The matchup display hovered above the arena, its bold text announcing the next battles. In the Eternals' section, Gilgamesh's expression tightened as he studied the pairings. His massive hand rested gently on Thena's shoulder, protective despite knowing she needed no such gesture.
"Thena," he said quietly, his voice carrying the weight of millennia of friendship, "you have one chance remaining. If you lose again..."
He didn't finish the sentence. He didn't need to. Everyone understood the mathematics. Elimination meant the Dragon Ball wish would slip beyond Thena's reach, her Mahd Wy'ry remaining uncured for at least another cycle.
Ikaris crossed his arms, his posture radiating the supreme confidence of someone who'd never truly been challenged. His eyes glowed faintly with barely contained cosmic energy as he surveyed the arena below.
"Then we take them," he said, his tone making it sound like the simplest solution in the world. "With our combined strength, there shouldn't be any difficulty."
His gaze swept across his fellow Eternals as if inventorying assets. All ten were present—an unprecedented gathering. Druig with his mind control, capable of seizing the will of hundreds. Gilgamesh, their tank, whose physical strength exceeded almost any being on Earth. Kingo and his precision energy projection. Sprite's reality-warping illusions. Makkari's incredible speed. Phastos with his technological mastery and containment abilities. Sersi's matter manipulation that could transmute attacks into harmless elements. Thena and himself as frontline warriors. And Ajak, their leader and healer, whose cosmic power could restore them from near-death.
They'd fought as a unit for seven thousand years across dozens of worlds. Never defeated. Never even truly challenged. The Fraternity, formidable as it appeared, couldn't possibly match that.
Ajak shook her head, her expression carrying the gentle firmness of a mother correcting an overenthusiastic child. "We agreed long ago not to interfere with human affairs. We do not steal from them, regardless of our power advantage."
Her eyes found Thena, softening slightly. "If Thena's Mahd Wy'ry were not at stake, we should not be involved in this Dragon Ball tournament at all. Our purpose is observation and protection, not participation."
What Ajak didn't say—what she kept locked behind her serene expression—was the deeper truth. The Eternals existed to ensure the Celestial's birth. Every action, every mission, every protection of humanity served that singular purpose. Treating Thena's condition was merely ensuring optimal team performance for the work ahead.
Starting a war with the Fraternity over Dragon Balls? Unnecessary risk. Potentially catastrophic exposure. And after seven thousand years among humans, Ajak had developed... complications. Attachments. Perhaps the Dragon Balls could address certain situations, but that required negotiation with Smith Doyle, not violence.
Ikaris's jaw tightened at Ajak's refusal, but he didn't argue further. His eyes shifted to where Smith Doyle stood at the arena's edge, evaluating, calculating.
Gilgamesh cleared his throat, drawing attention back to more practical matters. "According to the tournament introduction, this is the second Dragon Ball competition. That implies a third, fourth, and more tournament in the future. Even if this attempt fails, there will be other opportunities."
Thena nodded, her face serene despite the stakes. Five thousand years of existence had taught her patience. "A few more years won't matter measured against millennia. If I fail this time, I'll find a way to participate in the next tournament."
Her golden eyes fixed on the arena floor, and something fierce flickered in their depths. "But I will give everything I have in this match. I can defeat Tony Stark."
The Eternals murmured agreement, though several cast considering glances toward the Dragon Balls' locations. Any wish. Anything at all. The possibilities were intoxicating even for immortals who'd seen empires rise and fall like ocean tides.
In a different section of the spectator area, Tony Stark examined his armor's damage readouts with growing concern. The HUD displayed stress fractures spreading through the chest plating like spiderwebs, hairline cracks radiating from impact points where Mjolnir had struck.
Thirty minutes remained until his match. Enough time to call down one of his orbital reserves. Fresh armor, undamaged systems, full power reserves.
But those suits were gold-titanium alloy. Standard composition. The same material Xu Wenwu had dismantled piece by piece during their first match.
Tony's fingers drummed against his armored thigh as he ran tactical simulations. Thena manifested cosmic weapons that could cut through conventional alloys like tissue paper. Her five-thousand-year combat experience meant she'd exploit every weakness, every gap in inferior armor. If he switched to gold-titanium, she might literally tear him apart with her bare hands.
No. The Mark 42's secondary adamantium was damaged but still functional. He'd just need to fight defensively, prevent Thena from concentrating attacks on the fractured sections, use mobility to avoid letting her target weak points.
Not ideal. But better than the alternative.
Karl Mordo remained in his seat despite his elimination, his posture rigid with barely controlled frustration. The loss gnawed at him—not from wounded pride, but from failed duty. He'd come to this tournament with a specific purpose, carrying the Ancient One's will.
The organizers hadn't explicitly confirmed which wishes the Dragon Balls could grant. But they also hadn't denied the possibility. That ambiguity suggested at least one of his potential requests might be achievable.
Perhaps he could speak with Smith Doyle directly. Negotiate for the next tournament. Offer Kamar-Taj's wish to strengthen Earth's dimensional defenses against invasion from the Dark Dimension, and worse things that lurked beyond reality's edges.
Maybe that had been the Ancient One's true purpose in sending him. Not to win, but to observe. To see what forces existed on Earth beyond Kamar-Taj's awareness. And there were so many—immortals, gods, thousand-year-old warlords, cosmic beings. If they could all be convinced to defend against dimensional threats...
The possibilities unfolded in Mordo's mind like opening scrolls.
In the Wakandan section, T'Chaka's thoughts followed darker paths. His fingers rested on his armrest with deceptive casualness, but tension coiled through his shoulders like steel cables.
The vibranium secret could not be revealed. Not here. Not now. Not to these people.
He'd watched Thena demolish his son in three seconds. Witnessed Xu Wenwu's mastery of cosmic artifacts. Seen Thor summon lightning that could level mountains. And Smith Doyle, the referee, moved with speed that suggested power far beyond what he'd displayed.
The Black Panther's abilities—enhanced strength, speed, vibranium armor—meant nothing to beings of this caliber. Against them, Wakanda's protector was merely a well-armored turtle. Durable, perhaps. But ultimately helpless if they decided to crack the shell.
If any of these powers learned about Wakanda's true vibranium reserves—the mountain of it beneath the capital, enough to revolutionize global technology a thousand times over—and if they harbored ill intent...
Wakanda would burn.
T'Chaka's expression remained pleasant and diplomatic, but internally he was already drafting new security protocols.
The thirty-minute intermission evaporated.
Eddie Brock materialized at the arena's center, his presence commanding attention through sheer physical charisma amplified by Venom's mass. "Dear audience members and honored competitors, the third round of the Dragon Ball tournament is about to begin!"
His voice boomed across the venue. "Please welcome to the arena—Xu Wenwu and Thor Odinson!"
Xu Wenwu rose from the Ten Rings section with fluid grace, the rings on his arms humming with anticipation. He descended to the arena floor on a platform of shimmering energy, his traditional robes flowing around him like water.
Thor vaulted over the barrier rail, Mjolnir swinging at his side. He landed on the arena floor with enough force to crack the surface, and lightning already danced along his armor in eager arcs.
Smith Doyle appeared between them, his expression neutral. The moment his lips moved to speak the starting command, both combatants exploded into motion.
Thor raised Mjolnir high, and the sky answered his call.
Dark clouds boiled across the previously clear sky, spreading like ink through water. Lightning crackled through the storm front, brilliant and terrible, each bolt bright enough to leave afterimages. The air filled with the sharp scent of ozone and the building pressure of an approaching thunderstorm compressed into seconds rather than hours.
Thor had only one Dragon Ball coin remaining. One chance to resurrect Loki. He would not waste it through caution or restraint.
Divine power surged through his body, channeled through Mjolnir's conduit. Lightning answered—not the measured strikes he'd used against Tony, but a deluge. A cataclysm. The full wrath of Asgard's storm god unleashed without mercy.
The first bolt hammered down like the fist of an angry god.
Xu Wenwu didn't attempt to dodge or counterattack. His hands moved in practiced patterns, and all ten rings responded instantly. They formed a dome around him, spinning in complex orbital patterns, generating a translucent blue shield that shimmered with barely visible energy.
The lightning struck the barrier and dispersed across its surface in crackling spider-webs of electricity. The impact produced a sound like a bomb detonating, and shockwaves rippled outward from the collision point.
But the shield held.
Thor's eyes narrowed. His jaw set. Fine. If one bolt wasn't enough, he'd use a thousand.
Divine power poured through him in a torrent. Mjolnir became an extension of his will, a focal point for forces that could crack planets. He pulled lightning from the storm clouds, from the ambient electrical potential in the atmosphere, from the fundamental forces of nature itself.
The assault became continuous.
BOOM. BOOM. BOOM. BOOM.
Lightning struck Xu Wenwu's position in a never-ending cascade. One bolt after another after another, each bright enough to sear retinas, each carrying enough amperage to power a city. The arena floor beneath Xu Wenwu's feet began to glow red from the heat, gold-titanium alloy starting to liquefy under the thermal assault.
Inside his shield, the ten rings spun faster and faster, maintaining the protective barrier through sheer kinetic force and cosmic energy. Xu Wenwu's expression remained calm, calculating, but sweat beaded on his forehead from the concentration required.
Thor poured more power into the attack. The storm clouds overhead grew darker, spreading across the entire sky visible from the tournament grounds. Thunder rolled continuously, a sustained roar like standing beside a waterfall.
Seconds became a minute. Then longer.
The audience sat in stunned silence. They'd seen Thor summon lightning before—it was his signature ability, the mark of the Thunder God. But this? This was something else entirely. An exhibition of raw divine power that seemed designed to remind everyone that gods existed, and their wrath was terrible.
The lightning strikes came too fast to count now. Dozens per second. Perhaps hundreds. They merged into a continuous pillar of white-hot fury that connected sky to earth, with Xu Wenwu's shield at the focal point.
"For the glory of Asgard!" Thor's roar cut through even the thunder's cacophony.
He raised Mjolnir higher, reaching deeper into his divine reserves than he'd ever accessed before. The hammer glowed white-hot, energy crackling along its surface in patterns that hurt to look at directly. Storm clouds spiraled overhead like a hurricane condensed into a quarter-mile radius.
Then Thor brought Mjolnir down.
The lightning bolt that answered dwarfed everything that had come before. It was a pillar of pure electrical fury thick as a sequoia trunk, bright enough to cast hard shadows at noon, carrying more power than Thor had ever channeled in his centuries of existence.
Smith Doyle's eyes widened fractionally. The power signature was familiar—nearly identical to the strike that would one day shatter Hela's undead army on the Bifrost. Thor had reached his absolute peak, drawing on reserves he probably didn't know he possessed.
The bolt struck Xu Wenwu's shield and didn't disperse.
It punched through.
The protective barrier shattered like glass struck by a sledgehammer. Blue energy exploded outward in fragments that dissolved before reaching the ground. The ten rings flew in all directions, their orbital pattern disrupted, each artifact spinning away like shrapnel from a grenade.
The lightning continued downward, unimpeded.
It struck the arena floor where Xu Wenwu stood, and the world became white.
The explosion was cataclysmic. The entire gold-titanium platform—fifty meters in diameter, tons of advanced alloy—simply vaporized. Metal became vapor became plasma, dispersing into the air as a expanding cloud of superheated particles.
The shockwave hammered outward in all directions. Spectators in the front rows were physically pushed back in their seats. The vibranium barriers groaned under the pressure but held, protecting the audience from the worst of the blast.
When the light faded and the smoke began to clear, the arena platform was simply gone. Where it had stood, there was now a crater twenty feet deep, its edges glowing red-hot. Molten metal pooled at the bottom, still radiating heat waves that distorted the air.
And in the center of that crater, Xu Wenwu lay motionless.
His body was charred black, smoke rising from his robes. His hair had transformed into a perfect afro, frizzed outward by the electrical assault. His ten rings lay scattered around him, their usual glow dimmed.
In the Ten Rings spectator section, Xialing and Shang-Chi surged to their feet simultaneously.
"Father!" Their voices merged into a single cry of anguish and fear.