Self-sacrifice had never been Tony Stark’s guiding principle.
When he’d first built the Iron Man armor and declared war on terrorists, part of him had been seeking redemption for the weapons his company had unleashed on the world.
The other part?
He simply enjoyed being Iron Man.
The applause.
The headlines.
The impossible stunts.
He had openly mocked Captain America’s willingness to lay down his life for others. He had even criticized Agent Coulson for confronting Loki alone.
He had become something extraordinary.
A superhero.
But not yet...
A hero.
Until now.
The instant Tony learned that a tactical nuclear missile was inbound for Manhattan, there wasn’t a moment’s hesitation.
Millions of innocent people were directly beneath its flight path.
He could have turned away.
His armor was fast enough to escape the blast radius.
No one would have blamed him.
Instead, he seized the missile and accelerated toward the portal.
He knew exactly what the decision meant.
There was a very real chance he would never return.
Perhaps only now did he truly understand something Steve Rogers had once told him.
Sometimes...
You don’t choose.
You simply act.
"Sir."
JARVIS spoke with unusual softness.
"Would you like me to connect you with Miss Potts?"
The AI had already calculated the odds.
This flight could very well be Tony’s last.
Tony swallowed.
"...Do it."
Far away, Pepper Potts sat aboard her private jet, eyes fixed on a live news broadcast of New York.
Her phone vibrated relentlessly beside her.
She never noticed.
The call went unanswered.
Tony carried the missile through the portal.
It streaked into deep space.
Then struck the massive Chitauri command ship.
A sun blossomed among the stars.
The explosion rippled across the alien fleet.
One after another...
Every remaining Chitauri vessel shut down.
His mission was complete.
Inside the powerless Iron Man armor, Tony floated silently through space.
The arc reactor had almost nothing left.
His suit was dying.
He watched the burning wreckage drift past.
There were still so many things he wanted to do.
So many conversations left unfinished.
Regrets?
Only one.
He never got to hear Pepper’s voice.
His eyelids slowly closed.
He waited for death.
"...Hm?"
His eyes snapped open.
A line of glowing text had appeared directly across his vision.
It looked less like something displayed by the helmet...
And more like reality itself had decided to become a game interface.
Your teammate, Evenson, has summoned you.
Beneath it floated two options.
Accept (Paid Service)
Decline (Free)
Tony didn’t spend even half a second thinking.
What was money compared to breathing?
"Accept."
The universe spun.
Space folded.
Reality twisted.
The next thing Tony knew...
He was standing upright in the middle of New York.
The first voice he heard belonged to Evenson.
"I told you it’d work."
He sounded unbearably smug.
"Warlocks are professionals when it comes to summoning people."
An overwhelming wave of dizziness crashed over Tony.
His legs gave out.
He toppled backward, landing flat on the pavement.
The spell Evenson had used was the Warlock’s signature Ritual of Summoning.
Better known among players as simply...
Summoning someone through a portal.
Except this time...
The target had been a man drifting through outer space.
For the briefest instant after Tony returned...
A strange thought flashed through everyone’s mind.
Well...
He’s back now.
So that missile can kindly disappear.
The bizarre notion vanished as quickly as it had appeared.
No one gave it another thought.
Instead, they rushed toward Tony.
He removed his helmet himself.
Captain America helped him sit upright.
"I’m..."
Tony breathed deeply.
"...Just a little dizzy."
"That’s normal," Evenson replied with a shrug.
"Interdimensional teleportation isn’t exactly gentle."
"And Warlock magic has never prioritized passenger comfort."
One by one, the others gathered.
Hawkeye.
Natasha.
Dottie.
The Hulk.
Seeing everyone alive, Tony couldn’t help smiling.
"Come on."
"Dinner’s on me."
Evenson glanced toward the Hulk.
"...I think someone should probably find our friend some clothes first."
The green giant had already begun shrinking.
Bruce Banner emerged from the transformation.
Aside from his famously indestructible stretch shorts...
He was almost completely naked.
Above Manhattan...
The portal finally collapsed.
The last surviving Chitauri dropped lifelessly to the streets below, disconnected from their destroyed command ship.
Inside the New York Sanctum...
Every Master of the Mystic Arts breathed a collective sigh of relief.
Some simply lay flat on the floor where they stood.
Maintaining the city’s magical defenses throughout the invasion had drained them completely.
For today...
Dignity could wait.
They had fought an unseen war.
Protected the world.
Saved countless lives.
No one would ever know.
Oddly enough...
That realization filled them with quiet pride.
Oliver approached the Ancient One.
"It’s over, Sorcerer Supreme."
She watched the closing portal.
"...Yes."
"It is."
Her voice carried unmistakable weariness.
She had witnessed civilizations rise and fall.
Empires flourish.
Empires crumble.
One lesson never changed.
Humanity possessed an astonishing talent for creating new disasters.
Barely sixty years after a world war...
They had somehow stumbled into an interstellar one.
Defending Earth against extradimensional threats was exhausting enough.
Cleaning up humanity’s own mistakes afterward...
That was somehow even more tiring.
Oliver hesitated.
"There is... one remaining concern."
"The black warlock."
He didn’t need to explain further.
After witnessing Hand of Death, every sorcerer in the Sanctum had quietly abandoned the idea of arresting Evenson.
Now...
Their greatest concern was the possibility that he might come looking for them.
The Ancient One glanced sideways at Oliver.
For reasons she couldn’t quite articulate...
She suddenly felt even more tired.
"I’ll rest for a few days."
"Then I’ll meet him myself."
Oliver finally relaxed.
If the Sorcerer Supreme was handling the matter...
Everything would be fine.
Not everyone celebrated in Manhattan.
On a highway outside New York...
Three sealed transport trucks rolled steadily down the road.
Inside the lead vehicle, General Ross popped open a beer.
He took a long drink.
Then laughed.
"I bet on the right horse."
His televised stand during the invasion had been political gold.
The image of a general standing beside New York’s defenders would serve him well in every future election.
He raised the can for another triumphant sip.
Then glanced toward the woman driving.
"...So."
"Why are we hauling so many Chitauri corpses?"
The nun behind the wheel answered without looking away from the road.
"Research material."
It was Veronica.
Ross nodded.
That seemed reasonable enough.
Biotech companies loved unusual specimens.
Still...
Something about her face nagged at him.
"Have we met before?"
"You look familiar."
Veronica rolled her eyes.
Really?
He’s using that line now?
"My name is Leona Heiden."
She spoke smoothly.
"A Brazilian mercenary."
"I commanded this operation."
Ross frowned.
"No..."
He studied her for another few seconds.
Then his eyes widened.
"I’ve got it!"
"Aren’t you one of the dancers from that nightclub?!"
Veronica nearly choked.
"What?"
"No!"
"Ridiculous."
"I’m an elite mercenary."
She tugged her nun’s hood lower in a futile attempt to hide her face.
Ross slowly turned away.
Silently opened another beer.
And drank.
Not to celebrate this time.
To calm his nerves.
Because if the commander was secretly a nightclub dancer...
He suddenly wasn’t sure he wanted to know what everyone else on that "mercenary team" really did.
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