Above the chaos, Buzzshock Prime fought furiously, unleashing arcs of raw electricity as he zipped through enemy ranks. His duplicates swarmed the battlefield, frying Chitauri weapons, short-circuiting their vehicles, and disrupting enemy formations. The crackling hum of energy echoed in the air, punctuated by the sizzling of lightning strikes and the distant roar of explosions.
But the energy coursing through his body flickered—weakening.
In his earpiece, Olivia's voice cut through the din:
"Ben, you have ten seconds left before you time out. You need to fall back—now!"
Buzzshock's glowing eyes widened. Ten seconds. That wasn't enough time to retreat cleanly—and there were still civilians exposed, still Chitauri to take down.
Olivia was right. If he timed out mid-air, surrounded by enemies, he was dead.
Gritting his teeth, Ben made his choice.
"Got it," he muttered, voice tight with resolve.
And with that, he launched into his final move.
****
Buzzshock Prime rocketed skyward, his clones converging like lightning-seeking missiles. The air hummed, charged with ozone—a deadly latticework of green energy forming above the city.
As they surge into a dizzying storm of electricity, his clones syncing perfectly. They darted across rooftops, alleyways, and open streets, forming a dynamic, electrified web. In strategic corners, they perched like living lightning rods, creating a web of crackling energy—a deadly pattern shimmering in the chaos.
"Olivia," Ben's voice crackled with mischievous confidence, "bring Ariana into the mix—let's turn up the voltage. I'll need some of my toys."
"Yes, boss," Olivia responded, her tone clipped but amused.
Meanwhile, inside an aircraft hangar, the two lights ignited with a fierce glow. A sleek, modified BMW M3 GTR roared to life, tires screeching against the tarmac. It sped out onto the airfield, engine roaring, heading straight for the city's chaos.
Ben, in his Buzzshock form, blurred into motion—speed and power propelling him toward the battleground.
Across the skyline, Iron Man streaked through the air, a streak of red and gold cutting between skyscrapers that shimmered under the sun's glare. His Mark VII armor gleamed as he dodged plasma fire, executing tight barrel rolls to evade enemy shots.
Ahead, a squadron of Chitauri chariots tore through the clouds—sleek, jagged, and deadly. Their riders unleashed volleys of plasma bolts, raining destruction on urban streets.
"Let's not keep the party waiting," Tony muttered, flipping open a compartment on his shoulder.
He targeted the squadron with micro-rockets, launching a barrage that exploded in a thunderous cloud of fire and shrapnel. One alien rider spiraled down in flames, debris scattering like deadly confetti.
"Sir, you're out of shoulder cannon ammo," JARVIS announced calmly.
"Yeah, I noticed," Tony grunted, angling upward. "Thanks for the memo, JARVIS. What's next—a handwritten letter from the weapons department?"
"Would you prefer that I include a scented envelope?" JARVIS quipped as Tony executed a tight corkscrew between falling debris.
Suddenly, more enemies emerged—flanking him from alleyways, forcing him to weave and dodge with acrobatic finesse.
"Looks like the fan club's growing," Tony quipped, revving his boosters. "Time for an encore."
He smirked beneath his helmet. "Only if it comes with an espresso." He arced through a damaged support beam, his heads-up display pinging with new contacts.
Suddenly, more Chitauri burst from a side alley, flanking him on both sides.
As he prepared a strafing run, the sky lit up with arcs of green lightning—Buzzshock's clones darting across rooftops, their electrical dance aiding the fight below. Tony nodded appreciatively.
"Looks like Tennyson's little lightning batteries are pulling their weight," he muttered.
Then, Ben's voice crackled over their comms:
"Alright, folks, this announcement comes from your friendly neighborhood living battery—get ready for the ultimate light show."
Before Tony could react, a blinding surge of electrical energy erupted from every Buzzshock clone in the city, illuminating the skyline with divine, blinding brilliance. The light was so intense that Tony had to close his eyes, shielding himself from the spectacle.
Midtown, New York — Bridge Street
The battle reached a fever pitch. The sky roared with the engines of alien ships as Chitauri reinforcements poured through a glowing portal, descending like vultures upon a city ablaze with chaos. Smoke billowed amid plasma blasts and scorched metal, filling the air with the scent of burnt ozone and shattered concrete.
Buzzshock Prime stood atop a shattered bus, his glowing green eyes scanning the devastation. Around him, dozens of clones crackled with raw energy, twitching like living lightning rods.
"Olivia," Buzzshock's voice was low, fierce, commanding. "Get ready. We're ending this."
"Warning: Omnitrix transformation will time out in ten seconds," Olivia's voice crackled. "Now's the time—do something big."
Ben's jaw clenched. He lifted his arms, palms outward, summoning a storm of electricity that crackled across his form. His clones responded instantly, forming a vast, circular formation—strategically perched across the city blocks, creating a massive, living circuit.
Green lightning arcs jumped from clone to clone, flickering brighter and hotter with each passing second. The air around them shimmered with an electric hum, thick with anticipation and raw power.
Meanwhile, Captain America charged down the street, shield at the ready. He helped a mother and child dive behind a wrecked car, the chaos around him deafening—cars overturned, glass shattering, Chitauri swarming in relentless waves.
Two alien soldiers landed ahead; Steve hurled his vibranium shield—bouncing it off one's head and knocking another aside with brutal efficiency—before catching it on its rebound.
Then, the earth beneath their feet seemed to pulse, like the heartbeat of some sleeping giant stirring.
Clint Barton perched atop a battered police cruiser, launching arrows into the chaos, explosions lighting the skyline as Chitauri chariots spiraled out of control.
Near him, Natasha Romanoff moved with lethal grace—her pistols barking with surgical precision, each shot finding a target amid the chaos.
Clint smirked. "You seeing this?"
Natasha shot back, unfazed. "Yeah… what the hell is Tennyson doing?"
High above, Thor and Loki clashed atop Stark Tower, their battle interrupted by the humming energy filling the skyline. Loki's brow furrowed as he glared at Thor, whose eyes flickered with arcs of blue lightning.
"What is this…?" Loki hissed, emerald eyes narrowing.
Thor's mouth opened, sparks dancing from his eyes and fingertips—unnoticed by all—an awe that screamed in every cell.
"Tennyson…"
Loki muttered, his own emerald-green eyes glinting with cold intent.
The air sizzled—hairs rose on necks as the lightning web pulsed. Civilians clapped hands over ears, deafened by the thunderous *crack* of raw energy
Then it hit—the sky exploding in a blinding flash of emerald lightning. For five long seconds, the city was bathed in a storm of pure electrical power—Buzzshock's clones forming a massive, crackling chain of lightning stretching like a divine net across several blocks.
Chitauri convulsed midair, their weapons frying in their hands, dropping lifelessly; Leviathans screeched as surges danced across their armored plates before they crashed into buildings with thunderous crashes.
Tony's armor jolted as the lightning struck, sparks flying and systems flickering under the immense electrical storm.
"Hey," he grumbled, struggling to stay aloft. "Next time, Sparky, maybe warn the humans before you EMP the whole city."
The comms flickered, then steadied as JARVIS's calm voice cut through the chaos.
Lights flickered, alarms blared, and metallic objects hummed as the city trembled beneath the divine storm. The final arc of lightning shot toward the portal above Stark Tower, igniting a massive explosion that sent Chitauri chariots and Leviathans spiraling back through the opening—driven into retreat.
Buzzshock Prime, battered and steaming, lowered himself to a kneel on a rooftop, lightning still crackling around him. The Omnitrix's alarm blared—the transformation was ending.
A flash of green lit the storm's core, and Ben Tennyson reappeared, breathing heavily. His body drained, energy spent, but the battlefield now tilted in their favor.
Most of the Chitauri forces lay in ruins—seventy, maybe eighty percent decimated.
From a distance, Steve Rogers looked up at the young hero amid the wreckage, a rare smile touching his face.
"Nice work, Tennyson," he said quietly, pride evident in his voice.
Midtown, New York — Stark Tower
Ben, still catching his breath beneath his helmet's shadowed visor, turned his gaze toward Stark Tower. The silence stretched, heavy and almost sacred—save for the distant wail of sirens and the blaring alarms of scattered vehicles. Across the battlefield, civilians and first responders paused, breathing in relief—if only for a moment—before the chaos threatened to swallow them again.
A battered NYPD officer exchanged a glance with a paramedic, eyes wide with disbelief. Was it truly over?
Paramedics rushed forward, helping civilians from wreckage, their footsteps pounding against cracked asphalt. Firefighters, weapons hastily drawn, moved cautiously along the skyline, eyes flickering with suspicion.
On the scarred pavement, a small girl clutched her mother's hand tighter, her wide eyes fixed on the clearing sky—an uncertain flicker of hope igniting in her gaze. It was fragile, but it was there.
Then, the heavens shattered.
One... two... three... ten—
Before anyone could even breathe, the portal roared back to life with renewed fury. A swarm of Chitauri chariots burst forth—engines shrieking like beasts unleashed from the depths. The Leviathan's shadow swallowed six city blocks, its gargantuan maw dripping molten plasma that melted asphalt to slag
That fragile hope shattered in an instant.
On the balcony of Stark Tower, Loki stood with a mischievous smirk, his green and gold armor gleaming beneath fractured sunlight. His eyes sparkled with malevolent glee as he lazily raised a hand, as if conducting a grand, sinister orchestra.
"See, brother," Loki drawled, voice dripping with mockery, "it's only a matter of time before your allies crumble beneath my feet."
Thor, fists clenched and jaw tight, stepped forward, the storm of frustration and sorrow etched into his face.
"This is the last time I offer you surrender, Loki," he growled. "Call off your forces—before more lives are lost. Father might still—"
Loki's sneer twisted sharply. His voice cut like a dagger.
"Father? That decrepit old fool?" he spat. "He stopped being my father the day he filled my ears with lies and broken promises. Family, dear brother, is just another pawn in his endless game."
Thor's face darkened, a flicker of old pain flashing in his thunderous gaze.
"You've fallen far from the brother I once knew," he said softly, sorrow weighing his words.
Without warning, Loki unleashed a blast of blue energy toward Thor before lunging forward, scepter flashing in his hand.
Thor blocked the attack, redirecting the beam with Mjolnir, the force crackling through the air. Lightning and blue energy crackled as the two gods clashed—hammer against scepter, rage against sorrow—waging war atop a crumbling kingdom.
Their fierce duel spilled from the balcony, thunder rolling as hammer collided with blade, emotions surging—until the scene sharply cut away.
On the ground, Clint Barton slumped his shoulders, a mixture of fatigue and bitter humor on his face as he surveyed the incoming wave.
"Well, that was a nice break," he quipped dryly, nocking another arrow with practiced ease.
Beside him, Natasha Romanoff reloaded her pistols in a single fluid motion, a faint smirk tugging at her lips.
"Well, then, breaks over. Back to work," she said coolly, her tone as composed as her deadly aim.
Together, they pivoted, weaving through the chaos as they resumed mowing down Chitauri infantry with lethal precision.
Elsewhere, Steve Rogers, his suit stained with Chitauri blood, caught sight of the new wave erupting from the portal. His stomach clenched—a fleeting moment of dread—then hardened into grim resolve.
He raised his shield, steadying himself amidst the wreckage-strewn street. His gaze sharpened.
"They just don't know when to quit," he muttered under his breath, watching helpless civilians scatter once more in panic.
Without hesitation, he sprinted into action, rallying survivors toward safer ground even as alien plasma rained down from the skies.
Above, Tony Stark darted through midair debris, locking onto the incoming chariots.
"Okay... so I guess round two's bigger, badder, and... much angrier," Tony quipped, firing twin repulsors at a dive-bombing chariot.
"You know, guys, next time we save the world—how about we make it a one-and-done deal?"
The Iron Man armor shrieked through a barrel roll as plasma bolts streaked past him, before unleashing a volley of miniature missiles that tore several Chitauri crafts from the sky in a chain of fiery explosions.
Meanwhile, aboard the S.H.I.E.L.D. Helicarrier—
The bridge was alive with frantic activity. Surveillance screens flickered, showing chaotic, half-scrambled glimpses of the battlefield.
Director Nick Fury stood resolute at the command console, his single eye narrowing.
"Hill," he barked, "how long until we get our eyes and ears back on the ground? We're flying blind."
Agent Maria Hill, furiously tapping her console, frowned.
"Still working, sir. That electrical storm fried half our sensors. Tennyson's energy surge caused massive electromagnetic interference—"
Suddenly, the entire bridge plunged into eerie silence as communications cut out.
A tense second passed. Then—a flicker—the channels roared back to life.
Hill shot a wary glance at a nearby technician, who raised his hands defensively.
"I—I don't know what happened! The signal just—cut out, then came back!"
Before Fury could demand explanations, a calm, familiar voice broke through the speakers:
"Visual and audio feeds have been re-established," Olivia's voice announced.
Hill's eyes widened slightly in recognition.
"Olivia," she said softly. "Tennyson's AI. I encountered her when recruiting the kid for this mission."
Fury raised an eyebrow but didn't seem surprised.
"Figures," he muttered. "At least one part of the plan is working."
The bridge crew exchanged wary glances as Olivia continued, her tone smooth and professional:
"I am transmitting tactical directives to all law enforcement and military units. Please advise if you require specific orders."
Fury scowled. "And how exactly are you barking out orders without causing a meltdown down there?"
Without missing a beat, Olivia answered, a mischievous tone underlying her politeness:
"I am equipped with advanced voice-alteration protocols. I am currently issuing commands using the authorized vocal profiles of known leaders—including, but not limited to, Director Nicholas J. Fury."
The entire bridge froze briefly.
Suddenly, the comms crackled—and Fury's own stern voice issued a series of rapid-fire battlefield instructions through the speakers, commanding SHIELD operatives in the chaos-ridden city.
A beat of stunned silence. Then a junior tech stifled a nervous laugh.
Fury's eye twitched as his own voice barked from the comms: 'Stark, stop hotrodding and cover the east flank!' A vein pulsed in his temple. 'Hill—tell me this AI isn't quoting my damn mission reports.'
"She's using your 2010 speech on interagency cooperation, sir," Hill said, deadpan. "Word for word." Hill added finally
Fury sighed. "Remind me to delete those files later."
Hill allowed herself a small, knowing smirk.
"Could be worse, sir. She could've picked your karaoke voice."
Even amid the chaos, a ripple of subdued laughter passed across the bridge—a brief moment of levity in the storm.
Fury shook his head grimly.
"Alright, Olivia. You're in. Keep it tight. No surprises."
On the battlefield, Ben finally found his breath again, eyes sharp beneath his helmet. The swirling portal above was a gaping wound in the sky—and he knew, with cold certainty: this fight was far from over.
His hands drifted over his utility belt, ready.
"Olivia, ETA three minutes," her voice echoed inside his helmet.
"That's more than enough," he said, unhesitant, as the first squadron of Chitauri chariots roared toward him, engines blazing.