ALL NOVEL Arc 5 - Ch 12: Battle of Puente Antiguo
Chapter 59
Arc 5 - Ch 12: Battle of Puente Antiguo
Date: Friday, June 3, 2011.
Location: Puente Antiguo, NM
Tyson stirred awake, roused from his rest by the insistent buzzing of the earpiece nestled in his ear. It was an unusual occurrence for the mutant. He rarely rested, and even more seldom did he allow himself to drift into such a profound, lengthy sleep. The bright morning sunlight filtered into the rear compartment of the appropriated S.H.I.E.L.D. vehicle serving as his makeshift bed.
An amused voice emanated through the earpiece carrying a playful tone as it announced, "Base, we've got Xena, Jackie Chan, and Robin Hood." A voice in the background commented, "Is there a convention in town?"
Tyson's mind snapped into sharp focus, comprehending the humorous code names.
Thor's Asgardian allies. Lady Sif and the Warriors Three.
He tersely responded over the coms, "Mirage trailing."
Agent Coulson swiftly issued an order in response, "Observe, do not engage," he directed.
Stepping out of the truck, Tyson employed his illusions to remain unnoticed as he moved through town. While he could observe most people without detection, he remained uncertain of how well his powers would function against the Asgardians. Reaching an intersection, he caught sight of them.
The quartet was impossible to miss. Each member of the group carried themselves with the self-assurance of seasoned fighters, radiating confidence and power.
Volstagg's booming voice carried down the street as he led the group through the town. The largest of the Asgardians, he was a mountain of a man, his massive frame barely contained by armor. Fiery red hair and a beard framed his face like a lion's mane, complementing his larger-than-life persona. In one meaty fist, he hefted a double-bladed axe. Several paces behind strode the remaining trio, their footsteps falling lightly in comparison.
Lady Sif occupied the center position, tall and striking, with raven hair spilling down her back. Her armor blended elegant craftsmanship with functional design, articulated plates curving smoothly over firm muscle. One hand rested upon the hilt of her sheathed sword while her shield was strapped to her off arm. On Sif's left sauntered Fandral, blond and handsome, with an easy grace and disarming smile that evoked the image of a charming rogue. His lightweight armor allowed maximum mobility, well-suited to the rapier hanging at his hip. To Sif's right strode Hogun. His heavy brows and piercing eyes weighed and measured all before him. In contrast to the other's armor, Hogun's bore an Eastern style, layered leather and mail covering his compact frame. His weapon of choice was a spiked mace.
Their outlandish appearance stood out starkly amidst the town's residents. Conversations lulled and heads turned as the Asgardians strode by, their presence impossible to ignore.
Elsewhere in town, Amora began weaving an intricate spell to alter her appearance, murmuring ancient words of power while gesturing with fluid motions. Green wisps of magic swirled around her lithe frame, transforming her Asgardian robes into contemporary Midgardian clothes of emerald and gold that clung to her curves. With a final utterance, the spell settled over her seamlessly, blending otherworldly elegance with modern fashion. Thus disguised, Amora strode confidently into the town as if she belonged there.
Subtle enchantments rippled out ahead of her, gently diverting the attention of passersby. To their eyes, she was just another human moving through the streets, albeit a striking beauty. But Amora's mind was sharp and focused on her critical mission; to ensure Thor's trial proceeded without outside interference from Asgard. Gliding through the town, Amora's spells kept her shrouded, yet she remained acutely alert for any signs of meddling.
Suddenly, Amora's innate mystical attunement to the Nine Realms flared to life. The distinctive energies of the Bifrost resonated within her senses.
Someone had opened the bridge between Asgard and Midgard.
A realization crystallized within Amora's mind. Loki had warned this would happen. It was time for her to serve the purpose for which she had been recruited. It had to be Sif and the Warriors Three. Their dedication to Thor often bordered on recklessness, and their actions reeked of such impulsive foolhardiness. To Amora, their loyalty was admirable but misguided, veering into the realm of stupidity. Steeling herself for confrontation, she glided toward the main street of the town. She knew the character of Sif and her companions well. They were renowned warriors, but they were not subtle. Likely, they would brazenly announce their presence in the most direct and tactless way. Amora wouldn't be surprised if they strode down the main thoroughfare without care for discretion or the need to keep a low profile.
As Amora neared Main Street, she scanned the bustling crowd for the first glimpse of Sif's raven hair or Volstagg's imposing frame. Sure enough, Sif and the Warriors Three made their grand, conspicuous entrance down Main Street. Clad in full Asgardian battle armor and brandishing their weapons, they cut striking figures amidst the quaint human town setting. Their sudden appearance was so out of place on Earth that it immediately drew startled stares and hushed whispers from the local townspeople. Amora couldn't help but roll her eyes at their predictable lack of discretion.
Her gaze fixed on Volstagg. His imposing warrior's frame and boisterous, echoing voice created a presence that dominated the street. Amora quickly formulated a plan. Nearby, there was a restaurant quaintly named 'Diner'. It presented the perfect first distraction.
With a subtle gesture of her fingers and a whispered incantation, Amora wove strands of magic through the air. Her spell drifted unseen towards Volstagg and settled upon him. Though she stood at a distance, her enchantment took hold of his mind, amplifying an already considerable appetite for a man of his imposing size. The magic worked its influence slowly, gently nudging Volstagg's thoughts towards the scents of sizzling meat and baked goods that wafted from the nearby diner. To Volstagg, the desire seemed to arise naturally from within. Such was the subtlety and cunning of Amora's spellcraft. If her magic did not directly harm its target, it could often work undetected, unless the victim was warded against such enchantments.
Now wholly captivated by the notion of eating, Volstagg drifted towards the source of the tantalizing aromas. His abrupt change in course caught the attention of his companions, who exchanged puzzled glances at his behavior.
From her vantage point, Amora allowed herself a small, satisfied smile. The first part of her plan had succeeded flawlessly.
As Volstagg wandered towards the diner, Hogun's dark brows drew together in concern. "Where are you going, Volstagg?" he called out to his comrade.
Volstagg turned back to face them, his bearded face alight with enthusiasm. "It may take time to find Thor," he proclaimed, "we should fill our bellies before beginning the search."
Though his words seemed perfectly reasonable in Volstagg's mind, they deepened the confusion of his companions. His focus on sating his appetite was apparent as he ambled towards the diner. Sif and Fandral exchanged a look conveying their skepticism at their companion's priorities given their urgent mission.
"Volstagg, we have been tasked with a quest of grave importance," Fandral called out, a hint of frustration creeping into his usually cheerful tone. "As much as we all enjoy a fine meal, finding Thor must be our first and only objective for now. Earthly delicacies, however tempting, will simply have to wait."
Sif nodded, her beautiful yet stern features etched with concern. "Thor's predicament here in Midgard is precarious," she added. "We cannot fritter away valuable time on frivolous diversions, not when our sworn duty is to aid our friend in his time of need."
"Aye," rumbled Hogun in his somber baritone. "Thor's welfare and the success of this mission must take precedence over our cravings."
Volstagg halted, turning to face his companions with a pleading look. "Come now, friends, surely a small meal will help prepare us for the trials ahead!" he cajoled. "A warrior fights best on a full stomach, after all."
But despite Volstagg's coaxing, his comrades remained steadfast. They were Asgardian warriors, disciplined and devoted to their duty above all else. While they understood their friend's legendary appetite, the situation demanded immediate action, and they could ill afford unnecessary delays, not when Thor's fate hung in the balance.
Amora watched the warriors' exchange from a distance, pleased that her spell had created precisely the diversion she had hoped for.
As Volstagg continued pleading with his companions about the necessity of a meal, Amora shifted her focus to Fandral. She knew him well. His dashing appearance, ready charm, and silver tongue had them crossing paths in the past. While formidable, his charisma was no match for Amora's talent for manipulation. Sensing an opportunity, Amora subtly cast a spell designed to exploit Fandral's desires and emotions. She targeted him specifically, aiming to twist his charms toward Sif. For a sorceress of Amora's skill, such spells were child's play. Lady Sif, though committed to the warrior's path, remained one of Asgard's great beauties. That fact alone amplified the potency of Amora's enchantment. In Amora's eyes, though she hated to admit it, Sif was her greatest rival for Thor's attention.
With a gesture and whispered incantation, Amora spun her web, directing its insidious threads at the unsuspecting Fandral.
The spell took hold, working a subtle change over Fandral. His eyes now held a distant, glazed look. Slowly, as if in a dream, his gaze turned toward Sif, no longer seeing a comrade-in-arms but instead viewing her through the lens of desire and infatuation.
Absorbed in her attempt to convince Volstagg away from the diner, Sif did not notice the subtle change in Fandral's demeanor as Amora's spell took hold. The enchantment went undetected, silently working its influence over his mind.
Under the veil of the spell, Fandral's perspective shifted. He turned to Sif. When he spoke, his tone sounded reasonable, yet it was tinged with the effects of Amora's magic. "Volstagg is set on having a meal," he pointed out. "We're wasting time arguing with him when we should be searching for Thor. Why not just let him eat? We can split up. Volstagg can go sate his hunger while you and I search this way, and Hogun can go another way."
"We shouldn't separate in a realm unfamiliar to us," Sif countered, "It could lead to unforeseen dangers."
Hogun nodded in agreement. "It is foolish to split apart when we do not know what threats this land may hold," he added.
However, swayed by his gnawing hunger and Fandral's reasoning, Volstagg sided with Fandral. "Fandral makes a fair point," he argued, "If you won't join me, we'll cover more ground by splitting up."
Unseen by the bickering warriors, Amora observed the drama with satisfaction. The division within the group served her purpose, creating delays and distractions that would hinder their search for Thor. With her plan steadily unfolding and sowing discord among the warriors, Amora decided to weave one final spell.
Amora's lips moved silently as she wove another enchantment, the whispered words imbued with sorcery that slithered unseen through the air toward Hogun. The spell was intended to creep into his mind, subtly twisting his perception of his trusted companions.
As the magic took hold, Hogun's view of the situation began to morph. His comrades now appeared not as allies, but as rivals competing amongst themselves for personal glory. In his warped perspective, Volstagg's insistence on stopping to eat was not an attempt to regain strength, but a deliberate ploy to distract the group from their urgent mission. Fandral's suggestion to divide their forces, and his eagerness to partner with Sif, seemed a calculated maneuver to monopolize any honor or glory from aiding Thor, no doubt to embellish his tales of yet another grand exploit. This distorted view eroded Hogun's loyalty, twisting it into a possessive jealousy. The notion that his trusted allies, with whom he had fought countless battles, were now seeking to outshine each other for selfish reasons was abhorrent to him.
His customary stoicism gave way to heated words laced with suspicion. "Why must we be divided by such trivial matters? Are we not united in our purpose here for Thor? Or does some other motive drive you? Perhaps it's the desire to claim individual glory?" He accused.
Volstagg, growing increasingly impatient and hungry, finally declared, "Enough pointless talk," he bellowed, turning resolutely toward the diner, single-minded in his desire to finally eat.
The enchantment cast by Amora clouded Hogun's perception, causing him to view Volstagg's departure as a betrayal of the group's unity. As Volstagg turned to leave, Hogun reached out and grasped his shoulder, holding him back. "Why are you so eager to split the party?" Hogun demanded.
Feeling suddenly constrained, Volstagg reacted without thinking. He whirled around, shoving Hogun with his substantial strength and sending the slighter warrior stumbling several feet backward.
"All I want to split with you is a meal!" Volstagg shouted, his impatience finally boiling over.
As the confrontation escalated, Fandral turned to Sif, gently taking her hand in his. "Let's search together, you and I," he suggested smoothly, "Let Hogun and Volstagg work out their quarrel. We can reunite with them later, once they've regained their senses."
Sif felt torn. She quickly grew concerned that her companion's worst qualities were becoming so pronounced.
Tyson watched from a short distance as the camaraderie between the Asgardian warriors rapidly deteriorated into heated arguing. Hogun and Volstagg in particular seemed on the verge of coming to blows, their voices raised in anger. He tapped his earpiece. "Adventuring party has devolved into an argument, permission to de-escalate?" Tyson requested calmly, ready to intervene and restore order among Thor's friends if needed.
There was a brief pause on the line as Coulson considered Tyson's request. Tyson waited patiently for a response, his gaze fixed steadily on the increasingly volatile Asgardians, prepared to act the moment Coulson gave the order.
After a few seconds of hesitation, Coulson's voice finally responded over the comms, "Negative. Do not interfere," he instructed firmly.
Tyson frowned. He disagreed with the decision but given his low rank within SHIELD, he decided not to break the chain of command… yet. "Understood," he responded simply and continued observing the scene unfold. Though he subtly began casting illusions, directing the civilians away from the area.
Sif found herself increasingly puzzled by Fandral's behavior. His hand still clasping hers, Fandral spoke with uncharacteristic sentimentality. "We've been adventuring together for years and we've never taken comfort in each other's arms," he said, his tone oddly wistful. "Thor's banishment made me realize that we aren't truly immortal and that I need to make the best of every moment."
Sif gazed at him, her eyes narrowing in suspicion. She had fought alongside Fandral, Volstagg, and Hogun for years. Now, each of her companions was displaying unusual behavior that seemed increasingly erratic. She wondered if there was some contaminant or influence in Midgard affecting them. Yet the townspeople seemed unaffected. She ruled out the possibility. If something was affecting the Asgardians it would be doing far worse to the humans.
Sif tried to piece together the puzzle. Fandral’s excessive romantic gestures, combined with Volstagg's abrupt insistence on food and Hogun's sudden jealousy.
A dawning realization came over her.
The obvious clue was that only the Asgardian men in her company were behaving so strangely. It pointed towards a specific kind of manipulation; one that preyed on desires and emotions.
Enchantment.
A subtle, yet potent magic that could influence minds without leaving any visible trace. Enchantment was particularly potent when cast by a magic user of the opposite sex.
In the realm of Asgard, there was one who was notorious for weaving such deceptive spells. Amora the Enchantress. Sif suspected she was behind this, using her sorcery to manipulate the Warriors Three for some hidden purpose. It was a troubling thought, yet Sif knew she needed to act. Her companions were not themselves, their minds and judgment compromised. She would need to break the Enchantress's hold over her friends.
Sif's eyes darted over the boulevard, searching for any sign of the Enchantress's presence. Though Amora's spells were cleverly designed to avoid notice, rendering her unremarkable to those around her; now focused intently, Sif's senses became attuned to what she previously overlooked. The humans that had dotted the streets were now mostly gone, she spotted a figure who remained, their mundane appearance failed to disguise the stark beauty of the sorceress within.
"Amora!" Sif's voice rang out in a battle cry, sharp and clear.
With Sif's cry shattering the enchantment, Amora's hold on the Warriors Three vanished. The fog clouding their minds lifted and awareness returned to their eyes. Fandral, Volstagg, and Hogun blinked with dawning comprehension as the manipulations fell away. Their attention snapped to Amora, confusion shifting to recognition.
Amora stood, revealed, her intricate schemes and spells undone with a word. No longer could she operate from the shadows, subtly pulling strings. Now she faced Sif and the Warriors Three directly. Though exposed, the Enchantress was far from helpless. If she could not rely on guile, she would confront them diplomatically, should that fail, she would resort to sorcery and power.
Shedding all pretense, Amora let her disguise as an ordinary townswoman fall away. Her true form emerged dramatically from the illusion, green and gold clothes morphed into her sorceress garb. The Enchantress met their gazes with regal confidence befitting her status as a powerful sorceress.
"Greetings, Lady Sif, Warriors Three of Asgard," Amora announced, her voice carrying a subtle blend of defiance and poise.
Sif stepped forward, eyes narrowed with suspicion. "Dispense with the pleasantries, Enchantress," she spat. "We know you've been using your magic to meddle in our affairs here on Midgard. Now reveal your true purpose at once!"
Amora smiled calmly, adopting the patient tone of an adult explaining simple truths to a confused child. "My purpose? Very well… I was merely trying to prevent you from committing treason against the throne of Asgard," she claimed, choosing her words carefully to justify her actions.
"Treason?!" Sif declared incredulously, taken aback by the accusation. "You dare accuse us of treason?!"
Amora elaborated, "Loki now sits upon Hlidskjalf as acting king. And he has charged me with overseeing Thor's trial of banishment, to ensure it is completed without interference."
Sif's eyes widened in surprise and confusion. "What trial do you speak of?"
"Thor's powers were stripped and his hammer was enchanted by Odin Allfather himself. A test, a trial if you will, for the fallen prince to prove his worth and reclaim his status in Asgard." Amora elaborated. She met Sif's gaze directly. "By attempting to aid Thor prematurely, you would undermine this trial and defy the will of your king… Hence, treason."
Sif furrowed her brow, processing Amora's words that cast recent events in a very different light.
Amora pressed her perceived advantage. "I serve Loki only in this matter, to see Odin's will done. Thor must face this test alone. You would be wise not to interfere."
Though still wary, Sif could not deny the Enchantress's words held some truth. Perhaps there was more to Thor's banishment than she considered.
Sif's determination was evident as she appealed to the Enchantress with a sense of urgency in her voice. "Amora, you know as well as I that Loki is treacherous," she implored, trying to find common ground.
But Amora remained steadfast, unmoved by Sif's appeal. "Does he not wield Gungnir?" she countered, referring to the powerful spear that was a symbol of Asgard's kingship.
Reluctantly acknowledging this truth, Sif admitted, "He does," a hint of frustration creeping into her tone.
Seizing on this concession, Amora pressed her argument. "He wields the king's spear. He is the son of the king. That makes him the rightful ruler of Asgard," she emphasized, her voice ringing with conviction. Then Amora turned the tables, her eyes flashing as she accused Sif directly. "Loki has a legitimate claim, regardless of what you think about his character. You're trying to choose which successor you want on the throne," she charged, her voice sharp with accusation. "Your actions, coming here to interfere with Thor's trial, are the very definition of treason and a blatant attempt to incite civil war."
Sif and the Warriors Three were momentarily taken aback, stunned into silence by Amora's bold words. The accusation of treason was a serious one. The situation was complex, with their loyalty to Thor clashing against their duty to respect the laws of succession. While their suspicions about Loki's true intentions only further muddied the waters. They were torn, wavering between supporting their friend, obeying their king, and remaining loyal to the realm.
Sif remained resolute, the weight of their actions settling upon her shoulders. "Yes, it is treason," she admitted solemnly, her voice tinged with regret. Though it pained her to defy Asgard's laws, she could not abandon Thor to exile. Turning to Amora, Sif regarded the Enchantress with grudging admiration. "I respect your dedication to Asgard, Amora. Which makes me regret what I must do now."
With those fateful words, Sif raised her shield and drew her sword, adopting a battle-ready stance. Beside her, the Warriors Three reacted in unison, bonded by their unflinching loyalty. The imposing Volstagg hefted his heavy double-bladed axe in anticipation. Fandral unsheathed his slender rapier with a flourish, and the taciturn Hogun gripped his studded mace.
Together, the four Asgardians stood united against Amora, their weapons drawn in defiance. For the sake of their sworn oaths, they would brave any consequences to uphold their duty to Thor.
In response to their open rebellion, Amora wasted no time in unleashing her sorcery's full fury. Weaving her slender hands in intricate patterns, she conjured a maelstrom of crackling arcane energy. The air around her hummed with power as she prepared to subdue these defiant enemies.
The shimmering arcane bolts shot forth from Amora's outstretched hands, zigzagging through the air toward Fandral, Hogun, and Sif. Fandral reacted with the swift grace of a dancer, nimbly sidestepping the magical projectiles. Hogun's dark eyes remained fixed upon Amora, his awareness allowing him to dodge clear of her assault. Sif raised her shield just in time, the sturdy metal absorbing the full impact of the sorceress's attack. Amora's magic flared brightly against the Asgardian steel before dissipating into the air. Volstagg charged toward Amora. The Enchantress had ignored the imposing Volstagg in her first volley. Seeing his approach, Amora acted quickly to defend herself. Moments before the impact, she vanished in a swirl of sparkling magic, reappearing several feet away, coalescing out of thin air.
Weaving her slender hands in intricate patterns, Amora summoned the full might of her mystical powers. Bolts continued shooting from her palms, forcing the Asgardian warriors to scatter and roll across the ground to avoid the magical onslaught. The Enchantress alternated her offensive spells with defensive shields of shimmering light, swiftly conjuring magical barriers whenever one of her opponents managed to draw too close. But Amora's most powerful offense was her conjuring of rock and stone golems that flanked the warriors and struck at them when distracted. Sif slashed at one construct with her glinting sword, only to have the blade firmly lodged in the middle of the golem's dense body. Hogun shattered another golem with a crushing blow from his mace, but two more materialized to take its place. The conjured minions divided the Asgardians' attention, preventing them from directing their full might toward the sorceress herself.
Yet for all the chaos sown by Amora's golems, the warriors of Asgard demonstrated the skill that had made them legends. Seamlessly they adapted their tactics, fighting as one unified force, covering each other's blind spots, and coordinating their strikes. While the Enchantress's spells could not halt their advance, neither could the Asgardians get close enough through the elementals to land a decisive blow.
Recognizing the need to alter her strategy, Amora prepared a more potent enchantment. Unlike her earlier, subtle attempts, this one was designed to cloud the minds of men as easily as she conjured her stony allies. She fixed her gaze upon Fandral, her eyes now glowing with supernatural power and coercion.
"Help me, Fandral!" Amora cried out, her voice shaped into a desperate plea though her words were but a honeyed snare. "They're trying to kill me!"
The spell took hold immediately. Fandral the Dashing fell under the Enchantress's ensorcellment. In but a moment, his demeanor transformed, and he now saw Amora not as a dangerous foe, but as someone in dire need of his protection. Compelled by her magic, he moved to defend the Enchantress.
Fandral launched a swift lunge with his rapier, aimed at the back of his nearest ally. The Enchantress's spell had turned his mind, transforming friend into foe in an instant.
Sif's warrior instincts, honed over centuries of battle, allowed her to react just in time. Shifting her shield, she deflected Fandral's blade mere inches from piercing her body, preventing a skewering but still shocked by her friend's sudden betrayal. Fandral's rapier glanced off Sif's shield with a ringing clang of metal on metal, the force of the redirected thrust throwing the spellbound warrior off balance. Sif whirled to face her enchanted comrade, dismay written clearly across her face.
"Fandral! What are you doing?" Sif demanded, unwilling to raise her sword against an ally. But the confusion in her voice fell on deaf ears. His eyes burned with supernatural compulsion, Amora's magic allowing no room for reason or loyalty. With a guttural cry, he recovered his stance and pressed his attack once more. Sif parried the next thrust with gritted teeth. She only hoped the others would find a way to break Amora's spell before she was forced to seriously hurt her friend.
Fandral's companions understood at once that he had fallen under some sinister enchantment. Hoping to subdue their comrade, Volstagg and Hogun acted swiftly. The enormous Volstagg approached from behind, wrapping his thick arms around Fandral in an unyielding bear hug that pinned his arms to his sides. Though Fandral struggled violently against the restraint, Volstagg's formidable strength kept him immobilized.
At the same time, Hogun resorted to more direct means to break the spell's hold over Fandral's mind. Though he held no desire to injure his friend, each of Hogun's quick jabs was aimed at the head, to jar Fandral to his senses.
The blows disrupted the insidious magic.
Fandral blinked rapidly, shaking his head as if trying to clear it. The glaze of enchantment faded from his eyes. He stared at his friends in bewilderment, realizing he had been manipulated into attacking them. Though still reeling from the broken spell, shame washed over Fandral at the deception he had suffered.
Satisfied that the spell's hold over their friend was broken, Hogun, Volstagg, and Sif turned their attention back to where the Enchantress had been standing just moments before. To their surprise, Amora was nowhere to be seen. While they had been focused on freeing Fandral from her magic, the sorceress had seized the opportunity to vanish.
The Asgardian warriors scanned their surroundings, searching for any sign of Amora, but she had managed to slip away undetected.
"She's gone," Sif said through gritted teeth, her frustration evident. The others shared her sentiment.
"That witch is slippery as an eel," Volstagg grumbled. "No matter. We'll find her."
The Warriors Three and Lady Sif regrouped, taking stock of their situation. Though relieved to have Fandral returned to his right mind, Amora's escape posed a new challenge. The encounter with the Enchantress had been a significant setback, but they remained determined to fulfill their duty. The fate of their friend and the welfare of Asgard itself hung in the balance.
"We must make haste," Hogun said solemnly. "Thor may be in grave peril."
The others nodded.
Now invisible to normal sight, Amora still watched from a rooftop. She noted the Midgardian, Tyson, was nearby. He used his own type of magic to obscure himself. But Amora possessed a resistance to mind magics that allowed her to pierce his illusions with little effort. Analyzing the nature of his abilities, the blonde woman realized they were not true magic like her own, but rather psionic in nature. This only further intrigued her. He possessed more abilities than he'd revealed previously.
— Rogue Replacement —
The skirmish erupted suddenly between the striking blonde woman clad in an emerald green gown and Lady Sif and the Warriors Three. Tyson was glad he'd already weaved illusions to steer the nearby townsfolk away from the chaotic scene. The citizens remained blissfully unaware of the clash between the Asgardians in the middle of town.
Tyson activated the communication device concealed within his ear. "Coulson, we have a situation here. A confrontation has broken out between a mysterious new woman and the Renaissance Faire crew. I've redirected civilians away, but things are escalating quickly."
Coulson's steady voice responded through the earpiece, "Understood, Mirage. We're monitoring things closely. Do not engage or interfere unless absolutely necessary. As long as they're ignoring bystanders, consider it an internal matter for the time being. Containment and gathering intelligence on these unknown players are our priorities."
Tyson shrugged. He was curious about the Asgardians' capabilities and how he matched up. He scrutinized the blonde woman, Amora, if Sif's shout was to be believed. She wielded startlingly potent magics; conjuring elementals, arcane bolts, and defensive shields. Tyson was intrigued, he had never encountered sorcery of this magnitude in person. He marveled at the possibilities such tremendous power could offer but for now, he would only observe, as Coulson instructed.
Tyson watched as the Warriors Three and Lady Sif presented a formidable opposition against the mysterious sorceress. Despite her incredible magic, the Asgardians appeared seasoned combatants who operated in seamless unison. After distracting the Asgardians, the blonde woman executed a tactical retreat.
Tyson sniffed the air. The scent of exotic incense, dusty ancient stone, and an enticing floral perfume still lingered, remnants of the sorceress' presence. With a jolt, Tyson realized the scent was familiar. It matched the alluring stripper from the previous night. He was confused as to how or why the seductive woman was somehow this same sorceress, Amora.
But more worryingly, none of this should be happening.
Amora wasn't supposed to be here.
Tyson thought back to the invasion of the institute, and the time when Kraven showed up at the battle with the Green Goblin. Was this another instance of an unexpected character surfacing and complicating events that he thought himself prepared for?
Even worse, he didn't know much about Amora. He vaguely remembered the name, but she didn't appear in movies that he recalled.
Tyson was drawn from his thoughts by a strange disturbance on the horizon. Heat lightning flashed and crackled through clouds where no storm should be brewing. Suddenly, a funnel cloud descended rapidly from the roiling sky, swirling towards the earth below like a tornado. A burst of static sounded in his earpiece, cutting off Coulson's voice mid-sentence. Tyson tried to re-establish contact, letting Coulson know the fight had ended, but only radio silence answered his hail. It seemed communications were disrupted. For the time being, Tyson realized he was alone.
Weighing his options, he dismissed the idea of returning to the makeshift SHIELD base. Coulson's last discernible words echoed in his mind.
'Gather information'.
Tyson smiled. He could do that, but while doing so, he also had his own priorities. This was an opportunity to ingratiate himself with the visitors from Asgard. Making a decision, he dropped his illusion and approached Sif and the Warriors Three openly, hands raised in greeting to show he meant no harm.
"Hail, friends!" Tyson called out respectfully but directly. "I am Tyson, though some know me as Mirage. I am a defender of this world. Might I have the honor of your names and purpose here?"
The Asgardians turned as one, weapons raised warily before the Lady Sif stepped forward. "I am Lady Sif, and these are the Warriors Three. Volstagg, Fandral, and Hogun," she proclaimed, indicating each of her compatriots in turn. "We come seeking our comrade Thor, who was banished to this realm. Do you know of his whereabouts, mortal?"
Tyson's smile broadened, though he was careful to keep it friendly rather than predatory. "Fortune smiles upon our meeting. Just last night I shared drinks with a mighty warrior who could be none other than your missing companion. He introduced himself as Thor." Tyson inclined his head respectfully to Lady Sif. "If you wish, I can lead you to where he has taken shelter."
Sif's stern expression softened slightly at Tyson's words. She gave a single nod. "Your aid is appreciated, mortal. Please, lead us to Thor with haste."
At her words, the Asgardians sheathed their weapons. Tyson gestured for them to follow and set off at a brisk walk down the street, the Warriors Three and Lady Sif close behind. Leading them to Thor would strengthen this tentative alliance. He guided the Asgardians toward where he knew SHIELD had confiscated Jane Foster's equipment after Thor's arrival.
Tyson led Sif and the Warriors Three through the streets of Puente Antiguo. As they approached the building where Jane Foster had set up her research operation, Tyson spotted a broad-shouldered figure through the large ground-level windows.
Thor stood at the stove, spatula in hand, brow furrowed in concentration as he tended to a sizzling pan of eggs and bacon. Oblivious to his audience outside, the fallen prince of Asgard seemed utterly absorbed in the task of cooking breakfast.
Tyson rapped his knuckles against the glass pane, catching Thor's attention. When Thor's bright blue eyes met his, Tyson pointed eagerly behind him to the small company of Asgardians.
"Greetings Thor. I found your friends!" Tyson called out, his voice muffled through the window.
Thor's bearded face lit up, eyes widening in delighted surprise. The spatula slipped from his fingers, clattering to the floor as his eyes set upon his comrades with unrestrained joy.
Volstagg's impressive girth nearly blocked the others from view as he jostled forward, waving a meaty hand in enthusiastic greeting. The elegant Fandral and stern Hogun peered out from behind their larger companion, relief warming their tired faces. After days of separation, uncertainty, and failure, the reunion of Thor and his loyal warriors was a welcome and heartening sight. He crossed the small kitchen in two long strides and threw open the front door, the force of his excitement nearly pulling it from its hinges.
"My friends!" Thor's voice boomed out like thunder as the Warriors Three pushed past Tyson to get inside. Thor's face split into a wide grin as he heartily embraced each of them, laughter rumbling in his broad chest. "This is a most welcome surprise. Come in, come in!"
Volstagg, Fandral, and Hogun crowded in, chatting and joking loudly as they clasped Thor's arm and clapped him on the back. They ribbed him good-naturedly about his predicament on Midgard while poorly concealing their profound relief at finding their prince unharmed.
Tyson stood back observing the joyous reunion. Thor's Asgardian comrades appeared utterly delighted to see their banished prince safe and well in this mortal realm. The relief on Lady Sif's usually stern face was evident as she grasped Thor's arm, her dark eyes roaming his casual Midgardian attire with interest. "We feared for your safety after your banishment. You look...well," she said, a warm smile gracing her features.
Thor's grin only widened at this unexpected reunion. He led them eagerly into the kitchen, retrieving the slightly blackened eggs from the stove. "Indeed, I have fared alright here among these mortals," he replied, sincere gratitude etched on his face as his eyes met Tyson's. "Thanks to the friends I've gained on Midgard." He gestured expansively around him. "Please, join us for breakfast."
As the Asgardians and Thor caught up over generously laden plates of eggs, bacon, and pancakes, Tyson joined the group but remained a silent observer. He was pleased that he could facilitate this reunion while gaining the Asgardians' trust. If he recalled correctly, the strange atmospheric disturbance from earlier marked the arrival of the Destroyer armor. For now, Tyson was content to enjoy a hearty breakfast.
As Erik Selvig entered the room, he stopped short at the sight of the armor-clad Asgardians crowded raucously around the table.
"I don't believe it..." Selvig muttered, staring wide-eyed at the unexpected guests.
Darcy Lewis poked her head around Selvig to get a look at the commotion. "Who are they?" she asked.
"Lady Sif and the Warriors Three," Volstagg proclaimed between bites of pancake. "Surely you've heard tales of Hogun the Grim, Fandral the Dashing, and I, Volstagg the Svelte?"
Selvig looked pointedly at Volstagg's massive gut spilling over his belt.
"Well, perhaps I've put on a little more muscle since I was here last," Volstagg amended with a chuckle.
"That would have been a thousand years ago?" Jane Foster cut in. "In northern Europe?"
"Exactly!" Volstagg confirmed enthusiastically. "Those lovely herring people. They worshipped us!"
The Asgardians regaled the group with tales of their adventures on Earth a thousand years ago, their voices booming with laughter and merriment as they shared their stories over a hearty breakfast.
As Tyson listened, a lightbulb suddenly went off in his head. He turned to Thor, a mischievous glint in his eye, and asked, "So then, Thor is obviously the god of thunder, but Lady Sif, does that make you his wife? The goddess of the harvest?"
The warriors three burst out in laughter, their guffaws echoing off the high ceilings of the hall. Thor glanced at Jane before turning back to Tyson. "The mortals of the time took some creative liberties in their stories," he chuckled. "While I am... was the god of thunder, Sif and myself have only ever been comrades-at-arms. We have never been romantically engaged."
Tyson pressed on. "I thought the legends spoke of your golden hair?" he asked, turning to Sif. "Was that a mistelling as well?"
The warriors three suddenly fell silent, their laughter dying on their lips. Fandral shot Tyson a look that spoke volumes, a warning that he had stepped into dangerous territory. Sif's expression turned murderous, her green eyes flashing with barely contained rage.
"No," she said, her voice low and dangerous. "That was no mistelling. Loki, the trickster, used magic to change the color of my hair in a cruel jest."
Sif's eyes took on a distant look as she began to recount the tale, her voice trembling with emotion. "It was during a time of peace when the realms were in harmony. There was little fighting to be done, leaving us a bit bored, honestly. Loki, ever the mischief-maker, decided to play a trick on me. He snuck into my chambers while I slept and used his magic to turn my golden locks as black as night." The warriors three shifted uncomfortably in their seats, their eyes downcast as Sif continued her story. "When I awoke, I was horrified to find my hair had been changed. I confronted Loki, demanding that he restore my golden tresses, but he refused, claiming that the dark color suited me better."
Sif's hands clenched into fists, her knuckles turning white with the force of her grip. "I was furious, humiliated. I demanded that Odin punish Loki for his transgression, but the Allfather only laughed, claiming that it was a harmless prank."
As Sif finished her tale, Tyson spoke "Loki is a fool," he said softly, "And a creep for sneaking into your room while you were sleeping. I won't back his claim that dark hair suits you better, as I never saw you blonde. But I can say that your black hair doesn't detract from your beauty. It emphasizes the depth of your green eyes."
Sif's eyes widened, a flash of surprise crossing her face. For a moment, she seemed at a loss for words, her mouth opening and closing as she struggled to find a response.
Volstagg broke the tension with a booming laugh. "It seems our young friend here is the second man to flirt with Sif this day!" he guffawed, slapping his thigh in amusement.
Fandral, his face flushing with embarrassment, shot Volstagg a glare. "I didn't do it intentionally," he grumbled, crossing his arms over his chest. "I was under enchantment."
The Asgardians all burst into laughter once more, the tension in the room dissipating like mist in the morning sun. Sif shook her head in amusement.
"You are a smooth talker, Tyson," she said, her eyes sparkling with mirth. "But do not think that your pretty words will sway me so easily. I am a warrior, not some maiden to be wooed with flattery."
Tyson bowed slightly. "I would never presume to think otherwise, Lady Sif," he said, "I'm certain your battle prowess is as admirable as your beauty."
Sif rolled her eyes.
Thor's laughter died down as he laid a heavy hand on Volstagg's broad shoulder. "My friends, though I've never been happier to see anyone, you should not have come," he said, his voice tinged with regret.
Fandral shook his head, blonde locks swaying. "We're here to take you home," he insisted.
At his words, Jane's face fell, crestfallen. She had hoped for more time with the man who had so abruptly entered her life. Thor sighed, the weight of responsibility bowing his shoulders. "You know I cannot. My father is dead because of my recklessness. I must remain in exile to atone for my sins."
The warriors three exchanged puzzled looks. "Thor..." Lady Sif began gently, placing a gauntleted hand on his arm. "The Allfather yet lives."
Thor reacted with shock, nearly dropping his fork to the floor. He was momentarily stunned into silence as he processed this revelation. Grasping Sif's arm with sudden urgency, he demanded "What? But how can this be? Loki told me Odin had perished and that the line of succession fell to him. He claimed the throne with the Allfather gone. But if what you say is true..."
Sif's expression was grave as she interrupted, "Loki conspires to unlawfully seize the throne of Asgard. Even now he wields Gungnir in your father's stead and has enlisted Amora the Enchantress to aid his cause."
"She seemed to give you all a real challenge." Tyson commented, "Any idea why she'd be involved in whatever scheme Loki is hatching?" He asked as much in hopes of gaining their insights as fitting her presence into his metaknowledge.
Sif's face was grim as she responded, "She claims Loki sent her here to prevent our interference." She turned her piercing gaze to Thor, urgency lending steel to her voice. "We cannot delay. You must return with us at once to challenge Loki's false claim to your father's throne."
The discussion was abruptly cut short by a commotion outside, the sound of shouts and cries of alarm filtered through the outer walls of the building. The Asgardians exchanged worried glances, their hands instinctively reaching for their weapons as they rose from their seats. Tyson followed the warriors as they stepped outside momentarily blinding him. As his eyes adjusted to the bright sunlight, he saw it off in the distance.
Amid the swirling sands of the desert, a giant metal figure was approaching, its form glinting in the harsh light of the sun.
The figure was massive, towering over the landscape like a colossus of old. Its body was constructed of gleaming metal, a patchwork of interlocking plates and gears that shifted and whirred with each step. The head was a featureless mask, a blank slate that seemed to stare out at the world with cold, unfeeling eyes.
The Asgardians recognized the figure immediately. "The Destroyer," Thor said, his voice low and tense. "Odin's weapon of last resort."
"What is it?" Jane asked, her voice trembling with worry.
"A construct of pure magic and metal," Thor replied, "Designed to protect Asgard from any threat."
Sif studied the approaching figure. "But why is it here?" she asked, her voice filled with suspicion.
"Loki would release it on Midgard?" Thor said in disbelief.
Tyson could feel the tension ratchet up among the Asgardians as they too peered out at the approaching threat.
"The Destroyer is an engine of destruction forged ages ago and kept as guardian of Odin's vault," Sif explained grimly. "It is nigh indestructible."
Thor's expression was grave as he turned to Jane, "You must leave this town now. Get yourself and your friends to safety."
Jane asked, "What are you going to do?"
Thor met Jane's concerned gaze steadily, though his eyes held a glimmer of regret. "I must stay and fight," he stated, "The Asgardians look to me as their prince. I may be mortal now, but I am still a warrior at heart, and will stand with them in this battle."
Volstagg's bearded face creased into a disapproving frown as he shook his head. "You're naught but a mortal man now, Thor. You'll only get yourself killed!"
Fandral nodded emphatically, "Or one of us, trying to protect you from harm."
Sif placed a gauntleted hand on Thor's shoulder, meeting his eyes with sincerity. "The wisest course is for you to get these mortals to safety. Leave the battle to us."
Thor surveyed the bustling street filled with townspeople; families, shopkeepers, young and old, all unprepared for the arrival of the hulking metal behemoth lumbering toward the vulnerable town. With a heavy sigh, he turned back to Sif and nodded. "You speak truthfully. I will ensure no harm comes to these people." Surprise at his compliance flickered in Sif's eyes. Squaring his broad shoulders, Thor faced Jane, Selvig, and Darcy with newfound resolve. "Help me clear the streets. I'll let none of these innocents die this day."
Together, Thor, Jane, Selvig, and Darcy began herding the crowd away from the oncoming Destroyer. Parents clutched their children's hands tightly, shopkeepers abandoned their livelihoods, and curious residents peered and murmured over the strange commotion. But under Thor's insistent direction, the streets soon emptied. As the depowered god hurried the citizens to safety, Sif and the Warriors Three strode with purpose in the opposite direction, weapons gripped tightly in anticipation of the coming battle. Fandral the Dashing, Hogun the Grim, and Volstagg the Valiant were unafraid to face the Destroyer head-on. The four friends had battled all manner of beasts and villains across the realms, always emerging victorious together. Now, they would stand united once more against a formidable foe.
Though focused on his task, Thor could not help stealing glances across the town, anxious for his friends to confront the Destroyer without him. But he trusted in their abilities and remained resolute in his mission; protecting these innocent mortals.
With Jane's assistance, Thor cleared the diner and neighboring shops of lingering patrons. Darcy marched up and down the sidewalks, herding stray pedestrians away from the main street with impatient urgency. Selvig stood at the town's entrance, waving approaching vehicles away from the impending battle. Soon, an eerie quiet settled over the normally bustling town, the streets now emptied under Thor's insistent direction.
— Rogue Replacement —
From her hidden vantage point atop the roof, the Enchantress Amora watched invisibly as Tyson approached the Asgardian warriors three.
"As a defender of Earth, I insist upon joining you in this battle," Tyson declared, fixing each of the Asgardians in turn with his mismatched eyes.
Hogun the Grim was quick to reply, doubt plain in his tone. "The Destroyer was created by Odin himself to safeguard Asgard. What could a mere mortal hope to accomplish against such a foe?"
The Lady Sif's reply was gentler, but no less firm in conviction. "We appreciate your courage, but perhaps your skills could be put to better use elsewhere. You could assist in the evacuation of the mortals."
Tyson paused, carefully weighing their words. Amora watched him closely from her hidden vantage, curious whether his pride would insist he join the fray. But after a thoughtful moment, he simply nodded in acquiescence. "Very well. I shall go where my efforts may prove most needed."
Satisfied, Sif and the Warriors Three turned and marched onward, striding forth to confront the Destroyer, which had begun laying waste to the mortal town. Tyson watched them depart, then lifted his head as if catching a scent upon the wind. His eyes narrowed, homing in unerringly on Amora's concealed rooftop location.
The Enchantress pursed her lips in consternation. The mortal's senses had already allowed him to observe Loki's covert actions at Mjolnir and now seemed able to pinpoint her veiled presence as well. She would need to exercise greater caution around this unusually perceptive one. For now, Amora turned her focus back to the impending confrontation with the Destroyer, certain it would prove quite the spectacle.
Tyson caught a whiff of a scent on the desert wind, his enhanced senses picking up the faint aroma of exotic incense and floral perfume. He turned his head, nostrils flaring as he tried to pinpoint the source. Frowning, he stared at the rooftop where he was certain the scent originated but failed to spot the elusive Enchantress.
With a shake of his head, Tyson strode down the main street, projecting illusions to help herd the remaining stragglers to safety. An elderly couple shuffled by, the woman clutching a framed photograph to her chest as her husband guided her with a gentle hand.
Up ahead, a battered pickup truck rumbled down the street, its rusted bed overflowing with people. Tyson squinted against the sun's glare, recognizing the figure behind the wheel. It was the same old man he'd encountered outside the Federal Reserve. The same old man who'd been working as the librarian at Midtown High on the day when the Lizard had attacked. As if sensing Tyson's gaze, the old man's eyes crinkled in a knowing wink. His calloused hand gripped the steering wheel, guiding the overloaded truck towards the town's exit. Tyson watched as the man leaned out the window and bellowed a single word. "Excelsior!"
Tyson couldn't help but grin.
An explosion rocked the ground, the thunderous boom echoing through the now deserted streets. Tyson spun around to see a plume of smoke and debris rising from the town center where the Asgardian warriors had engaged the Destroyer.
Torn between assisting the evacuation or joining the fight, Tyson wavered only a moment before setting off at a sprint toward the rising smoke.
Sif and the Warriors Three marched down the deserted street.
With a curt nod to her companions, Sif split off down an alleyway, calling over her shoulder, "Keep him distracted!"
Fandral flashed her a roguish grin. "Don't you worry, my lady. We'll keep our new friend plenty occupied."
The Destroyer towered over the street, its massive metal form impassive and unmoving. The construct's blank faceplate revealed nothing of what passed for thought in its artificial mind. Without warning, the Destroyer's expressionless mask slid open. A blast of fiery plasma erupted from within, scorching a storefront into cinders and molten slag.
Fandral, Hogun, and Volstagg stood their ground as debris rained down around them. Weapons held at the ready, they advanced steadily on the metal behemoth. It turned with a grating, mechanical sound to face the approaching warriors.
"Right then, no time like the present!" Fandral declared, flashing a roguish grin. He glanced between his remaining companions, eyes sparkling with anticipation. "What do you think, lads? The Svartalfheim Twist? Kiss of the Hag? Face Full of Boot?"
Volstagg's ruddy face lit up eagerly at the suggestions. "The Flying Mountain!" he declared, hefting his battle axe.
Fandral and Hogun both groaned. "Not the Flying Mountain!" Fandral complained, his usually perfectly coiffed blond hair already tousled from their exertions. "It threw out my back for a year last time!"
But Volstagg was undeterred, his bushy red beard quivering as he grinned. "Trust me, it'll work," he insisted confidently.
Hogun simply shook his head. He shifted his mace in his grip, dark eyes fixed on their foe. As one, the Asgardian warriors broke into a run. Volstagg let out a bellowing battle cry as he barreled towards the Destroyer.
"For Asgard!"
Fandral and Hogun each seized one of the rotund warrior's arms. Muscles bulging with effort, the two smaller men heaved with all their might, sending Volstagg flying upwards on a collision course with the Destroyer.
For a moment, it looked like their audacious gambit might actually succeed. Volstagg's considerable mass slammed into the Destroyer with a resounding clang, actually rocking the metal behemoth back a step.
But their triumph was short-lived. With speed belying its size, the Destroyer's arms shot out, snatching Volstagg out of the air and holding the dazed warrior up like a rag doll. Fandral and Hogun could only watch in consternation as their friend hung limply from the construct's unbreakable grip.
Volstagg managed a weak grin down at them, struggling to shrug within the Destroyer's grasp. "Worth a shot, eh?"
The Destroyer did not share his mirth. Its empty faceplate flared with molten light and it contemptuously flung Volstagg into his two companions. A jumbled tangle of limbs and dented armor crashed to the street, the Asgardian warriors momentarily out of commission.
It was at that moment that Sif made her move. She leaped from a nearby rooftop, twin blades of her sword gleaming. With a fierce cry, she brought the blades down in a powerful strike, burying them deep in the Destroyer's back. The tips erupted from its chest. Sif landed gracefully atop its shoulders in a crouch, fingers still wrapped around the sword hilts.
For an eternal second, all was still and silent. Sif held her breath, not daring to hope. Had her surprise attack felled the seemingly unstoppable metal monster? Her companions, pulling themselves out of their undignified pile, watched with awe and trepidation.
Then, with a nearly inaudible whir of internal mechanics, the light reignited within the Destroyer's face. Beneath Sif's boots, it began to move, muscles of iron rotating as it adjusted to her weight on its back. Gears ground and joints realigned with a sickening series of crunches, the Destroyer slowly turning to face its assailant. Sif's eyes widened in disbelief and mounting horror as the thing's torso rotated 180 degrees without its legs ever moving, bringing its soulless gaze around to regard the Asgardian perched atop it. Its head rotated last, neck twisting around with a final mechanical click to fix her with a literally burning stare.
Fandral, still extricating himself gingerly from the heap of his companions, summed up all their thoughts with a deadpan quip, "That's not supposed to happen."
Before Sif could leap free, the Destroyer's arms reached up, seizing her and lifting her bodily into the air. Her sword remained buried in its torso, useless. She struggled mightily in its grasp but could not break free.
Unbowed, Sif glared into its featureless face, refusing to look away from what might be her death. "Your might is great, creature," she ground out through gritted teeth. "but we will not yield!"
The Destroyer seemed utterly unimpressed by her defiance. Its grip on her tightened until she could barely breathe, the edges of her vision darkening. It studied her for a long moment as if contemplating how best to extinguish this latest annoyance.
Suspended in the Destroyer's clutches, Sif refused to close her eyes or look away. If this was to be her end, she would meet it with all the courage and defiance of an Asgardian warrior born. The fire in the thing's gaze burned brighter, building to a crescendo. Sif braced herself to meet her ancestors in Valhalla...
Hogun pulled himself painfully to his feet, blood trickling from a cut on his temple. His mace was held tightly in one hand. Volstagg and Fandral also began to stir, though they looked a bit worse for wear. They shook off the cobwebs, retrieving their weapons.
Sif clenched her jaw against the pain as the Destroyer's metal fingers dug into her torso. She could feel her ribs beginning to crack under the immense pressure. This creature was far stronger than she had anticipated.
Suddenly, a dark blur shot out from the side of a nearby building. Sif's eyes widened in surprise as the figure leaped onto the Destroyer's arm and scrambled up towards its shoulder.
As he drew closer, Sif recognized the man. Tyson.
His hand was raised, and her eyes widened further as claws extended from his fingertips, razor-sharp and deadly. He raked those claws across the Destroyer's metal body, leaving deep grooves in the seemingly impenetrable armor. Sparks flew from the gashes as Tyson relentlessly slashed at the construct's head and shoulders.
To Sif's shock, the man's claws damaged the Destroyer's armor. She had thought nothing crafted by mortal hands could pierce it. Tyson moved with superhuman grace, never losing his balance even as the Destroyer thrashed beneath him, trying to dislodge its unexpected assailant.
After a few more swipes, the creature finally released its crushing grip on Sif to grapple with this new threat. She dropped to the ground, landing lightly despite her bruised ribs. As she regained her bearings, she watched Tyson continue his relentless assault, adamantium claws carving chunks out of the Destroyer's thick metal plating.
The Destroyer attempted to seize Tyson in its massive fist, but he was too quick, leaping and somersaulting out of reach with astonishing agility. His claws flashed as he continued to hack away at the Destroyer's armor, chunks of ancient enchanted metal falling away beneath his relentless barrage.
With a graceful flip, Tyson soared over the Destroyer's head, raking his claws down its back and shearing off thick plates that fell to the street with a resounding crash. The construct spun, trying in vain to grab hold of its elusive attacker. But Tyson stayed one step ahead, a whirlwind of flashing claws and superhuman agility.
Despite herself, Sif was impressed. This mortal was exceeding her expectations. She'd underestimated him.
Tyson landed atop a nearby parked car in a crouch, meeting Sif's gaze. She noted that one of his eyes was an electric blue while the other was a striking green. Prior to the battle, she had dismissed him as just another human. Now, studying his features, she recognized powerful muscles that shifted under his skin as he moved. She realized with some surprise that she found him striking. The way he anticipated the Destroyer's attacks and evaded them. How he had raked its metal skin, heedless of his own safety. And, of course, how he had saved her life. Sif was no maiden to be easily swayed by a handsome face or honeyed words. But she could not deny the allure of a worthy warrior who had exceeded her expectations. This mortal had proven his strength, and that excited her.
"I believe this was where my efforts were needed most," Tyson commented cheekily. He referred to Sif's earlier recommendation. She shook her head ruefully at his boldness even in the face of such peril.
As if on cue, the Destroyer rounded on Tyson, molten gaze burning with barely restrained fury at this impudent mortal who dared defy it.
Sif surged to her feet, snatching up her dropped sword. "Then let us make good use of them," she declared, brandishing her blade as she charged back into the fray to fight at Tyson's side. The Warriors Three quickly moved to join them, encircling the battered but still deadly construct.
Together, they pressed their coordinated assault, working in tandem to overwhelm the Destroyer through teamwork and precision rather than brute force. Tyson's claws strategically weakened key joints and structural points, creating openings that Sif and her companions exploited with devastating strikes.
Slowly but surely, the tide began to turn in their favor. Under their combined onslaught, the Destroyer was faltering, its movements became sluggish and erratic. Sparks flew from rents in its armor and its internal mechanisms sputtered and whined.
Sif allowed herself a fierce smile, her blood singing with the thrill of impending victory. Today, with Tyson's unexpected aid, they might emerge triumphant against this seemingly unbeatable foe.
Tyson crouched atop the battered SUV, claws at the ready as he prepared to launch himself back into the fray. The Destroyer was on its last legs, ancient armor torn, molten core flickering and guttering. They just needed to press their advantage a little longer.
He caught Sif's eye and flashed her a wink before diving back into the melee with a whoop of exhilaration. She found herself grinning fiercely in return, swept up in his infectious bravado. As one, the alliance surged forward to bring down the mighty Destroyer once and for all, mortal and Asgardian fighting side-by-side as equals.
Tyson's enhanced hearing picked up the crackle of energy milliseconds before the beam of golden light lanced toward him. He threw himself into a sideways roll. His adamantium claws instinctively extended to gain purchase on a nearby SUV's metal frame for balance.
The energy beam sizzled past, missing him by mere inches.
Tyson tried to identify the source of the unexpected attack. The Destroyer was still in his sights and hadn't unleashed its devastating beam from its featureless head. So where had this new threat come from?
For a brief, hopeful moment, he thought he had successfully dodged the surprise assault. But then, to his shock, the head of the energy beam curved impossibly in midair, unerringly correcting its course to slam into his chest with concussive force.
Tyson had just enough time to suck in a surprised breath before the golden energy engulfed him, encasing his body in a glowing sphere of power. He could feel it permeating every cell, immobilizing him with its all-encompassing grip.
Through the haze of scintillating light, Tyson caught a flicker of movement from a nearby rooftop as Amora, the Asgardian enchantress, shimmered into view. The invisibility spell concealing her faded, revealing her tall, lithe form.
One elegant hand was extended towards Tyson, long fingers splayed as she manipulated the energy sphere that held him captive with contemptuous ease.
Their gazes met across the distance, and Amora's full lips curved into a satisfied smirk, reveling in her triumph over the troublesome mortal. With a graceful flick of her fingers, she sent the sphere hurtling away with Tyson still trapped helplessly inside.
Buildings and streets blurred sickeningly as Tyson rocketed through the air at incredible speeds, cocooned inside the golden glow. He slammed through brick walls and plate glass windows without slowing, the energy shield continued propelling him onwards.
After what felt like minutes of dizzying, uncontrolled motion but was likely only a matter of seconds, the glowing prison finally dissipated. Its power spent, it unceremoniously dumped Tyson onto the dusty ground in an undignified heap.
He rolled to his feet with the fluid grace of a predator, adamantium claws sliding back into their sheaths beneath his skin as he took quick stock of his new surroundings. His jaw clenched as he realized Amora's magic had launched him far from the town and, more troublingly, far from the ongoing battle against the Destroyer.