Natasha and Clint braced each other on the broken wall of a half-collapsed building, their faces drained of color. As top-tier agents, they had seen hell itself, but what filled their vision now was a kind of "cleanliness" written entirely in brute force, something beyond the scope of human understanding. An entire district had been erased, leaving only a perfectly regular spherical crater. It hit harder than any chaotic battlefield ruin; this was order as the ultimate form of violence, an absolute declaration of power, stripped down to a simplicity that made their skin crawl.
Hulk stood farther away, his huge green body uncharacteristically quiet, only a low, suppressed whine like a wounded beast rumbling from his throat. He looked at the enormous fists he had always taken pride in, then at that bottomless crater that seemed capable of swallowing everything. The sense of safety his raging strength usually gave him was gone. In its place, born from some deep animal instinct, was nothing but smallness and a trembling kind of fear.
Just as Saitama was about to step onto a relatively intact stretch of road along the crater's rim, only a couple dozen meters away from the stubbornly standing Fragrant Pot Hotpot—
"Baldy! You think you've won?!"
A venomous, hoarse voice, thick with madness, suddenly rang out from beneath a pile of twisted rebar and shattered concrete.
Loki.
The trickster god of Asgard slowly forced aside a warped steel plate pinning him down, half his face finally breaking the surface. Dust, blood, and grime smeared the handsome features he once took pride in, leaving only disgrace and a hatred etched into the bone. His emerald eyes locked onto Saitama, burning with humiliation, rage, and a faint, twisted excitement.
He coughed up a mouthful of blood, his voice as harsh as sandpaper scraping metal.
"The great Thanos… his will is not something a pathetic lower lifeform like you could ever comprehend."
Loki's lips twisted into a crooked smile.
"Corvus Glaive has already arrived. Proxima Midnight, Ebony Maw, Black Dwarf… the Black Order is gathered on Midgard. They will find the scepter."
He screamed, burning up the last dregs of his divine power in that frenzy.
"They'll use the power of the Stones to make you—and this wretched little planet—pay the ultimate price! You destroyed Sanctuary II, ruined my plan… but you've unleashed even more terrible avengers in the process! Just you wait! Asgard's—"
Grrrrrowl—
A loud, perfectly ill-timed stomach rumble cut straight through his tragic curse.
"...Yeah, I'll be waiting."
Saitama did not even look back. His stride did not falter for a second.
He had already reached the door of Fragrant Pot Hotpot, peering through the cracked, dust-caked glass with bright, expectant eyes.
The interior was a wreck. Tables and chairs lay overturned, food spilled across the floor. It was obvious the owner had fled in a panic the moment disaster struck.
Loki's face went from chalk-white to an unhealthy crimson in an instant. A strangled sound, like someone squeezing his throat shut, crawled out of his lungs. Shame made his entire body shake; the little bit of divine power he had just gathered almost slipped out of control. He glared hatefully at that utterly indifferent back, wanting to roar again, but the stabbing pain in his chest smothered the words.
Fwoom.
A smear of dark green light flashed, and Loki's figure vanished into the ruins—using the last of his power to cast an illusion and flee in disgrace.
"Loki!"
Steve struggled to stand and give chase, but the agony in his wounds made him grunt and sink back down, forced to brace himself against his shield once more.
(End of Chapter)
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