The explosion didn't come from the sky this time.
It came from the internet.
Saturday executed the release with surgical precision.
Edited footage from the Helicarrier.
Audio of the nuclear launch order.
Timestamp overlays.
Cross-referenced military chatter.
Then came the push.
Sock-puppet accounts flooded forums.
Trending tags ignited.
Influencers reposted the "leak."
Within hours, the narrative flipped.
"They tried to nuke New York?"
"While civilians were still there?"
"The Avengers stopped it?"
Anger spread faster than the Chitauri invasion had.
In Washington, emergency meetings were called. Phones rang without pause. Advisors whispered about resignations.
Nick Fury stared at the chaos unfolding across every screen.
"…So this is her move."
He wasn't angry.
If anything, he was impressed.
"She's protecting the Avengers," Natasha said quietly from the corner.
"And punishing the idiots who authorized that missile," Fury replied.
The Director leaned back in his chair.
He had wanted control.
Artoria had chosen leverage.
Different philosophies.
Same battlefield.
In New York, Artoria's clone stood by the window of her office building, watching the crowd surge through the streets.
Signs waved.
Chants echoed.
No one blamed the heroes.
Exactly as planned.
"Public opinion," she murmured, "is more destructive than any beam of light."
She wasn't naive. Governments would recover. They always did.
But the message was clear:
Touch what is mine—
and I will answer.
Her phone buzzed.
"Maya here. The stabilization formula worked."
Artoria's eyes sharpened.
"I'm coming."
The potion that had saved lives during the invasion was only the prototype. With refinement, it could become something far greater.
Enhanced cellular recovery.
Stamina restoration.
Perhaps even controlled regeneration.
If the world insisted on escalating threats, she would escalate preparation.
Meanwhile, somewhere in a quiet American town—
A cigarette burned between pale fingers.
The woman's eyes reflected the flickering television screen.
Avengers footage played.
Explosions.
Lightning.
A man in iron armor.
A god with a hammer.
Then—
Golden armor.
Emerald eyes.
A sacred sword.
The cigarette fell from her lips.
"…Arthur?"
Her breath trembled.
Impossible.
She had watched her sister die.
Watched the body taken.
Watched hope collapse.
And yet—
That face.
That aura.
That armor.
Her hand tightened around the beer bottle until glass cracked.
The cold indifference that had frozen her heart for years fractured for the first time.
If there was even the slightest chance—
She would verify it.
No matter the cost.
In Kamar-Taj, far across the world, Artoria suddenly paused mid-training.
A strange chill brushed her spine.
As if someone had just spoken her true name.
Ancient One noticed.
"You felt that?"
Artoria nodded slowly.
"…Yes."
Ancient One's gaze drifted toward the horizon.
"The threads of fate," she murmured, "have begun to tangle."
And somewhere between past and present—
A story long thought buried was about to resurface.
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