Hala did not sleep for three years.
It endured.
The first strike had been precise.
A shimmering blue lightning axe descending from a sky that had not requested weather. It pierced the central atmospheric stabilizer of the Kree capital and embedded itself into the crystalline foundation beneath the Supreme Intelligence's spire.
Then the rain began.
Not chaotic.
Disciplined.
Every seventy-two hours, lightning fell.
Not enough to annihilate.
Enough to humiliate.
Docking ports shorted.
Energy grids overloaded.
Military parades dissolved into scrambling engineers.
The Kree Empire, conqueror of systems, brought to inconvenience by a single axe lodged like a divine complaint in its heart.
Ametheon did not recall Vaelthrym.
He left it there.
Petty.
Calculated.
For three Earth years, lightning fell.
Carol Danvers became myth among border systems. A thorn in Kree expansion. A golden flare dismantling fleets. Rumors spread that she was protected by an unseen storm.
They were not wrong.
Finally, when the Empire had replaced the stabilizer five times and constructed twelve redundant defense arrays around the embedded weapon, a tear opened in the docking ring above Hala's capital.
Not a violent rupture.
A clean geometric displacement.
The Traverse Array engaged.
Ametheon stepped through.
No explosion.
No thunderclap.
Just boots touching Kree alloy.
White-blue ionization traced the lines of his armor. His eyes carried the steady brightness of restrained storm.
Guards raised rifles.
Targeting systems screamed warnings.
He walked forward.
No rush.
No stealth.
He passed through scanning beams that tried to categorize him and failed. The data returned: Atmospheric Anomaly. Energy Density Unquantifiable. Threat Index — Undefined.
Inside the capital chamber, the Supreme Intelligence projected itself in luminous green form.
"Prince Ametheon," it intoned evenly. "Why have you rained anger upon us for three cycles when we have done you no wrong? Or are you prepared to initiate war between the Kree Empire and Valmythra?"
Ametheon looked up at the projection.
Silence stretched.
Then he laughed.
Not dignified.
He laughed hard enough that he bent at the waist.
Then — disastrously — he lost balance.
He rolled once across polished Kree flooring before catching himself in a crouch.
The guards stared.
The Supreme Intelligence flickered.
Ametheon rose, brushed imaginary dust from his armor, and coughed.
"…I had rehearsed that entrance."
He straightened.
The humor drained.
Ionized pressure filled the chamber. The guards' grips tightened involuntarily as static crawled across their armor seams.
"You attacked my crush," he said plainly.
The chamber fell silent.
"You made her pass through unimaginable pain. You weaponized her memory. You sought to cage her will."
Lightning flickered across his shoulders.
"And you claim you did not offend my people?"
The Supreme Intelligence maintained composure. "Your people were not targeted."
"You offended my uncle Odin by striking Midgard. An attack on Midgard is an attack on Asgard. And an attack on Asgard is an attack on Valmythra."
The guards' legs began to tremble.
"Odin," Ametheon continued, stepping closer to the projection dais, "might be lenient. My father is not."
A faint shimmer of something darker rippled behind his eyes.
"If not for my mother's restraint, the Kree might have become cosmic debris under Tyrfing."
He said it casually.
Bluff.
But he did not blink.
The Supreme Intelligence ran calculations across timelines.
Probability trees bloomed.
None reassuring.
"…We regret operational mismanagement," it replied carefully. "Yon-Rogg will be disciplined."
Before Ametheon could respond, the chamber temperature shifted.
A new presence manifested.
No Traverse tear.
No visible mechanism.
Vanri appeared mid-conversation, hands clasped behind his back, crimson coat flowing like contained war.
The guards reacted too slowly.
They had fortified against one storm.
They had not prepared for the Crimson Fang.
No one in the cosmos ignorant of power failed to recognize Vanri.
Right hand of Conri.
Duke of Valmythra.
One of the ten strongest beings acknowledged by interstellar rumor.
He smiled pleasantly at the assembly.
"Good evening."
Two guards collapsed outright.
The Supreme Intelligence's projection glitched microscopically — the only sign of agitation.
Vanri glanced at Ametheon.
"Young prince, your mother calls for you."
Ametheon folded his arms, chest puffed slightly.
"I am handling diplomacy."
Vanri's smile deepened.
"Yes. We heard the lightning."
The Supreme Intelligence forced composure. "If there are… personal attachments we should be aware of to avoid future misunderstanding—"
Vanri turned his head slowly toward Ametheon.
The pause stretched.
Ametheon cleared his throat.
"Her name is Carol," he said with stubborn dignity. "Also known as Vers to you lot."
If the Supreme Intelligence had possessed a digestive tract, it would have expelled its contents.
"Understood," it said tightly.
Vanri hid a smirk.
"Let us depart before your mother decides to attend personally. I must also return. My son requires training. Apparently, as Thunder God of our pantheon, you are too occupied to assist your best friend. So the old man must strain his bones."
Ametheon scowled. "You are not old."
"I feel old."
The chamber's surviving guards collectively thought the same thing:
Are all Nephalem like this?
Ametheon extended his hand.
Vaelthrym responded.
The embedded axe tore free from the planet's core structure and returned to his palm in a flash of contained storm.
The lightning rain ceased.
For the first time in three years, Hala's sky cleared.
Before leaving, Ametheon glanced once more at the Supreme Intelligence.
"Do not test Midgard again."
Then both gods vanished.
Silence swallowed the capital.
On Earth, Nick Fury reviewed satellite anomalies.
Three years of unexplained lightning over Hala.
Energy signatures matching archived Inversion battle data.
He closed the file slowly.
He had already begun compiling something new.
Not mythology.
Not rumor.
A ledger.
Potential assets.
Potential threats.
Potential allies.
He sat alone in a dim office, Washington rain streaking the window.
On his desk lay a black folder.
AVENGERS INITIATIVE.
He opened a fresh page.
SUBJECT FILE 001.
Name: Ametheon
Designation: God of Storms, Strength, Courage
Affiliation: Valmythra Pantheon
Status: Autonomous Sovereign Entity
He hesitated.
Threat Assessment.
He wrote carefully.
Continental Threat Level.
He did not do it out of fear.
He did it out of accuracy.
Observed capabilities:
– Planetary atmospheric manipulation
– Interstellar traversal without vessel
– Combat superiority against empire-class military
– Psychological amplification (Courage Conversion Phenomenon)
Fury leaned back.
He remembered the desert.
The Inversion.
The bleeding god who smiled in a crater.
He wrote:
Disposition: Protective of Earth. Emotionally compromised regarding Subject 002.
He allowed himself the faintest ghost of a smirk.
He opened a second page.
SUBJECT FILE 002.
Name: Carol Danvers
Alias: Captain Marvel
Hybridization: Human/Kree
Energy Source: Tesseract-derived cosmic radiation
Threat Assessment.
He paused longer this time.
He remembered her in the Blockbuster.
The pager.
The warships she dismantled like paper.
Continental Threat Level.
Potentially Planetary.
He underlined it once.
Capabilities:
– Stellar-scale energy projection
– Hypersonic flight beyond orbital velocity
– Enhanced durability
– Combat autonomy
– Psychological resilience extreme.
Fury clasped his hands together.
Two beings.
One god.
One human who became more.
Both capable of leveling continents.
Both — for now — choosing not to.
He felt something unfamiliar.
Hope.
And concern.
He spoke aloud in the empty room.
"If either of you ever stops choosing us…"
He did not finish the sentence.
Instead, he wrote a final line under each file.
Strategic Approach: Respect. Partnership. Contingency.
Because Fury understood something most rulers did not.
Power categorized as threat can still be ally.
But only if treated as such.
He closed the folder.
Outside, thunder rolled faintly over Washington.
Not hostile.
Not warning.
Just distant.
Somewhere above cloud cover, Ametheon hovered at the edge of atmosphere, watching Earth's curvature glow softly.
Carol streaked across a distant sector of space, dismantling a weapons convoy before it reached a refugee system.
Neither knew Fury had classified them.
Neither would have cared much.
They were not weapons.
They were choices.
And Fury, more than most, understood that was what made them dangerous.
And necessary
.
Back in Valmythra, Conri reviewed the cosmic board with amused patience.
"Continental threat level," he muttered, chuckling. "How flattering."
Cassandra shook her head.
"Try not to escalate."
"No promises."
Rowena gazed at Earth, moonlight pooling in her calm eyes.
"The war beyond dimensions still watches."
Conri's smile thinned slightly.
"Yes."
Far beyond sealed seams, the Inversion recalculated.
Storm.
Light.
Courage.
Variables increasing.
The board was growing crowded.
And the first two Avengers had just been written into history.