The central briefing room of the S.H.I.E.L.D. Helicarrier.
This place was no longer a strategic war room for saving the Earth; it had devolved into a brawl pit for superhumans with overinflated egos.
The wicked energy of the Mind Stone, radiating from Loki's scepter, was relentlessly prodding the hidden anger and inferiority complexes deep within the heroes' hearts.
"You’re just a kid playing hero, Stark! Without that suit, what are you?"
"Genius, billionaire, philanthropist, playboy. And at the very least, I didn't rot in a freezer for seventy years like you!"
Captain America and Iron Man growled, shoving at each other's chests. Thor was on the verge of seizing Loki's scepter while locked in a heated argument with Bruce Banner.
The S.H.I.E.L.D. agents stood frozen, unsure where to point their weapons, while Nick Fury’s jaw—adorned with a fresh bandage—twitched as he screamed orders.
In the dead center of this absolute clusterfuck, Níðhöggr sat on the table with his legs crossed, letting out a long yawn.
"Man... this is some quality entertainment. Look at these suckers go. They’re really getting into it, aren’t they?"
Níðhöggr reached out, hooked a hand around the waist of Natasha, who was standing nearby, and pulled her onto his lap.
He didn't hesitate for a second, firmly gripping one of her supple, tight butt cheeks in front of everyone.
"Ah! Nidhogg! The situation right now is..."
Natasha looked around in a panic, but Níðhöggr ignored the chaos and breathed a hot, heavy sigh into her ear.
"What situation? Watching these morons spit on each other is a total waste of time. I’d rather finish what we started earlier. I’ve already used magic to lock down that secure restroom over there. What do you say?"
At the sound of Níðhöggr's voice, laced with the seductive mana of his Authority, Natasha’s cheeks were instantly stained with a deep flush.
Tossing aside her self-awareness as a S.H.I.E.L.D. agent for a moment, she nodded with a dazed, hazy expression.
"Yes... whatever you want... my head is a mess right now anyway..."
Just as Níðhöggr picked Natasha up, intending to head for the restroom, Ratatoskr—who had been standing off to the side crunching on acorns—clenched his fists and stood up.
"Hey! You crazy bastards! Give it a rest! If you keep acting like this near the scepter, you're playing right into Loki’s hands!"
The moment Ratatoskr tried to shove his way between the heroes to mediate—
BOOM—!!
A massive explosion thundered from the direction of Engine No. 3.
The Helicarrier’s massive frame let out a structural scream as it tilted violently to the left, and every pane of glass in the briefing room shattered into dust.
"What was that? A terror attack?!"
Tony scrambled for balance while reaching for his suitcase suit.
Through the smoke-filled corridors, a brainwashed Clint Barton—Hawkeye—along with a squad of rogue S.H.I.E.L.D. agents, began storming the area, guns blazing.
With an engine down and the control systems paralyzed, the Helicarrier was rapidly transforming into a giant, falling heap of scrap metal.
Amidst the turmoil, Níðhöggr set Natasha down and clicked his tongue in annoyance.
"Ah... seriously. I really want to kill anyone who ruins my dates."
Níðhöggr brushed back his messy hair and glared at Captain America, Steve Rogers.
The Captain was grabbing his shield, desperately trying to assess the situation.
"Hey, Shield Thug. You were a commander back in World War II, right? Barking orders is what you humans are supposedly good at. Stop this circus and draw up a plan. Specifically, tell me the most efficient way to break the skulls of the assholes who interrupted my date."
Steve was momentarily taken aback by Níðhöggr’s unexpected prompt, but his gaze sharpened instantly.
The dignity of a commander who had ruled the battlefield returned to his eyes.
"Stark, get outside and repair that engine immediately! Thor, you need to use your lightning to jumpstart the turbines! Natasha, Hill, defend the bridge! The rest of the agents, contain the intruders!"
As Steve issued his clear, concise orders, the scattered and confused heroes began to move as a singular, disciplined unit.
Watching this, Ratatoskr let out a boisterous laugh.
"Hahaha! I guess those old-timers really do have some spine! Hey, Captain! I like this guy. We’re on the same wavelength!"
Ratatoskr gathered the energy of the Holy Spear at his fingertips and sprinted out into the hallway.
Moving like a literal hurricane, he began neutralizing the brainwashed agents by accurately dislocating their skeletons without killing them.
Níðhöggr watched the scene with a languid smile.
"Never thought I'd say this, but I agree, Squirrel. That Captain kid... he's actually useful."
However, the crisis was far from over.
From the decks below, the roar of a wild beast echoed through the ship.
Bruce Banner, pushed past his limit by the shock of the engine explosion, had finally turned into 'the other guy'—the Hulk.
"RAAAAAAAGH!!"
A massive green hand burst through the floor of the bridge.
The Hulk had lost all reason and began smashing everything in sight. The Captain tried to block him with his shield, but his strength was insufficient to hold back the Hulk’s sheer, unbridled rage.
Níðhöggr gave Natasha a quick peck on the cheek, slung his jacket over his shoulder, and began walking toward the Hulk.
"Natasha, wait just a second. That green steroid-freak is shaking the house so much I can't get in the mood. I'm going to go give him a quick smack."
The aura of a Red Dragon shimmered around Níðhöggr’s body like a rising heat haze.
In a blink, he appeared directly in front of the lunging Hulk's eyes.
"Alright, round two. This time, I’m going to make sure you sleep a little deeper."
Níðhöggr’s golden pupils flared, locking onto the Hulk's gaze.
He didn't care if the Helicarrier crashed or if S.H.I.E.L.D. burned to the ground.
Driven by a villainous obsession to crush the monster that dared disturb his sweet time, Níðhöggr poured all his malice into his fist.
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