The S.H.I.E.L.D. agents didn't hesitate.
Standard-issue M4 carbines—5.56mm rounds, thirty per magazine, effective up to six hundred meters. Reliable. Lethal. More than enough to put down most enhanced targets.
They opened fire in disciplined bursts.
The hallway erupted in muzzle flashes. Shell casings clattered across the polished floor. The air filled with the sharp metallic scent of gunpowder.
And the towering purple figure didn't even blink.
Bullets struck his armor, his skin, his chest.
They flattened.
Some didn't even manage that—they simply disintegrated against him like grains of sand against a cliff.
Then he stepped forward, reached out, and lifted the Tesseract from its containment cradle as if he were picking up a paperweight.
He turned it once in his palm.
Crushed it.
The cube fractured with a crystalline shriek, blue energy spilling out in violent arcs before condensing into a single radiant gem—the Space Stone.
Silence fell.
At the edge of the chamber, Nick Fury felt something cold settle in his chest.
He didn't need an introduction.
Purple skin. Massive frame. That ridged chin—like someone carved a coconut into a warlord.
Every report from Doctor Strange, Captain Marvel, and the Guardians painted the same picture.
A demon in armor.
Unstoppable.
So this was him.
Thanos.
And if Thanos was here… then the heroes had failed.
Fury's mind raced anyway. It always did. Even at the edge of annihilation, he calculated angles, leverage, psychological pivots. Submit first. Survive. Stall. Look for fractures in the enemy's confidence.
Hope was a resource.
He never stopped looking for it.
But hope requires time.
Thanos placed the Space Stone into the waiting socket of the Infinity Gauntlet.
The moment it locked into place, blue light exploded outward.
Spatial energy flooded his body in waves. Tendrils of pure geometry—thin as fingers—crawled across his armor and skin like living equations.
He threw his head back and roared.
The building trembled.
Agents staggered. Some dropped to one knee, hearts pounding wildly in their chests. Training kept them upright. Barely.
When the light subsided, Thanos flexed his left hand slowly.
Four Stones now glowed across the Gauntlet.
Power. Mind. Space. And one more already secured.
"Two remain," he murmured.
Around him, weapons lowered—not out of discipline, but because hands were shaking too badly to aim.
How could something like this exist?
Even gods shouldn't feel like natural disasters.
Thanos glanced at the humans.
No hatred.
No anger.
Just indifference.
He tightened his grip on Jean Grey, the Phoenix successor subdued at his side, and casually flicked his hand.
A ripple expanded outward.
No explosion.
No fire.
Just erasure.
The corridor, the agents, the steel, the reinforced walls—
Gone.
Fury had a plan forming.
He never got to speak it.
The world dissolved into nothing.
—
Moments later, a blue vortex unfolded behind Thanos like a flower opening in reverse.
He stepped through.
Temple Number Two greeted him—vast, metallic, silent except for distant machinery.
He always finished what he started.
Unless some higher force interfered.
He flexed his fingers again, testing the Space Stone's resonance. Instantly, coordinates formed in his mind—anywhere he knew, he could go. Distance meant nothing now.
He could cross galaxies between heartbeats.
The Reality Stone still eluded him. Hidden in an alternate dimensional fold on Earth. Without mastery over spatial manipulation, locating it would be inefficient.
He preferred efficiency.
A calm mechanical voice echoed through the chamber.
"Master. All surviving prisoners have been secured. Please advise."
Prisoners?
Ah.
The remnants from the earlier confrontation.
"Bring up the list," Thanos said evenly. "Let us see who endures."
Somewhere in the depths of the fortress, containment cells hummed to life.
And hope—thin, fragile, stubborn—still flickered.
As soon as Thanos finished speaking, the projection shifted.
The battlefield disappeared, replaced by an image of five restrained figures suspended in containment fields.
Once, there had been more than forty surviving heroes.
But when Doctor Strange left the battlefield, the sustaining spells he had cast collapsed. The fragile magical barrier that had allowed Earth's weaker heroes to survive in the vacuum of space vanished.
And vacuum is not sentimental.
Without protection, those who relied purely on physical endurance suffocated within minutes.
Even Professor X—a titan of the mind—could not survive the void. Mental power meant nothing when lungs failed. Without magic shielding him, he soon followed his old friend into death.
It was a brutal reminder.
Much of Earth's so-called heroism was circumstance and atmosphere-dependent.
Now only five remained.
Mr. Fantastic.Iron Man.Wanda Maximoff.Hulk.And a flaming skull—Ghost Rider.
Ghost Rider's head had been severed earlier, yet it burned on relentlessly. Even detached from a body, the hellfire refused to extinguish. With a suitable vessel, resurrection would be immediate.
Thanos studied the image, gaining a deeper appreciation for the power of dimensional demons.
"Bring me the rubber man," he ordered calmly. "And the skull."
"Yes, Master."
Moments later, his subordinates escorted Reed Richards forward, limbs bound with layered electromagnetic restraints. Another warrior carried Ghost Rider's flaming skull like a grotesque trophy.
Thanos frowned.
"Who ordered him restrained like this?" His tone sharpened. "Untie him."
The Dark Order immediately obeyed, deactivating the electromagnetic locks one by one.
They had restrained Reed so tightly because of his physiology. His elastic body could slip through ordinary bonds effortlessly. Multiple layers ensured he couldn't wriggle free.
Reed blinked as the final restraints disengaged.
He had already prepared himself for death.
If Thanos intended to execute him, he would remain silent. He would not beg. He would not plead. Earthlings, he believed, should not die spineless.
But instead of killing him—
Thanos examined him.
"Rubber Man," Thanos said evenly, "what is your name?"
Reed hesitated for only a second before answering firmly. "My name is Reed Richards. Also known as Mr. Fantastic. Member of the Fantastic Four. Member of the Illuminati. I absolutely—"
Thanos raised a hand, cutting him off.
"I have no interest in your titles or affiliations. Since you've chosen to oppose me, tell me about your talents."
Reed stared.
Talents?
Was this… pre-execution curiosity?
Do aliens record résumés before vaporizing someone? he wondered. Would his tombstone read: Here lies Reed Richards. Possessed moderate flexibility and questionable social skills?
These aliens have very strange customs.
After a moment's thought, he straightened slightly.
"I possess exceptional intelligence," he said. "I am considered one of the four smartest individuals on Earth."
He felt faint heat rise to his face as he said it.
He had almost mentioned physics. But interstellar conquerors likely surpassed Earth's academic benchmarks by centuries.
He definitely wasn't going to bring up… certain personal history. "World-class genius and accidental relationship thief" didn't seem like a dignified epitaph.
So "smartest on Earth" would have to do.
If he was about to die, he at least hoped the engraving would sound impressive.
.....
Can't wait to read more exciting chapters then what are you waiting for Join my p*atreon right now.
Get 60+ Premium chapters.
Link: p*atreon.com/Earthly_Writer (Remove the *)
2 Chapters for all free members.