A massive fighter jet suddenly appeared in the skies above Stark's head. Its black fuselage gleamed under the sunlight, and emblazoned across its side was a striking emblem—an elegant sword piercing through the center of a circle.
"…Yeah, I'm willing to bet that's not one of ours," Johnny muttered from where he lay beside Stark, his tone laced with a tinge of envy as he gazed up at the descending aircraft.
Back at the Avengers Tower, they'd all seen what a Quinjet looked like.
But this thing?
This wasn't a Quinjet.
This was something else.
The black eagle-shaped fighter slowly descended, landing with eerie precision. The hatch hissed open.
Rogers carried Wanda in his arms, her body limp but still breathing, while Mandarin followed closely behind, lugging the lifeless body of the Silver Surfer. The moment they stepped aboard, the hatch sealed shut with a sharp clank, and the colossal Eagle fighter lifted off once more, vanishing into the clouds.
Reed Richards jogged over to Stark, eyes wide. "Was that part of the superhero group you mentioned?"
Stark squinted at the receding jet, feeding the last of his arc reactor's power into his armor's recon system. A holographic interface blinked to life inside his helmet, revealing the same symbol—a sword embedded in a circle.
He read the words aloud: "Sentient World Observation and Response Division…"
He paused.
"S.W.O.R.D."
"Sword Bureau," he murmured, the name rolling off his tongue with a mixture of intrigue and uncertainty.
Those people in strange uniforms… they were part of this organization?
His thoughts drifted back to the Kree invasion. He remembered a few unfamiliar figures—fighting on the frontlines, wielding power that didn't come from any Avengers database.
So they were S.W.O.R.D. agents?
Clearly, the organization wasn't limited to just that group. It had tech more advanced than the Quinjets and operatives who could hold their own against galactic invaders.
And yet… Stark knew next to nothing about them.
Just that they existed.
Reed watched as the Eagle fighter shimmered midair, activating a stealth cloak that rendered it invisible. He tilted his head thoughtfully and said, "Looks like it's time we faced facts. There's a gap between us and them. And if we're smart, we'll start closing it now."
The Avengers trudged back to Avengers Tower, subdued and silent. After helping restore power to Stark's armor, Reed and his team of four returned to the Baxter Building.
The battle had extinguished the faint arrogance that had begun to creep into Reed's mind. This skirmish had been a harsh wake-up call—a glimpse into just how vast and layered the superhero world really was.
But with that humility came something else.
Determination.
"Lowndes," Reed summoned his AI. "Initiate a new project."
He dove headfirst into his research.
If the Avengers were to stand tall in the new era—they needed more than suits and science.
They needed something that would turn heads.
They needed a ship that commanded the sky.
Reed wasn't the only one working.
Back in Avengers Tower, Stark was already buried in his own design schematics, welding tools in hand, brain churning at full speed.
Several hundred light-years away from Earth, in the vast, cold void of space, a ripple of unease disturbed a colossal figure.
The Planet Devourer.
Galactus.
He suddenly felt it—a void.
The connection between him and his herald… was gone.
His Silver Surfer had vanished.
His hand-forged pioneer—crafted to scout and harvest energy-rich planets for him—had ceased to exist.
"…What happened?"
Galactus frowned, puzzled. He hadn't fed in ages. His energy reserves had dwindled, leaving him weakened.
Even so, the idea that Silver Surfer had been defeated?
By a primitive world like Earth?
"Impossible," Galactus muttered, shaking the absurd thought from his mind.
He had created Silver Surfer. Molded him with cosmic energy. Imbued him with power enough to destroy stars.
There was no way such a being could be defeated by a backwater planet of limited intelligence. The notion was laughable.
Still…
"That planet…"
Even before Silver Surfer's signal vanished, he had received word—Earth was teeming with biomass energy, its life force dense and rich. Easily one of the most "delicious" planets he'd encountered in eons.
His stomach growled—loud, low, and thunderous like a collapsing mountain.
"Damn it," he muttered, clutching his gut. "I haven't eaten in too long. I'm starving."
His eyes locked onto a nearby desolate planet. A lifeless husk covered in cracked, maroon terrain.
He hesitated.
Then flew toward it.
The moment he descended, the planet began to disintegrate under his cosmic hunger. Its crust peeled away, exposing the molten star core within.
He devoured it in one gulp—
—and immediately gagged.
His face twisted in disgust. "Urgh! That tasted like rotting meat!"
He spit the star core back out in revulsion, eyes burning with rage. "Nope. I'm gonna die if I keep eating garbage like this."
His massive form floated in space as he murmured to himself, voice low and bitter. "Just hold on. Once I reach Earth… I'll finally feast like a god again."
With renewed hunger in his eyes, Galactus turned and accelerated toward Earth, a streak of cosmic fire in his wake.
At his current speed, he would arrive in one month.
To humans, that was thirty days.
To him, it was the blink of an eye.
A mere second.
One month later. Somewhere on Earth.
"Sir, congratulations on completing the development of the Spatial Armor."
Gene stood at the center of a high-tech chamber, his body surrounded by gleaming robotic arms. The voice of his AI assistant echoed through the room, serene and precise.
"Based on current calculations, your success rate against Galactus has increased from 27.59%... to 63.2%."
Gene's hands moved with unwavering precision as he guided one of the mechanical arms, gently embedding a glowing azure gemstone into the chest plate of the armor.
The moment the gem clicked into place, a surge of light erupted from the suit—an ocean of radiant blue cascading across the room.
Everything was bathed in that glow.
The armor didn't just shimmer—it pulsed with dimensional energy, bending space around it.
And with it, Gene stood ready.
The countdown to Earth's reckoning had begun.
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