"BOOM!—BANG! BANG! BANG!"
The initial explosion hadn't even finished echoing before it was followed by a relentless chain of detonations.
"Jericho missile…"
Peter glanced downward.
Tony had clearly pulled out one of his signature weapons—the kind he no longer even sold to the outside world.
A single missile—
Had wiped out nearly half the sky.
And yet—
It didn't matter.
At first glance, the destruction seemed overwhelming. But if one looked closer, it became clear—
Only those at the very center of the blast had truly been eliminated.
At the edges…
Chitauri soldiers were already getting back up.
"Sir, they possess energy shield technology," J.A.R.V.I.S. reported. "Shockwave-based attacks are insufficient for guaranteed lethality."
Jericho missiles relied heavily on explosive shockwaves—devastating against terrain and fragile human bodies.
But against shielded extraterrestrials?
They were far less effective.
In contrast, concentrated attacks—bullets, shrapnel, direct impacts—
Had a much higher chance of breaking through those personal shields.
"Damn it!"
Tony cursed under his breath, his earlier satisfaction gone.
Without hesitation, he surged forward again, rejoining Peter and Hulk in the charge.
…
Despite their devastating opening assault, the Chitauri kept coming.
Endless.
Relentless.
Wave after wave surged toward them.
Even if they managed to break through—
By the time they reached Loki, they might already be exhausted. Out of energy. Out of options.
But Peter had anticipated this.
"Cap!"
At his call, the Quinjet behind them accelerated forward, swinging into position.
The rear hatch opened.
Cyclops and Storm stood at the edge—facing the battlefield.
"Now!"
A beam of crimson light erupted forward.
Cyclops unleashed his full power, the optic blast tearing through everything in its path like a blade of pure destruction.
At the same time—
Storm raised her gaze to the sky.
The atmosphere shifted instantly.
Dark clouds gathered.
Winds howled.
Tornadoes formed out of nowhere, ripping through Chitauri formations and scattering them like leaves.
Lightning crashed.
Hail pounded.
The battlefield itself bent to her will.
Storm had arrived.
And with her—
Total control.
A clear path opened.
A straight line—
Leading directly to Loki.
"Go!"
Peter didn't hesitate.
The four of them accelerated at once, bursting forward.
Their speed was already extraordinary—
From the outskirts of the city to the White House ruins, it took mere moments.
…
And Loki—
Still seated upon his makeshift throne—
Barely had time to react.
He had just begun to process the sudden storm tearing through his forces—
When—
Peter was already in front of him.
A blur.
A streak of light.
A force of impact like a falling meteor.
"—!"
Loki's pupils contracted.
Then—
A fist.
A massive, accelerating fist slammed straight into his face.
"BANG!"
The sound of flesh meeting force echoed sharply.
Blue blood sprayed into the air.
Loki's handsome features twisted grotesquely under the impact. Teeth shattered. Blood and saliva burst from his mouth.
But Peter—
Didn't stop.
Loki's durability exceeded even Thor's in some aspects. As a Frost Giant by birth, his physical resilience was terrifying.
And Peter knew—
If he gave Loki even a moment—
He'd escape.
"Rising Dragon!"
Peter's voice cut through the chaos.
His right fist had already smashed Loki's face aside.
His left foot stepped forward—
And his left fist drove upward—
Directly into Loki's abdomen.
"—UGH!"
The hit landed solid.
Loki's eyes bulged.
Veins stood out across his face as the pain ripped through him.
For a moment—
He couldn't even breathe.
But Peter still wasn't done.
Not even close.
After what Loki had done—
After the massacre—
Even killing him here wouldn't be excessive.
And with both the Space Stone and Mind Stone within reach—
Even if Odin came knocking afterward—
Peter wouldn't care.
"Crow Takes Flight!"
"Whirlwind Crushes the Parking Lot!"
His movements flowed seamlessly, one strike after another.
A brutal combination.
Every hit landed clean.
Every blow carried full force.
No mercy.
Loki—
The god of mischief.
A master of illusions.
A wielder of magic—
Was reduced to nothing more than a punching bag.
Pinned down.
Beaten relentlessly.
Not even given a chance to cast a single spell.
His body twisted under the barrage, his skin turning an unnatural bluish hue, almost revealing his Frost Giant form.
His once handsome face—
Was now unrecognizable.
Even his own mother might not have known him.
"Stop…! Stop!!"
Finally—
Whether from exhaustion or timing—
Peter's assault slowed.
And in that brief window—
Loki managed to speak.
Instead of groaning in pain—
He forced the words out.
Peter grabbed him by the collar, lifting him slightly.
The golden horned helmet had long since been knocked away, lost somewhere in the rubble.
"…You can still talk?"
Peter raised an eyebrow.
"Guess I didn't hit you hard enough."
A faint smirk tugged at his lips.
"So—"
He tilted his head slightly.
"What exactly did you want to say?"
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T/N:
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