Chapter 35

Those eyes urged them on, waiting for an order.

The predicament tightened like an iron hoop.

Fight—what else could they do but fight? The order fell from the captain's lips: stop them. Hold them back for as long as possible.

The Avengers moved, charging headlong into the shadows raining down from the sky.

But there were simply too many shadows.

So many that they were like a torrential downpour, like a swarm of locusts, until every word meant to describe density lost its meaning.

They intercepted some of them, but even more slipped through their fingers and scattered in every direction across New York.

More than a thousand square kilometers.

The number rolled through their minds, cold and immense.

Wherever no Avenger stood, cries rose up.

They were not cries. They were the final whimpers before being crushed.

The city became something else, a giant beast being skinned alive.

Kamar-Taj's tranquility shattered.

One Portal after another tore through the air in blazing light. Golden-red rings spun, blossomed, faded, then flared to life again.

Mages moved through them in hurried streams, their robes snapping in the wind.

The apprentices who once filled the courtyards and corridors were nowhere to be seen. Every door was tightly shut, and only the wind passed through the empty training grounds.

There was only one exception.

Deep within the main hall, light streamed through the high windows, slicing through floating dust motes.

Several faces sat gathered around the table—mages clad in dark robes.

Zhao Yu sat among them, a figure who should never have been here.

Yet no one showed any surprise, as though he had always been part of that heavy wooden table.

"Mage Mordo,"

A voice rang out, like metal scraping against stone.

The speaker's expression was cold, with the dust and bloodshed of outer space hidden in his eyes.

It was Reinhardt. Dark red stains that could not be washed away marked his collar. "What is the reason for the emergency summons?"

Reinhardt had never seen such a scene before.

The bells of the emergency summons still echoed through the courtyard, their metallic tremor lingering in the air.

Everyone who could return had gathered in the square. The rustling of robes brushing together had become a continuous murmur.

He saw Mordo standing on the raised platform, his back perfectly straight, as though the distraught man from before had merely been an illusion.

"New York."

As Mordo spoke the word, his right hand traced an arc through the air.

Light poured out of the void, weaving into a flickering image—buildings collapsing, crowds fleeing through the streets like disturbed ants, and a black wound split open across the sky as metallic constructs poured from it.

Several elders standing in the front row held their breath at the same time.

Someone forced out a name through clenched teeth. "Chitauri."

The word dropped into the silence like a block of ice.

Reinhardt felt the temperature around him fall. It was not real cold, but something sharper—the instinctive contraction that came from recognizing a natural enemy.

He had heard fragments of stories brought back by mages who had returned from the stars, tales of how this plundering race devoured world after world like locusts.

"They crossed the line."

Mordo's voice was not loud, yet it overwhelmed every faint sound. "They stepped into the place we guard."

There was no debate, no questioning.

Three brief cries of "Agreed."

Sounded in succession, as sharp and abrupt as blades leaving their sheaths.

Reinhardt saw the elders exchange glances. It was an understanding he had not yet fully grasped—about protection, about cost, about boundaries that could never be negotiated.

"Then let's begin."

Mordo pressed his palm downward as though pushing an invisible switch. "Send the teams through the New York Sanctum in waves.

The first priority is to raise the Mirror Dimension curtain and enclose the battlefield. Do not let those things' claws truly touch our land."

He paused, his gaze sweeping across every face below the platform. "Then keep them here.

Not a single one leaves."

"Let the invaders understand that Earth is not a place they can tread upon at will."

As Mage Mordo's voice fell, the high-ranking mages around him nodded in response.

They turned and left solemnly, every step heavy.

"Zhao Yu, you're coming too."

Mordo turned his gaze toward the young mage. "You should see a real battlefield with your own eyes.

Kamar-Taj's practitioners have never grown up in greenhouses."

Zhao Yu straightened his back and answered, "Yes."

Then he followed Mordo's steps.

Tens of thousands had already assembled in the square.

Every ten apprentice mages were led by one senior mage, and every ten such teams fell under the command of a high-ranking mage—layer upon layer of formations stood in silent ranks. This was the foundation Ancient One had accumulated over many years.

More than a hundred high-ranking mages, once scattered across various dimensions, had all been recalled.

Dozens of mages raised their hands simultaneously. Golden-orange sparks spiraled and expanded in the air until they formed Portals dozens of meters tall.

The hum of flowing energy blanketed the entire square.

"Move out."

Mordo raised an arm. "Fight to protect."

The ranks began to move, like rivers flowing into a whirlpool.

They passed through the Portals to reach the New York Sanctum, then entered the Mirror Dimension battlefield prepared in advance.

One of Kamar-Taj's rules was never to fight directly in the real dimension.

Thus, a strange sight appeared beneath New York's sky: some Chitauri fliers suddenly vanished in midair, and the outlines of certain warships disappeared without warning.

No civilians noticed the mage forces quietly entering the city. They only saw invaders vanish one after another as though erased by an invisible hand.

The anomaly did not trigger panic. Instead, it was like a silent muting.

The battlefield was shrouded in chaos.

No one noticed those faint fluctuations. Illusions created by magic concealed every trace.

High above, an invisible gate quietly opened, gleaming with a metallic luster.

The alien forces trying to pour through had not even had time to see the city below before invisible power dragged them into another dimension.

On the ground, the defenders suddenly felt the weight on their shoulders lighten somewhat.

But there were still enough enemies to suffocate them.

Even though most had been dragged into that folded space, the remaining invaders still surged forward like a tide, gnawing at every inch of the defensive line.

The pressure had not truly gone away. It had merely changed form and settled into everyone's breath.

And within that realm overlapping reality while remaining isolated from it, the scene was entirely different.

Light wove itself into a net here.

Countless figures stood in rings, their low chants merging into one. The blazing golden radiance bursting from their hands nearly swallowed every corner of the space.

The beams fired by those alien constructs struck the flowing Light Shields, raising only ripples before vanishing without a trace.

Even the youngest apprentices could use agile footwork to contend with two or three steel bodies at once.

But numbers had always been a cruel arithmetic problem.

Even though the spellcasters gathered here numbered in the tens of thousands—an impressive force even across the entire planet, enough to shake firm boundaries—they still seemed sparse before the enemy.

The other side counted its units in hundreds of thousands.

Look—the shadows of aircraft overlapped layer upon layer, nearly filling every inch of the sky above like an inverted metal storm cloud.

Fortunately, this was their home ground.

Space itself became a weapon.

Skilled manipulators continuously folded and cut apart the battlefield, dividing the surging black tide into isolated pools.

Ancient spells cast in unison shook the air, building temporary yet sturdy dams that barely maintained that trembling boundary.

The price was still being paid.

"Breach on the eastern side! Someone's down!"

"The resonance is complete! Prepare to release!"

The Mirror Dimension's supporting force field was dissipating.

An urgent request for aid came from the medical teams.

The pressure on the district defense line suddenly intensified, and cries for reinforcements nearly pierced their eardrums.

Inside the rear command center, beads of sweat appeared on the foreheads of the three mages responsible for coordination.

"These Chitauri bastards,"

One of them slammed his fist into the table, making the cups rattle. "Where did they get mountains of war machines?"

The one speaking was Hamir.

With this full mobilization, even a mage with comparatively weaker magic like him had been drafted to the front lines—though his assigned duty was logistical coordination, such as the medical support now under strain.

"Don't forget, the Chitauri fleet has crushed more than one or two civilizations."

Wong answered.

His voice seemed soaked in ice water, without a trace of emotion. "The resources they plundered are enough to mass-produce those bioengineered monsters."

"Damn it!"

Hamir cursed again, his Adam's apple bobbing.

"Follow the planned arrangement and send in the reserves."

Wong did not hesitate. "Rotate the first-line spellcasters out and let them replenish their magic.

Hamir, that Hundred-Person Resonance Spell your school has been studying—it's time to bring it out and try it."

Orders turned into streaks of light and flew from the room toward every part of the battlefield.

Hamir responded and hurried away, his robe stirring up a gust of wind.

Wong remained where he was alone, but his expression gradually darkened.

His fingers unconsciously rubbed the worn patterns on his sleeve.

He knew better than anyone that if this continued, the casualty count would only keep rising.

New York in the real dimension presented an entirely different scene.

The Avengers were building a defensive line across three city blocks, tightly containing most of the Chitauri soldiers within it.

Of course, scattered enemies had still infiltrated the heart of the city, and gunfire and explosions rang intermittently between the buildings.

But this was New York.

The military could not act recklessly. Heavy weapons capable of instantly clearing the field could not be used at all.

All the soldiers could do was guide the panicked crowds into subway tunnels, urging them to hide deeper underground.

Every burden thus weighed heavily upon the shoulders of those figures in special uniforms.

The Mirror Dimension had swallowed more than half the invaders, but New York's streets were still crawling with alien creatures.

The few figures calling themselves heroes seemed thin amid the smoke and fire—even including that pair of agents skilled at **.

Their skills were top-notch when dealing with humans, but now they were forced back step by step by the tide of alien soldiers.

With every punch they threw, three sharp claws came from different angles.

A thunderstorm exploded deep within the clouds.

Thor hovered beneath the Portal, lightning pouring down like a waterfall and burning the emerging black shadows into charcoal.

The wreckage fell like black rain, piling into twisted hills at the foot of Stark Tower.

But thunder would eventually tire. When he felt his divine power slipping through his fingers, he could only put away his lightning and leap toward those roaming steel behemoths.

Another green figure bounced between the buildings.

When Hulk tore open a warship's hull, the shriek of metal made eardrums ache.

He tore off a sharp fin-like plate and viciously drove it into the beast's spine.

Thor's hammer fell immediately after, electricity burrowing through the metal wound and into its innards. The stench of charred flesh mingled with ozone.

The lifeless whale-like warship crashed sideways into a church spire, its stained glass exploding into glittering dust.

But at the far end of the skyline, more black shadows slowly emerged from the clouds.

"This still isn't over?"

Someone forced out the words through clenched teeth.

Thor let out a weary sigh.

A heavy fist struck his chest and sent him flying.

The green figure immediately leaped through a shattered window frame and began climbing up the church's outer wall.

Bricks crumbled beneath his fingers and fell in a steady shower.

But his climbing speed had indeed slowed.

The beams fired by those alien soldiers grazed his back, leaving only fleeting white marks on his skin.

His body could withstand the impacts, and his strength was enough to tear steel apart.

Yet unceasing battle would eventually drain any creature's energy reserves—even his.

Every contraction and release of his muscles burned the fuel stored within his body.

Panting, he finally seized the edge of the floating beast-like warship above.

Several streets away, Natasha leaned against a collapsed pillar.

A small squad of alien soldiers was closing in.

They moved stiffly and fired without any pattern, as though they were machines merely following a program.

They had no fear and no tactics, which made their movements all the more unpredictable.

The magazines in her twin pistols had long since run dry.

What she held now was an alien weapon picked up from beside an enemy.

The gun was warm, carrying a sweet, bloody metallic smell.

Close-quarters combat erupted the next second.

Elbow strike, wrist twist, disarm—her movements were slightly sluggish from the pain in her ribs.

When the last soldier fell, she felt warm liquid slide across her lips.

She raised a hand to wipe it away, and the back of her hand came away dark red.