Two heads leaned toward the glowing screen in the center of the airbus. The younger one on the left had a slightly better hairline. However, Solomon didn't feel proud about this; his attention was fixed on the footage provided by S.H.I.E.L.D., showing squad after squad of operatives wearing S.H.I.E.L.D. armbands entering Greenwich University.
Through the camera feeds carried by the operatives, Solomon could see the Greenwich Observatory in the distance.
When the arcanist questioned why S.H.I.E.L.D. operatives could walk so brazenly on British soil, Agent Coulson relied on his usual excuses. "S.H.I.E.L.D. is an international organization, a result of agreements between democratic nations." Perhaps Coulson was genuinely answering the question, but Solomon always felt he was lying. "This is completely different from authoritarianism. I believe the operatives think so too. They see this as a form of assistance. They're British, some with SAS experience, and they've resolved numerous premeditated terrorist attacks. They're excellent warriors."
"No matter how excellent, they're no match for the Dark Elves," Solomon muttered as he turned to thank Simmons, who handed him a cup of hot cocoa, also commending the science team for their work. Currently, Fitz, after communicating with Dr. Erik Selvig, had made some progress. Soon, he would be able to pinpoint the exact location of the celestial convergence.
Agent Coulson made Fitz promise that after being exposed to the mental contamination of Dr. Selvig, he wouldn't end up running around without clothes like the astrophysics professor. Fitz agreed but didn't seem as confident as Coulson. He found Selvig's theories utterly bizarre, believing they weren't something modern astronomy could comprehend or deduce. He suspected this knowledge came from some other source.
This thought deeply unsettled Fitz.
"You know our enemies well?" Coulson asked with interest, raising an eyebrow. He had his own cup of hot cocoa but placed it on the holographic table after only a few sips. The aircraft hovered high in the air under Solomon's instructions to avoid being severed by spatial rifts during the celestial alignment. Stark's engine design was excellent, and the liquid in the cup remained as still as a calm lake. Of course, this was also thanks to the superb piloting skills of Melinda May, who maneuvered the aircraft as if it were an extension of her body.
"I've encountered them a few times," Solomon replied, sipping his cocoa. The mug he held was a custom piece from Fitz, a pure white cup printed with a silly, chubby cat. "They have gravity weapons, a type of throwable device," he said. "It can distort gravity within a small area, like a miniature black hole, compressing everything into a ball. If one of your agents gets hit by that, finding their remains will be tough—I'd guess the wreckage would be smaller than a fist. But don't worry; the body will be intact, just compressed. You'd only need a can to store it."
"Then we must evacuate civilians immediately," Coulson said, pointing at the screen. "The strike team has already neutralized the security guards, and now they're evacuating everyone from the school. If I'm not mistaken, calls of protest from Downing Street will start coming in soon. Are you interested in listening? As a descendant of King Arthur, you might have something to say to them."
Coulson's last remark sounded teasing, and in response, Solomon rolled his eyes.
"All right, I'll take that as a no. I just hope you've brought enough weapons—or rather, I hope your assistant has brought enough weapons. If the Dark Elves are as terrifying as you say, we'll need them."
When the massive, invisible alien warship revealed its form, everyone on the ground instinctively looked up.
Melinda May quickly ascended the airbus, narrowly avoiding the towering spire atop the Dark Elf flagship grazing the aircraft's underside. The massive alien flagship, though powered down, crashed heavily into the courtyard of Greenwich University, its immense mass and durable materials gouging deep into the ground.
Both the S.H.I.E.L.D. strike team and the Asgardian Einherjar warriors noticed the crash and began rushing toward the courtyard.
As Solomon stepped out of the cargo bay, he saw a prepared android and a female hacker sitting on the ground, clutching her sore backside. The arcanist ignored the unfortunate hacker, who had fallen due to the sudden maneuver.
"Activate the constructs," he commanded. "I need them to engage the Dark Elves."
"Master, the constructs are ready."
"Good. I'll open the portal now." Solomon rotated his wrist, and an orange, spark-filled portal appeared on the courtyard lawn. His constructs began pouring through.
The combat constructs reflected Solomon's usual utilitarian approach, with minimalist designs featuring tubular heads emitting strong light and bladed limbs optimized for combat. The exposed gears underscored Solomon's view of them as disposable tools.
As soon as the constructs emerged, they charged toward the Dark Elf warship. Under the android's command, they scaled the ship's hull with their razor-like limbs. The Dark Elf aesthetic, which placed their elevator in an unprotected, conspicuous central location, gave the constructs an opportunity to attack the descending compartment. Like spiders, they clung to the elevator.
However, the Dark Elf materials proved excessively sturdy. The constructs could only leave small dents on the compartment. Those attempting to block the elevator were crushed or shredded. Yet, when Dark Elf soldiers emerged from the compartment, the bladed limbs of the constructs proved effective.
The constructs swung their long, thin blades at the doorway, slicing reckless Dark Elf soldiers into thin, blood-soaked pieces. They also enthusiastically cut down the fallen, faithfully carrying out Solomon's commands.
Despite their effectiveness, Solomon knew the constructs couldn't hold back the Dark Elves for long, as the enemy began to fight back.
"You…" Fear crept into Skye's voice. She hadn't personally experienced the Battle of New York, learning about it only through the internet. But seeing an alien warship with her own eyes triggered a primal fear deep in her human instincts. "What's your plan?" she asked, watching Solomon's neck gradually encased in silver armor. She began to suspect his arrogance was well-founded. "Are you sure you can handle this?"
"I've faced far scarier enemies, miss," Solomon replied, glancing at the panicked hacker as the armor formed a menacing chin. "Don't worry. The Dark Elves themselves aren't that strong. The real problem lies elsewhere."
"What else?"
Solomon, now fully armored, didn't answer. Skye couldn't discern his expression through the dark eye slits of the helmet. She noticed that the transformation wasn't complete. As Solomon walked toward the cargo bay, she saw it more clearly.
The silver shoulder plates flared upward, joining with the backplate to form two massive polygonal structures. Once the transformation finished, Solomon picked up his android assistant, who wore a black skirt. The android's delighted expression gave Skye a bad feeling. She barely managed to dodge aside before being blown over by a burst of hot wind, rolling onto her back.
Before closing her eyes against the gale, she saw flames erupting from the polygonal structures. Unmatched propulsion carried Solomon and the android out of the cargo bay, descending from the aircraft.
"Jerk!" Skye shouted, lying on the cargo bay floor and extending her hand in futile protest, unheard by anyone.
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