This was a mysterious realm, a place that only John could access. It existed because of him, a dream from which one never truly awakened. The space itself possessed unique abilities-able to transcend the boundaries of reality and enter the dreams of others.
"You want my help waking him up?" a voice echoed from every direction, yet no figure appeared.
John nodded, raising his voice. "Use your power to cross dreams."
A gentle laugh answered him. "As you wish."
The white mist faded from John's eyes, and reality snapped back into focus. He found himself once more before the anxious Thor. John spread his hands and said, "I will do my best. The rest is in the hands of fate."
Asgard.
Loki, wielding the Casket of Ancient Winters, had launched a surprise attack and successfully frozen Heimdall, the mighty gatekeeper of Asgard. Even encased in ice, Heimdall's senses remained sharp. He could still hear Thor's distant call.
Yet the power of the Casket, an artifact of Jotunheim, was formidable. The ice was as hard as forged steel, binding every inch of Heimdall's body. Loki, having learned that the Casket was not complete, was cautious. He poured more power into the spell, thickening the ice until even Heimdall could not break free.
Nearby, two Frost Giants stood guard, their bodies low and tense. One seemed to hear something and formed ice blades in his hands, staring intently at the frozen gatekeeper. Suddenly, both giants' eyes turned white. They placed their hands on Heimdall, and the icy power flowed into their bodies. Though they were Frost Giants by birth, they were instantly frozen solid.
A crack appeared in the ice binding Heimdall. With a thunderous shatter, he broke free, panting and scanning his surroundings. Confusion clouded his face. Even as he observed the Nine Realms, he could not understand the Frost Giants' strange behavior.
"They were manipulated," Heimdall muttered, his expression grave. Who could control them?
"Heimdall, we need you!" Thor's voice rang in his ears. Heimdall knew this was no time for hesitation. Despite his injuries from the Casket, he staggered to the Rainbow Bridge control console, inserted his sword, and activated the mechanism.
A brilliant arc of color shot out the Rainbow Bridge was open once more.
Back on Earth, a vortex appeared in the sky, spiraling down to the ground. Thor's frown finally eased, a smile breaking across his face as he turned to Jane for a final farewell.
"I will come back for you," Thor said, looking deeply into Jane's eyes.
Jane, expecting a kiss, was surprised when Thor gently kissed the back of her hand instead. But she was not about to let the moment slip away. With a determined smile, she pulled Thor close and kissed him passionately, uncaring of the world around them.
"You two are like sea lions fighting over grapes," John quipped from the side, unable to resist teasing them. "The doors are open, and you are still kissing."
Thor waved to John, smiling. "I will remember your help, John."
"This was an equal exchange, Thor," John replied, shaking his head. "Besides, I gained more than you think."
Thor did not quite understand, but he had no time to ask. He stepped onto the Rainbow Bridge with his companions.
John kept his eyes narrowed, his pupils vertical as he analyzed the energy patterns and operation of the Rainbow Bridge in minute detail. Every bit of the process was committed to memory. When Thor and the others departed, the sky returned to calm.
Jane stood in place, unable to move or think, her heart still with Thor as she waited for his return. John slipped away quietly. He still had unfinished business.
Old Bridge Town.
"Someone is injured here! Call an ambulance!" voices shouted as SHIELD agents moved quickly to clear the scene. Coulson surveyed the aftermath, searching for something.
"Secure that armor as soon as you find it," he instructed. The battle with the Destroyer had left the terrifying armor behind. Even though it had not shown its full capabilities, its alien origin and destructive power made it a top priority for SHIELD.
Yet despite their efforts, the armor was nowhere to be found. Coulson's head throbbed. Had the Destroyer simply walked away on its own? He suspected John had taken it, but how could anyone hide something so massive?
They searched every corner, but found nothing. The operation had ended with most of the town destroyed, Thor's hammer gone, and the Destroyer armor missing. Coulson sat on a mailbox, melancholy, wondering what punishment awaited him. At least no one had died, though many residents were injured.
The cost of rebuilding Old Bridge Town would be immense, both in money and time. Coulson could already imagine Fury's rapid-fire complaints. His old boss was notorious for his impatience.
"Are you calculating how much compensation you need?" John's voice broke through his thoughts.
Coulson looked up, startled. "Where were you hiding just now?"
"Is that really important?" John replied, strolling over.
Coulson shook his head, glancing at the ruined town. "This is going to cost a fortune. Settlement expenses, public relations, reconstruction-"
"And you cannot charge aliens," John added, conjuring a spotless chair from nowhere and sitting down with a smug grin. "Consider yourself unlucky, Coulson."
"Are you just here to make fun of me?" Coulson sighed. "I didn't realize I was so unpopular with the Wick family."
"To be precise, yes. You are not very popular," John replied, brushing at a stain on his clothes from the fight with the Destroyer.
Coulson sighed again. "Honestly, Stark would not mock me like this."
"Do not kid yourself. He would humiliate you even more," John retorted, shaking his head at Coulson's self-delusion.
But John was not only there to tease. He handed Coulson a business card.
"What is this?" Coulson asked, reading the name: Silver Hand Fashion Architecture.
He racked his brain for any major construction company with that name, but came up empty. "Wick's new business?"
"A construction company," John replied, fiddling with his ring. "Didn't you notice something?"
"What?"
"Superheroes," John said calmly. "With superheroes come super destruction. This battle proves it."
He gestured at the devastated landscape. "More than two-thirds of the buildings are gone. Old Bridge Town may be small, but this is still a huge loss."
"So Wick is moving into construction?" Coulson asked, holding up the card. "There are lots of companies. Maybe I should open a tender."
"You are mistaken," John said. "You will need this. When you figure it out, call the number. If we handle the repairs, it will take about three days."
Coulson was skeptical. "Three days to rebuild a town? You can barely build a house in that time."
"We do not do shoddy work," John assured him. "It will be as good as new. Look for the accident and disaster repair department. That is what we specialize in."
"And the price?" Coulson asked.
"SHIELD has plenty of money," John replied, unconcerned.
John was preparing to bring wizardry into the construction industry. Wizards were not just destroyers; their power to repair was even greater. In a world where superhumans appeared regularly, a team that could quickly restore buildings was essential. Silver Hand Fashion Architecture was a company born from the wizarding world, capable of restoring a town in days.
Once, when an Obscurus rampaged through New York, wizards had repaired the entire city in a single day. John knew that integrating the wizarding and non-magical worlds was the future. Just as Kamar-Taj had revealed itself after the rise of Thanos, wizards needed to find their place.
The Magic Kingdom was now recognized by the United Nations, a legal member. Before the next great war, John planned to use Silver Hand Fashion Architecture to establish wizards as indispensable in postwar restoration, signing agreements with governments to allow magic to be used openly for the public good.
"After all, we will have a common enemy," John muttered. "When faced with powerful threats, humanity unites beyond race or color."
"Live in the light," John said, squinting up at the sun. "It starts here."
Coulson looked at the business card. "I will need to get approval."
"Do as you like," John replied, unconcerned. "Oh, by the way, where is my driver?"
"Your driver is in New York."
"I meant the taxi driver."
John looked into the distance and saw a yellow cab approaching. He opened the door and got in.
The driver glanced at John, then at the road. "Weren't you just at the Rainbow Bridge?"
John smiled. "No need to call me when you figure it out. Just call me. You will like what you see."
Coulson watched the taxi pull away, then dialed the number on the card.
"Silver Hand Fashion Architecture, how can I help you?" a cheerful voice answered.
"I need the accident and disaster repair department," Coulson replied. "A town needs rebuilding."
"Understood. Please hold."
As the taxi rolled along, the driver noticed something strange. "The car feels smoother," he muttered.
John tucked away his wand. "That is good news."
The battered yellow cab seemed to repair itself as it drove, dents vanishing and paint gleaming like new. By the time they left Old Bridge Town, the taxi looked as good as it had the day it arrived.
The driver had seen so much in the past days, he felt he could write a book. After hours on the road, they reached the airport. John gathered his belongings, tossed a wad of bills to the driver, and stepped out.
"It is time to return to New York," he said quietly. There was still much to do.