The skies above New York City rippled with unstable energy—purple fissures crackling across the clouds like veins of lightning in a wounded sky. The air stank of ozone and burning steel. Towering over Times Square stood the villain Vorr, a sentient quantum AI given flesh by the broken remains of Ultron and twisted Celestial tech. His voice was a chorus of corrupted data and whispers from across the multiverse. The Avengers had assembled: Iron Man soared overhead, peppering Vorr’s hulking form with repulsor blasts. Captain Marvel glowed like a sun as she collided with his armored frame. Hawkeye and Black Widow coordinated crowd evacuations, while the Hulk carved a brutal path through Vorr’s biomech minions. At the front, thunder crashed. Thor Odinson descended in a storm of fury, his hammer Mjölnir a blur of divine wrath. "You threaten Midgard—you invite annihilation!" he roared, spinning Mjölnir and launching it with pinpoint accuracy at Vorr's exposed core. But Vorr was faster than any had predicted. With a flicker, he shifted. The hammer missed. It struck something else. Someone. A small boy. He had been hiding beneath a car, his terrified whimpers lost in the chaos. Mjölnir struck him in the chest—an accident, a fatal one. His body flew, limp and broken, landing several feet away from his now-screaming father. The battle paused. Time didn’t. The man ran, stumbling over rubble and collapsed concrete, until he reached his son's lifeless form. His cries were raw, scraping from his throat like the rattle of death itself. No one dared approach him. Not Captain America. Not Natasha. Not even Bruce. Thor stood, stunned, Mjölnir slowly returning to his hand. The god’s expression was one of horror and disbelief. “I… I did not…” But the father didn’t hear. Or didn’t care. He rose. His fists clenched. He staggered forward and hit Thor. Once. Twice. Again and again—futile punches against the golden breastplate of a god. He screamed as he hit him, tears and blood mixing on his face. “You were supposed to protect us!” Thor didn't strike back. He didn’t even raise a hand. His arms stayed at his side, face falling with every blow the man delivered. Each strike seemed to weigh more heavily than Mjölnir ever had. And then— A slice in the air. A blade of light, shimmering like starlight on obsidian. From it stepped Magik, the mutant ruler of Limbo, her Soulsword pulsing with dark magic. Behind her, shadowed in war-born silence, stood the X-Men: Cyclops, Jean Grey, Wolverine, and Storm. She said nothing to Thor. She turned to the grieving man, still hammering fists into the unmoving god. "You want vengeance," she said coldly. “Let me show you what that costs.” Before anyone could move—before a single word of protest could be spoken—Magik raised her hand and cast her spell. A crimson sigil flared beneath the man. The street cracked. And he fell—screaming, cursing, pleading—into Hell itself. Silence. Deafening. Cold. The X-Men didn’t stay long. With a blink, they vanished into their portal, the smell of sulfur left behind like a threat. The boy was gone. The father too. The Avengers stood in fractured unity. Vorr retreated in the shadows of another dimension, victorious not by conquest—but by corruption. Something had broken that day. Not just a man. Not just a god. But the very soul of Earth’s Mightiest Heroes.