A massive golden pillar of light shot into the sky, drawing countless eyes as its overwhelming brilliance pierced through the portal. The energy, unrelenting in its intensity, flooded the portal, temporarily extinguishing it. The beam continued upward, breaking through the atmosphere and racing into the boundless blackness of space. Only when the golden motes of light around Solomon gradually dissipated did the interstellar brilliance begin to fade. Those who had been staring upward were left blinded, the searing light having pierced even their closed eyelids, leaving them temporarily unable to see.
This star-shattering attack was something the Chitauri could not withstand. The power of Excalibur swept through their fleets with unstoppable force, reducing soldiers and ships alike to fiery wreckage. This display caught the attention of many across the universe—a subtle warning from Solomon to any alien force coveting Earth's resources.
The city fell into an eerie silence. Only the faint crackle of flames consuming debris could be heard. Even the injured hiding underground stopped their groaning, cowed by the overwhelming aura that lingered. When those who had witnessed the light regained their vision, they saw the Chitauri soldiers lying motionless, their seemingly endless waves halted. The once-floating beasts now lay lifeless, their massive forms crashing into buildings or collapsing onto the streets as if someone had simply switched them off.
Then came the cheers.
At first, it was a smattering of surprised exclamations, but the joy spread quickly. Survivors embraced one another, reveling in their shared relief and the joy of survival. For the first time, Solomon had revealed his full power in front of everyone, leaving them no choice but to reflect on the magnitude of his abilities.
"What... is this?" Agent Romanoff asked, helping Dr. Selvig to his feet. They had been the closest to Excalibur's radiance, and thus were the most acutely aware of its immense force.
"Are you... King Arthur?" Selvig stammered, trembling. As a native Brit, he was deeply familiar with the legend of Arthur Pendragon, the once and future king destined to rise from Avalon to save the world in its hour of greatest need.
"I'm merely a successor," Solomon replied with a feigned lightness, shrugging. Yet his pale face betrayed the toll the attack had taken on him. Excalibur was now planted in the ground, serving as a crutch to support his weight. The power to unleash such a devastating attack had come from years of stored magic, a precaution Solomon had prepared for. The cost, however, was evident: the lower half of his long, black curls had turned gray.
Hair could store magical energy, and Solomon had intentionally grown his hair long to protect his vitality during heavy expenditures of power. His foresight had proven its worth.
Exhaling deeply, Solomon pulled out a pair of scissors and began cutting his hair. As he worked, he gestured for Agent Romanoff to continue her mission. Before she could fully extract the Tesseract from the portal device, however, she pressed a finger to her earpiece.
"A nuclear missile has been launched," she reported, turning to Solomon. "What now? Stark says he can fly it into the portal."
"Close the portal now," Solomon commanded, setting down the scissors. With a flick of his fingers, he magically summoned Romanoff's earpiece into his hand and placed it on his ear. "Stark," he said, "listen to me carefully. Your job is to guide the missile's trajectory toward me. Don't worry. I know what I'm doing."
Romanoff gave Solomon a questioning look, but his confidence prompted her to thrust the scepter forward without hesitation. Even Fury, on the other end of the earpiece, did not object to Solomon's decision. Stark, though uncertain of the plan, agreed to follow through.
"I see you, Stark," Solomon said, removing a gauntlet and pulling out a sling ring from his dimensional pouch. "Aim at me. Can you manage that? Actually, I should probably ask Jarvis instead of you—you're just the deadweight."
"I can do it, Mr. Damonet," Jarvis's calm voice replied. "After precise calculations—"
"That's my job, Jarvis!" Stark interrupted indignantly as he caught the missile below the Verrazzano-Narrows Bridge. "Jarvis, calculate the trajectory and detonation timing. You know I'm just too modest to compare my math skills with a computer's."
"Of course, sir," Jarvis replied evenly, activating Stark's thrusters. The Iron Man suit steadily corrected the missile's course as Stark flew over Battery Park, the Financial District, Little Italy, Chinatown, and Greenwich Village. Bit by bit, he aligned the missile with the top balcony of Stark Tower.
"In the name of the Vishanti..." Solomon muttered as the missile drew closer, his voice steady and devoid of fear. Chanting an incantation and weaving intricate hand gestures, he worked his spell.
Following Solomon's instructions, Stark released the missile early, watching as it approached a shimmering mirror-like surface that suddenly covered the rooftop. The missile disappeared into the portal-like reflection as though it had been dropped into a pool of water.
"Where did it go?" Stark asked, curious.
"You don't want to know," Solomon replied, his usual lazy demeanor returning. Picking up the scissors again to continue cutting his lifeless hair, he was stopped by Romanoff. Placing a hand on his shoulder, she motioned for him to sit.
"Let me do it," she offered. "It's the least I can do."
Obediently, Solomon sat on the edge of the balcony, his legs dangling as he lazily surveyed the war-torn city below. The Sorcerer Supreme's objective had been achieved. While the cost was steep, the display had ensured no nation would underestimate the threat of extraterrestrial forces again—though Solomon doubted the world's governments would work together seamlessly.
When Romanoff finished trimming his gray hair, Solomon now sported a neat, short hairstyle. Meanwhile, the other Avengers had subdued Loki, restrained by anti-magic handcuffs. Romanoff escorted Dr. Selvig downstairs to receive medical attention.
Solomon remained on the balcony, sharing a bag of Skittles—pilfered by Pegasus from a nearby store—with his steed. The candy served as a much-needed source of energy to replenish his life force.
"Well done," Stark said, sitting beside Solomon. "But you just robbed me of a bragging point. Poor parallel-universe me."
"You should be retrieving the Tesseract," Solomon replied, tossing Stark a few candies. The future Iron Man unceremoniously popped them into his mouth.
"I've got time," he said, though he rose to his feet. Clapping Solomon on the shoulder, he added, "With you here, this world might find things a bit easier."
"Leave that to me," Solomon replied, waving dismissively without looking back.
Moments later, Stark returned—this time the younger Stark of this timeline. Pegasus sniffed at him curiously, unable to distinguish between the two versions.
"Well done," the younger Stark said, sidestepping Pegasus's nose. "You know, I was ready to ride that nuke into the portal myself. You mentioned I'd have a daughter one day, and Pepper's not pregnant, so I figured I'd survive... Anyway, you did great. You may be young, but we need you."
"Someone already said that to me."
"Who? What?"
"'Well done,' and it was you who said it."
"Ha! Was that supposed to be a joke?" Stark shrugged, apologizing for missing Solomon's humor. "Come on, let's go. S.H.I.E.L.D. is here to take the Tesseract and Loki's scepter. Fury's higher-ups want to hand the Tesseract to Asgard, but the bureaucrats won't like it. Still, that's their problem. How about we grab some barbecue instead?"
"Sounds great," Solomon said, donning his gauntlet again. With a clap of his hands, Phoenix appeared briefly, taking the shield and lance with it before vanishing. Pegasus eyed Solomon with hopeful anticipation—it seemed interested in barbecue, too.
"I should meet these 'S.H.I.E.L.D.' officials," Solomon remarked, emphasizing the name as his mask concealed his face once more. As he descended the stairs, nearly everyone greeted him. Solomon politely responded to each, until he stood before Loki.
"Hello," Solomon said, shaking the god's cuffed hands, earning an eye roll from Loki.
"Don't be like that. I actually like you. You're smarter than most."
Loki tilted his head, studying Solomon. Unable to speak or cast spells, he communicated solely with his gaze. It didn't take much for Solomon to guess Loki's thoughts—he was undoubtedly plotting an escape.
With a flick of his wrist, Solomon cast a spell, enveloping Loki in a glowing green barrier.
"What are you doing?" Thor demanded, rushing over with Mjolnir in hand.
"Relax," Solomon assured him. "This spell ensures he can't teleport. He's secure enough for S.H.I.E.L.D. to handle now."
"Thank you," Thor said earnestly, lifting Solomon in a bear hug. "You are a true warrior, Solomon Damonet. Though I do not know your lineage, one day your honor will earn you endless mead and feasts in Valhalla."
"Thanks... now put me down!"
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