BOOM!
A clap of thunder rolled across the city, followed by abruptly appearing storm clouds that blanketed the sky.
"The black clouds pressed down upon the city, threatening to crush it"—that probably described the scene perfectly.
Massive storm clouds shrouded all of New York. Like the moment before a violent storm broke, the air itself was thick with an oppressive, frenzied heaviness that made it hard to breathe.
Even the invisible electrons seemed to have grown restless. A casual touch produced flickering static, while a faint web of lightning appeared in the sky near the clouds. Snaking currents seemed to be choosing their prey, ready to strike at any moment.
And reality proved that it was no illusion—at least, not for the Chitauri.
BOOM!
A bolt of lightning flashed down from the heavens and struck a Chitauri soldier into charred black ash. That thunderclap seemed to ignite a fuse, and countless bolts began raining down. The rumbling thunder merged into a single barrage, like strings of firecrackers going off.
With the storm clouds blocking out the sun, New York—which should have been at noon—had become night. The city's power had gone out completely, leaving lightning as its only source of light.
Bolts of lightning pierced between heaven and earth. New York seemed to have become a prison of thunder, making "thunder prison," once an exaggerated phrase, a literal reality.
With a thought, stars and constellations shifted.
With a thought, thunder became a prison.
Such power brought not only wails of despair from the Chitauri, but also trembling fear to countless humans.
Even divine might was probably nothing more than this.
A moment later, the thunder began to subside. Yet not a single other flying object could be seen over New York. The ground was littered with charred corpses and shattered