13892/Discordants: The Reprisal

Discordants: The Reprisal
Date of Scene:	04 March 2023
Location:	25 miles NNE of the Falkland Islands.
Synopsis:	The USS Eisenhower battle group comes under attack and several ships are damaged, some heavily. But the heroes save the day.
Cast of Characters:	Thor, Natasha Romanoff, Monica Chang, Diana Prince, Namor, Zatanna Zatara, Jane Foster, Stephen Strange

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Thor has posed:
    08:23 AM local time, 25 miles NNE of the Falkland Islands.
    Roughly five hours after the battle of Port Stanley Airport.

    The waves crash against the hull of the USS Eisenhower and the forces of the US Navy's 2nd Carrier Battlegroup. Grey and iron castles flowing across the waves steaming to the North leaving their white wake behind them. The airwaves are hectic with traffic between the unified forces of SHIELD, the United States Navy, and the 82nd Airborne that had been rescued from the siege at the airport. The battlegroup put to sea as soon as they were able, carrying their precious cargo of the first Svartalfar POWs to be taken in the last thousand years.
    On the SHIELD comms things had been hopping steadily. The Helicarrier Indomitable had been dispatched but word had come across that the Dark Elf presence that had been under surveillance across the globe had gone dark. The few signals that SHIELD had been able to intercept showed a strong shift in forces and the intel they had gained from Mr. Tannenberg's interrogation was no longer deemed mission viable as the assets have shifted. So the Helicarrier had been redirected.
    Which left the carrier battlegroup on its own for now.
    For the first time in 30 years a CBG was on full war footing.
    Tensions were high.
    And whatever had happened to Natasha Romanoff?
    But in those hours between victory at the airfield and the carrier group now steaming North, everyone had been busy. Seeing to the prisoners, seeing that they were properly disarmed, tending to the injured, securing the area, landing the investigative teams at the remains of the ritual site. Everything moved fast and was executed with clinical precision.
    Yet it still took four hours to get underway.
    Now on the deck of the USS Eisenhower, Quinjets continued to land carrying troops and ferrying soldiers and POWs back and forth. One of the US Marine amphibious assault ships had been repurposed to house some of the dark elves. But still things were chaotic. Fights had broken out between the Svartalfar. Sometimes lethal. It was impossible to discern what factions there were within the groups of them. Yet apparently there were.
    A heavy combat air patrol was running steadily, six fighters in the air at all times patrolling and making sure that there were roving eyes in the sky at all times since the best weapon of late in detecting Svartalfar incursions has been the Mk. 1 Eyeball. Though there had been word that some of the recent Quinjets might be bringing some relief on that score.
    For now, however, all the heroes and the fighting men and women of the 2nd Carrier Battle Group could do was keep focused, keep on the job, and be wary in these waters that only days ago had felt safe. But now... seemed terribly hostile.

Natasha Romanoff has posed:
She's gone. Vanished to wherever. When the Svartelf ship had left, she had been on there with it. More apt to be 'Where in the Realms' than where on Earth. She had ended up over on the ship.. And had gone silent once it had gone to another realm, wherever it was. And one should remember..
    She was not locked with them.
    They were locked in with her.
    She was the woman that had lived through the Seige of Stalingrad as a child. She was the one that had spent more than sixty years in this game of darkness and light.
    The Svartelves that had spent centuries if not millenia perfecting their twists and tricks? What could she offer up in those few decades of human existence?
    A spy is most dangerous when they have free reign. How do they do when surrounded by their own kind that are far, far superior than one could ever imagine to be?
    Where in the Realms is Natasha Romanoff?

Monica Chang has posed:
The continual parade of Quinjets carried out prisoners and brought back in reinforcements from SHIELD to add to the growing forces. Many from the various tactical response groups, as this was less about espionage and more about getting boots on the ground, as the saying went. But out of one quinjet came something a little different after it landed on the deck.

Monica Chang descended the rear ramp as a scurry of activity had more agents carrying out boxes and equipment. The slight Chinese woman was dressed in tactical gear sans helmet. Her gloves were tucked into the utility belt at her waist and she did have a holster on each leg, strapped there with a firearm in place. "Get everything to the assigned spot and get it set up immediately," she told the people and the boxes were being rolled out as fast as they could, people moving at a trot though not a run.

The Geek Squad had arrived. R&D with a few toys that they had been working on to try to deal with the Svartalf threat. Monica looked at the interactive wristband on her left arm and tapped a few buttons. Out of the Quinjet came a sleek drone, one that had originally belonged to Hydra but had been captured and reprogrammed for Monica's use. "Grab some boxes." Which Monica did as well, taking a rolling stack of equipment and pushing it toward their assigned tech center. The drone followed along behind her as she moved to help setup equipment.

Diana Prince has posed:
Wonder Woman was on-site aboard the sea-ship. Her 'Invisible Jet' had deposited her on the deck of the vessel some time ago, and since then she'd been speaking with various personnel of the military, of SHIELD< and of the Dark Elves who were willing to communicate with Midgard representitives.

Dressed in her Eagle Armor, with her shield, sword, and a golden javelin mounted on her back, her lasso hanging at her side, Diana looks ever the world-wide figurehead that she's known to be. Her dark hair waves gently in the winds coming off the sea, as she walks alongside a few members of SHIELD, as well as the US military itself.

Namor has posed:
The waves crash against the USS Eisenhower.

A battleship in Namor's oceans? Well, that's nothing out of the usual. But the trouble with Svartalfheim elves bring a potentially disasterous possibility to the world and by extension, a danger to the Empire of Atlantis. SHIELD was in full mobilization in addition to the numerous heroes accompanying the Carrier Fleet.

Yet beneath the waves of endless blue ocean?

Namor the Sub-Mariner, trident in hand and garnished in black armor along his arms, shoulders, and shins. His eyes stare from the depths below, ever upwards at the fleet. Wings at his feet flex in preparation for what will inevitably come: Danger.

There is trouble brewing and Midgard has a representative beneath it's waves.

And with a slight motion, his body cuts through the waters until his head peaks out of the water, with only his head above the nose being visible.

Eyes narrow at the fleet itself.

Zatanna Zatara has posed:
The mage woke leaden-eyed from the guiltiest nap of her life. She had stashed herself in a sailor's bunk who reluctantly rousted her at his shift change. With bleary apologies, she straightened her clothes, then began to make her way to the Bridge.

Battleships are very large, halfway to her goal, impatient with her weakness from the last onslaught with the Dark Elves, she casts a spell. A clear bell chimes for Stephen Strange and Jane Foster, followed by Zee's voice, <<"Shall we play magical telephone? Let's dispense with last names. Stephen, Jane, I'm headed toward the Bridge, then topside in case they decide to lay another ritual on us. Where are you? We might need to coordinate.">>

Jane Foster has posed:
Someone needs to deal with a bunch of unruly prisoners who don't speak the local language and may have millennia-old blood feuds they decide to propagate or solve while effectively cut off from their majesty's hive mind. It probably shouldn't be Lt. Worth or Sgt. Pepper.

When the svartalfjar take it into their minds to strangle one another, draw knives or use much more creative methods to square one another, Jane -- still becaped and armoured -- takes it upon herself to walk among them. Words serve as her first defense to defuse the situation. Snapping a blade in half and tossing it to the USS Eisenhower deck from the amphibious assault ship follows. Some Navy or Marine stories may circle about her pinning a troublemaker to the deck when sorting out the bloody contention between the POWs with a minimum of force. All her findings remain in a continuous datastream to SHIELD -- names, tribes, ranks. Who is dead, who isn't. They may question, later on, the terrifying precision of every fallen warrior be they human, elf or something between.

She only leaves that essential duty when a higher one calls. SHIELD called out one of the Justice League's members for aid, and as soon as Zatanna announces herself, Rohan will answer. It takes only moments to cross the watery divide while Quinjets circle. The trail of her flapping cape lands with a snap as she drops onto the deck with a clang of her boots, headed to the side to stay clear of anyone landing or taking off. <<Inbound,>> she confers over the comms. It's with a precise stride that she heads for the bridge, requesting directions politely along the way. No need to ruffle feathers here.

Stephen Strange has posed:
There has been quite a bit happening. For those sensitive to the mystical workings of this particular dimension, it has been quite busy, indeed. The expulsion of magical energy, what with the dark elves attempting their chicanery, would have been easily sensed by even the most rudimentary arcanist. Then, there is the chiming in of one Zatanna Zatara. Calling in on the one network with no roaming charges and no dropped calls.

Clever girl.

There isn't an immediate answer. Not yet. Though, for those personnel on the bridge, they might receive a shock when one moment, a corner is empty and then the next, a figure in blue, cloaked in red, steps through a shower of sparks. And, the mystical connection finally receives an answer.

<<On the bridge. See you there, Ms. Zatara.>>

Drop the last names? That wouldn't be polite. Besides, one usually doesn't tell Doctor Stephen Strange what to do.

There are few that can.

Thor has posed:
    On the deck things are abustle.
    Crews move quickly and barked orders are followed orders as people come together to get this monumental task done. SHIELD agents help with the gear while some of the crew of the Eisenhower lend a hand, the rolling boxes whirring as they're pushed into position. Some of the Quinjets are diverted to the helipads on other ships just to clear room on the deck of the Eisenhower for further flights incoming.
    The first warning that something is up is when two of the F-35s above suddenly hit their afterburners, the flare of their engines kicking up like twin stars in the morning sky. The comms chatter is next as across the radio quick words are uttered.
    "<< Eisenhower, this is Grifter. Atmospheric disturbance, 117. Ripple effect positive, over. >>
    << Permission to engage Grifter, you are weapons free. Launch Ready Alert 1. >>
    There's the sudden /WHOOP-WHOOP!/ of naval sirens and things abruptly become much more hectic on deck. The two ready alert fighters abruptly lurch forward one after the other, their afterburners firing as the crew on the fore of the ship take cover until those planes are free then they're already moving to get the deck clear and ready for another flight.
    From his vantage point Namor can see the distant forecastles of the ship, the tall towers of their conns, the heavy cruisers, the destroyers, the support ships. All cutting a fine silhouette across his ocean. Yet his keen eyes also discern the flare of engines against the sky. Then the spectacle that all of the Midgardians see is revealed as that ripple is seen. Growing in prominence. At first like a blink of reality, something like a mote of the mind's eye. Then abruptly there are dagger shapes above, seeming to just sizzle out of the blue and white of the sky. Black shapes.
    << We've got one... two. I count five... make that twelve, Eisenhower. Twelve contacts... >>
    All seeming to manifest in that rush of darkness as if shadows were born, lived, and then sent forth the vile looking ships of the Svartalfar. Three groups of four it seemed, with three smaller ships around a larger wicked looking cruiser all of them perhaps a hundred feet above the surface of the ocean as they sliced across the distance moving quickly, spread out enough to present a large front, their engines thrumming and the thrust of them kicking the water up into powerful geysers and sprays behind them.
    Though clear visibility of those ships is fleeting. For as soon as they appear their hulls _ripple_ with what seems like a surge of mites leaping off the back of a dog. A rush of a hundred missiles launch in a blaze of purple energy their pulsing engines thrumming as the weapon systems spin and twist in the air, hurtling across the distance. Some smaller, some larger, and for those that had been at the Triskelion when it was hit... some of those missiles look very familiar.

Natasha Romanoff has posed:
Where in Midgard can she be? Is she gone? Is she dead? Has she fallen? Has she been turned? Whatever it is, whatever -she- is, Natasha Romanoff's state is known to no one. Like Schrodinger's Spy. There has been no news from her since her disappearance. The ships are rushing in. Whatever they are, there are no signs of her.
    Has this been the time that she played the long odds once too many and they came to fall and take their due? Is this the time that she pushed herslf too far agaisnt those even more skilled than she is and has finally taken that one step too far along the line and fallen? There are some things one doesn't come back from.
    One can come back from failure. One can come back from catastrophe. In this world, one can even perhaps come back from death. But one does not come back from having fallen.
    Has she?

Monica Chang has posed:
As they got setup in the small area just off the main deck with the equipment, getting things plugged in, checking to be sure everything is working correctly, Monica hears the chatter starting to spike on the comms. When there is mention of twelve enemies in the skies, she begins cursing. First in Russian because that is automatic for her. Then she shifts to Chinese. And finally she opts for English as she fires up the drones.

These are much smaller, about the size of a hummingbird. Yet they have powerful engines that allow them to reach high speeds and she sends the flight of them out into the skies. Their purpose was to provide intel on the enemy. Numbers, crafts, locations. But admittedly they would be limited and would splat on the windshield of a craft so they probably would get a glimpse and then nothing more.

Diana Prince has posed:
When things burst in to chaos on the deck of the aircraft carrier, Diana whips her eyes around to take in the initial rush before she watches the Jets take flight across the deck from where she was posted up with some of the other crew. The same crew jumps in to action, and as the skies start to fill up with the signs of enemy ships, Wonder Woman doesn't hesitate. She looks skyward, and simply runs to the edge of the carrier's deck, then lunges out off of it, out over the sea below...

With a moment of hang-time, the Princess adjusts her body in mid-air, then shoots off in to the sky with her arms at her sides, her head up, and her dark hair rapidly waving behind her shoulders.

She vanishes, just a few seconds later, disappearing in to thin-air.

Until her voice chimes in on the comms between teams, between joint-forces operating here.

"Wonder Woman: I'm in my Jet. We have incoming weapons fire. We are engaging it..." She says, before the tell-tale sign of blue plastma fire from the 'Invisible Jet's' weapon systems give way to a general location on where the alien technology is, the blue plasma aiming to tear through enemy warheads before they can bring damage onto their allies.

Namor has posed:
They all come in a wave of darkness and death.

By Neptune, the Elves had come with vengeance in their eyes. Black shapes cover the sky. Shadows come alive and they spit forth their demons. A rush of a hundred missiles launch in a blaze of purple energy, a wave of agony and pain coming for the carrier fleet and the souls upon it.

On /Namor's/ seas.

He narrows his eyes in rage and he lifts a hand to his head, ripples of thought tear through the ocean waters to the endless depths all the way to the earth's core. A rumble is not so much heard as it is /felt/ in the fleet. As if they had enough problems in the skies...they may have a new one in the depths.

If not for who came as the herald.

Seismic activity and motion detection would send the alert system whirring. Something was coming up and /fast/.

A giant sea creature bursts free from the waters, large enough to easily lift one of the carriers. It looks like some monsterous combination of a squid, a shrimp, a crustacean and a dragon. Atop it's crown of barnacles and carapace is the Emperor of Atlantis himself.

He turns his attention to those on the carrier, nodding once to them. "Today, Atlantis fights for you." as he looks up towards the invaders.

"IMPERIUS REX!"

And he takes to the sky, winged feet launching him high into the air with his trident in hand to help bat away those purple missiles. While the creature takes a more defense option, as if to try and help cover various ships with it's lengthy, tentacle-like appendages to take the hits for them. It's unknown if it's carapace is strong enough to to handle the impacts.

But it's here to fight.

Zatanna Zatara has posed:
The klaxons decide her. Zeroing in on Strange's magical signature, Zee takes a shortcut. A purple line opens up next to the red-caped sorcerer, and the woman steps out, clothed in black tactical armor and a cape against the cold.

"No need to be priggish about things, Strange," she says. "Then, Strange, you shall remain."

The portal still burns behind her; stepping back, she disappears. Eyes in the sky will see her floating not far from the Bridge conning tower, turned in the direction of the aerial distortions resolving into a fleet of Swartalf vessels. The magical ripple of missiles and vessels launched running down their sides leaves the equivalent of a magical stench in the aether.

After a swift reckoning of the ships deployed in their group, she makes a broad sweep of her hand, summoning wind and water for shields over the fourteen ships cutting through the waves around them. Translucent bubbles arch over each ship, shimmering with magic. She hangs in the air, cape whipping in the wind of the carrier's passage, watching the first volley of enemy missiles blasting toward their targets. Her mouth drops open when the sea belches a behemoth directly into the enemy ships. Even the ocean protests the Swartalf presence.

Jane Foster has posed:
The bridge offers an excellent vantage point for puissant sorcerers and Nobel Prize-winning astrophysicists with a significant hole in her SHIELD personnel file. What better stage to witness the large ships manifesting above their position and the retaliatory strikes from Quinjets and fighter jets launching off the deck? Violet contrails sparkle in a deadly fall. Seas churn and their lord rises in his affronted grace. Wonder Woman vanishes in the sky, her voice blooming in their ears.

Dramatic and impressive, but every second of inaction costs lives.

It's a very rare soul able to read the death in Jane Foster's eyes, but unfortunately for him, Agamotto's chosen representative on Earth is one such. Tallies scored across her cornflower blue irises tell all.

Twelve contacts. "One for every month of the year. How generous of our guests so loathe to announce themselves ere now." Jane turns her head to the disruptions in the sky, her palm lifting to pull the back-tipped helm down across her face. "The sea delivers a champion this day. I cannot remain, Doctor," a brief nod to Stephen follows. "The Svartalf mages seek to cage us within a ward like the one that cut us off at the Atlantic port venue. Using a variation of the same art, they tried to separate Mjolnir. Be wary."

She briskly jogs outside, then descends down to the deck. The ocean provides an enormous bounty of moisture, fed off the evaporating waves and the heat blown off Tierra del Fuego up the Argentinian coast. Abundant summer heat churns to the clarion call through the focus of the mighty hammer of Asgard that comes flying, faithful friend of Midgard. When it comes, so wind writhes in a vortex, the already darkened clouds overhead illuminated from within until their bruised violet hearts match the grief and pain inflicted on countless people in Port Stanley and beyond.

There shall be time, with missiles raining down, to hail /them/ in return. She spins the hammer round in circles as it kindles in a white-blue corona, amped up by every revolution. <<Sing to the skies, Mjolnir, and remember what purpose we both share. Midgard stripped and brought low by Malekith's twisted ambitions. Let's honour the peace forged with Asgard together this day, shall we?>>

Having slipped so close to final death, the leap of sheer exuberant life goes ringing to the stratosphere and higher. When it's fully charged, the lightning storm can visit dark elf ships.

Stephen Strange has posed:
The presence of the airborne projectiles heading for the carrier seems to be detected by the Sorcerer Supreme almost at the same time as the defensive systems aboard the carrier. Though, it is not because of any sort of danger sense, like those of the arachnid persuasion seem to have. No...there is a definite sense of magical essence inbound, leading Strange to believe that some of those missiles are not missiles at all, but troop transport.

Almost as immediately, Strange shifts to the defensive...by playing offense. Keeping his eyes to the skies, Strange's fingers begin to carve arcane sigils in the space before him, the digits flittering nimbly through the air despite the gnarled scarred appearance of his hands. Those eyes never leave the airspace upon the carrier, even as the fingers finish with their intricate dance. The hands clap together, then the arms extend with purpose.

Just what is the purpose? Golden portals, quite similar in appearance to the one Stephen himself just used, appear in the heavens, in front of the volley of missiles heading for the particular bridge the sorcerer is presently standing on. It seems that he intends to take a page from another magic user rather familiar to him and use the portals to redirect the missiles, or at least as many as he can, back to their source of origin. Either that, or the good doctor might have logged some hours on a certain Valve game.

The cake is a lie, indeed.

It is an impromptu plan...and might be somewhat successful, depending on how adept the enemy is with their navigational prowess. Even so, it is most certainly not enough to respond to all of the bogeys in the sky. Yet, there is little Strange can do for that, for the moment. Upwards to 30 different portals, all set to point whatever flies within back to sender

A technological marvel like a portal gun ain't got nothing on the mystical defender of the realm.

Thor has posed:
    Some of the Svartalfar vessels bank and break to the side, turning their bow away from the battle group, while others continue their run, darting forward. The middle group seems intent on going straight at the carrier while the other two are encircling, moving around the vessels with their engines flaring and the seas churning behind them.
    There are conrtails that are visible in the skies as the fighters send missiles toward the enemy ships. Several missile batteries on the carrier start to spew out a seemingly endless chain of anti-air missiles as they launch up and up over and over, white smoke billowing from their engines. Around the main vessel the escort ships start to fire as well, more missiles fill the air though any locks are difficult to attain.
    Yet before any of the missiles reach their targets suddenly, somehow, one of the Dark Elf ships suddenly suffers an _EXPLOSION_ with a blast of crimson flame spewing forth from the side of its engine, suddenly causing it to bank and twist and spin into the air, twisting as its engine surges and surges. From its launchers a single flare is seen and a single thorn launches into the air twisting in a corkscrew of motion even as that heavy cruiser spins, then immolates itself with a cascading /WHA-WHUMPF!/ that can be felt over the waves, the shockwave kicking up the ocean violently as somehow the Midgardians draw first blood.
    Monica's drones start to feed a steady rush of data as it examines the incoming information and instantly extrapolates it to the feeds of the combatants. For those equipped with the systems they can see the tracking data for the Dark Elf ships now despite radar and sensors not coming back with anything. Something in the Quinjet and the equipment starts to give them feeds and at least some data for their missile tracking.
    Up in the sky there are the blazing blasts of blue plasma as the Themysciran Princess begins to extract her first toll of the day as she dives into that cloud of purple energy and hurtling warheads and ships. Several die under the lance of energy fire sent out from the invisible jet, the power of the weapon system marking with powerful burning scorches across the hulls of the vessels it strikes. Several explode into flame and twist toward the ocean, disappearing into the depths of Namor's kingdom.
    And Namor's kingdom answers the call.
    Surging from the depths, the gigantic creature roars its gurgling battle cry as its massive limbs and tentacles and tendrils stretch out, reaching out to provide protection to the Eisenhower all while it screams its defiance with vicious primal rage.
    And as the ocean rises at the behest of Namor, fire burns from the weapons of Diana, the air responds to the whims of Zatanna as those shields solidify around the ships, rising like a defensive curtain before them, stopping the foam of the ocean from spattering and washing over the decks. On the comms a voice is heard simultaneously as it announces across all the vessels of the ships.
    << All hands, all hands, brace for impact! >>
    Which is when those waves of missiles start to reach other. Some of them rush past, some of the anti-air missiles launched by the carriers and the fighters impact and a popcorn crackle of explosions light up the sky. Most of the anti-air missiles pass through, finding no lock, finding no targets. The Svartalfar weapons hurtle through the cloud of white contrails and toward the fleet, rushing several times faster than the speed of sound.
    The voice of one sailor is heard to the side of Monica as he says simply...
    "Fuck."
    Perhaps at the rise of the giant creature, or perhaps at the cloud of missiles hurtling their way. Yet his spirits are not high...
    Only for his eyes to widen when before him and the crew of the Eisenhower those myriad portals spring to life, slicing into reality like the blazing spark-sizzling buzzsaws they seem to be. And suddenly a large portion of those missiles hurtling straight at the carrier are absorbed, sucked into the nothing for a brief moment.
    Then s

Thor has posed:
    Then spit right back out the other way flying straight back toward the ships that fired them, their purple engines thrumming and thrumming as that pulse sound of their motors can be heard. The remaining missiles and boarding craft suddenly veer and twist, some trying to avoid the portals, some succeeding as their systems reorient.
    Corkscrewing missiles fly wildly back at the dagger-shaped heavy cruiser that fired them, and the large ship _veers_ sloooowly as it tries to evade the return fire by the Sorcerer Supreme. Some of the missiles are triggered, exploding with self-destruct mechanisms before they can impact. But not enough... as their own weapons hurtle back seemingly about to obliterate the cruiser.
    When one of the destroyers abruptly fires its engines and cuts in the path as its own weaponry bursts into heavy blazes of fire penetrating the dark elf ship, causing its nose to ripple with a bubbling surge of mini-explosions that all lance up and down its hull then send it crashing into the ocean, saving its mothership at the least as it spends its life.
    Though the reprieve is short as those gathered clouds and the power of Asgard is drawn into the mighty hammer Mjolnir, the energy sizzling around its wielder, the crackle of power a living thing around her and in the clouds, then reaching out like the touch of God or a god as the first fingertips of lightning caress the hull with a purity of malice. The heavy cruiser seems to jolt with the impact of such energy, its systems suddenly seeming to flicker as one side lists to the side, three of its five engines winking out of life.
    Across the fleet other missiles begin to strike home, impacts powerful and strong. Those shields protecting meet their purpose, performing their role as best they can. Blazing red and purple energy blast into life for those brief spans of time, burning over the hollow shape of the shield as if someone tossed purple and red paint onto the side of a transparent balloon. Yet each time one impacts...
    Zatanna can feel it. Like a fist slamming hard into her abdomen, something in the missiles, something in the power source...
    Yet she endures, holding. Holding as more and more explosions are seen across the fleet. The gigantic sea creature roaring as it lashes out with tentacles, with claws, with talons, its great bulk protecting the Eisenhower powerfully. Missiles impact with it, some seeming to explode harmlessly, the flames making it flinch as it roars, tentacles thrashing. Another claw slashing out. Another missile explodes at the end of its whip-like lashing, though one impacts hard with its side, embedding like a hurled spear.
    More explosions along the fleet, then near the aft of the Eisenhower one of the boarding vessels _SLAMS_ hard into the rear of the ship near the hangars, embedding itself into the side. Another smashes past the monstrosity and blasts into the Quinjet near Monica causing a shockwave to smash into the superstructure. Alarms go off, the ship lists to the side. Distantly a few ships are burning.
    << The Montery, the Vella Gulf, the Mahan have all been hit. Damage crews report! >>
    The strike is finished. But the ships are still coming in and coming in fast.

Natasha Romanoff has posed:
What she's done with however many hours, days, or however long time is between the realms. Many, many hours spent mapping hte ship. Learning the language and the runes enough to tell what parts o fit are important. Time spent learning the crew routines for the rather under-elfed crew that had already dropped it's marine contingent in the last fight. Here.. Here Natasha has had her time to play.
    Time to incapacitate members of hte crew and hide their bodies. Time to plant her detonators along the power cores. Along the engine. Along the armory. Along the glowy areas that she's resaonably sure power the main weapons. She just has the time over when they're all rather distracted and going into one dimension..
    SHe's waiting for them to go to battle stations, to be focused on the outside rather than the inside. Then, she goes to strike. Precisely planned explosives put about. Power rods and weapons from the ships' armory put on everything that glows with energy. Enough knowledge of the layout to bypass the safeties and emergency systems cutoff. Awareness of teh runes so that she can suppress anything that they might do to stop her.
    Then it's all of the mgoing off. Taking out the biggest ship when it's in the middle of the escort formation and on the attack. Whehter she lives or she dies..
    She takes as many of them with her as she can. She is the Black Widow. She is death.
    NO matter what realm they come from. She exists to put fear and terror into them. OF course..
    Not that they would live that long.
    ANd there is Natasha ROmanoff. However high up she is.. However far she is off from the ground.. Leaping away from the explosion. Bruised. Battered. Injured. Nearly crippled. She makes her own extraction.
    This time there isn't one.

Monica Chang has posed:
The explosion nearby sent the agents in the small mobile technical battle center to the decks. Some for safety and others knocked there by the percussive wave that followed the eruption of fire and shrapnel.

"Deploy countermeasures." Cases were opened and more drones lifted into the air. As small as the originals but these were not meant to field information from the battlefield and feed it to the others. These took to the skies and were meant to intercept any other missiles, of the exploding type, that might still be inbound. Nothing more than fodder for the field as the drones sought to impact missiles and impact, so they would explode while still in the air.

As fire crews rushed to deal with the damage nearby, Monica saw the readings. That missile at the back was not one designed for damage. It was a landing party, as they had learned in the attack on the Triskelion. She hit the comms as she grabbed up several items and tucked them into the pouches on her belt. <<Tac Team 3 on me. Prepare to repel boarders.>>

And with that, she turned and headed at a dead run in the direction of the boarding missile. <<Get that Gravitic Charge online now! Fire as soon as it's up!>> Hopefully the prototype would do what it was supposed to.

Diana Prince has posed:
The Invisible Jet doesn't let up. It continues its assault with its rotary plasma cannon, a nearly endless stream of repetitive cyan-blue energy teardrops that splash against any enemy targets it can get inside of its target locking scopes... but its not Wonder Woman piloting it, no, Diana has other plans.

As the Jet sweeps over that damaged heavy cruiser, Diana emerges once more from out of no where, bursting out of her Jet as it screams through the sky.

In free fall now, Wonder Woman tumbles down to the hull of the enemy heavy cruiser, where she impacts against it, her lasso coming out,the Princess unfurls it, the length of divinely powered twine bursting to life with an inner golden gleam. She sweeps the lasso out, sending it twirling toward one of the Cruiser's engine pods, and pulls hard, yanking herself straight toward it at high velocity.

The engine pod is pulled open by Diana's lasso, but the damaged tear is not where Wonder Woman lets it lay, no, instead she flies right inside it at a breakneck velocity... only her neck definitely doesn't break. She emerges from the other side of the engine pod, shedding fire, shedding pieces of the engine's core, and holding her shield up in front of her in defense of the damage she just brought on to the enemy vessel.

Turning then to the last of its twin engine pods, the Amazonian warrior lunges again, this time straight in to the engine's pod, causing a shrieking of mechanical screams, before she once more breaks free from within it on the other side, leaving it too a burning wreckage of once impressive technology.

Lowering her shield down then, Diana peers over its edge, her eyes staring at the destruction she'd left upon the Dark Elf aligned-ship, watching it fall toward the sea below.

Namor has posed:
The beast is primal in it's defiance of these demons from the heavens. While the creature is unable to protect /everyone/, it is able to protect as many as it possibly can. The arrival of not only Atlantis, but the resurgence of other heroes is a tide-turning defensive countermeasure. Moreso, as the impacts strike at the creature and at it's prehensile limbs, the great Leviathan slows in it's movements, unleashing a roar that can split the sky as sonic waves tear through the skies.

It will take a lot more than a few missiles to take it down, though the piercing one to it's side like a hurled spear causes it to stumble into the waters ever so slightly, but it's ground is standed upon.

Natasha is falling throug hthe sky. Her actions heroic, noble, and a swift reminder that the Black Widow is death's very emissary. Yet, gravity will not be the cause of her final destination this day. Namor, swift of feet and winged ankles carrying him swiftly, catches Natasha firmly out of the air before she can hit the water - would feel like concrete at that altitude - and he descends rapidly to the deck of the Eisenhower to set her down.

"You've done well, Widow."

No doubt he expects her to steal a quinjet or some other mode of getting back into the fight, but for now? Namor takes back off into the sky, batting away two missiles on it's way to him as he speeds forward with acceleration. He's going for the dagges in the sky, his trident pointed forward as if he intended to dive straight into the ocean of the black mass.

If he's lucky? He can knock one of those ships off kilter and spiralling into the depths below.

Zatanna Zatara has posed:
The concussive blast slams into Zatanna, knocking the breath out of her. She hurts; the magic burns her eyes and lungs as she gulps for air, just missing the conning tower by inches as she rallies. Hands lifted to cover her ears against the explosions, she touches down on the upper platform. Black smoke roils over the remaining magical shields as she takes a sad inventory of the fleet's losses. Below her, the deck boils with men putting out fires and prepping jets to launch.

To her satisfaction, most of her shields held while Strange's magic ripped through the enemy fleet with visible results. Bent over with her hands on her knees, breathing hard, Zatanna marshals her powers and reaches into the elements. She reerects the shields out of seawater and air, bubbling the remaining ships against the next attack.

With an eye on the monster from the depths, she rises from her perch and turns to focus on a nexus of enchantment from the carrier's stern.

A delicate ring chimes in the Doctor's and Jane's ear,<<Strange, Jane, are you feeling that? I mean, at the stern of the carrier?">> She swoops toward the stern, cape rippling behind her as she descends.

Jane Foster has posed:
Thickening clouds overhead form at an accelerated rate that no local ground statio or the meteorological software within the Carrier Control Zone can account for. For the safety of the ships and planes arrayed across their deck or in space, the blonde Asgardian ascends a hundred meters again above the highest contower antennae. One person suspended beyond a group fanned across several dozen miles hardly makes for an impressive target or even a noticeable one compared to the Submariner atop his deep sea cryptid or the Themysciran princess deftly navigating a sleek jet to their enemies. Her stature is further obscured by golden portals that blossom like marigolds and dandelions in the wake of spring showers.

Repeated flensing bursts shake the troposphere where Mjolnir rides. Aesir magic pulls water droplets and warm air to spread across the icy stratosphere, punches of hot air rolling into vicious turbulence where perhaps an unfortunate Svartalf vessels might dare to roam. If so, the mess up there makes it a hellish experience of being thrown about for anything larger than an F-35.

Lightning leaps between the thickening clouds, the electrostatic discharge punched between great fluffy barques in dazzling shows. When the uru hammer returns, she catches it on the backspin and whirls it to stir the winds to wail her grief and triumph. The main channel follows Mjolnir as she hurls the hammer hard and fast as she can at the dark elf heavy cruiser and any sister ships headed for the carrier, foregoing all restraint on such speed. One sizzling bolt bends around Namor and Natasha at a distance enough to raise hair on their napes and forearms, guided by a cosmic force much greater than one physicist high on life.


<<I do. Stay wide of me for I bear a gift from Father Sky and Mother Night.>>

Pressure leaves her buckling under ions built up to a peak and crawling across her, bleeding from her eyes and dancing off her limbs. She floats inside an invisible cocoon, bearing witness as she heads for the stern. Spinning midair brings even more stray droplets to her. She raises her arms against untold force, biceps bunching, back bowed to bring her palms together. Or try to. Even that punches her breath out.

Streamers fork across the vault of the heavens, channeling along negative pathways to meet her positively charged body.

The discharged current explodes at 60,000 miles per second, faster than the human eye can see, rebounding between the cloud current and the Svartalfjar who might be in sight of one Jane Foster. Twenty return strokes in a single flash embody one channel and she has multiples. To mention nothing of the spectacular forking to any other target within reach. As far as the atmosphere cares, missiles and huge ships and small freefalling dark elves are all wearing positive nails waiting for a hammer.

Stephen Strange has posed:
Just as suddenly as the golden portals appeared, they dissipate into nothingness. They have done their job...the prove of which is the smaller destroyer, slamming into the ocean. It is a small pittance, though, for some did manage to avoid the gauntlet and strike the carrier. And yes...one of those transports does raise the hackles up, the arcane compass within pointing directly towards the stern.

<<I sense it, too.>> There might have been more to offer, but it was rather clear that the astrophysicist wielding the might of thunder and lightning said to steer clear. And Mama Strange didn't raise any fools.

Instead, the sorcerer looks for a new target. Or, rather, targets. The red cloak billows as Strange takes to the sky....a small speck of a man in the chaos as he flies. Not to the falling Natasha, now safe in the arms of Namor. Nor towards the stern. But, rather, straight up...the eyes peering out.

The Hippocratic Oath does not apply to other-realm invaders. At least, for now. And Strange proves that by taking aim on another smaller destroyer, the target of what appears to be a giant mystical circular sawblade, threatening to slice the vessel into two.

Thor has posed:
    Some of the tactical team were still pulling themselves together, but soon enough Monica had a team at the ready that were rushing with her in a run toward the location of the aft impact sight. One of the soldiers running pulled his helmet and visor down into place while others got their weapons ready. A squad of marines was already en route to the aft of the ship where a trail of black smoke started to rise up into the sky.
    Then the first boarder showed its head as a crab-like metallic drone skittered over the impact area and twisted its tail up to fire blasts of energy across the flight deck. And that first boarder was soon joined by another... and another as the fire fight on the ship broke out.
    Across the sky as the middle Svartalfar group reorients to continue the attack they come under fire as those blasts of energy sizzle across their hulls. One of the escort ships banks sharply as it tries to bring Diana's invisible vessel under fire, but missing as for once the Dark Elves are unable to target an enemy.
    Then the slender silhouette of Diana _leaps_ out of nothingness and lands upon the still sizzling hull of that ship. She inflicts such mayhem upon the vessel, blasting through the engine, snuffing the power as that purple energy flickers and dies. Another clash into the other engine breaking it apart into pieces as wreckage falls in a trail behind it. Soon the ship is hurtling down... straight down into the ocean, leaving a trail of fire behind it.
    In the sky and amongst the wreckage of the other falling cruiser, the Widow Romanoff faces death once again. Only for it to be thwarted by the rush of small wings and the strong arms of the Sub-Mariner as he catches the falling Agent and deposits her on the slightly listing hull of the Eisenhower. Several of the sailors look at them askance, and even one of the other operatives who seems to be setting up a complicated array of equipment lifts his head as he states on the comms.
    << Agent Romanoff is with me on the Eisenhower. >>
    Thus answering the question. Where is Agent Romanoff?
    
    Then when Namor leaps back into the air, that is the moment when the Dark Elf ships are crossing over the fleet. Energy weapons begin to fire and lance out, sending rounds toward the Navy ships. Though the escort that hurtles closest to the Eisenhower suffers the strong impact of the trident smashing into its nose and causing the ship to hurtle end over end, cracking its spine upon the ocean as it impacts hard with the depths and begins to sink below the surface.
    Strange and Zatanna both start to feel that sensation at the aft of the ship. The feeling of eldritch power housed within the confines of that boarding vessel. A spell that sits in potentia within the confines of the missile that carried it, something dark and malicious and seemingly drawing its power... somehow.
    Rapid-fire weapons start to bark a response to the energy weapons from the dark elves. Phalanx guns and a few deck weapons start to send rounds up toward the hurtling alien craft. Plumes of smoke are emitted each time the vulcan cannons fire, expelling streams of shells into the ocean and were Namor to notice likely earn his ire.
    Only one heavy cruiser remains as its battle group is reasonably intact. Only for its approach to be met with a sudden surge of turbulence, of hail, of wind. And then...
    Thunder.
    The crackle embraces the ship and its battlegroup, the surge of lightning dancing and leaping and connecting all of those ships together like the tapestry of a web wrought in the heavens. And when Mjolnir collides with the nose of that cruiser, the great ship seems to buckle as its shield collapses from the insistent pressure, then crunches in on itself like a boxer with a shattered nasal bone. It lists as it banks to the side, two of its escorts suddenly joined with the electrical surge of power between them, somehow feeding back and forth on each other as they explode into pieces, their ruins falling into the depths even as the heavy cruiser returns fire toward the Thun

Thor has posed:
    It lists as it banks to the side, two of its escorts suddenly joined with the electrical surge of power between them, somehow feeding back and forth on each other as they explode into pieces, their ruins falling into the depths even as the heavy cruiser returns fire toward the Thunderer with eldritch energy fired through the technological abomination's turrets.
    There is a roil as some of the electrical energy washes over the aft of the Eisenhower, joining the first wave of drones in a blast of powerful lightning that leaps from crab-like form to crab-like form, causing some to pop and explode like kernels of corn thrown into a fire. The energy blasts coming from that area wanes as the other drones must crawl over the wreckage, pushing through the mangled remains of their comrades as more begin to appear.
    Meanwhile the cruisers the USS Monterey, the USS Vella Gulf, and the destroyer the USS Mahan burn with a sizzle of eldritch energy around their hulls. The Monterey's AEGIS radar system crackling with energy seems to feed back in on itself, causing the ship to suffer secondary and tertiary explosions while the Mahan lists to port heavily.
    Above the burning carrier, The Doctor rises with cape billowing. His hands twist through the mystic motions, and out of the aether he conjures forth that twisting blade slashing across the fabric of reality and bringing the teeth of it to bear as it whirls across the distance, slamming hard into the side of it. For a split second the shields endure, holding back the mystic blade. But a heart beat after impact that shield fails and suddenly the whirling death slices into the ship, neatly slicing it in two, the decks of the ship visible as it is cut clean asunder and the ruins and fragments begin to drop into the ocean.
    Though their numbers are diminished, the ships continue on their attack run. Above the heroes rushing toward the aft several of those ships fly over, disgorging several of those thorn drop pods that fall like a rattling of metallic rain, splashing into the ocean or into the hull of the ship.

Natasha Romanoff has posed:
It's the equivalent of Crossing the T. Where the ships cross over so they can bring thier full broadsides and fusilades, and the other line can only fire with their forward guns. Where one side is the most exposed, and the other can bring death upon them. Even in this age of starships, things from the age of sail still sat true in a way. Leave it to humans to take three dimensional starships from another dimension and manage to put it over ot just a pane of paper and flat.
    Natasha Romanoff is flung through teh air over. Not he type of landing she would be expecting to survive. Or would have tried to otherwise. For a death.. It would have been a death. A success. A failrue. Dpeending on however.
    But.. ON this day whatever sort of whimsy favors the foolish and the fearful favors her. And there in the midst of the battle comes flying the scion of Atlantis. Natasha is caught, actually wincing over in pain from the catch.
    "Thank you." She replies over in her best attempt at Atlantean. "For your rescue, my sovereign." Best to be polite after all. And for her to focus on those bits of her that are broken after the battle.

Monica Chang has posed:
The fight is met with fire from the SHIELD agents and Marines, trying to pin down their enemies before they can advance too far onto the ship. The fact that it's drones catches Monica's attention and she pushes a few buttons on that wristband. Suddenly the drone that had been following her opened, extending out weapons ports in multiple directions. And energy blasts begin being fired toward the encroaching drones from the enemy. The drone is about the size of a labrador and it darts and moves, analyzing shots coming in and moving out of their line while firing back.

Which is when Monica pulls out a grenade. "Fire in the hole!" Only, this is a very special grenade. While certainly there are some explosives in there to add to the mess, there is a task it will serve in the first three seconds of the extended five second countdown. They were designed specifically for Dark Elf technology. Well, what Monica had been able to learn about it. Sadly she couldn't reverse engineer their tech as it was mixed with magic which was far beyond her skillset. But the tech size of it? That was her domain. And these grenades were designed for a specific EMP type pulse that would not damage Earth systems. Nor likely anything as advanced as Diana's invisible plane. But anything that was designed with Dark Elf tech was hopefully vulnerable.

Course, that's if it worked. It wasn't like she'd had a chance to test it properly.

The pin was pulled and she counted to two. It was airborne for three as the pulse was sent out toward the boarding craft and the drones coming forth from it. Then two seconds later, even if the pulse didn't help, it would explode.

Diana Prince has posed:
As it so happens, Diana is rushing thorugh the air with her shield in one hand, her lasso in the other, when Jane's lightning arcs across her field of view. The lasso of Hestia swirls out toward one of the brilliantly glowing tendrils of electric reckoning, and wraps around it. It happens so fast, though, that few might even notice it in the sky, where Wonder Woman uses the lasso of Truth to swing upon Jane's lightning, thrusting her forward toward one of the remaining escort ships!

The Princess of Themyscira raises her shield up again then and collides with the ship in a powerful explosive burst of energy, before she tears her way throuh its unshielded hull, separating the ship from its control cabin, essentially beheading the craft, causing it too to feer toward the ocean below.

Namor, sadly, has his work cut out for him to clean all of this up...

Namor has posed:
It's always amusing for surface-worlders to attempt the sacred Atlantean tongue, but Natasha does better than she thinks. After all, many don't even attempt to take a crack at Atlantean and she delivers the line rather well and pays honor to the Emperor with her words. A nod is given to her before Namor is in the air.

His targetis clear: an approaching escort that dares to try and attack the Eisenhower. His trident mashes into the nose of the angular vessel and sends it end over end. Svartalfheim construction is powerful, but Namor was /stronger/. The vessel is now feast for the deep.

Where no one can hear you scream.

A heavy cruiser still remains in the sky. The Leviathan maintains it's protection over the fleet, but it draws slower. Slowed, but not quite out of the fight, tentacles emerge from the depths of the sea to grab the broken pieces of fallen ships, twisting around them like a cruel vice and with a roar, throws the broken ships of fallen enemies back into the jaws of the elves. Fear the dread of the leviathan.

Lightning streaks across the skies from Jane Foster, wielding the God-Hammer. The storm-maker sends lightning swift enough that it causes Namor's skin to stand up tall. Surely, the Gods would be proud. He primes his trident as those drop pods descend with hatred in their hearts, a beam of mystical energy cutting through the air and destroying the atoms in between the golden weapon and it's target(s), hoping to clear the air of them as much as possible.

If too many board, the allied ships may be overwhelmed and that must not be allowed to happen.

Zatanna Zatara has posed:
There are victories among the terrible losses. Too many of her shields failed. Zatanna wipes tears from her face as she continues to swoop toward the stern despite Jane's warning. Overhead a turmoil of clouds and lightning mark Jane's progress. Electricity plays through the tendrils of the Zatanna's hair, lifting it into a dark halo sparked with light.

There is a terrible wrongness in the enchantment that she feels. Leave it to the Dark Elves to practice the vilest magic in existence, using dying souls to fuel their spells. She had tried to prevent the deaths but the elves brought more power to bear than her shields could withhold.

<<Strange!>> she calls.

There is no time for explanation. Surely he will know they must cut the 'pipeline'.

Zatanna pushes fatigue aside while out at sea, a ship splits asunder, littering the ocean with its wreckage.

Strange's first attack fuels an idea. Turn it back on the attackers. She stops and hangs in the air while lightning plays in her hair. With the gesture of a symphony conductor she raise her hands to build a crescendo of magic, double-faced mirrors spring into existence revolving around the locus of black enchantment. In there silvered faces, they reflect smoke, the determined faces of Monica's crew rushing toward to the stern, they catch the light strobing in the air.

Jane Foster has posed:
Later, Jane shall utter her apologies to anyone caught up in that lightning cocoon thrown in a blistering web across the sky. Right now, she has the rare awareness of something moving at tremendous speeds, snapping to the side in expectation. Amplified heart rate possibly audible on the darn radar, the Asgardian shouts out a cheer for Wonder Woman soaring over the ocean to her next target. Let there always be hope, Diana lifting such a torch high. The graceful water bubbles guarding the carrier fleet at Zatanna's beckons and the vivid salvos all around are worth holding still for.

The weariness when released from the heavens' grasp shivers through her and she reaches for Mjolnir, the hammer coming quickly to hand. She salutes Namor, lifting it high, and then surges forward to match the opening he and Monica's effervescent cleverness provides. They don't have a sea-panther this time, they have a wave-widow to undermine the svartalfjar nanobots surging again and again.

"Hold them off! They use the sailors on those ships to raise their magic!" Her cry rattles the sky, at least loud enough to be heard above much of the madness. It is now the hour for sorcery and technology in a blessed dance, and her place to hold the line where she can.

Ozone surges and the hammer goes flying at set of falling thorns and she goes for the others, tearing them out of the sky.

Stephen Strange has posed:
The magical blade construct is silent, but the damage it does is not. The slicing of metal is distinctly audible and not unlike the crumbling of an aluminum can. Only....it is an entire ship, sliced cleanly in two with surgical precision. Which, considering the 'hand' behind the scalpel, makes perfect sense.

Still, no time to lose. The build up of necrotic energies is clearly noticeable, as is the point in which said energies are being pulled to. The same location that now holds the attention of the sorceress and sorcerer both. As Zatanna's voice rings out through the mystical commlink that she, Jane, and Strange share, Stephen himself is already picking up what the magician rocking the fishnets is laying down. <<Right behind you, Zatanna. Following your lead.>>

Whoa. A series of firsts. Strange used the first name...and he is following Zatanna. Mark this day down on the calendar.

For Stephen's part, the sorcerer turns in the air, soaring closer to the necrotic gathering point...that disturbing sensation towards the aft of the ship. His hands raise, the base of the palms touching together, the palms cupped and pointing upward. Then, the arms rotate while the hands slide, the hands now cupping each other, forming a void in between...a ball. At the same time, two convex shields of golden eldrich might form, stretching until they are two halves of a sphere, shifting and converging to form a shield. A ball, sealing off the spell that is feeding on the necrotic energies. Cutting off the pipeline, while also serving to contain the spell, should it trigger.

It is apparent that this little trick is taking up Strange's concentration, for his attention is wholly upon the spherical barricade that is, quite literally, all in his hands now.

Thor has posed:
    One of the SHIELD agents moves over toward Natasha and quickly shifts to brace her if she needs it. He looks at her, brow furrowed and asks, "Are you alright Agent Romanoff?" But then he turns his head and calls out, "Need a medic over here!" As he tries to set her down if she's unsteady on her feet. The fire from the missile impact is still alive behind them, though some of the damage crews are spraying it with a steady stream of foam.
    Across the long long deck of the Eisenhower, Monica's team continues to push on the intruders even as the Asgardian's lightning plays across the drones, causing a good number of them to fall unmoving or explode in place. Then she hurls that EMP grenade and it hurls through the air even as several insect-like drones trudge past it. The explosive rolls and rolls, then SHUMPFS! as it emits the EMP followed abruptly by a KRAWHUMPF! As it explodes in the cavity created by the impact of that missile. The drones in that area fall abruptly still and hit the deck, their multiple legs spreading out or twisting up and into their body like creatures who dared scuttle in the presence of the Orkin man.
    Overhead of the combatants another Svartalfar ship hurtles past, darting through the heavens, on its back stands the Princess of Power as she rides it across the sky. Her shield comes up and she holds it aloft, then she brings it crashing down upon the forward crew section. Cracks are seen in the hull with the first strike, smashing through the flickering shield. Then the second is enough as she fractures the hull and sends the ship and its crew falling into the ocean at the supersonic speed, so fast that it cartwheels across the water, spinning as it breaks apart.
    In the water the Leviathan lashes out and catches one of the ships that dares rush past. Its tentacles lash around it and hold it tight, roaring its defiance to the invader as it twists that ship apart. Then hurls the debris and broken pieces into the air, trying to bring down more of the vile malicious invaders.
    Golden energy and Uru metal lance across the distance hurtling into those descending metal cocoons. Some of those pods are split asunder, what cargo they might be holding lost in the incinerating blaze or powerful impact. Some few land and embed hard into the side of the Eisenhower, while others go straight into the ocean and disappear not being seen again.
    Above and somewhat apart from the battle, but no less invested, the sorcerers focus their talents upon that dark spell that has been cast upon the boarding torpedo. Monica has ended the technological threat, but e'er when one faces the Svartalfar they face the mystical as well. Zatanna sets up the eldritch barriers, angling them to force the spell to feed upon itself if it reaches culmination. The magic-wielders can feel the pulse of that spell, the intensity of it keyed deeply into the structure of the ship. It was created to feed upon the lives that were lost around it, but for now it is held in check with Zatanna's initial touch of the spell. And then it is rendered harmless as Strange cuts it off from its bounty. No longer able to draw further, no longer able to fill itself on the wisps of life lost around it. It lies dormant.
    After making that attack run the remaining elvish ships bank toward the north and their engines flare. That tell-tale ripple is seen in the air as the last ships seem to flicker out of existence again, fading from view as they accelerate away from the engagement. Another volley of missiles are fired from the still functional AEGIS cruisers, and two of the F-35s tail after one escort whose stealth systems seem to be no longer working, their cannons chattering with a steady BRRRRRRRRT as they fire rounds into the side of the ship.
    Though as quickly as it started...
    The attack ends when that last ship is splashed, and the others have disappeared. There is still that thrum of potential spellwork in that missile embedded in the back of the carrier yet the mages have it under control for now.
    Yet those ships had wrought

Thor has posed:
    
    Yet those ships had wrought a good amount of damage to the fleet. It will take time to get the damage under control, to get the crew cleared, to get back underway. In times of peace if one ship fell behind the fleet it would be safe to let them head back to harbor on their own. But with the situation as it is...

Natasha Romanoff has posed:
Hurled through the air then and caught by Namor, Natasha can only groan, "Thank you." Her Atlantean is slow and halting - less so due to her lack of mastery in the language, and moreso due to her ribs finally breaking now that she has time to actually breathe and things blow up. She does -not- certainly wrap her arms aroudn Namor a bit more lightly to brace herself.

No, ont indeedy. She is clearly not a damsel in distress here being rescued by a flying king in sour armor (or speedos)