Chapter 41

The battlefield was a complete mess.

** sounds, the clash of metal, and snarls in some alien language all blended together like a boiling pot of noise.

Zhao Yu moved rapidly through the air, every flicker of his body leaving behind a golden trail.

The Chitauri he swept past fell from the sky one after another, like threads snipped apart by scissors.

From a distance, it looked like a sudden hailstorm, or as if something had been poured down from the clouds.

Quite a few mages had raised their weapons, ready to cast their next spell, only to suddenly discover that their targets had vanished.

They looked around in confusion, the glow of energy in their hands not yet extinguished.

Gradually, the spellcasters on the ground all stopped moving.

No one attacked anymore.

Their gazes were all fixed on the moving shadow in the sky.

A string of mechanical sounds rang beside Zhao Yu's ears—cold, emotionless notification tones that continuously flooded into his consciousness.

First: Vishanti Chains had surpassed the ten-thousand-enemy threshold.

Second: The spell had increased by two levels.

Third: The chaotic atmosphere of the battlefield had begun to seep into your magical structure.

Fourth: The training speed of all offensive spells had significantly increased.

Fifth: A large number of enemies had been simultaneously eliminated in a short period of time. Your Crimson Contract Chains had sensed a certain exhilaration.

Sixth: Crimson Contract Chains had completed its upgrade.

Zhao Yu hovered in midair as the wind tore at the edges of his robes.

The corner of his mouth curved upward.

These Chitauri were truly hospitable.

How many light-years had they crossed? What resources had they expended? From what distant galaxy had they set out, crushing through the vacuum of space all the way to this planet, just to deliver their heads to him?

The mages on the ground were still standing there in a daze.

Their minds seemed unable to process what they had just witnessed.

Who exactly was that person?

Why had the enemy soldiers that had once filled the sky now all vanished like dust wiped away with a rag?

Could it be that Vishanti Chains itself concealed a terrifying power they had never understood?

Tea sprayed from Hamir's lips.

He stared at the air, unable to form a complete sound in his throat.

The other dark-cloaked figures in the tent were frozen in place as well, their fingertips still resting on the phantom images of spell diagrams, yet no one looked at them again.

"Those are... Vishanti's Chains?"

The voice came from Hamir's right, dry as sandpaper scraping together.

Hamir abruptly turned his head. The hood of his cloak slipped down, revealing his pale forehead. "Would I fail to recognize magic I created?"

His words caught between his teeth, every syllable forced out with difficulty.

The mage beside him did not look away. He merely said numbly, "But you never mentioned it could be used like this."

That was right, he had never mentioned it—because he had never known.

Hamir felt his stomach cramp.

When he had designed the spell, all he had thought about was how to weave the most intricate incantation structure, how to make the energy circuits intersect as elegantly as stellar paths.

It had been a work meant to show off technique. Restraint was its essence. Attack? That had never even been considered.

But what about now?

Now, those silver-white chains danced wildly through the air, their shrieks as they tore through the wind piercing even the tent's defensive barrier.

Every lash raised visible ripples, as though they were not magical constructs, but savage beasts with lives of their own.

"You said it wasn't good at attacking."

Someone else spoke, pointing toward the sky outside the tent. "Then what is this?"

Hamir closed his eyes.

He could hear his heartbeat pounding against his eardrums and feel cold sweat seeping from his palms.

Grievance wrapped around his throat like vines—he truly had not lied, and he truly had not held anything back.

In his hands, those chains had been as gentle as silk. They would only softly coil, restrain, and seal off movement.

But why had everything changed in Zhao Yu's hands?

Why had those elegant energy circuits erupted with such violent force? Why had shackles meant for restraint turned into instruments of lashing punishment?

The tent sank into a long silence.

Only the piercing sounds of chains splitting the air outside continued to hammer against everyone's eardrums.

Several mages exchanged glances, their eyes filled with suspicion, shock, and a trace of undisguised apprehension.

When Hamir opened his eyes again, his vision was slightly blurred.

He raised a hand and wiped his face, his fingertips touching something wet.

It was not sweat.

"I want to know why too."

He heard his own voice, soft as a sigh. "Really."

The Chitauri warriors' metal armor gleamed with a cold, hard sheen beneath the sunlight.

That material could deflect most spells—or at least, that was what they had believed before.

Yet now, all they could see were bodies pierced through in swathes, like specimens impaled by invisible spears, piled one atop another.

More than a dozen layers of defense, pierced in a single strike.

And they called that powerless?

If even this did not count, then what kind of spell deserved to be called an "attack"? The air still held the scorching sensation left behind by magical shockwaves, mixed with the pungent smell of melting metal.

Several cloaked figures stood at the edge of the ruins, their fingers unconsciously clutching their sleeves.

They refused to accept the reality before them.

The same incantation, the same gestures—why did it become a storm that tore through the battlefield in his hands? There had to be some difference.

There had to be.

"Officially,"

A deep voice broke the silence. It was Wong.

His gaze swept across every pale face. "We will give a unified explanation: this is a secret inheritance unique to the Sorcerer Supreme."

No one objected.

Several stiff faces nodded.

They needed that explanation, and Kamar-Taj needed it too.

Otherwise, how were those apprentices who trained day and night supposed to face their own feeble sparks?

"Remember him."

Wong spoke one final time. His voice was not loud, yet it made everyone raise their heads. "He is our turning point."

After that day, that name became an unspoken mark.

***

The battlefield suddenly became terrifyingly quiet.

Victory seemed to be in hand, yet the mages standing on the scorched earth felt hollow inside, even overcome by an indescribable frustration.

Every enemy had fallen, wiped clean by one person using a binding spell they could use as well.

Did he not get tired? Was magic to him as endless as breathing?

The sky was torn open once more, and those twisted metal constructs, accompanied by alien shrieks, poured out from the depths of the vortex.

This time, however, their numbers were much sparser, like residue that had been sifted through once.

A hand lifted the tent flap, letting light spill inside.

Everyone within turned in unison, their heavy gazes falling upon the young man.

His footsteps paused, and the corner of his mouth curled somewhat unnaturally.

"Everyone... why are you looking at me like that?"

Someone cleared his throat and straightened his expression. "It's nothing."

Wong gripped the edge of the table, though something seemed to scratch at his heart.

Did this kid really not understand what he had just done? Those things that had blanketed the sky like locusts had gone out in waves, as if erased by an invisible hand.

Could that possibly be ordinary? Yet his expression did not change as he merely asked in a deep voice, "What did you come in to say?"

"That gate,"

The young man pointed toward the still-spinning azure rift in the sky outside the tent. "It has to be closed.

As long as it remains open, they can keep sending troops through bit by bit.

If this drags on, it may not just be these vanguards that arrive—their real mothership may be waiting behind them."

When he mentioned the "mothership,"

His voice lowered.

That thing might not amount to much among the stars, perhaps even mocked as junk by certain wanderers.

But to the land beneath their feet, that "junk"

Was a blade hanging overhead, a monstrous beast capable of overturning everything.

Its weakness was hidden beneath its hardest shell. It was both its vital point and the source of its destruction.

The Portal had to be sealed. That passage had to be completely cut off.

"We tried. It didn't work."

Someone replied in a low voice.

"An energy shield covers the entire gate. Our attacks can't penetrate it at all."

Wong frowned deeply.

Of course they understood the heart of the problem—as long as the gate was closed, the Chitauri army could no longer continue pouring through.

But right now, no one could even touch that gate.

A dense energy field enveloped the area, and every spell that struck it was like a drop of water falling into a fire, instantly evaporating without a trace.

"There is a way."

Zhao Yu's voice cut in. "We need that scepter.

The Mind Scepter in Loki's hands can pierce this shield."

The Space Stone had opened the Portal and woven this barrier as well.

Only power of the same origin could contend against a Stone.

"Understood."

Wong did not ask where the information had come from. "Then find Loki and take the scepter from him."

***

The wind at the top of Stark Tower blew fiercely.

Several figures stood on the open platform, facing the person who had caused this catastrophe.

Loki held the scepter, his cape billowing in the rushing air.

"Put down your weapon, Loki."

Thor's fingers tightened around Mjolnir's handle.

"Put it down?"

Loki laughed, ice in his voice. "Dear brother, when will you learn to use your brain? I am Loki, the greatest spellcaster in the Nine Realms—what makes you think I would surrender?"

His gaze swept over the so-called Avengers before him, his chin lifting slightly.

A roar shattered the stagnant air.

The green figure did not wait for the conversation to end and charged straight at him like a cannonball.

The entire building trembled as though some giant beast were rampaging within it.

The green figure's fist carried a howling wind as it shot toward the figure standing amid the ruins.

Loki's smile was still on his lips when the fist was about to smash his head apart—then the light suddenly distorted.

He vanished.

The concrete wall shattered beneath the heavy blow, rubble raining down.

"What pitiful brute strength."

The voice came from the other side.

Loki leaned against a broken steel beam, lightly brushing dust from his shoulder.

Several figures closed in from different directions, surrounding him **.

"Drop your weapon!"

Someone shouted.

"Surrounding me?"

Loki raised an eyebrow, amusement spreading through his eyes.

His body began to blur like the surface of water struck by a stone—one, two, ten... identical figures appeared from every corner, surrounding those who had approached instead.

More than a dozen voices spoke at once. "Now then, who exactly is the prey?"

Veins bulged across the back of the hand gripping the hammer.

Thor stared at those illusions, his chest rising and falling with anger.

Under normal circumstances, he could have easily distinguished truth from falsehood, but now power was draining from every part of his body.

Magic had never been his domain, especially when the caster was his trickster brother.

They had no choice but to press their backs together and form a defensive circle.

Yet the Lokis paced leisurely, as if admiring trapped beasts in a cage.

"Avengers."

One of the phantoms spoke, his voice carrying an amused sigh. "You truly made me spend quite a bit of effort.

Unfortunately..."

All the phantoms spread their hands in unison. "The arrow has left the bow; the full force will be spent.

And I have only just begun."

As the light at the tip of the scepter tore through the air, that voice rang out again with a rhythm of absolute certainty. "My army is endless.

What about you? Who else can you count on?"

"From today onward, the so-called Avengers will be nothing more than a few words buried in old papers."

"This planet beneath your feet will soon have a new master."

"And I—"

He paused, savoring every word. "I will sit upon the throne of Asgard."

With his arm raised high, the scepter illuminated the burning heat in his eyes.

"Loki!"

Mjolnir rose with the roar of the wind, and Thor's furious bellow nearly overwhelmed the clouds. "It's time you woke from your dream!"

Another voice followed at once, resolute and clear. "You won't succeed."

"We're here to stop you."

Was that so?

Ice lurked in the curve of his smile.

Loki did not even turn around.

"Ugh—!"

A muffled groan rang out, followed by the sound of a body striking the ground.

The warrior in the Star-Spangled Uniform suddenly curled up as if struck by an invisible heavy blow, collapsing to the ground as his breathing became labored.

"A hero in a costume,"

Loki finally turned his face slightly, his tone gentle as though sharing a secret. "Did you really think you defeated me in our last encounter?"