The Helicarrier shook.
The thunderous BOOM reverberated through the metal walls like a heartbeat gone wrong.
Natasha's eyes widened, her blood running cold. "Clint…" she whispered, the single word laced with horror and heartbreak.
The realization settled fast.
Loki wasn't working alone. Clint — her partner, her closest friend — was the weapon.
Before anyone could speak, another massive explosion tore through the underside of the carrier.
The bridge lurched violently, lights flickering. Everyone was thrown from their feet, smashing into walls, consoles, and one another. The floor twisted beneath them as structural supports groaned in protest.
From the smoke, the Phoenix — still cloaking Jean's form in glowing fire — hovered above the ground, barely phased. Her voice was calm but edged with resolve.
"The Hulk awakens. I will deal with him."
Without waiting for permission, the Phoenix drifted downward, through the twisted metal panels and burning infrastructure, seeking the chaos below.
Below Deck
Groaning, Natasha forced herself upright from the debris pile she'd been flung into. Pain screamed in her side, but it wasn't broken — just bruised.
Then she heard it.
The low growl.
A sound too deep, too primal to be anything human.
"No…" she breathed, her eyes flicking to the figure slumped a few feet away — Bruce.
His body twitched. Spasmed. Fingers curled into claws. Skin rippling green.
"Bruce, no—" she started, stepping toward him.
But it was already too late.
His eyes shot open — glowing with rage.
His muscles ballooned, bones cracking and reshaping. Fabric tore. His breath became a snarl. His body trembled with raw, uncontrolled energy as the Hulk emerged.
He roared in fury, slamming both fists into the floor, sending a shockwave across the corridor.
Natasha ran.
She sprinted as the Hulk charged, the echo of his footsteps shaking the hallway behind her. Each steel door she passed was ripped apart in seconds. She ducked, leapt, twisted down narrow corners — and still, he followed.
Another hallway. A locked bulkhead. No time.
She turned — too slow.
The Hulk was there.
Eyes wild.
Arm raised.
He swung.
And then — stopped.
The air pulsed. The air itself held him back.
The Hulk's massive green fist trembled, suspended inches from Natasha's face. His muscles bulged, veins popped, the floor beneath his feet cracked from the force he was trying to exert — but he couldn't move.
A warmth filled the corridor.
Natasha turned — and looked up.
Descending slowly, like a sun god come to Earth, was Jean Grey.
Or something far greater.
The Phoenix hovered, arms at her side, golden flames licking at her heels, hair like a solar flare flowing behind her. Her eyes weren't just glowing — they were radiating truth. Power. Purpose.
"Go," the Phoenix said, her voice deep, layered with cosmic resonance. "Help the others."
Natasha hesitated. "I'm not leaving her alone with—"
"You are not. I am with her. I protect what is mine."
The Hulk roared, still fighting against the invisible wall of power holding him.
Jean — the Phoenix — never even blinked.
Natasha's lips pressed together, torn — until she saw Jean's eyes again.
Still glowing. Still powerful.
But human, too. Trusting.
"…Okay," Natasha breathed. "I'll go."
She ran, one last look over her shoulder.
And what she saw made her heart stop.
Jean raised one hand, palm open.
She flicked it lazily to the side.
The Hulk, hundreds of pounds of raw rage, was lifted off his feet like a ragdoll and hurled through a steel wall.
The impact roared like thunder.
Natasha stood still for a second longer, stunned.
Then she sprinted up the corridor, toward the others — her mind reeling.
The Phoenix floated through the jagged hole the Hulk had left behind, the edges of the torn steel glowing with residual heat from her presence. Sparks danced from severed wires, shadows flickering from the low emergency lighting now bathing the carrier's underbelly.
Far ahead, the Hulk stood — or more accurately, loomed — his chest heaving, steam rising off his skin. He was disoriented but not hurt… not yet.
Then his glowing eyes found her.
Jean Grey.
Floating.
Small. Barefoot. Red hair glowing like wildfire. The Phoenix Force danced around her in quiet fury, coiling like a serpent of stars.
For a moment — a brief, still second — the Hulk paused.
He was angry. Yes.
He was monstrous. Yes.
But he wasn't stupid.
He saw her. Saw the child. And he hesitated.
Then… he remembered the wall.
The way she had tossed him like paper.
That hesitation burned away in an instant.
He roared, loud enough to shake the floor, and charged.
"RRAAAAAAAAGHHH!!"
His feet pounded into the metal, each step a quake. His arm cocked back, ready to obliterate her with a single punch.
The Phoenix didn't move.
Not yet.
At the last possible second — just as his fist was about to connect — she vanished.
FWOOSH.
She reappeared behind him, arms folded.
The Hulk's eyes widened, just for a beat — and then he snarled, whipping around.
Too late.
Her eyes flared brighter. One hand raised — a crackle of orange-red force curling in her fist.
She crushed it.
And suddenly, the Hulk screamed.
He dropped to a knee, his body buckling under an unseen, cosmic weight. It pressed down on him like gravity dialed to a hundredfold, the floor beneath him cratering from the pressure alone.
Jean floated slowly downward, her voice echoing — layered, ethereal.
"Your rage makes you strong… but rage is wild. Unfocused. And I am not something you can break."
The Hulk fought against it, every muscle in his massive frame straining — resisting.
He slammed a hand against the deck, pushing himself upward with brute strength. With a growl, he leapt at her again — swinging both fists like twin wrecking balls.
The Phoenix ducked beneath the strike and gently touched his chest with two fingers.
A ripple of fire exploded outward — not burning flesh, but slowing him, as though time itself refused to move for him.
The Hulk landed, barely able to react before she swept in like lightning, striking pressure points with eerie grace — a child trained by a cosmic force beyond comprehension.
He tried to catch her.
She slipped like smoke.
He tried to roar.
She silenced him with a glance.
Each time he lunged, she wasn't there.
Each time he swung, he hit nothing.
And then — she did strike.
A concussive wave of energy launched from her palm, slamming into his chest. He was hurled backward, carving a trench through the floor.
He pulled himself up — growling, spitting, furious.
A child.
A child was humiliating him.
He roared again, pure frustration fueling him. His eyes blazed. His veins bulged.
He leapt.
"ENOUGH!" the Phoenix declared, and this time, her wings of flame unfurled, spanning the width of the corridor, her voice splitting the air with divine authority.
The Hulk froze mid-air, caught by sheer will — her will.
She snapped her fingers.
And the Hulk slammed into the ceiling, then the floor, then the walls — all without her moving a muscle. The blows weren't cruel — just decisive. Tactical. Reminders.
He landed in a heap, coughing, groaning, furious… but beaten.
His massive form knelt in the crater she'd made with his body.
Chest rising and falling.
His anger still burned.
But now, it came with something else.
Confusion.
Defeat.
The Phoenix hovered over him, expression unreadable.
Then—
WHOOSH.
Mjölnir tore through the air like a lightning bolt.
CRACK.
It slammed into the Hulk's jaw from the side, launching him across the corridor and into a reinforced wall.
He didn't get up.
Thor stepped into view, breathing heavily, his red cape fluttering behind him. His eyes met Jean's.
He gave a solemn nod.
"I will handle the beast."
The Phoenix — hovering, radiant, a goddess in a child's body — returned the nod.
"He will live. That is enough."
She turned, flames curling around her frame as her feet lifted once more.
"Others still need me."
And with that, she drifted down the corridor — silent, graceful, terrifying in her majesty — to face the next threat.
Thor looked once more at the fallen Hulk, then after Jean.
He whispered to himself, both awed and uneasy:
"She is no child… She is a legend."