Banner, looking like a man being led to his execution, was forcibly dragged away by a rejuvenated, fanatical Thor.
Emrys turned back to the tactical map. Red icons representing the Chitauri were densely packed across the Manhattan grid, choking every major artery of the city. "Now for the second matter," he said. "We must blunt their expansion. If they secure the bridges and tunnels, the city becomes a tomb."
"I can bypass the Pentagon's encryption," Tony interjected, his fingers already dancing across a holographic interface. "If the military won't act, I'll authorize the fire support myself. I can provide orbital cover from Stark satellites."
Fury shot him a sharp look, but remained silent. The billionaire's audacity was legendary, but even for him, hijacking the U.S. nuclear or satellite arsenal was a step into dangerous territory.
"What is our mission?" Steve Rogers stepped forward. Watching Banner, a civilian, go off to spearhead a space-borne assault while he sat idle was an affront to his nature.
"Patience, Captain," Emrys said, his eyes scanning the enemy's formation. "The Chitauri have concentrated their heavy units around the Tesseract. They are prepared for a siege. We must strike where they do not expect us."
"You mean a diversion?" Steve asked, his tactical mind catching the scent of the plan.
"A dagger to the throat," Emrys corrected. He pointed to the blazing icon of Stark Tower. "I need a vanguard to pierce the outer defensive ring—not to take the tower, but to cut off their reinforcement lanes."
Steve clenched his jaw. "I understand. I'll lead the assault."
"No, you misunderstand." Emrys looked at him with an icy, clinical detachment. "You are not the vanguard. You, Barton, and Romanoff—along with the Wakandan infantry—are the bait."
The room went cold. Steve's breath hitched. "Bait?"
"According to my calculations, you lack the lethality to break their inner perimeter," Emrys said ruthlessly. "Why do you think you were excluded from the boarding party? Stark is a genius, Banner is a living engine of destruction, and Thor is a demigod. They are assets. You three, by comparison, are statistically insignificant."
Steve stumbled back as if he'd been struck. "Worthless? You think we're worthless?"
"In a war of this scale, yes," Emrys replied, his voice like a gavel. "You are a super-soldier from a bygone era, Rogers. But in the face of a planetary-scale xenos invasion, you are just a man with a shield. You cannot stop a Leviathan. You cannot close a portal. You are a relic."
The silence on the bridge was deafening. Fury and Tony looked away, unable to meet Steve's hollow gaze.
"So we are just... meant to die?" Natasha asked, her voice low.
"Your struggle serves a purpose," Emrys said, unmoved. "Every second you draw their fire is a second they aren't looking at the real threat. Your sacrifice is the cornerstone upon which a human victory might be built. Even the most 'insignificant' life, when spent correctly, can tip the scales."
He paused, letting the weight of the "Imperial" logic sink in. "Now. Do you accept the mission?"
Steve stood silent for a long moment, his hands trembling before curling into fists. "If our deaths buy the world even a fraction of a percent of a chance... then I'm in."
Emrys looked at the Captain—the hero of the movies—and found his resolve almost commendable. "Good. Report to the lower deck."
"Wait," Steve said, his voice regaining its strength. "If I survive this... I want something in return."
Emrys didn't look up from the map. "Speak."
"I want to become one of them," Steve said, nodding toward the deck where the Dark Angels had stood. "A Space Marine. Thor told me they are the Emperor's Angels in your galaxy—that they exist only to protect humanity. If I'm not strong enough to win today, I want to be strong enough to win tomorrow."
Emrys finally looked up, genuinely surprised. "You wish to undergo the Gene-Seed implantation? You realize you will cease to be Steve Rogers. You will be a weapon of the Imperium, stripped of your humanity and your past. You will know only war."
"I've already lost my past once," Steve said firmly. "I'm tired of being too weak to save the people I'm sworn to protect."
"Fine," Emrys smiled, a dark, meaningful expression. "Survival first, Captain. If you live, we will see if your soul is worthy of the Black Surgery."
While the "bait" prepared for their suicide run, the boarding party was already underway.
In the cramped, vibrating belly of a Boarding Torpedo, Bruce Banner looked like a walking corpse. He was strapped into a harness designed for giants, surrounded by the silent, brooding presence of Dark Angels in their midnight-black plate.
"Don't be afraid, Banner," Thor boomed, checking the charge on Mjolnir. "This is a specialized craft for decapitation strikes. It's sturdier than it looks!"
"You're shooting us out of a tube!" Banner yelled over the roar of the engines. "We're medieval pirates in a tin can! This is suicide!"
"Hold tight," Thor laughed. "Once the G-force hits, you won't have the breath to complain."
The torpedoes launched with a violent, bone-shattering thrust. Banner was slammed into his seat, the pressure so intense he felt his ribs beginning to creak. His skin flickered green as the Hulk struggled to emerge from the sheer physical trauma.
"Control yourself!" Thor warned. "If you change now, you'll breach the hull and we'll all be drifting as stardust!"
The three torpedoes screamed through the portal, emerging into the deep void on the other side. Before them hung the Chitauri Mothership—a biomechanical island of metal and flesh.
Interceptor lasers lit up the darkness, a thousand beams of death converging on the small Imperial craft. Banner screamed as the torpedo bucked under the impact of near-misses.
"It's over! We're dead!"
"Machine Spirit, protect us," Thor muttered, ignoring the scientist's panic. The torpedo's ancient deflection shields hummed, the tech-arcana of the Warhammer universe outclassing the Chitauri's energy weapons. The craft didn't slow down; it accelerated, its melta-tip glowing white-hot.
"Wait, we aren't stopping?!" Banner shrieked.
"Boarding," Thor grinned, "means hitting them until you're inside."
BOOM.
The torpedo slammed into the Mothership's hull. The melta-charge vaporized the xenos armor-plating, and the craft buried itself deep into the ship's corridors. The hatch hissed open, and Thor unbuckled his harness, dragging the shivering Banner out into a dark, pulsing hallway filled with the smell of ozone and rotting meat.
"You're all insane!" Banner collapsed to his knees. "Who crashes into a ship?!"
"We do," Thor said, his smile fading as he sensed the approach of hundreds of Chitauri warriors. The passage was already filling with the chattering of xenos weapons. "And look—the welcome party is here."
Banner looked at the literal wall of enemies approaching. "There are too many! There's only two of us!"
"How do we fight them?" Thor repeated, a mischievous glint in his eye. He grabbed Banner by the collar, lifting the scientist off the ground. "Simple. I use the strongest weapon in my arsenal."
"Wait—Thor, no—!"
"Hulk, fetch!"
With a roar of effort, Thor hurled Banner directly into the center of the Chitauri horde.
The air was filled with a terrifying, wet sound of tearing fabric and growing muscle. Mid-air, the small man vanished, replaced by a massive, emerald engine of rage.
"ROAR!!!"