After Thor, Loki, and the others departed, Raiden's figure appeared beside Mjolnir.
Her purple braids moved swiftly without wind, and the hem of her kimono brushed against the still-red, still-hot crystallized ground—yet left not a single scorch mark.
She lowered her gaze to the warhammer resting at the bottom of the pit, her violet pupils reflecting the ancient runes pulsing across its surface.
Without hesitation, her slender fingers closed around the leather-wrapped handle.
"Boom!"
The world instantly changed color. The once-clear night sky vanished beneath roiling thunderclouds, and countless bolts of lightning darted through the heavens like enraged dragons.
"Whoosh! Whoosh! Whoosh!"
A surge of immense divine power flooded through the hammer into Raiden's body, erupting outward in dazzling silver-white lightning.
"Hmph. Not a bad toy… but that's all."
She released her grip. Mjolnir clattered back into the pit. Turning away, her clothes fluttered, trailing arcs of crackling electricity.
"Whoosh—"
Suddenly, a sharp whooshing sound came from behind.
Mjolnir shot into the air, its head blazing with unprecedented white lightning, and hurtled toward her back.
Without turning, Raiden swung her hand backward.
"Clang!"
The violent clash of metal shattered the sandstone in a hundred-meter radius.
Mjolnir rebounded even faster than it had struck, embedding itself deep into the pit wall, its handle still trembling.
"I am not your master."
Raiden finally turned. Her eyes blazed with spiraling lightning patterns as she declared, voice dripping with arrogance and authority:
"Your thunder… is nothing but the afterglow of eternity."
From the pit wall, Mjolnir emitted a low buzz. Its face runes lit up one by one, as if mounting a desperate defense.
"Wait for your true owner," she said. "If he is still worthy of this power…"
In an instant, Raiden vanished from the spot.
---
Meanwhile, a convoy of thirteen S.H.I.E.L.D. black SUVs screeched to a halt at the edge of the Gobi Desert, their tires carving deep grooves into the gravel.
Before the lead vehicle had fully stopped, Coulson shoved open the door and leapt out. His custom Oxford shoes hissed softly against the scorching sand.
"Attention all personnel—establish a two-kilometer fan-shaped perimeter."
He pressed his right hand to the headset, voice calm, while raising his tactical binoculars with his left.
The moment he focused the lens on the horizon, an EMP pulse washed over the area like an invisible tsunami, radiating from the suddenly formed thundercloud.
"Sizzle—smack!"
Every electronic device erupted in blinding sparks. Coulson's headset belched smoke; the binoculars' LCD screen dissolved into static.
Behind him, engines sputtered and died. Dashboards across the convoy went dark.
"Report extent of damage!"
Coulson ripped off the ruined headset. His voice cut sharply through the desert silence.
"All vehicle ECUs are paralyzed! Electromagnetic shielding breached—preliminary assessment indicates a targeted EMP strike!"
A technician had already popped the hood of the lead SUV and shouted over the commotion.
"What about backup power?"
"Attempting activation—"
Sitwell leaned into the cabin, fingers flying across the emergency panel beneath the steering wheel.
"Damn it—even the lead-acid batteries are overloaded!"
Coulson squinted toward the storm's epicenter, where heat still warped the air.
He yanked an EMP-resistant paper map from his inner pocket, slapped it onto the hood, and barked:
"Agent Hande—lead Team B to establish a physical observation post at coordinates E103°42′, N34°12′."
"Received."
The red-haired agent snapped a signal. Six operatives swiftly unloaded purely optical surveillance gear from the vehicle roof.
A rhythmic tremor suddenly rippled through the sand. Coulson dropped to one knee, fingertips grazing the ground.
"Earthquake? No… it's the shockwave's echo!"
He jerked upright. "Everyone—brace for infrasound!"
As if on cue, pebbles across the distant desert lifted into the air, defying gravity.
"Buzz—!"
Two agents setting up laser rangefinders collapsed, hands clamped over their ears, blood trickling from their noses and blooming like dark flowers on their vests.
"It's low-frequency resonance!"
Sitwell lunged forward, yanking two nasal filters from his pouch. "Plug your ears! Now!"
Coulson had already torn strips from his shirt hem, soaked them in water from his canteen, and wrapped them tightly around his head like improvised ear protection.
As he tied the knot, he ordered: "Activate emergency comms—switch to HF band!"
The tech team sprang into motion. Two agents pulled an old shortwave radio from a shockproof case; another erected a folding dipole antenna.
"Whoosh!"
The instant the antenna post sank into the sand, a faint blue static shimmered across its metal surface.
"Sir, ionospheric disturbance is too severe!"
The comms officer twisted the tuning dial frantically, but only piercing static filled his headphones. "All bands are jammed by the storm's aftershocks!"
Coulson checked his watch—an antimagnetic mechanical model. The hands still ticked, though thermal stress had cracked the crystal.
He turned to Sitwell. "No choice. Prepare the helium balloon relay."
"It's already inflating. But stratospheric ionization density is off the charts!"
"Then we'll use Morse code."
From his briefcase, Coulson retrieved signal lamps and a cipher key.
As the helium balloon ascended, a sequence of flashing lights pierced the lingering thunderclouds.
Thirty kilometers away, at a S.H.I.E.L.D. mobile command base, the duty officer slammed a fist on the table and stood abruptly.
"Sir! Flash signal received!"
Nick Fury narrowed his single eye. "Decoding team—stand by. Alert the backup unit."
When the decoded message—translated three times for security—reached Fury, the director's expression turned grave.
The report read:
[Encountered Unknown Energy Outburst]
[Disaster Level: 7]
[Recommend Activation of Contingency Plan No. 3]
Fury pressed a hidden switch beneath his desk. A piercing alarm wailed through the base. To the suddenly glowing holographic screen, he commanded in a low growl:
"Activate Shadow Protocol. Retrieve raw data stream from satellite S-3174."
The screen flickered—then displayed an infrared image of the storm's heart.
There, at the edge of a lava-filled crater, stood a clear human silhouette, holding an object radiating terrifying thermal energy.
When
the image was magnified to its limit, Fury's breath hitched—almost imperceptibly.
The hammer-shaped energy source registered over one hundred million volts.
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