"What's going on here? Where are the Asgardians? Don't tell me they've all vanished."
Malekith stood among the silent ruins, his voice echoing across empty halls that had once housed one of the most powerful civilizations in existence. The absence was unsettling. Asgard wasn't some fragile empire that could simply disappear. Its people lived for thousands of years, and their influence stretched across the Nine Realms.
And yet… nothing.
No guards. No civilians. Not even signs of a recent struggle.
His forces spread out, combing through every structure, every corridor, every hidden chamber. The conclusion came back the same every time.
Asgard was deserted.
More than that, it had been abandoned recently. The traces were subtle, but clear enough. Whatever had happened, the evacuation hadn't taken long.
Malekith's pale lips curled into a thin, humorless smile.
"So… they saw me coming and ran."
It wasn't impossible. If they had somehow learned of his return, fleeing would be the only logical move.
But it wouldn't save them.
Once he reclaimed the Aether, the darkness would spread across the universe again. And no matter where Asgard hid, as long as they remained within this cosmos, he would find them.
"Set course for Midgard," he ordered coldly. "We take back the Aether."
The Dark Elf fleet surged into motion, slipping through a spatial rift and vanishing into the void.
Meanwhile, on Earth, the atmosphere couldn't have been more different.
The upcoming Criminal Tournament had ignited a global frenzy. Every region rallied behind its own representatives, cheering for their chosen contenders like this was the Olympics—if the Olympics allowed superpowered criminals to level city blocks.
Old rivalries, buried under centuries of history, bubbled back to the surface.
Some regions took things more seriously than others.
Two in particular, long-time adversaries, had each produced a top-tier contender. Official rankings placed them nearly equal in strength, which only made things worse.
Online, the situation had devolved into chaos.
Comment sections turned into battlegrounds. Waves of spam flooded official channels, each side trying to drown out the other with ridiculous slogans and copy-pasted taunts.
To anyone in the know, it was almost funny.
To everyone else, it looked like the conflict had simply moved from the real world to the internet.
Behind the scenes, an entirely different kind of spectacle had been unfolding.
Under the relentless coordination of Wilson Fisk and Rodriguez, construction teams powered by enhanced abilities had worked around the clock. Weather didn't matter. Day and night blurred together.
In just two days, they had completed something absurd.
From above, Antarctica now held a colossal arena spanning nearly a million square kilometers, divided into a thousand separate zones.
Because the participants were criminals—and many of the matches would involve outright combat—it was too dangerous for traditional media coverage.
Instead, over a hundred thousand drones, all controlled by J.A.R.V.I.S., hovered across the battlefield, capturing every angle in real time.
High above it all, Noah Vale reclined on a couch, watching the preparations with quiet amusement.
"They got creative," he said with a faint smile.
Rogue, curled comfortably against him, tilted her head up. "Creative how?"
"You'll see soon enough."
He didn't elaborate.
The room around him was… complicated.
Rogue, Camila, Gwen, and Susan were all present. The atmosphere carried a hint of awkward tension, especially between Gwen and Susan, who clearly weren't used to this kind of situation.
Noah, however, seemed entirely at ease, as if this were the most natural arrangement in the world.
Below them, the event had already begun its opening sequence.
Ten hosts stood across different broadcast zones, enthusiastically addressing the global audience and—at great length—thanking Noah Vale as the tournament's primary sponsor.
After several minutes of praise, they finally moved on.
"In ten minutes, the matches will begin," one of the hosts announced with a bright smile. "And to ensure the most dynamic performances, we'll be using Pym Particles to scale the superhuman combat zones."
Gwen blinked in surprise. "Pym Particles? Seriously?"
As a science prodigy, she understood exactly what that meant—and how absurdly expensive it was to use them on this scale.
The audience quickly caught on as well. Once the concept spread, reactions flooded in.
Extravagant didn't even begin to cover it.
Moments later, the transformation began.
Across the massive arena, a coordinated activation sequence triggered. In an instant, the entire combat zone expanded outward.
Forests stretched skyward, trees growing until their tops brushed the clouds. Buildings swelled into towering giants. From the participants' perspective, the world had become enormous.
The arena had increased in scale a hundredfold.
Its total size now rivaled ten New York Cities stitched together.
That was what Noah had meant by "creative."
"I now declare the tournament… officially underway."
At the signal, the largest zone—the superhuman combat division—erupted into motion.
Hundreds of competitors launched themselves into battle.
Between skyscrapers and forests alike, powers clashed in dazzling bursts of light and shockwaves. Energy blasts, kinetic strikes, and reality-bending abilities collided in a chaotic symphony.
Through the eyes of countless drones, the spectacle streamed across the globe.
And for millions watching, it was impossible to look away.