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Leipzig-Halle Airport. Sector C.
"HAHAHA! This feeling is AMAZING!"
Scott Lang had never felt more alive. Twenty meters tall, holding War Machine in one hand like a man who'd caught a particularly aggressive dragonfly, he was the undisputed king of the battlefield. Every step shook the tarmac. Every swing of his arm sent vehicles tumbling.
"Put him DOWN!" Tony fired a full missile spread. The explosions produced a few sparks on Giant-Man's surface and accomplished exactly nothing.
"This is your trump card?" Tony watched Scott rip a wing off a parked jet and wield it like a bat. "Has the law of conservation of mass been completely abandoned?"
"Hey! Like the Walkers in Empire Strikes Back!" Peter swung past on a web-line. "We need to tangle his legs!"
The battlefield had flipped. Steve and Bucky had a window.
"GO!" Scott kicked a shuttle bus aside, clearing a path. "I can't hold this much longer!"
Steve grabbed Bucky and sprinted for the Quinjet.
"Don't even—!" Black Panther lunged to intercept, and a massive foot blocked his path.
Jake had been standing at the edge of the battlefield. Watching. Calculating.
Now he moved.
He brushed dust from his jacket and looked up at the twenty-meter giant who was laughing and swinging airplane parts like toys. A small, knowing curve touched his mouth.
"That's your ultimate move, Scott?"
Tony rocketed past overhead. "Are you still spectating?! If you've got an alien monster in that watch, NOW would be the TIME!"
"As you wish, Tony."
Jake raised his left hand. His finger rested on the dial.
"But first — I want to teach the new guy something. In front of a real mountain..."
His eyes found Giant-Man.
"...twenty meters doesn't even reach the knees."
He slammed the dial.
BOOOOOM!
A storm of red-and-white light erupted — not from the ground, but from somewhere that felt like the depths of the universe itself. The air pressure wave blasted shipping containers off the tarmac, knocked Iron Man into an uncontrolled spin, and sent every person on the ground staggering.
Inside the light, something was growing.
Thirty feet. Sixty. A hundred. Two hundred. Three hundred.
The light cleared.
Way Big.
One hundred meters of red-and-white cosmic armor stood on the Leipzig Airport like a skyscraper that had decided to attend. The streamlined crest on his head pierced the low cloud layer. His shadow covered the entire apron. The ground had cratered six feet deep under each foot simply from the weight of standing.
Dead silence.
Scott Lang — twenty meters tall, mid-swing with a stolen airplane wing — froze. The wing slipped from his fingers and clanged against the tarmac.
His proud Giant-Man height, which had dominated the battlefield thirty seconds ago, came up to Way Big's shin.
Scott craned his neck. Craned it further. Nearly gave himself whiplash before he could see the face looking down at him.
"My God..." His legs buckled inside the suit. "What is that? Ultraman?"
Way Big's massive green eyes — each one the size of a house — looked down at the tiny giant at his feet with the patient indifference of a mountain noticing an ant.
"Hey, little guy."
The voice was rolling thunder. Every remaining window in the airport shattered simultaneously.
"You're in the way."
Way Big reached down. Slowly. The palm that descended was large enough to shade a football field. Two fingers — each one wider than a city bus — found the strap on the back of Scott's suit.
Pinch.
Giant-Man was lifted off the ground like a figurine being picked up from a shelf. Eighty meters of empty air between his dangling boots and the crater below.
"LET ME DOWN! I have a fear of heights! And I really need to throw up!"
"Impossible—"
Vision surged forward. The Mind Stone blazed at maximum output — a golden beam thick enough to cut through vibranium, the most powerful attack in his arsenal.
It hit Way Big's chest.
And did nothing.
The beam splashed against the cosmic armor like a flashlight hitting a cliff face. Not a scorch mark. Not a scratch. Not even a visible reaction.
Way Big glanced at Vision the way a person might notice a firefly. Then looked away.
"My God..." Peter pulled off his mask on the ground. "Mr. Stark — does this count as a workplace injury?"
Tony's face was gray. "FRIDAY, tell me this is a hologram."
"Sir, the target is physically present. Mass estimation exceeds all sensor parameters."
Silence across the battlefield.
Way Big — holding Scott in one hand like a toy — turned toward the hangar. Steve and Bucky stood at the Quinjet's hatch, equally frozen.
"Go, Captain."
The voice rolled between heaven and earth.
"Leave this to me."
Steve looked up at the red-and-white titan — a being so vast that his shield, his serum, his entire legacy as a super-soldier felt like a footnote — and nodded once.
He pulled Bucky inside. The ramp closed. Engines fired.
"Stop them!" Rhodes broke free from his shock and aimed his shoulder cannon at the climbing Quinjet.
"RHODES, DON'T!" Tony roared. "Don't provoke the—"
Rhodes hesitated. Finger on the trigger. Calculating whether duty outweighed survival instinct.
Way Big settled the debate.
One massive hand rose — not fast, not aggressive — and simply existed between Rhodes and the Quinjet. A wall of red-and-white alien flesh, fifty meters wide, blocking the line of fire the way a mountain blocks the wind.
Then — two fingers.
Click.
Way Big pinched the War Machine armor between thumb and forefinger, as gently and precisely as a man catching a fly.
"Thrusters failing! I can't—" Rhodes was frozen between two fingers, unable to turn, unable to fire, unable to do anything except experience the profound helplessness of being held by something that could have crushed him by accident.
"Quiet down, Colonel."
Way Big set Rhodes on the ground and pressed one fingertip against his chest — pinning the War Machine armor to the tarmac like a thumbtack through a paper soldier.
"Young people. Such tempers."
The Quinjet disappeared over the horizon. Safe.
Way Big looked down at Scott, who was still dangling and had progressed from protest to quiet, green-faced resignation.
"Change back."
One massive finger tapped the Pym regulator on Scott's chest.
Zzzt—
Scott shrank instantly. Way Big set him on the grass with surprising delicacy. Scott ripped off his helmet and immediately doubled over.
"Orange slices... I need orange slices..."
Green flash.
The hundred-meter titan vanished. Jake stood on the tarmac — tired, a little pale, and wearing the particular expression of a man who'd just ended a war by existing.
He walked to Tony, whose faceplate was open and whose face held the look of a man whose entire strategic framework had just been invalidated.
"Now. Can we talk properly?"
Jake pointed at the six-meter-deep footprint craters Way Big had left in the airport surface.
"Your Accords. Your oversight committees. Your panels." His voice was quiet. "They're meaningless against this level of power. You can't regulate something that could step on the Pentagon."
"Go back and tell General Ross."
The warmth left his voice.
"Stop trying to bind me with paper. Because on this planet—"
He met Tony's eyes.
"I am the rule."
Jake turned and walked toward the backup transport — Gwen, Wanda, and the still-retching Scott falling in behind him.
Nobody moved to stop them.
Not Tony. Not Vision. Not even T'Challa, whose claws retracted silently at his sides.
This hadn't been a battle.
It had been a demonstration.
[Airport battle — perfect clear!]
[Way Big transformation shattered Team Iron Man's combat resolve.]
[Rhodes injury prevented — original timeline paralysis averted.]
[Emotion resonance: 1,000,000 points (off the charts).]
[Main quest "Airport Battle" — complete.]