The battlefield had become a storm of chaos and fury, but amidst the mayhem, one Avenger stood out more than any other.

Thor, son of Odin, reveled in the carnage. Lightning coursed over his blood-soaked armor, leaping from the runes etched into Stormbreaker and crackling across his arms like living serpents. He swung the axe in wide, merciless arcs, splitting enemies apart as though they were made of paper. Each strike carried the fury of a god, and wherever it landed, Thanos' vanguard crumbled.

Blood painted his golden hair and beard, dripping down his chin, yet Thor only laughed. His teeth flashed white through the gore, his grin broad and savage.

"Hah! Come then, cowards! Come taste the storm!"

He lifted Stormbreaker, admiring it as if greeting an old friend. The sharp edges gleamed, reflecting streaks of lightning as his chest heaved with exhilaration. "Ah, my beauty. You and I will write sagas today, worthy of being told in Valhalla," he muttered under his breath, before unleashing a bellow that shook the skies.

"WAAAAR!"

Thor hurled himself forward again like a hurricane of muscle and thunder. Every step cracked the ground, every swing lit up the battlefield. In less than five minutes, he had already felled dozens, maybe hundreds. But to him, this was nothing but a warm-up.

But when his frenzy reached its peak, something strange happened.

He looked up, searching for the next wave of enemies to cut down, but there were none to be found.

Thor froze, Stormbreaker raised mid-swing. "Eh?" His voice rumbled with genuine confusion. A moment ago, he had been surrounded by at least a dozen snarling vanguard soldiers. Now, just silence. Only corpses lay at his feet.

His brows furrowed. "Where have you vermin gone?!"

Scanning the ground, he noticed a detail, several bodies with identical wounds. Black, gleaming blades jutted from their chests and throats, and Thor immediately recognized the handiwork.

"…Sister." His lip curled.

In the distance, Hela stood tall and elegant, her cloak billowing like a living shadow. A dozen new blades hovered around her like loyal hounds, then shot forward in unison, cutting down entire rows of enemies. She moved with a grace that bordered on disdain, killing without effort, as if swatting flies.

Thor's grin faltered. He tightened his grip on Stormbreaker, his knuckles whitening. He had accepted long ago that he could not best Hela in a duel. But now, even in slaughter, her shadow eclipsed him. She had cut down ten times his number in half the effort.

"Damn her…" he muttered, jaw tightening.

Before his frustration could fester further, another sight caught his eye. Corpses lay piled high nearby, but unlike Hela's victims, these were dried husks, their skin stretched tight over brittle bones.

"By Odin's beard…" Thor whispered. He turned his gaze and saw the culprit.

The Ancient One stood serene, her face tilted toward the sky. From her palms radiated five twisting beams of sickly green Fel energy, which tethered her to clusters of enemies. Thor watched with a shudder as their bodies shriveled in seconds, collapsing like discarded rags.

Then her eyes lit up like two blazing emerald stars, and for a heartbeat, her expression twisted into ecstasy, like a junkie getting their daily dose.

Thor grimaced and tore his gaze away. "Best not to watch that," he muttered, his skin crawling.

But the horrors didn't stop there. A thunderous crash split the ground nearby, and when the dust cleared, Thor saw a new crater yawning wide. At its center stood a towering, crimson figure.

Bumblebee.

Or rather, Bumblebee reshaped, humanoid and armored, his frame pulsing with red light like molten veins. The Reality Stone glimmered in his chest, and with it, he twisted the battlefield itself. The ground rippled beneath him, metal flowing upward as though drawn by invisible strings. Spears, cannons, and blades formed in seconds from the very earth, then launched outward in a relentless barrage.

The sound was deafening, like a fortress unloading every weapon it had. Each strike tore through the vanguard like parchment.

Thor's jaw fell open. He slowly lowered Stormbreaker, staring in disbelief. "What… What madness is this?!"

All around him, the battlefield was littered with corpses. If he spotted a living enemy, they were dead a moment later, slain by Hela's blades, drained by the Ancient One, or annihilated by Bumblebee's endless artillery.

It was not a war. It was not even a battle. It was a massacre.

Thor's heart, which had been soaring with the thrill of combat, now sank as his thunder dimmed.

"Is this how it ends?" he asked bitterly. His shoulders slumped as he shook blood from his beard. "I came to fight, and instead I am left… an observer."

He spat onto the ground, his chest heaving with frustration. "Bah. Where is the glory in this?"

The other Avengers, however, did not share Thor's disappointment. They exchanged weary glances of relief. With Luke's forces unleashed, their own efforts were almost unnecessary. For once, they did not need to bleed for victory.

All eyes shifted to the center of the battlefield, where a column of green light pierced the skies. Shadows twisted within it. A tall figure loomed, half-visible through the storm of Fel.

It was Thanos, or what remained of him…

The Titan's mighty form had withered grotesquely. His skin sagged against bone, his lips cracked, and his once-proud frame seemed to have collapsed inward. A faint green gleam flickered in his hollow eyes. The Mad Titan, conqueror of worlds, looked like an old man starved of decades of life.

He teetered on the brink of becoming nothing more than Gul'dan's puppet.

Yet, even in that pitiful state, Thanos was still Thanos. His will was forged in endless conquest, his spirit carved in battle. Gul'dan had surprised him, yes, but not broken him.

Suddenly, his chest heaved. His eyes snapped open, glowing with a last surge of clarity. His withered throat cracked as he forced out a hoarse roar: "Mothership… fire all weapons! All of them!"

The sound was ragged, like an old man's last words, but it cut through the battlefield like a whip.

Nearby, Ebony Maw, crawling on bloodied hands and knees, lifted his head. His face, once smug and composed, was streaked with dirt and fear. Yet hearing his master's voice rekindled his devotion. He raised a trembling hand and screamed in unison:

"Fire! Fire all weapons at full strength!"

High above, Thanos' colossal warship stirred. Lights ignited one by one across its surface, like stars waking in the void. Hundreds of railguns swiveled into place, a single volley of these weapons was more than capable of shattering small planets. The air itself seemed to tremble as the ship prepared its attack.

The Avengers, the soldiers, even Luke's subordinates, all looked upward, their eyes widening in dread.

The sky was about to fall.

And for Thanos, this was not a strategy of conquest. It was desperation, his last gambit.

He had already realized the truth: victory was impossible. Earth was not the backwater world he had believed. This wasn't a war he could win.

But perhaps, amidst the chaos, he could slip away.

This full bombardment… it was not to win the battle. It was his only hope of survival.

His only chance of escape.

…