While the massacre of the Frost Giants reached its zenith, the boarding party on the Chitauri mothership secured their victory.
The casualties among the boarding team were light, though Thor and the Hulk were significantly battered. It wasn't the xenos who had nearly finished them, but their own unchecked fury; the two had clashed mid-assault, their duel only ending when the mothership's atmospheric collapse and sheer exhaustion laid them low.
With the destruction of the central command hub, the Chitauri legions across the globe fell into a catatonic paralysis.
However, amidst the victory, a rift opened within the Avengers.
"Isn't this... excessive?" Tony Stark looked at the tactical feeds showing the systematic execution of the Jotuns. He hesitated, then turned to Emrys. "Punishing the invaders is one thing, but the total extermination of a species? Isn't that a step too far?"
"Excessive?" Emrys sighed, placing a hand on Tony's shoulder. "Think, Tony. If the roles were reversed—if the Jotuns stood where we stand—what mercy would they show humanity? They would pave their halls with our bones and use our children as livestock."
Tony's face darkened, but he remained silent.
"The law of the galaxy is the law of the jungle," Emrys continued, his voice hardening. "I would rather bear the infamy of a butcher than see our descendants forget the cost of survival. Any xenos who dares to cross our borders must know that the price is not just defeat, but the erasure of their lineage. This isn't just revenge; it is a warning to the rest of the cosmos."
"I understand the logic," Tony whispered, biting his lip. "But this will brand you a tyrant. An executioner. I don't want that for you."
"If it's for the survival of the species, I will gladly be the executioner." Emrys turned away, his gaze falling on Thor. "Bring him. The one who watches the bridge. I have a use for him."
Thor paused, then nodded solemnly. A few moments later, he returned with Heimdall. The once-proud Gatekeeper of the Bifrost was a shadow of his former self, stripped of his golden plate and clutching a mop like a common thrall.
"What is required of me?" Heimdall asked, his voice trembling.
Emrys tossed the golden sword—the key to the Bifrost—at the man's feet. "Open the gate. Send my fleet to Jotunheim."
Heimdall's eyes widened. "You... you cannot. The Frost Giants are subjects of the Allfather. I will not be the instrument of their genocide."
The smile on Emrys's face vanished. He stepped into Heimdall's personal space, his presence as stifling as a tomb. "Tell me, 'Guardian'—where was your sense of duty when Laufey's hordes were slaughtering millions of my kin? Where was Asgard's 'protection' then?"
"The Allfather was in the Odinsleep," Heimdall stammered, his face pale. "Loki's deceptions... we were blinded. We could not intervene."
"A convenient excuse," Emrys sneered. "You watched humanity bleed and did nothing. Now that we have won, you preach mercy? You hid in your golden palace while children were being hunted, and now you dare speak to me of justice?"
"I will not help you!" Heimdall gritted his teeth, clutching the sword.
"This isn't a debate," Emrys's voice dropped to a lethal whisper. "Open the gate to Jotunheim. Now."
"No," Heimdall gasped. "This is a demonic act. I am a Guardian of Asgard, and I will not use the King's power for such slaughter!"
"Then you are useless!"
Emrys's patience snapped. He delivered a thunderous kick that sent Heimdall sprawling across the conference deck. With a flick of his wrist, Emrys manifested a psychic lash woven from raw telekinetic energy.
CRACK.
The lash tore through Heimdall's tunic and skin. Emrys didn't stop. He rained down blows with a speed that defied the eye, the psychic whip leaving burning, jagged trails across the Asgardian's flesh.
"You played dead when it mattered!" Emrys roared over Heimdall's screams. "And now you want to lecture me on morality? You're not a Guardian—you're a coward hiding behind a title!"
Nick Fury watched the display from the shadows, a cold shiver running down his spine. He had always known Emrys was dangerous, but the sheer, focused hatred in his eyes confirmed a terrifying truth: Emrys was a radical. If you weren't with humanity, you were nothing but meat to be processed.
"Enough, young man."
A pillar of pure golden light erupted in the center of the room. The psychic lash disintegrated into mist. As the radiance dimmed, an aged figure appeared—clad in ornate, celestial armor and holding the Spear of Heaven, Gungnir.
"Allfather," Heimdall wept, crawling toward the light.
Emrys narrowed his eyes. Odin. The King of Gods looked every bit the legend, radiating an aura of authority so heavy it felt like the weight of a planet.
"I am here," Odin said, his voice a deep, resonant rumble. He looked at Thor and Loki with a mixture of disappointment and weary love, then turned his single, piercing eye toward Emrys.
"My sons have clearly tested your patience," Odin said, his tone deceptively mild. "I apologize for the carnage the Frost Giants brought to your world. But the matter ends here. Laufey has been broken. The debt is paid."
"Another peacemaker," Emrys laughed, a sharp, ugly sound. "And what if I say no?"
The air in the room instantly solidified. Odin's benevolent expression shifted into a mask of terrifying sternness. The very steel of the Helicarrier groaned under the weight of his divine presence. This was the conqueror who had unified the Nine Realms through blood and iron.
"You will not refuse," Odin stated, his voice like grinding stone. "This is the decree of the Allfather. Asgard's word is law. Do not mistake my patience for weakness, boy. No one defies the Throne of Valhalla."
The pressure intensified. Marcus and the other Dark Angels struggled to remain upright, their ceramite armor creaking under the invisible force. Their magnetic boots bit into the deck, refusing to let them kneel, even as the divine power demanded submission.
"You are strong," Odin said, looking at Emrys, who stood unyielding amidst the storm. "But with these few warriors, you cannot challenge the power of Asgard. Now—give me your answer."
Emrys felt the pressure, a weight greater than a mountain, trying to crush his spirit. He thought of the billions of humans in the Imperium, of the God-Emperor on his Golden Throne, and the true horrors of the Warp compared to this single, aging "god."
"Heh... is that all?"
Emrys straightened his back, his own psychic aura flaring in a defiant, jagged corona. He stared directly into Odin's eye, his voice dripping with venomous contempt.
"You old relic... who do you think you're talking to?"