"We can see that the area affected by the thunderstorm is gradually shrinking," April said, her voice steady but tinged with excitement as she stood in the middle of the unfolding chaos. "And the radiance of the golden tree seems to be growing even more dazzling. It's almost like… the resurrection of a god."
The scene behind her looked surreal, as if reality itself had been replaced by a painted masterpiece. The fading crimson of the sunset blended seamlessly with the radiant glow of the towering golden tree, the two sources of light weaving together into something almost sacred. It wasn't just beautiful—it was overwhelming, the kind of sight that made people question whether they were witnessing something divine.
April continued her report with growing enthusiasm, her eyes locked on the phenomenon. But just as she was speaking, something in the distance caught her attention, and her tone faltered slightly as she narrowed her gaze.
A sudden change had appeared in the frame.
Far off in the background, several figures lay scattered across the ground in disarray, their bodies unmoving. The sight was so out of place against the majestic backdrop that it immediately set off alarms in her mind. She hesitated for only a fraction of a second before her instincts kicked in.
"What is that…?" she murmured under her breath, already forming a guess she wasn't quite ready to believe.
Without waiting for confirmation, she picked up her pace and began jogging toward the scene, her cameraman struggling to keep up. The footage became shaky as the lens bounced with each step, but that only added to the urgency of the moment. As they drew closer, the camera zoomed in, capturing more detail with every second.
April's expression shifted rapidly, her uncertainty melting away and being replaced by a burst of unrestrained excitement.
She knew exactly what she was looking at.
"I was right!" she shouted into the camera, her voice ringing with triumph. "Those so-called superheroes didn't achieve their goal—they failed! Every single one of them!"
Her arms moved wildly as she gestured toward the figures on the ground, her energy spilling over into every word. The camera obediently followed her lead, panning across the battlefield and capturing the fallen heroes in stark, unforgiving detail.
The first to fill the frame was Captain Steve.
He lay flat on his back, his body stiff and unmoving, resembling nothing more than a lifeless fish washed ashore. His chest rose and fell with steady breaths, confirming he was still alive, but his condition was far from intact. One of his arms had been broken, twisted into a grotesque angle that spoke of immense force and unbearable strain.
The symbol of unwavering resolve now looked utterly defeated.
The camera shifted, moving on to the next figure.
Hawkeye.
Gone were the dark sunglasses and the composed, confident demeanor that had defined him for so long. His eyes—those sharp, calculating eyes—were now wide open, staring blankly at the sky as if searching for something that wasn't there. His lips moved faintly, murmuring words that barely made sense.
"I'm… the invincible… sharpshooter…?"
Even now, he refused to accept reality.
The man who prided himself on precision and control had been completely shattered, yet he clung desperately to the illusion of his former self. It was as if acknowledging defeat would break something inside him that could never be repaired.
He had lost.
Lost to someone he would have never considered a threat.
And the truth of that loss was something he simply couldn't face.
The camera moved again, revealing a far more disturbing sight.
Black Widow.
Her condition was far worse than the others. One side of her face was swollen, her expression frozen in a painful grimace. The impact from Daredevil's strike had nearly forced her eyes out of their sockets, leaving them bloodshot and bulging in a way that was difficult to look at. Nearby, a pool of vomit stained the ground, a clear sign that her body had been pushed to its absolute limit.
There was no trace of elegance left in her.
No composure. No control.
Only the image of someone who had been completely overwhelmed, reduced to something almost unrecognizable. If anyone had seen her now without context, they might have mistaken her for a deranged patient who had escaped from an asylum.
The lens lingered for a moment before shifting again, this time settling on a figure that felt oddly out of place.
Dr. Banner.
Unlike the others, he looked… peaceful.
Lying flat on the ground, his breathing slow and even, he appeared to be completely at ease, as if he had simply chosen to take a nap in the middle of the battlefield. There were no visible injuries, no signs of struggle, just a calm expression that seemed disconnected from everything else.
April frowned slightly as she observed him, her thoughts racing.
Wasn't Banner, in his human form, supposed to be a decent man?
Sure, he had his temper. Sure, things occasionally got out of control when he lost it. But at his core, he wasn't like the others. He wasn't driven by pride or arrogance.
And now…
He had received help from Liam.
That alone changed everything.
"He might just be the luckiest one out of all of them," April muttered quietly, almost to herself.
In Banner's mind, he was drifting through a dream, hovering on the edge of something familiar and comforting. Somewhere in that hazy space, he thought he saw her—his girlfriend—just within reach. The feeling of excitement swelled in his chest, the kind that made everything else fade away.
Back in reality, April took a step back, sweeping her gaze across the entire scene once more.
The Avengers.
Defeated.
She didn't know exactly what had happened here. She didn't know how things had escalated to this point. But she didn't need to.
The evidence was right in front of her.
The team that had been hailed as invincible had been completely crushed.
And the cause?
That thunderstorm.
The news spread like wildfire.
Within minutes, footage of the fallen heroes began circulating across New York City, reaching countless households and igniting a storm of reactions. Screens flickered to life as people tuned in, their attention immediately captured by the shocking images.
At the same time, reporters who had been waiting at the press conference began to stir.
Before setting out, Captain Steve had spoken with absolute confidence, assuring everyone that he would return victorious. His words had been so certain, so unwavering, that no one had doubted him.
It had sounded foolproof.
And because of that, the reporters had waited eagerly, anticipating a major breakthrough.
But now?
That confidence had turned into a joke.
"Captain Steve really fooled us this time," one reporter grumbled, frustration evident in his voice. "He looked so reliable, but in the end, he couldn't deliver anything. If I'd followed him instead of staying here, I'd have gotten the scoop of the year!"
"Seriously, why did we even support the Avengers in the first place?" another added bitterly. "All that talk about justice, and this is what we get?"
"Forget complaining," a third voice cut in. "It's not too late. If we head over there now, we might still catch something worth reporting."
"What are we waiting for then? Let's move!"
The crowd quickly dispersed, their earlier disappointment replaced by renewed urgency as they rushed toward the scene.
Behind the stage, Nick Fury stood in silence, his expression darker than ever.
He pulled out a cigarette with trembling fingers, bringing it to his lips as if out of habit. But before he could light it, something snapped. With a sharp motion, he threw it to the ground and crushed it under his foot.
"I knew this wouldn't work," he muttered, his voice tight with frustration.
He was exhausted.
All of it—the reckless decisions, the blind confidence, the inevitable fallout—it had worn him down more than he cared to admit. Captain Steve's leadership had been a gamble, and now the consequences were unfolding in the worst possible way.
Not only had the Avengers become a laughingstock, but S.H.I.E.L.D.'s reputation had been dragged down with them.
That was unacceptable.
"This isn't what we built," Fury said, his tone sharpening as he spoke to himself. "This isn't what countless agents fought for."
He took a deep breath, forcing himself to calm down.
"No. We can still fix this."
His mind shifted into motion, already calculating the next step.
"I need eyes on that tree," he said decisively. "Get Fitz to deploy a reconnaissance drone. We need to know exactly what's happening out there."
Because if they didn't act fast, the narrative would be completely out of their control.
"And if we can't get ahead of this?" he added under his breath. "Those reporters will tear us apart."
Without wasting another second, he pulled out his phone and issued the order.
Not long after, at a S.H.I.E.L.D. facility within New York, a sleek reconnaissance aircraft adorned with a falcon emblem roared to life. With a sharp burst of acceleration, it shot into the sky, cutting through the air as it headed straight toward the anomaly.
With no better options left, Fitz himself took charge.
…
"The thunderstorm's influence is definitely weakening," April said, her excitement returning as she observed the changes around her. "We can get closer now."
Her curiosity burned brighter than ever.
What had caused this?
Was it a powerful mutant?
A forgotten god?
Or something not even from this world?
The unknown pulled at her, drawing her forward like a magnet.
She thrived on this kind of mystery.
Without hesitation, she signaled to her cameraman, and the two of them pressed on, moving deeper toward the glowing tree.
As they approached the edge of the illuminated area, something shifted in the shadows.
Several green figures flashed past, moving so quickly they were almost impossible to track. They blended seamlessly into the darkness, like silent guardians watching from the unseen.
Protecting the night.
Awaiting the dawn.
The Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles carried out Liam's orders with unwavering focus, their presence hidden yet absolute. And among them, a familiar figure emerged at last.
A large rat stepped forward.
Master Splinter.
Long absent, now returned.
His expression was calm, almost indifferent, as he stroked his beard with quiet composure. A faint breeze stirred around him, lifting the edges of his robe and causing the fabric to flutter softly in the dim light.
.....
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