Top floor of the S.H.I.E.L.D. headquarters.

The wide glass windows trembled faintly under the vibrations of battle outside. From this vantage point, Nick Fury and his people watched as the battlefield transformed before their eyes.

When they saw the towering line of Transformers flanking Luke, followed by the endless ranks of undead warriors, their expressions shifted in unison.

The panic etched into their faces began to fade, and the tension in their shoulders eased, if only slightly.

Phil Coulson exhaled a long breath he hadn't realized he was holding. His hands, which had been clenched into fists, loosened. Maria Hill's lips parted, her eyes narrowing in disbelief at the sheer scale of what they were witnessing.

They finally understood. For the first time, they realized why their boss placed such unshakable faith in Luke.

Because Luke's subordinates were not merely strong, they were overwhelming.

Machines the size of buildings, eyes glowing with crimson fire. Undead soldiers who radiated the chill of the grave. A hulking wolf-beast and a three-headed monster that made Thanos's horde look tame by comparison.

Hill muttered under her breath, almost reverent, "They don't even look human."

Fury didn't answer. His one eye gleamed, cold and sharp. He knew this wasn't everything.

The boy wasn't done.

Luke's strongest subordinate, the green monster who had once appeared in New York, was still missing. But Fury's gut told him it was only a matter of time before it showed up.

Down below, the battlefield itself seemed to hold its breath.

One of the spatial ripples behind Luke began to distort, swirling more violently, as though it were alive.

The air hummed.

Eyes turned instantly toward it, S.H.I.E.L.D. agents, Avengers, Fury, even Thanos himself.

For the first time, Thanos's gaze lingered with interest. He wanted to see, he wanted to measure this mysterious human's depth.

The ripple pulsed once more, and then, a figure stepped out.

The newcomer wasn't that tall compared to the beasts and giants around him, barely twice the height of a man. But his appearance alone was enough to silence the battlefield.

Green, cracked skin stretched tight across wiry muscles. Two tusk-like fangs jutted upward from his jaw, gleaming in the light. His hunched back carried an aura of cruelty and age, yet his movements radiated power.

In one gnarled hand, he held a staff of bone, twisted and unnatural, glowing faintly with the eerie shimmer of Fel magic.

The moment his clawed feet touched Earth's soil, he inhaled deeply, his yellow eyes fluttering closed for a heartbeat. A sickly smile spread across his face.

"The breath of life…" he rasped, voice gravelly, savoring the air. "So… intoxicating."

But then his gaze found Luke.

The smile vanished, replaced by a sharp, almost fearful respect. His spine straightened slightly before he dropped to one knee, staff pressed to the ground in submission.

"Master," the figure growled, bowing his head low. "Gul'dan… at your orders."

The Fel warlock had returned to Earth.

Once, during the chaos of New York, Gul'dan had still carried arrogance in his eyes, reluctant obedience in his stance. But things had changed.

Luke's system had grown stronger. His control over Gul'dan now was absolute. If Luke so wished, he could end the warlock's existence with a single thought.

But he wouldn't need to. Gul'dan had surrendered fully, his devotion evident in every word and action.

Luke studied him carefully. Up close, the warlock was more grotesque, more unsettling than from afar. Yet he was one of his own.

Luke inclined his head, his voice calm. "Rise."

The single word carried the weight of command. Gul'dan obeyed instantly, climbing to his feet with surprising grace. His glowing eyes flicked toward the distance, where Thanos's army stood waiting like an endless storm. Recognition dawned immediately.

He lowered his head once more and asked, "Master… Do you wish for me to bring my army?"

Luke's mind moved quickly. He had long known that Gul'dan commanded an entire tribe of feral, bloodthirsty, and dangerous orcs. Against Thanos's endless vanguard, their presence could definitely tip the scales.

"Yes," Luke said firmly. "Summon them. Call all of your men. The time has come."

There was no need to hide his strength any longer. Facing Thanos, the world deserved to see everything.

A crooked smile stretched across Gul'dan's ruined face. His clawed fingers tightened on his staff as he began to chant, his words an alien cadence, a guttural incantation no human ear could decipher.

And the ground answered.

The earth rumbled violently, sending tremors through the ruined streets. Cracks split open the pavement as dust and debris fell from trembling buildings.

From behind Gul'dan, a massive structure erupted from the ground.

A gate carved of dark stone, etched with runes that glowed faint green. On either side stood towering statues of warriors clutching long swords, their eyes burning with the same fel light.

The portal flared, and from its heart stepped a figure larger than Gul'dan, broader and more savage. His thick green skin stretched over bulging muscles, and on his massive shoulders hung skeletal remains as crude armor.

A colossal hammer rested in his grip, one side shaped like a skull, the other bristling with spikes.

Luke recognized him instantly. "Blackhand," he murmured.

The Blackrock Clan's war chief. Gul'dan's most loyal and most terrifying subordinate.

Seeing him in reality was nothing like the digital images Luke had seen of him. Blackhand's presence radiated raw brutality, a warrior who lived for destruction.

And then more followed.

Orc after orc marched through the portal, their eyes burning green, muscles bulging with Fel corruption. Their snarls filled the air, teeth gnashing, weapons raised. The moment they stepped onto Earth, their corrupted energy flared wildly, reacting violently with the world's pure life force.

The very air grew heavy, saturated with their hunger. And then, something unexpected happened.

Beside Gul'dan, another portal bloomed, not jagged green, but circular, glowing a warm golden-orange. Its surface rippled with sparks before spilling open.

Robed figures stepped out in disciplined rows.

Humans, sorcerers, every one of them. At their front was a bald woman, her presence calm yet commanding. The Ancient One herself.

At her sides walked Strange, Mordo, and Kaecilius, their faces shadowed and eyes gleaming.

And behind them, countless Kamar-Taj sorcerers poured through the gate.

But something was wrong.

Their eyes, every single one of them, burned the same unnatural green glow as Gul'dan's orcs.

The Ancient One advanced steadily until she stood before Gul'dan. Her hands moved with slow, deliberate grace as she lowered herself to one knee. Her voice, usually so calm and cryptic, now carried an unshakable weight of devotion.

"Master," she intoned, her head bowed. "I am at your command."

At once, the sorcerers behind her followed, dropping to one knee as their voices thundered in unison, shaking the air: "Master! We are at your command!"

…