SECRET BUNKER – WORLD SECURITY COUNCIL CHAMBER, OFFSITE
The feed severed with a sterile hiss, plunging the chamber into the cool azure wash of emergency standby lights—shadows pooling like ink in the corners of a room engineered for ghosts. Alexander Pierce eased back into his high-backed leather chair, silver temples gleaming under the dimmed panels, his patrician features a flawless veneer of serenity masking the ceaseless churn of a mind that viewed the world as a chessboard of contingencies.
This off-grid sanctum was Hydra's shadowed heartbeat: walls of seamless titanium alloy etched with concealed data conduits, banks of silent monitors whispering encrypted streams from a hundred black ops, the air filtered to surgical purity and laced with the faint, clinical scent of ionized ozone. No windows to the world above—just a single viewport to a sterile access corridor, where armed shadows patrolled in perpetual vigilance. Here, strings were pulled from the abyss, empires toppled or changed without fanfare.
The vault door cycled open with a pneumatic sigh, admitting Brock Rumlow—his STRIKE team blacksuit with a tactical vest, his face a slab of granite under the stubble and strain.
He snapped a crisp salute, boot heels clicking on the polished deck. "Councilor Pierce," he reported, voice a low rasp honed by field ops and suppressed rage, "assets confirmed: Tesseract and scepter boxed in SHIELD's Vault 7. Double-shielded now—our inside eyes clocked an energy spike off the scale. Word from our men is that: Odin Thor's father wove some type of energy shield ward around the crate, then vanished without a trace. No audio links: our men couldn't get close to enough."
Pierce's fingers steepled beneath his chin, a cathedral of cold and calculation, his ice-blue eyes narrowing as gears turned behind them—plotting, calculating risks.
"Odin. Here. Fury buried that tidbit deep." He rose fluidly, gliding to the viewport like a specter, gazing down the corridor's endless white. The Council's missile feint had been a calculated prod, meant to flush Fury's hand; instead, it backfired spectacularly, arming the director with the upper hand and leverage on the Council's.
Hydra and SHIELD were Siamese twins at this juncture—veins intertwined, whispers shared in the dark. But Stark's infernal AI, alongside Tennyson, had blind them temporary: their repeated hacks had cauterized standard channels, forcing cutouts and dead drops until the firewalls mended. Sloppy, but survivable.
"Patch me through to Fury," Pierce murmured, his tone silk drawn over a stiletto's edge—charming, lethal. "I need his unvarnished angle, every shadow. And Rumlow—quadruple the watch. Eyes on the assets, the god, the circus freaks. No seams."
Rumlow dipped his chin in acknowledgment, melting back into the corridor's maw without a sound, his footsteps swallowed by the bunker's hush. Pierce reclaimed his seat, the leather sighing under him. Ambition stirred in his chest, a serpent uncoiling in velvet coils—Fury perched too high on for his own good, too bold in the light. Time to remind him: shadows always lengthen, and Hydra never forgot a debt.
Meanwhile, back in the secret SHIELD BASE
Water drummed down like a soft rain, washing the blood and ash off bruised skin. Ben stood under the spray, eyes shut, letting the heat sink into bones that felt a hundred years old. Purple bruises painted his right side like spilled ink. With his good hand—the one wearing the Omnitrix—he pushed wet hair out of his face and finally opened his eyes.
Exhaustion sat on him like a lead coat.
Four hours of nonstop fighting. Hulk. Chitauri. Loki. Then six more hours pulling people out of rubble. He was running on fumes and spite.
He shut the water off with a sharp twist.
At least the building fortification had done its job—turned into the fortress he'd always meant it to be. Employees safe. Civilians safe. His secret? Blown wide open on every news channel on the planet.
Perfect.
"Huh..." Ben let out a tired sigh. "Well, at least my preparations held up,' he thought. The building shielded my employees, staff, and civilians like a fortress in a storm. He'd designed Tennyson Industries that way from the start, a safety shelter for crises. He'd planned to build similar strongholds across New York and beyond once he revealed his superhero identity and gained public support. But he hadn't counted on his secret spilling out so soon.
He stepped out, snagged a towel, wrapped it low on his hips.
"Hmmm. Gonna have to explain shapeshifting into aliens to the entire staff on when everything over," he muttered. "Fun times."
Right now, Tennyson Industries is a privately owned entity, with only four investors—including Stark Group, who'd taken shares through their partnership—and two other shell companies he'd set up early on. Besides Angela, no big players demanded answers, but the mess still loomed like a gathering cloud.
His head throbbed like a drum as he thought about it, especially if Angela truly left the company. He wouldn't force her to stay if she wasn't willing.
"Wow. Your head really does look ready to explode."
Ben turned to the familiar voice, and found Maria Hill leaning in the doorway, arms folded, one eyebrow cocked like she owned the place.
"There's this thing called knocking," he said, zipping his trousers with one hand.
"I'm a spy—knocking isn't really our thing," she shot back, stepping inside without invitation with bold steps. "It's is for people with time to waste."
"Right. So you use that just barge in to catch guys half-naked? Good to know SHIELD's priorities."
"That's a pretty bold claim, Mr. Tennyson."
"Please don't call me Mister—it makes me sound old," Ben answered quickly, while putting on his other sock.
"Really? From the guy who gets irritated at being called 'kid,'" Hill joked, standing over Ben as he slipped into his tactical boots, which locked with a mechanical click as the mechanisms engaged.
"Mister is for guys in their thirties," Ben said simply, sliding on his other boot with his foot and securing it with another click.
"So, are you going to tell me why you're here, or are you really just a perv who wants to watch me shirtless?" Ben asked with a smile, as if he'd uncovered a huge secret, reaching for his black shirt.
Hill's smile was razor-thin. "If I wanted eye-candy, Tennyson, I'd wait for Thor to lose his shirt again. Trust me, the line forms on the left."
Ben snorted, but the jab landed. He grabbed a sock, sat on the bench, and started pulling it on—slow, because moving his right arm felt like grinding glass. "Could've fooled me. You're here awfully fast."
"Some of us have actual questions." She folded her arms tighter, boots ringing on tile as she closed the distance. "Like why you're hell-bent on handing both the Tesseract and the scepter to the Asgardians. After the battle."
Ben's eye's sharpen his voice flat. "Because they're not toys, Hill. Besides were currently out matched by whoever's pulling the strings and am not talking about Loki. " He raising his head back up to look Hill directly in the eye at the last statement.
"Fury was ready to give back the Cube and keep the scepter. It's literally the off-switch for the portal. We could've studied—"
"Studied?" Ben stood up fast enough that pain flared up like white-hot coal his ribs. He didn't care. "That thing fires energy blasts hot enough to melt tanks and rewires brains like flipping a light switch. You want SHIELD—or whoever's really pulling your strings—holding a mind-control button?"
Hill didn't flinch. She stepped closer, close enough that her next words brushed his skin.
"There's more you're not saying. I can smell it."
Ben met her stare, inches apart, voice low and sharp. "Yeah? Then tell Fury to ask me himself instead of sending his attack dog to sniff around my locker room."
He honestly had no plans on hiding what he speculated the true identity of the two artifacts to be. Based on his experience and analysis of what the two artifacts had exhibited.
Which were similar to two certain gems he'd read about back in his own reality. Although he'd never heard about the Tesseract and such. This wasn't the main Marvel Universe from what he'd observed up till now. With important characters all up till now resembling actors and actresses he was familiar with from his universe was telling.
"Attack dog?" Her smile turned wolfish. "Cute. Keep stalling, hero. I've got all night."
"Funny. I'm fresh out of patience."
The air between them crackled—two stubborn people refusing to blink.
Then the floor lurched hard, like a giant fist had punched the building. Lights flickered. A deep metallic groan rolled through the walls.
Ben and Hill locked eyes for half a heartbeat.
"That didn't sound like plumbing," he muttered.
Hill was already moving, hand on her sidearm. "No. That sounded like trouble just landed on our roof."
Here is a more cinematic, novel-like rewrite—stronger imagery, tighter pacing, more emotional weight, and clearer character voices, while keeping your original events intact:
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Hill didn't wait for questions. She turned sharply, boots striking the floor with purpose as she pressed a hand to her earpiece.
"This is Agent Maria Hill. All units—lock weapons and stand ready."
Ben snatched the rest of his gear and sprinted after her. Whatever had hit them hadn't been small, and it sure as hell hadn't been accidental.
---
Inside the Laboratory
The tremor rolled through the base like a distant thunderclap. Metal groaned. Glass rattled. Instruments shivered on their tables.
Tony and Bruce froze mid-task.mid-equation. The tremor rattled glassware like a gong.
"That wasn't plumbing," Tony said quietly.
Bruce nodded. "No… that was impact of something landing on top of us."
Across the facility, more heads tilted upward. In the adjacent room Thor stood still, sensing the vibration through the floorboards. Dust drifted from the rafters as Clint and Natasha exchanged tense glances.
"You think it's Loki?" Natasha asked, tightening her grip on the guardrail. Her eyes flicked toward the glowing shield encasing the Tesseract and Loki's scepter.
Around them, SHIELD agents tightened their grips on their rifles. The air sharpened with fear.
Thor's expression shifted. A presence brushed across his consciousness—ancient, warm, unmistakable.
"I am uncertain," he murmured. Then, louder, "Mother? Is that you?"
Clint and Natasha stared at him.
Yes, my son. The voice echoed gently in Thor's mind. I have arrived on Midgard in search of another Aesir—one who shares the blood of your father and me.
Thor's grip on Mjolnir tightened.
---
On the roof of an aging Manhattan building, wind swept across broken stone and forgotten pipes. Frigga sat tall upon Trjegul, her massive black feline mount. The creature's fur rippled like liquid shadow beneath her. Her white armored robes caught the dim light, and her winged crown gleamed like moonlit steel.
Her gaze swept the city—scarred, wounded—her heart tightening at the destruction she knew Loki had caused.
A crack of thunder signaled Thor's landing. Mjolnir hummed in his hand.
"Mother," he said cautiously. "Father warned me of your arrival. But with illusions so easily cast… how can I know it is truly you?"
A blue streak cut through the sky as Tony swooped in, repulsors flaring. He hovered, scanned, hovered again.
"Okay…" he muttered. "Tall lady in shining armor, space tiara, riding a house-sized cat. Thor, tell me I'm hallucinating."
"I am Frigga," she said, voice calm but heavy with power. "Queen Mother of Asgard. Goddess of the hunt. I seek one carrying the blood of Asgard. Man of Iron—fear not. I came for no battle."
Tony landed beside Thor, visor lifting. "So you're Thor and Loki's mom. Impressive work. Gotta say—"
"Stark," Thor warned quietly.
Frigga's expression sharpened. She raised her sword—the metal humming with divine energy—and pointed it directly at Tony.
"Mind your tongue, mortal, before I rip you from that metal shell."
Tony froze, palms raised. "Copy that. Lesson learned."
Vines gripped the rooftop edge as Swampfire climbed into view. He spotted Thor and Tony—then his eyes met Frigga and her mount.
"Uh… Thor?" he croaked. "Should I be bowing or… running?"
Down below, Hill, Natasha, Clint, and Bruce watched through Ben's drone feed—Olivia steering the camera with steady hands.
Then the screen exploded in white.
A golden blaze erupted across the rooftop, brighter than lightning, purer than plasma. The drone shorted instantly, monitors going dark in the control room. Even Tony's visor dimmed to maximum as he shielded his eyes.
When the light receded, Odin stood beside Frigga.
The All-Father. His presence alone bent the air, ancient and heavy with power. Frigga had dismounted Trjegul, now standing shoulder to shoulder with her husband—regal, commanding, unmistakably real.
Thor exhaled, tension draining. Loki might mimic their mother. Even her aura.
But no one faked the All-Father unless one was of equal power.
Tony checked his HUD—and stopped breathing for a moment.
His HUD exploding with red warnings.
"Uh, guys? Energy signatures just hit 'power-the Eastern-Seaboard-for-a-century' levels." Tony exclaimed in shock.
Olivia communicated the same readings to Ben through the Omnitrix, she'd even had to move the drones several meters back due to the energy interference coming of Odin. Unlike his first appearance Odin was clear making a statement with the power radiating off him.
Energy readings off the charts. Enough to power the entire state for eighty years. Maybe more.
How do you even fight something like that?
Beside him, Swampfire took an involuntary step back. Not from fear of Odin—Ben had seen gods, monsters, warlords. No.
His dread came from something far worse:
Having to explain himself.
One of the strongest individuals in the Marvel Universe, alongside another character who wasn't to be messed with either on a given day.
Hill had warned him Odin was coming. But Thor's reason—another Aesir on Earth—had blindsided him completely.
Now, standing before the King and Queen of Asgard, every instinct in Ben screamed one thing:
This was going to be difficult.
Swampfire's flaming shoulders slumped.
'Great. Exactly who I wanted to meet while on fire and smelling like a swamp.'
Frigga's gaze softened as it landed on him. She tilted her head, listening to something only she could hear. Feeling something deeper within.
"Yes," she said gently. "There you are."
Odin's single eye fixed on Swampfire with the weight of nine realms.
"Benjamin of Midgard," the All-Father rumbled, voice rolling like thunder over mountains. "We have much to discuss… and little time."
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Sorry, for the late post I wanted to release this chapter earlier but, life got in the way.