An instant later, blade clashed against shield with a thunderous boom, sending a massive tremor rippling through the air.
Had they been on a planet's surface, a shockwave of that magnitude would have been enough to reduce the surrounding concrete to dust.
It was staggering that such a violent aftershock could occur when both combatants possessed such masterful, precision control over their own strength.
Fortunately, they were in the vacuum of space. Even though every strike and every parry from the two warriors caused the ship beneath their feet to splinter and crumble further, it did nothing to tip the scales of the overall battlefield.
Rogers had long anticipated Thanos's overwhelming power, but facing him again, he still felt a suffocating weight pressing down on his chest.
In the face of the Mad Titan, Rogers's legendary combat instincts and tactical genius seemed utterly useless. No matter how crafty or unconventional his maneuvers, Thanos saw through them in a heartbeat.
It stood to reason. This was a cosmic titan who had spent a lifetime conquering the stars; for Rogers to find himself outmatched in raw experience was only natural.
The real source of the pressure, however, was his own body. Despite being enhanced so significantly, his physical prowess—while enough to keep him in the fight—was clearly insufficient to seize any kind of advantage.
Rogers was shaken, but Thanos was equally stunned.
This warrior—whose name he couldn't even recall—was actually dragging him into a war of attrition. While such things happened, for it to be caused by a complete nobody was absurd.
Was this man a soldier personally trained by Herta?
Out of the corner of his eye, Thanos caught sight of a mechanical suit weaving through the stars, its laser cannons raking his fleet with relentless fire, while a massive green silhouette smashed its way through ship after ship. Thanos's expression darkened into a grim mask.
He knew that even without these three—whose very existence felt alien to the aesthetics of both Herta and The Blue—this war likely wouldn't have ended well. But the sudden appearance of three high-tier combatants gave him a massive headache.
If the Black Order had joined the fray, the tide might have turned. But precisely because he knew victory would be hard-fought even at full strength, he had chosen to serve as the focal point, drawing all the fire and attention to himself so his generals could find a way to secure the Power Stone.
When hope is dim on the front lines, you play a wild card—a logic anyone could understand.
With that thought, Thanos refocused.
Fleet losses could be replaced, but if he lost the Power Stone, Herta would become truly unstoppable.
As his mind grew calm, the ferocity of Thanos's assault surged to a new level. The sudden explosion of violence shattered the rhythm Rogers had just grown accustomed to; he couldn't react in time.
A blade grazed his shoulder, followed by a punishing blow from Thanos's fist hammered deep into his side.
The ship beneath them had long since given up, unable to withstand the collateral damage of their duel. Compared to the massive warships surrounding them, the gold and blue figures seemed insignificantly small, yet they moved like twin dragons through the fire and thunder of the battlefield.
BOOM!
The two figures crashed violently into the hull of another warship. In the heat of their desperate struggle, they had lost all sense of their surroundings, unable to even tell whose ship they had just breached.
Rogers looked battered after taking those heavy hits, but Thanos noticed something chilling: the man's wounds had already stitched themselves back together.
"Where did a warrior like you come from?" Thanos asked.
"Earth."
Rogers's face was set in a mask of grim determination, his eyes burning with an unquenchable fire.
No matter which parallel universe it was, the man standing before him was Earth's greatest enemy. How could Rogers possibly remain calm?
"I see," Thanos murmured. He was surprised, yet it made a certain amount of sense. After all, he was the one who had assisted Loki's excursion to that planet.
"You've accepted Herta's help. She's the one who made you strong." Thanos raised his blade and began to close the distance. "But are you truly worthy of such a gift? Letting your emotions rule you only makes it easier to die in battle. How much longer can you possibly hold out?"
His words didn't cause Rogers to flinch for a second. "I can do this all day."
--+--
On Xandar, inside the laboratory housing the Power Stone, a translucent violet mirror shimmered into existence. A moment later, Madam Herta stepped out from the glass.
"Madam Herta! Welcome to Xandar, our beautiful home."
Queen Adora, leader of the Nova Corps, had been waiting. She offered Herta a warm smile.
Unlike the people of Earth, Xandarians were a diverse lot. While some looked perfectly human, many others possessed distinct alien features. Adora was of the variety that bore a striking resemblance to humanity.
"Skip the pleasantries. I'm just here to pick something up, and I'll be leaving shortly," Herta said, walking straight toward the Power Stone, which was currently suspended in mid-air by a containment field.
"This is the first time we've spoken to you in person, and you've been an incredible help to us," Adora continued, her smile unwavering despite the cold shoulder.
Xandar had its fair share of eccentric, antisocial scientists; compared to them, Herta's dismissal was nothing—at least she was actually talking back.
However, Herta's next words made the Queen's expression falter.
"I hadn't planned on coming personally, but I realized that if I didn't make the trip, the item I want would likely be hijacked before it ever reached my front door."
Hijacked?
It wasn't just Adora; every scientist in the room—men and women who had been busy trying to think of how to strike up a scholarly conversation with Herta—went pale all at once.
Herta wasn't the type to make empty threats. If she said someone was coming for the Stone...
While the Xandarians found the Power Stone to be a massive headache and wanted nothing to do with it, they had kept it for various diplomatic reasons. They just hadn't expected the trouble to arrive so soon.
Just as Adora braced herself to alert the rest of the Nova Corps, five figures materialized as if a curtain had been yanked away, accompanied by a dissipating cloud of black mist.
Corvus Glaive stood at the center, clutching his long blade. He glanced at Ebony Maw, deciding not to question how their concealment magic had been seen through, and instead turned his gaze toward Supergiant, the blue-skinned woman in the white hood.
To his shock, the usually composed and aloof Supergiant had a face frozen in a stiff, panicked mask, her forehead drenched in cold sweat.
"Curious about what goes on inside the head of a cute, genius girl? I'm afraid only those who are geniuses themselves are qualified to look," Herta said, her back still turned to them.
She finally turned around, a youthful, charming smile playing on her lips, but her words sent a chill through the other four generals.
"Don't worry, her brain is just a little fried. As long as you have a master of the mental arts, you might be able to keep her alive in a vegetative state."
"Ebony Maw!" Corvus Glaive didn't dare hesitate any longer. He leveled his blade at Herta and lunged, closing the distance in a blur.
But... the strike wouldn't land.
No matter how much strength he poured into the thrust, the blade refused to budge an inch forward.
The sensation of being unable to even perceive the gap in their power filled him with an unprecedented sense of dread. But... why wasn't Ebony Maw moving? Where were Black Dwarf and Proxima Midnight?
He forced himself to look back, only to see three violet mirrors, each slightly larger than a person, had appeared behind his comrades.
The three generals were already halfway submerged in the glass, their remaining limbs thrashing wildly as they tried to claw their way out of the mirrors' grasp.
What... what kind of magic was this?
--+--
T/N: I have a Patreon!
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