Inside the dimensional pocket, the various factions converged upon the massive floating island.
The White Cloud Causeway was completely unobstructed, with zero traps or ambushes along the approach. Yet the moment they reached the perimeter of the central citadel, the bizarre, oppressive scenery brought every single traveler to an abrupt halt.
Lush, vibrant green grass carpeted the earth, dotted with towering, ancient trees whose canopies brushed the pale sky. A wide, immaculate pathway paved with heavy bluestone bricks led straight upward toward the colossal palace resting at the highest point of the island.
Yet, flanking both sides of the stone path at precisely one-meter intervals stood legions of humanoid horrors: Deadpools encased in thick, armor-like dragon scales.
Though their eyes remained tightly sealed and they gave zero indication of breathing, the sheer pressure radiating from their motionless forms evoked an instinctive, creeping terror.
"Are we seriously expected to march right up through that?" Scott Lang whispered, his voice trembling slightly as he stared down the corridor of monsters. "Because I've seen enough horror movies to know those things are going to snap their eyes open and pounce the second we hit the halfway mark."
Every head turned toward the Ant-Man.
Scott merely offered an apologetic shrug, putting on a helpless face. "Hey, classic trope physics. Don't blame the messenger."
A collective, silent wave of eye-rolling rippled through the coalition. Nevertheless, his words effectively paralyzed the front line—nobody wanted to be the first to test the stone path.
Tony Stark glanced over at Chisei Gen and his operatives. Among everyone present, the Execution Bureau held the deepest empirical understanding of Dr. Herzog's creations.
"These are pure-strain Deadpools," Sakura Yabuki answered flatly before Tony could even voice the question. "However... whether they are currently metabolically active or mere biological corpses, our thermal sensors cannot determine."
Without waiting for further debate, Chisei Gen dropped his gaze to Yasha.
A single, silent look passed between them. Instinctively, the towering enforcer stepped out of formation, raising his master-forged blade, Kumo-Kiri. With lightning speed, Yasha whipped the sword downward, slashing directly across the exposed neck of the nearest Deadpool.
CLANG!
Sparks flew, but the blade merely left a faint, chalky white scratch upon the dragon-scaled hide.
The structural durability sent an immediate, sharp jolt through every observer's pupils.
"That armor is criminally tough!" Tony muttered.
"Step aside, let me test it," Namor stepped forward, his expression hardening.
Unimpressed by the human's failure, the Sub-Mariner leveled his golden trident, driving the prongs forward with a surge of force. A crackle of bio-electric current accompanied the thrust, striking the Deadpool's shoulder—yet it produced nothing more than a superficial white speck.
Namor cleared his throat, subtly lowering his weapon with an expression of mild embarrassment, and retreated without offering further commentary.
Seeing that brute force wouldn't easily shatter the sentinels, Yasha stepped directly onto the bluestone path, taking the lead. Chisei Gen followed closely behind him, maintaining a gap of barely one meter—close enough to execute an instantaneous rescue or counterattack should the statues awaken.
Maintaining hyper-vigilance, the coalition moved forward one cautious step at a time.
Miraculously, the scaled sentinels flanking the path remained entirely dormant. Seeing the vanguard clear the first hundred yards without incident, the Avengers quickly fell in behind them, followed closely by the Atlantean delegation.
[The Seabed — Atlantis and the Surface]
While Namor and his ministers were trapped inside the Nibelungen, the traitorous general Atluma was actively executing his coup across the submerged capital.
With the Talokanil legions, barbarian shock-troops, and the Deep Sea Six assembled in full force across the ocean floor, Atluma stood before his armada, experiencing an unprecedented wave of triumph.
'So this is what it truly means to be a King!' Atluma exulted internally, his chest swelling with arrogance. 'Worshiped by millions! Looked up to by every living creature in the deep! This power... it is intoxicating!'
Suppressing his frantic excitement to maintain a facade of solemn dignity, Atluma raised his trident, addressing the gathered multitudes.
"Today!" Atluma's voice echoed across the ocean floor through hydro-acoustic amplifiers. "Atlantis officially declares total, unyielding war upon the surface-dwelling humans! As for the justification... I know every citizen here already carries it in your hearts!"
"To avenge our fallen sovereign, King Namor!"
"For Talokan!"
"Protect the deep sea!"
"THE OCEAN SHALL DROWN EVERYTHING!!"
Different tribal legions roared their respective chants, instantly converging into a singular, earth-shaking war cry that shook the seabed silt. The eyes of every Atlantean soldier burned with fanatical bloodlust.
"ADVANCE!"
At Atluma's sharp command, the monstrous legions surged forward, navigating the underwater trenches toward the territorial waters of the island nation.
Operating at the very rear of the formation was General Arno's specialized command unit. Unlike the frothing, fanatical infantry ahead of them, Arno's soldiers remained cold and detached. Their eyes scanned the murky currents with professional vigilance, quietly guarding the heavy, unknown mechanical converters mounted at the center of their formation.
High above the trench, alarms began to shriek across the naval defense grid of the Japanese archipelago.
Inside the command center of the Okinawa naval base, red warning lights flashed across the primary tactical displays.
"General! What is the status report?!" Kyūryō Yō, the senior commanding officer on duty, barked as he rushed into the pit. "Has an unauthorized naval fleet crossed our border?"
An analyst stared at his monitors, his face pale. "Sir... the incoming contacts are not on the sea surface."
"Underwater?" Kyūryō frowned. "Submarine flotilla? You're telling me an entire hostile submarine fleet is staging a breach?"
"We cannot confirm if they are manufactured submarines, sir," the analyst reported rapidly. "But their approach vector is entirely sub-surface, moving at speeds that defy naval engineering."
"What about our sonar sweeps?" Kyūryō demanded, maintaining his professional composure.
Right then, the heavy double doors of the command office blew open as a breathless radar officer sprinted in clutching a fresh intelligence packet.
"General! Our anti-submarine patrol aircraft and active sonar have positively identified the targets!" the officer shouted, slamming the photographs onto the desk. "They... they are sea people!"
"Sea people?" Kyūryō blinked, picking up the glossy prints. "What kind of primitive joke is this? Bare-chested barbarians wielding spears, riding giant sea beasts?"
Kyūryō stared at the images of towering aquatic warriors and armored sea-monsters. Aside from the absurd biological scale of the accompanying creatures, he felt zero sense of military dread.
In modern naval warfare, high-explosive depth charges and anti-ship missiles cared nothing for carbon-based muscle mass.
"Transmit all visual telemetry to General Saitō at the southwestern front line," Kyūryō ordered, a confident smirk touching his lips. "Inform him that our nation is apparently being invaded by a tribe of mythic cosplayers."
Roughly one hundred nautical miles off the coast, nearly the entire operational strength of the Maritime Self-Defense Force had deployed into a rigid, defensive semicircle. Over a hundred destroyers, frigates, and missile cruisers churned the surface waters.
The massive mobilization had naturally triggered global alarms; military satellites from every major superpower on Earth were presently locked onto the southwestern sea sector.
Amidst the tense, buzzing atmosphere, the calm water directly ahead of the fleet suddenly began to boil.
A colossal sea beast breached the surface, water cascading off its armored scales. Standing regally atop its head was Atluma, his golden armor gleaming under the sun.
Behind him, the calm horizon ruptured as tens of thousands of Atlantean warriors—some mounted on armored seahorses, others commanding abyssal leviathans, all brandishing Sonic Guns and heavy coral spears—surged into formation, presenting an unbroken wall of dark fury.
Both navies instinctively halted, separated by a narrow strip of swirling ocean current.
From the bridge of the lead guided-missile destroyer, the amplified voice of General Saitō boomed across the water via the primary broadcast system:
"This is the Maritime Self-Defense Force of Japan! You have illegally violated sovereign territorial waters. Cease your advance and turn back immediately!"
Saitō's voice carried a sharp, final warning.
"This is your final notice! If you continue this unauthorized trespass past the current coordinate, we will authorize lethal measures!"
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