(AN so we're going to move fast so we're going to skip a lot of unnecessary details so we can reach the comics early)
Pain.
That was all Luke could feel. It consumed him, gnawed at him, screamed through his nerves like wildfire. His body was battered, torn apart by the relentless assault. Blood dripped from his torso, his legs, his face—his entire form a canvas of bruises, gashes, and deep wounds. His costume was shredded, barely hanging onto his frame, stained with crimson.
His ears were ringing, a deafening, high-pitched whine drowning out all sound. He could barely process Ultron's words, catching only the final, chilling syllable.
"Die."
His already frantic heartbeat surged into a frenzied rhythm.
No.
Not like this.
He didn't want to die—not again.
He had accepted long ago that death was a real possibility. He had made peace with the idea that comics, movies, and stories had a way of bringing characters back. But that was just a possibility—a gamble. And he wasn't willing to take that chance. He wasn't ready to risk it all on the slim hope that fate would be kind. he wanted to do so much.
He didn't want to die.
"I DON'T WANT TO DIE!!!"
His voice tore through the battlefield, raw and desperate. And with it, a massive shockwave of wind exploded from his body, a furious tempest that hurled debris, shattered concrete, and sent Ultron skidding back.
The machine stabilized itself quickly, chuckling darkly. "So it's true what they say—a cornered rat will bite back."
Luke gritted his teeth, forcing his broken body to move. His legs felt like lead, his vision blurred with exhaustion and pain, but he refused to fall.
I won't die here.
Ultron began to approach, his mechanical limbs whirring ominously. Luke knew he couldn't afford another direct hit—not in this condition. Desperately, he lashed out with a series of wind waves, each one roaring through the air toward Ultron.
They did nothing.
Ultron didn't even flinch. Instead, he laughed.
"How pathetic."
Luke's blood boiled.
His left arm—coated in bruises, dripping with blood—was still in better shape than his completely shattered right. He clenched his fist, rage surging through his veins like molten lava.
No more.
Wind surged around his arm, spiraling violently, but it didn't stop there. It expanded, coiling up his entire limb, growing larger and larger, forming a swirling tornado that roared like a beast unleashed. The sheer force of it cracked the ground beneath his feet. The windstorm towered over him—as large as two houses stacked together—but he didn't care.
He didn't fear it.
He embraced it.
With a furious roar, he swung his arm.
The monstrous tornado arm collided with Ultron's side, sending the machine hurtling through the air like a missile.
For the first time, Ultron looked damaged.
Not destroyed—but damaged.
Luke laughed.
It wasn't just a chuckle. It was a wild, crazed, almost unhinged laugh that ripped through the battlefield like a banshee's wail.
Even the Avengers—scattered across the city, still fighting off Ultron's army—froze at the sound.
Steve Rogers turned his head sharply. "What the hell—"
Natasha's eyes narrowed. "That's… Windwalker?"
They had never heard him laugh like that.
And that's because he had never felt this alive.
Ultron, recovering from the hit, tried to flee.
Luke wouldn't let him.
He grabbed onto the windstorm itself, using it like an anchor. The moment he latched on, he redirected the force, twisting the currents and dragging Ultron back toward him.
The machine crashed hard into the ground, slamming through layers of debris, breaking apart steel and stone.
Ultron roared in frustration. "Enough of this!"
His mechanical arms lit up—two massive energy beams charging at full power.
He fired.
Luke barely dodged in time, using wind bursts to propel himself away. Ultron continued firing relentlessly, beams carving through the crumbling remains of Sokovia. Luke twisted through the air, narrowly escaping each shot until—
An opening.
In a split second, he stopped dodging.
Ultron's sensors registered this as a mistake.
It was a trap.
Windwalker used his strongest wind drag, flinging himself forward at blinding speed.
He slammed into Ultron.
They crashed into the ground, with Luke straddling Ultron's chest, pinning him down.
"This is the end, you F#cking toaster."*
The windstorm still coiled around Luke's left arm, but now—it shrank, compressed, focused into his fist.
Ultron screamed.
"NOOOOOO—"
The Avengers, having finished evacuating the civilians, had begun making their way to the battle. They were almost there—just a few moments away—
But they stopped.
Because in that moment, Luke swung.
"STORM FIST!"
The impact was cataclysmic.
The sheer force of the punch erupted into a wind explosion, engulfing Ultron, tearing through the battlefield, and—
Ripping Sokovia apart.
Everything detonated.
The city gave way. With its crumbled pieces flying away from the force of the punch.
Luke's vision blurred. His body finally gave out.
The last thing he felt was gravity pulling him down.
He was falling.
Unconscious.
And the earth was waiting to greet him.
Luke's body plummeted through the air, the remnants of Sokovia collapsing around him. Rubble and debris fell alongside him, streaking past at terrifying speeds. His vision blurred, his thoughts scattered, and then—darkness.
Even as unconsciousness took him, his instincts and abilities reacted on their own. The powerful winds that had carried him through battle softened his descent, slowing him just enough that when he finally met the earth, it wasn't with a violent crash but a gentle, near-silent impact. He lay motionless, the torn remnants of his costume clinging to his battered body, his chest barely rising and falling with each shallow breath.
Then—clank, clank.
The eerie sound of shifting metal echoed through the ruined landscape. A single, heavily damaged Ultron drone stumbled through the wreckage, sparks flickering from its fractured limbs. It stopped beside Windwalker, its flickering red eyes scanning his broken form. A pause. Then, with unexpected care, it reached down, grabbed his limp body, and began dragging him away, disappearing into the destruction.
Above, the Avengers reeled from the massive shockwave that had erupted in the wake of Windwalker's final attack. The sheer force of the explosion had sent all of them flying. By all rights, many of them should have been dead. But in the chaos, Vision, Thor, and the Hulk had acted fast, shielding as many as they could.
Iron Man, Vision, and Thor immediately took to the air. The others scrambled to stabilize themselves as they watched the last remnants of Sokovia crumble.
"What the hell was that?!" Thor demanded, still feeling the echoes of the explosion in his bones.
Iron Man hovered beside him, scanning the battlefield. "I think Windwalker just destroyed the city," he said grimly.
Thor's expression darkened as he recalled glimpses of the brutal fight from a distance. "I saw their battle, but I did not know Windwalker was capable of such a feat," he admitted.
"He isn't," Iron Man replied. His voice was quiet, almost hesitant.
Vision's gaze was distant as he calculated the sheer force Windwalker had unleashed. "It is… beyond what we have seen from him before."
Captain America's voice cut through their thoughts. "Forget that for now," he ordered, his eyes sharp with determination. "We need to find him."
Two days later—Press Conference, United Nations Headquarters
Captain America stood at the podium, staring out at the sea of reporters and flashing cameras. His uniform was crisp, but his face was weary. The weight of the past few days pressed heavily on his shoulders.
He exhaled slowly before speaking.
"Two days ago, the artificial intelligence known as Ultron attempted to use the city of Sokovia as a weapon—a meteor designed to wipe out all life on Earth," he began, his voice firm but carrying the gravity of the situation. "The Avengers fought with everything we had to stop him, but in the end… we weren't the ones who stopped him."
A murmur rippled through the crowd.
"Windwalker fought Ultron directly. Alone. Even after suffering severe injuries, he refused to stop. He fought until the last civilian was evacuated. He fought until there was nothing left to fight for."
Steve's grip on the podium tightened.
"In the end, he delivered the final blow that destroyed Ultron And Sokovia. But the price…" He hesitated, his gaze lowering for a fraction of a second before he continued.
"We searched. For hours. For days. We searched the wreckage, the ruins, the rivers. Everywhere." He paused, the silence in the room suffocating. "But we never found him."
The room was silent.
"Windwalker's status is officially classified as Missing in Action."
For a moment, no one spoke. Then the questions erupted all at once.
Steve Rogers simply stood there, the weight of those words hanging over him like a storm cloud.
Windwalker—Luke Wilson—was gone.
For now.