Marvel MK: CH 166 – The Start of The War

The Helicarrier groaned, a wounded beast of steel and wire protesting against the unnatural tempest that clawed at its hull. Inside the control room, the atmosphere was one of controlled panic.

"Engine number three is down! Talk to me!" Maria Hill's voice was a sharp, commanding crackle over the comms.

An operator, his face pale in the flashing red light of the alarms, responded, his voice tight with stress. "The turbine is mostly intact, but it's impossible for us to go out there while we're in the air!"

"We lose one more engine, we won't be," Hill shot back. "Somebody needs to get outside and patch that engine!"

Tony's voice, calm and laced with his usual swagger, cut through the chaos from the lab. "I'm on it."

Meanwhile, on the exposed deck, Jack Hou stood in the eye of the hurricane, the wind tearing at his hanfu. He plucked a single strand of hair, bringing it to his lips, about to blow and create a swarm of clones. But before he could, a concentrated blast of wind, a typhoon in miniature, hit him square in the back, knocking him to his knees.

"Kekeke," he laughed, pushing himself back up, his golden eyes fixed on the swirling storm. "Susanoo! I thought you had better control of your mind than to let yourself be controlled by Loki of all people!"

From the heart of the storm, a figure began to manifest—the colossal upper half of the storm god, his face a mask of cold, empty obedience, his eyes a chilling, vacant blue. He didn't say anything.

"I liked you more with the laugh," Jack said, a note of genuine disappointment in his voice. He took a long gulp from his gourd. "Ahhh."

Then, he transformed.

The tips of his long hair began to smolder, then ignite, a cascade of fiery crimson. His joints—shoulders, knees, and elbows—erupted in golden flames. From the crown of his head, three long, scarlet feathers sprouted, like a king's crest.

On the floor of the chaos-ridden control room, Professor Xavier, who had fallen from his wheelchair, looked up and saw the transformation through a shattered window.

A wild, joyous laugh, a sound of pure, unadulterated battle lust, rang out across the sky, even over the howl of the storm.

In his glass cage, Loki heard it. And for the first time, a flicker of genuine nervousness crossed his face.

Jack crouched, and then—BOOM. He launched himself into the sky, a streak of golden fire trailing behind him as he shot directly toward the silent, waiting storm god, his cackle a promise of the divine violence to come.

Tony was about to take off, his armor assembling around him with a series of sharp, metallic clicks. "Can we turn off the windpipes?" he quipped, the storm's fury making his launch impossible.

Nick Fury, looking out at the impossible duel unfolding in the sky, spoke into the comms. "Jack's handling Susanoo."

"Great," Tony said, his tone all business now. "I'll make a donation to Jack's Golden Peach after we're done."

"Hill, evac the lower bridge," Fury commanded.

"On it."

"Point us toward the water."

The control room team scrambled to obey. But as Hill was about to leave, she saw it. A small, metallic object, rolling across the floor. "GRENADE!" she screamed.

BOOM.

The control room became even more chaotic.

Amidst the smoke and sparks, Jean knelt beside Professor Xavier, helping him back into his wheelchair.

"Jean," Xavier said, his voice strained, "help the mind-controlled agents. I don't know what kind of magic the Scepter holds, but if there is anyone who can break their control, it is you."

"Help me, Professor," she pleaded.

"I can't," he admitted, the effort of his psychic battle with Loki having taken a tremendous toll. "Bending Loki's mind… it took too much out of me."

Jean stood, a new, quiet resolve in her eyes. She opened her palm, and a voice, Jack's voice, replayed in her ears—the reassurance, the calm he had brought her.

"Let me out! You need me! You're nothing to them! You're a beast!" The Phoenix's voice screamed from within, a torrent of doubt and rage.

But it didn't matter what the Phoenix said to her. She was in control of this game. Her own psionic energy flared to life, not a raging inferno, but a focused, controlled flame. She closed her eyes and began to pinpoint the same cold, blue energy of the Scepter, the same energy that now festered inside the minds of S.H.I.E.L.D.'s own agents.

…

Scott, Hank, Natasha, and Banner were sent tumbling down to the lower bridge by the force of the earlier explosion, landing in a heap of twisted metal and shattered equipment.

Hank was the first to recover, his beastly form giving him a resilience the others lacked. He saw Natasha, her foot trapped under a heavy, sparking console. With a grunt, he lifted the machinery, freeing her. "You alright?"

"I'll live," she said, testing her ankle.

Scott pushed himself up, his head ringing. He saw Banner, his face a mask of pained fury, his skin already beginning to tint a sickly green.

"The other guy's getting antsy," Banner grunted, his voice a low, guttural thing.

"Doctor," Scott said, his voice a desperate, placating plea. "Zen. Think zen."

But Banner was already gone. His stature grew, his clothes tearing as a roar of pure, unadulterated rage ripped from his throat.

"I'm sorry," Scott whispered.

He fired, a controlled burst from his optic beams that sent the newly formed Hulk flying backward, crashing through a wall and disappearing into the depths of the carrier.

"Call the Blackbird," Scott commanded, his voice shaking slightly.

Hank tapped his wrist communicator. An error message flashed on the small screen. "I can't," he said, his voice grim. "The comms are down. The explosion must have fried the systems."

From the gaping hole where Banner had been thrown, a green giant emerged, his eyes burning with a mindless fury.

"Run," Natasha said, her voice flat and matter-of-fact.

Hank leaped, his powerful legs carrying him up to a network of pipes on the ceiling, his agility a blur of blue fur. Natasha moved with the silent, fluid grace of a predator, disappearing into the shadows of the ruined corridor.

The problem was Scott. He could only run, his heavy combat boots a clumsy, thudding rhythm against the metal floor. In a rage, the Hulk gave chase.

"What did I do?!" Scott yelled as he ran, the sound of a roaring, green god hot on his heels.

…

In the relative calm of the control room, Jean Grey stood, her eyes closed, her mind a focused, surgical instrument.

"Break them down one by one," Xavier's voice guided her, a steady, paternal presence in her thoughts. "Don't force your way in all at once. It will destroy their minds… and yours. Like a surgeon, Jean. One incision at a time."

Jean took a deep breath and reached out. She found the first mind-controlled agent. Inside, his consciousness was a flickering ember, trapped in a parasitic web of sickly, yellow-gold energy. She saw the weak points, the points where the Scepter's influence was thinnest, where the agent's own will was still fighting back.

She didn't attack the energy directly. She stoked the ember. She poured her own psionic warmth into the agent's struggling consciousness, shielding it, strengthening it, until it flared to life. With a final, unified push, the agent's own will shattered the Scepter's hold, the yellow-gold energy receding like a dying star.

One down.

…

Outside, on the exposed hull of the Helicarrier, the world was a hurricane. Tony and Steve stood on the edge of the damaged turbine, the wind a physical, screaming thing that threatened to tear them from their footing.

"Alright, J.A.R.V.I.S., give me the bad news," Tony's voice crackled through his helmet. "And try to make it sound less like we're all about to die."

"The main rotor relay is shot, sir," the A.I. reported calmly. "Completely fried. And the access panel is jammed."

"Just tell me what to pull," Steve shouted over the roar of the wind.

"See that panel?" Tony pointed. "I need to get in there. But the release is fused shut."

Steve didn't hesitate. He braced himself, planting his feet on the slick, metal surface. With a grunt of pure, unadulterated strength, he began to pull at the edge of the massive panel, his muscles straining, the metal groaning in protest.

"Come on, you piece of junk!" he grunted.

"Use the shield, Capsicle!" Tony yelled.

Steve jammed the edge of his vibranium shield into the seam and pried. The metal shrieked, then, with a final, shuddering groan, the panel ripped open.

"I could kiss you!" Tony shouted. "But I won't. The helmet would get in the way." He flew into the exposed machinery, his repulsors a steady, guiding light in the dark, howling chaos.

…

The sky above the Helicarrier was a maelstrom of divine fury.

Golden flames erupted from Jack's limbs, turning his arms into molten battering rams as he launched himself at Susanoo. The storm god, a living tempest, met the attack not with force, but with fluid grace. He spun, a blur of motion like a leaf caught in a whirlwind, letting Jack's fiery charge shoot past him.

Jack, anticipating the dodge, twisted in mid-air, his momentum coiling into a powerful spinning back kick—a scorpion's sting aimed at Susanoo's spine. But the storm god was already there. With a single, open-palmed strike, he deflected the blow, a subtle, powerful redirection of force that sent Jack's kick spiraling harmlessly into the empty air.

Seizing the momentum, Susanoo unleashed a torrential downpour of strikes. Fists, elbows, and knees, each blow carrying the weight of a thunderclap, rained down on Jack. But Jack was an unmovable mountain. He stood his ground, a calm, patient smirk on his face, his crossed-arm blocks and open-palm parries deflecting the divine onslaught with an infuriating, effortless ease.

They took to the sky, a gravity-defying ballet of violence amidst the swirling clouds. A strike from Susanoo missed. They spun, the air crackling around them. Susanoo's heel kick, aimed to shatter Jack's skull, whistled past his ear. Jack saw the opening and took it, his own foot lashing out in a cheeky, dishonorable low blow. Susanoo, with a grunt of annoyance, summoned a gust of wind to propel himself higher, out of reach.

Seeing Susanoo's exposed back, Jack saw his chance. He moved, his hands clasped behind his back in a gesture of seeming defenselessness, his body coiling into a tight, spinning kick.

Unbeknownst to the storm god, as Jack spun, his hand darted to his earring. In a flash of gold, the Ruyi Jingu Bang materialized, growing from the size of a needle to its full, staff-like length in his grip. As his foot shot out, he roared, his voice a wild, triumphant thing.

"MONKEY KICK!"

But it wasn't his foot that struck. In a perfect, divine sucker punch, the staff, hidden behind the motion of his spin, slammed into Susanoo's upper body with a sound like a cracking temple bell.

Susanoo's consciousness flickered like a dying candle. He was sent reeling backward, a look of pure, dumbfounded shock on his face. "That's… a staff," he grunted, the words a breathless admission of defeat.

"Kekeke," Jack cackled, his grin a masterpiece of unholy glee. "That's what makes it a 'monkeying around' technique!"

With a roar of fury, Susanoo brought his own divine weapon, Ame-no-Habakiri, up to block. The staff met the sword with a shriek of divine metal, crackling thunder erupting from the point of impact. The force of the blow sent Susanoo hurtling backward through the storm.

But Jack wasn't done. He unleashed his Peach Blossom Storm. A blizzard of razor-sharp, fiery blossoms erupted from his very being, a hurricane of fire and flowers that shot toward the retreating storm god.

Susanoo was a whirlwind of steel and thunder. He deflected and parried, his sword a blur of motion, a lone warrior standing against a relentless, beautiful storm. He saw a gap, a fatal lull in the storm of petals, and with a roar, he became a living torpedo of divine will. He used his Step of the Wind, launching himself through the fiery blizzard, and with a final, explosive burst of speed, he slammed his knee into Jack's stomach.

The impact sent a shockwave through Jack's body, the air driven from his lungs in a silent, agonizing gasp. The Ruyi Jingu Bang fell from his grasp, plummeting toward the ocean below. Susanoo grabbed Jack's entire body, a cyclone of raw power coiling around him, and with an explosive, furious spin, he flung him downward.

But Jack's nails, now talons of molten gold, clenched, digging into Susanoo's shoulder. They sank in deep, and ichor, the golden blood of the gods, welled up. Susanoo roared, not in pain, but in triumph. He brought his hand up and slammed it into Jack's body, a stunning strike that sent a wave of divine energy through him. Jack coughed up blood, a spray of crimson and gold against the dark, stormy sky.

Susanoo then pushed his divine energy into a final, augmented breath. A focused, concentrated blast of pure, crackling storm energy, a Storm God's Judgment, erupted from his mouth at point-blank range. In a flash of lightning, Jack was flung from the sky.

The impact was not a splash, but an explosion. The surface of the ocean vaporized, a massive crater forming as the water was blasted away, two towering walls of the sea rising on either side. It was as if Moses himself had split the sea, leaving a deep, temporary canyon in the heart of the ocean, with Jack's unconscious form at its very bottom.

…

The Helicarrier, a wounded leviathan, began its slow, inevitable fall from the sky. And as if announcing the true start of the war, the world plunged once more into an unnatural, suffocating darkness.

From the stormy sky, Susanoo saw Loki, safe inside a stolen Quinjet, banking toward New York. The storm god scoffed, a sound of pure, divine contempt, and followed, a silent, deadly shadow in Loki's wake.

Inside the falling Helicarrier, Iron Man was in the heart of the damaged turbine, his repulsors a desperate, steadying force as he manually rotated the massive blades.

"Anything yet?" he grunted, the strain evident in his voice.

From the outside, clinging to a precarious handhold, Steve Rogers shouted over the roar of the wind, "It's not turning! I think the relays are still jammed!"

"Okay," Tony's voice crackled through the comms. "See that lever? The big, red, 'do not touch under any circumstances' one? I need you to touch it. Pull it. Hard."

Steve braced himself, and with a grunt of pure, super-soldier strength, he pulled. The lever groaned, then, with a final, shuddering release, the turbine roared back to life.

The Helicarrier stabilized, its slow descent halting as the engines fought for altitude.

In the medbay, a quiet, tense scene unfolded. Hank McCoy, his blue fur a stark contrast to the sterile white room, was tending to the still form of Phil Coulson. Nick Fury stood at the door, his one good eye fixed on his fallen agent.

"How is he?"

"He lost a lot of blood," Hank said, his voice a low, grim thing. "But it's fortunate I was here. He'll be okay."

Fury let out a slow, shaky breath, a sound of profound relief. But the world, it seemed, would not give them a moment's respite. Just as they had patched the rotor, just as Phil was stabilized, the sky turned to a starless void once again.

Xavier, his face pale but his voice a steady, commanding presence, rolled into the comms room. "We need to go back to New York," he declared. "The choking point will be there."

Tony, having just landed back on the Helicarrier deck, activated his comms. "Rhodey, do you copy?"

…

In Hong Kong, James Rhodes, his War Machine armor a sleek, grey harbinger of justice, was in the middle of a firefight with Ten Rings terrorists. A small, flashing icon appeared on his HUD: "Incoming Call from 'Martini'."

"Rhodey, do you copy?" Tony's voice crackled in his ear.

Rhodey looked up. The night sky, which had been a familiar canvas of city lights and stars, was now a deep, suffocating black. "Tony? What's going on? Is the void sky striking again?"

"If it's not too much trouble for you," Tony said, his voice a strange, tight thing, "you think you can high-tail it to New York in the next, oh, I don't know, ten minutes?"

"I'm in Asia, Tony," Rhodey shot back. "Even if I went supersonic, it would take an hour, maybe more. Are you alright?"

"What part of Asia are you in?"

"Hong Kong."

"Good," Tony said. "Make sure to help the Zodiac division. Help them evacuate."

"Tony! Tony! What happened?!" But the call was already cut.

…

Jean was in the Helicarrier's medbay, tending to Clint Barton. "His mind is still good," she said to Natasha, her voice a quiet, reassuring thing. "He just needs water and food. That's all."

Natasha nodded, a silent, profound gratitude in her eyes. As Jean came out, she passed Captain America.

"What happened?" she asked.

"Jack's at the bottom of the ocean," Steve said, his voice a low, grim thing. "And the sky turned to a void again."

But then, from the dark, churning sea below, a single, golden point of light emerged. A staff. It rose from the depths, higher and higher, a silent, impossible pillar against the black sky. Perched on its tip, in a low, crouching stance, was Jack Hou.

He was soaked, his hanfu plastered to his body, washed clean of blood but still bruised. He took a long, slow drink from his gourd, and as he did, his bruises began to fade, the last of his wounds knitting themselves closed. He shook his soaked hair from his face, and then he leaped.

He landed on the deck of the Helicarrier with a soft, silent thud. He waved to the stunned faces in the control room. "I'll see you in New York," he said, his voice a cheerful, unconcerned thing.

He then jumped off the side of the carrier and, with a whistle, his loyal Zephyr swooped in from the darkness, catching him in a cloud of misty blue as they shot off toward New York.