The ground shattered beneath his feet as he moved.
Not just fast—*impossible*. The massive continent of cursed energy within him fueled his movements, converting directly into raw physical velocity. The air screamed past his ears as the world blurred into a streaking kaleidoscope of neon and grey. New York disappeared behind him.
*The transatlantic ocean. That distance—that space between continents.*
Alan covered the Atlantic Ocean in minutes.
Water split beneath him as he ran across it, cursed energy propelling him forward. The ocean looked like static beneath his feet. No wake. No disturbance. Just raw speed.
His lungs didn't burn. His muscles didn't tire. That cursed energy stockpile was practically bottomless at this scale.
Then London appeared on the horizon. Smoke. Fire. Screams.
London was in chaos.
The sky was choked with dark smoke. Buildings crumbled. And there, in the center of the devastation, Thor—God of Thunder himself—was locked in brutal combat with Malekith, leader of the Dark Elves.
Mjolnir crackled with lightning, slamming into Malekith's blade with ear-splitting force.
Alan didn't hesitate. He appeared between Thor and Malekith like a bullet from a sniper rifle—no warning, no cursed energy signature until the last instant.
**Black Flash.**
The spatial discharge cracked the air with a whip-like thunderclap, distorting time and space itself. His fist landed directly on Malekith's chest—a perfect, zero-distance strike.
Malekith's body flew backward. Armor shattered. Dark Elf blood sprayed across the crumbling pavement. The impact radius cratered the street beneath him—three blocks worth of demolition.
Thor stared, frozen mid-swing, his jaw dropping.
"Who the—" the God of Thunder started.
But Alan was already gone, moving to the next threat.
More Dark Elves. Dozens. Maybe hundreds. Swarming the city. Killing civilians.
Alan flickered between them like a ghost.
**Black Flash.**
Another Dark Elf crumpled. Then another. The spatial distortion from each strike sent shockwaves through the crowd. Malekith groaned, pushing himself up from the crater, his eyes blazing with hatred.
"What are you?" Malekith snarled.
The Reality Stone. The Aether. The most powerful artifact in the universe—capable of warping reality itself.
Malekith clutched the glowing red substance, his dark eyes filled with malice and desperation. The Aether swirled around his gauntlet, feeding on his hatred.
"You dare interfere with my destiny?" Malekith sneered, the red glow intensifying.
Alan's control was absolute. Eighty-four years of mastery meant he could dial down Fuga with surgical precision.
The inferno settled into a concentrated beam of white-hot flame—intense enough to incinerate Malekith and his Aether, but contained enough that not a single innocent building in London would catch fire.
The concentrated beam of Fuga slammed into Malekith. The Dark Elf leader roared, raising his gauntlet to block—but the heat was absolute. His armor cracked. His flesh sizzled. The Aether itself seemed to scream as it was forced from his grip.
The Aether flew free, glowing red and desperate.
Malekith disintegrated into ash before he could even scream.
The Aether floated in the air, glowing with malevolent red energy. The most powerful reality-warping substance in the universe—capable of reshaping existence itself.
Alan walked toward it calmly. No hesitation. No fear. Just cold, calculated steps over the charred remains of Malekith.
The Aether pulsed, sensing his approach, almost as if it were trying to...
The red glow was intense. Dark energy that could bend reality itself.
Alan's eyes narrowed. Eighty-four years of combat experience told him one thing: the Aether was dangerous. Unstable. Capable of horrific destruction if used improperly.
The glowing substance pulsed slowly, rhythmically—almost like a heartbeat.
It wanted to be held. It wanted a host.
Alan knew the timeline perfectly. In the original events, the Aether would've gone to the Asgardians, then to the Collector—a fallible, paranoid man who would've inevitably been killed by Thanos, the Aether slipping back into dangerous hands.
The cycle of destruction. The predictable pattern.
Alan reached out toward the pulsing red substance.
Alan closed his hand around the Aether. The Reality Stone felt warm, almost comforting. Like it was finally home. Instead of passing it to the Collector—ensuring its eventual fall into Thanos' hands—he decided to change the course of history.
"Not this time," he muttered softly. "No one gets this."
thought quietly to himself.
*Construction technique.* He used his innate technique to weave a containment unit around the Aether, creating a powerful, inescapable prison for the Reality Stone. The Aether pulsed angrily inside its new home, trying to warp reality as it always had. But Alan's construction was perfect—flawless.
Alan turned to face Thor, who was still standing there, mouth slightly agape, Mjolnir hanging limply at his side.
The God of Thunder blinked. Then blinked again.
"What..." Thor started, gesturing vaguely at the pile of ash that used to be Malekith. "What in the Nine Realms was that? And what did you just put in your pocket?"
"all good questions though up down there, but those are going to be unanswered for today. See you around." He said, stomping the dirt, causing a dirt cloud to go in the air
The dirt cloud erupted from beneath Alan's feet, a blinding wave of dust obscuring his silhouette completely. Thor shielded his eyes—only for a split second.
When the dust settled, Alan was gone.
No footprint. No sound. Nothing.
"Heavens—" Thor stammered, lowering his hands.
Thor stood in the middle of the devastated London street, blinking. The dust settled around his ankles.
He looked left. Right. Nothing but ash and rubble.
"What in the Nine Realms..." Thor muttered, running a hand through his hair. He glanced at the empty crater where Malekith had fallen. Then at the spot where that strange man had vanished.
Thor remained in the ruined streets, struggling to process what had just occurred. One moment, a mysterious man appeared and single-handedly annihilated the Dark Elf army. The next, he vanished into a cloud of dirt—leaving no trace.
And that thing in his pocket...
Thor shook his head, Mjolnir crackling slightly. "I need to speak with Odin about this."