Alex POV – Manhattan
The city shakes with fire and screaming, but I don't hear it. Not really.
What I hear is the hum. The raw charge of the sun sitting under my skin, begging to be let loose.
Superman plays nice in the comics. Holds back punches so he doesn't turn crooks into red paste.
Not me.
I'm not holding back.
The first Chitauri drops into my path on its stupid hover-chariot. I don't dodge. I don't swing. I just hit it with my shoulder at Mach 20. The thing explodes — metal, flesh, sparks — gone in less than a second.
I spin midair, grab another soldier by the throat, and slam him into three more. The impact turns them into wet, broken trash. My laugh bursts out before I can stop it.
I move faster. Faster. Buildings blur, sky tears open around me, shockwaves rip glass from towers as I carve through entire swarms. One second there's a formation of twenty — next second it's raining pieces.
I catch their weapons midair, snap them like toys, and throw the shards so hard they punch clean through other soldiers before embedding in concrete.
One tries to run. I beat him to the corner, rip his hovercraft apart, and stomp his skull into the pavement hard enough to crater the street. Civilians scream. Some cheer. Phones come out. They're recording me, and I make sure to hover long enough for them to see my face.
Not Superman.
Not Clark Kent.
Me.
I blast upward, tear through a Leviathan beast — the giant metal serpent thing — rip its armor open with my bare hands. I dive inside its guts, punch through the machinery, and explode out the other side in a fountain of fire and alien gore.
My suit's smoking. My skin's glowing. My grin's wide.
The Avengers stop. Just for a second. Hulk lowers a chunk of building he was about to throw. Stark hovers, speechless. Thor actually looks… impressed.
Good. Let them watch.
This is what power looks like when you don't pretend to be human anymore.