Meanwhile, on the ground...
"Boss! We can't hold them off—there are too many of these alien bastards!" a police officer shouted into his radio, crouched behind an overturned cruiser.
Captain America—Steve Rogers—slammed his shield into a Chitauri warrior, sending it flying through a storefront. He panted, voice sharp but steady: "Hold the line! Stark's working on shutting down the portal!"
"He'd better hurry!" Black Widow snapped over the comms. "I've got eyes on another Leviathan inbound!"
At that moment, the Hulk roared—cut short as a barrage of Chitauri energy blasts hammered him into rubble. He shook it off with a growl, but the reprieve gave the enemy just enough room to regroup.
A Chitauri gunship, sensing the lull, swooped low. Its cannons glowed an eerie, unstable blue as it locked onto the bunker where Steve and the NYPD were making their stand.
"Get down!" Steve bellowed, throwing himself in front of the officers and raising his shield.
He braced for impact—
—but nothing came.
"…Huh?"
Steve looked up, bewildered.
Hovering three meters above them—silent, motionless—were a pair of crimson boots.
Above them, a man clad in a sleek, cobalt-blue bodysuit floated effortlessly in midair. Behind him, the Chitauri gunship hung split cleanly in half, its wreckage already spiraling toward the street in flames.
"Who… who is that?" a young cop whispered, peering out from behind the car.
Steve didn't answer. He was too stunned.
"Sir," the rookie stammered, eyes wide, "is that… Superman? I used to read his comics—"
"Shut it, George," the older officer cut in. "Superman's played by Henry Cavill. That ain't him."
Steve tapped his earpiece. "Fury—what the hell is this? One of yours?"
Static.
Then silence.
Aboard the Helicarrier, Nick Fury stood rigid before a live feed, his single eye narrowed like a blade.
"Hill," he said, voice low and dangerous. "Run full diagnostics on that target. Identity. Origin. Flight capability. And for God's sake—why does he look like he walked off a movie poster?"
Agent Maria Hill's fingers danced across the console. "Sir… there's no match in any database—S.H.I.E.L.D., Stark, Wakanda, Asgardian, nothing. He just… appeared. And his bio-thermal signature—" She paused, stunned. "It's off the charts. Like a miniature fusion reactor."
Back in the war-torn streets of Manhattan, Anthony hovered calmly, relishing the sea of stares below.
Awe. Shock. Confusion. And yes—worship.
Ding! +12 Popularity Points.
Ding! +45 Popularity Points.
Ding! +109 Popularity Points.
Anthony's lip curled in mild disappointment.
"Pathetic," he murmured. "This audience is too small."
As if on cue, a Chitauri warrior spotted the intruder. With a guttural snarl, it lunged, driving its energy spear straight at Anthony's spine.
"Look out!" Steve shouted.
Anthony didn't flinch. Didn't turn.
Pfft.
The spear tip struck his back—and stopped dead.
The alien strained, veins bulging, but couldn't push forward a single millimeter.
Slowly, Anthony turned his head. His expression was calm, but his eyes burned with quiet disdain.
"Trash," he said.
In a blur, his hand shot out—grabbing the Chitauri by the skull.
To Steve Rogers' astonishment, Anthony simply gave the Chitauri warrior's head a light squeeze.
"Puff—!"
It was like squeezing a ripe tomato.
Green blood and white brain matter splattered everywhere.
The headless corpse dropped from the sky.
Anthony flicked the grime off his hands with a look of disgust.
"No wonder Homelander prefers shooting lasers from his eyes. Using your hands is really disgusting…"
He suddenly lifted his gaze to the sky.
A squadron of Chitauri aircraft was diving toward him.
His eyes began to burn—searing heat gathering behind his retinas.
"Sizzle—!!"
Two blazing, deep-red beams erupted from his eyes!
The beams swept across the sky, cleanly bisecting five Chitauri fighters—and their pilots—midair.
Molten metal and charred debris rained down like ash.
For a moment, silence hung over the battlefield.
"My God…" Officer John dropped his gun with a clatter.
"Nick…" Steve's voice was hoarse. "I'll ask you one more time—is that really not one of yours?"
"This guy… isn't actually Superman, is he?" Hawkeye muttered from a nearby rooftop.
"He's very strong," Natasha's voice crackled through the comms, "and… he seems to be enjoying it."
Iron Man executed a sharp midair turn and hovered directly in front of Anthony, his visor retracting with a hiss.
"Hey! Stars-and-stripes boy!" Tony's tone was as flippant as ever. "No cosplay convention today. Who are you? Fury's new secret weapon?"
Anthony floated calmly in the air, meeting Stark's gaze with a flawless, confident smile.
"You look more like a toy than I do. I'm just here to help."
"Help? The way you're 'helping' is… really slick."
"Thank you for the compliment."
"I wasn't complimenting you—"
"Tony!" Steve cut in, voice urgent. "Stop jawing! We're in the middle of a warzone!"
"A Leviathan's barreling down Fifth Avenue, and Hulk and Thor are holding off two more up near Grand Central."
"Leave it to me." Tony's visor snapped shut—he revved his repulsors—
"No need, Mr. Stark."
Anthony smiled… and vanished.
He was too fast.
Even Tony's armor could only register a fleeting red-and-blue afterimage.
The next instant, Anthony materialized directly in front of the charging Leviathan.
And without slowing—
He flew straight through it.
Pfft—!
To everyone's horror, he pierced the beast's armored skull at supersonic speed, emerging cleanly from the other side.
A perfectly circular hole—several meters wide—gaped through the Leviathan's massive head.
Boom…
The behemoth shuddered, power failing, and collapsed onto the street with a thunderous crash, cratering the asphalt.
Anthony hovered on the far side of the wreckage—untouched, immaculate—and turned slowly toward the stunned onlookers below.
He flashed a radiant, magazine-cover-worthy smile.
"Don't be afraid, everyone," his voice carried clearly for blocks. "I'm here."
Then, spotting a news helicopter circling overhead, he gave a bright, reassuring wave and a heroic grin.
"Don't worry! I'll save everyone here!"