it cleanly in half as effortlessly as a sharp knife through butter.
SHREEE!
Everyone, friend or foe, whether present or watching from afar, widened their eyes. It was simply… too clean.
The titanic spaceship split down the middle, molten metal spilling from the wound, and just a second later—BOOOOM!—it exploded completely, sending a shockwave of fire and force tumbling across the battlefield.
But the disk of execution did not stop there. Maverick's hands moved continuously, fingers at precise angles, guiding the monstrous blade toward the next target, and, just like the previous one, it cleaved the ship cleanly in half.
BOOM! Exploded.
BOOOM! The next one.
BOOOM! Again.
BOOOM! And again.
"What sort of madness is this magic?" Takamura exclaimed in his own language, apparating immediately to a safe distance and taking cover from the aftermath, his eyes wide with a mix of fear and reverence as he watched the efficient execution unfold like a chain reaction. He, too, had taken down a few of those behemoths, but never with such speed or precision.
The others, who had been raining explosive spells one after another, also apparated to a safe distance and simply watched in reverence—some with awe, some with fear, and some with pride.
Dumbledore couldn't help but raise an intrigued brow. Sorcery was not foreign to him, and he had already seen Maverick create the portal several times since the operation began. Of course, he was curious and had more than one question to ask, but that could wait until all of this was over. Regardless, what he had just witnessed was truly eye-opening, and once school started, there would be plenty of time for a proper chat with the young man, who clearly had some intriguing tales to tell.
SHRRRREEEEEEEEEE!
BOOOM! BOOOM! BOOOM!
One after another, without pause, like a saw of infinite sharpness and endless energy, everyone watched with wide eyes and shock as Maverick's single attack shredded Ronan's massive fleet, ripping through the ships like they were nothing but paper under a blade of fire.
Explosions tore across the sky, sending shockwaves that rattled the ground and shook the air. Before long, a blazing ribbon of fire and smoke stretched across the horizon, blotting out the sun for miles and turning the battlefield into a storm of light and heat.
---
IMPOSSIBLE! IMPOSSIBLE! IMPOSSIB—
Boom! Crack... Woosh!
Like everyone else, Ronan and Danvers had also paused their fight, watching the unimaginable chaos and total destruction unfolding before their eyes. While Danvers watched with awe and a sense of satisfaction, Ronan, on the other hand, had completely lost his mind as he witnessed the complete annihilation of his entire fleet.
He could not comprehend how or why it was happening. Or perhaps his subconscious simply refused to accept it. His fleet—his proud, all-powerful fleet that had struck terror across countless civilizations, countless worlds—how could it fall so utterly, so humiliatingly, so completely powerless here?
Here, this world, this primitive, backward world—how could he be defeated here? He screamed frantically, but Danvers, after enduring the first few cries of madness from the warmonger, had enough.
While Ronan wallowed in his misery, she lunged to his side like a streak of lightning, aiming for a decisive strike. Perhaps, triggered by Maverick's spectacular fireworks, she also wanted to end it in a single blow. When she lunged, she unleashed everything into the punch, smashing it squarely against the Kree clown's jaw and cracking a solid chunk of his teeth.
And, coincidentally, or perhaps deliberately, the force of the punch sent him flying like a cannonball... straight toward Maverick.
---
Booom… Booom…
Booom… Booom… Booom… Booom…
Huff… huff.
Bright orange light from the titanic explosions illuminated Maverick's face as he gasped for breath, looking like someone who had just finished a marathon. Even the smile on his lips showed he was deeply satisfied in that moment, much like a runner who had finally crossed the finish line.
But it wasn't tiredness or fatigue from burning through his stamina that made him gasp. It was more like holding his breath to the absolute limit—a temporary, fleeting strain. His brain had worked overtime just now, maintaining the momentum and structure of the enormous cosmic construct until it had harvested every single spaceship.
Regardless, the job was done—and dare he say it, even better than he had anticipated.
Incredible. Truly incredible. He wondered how much stronger he would become if he took his Eldritch Meditation from advanced to mastery-level proficiency. Was that the level the Sorcerer Supreme had achieved?
And just as those random thoughts crossed his mind, his magical sense suddenly flared, detecting an incoming presence, and his head turned instinctively toward the source.
It… was Ronan. The clown he had sent hurling toward Danvers, hurling back at him like a cannonball.
But that wasn't important now. Brushing the thought aside, he drew in one last deep breath, raised his hand, eyes narrowing, and locked them on the bastard rocketing toward him.
Wooosh-Hummm!
Magical energy flared, and midair, Ronan—half his teeth missing—came to an abrupt halt, as if he had slammed into an invisible wall. What was even more unbelievable was that, despite everything, he still clung to his hammer as if it were part of his arm.
Well, not for long.
Moments later, the blue-skinned freak blinked as the stars spinning over his head faded and his vision cleared. The first thing he saw was that dreadful palm again, and a shiver raced down his spine.
But then he realized—it hadn't grabbed his face this time. No, this was worse. He was being held in place by some invisible, incomprehensible force.
"You!" His blue eyes flared bloodshot as he struggled.
It was this bastard who had caused all of it. If he hadn't been dragged from his command deck and forced to clash with that madwoman, his fleet would never have met such a catastrophic end.
Along with his fury, the hammer in his hand began to hum with power, as if echoing its master's rage. But no matter how much he struggled, the invisible force binding him didn't yield, not even an inch.
Then suddenly…
Arrrrhhhh… a guttural growl tore from his throat as a scorching pain surged through his hand. He couldn't move his head, but his pupils darted down just in time to see his own arm rising against his will, the hand clutching the hammer trembling violently.
"What… are you—"
Arrrhhhh… crack… crack… The words twisted into agony as a bolt of pain shot through his nerves. One by one, the bones in his fingers began to snap, each break forcing his grip to weaken, loosening his hold on the hammer.
The Accuser struggled, mustering all his power to resist. He glared, perhaps trying to intimidate or do something with his usual arrogant pride, but all he saw in those eyes staring back at him was complete, and cold indifference.
Never, never in his long, battle-scarred life had he been so completely humiliated like this.
All he could do was growl miserably as one hand—belonging to this monster whose name he didn't even know—reached toward him in a gripping motion, holding him with some invisible force, while the other moved, and as its fingers flexed, he felt his own breaking from the inside.
"YOU… YOU DARE! YOU DARE—"
He growled with raw malice, but even that was stolen from him when the monster made a lazy flick of his finger, and his tongue twisted unnaturally inside his mouth, sticking to the roof and leaving him unable to utter a sound—just a growl.
Arrrrrrhhhh… crack… crack.
Two more fingers broke. Now only his thumb held the hammer. Then, crack—it too shattered, and the hammer, under Ronan's red, furious, and terrified eyes, floated slowly toward the monster.
"Hmm… nice toy."
He finally heard the bastard's voice, but now more than fury, he felt terror. Without his hammer—or even with it—his subconscious, his battle-hardened instincts, screamed that he would be no match for this monster, even if fought fairly. A single motion held him captive by a force he could only describe as telekinesis, completely at the man's mercy.
Meanwhile, Danvers slowed her speed and arrived just in time to see the hammer vanish… simply disappear out of nowhere. She only raised a brow at the sight, having seen far stranger things, and turned her gaze to Maverick, who met her look.
"It's over…" she heard him say.
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Author's Note:
You can find this story on Webnovel, Fanfiction, and ScribbleHub, all under the same author name: RyanFic. Updates drop first on Webnovel!
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