13894/Discordants: The Finale!

Discordants: The Finale!
Date of Scene:	17 March 2023
Location:	Earth Starport, Atlantic Ocean
Synopsis:	The heroes confront Malekith and start up a butt-whupping!
Cast of Characters:	Thor, Natasha Romanoff, Sif, Diana Prince, Thea Queen, Zatanna Zatara, Jane Foster, Alura In-Ze, Blackagar Boltagon, Stephen Strange

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Thor has posed:
    Above the clouds the view is beautiful. It's just a blanket of white reaching across to the horizon. The only sign that anything is amiss are dual plumes of black smoke that reach up and up toward the sky like twin tendrils joining the light and the beyond.
    For beneath the clouds the Starport is burning.
    Hundreds of dagger-like ships move in their diamond pattern formations, slicing across the surface of the ocean. Arcs and lances of energy lash out from above and below. The sky is alive with moving silhouettes, the bladed malice of the Svartalfar at war. While above the gateway to the stars for humanity, ominous ships float. The larger vessels hover, remaining strong, like sentinels overlooking a domain they already consider conquered. At times weaponry lances out from the underside of the ships, purple-beams of light playing across the surface of the Starport, leaving scars and marks upon the surface of the formerly pristine foundation. As if it simply wished to damage its beauty.
    Though each time the weapons blaze, defenders die or are scattered.
    At times volleys of missiles fire, their corkscrew trails of energy and smoke chasing after the wicked weapons as they hurl themselves toward the clover-leaves of the Midgardian Starport. Sometimes the missiles impact, explosions rocking the surface, sending superstructure, fortifications, and sometimes defenders flying. Sometimes the missiles embed into the surface of the port, then their sides explode and more black clad soldiers or drones emerge, hurling themselves at the strongpoints the defenders have formed.
    Three of the clover-leaves have fallen, the buildings overrun though fighting still goes on in the depths beneath the Starport. Blazing pillboxes and gun emplacements with advanced Wakandan weaponry are surrounded by shattered debris and fallen bodies.
    Amazonian warriors fight side by side with Wakandan soldiers as the survivors have managed to hold the core clover leaf that holds access to the energy grid and the defenses. Two beachheads have been made, heavily armored Svartalfar having risen from the depths of the ocean in elaborate powered armor, gleaming with runic light as they fired round after round as their engineers established those landing points, their own defenses being raised. Though the main point of contention is the chokepoint connecting that last clover-leaf shape to the central starport hub. Svartalfar troops and fire are focused heavily there upon the defenders who are battling to keep the invaders from pushing further in, from overwhelming them.
    Yet the Dark Elves make little headway, and what little they do make is paid for heavily in shattered metal and fallen bodies.
    For normally they could go around such a chokepoint, as they likely are seeking to do with those two beachheads. But they are stymied by a visible shield around that area flashing and shimmering as missiles and rounds are poured into it. The shield... coming from what looks like an Atlantean Battleship that has run itself aground onto the clover, purely so it could use that deep-sea pressure shield and defense grid to provide the defenders with that protection. It is twisted to the side, like some great whale choosing that now is its time for death. Yet it will protect its charge to the last. Of the other ships that had been on duty... one of the black plumes of smoke comes from its cracked hull as it lies broken and burning
    Yet some rounds and fire still get through as that shield flickers.
    But during it all, during all of this madness. Lord Malekith is not to be seen in the fighting. For his place is at the center of the starport, where the ritual of Resonance had been completed. It is there that he stands, honor guard of two hundred around him, his coterie of warlocks at his sides, giving their power, their focus, their magic, their souls into the coming ritual.

Thor has posed:
    No weaponry is fired near them, and above them floats the largest ship of all in the Svartalfar fleet, taking up almost the entirety of the airspace directly above the central hub. Like a gigantic spearhead, it keeps its place above the Leader of the Dark Elves, at times a beam lashing out, at others merely silent as it holds.
    It is as the defenders are pressed, as the fire becomes more focused on the chokepoint...
    Then distantly some three miles out...
    The USS Eisenhower appears.

Thor has posed:
    2 Minutes Earlier:

    Captain Higgins walks through the bridge of the Eisenhower, followed closely by his first and second officer. He adjusts his CSG-2 baseball cap and moves ahead toward the forward viewing area. A few nods are given to the sailors on duty, then he rests his hand on the seat of the navigation officer as he considers the myriad of maps on display. He turns his head, "Stations report?"
    Lt. Commander Malcolm 'Mal' Graves reports instantly, "All section heads report ready for go." Then his tone shifts slightly, "We're still getting erratic readings from the power plant."
    Higgins turns back and says, "No damage in the fighting. Could be from all the zim-zam hoo-ha goin' on out there."
    "Could be." Then there's the relative quiet for a moment on the bridge, only the low chatter of radio traffic is heard. Until Mal says quietly, "You ever see the Philadelphia Experiment?"
    To which Captain Higgins smirks and shakes his head, looking over his shoulder at the other man he's known since the academy. "God /dammit/, Malcolm."
    Then louder to the bridge, "Ensign, start the count. All hands make ready for spatial transition!" He turns and gives a nod toward his first officer, "If you would be so kind, Commander Graves, to let Ms. Zatara know we are ready."
    "Aye aye, sir."

    Now:

    The USS Eisenhower (CVN-69) emerges in a shimmer of light to the West of the Starport three miles out. The closest that the Mistress of Magic could manage considering the powerful enchantments at play. Above the ship the six F-35 fighters that had been flying combat air patrol appear in the same instant, having to coordinate their passover for the specific instant that Zatanna's spell 'fired'. And they did so beautifully. As soon as the ship emerged the fighters seemed to just _ROAR_ into existence, their engines firing on afterburner and their deadly silhouettes slicing across the sky as they hurled themselves at the Svartalfar formation. These were the golden seconds, the single moments when the enemy did not know they were there. The moments when the tide of battle could be turned.
    As soon as the Eisenhower solidifies fully, the deck crew are instantly yelling. "Go go go!"
    Two more fighters roar off the ready line, their engines blazing with power even as the second set are being pulled into place by the small heavy jet caddies that roll across the surface of the Eisenhower's immense deck. Several Quinjets immediately launch from their places on the heliports behind the conning tower of the warship.
    Across the comms the captain's voice is heard. "Good hunting, gentlemen."
    

Natasha Romanoff has posed:
Natasha's spent roughly twenty one hours and seventeen minutes in recovery. Well, less than that. Likelier closer to eightteen. Enough to have her ribs patched up and put in a splice and some minimal surgery done to her to make her functional. She's taken the two hours or so in change to get herself suited up. She's slightly slower than normal with her ribs taped up and still injured. But this is an all hands on deck situation, a possible apocalyptic level event. She can walk. She can carry a weapon. Anyone that's not fully physically incapacitated and can't be roused by an adrenaline shot will be on duty.
    So with as many weapons as she can muster on her and wearing a more heavily reinforced combat suit to try and help take the strain off her ribs, Natasha is working over iwth a very, very bulky sniper rifle. THis one larger than the ones she's used in the previous engagements. Around her body are several bandoilers that she's wrapepd ammo about in. Explosives, ammunition, and everything else that sh can't fit in the bandoilers is held over in various overstuffed pouches around her body that have even more weapons and gadgets to them. Natasha's got as much as she can carry on her that she was able to 'requisition' from the armory.
    They'll do or die trying.

Sif has posed:
When the battle had begun, word had arrived at the Asgardian Embassy. Sif called on volunteers to join her in battle, only to find that all had done so. Thus she had to make some decisions much to the annoyance of many. She would take a dozen skilled Asgardian warriors with her. The rest would make ready at the Asgardian Embassy should whatever the Svartalfar were doing come to fruition. For they had no doubt that Asgard would be next, if this was not already some way to strike at them. This did not seem to be like the other attacks. This was a full push and something was going to come from it. One man was sent back to Asgard itself, to carry word to the Prince Regent of the happenings and to pass on the words of Lady Sif: Prepare Asgard and await word.

Then once they were all in their full armor and strapped with weapons, they joined Sif in the courtyard. She drew her sword and sliced through the fabric of reality itself, revealing the battle at the Starport, the smell of smoke and coppery tang of blood in the air "For Asgard!"

They had all rushed through that opening and the battle was joined. And after some time, they had come to this point, this spot that could not fall. They had added their number to the Themyscirans, Wakandans, and other Midgardians that were putting their lives on the line to protect this final part of the Starport.

Diana Prince has posed:
On the path leading to the western clover, a fierce battle rages between the Themyscirans and Wakandans on one side, and Maleketh's forces on the other. Among the fighters is Wonder Woman, who stands out in her additional armor, including her rare Golden Eagle helmet. Her presence draws more enemies towards her, but it hasn't gone well for them.

DDiana's stamina, training, and experience in battle have grown steadily over the past hundred years away from her island. Emboldened by their successes and the fact that the Starport was a project of Diana's supported by Queen Hippolyta herself, she and her sisters hold the line at all costs.

Covered in battle scars, Diana defeats a huge monstrosity with her sword before blocking another incoming attack with her shield and plunging her sword into another enemy's stomach, twisting it and pulling it free. "Do not yield to their advances!" she shouts to her fellow fighters. A line of Kanga riders charges past her with their javelins and war-spears, rushing towards their enemies.

Thea Queen has posed:
It all came down to this. A final stand where they fought against the darkness Malekith wished to bring to the world. Or worlds. Thea had answered the call immediately, no hesitation, only time to get a few arrows (all the best ones from her brother!) and then it was go time, joining the Asgardians when they went to battle.

Right into the middle of chaos.

Not that it deterred the little archer that could no matter the panicky voices coming on comms. Overwatch. Or Felicity Sloan. << The readings I am getting from that place..., they are off the charts! That's a full blown battlefield and either I need to clean my glasses or a battleship just teleported over. >>

Thea slides under a thrown spear from a svartalfar and returns the favor with an arrow through the skull. One shot. She was enjoying these golden arrows Diana had been graceful enough to gift her with.

<< Your brother is going to kill you. >> Overwatch again. Then Thea murmurs. "He will have to get in line.."

Arrows fly as she then provides cover to the chokepoint forces made of Themyscirans and Asgardians, she making sure to be closer to Sif and Diana.

Zatanna Zatara has posed:
A thin violet thread shimmering with a trans-dimensional light opened before the Eisenhower, swallowing first the black silhouette of its caster, then all 1092 feet of the carrier, cutting the waves at full speed. For the carrier crew, there was no pell-mell rush or tumble; only the ocean chop changed, and the clouds overhead thickened into a gray canopy. Radio transmissions and satellite tracking fizzed momentarily, then reoriented onto new channels.

A shield leaped into existence around the carrier as fragile looking as a soap bubble, strong enough to repel missiles. For the brave defenders using the portal, Zatanna had crafted double wards for each of them to be carried on their person, surrounding them in protection against mundane weapons and magic. She had presented the shield ward personally to Alura In-Ze, then the SHIELD agents, including Natasha Romanoff and Monica Chang. Alura's ward and shield had taken her an hour to craft , her ward could resist a solar flare.

The sorcerer hadn't slept the night preparing the jets that would leap off the carrier deck. Then, nothing else could be done before they engaged with the enemy.

Zatanna didn't rue the loss of sleep; the night was better spent preparing than worrying about the coming day. Her mouth was dry, and she had no appetite. Today would be the first time in her life that she would take lives with no remorse.

She flew, a tiny black-caped figurehead, in front of the Eisenhower as its prow crested the portal and entered the North Atlantic.

Jane Foster has posed:
Five years ago since SHIELD co-opted a promising astrophysicist's lab basically lock, stock, and barrel after an inter-realm incident, Jane's refinements to building Einstein-Rosen bridges beyond a microsecond blip have advanced to the point that posterity might start calling them Einstein-Foster bridges.

With a few pointed instructions, nearly her entire stock is now deployed across the USS Eisenhower's battle group or bequeathed upon a very likeable blonde scientist one-woman-army with a few necessary modifications created over the past many hours. The typical fusion of technology allows missiles to softballs to generate micro-black holes to toss a few unwanted things into... well, it's best not to ask where they end up. When detonated, they devour everything from small scorpion drones to personnel and larger materiel. Rest assured that fold in space is extremely far away, responsibly plotted in a scattering grid to assure a sea of dark elves don't end up invading NGC 3992 because that would suck. It's the Vacuum Cleaner Galaxy.

Turning and turning through the widening gyre, she can feel the sorcerers. Jane, codenamed Stargazer, currently plummets through the tropopause at speeds difficult to track. Brewing thunderheads from the wavetops to around 20,000 meters high make no pretenses of stealth. A monstrous collection of cumulonimbus clouds churn over the spaceport, caged only to avoid causing allied ships to heel over. Massive downdrafts provide turbulent disruptions while blossoming charges throb in incandesent brilliance within the heart of the blackened cloud banks. Sheet lightning channelled through Mjolnir's near-unbreakable uru frame comes roaring down in myriad white-hot bolts on the Svartalfjar and any passing dagger-ships stupid enough to think getting close to the mortal sorcerers is a particularly good idea.

Hint: it's not. Especially when she hurls the hammer and rapidly reverses course to visit misery on dark elf company until they meet up again.

Alura In-Ze has posed:
Alura was never a soldier. Civil defense against Zod's insurrection on Krypton certainly counted but this - this is something all together different. She's a scientist not a fighter. But by cue of her sponsors here, the Amazons, and her own daughter, as well as her nephew and extended family - she has learnt to use her powers in the defense of others.

As Zee performs her magic upon her she catches sight of just how tired the sorceress is and places a hand to her shoulder, "Don't destroy yourself trying to destroy them. The one thing they cannot take from us is who we are - only we can surrender that."

Instead of launching straight at the Dark Elven Battle group, Alura instead takes her bequeathment from Jane and flies straight up and away from Earth.

The quiet of space gives Alura only a moment of peace as she dashes across the vast blackness. The orbital velocity she needs to put these spacial distortion tools in place around the sun is 11,521,608m/s. It was a good idea - the devices won't last the whole battle but it'll be a heck of a surprise for the Dark Elves if Jane can time it right.

She bursts forward faster and faster and then lets go of the satellites to whiz about the sun at 3.6% of the speed of light. She takes a swing past the sun herself and baths in its immense glow. Sol. A thing of beauty.. then races back to Earth.

The fluffy white clouds burst apart as she arrives with a thundering boom. She's not wasting time either - flying straight in to the shielding of one of the medium sized ships and letting the immense energy of her velocity shatter through it; and her body shatter through their engines.

Swooping about she brings up her hands and claps them together creating a power shockwave directed at some of the smaller fighters. Superwoman is here to draw their fire away from the defenders of the Starport; and their teams deploying to the Starport. For that, she needs to become their biggest threat as quickly as possible.

<<"Calibrate your software Hammer Science.">> Superwoman didn't have time to learn code names so she'll do the best she can. And by calibrate she means predicted coronal bursts mapped to the speed of the satellites deployed and compensating for the lag back to Earth. In short - Alura just handed Jane a Solar Blow Torch. It's the best she could do on short notice.

There is a moment of stillness for Alura as she takes in the battle field at super speed. It's immense and the odds are against them. Her symbol of family means Hope here on Earth. Her red cape whips in the air as her blond hair follows suit. Her eyes fall upon their central ritual.

Magic or not, there's an order and a process to their rituals. Disrupting that will definitely get their attention. With fists thrusts forward before her and her eyes glowing bright red she shoots across the sky at them and lets loose her heat vision.

Blackagar Boltagon has posed:
"You cannot risk this?? the woman?s voice pleaded.
The flurry of hand signs flashed back, strong gestures, emphasized with hard sounds as they impacted together to bring attention to the words. There was no debate; not this time.

Turning, he stepped towards his friend and placed a hand on his side, nodding that it was time.

In a moment, reality twisted and bent, and then the pair stood together in the midst of the chaos of battle that raged all around.

The first of the pair, a large dog-looking individual, tuning fork upon his brow and intense eyes. In the middle of the Dark Elves where they appeared, the first strode forward and turning, Lockjaw grabbed ahold of it via jaws, tossing it aside into a collection of others.

Looking up, Blackagar Boltagon smiled slowly and made gestures with his hands. ~Go, my friend, be on the watch for any who need your help.~

Eyes looking at the Inhuman King, dark, the dog lifts his head back, howling loudly into the sky before dissipating into nothingness and teleporting away to safety. The space left open by Lockjaw's departure is quickly filled with a stream of Dark Elves, greeted with a small, calm smile from Blackbolt as he wades into the fight.

Stephen Strange has posed:
The lightning and the thunderheads make sense when one sees the current wielder of the mighty hammer of the god(s) descend from the heaves. And really, one would expect, where there is thunder and lightning, to be wind.

However, this wind? It isn't natural in the slightest. For the wind...is blowing upward. At least, from the way that the few dagger-ships that have avoided the electric death from above are now traveling, quite involuntarily. Then....the shift of airflow as 'up' levels to 'horizontal' with gusts strong enough to send a wall of salt water crashing across a wing of dark elves, sending them washing into the depths of the ocean.

Then, the cause of the strange air patterns is revealed. And...the cause is Strange, indeed. For the figure in blue, red cloak fluttering and hands outstretched, could only be the Sorcerer Supreme himself. Where he was is not important. Nor is how he got there.

What is important is that Strange is there now....and he is in no mode for diplomacy.

Thor has posed:
    The Quinjets bank over the water, holding low to the deck as they come in toward the strongpoint where the defenders make their stand. At least there they get some covering fire as they come in. It's a rollercoaster of a ride as they start to take fire, blasts of purple energy and jagged weaponry are fired in their direction, one of the jets taking a round in the port engine causing it to favor one side yet the pilot's able to keep it on target. Soon those jets are making their twisting turn, slashing across the beach furthest away from the combat as their loading bay doors open and soldiers emerge.
    Up in the sky those Raptors earn their name as they slice into the formation of some of the larger Svartalfar ships, their cannons chattering as they send rounds into the defensive shields of some of the ships and when they find their rounds striking true... they let loose with one of their missiles and bank sharply out of the way.
    For thanks to the workings of some of the SHIELD R&D corps, those missiles are tipped with singularity warheads that explode with a rush of negated sound that implodes inwards, suddenly causing some of the corvette sized ships to twist awkwardly through the air as their myriad engines force it to stabilize.
    On the Eisenhower's bridge, Captain Higgins turns, "Weaps, give me a full spread, get as many of our missiles in the air. I want them to have to take off their damn shoes to count 'em all."
    "Aye, sir!"
    Outside on the deck of the ship several missile batteries twist with a mechanical whir and then suddenly spew smoke in a cascade of weapons fire, their own gifted SHIELD tech warheads being launched and wending their way into the sky. Small pockets of utter darkness explode and negate the ability for sound to travel for a split second, then wash outward carrying with it the resonating /KAWOM/ of the explosion.
    "We're being lit up, sir. They know we're here now!" The sailor at the radar station calls out.
    Only for Higgins to snarl, "You're goddamn right they know, son."
    The battle at the chokepoint raged as the bodies of the fallen marked that large bridge section of the starport that joined the Western Clover to the Central Body. The gigantic creature that Diana had just felled was seemingly composed of blades and edges and points, it had been a vicious thing scarred and wicked, yet had seemed to be in utter agony as it attacked, howling the entire time as it tried to destroy her. Only to fall to her sword. Around it were other armored figures, the Svartalfar expending their flesh and steel to try and force the defenders back. Another rush of Dark Elves push, the Kursed in their magma armor surging in, several of them holding large horned tower shields, providing moving cover for the sharpshooters behind. Bolts of energy leap back and forth between the two forces. Several start tracking Thea as she takes down that warrior with that precise shot, wicked enchanted bolts slamming, impaling into the stone near her, then exploding in bursts of vicious energy.
    Return fire started to arc in toward the Carrier as a squadron of the black dagger ships twists in, avoiding the fire of the F-35s and making a run on the naval vessel. They dropped low, loosed their torpedoes, then rose sharply. The semi-sentient weapons blurred over the ocean, then _EXPLODED_ with a loud WHOOMPF impacting the shields on the old warhorse, the Eisenhower.
    In the sky the clouds darken, marked by the passing of the woman who is sister to the Thunder. Magical hammer blurring as the weapon lashes out, surging with power and letting that power dance between the forms of ship, and man, and monster. She makes good use of those golden seconds, felling a squadron of ships that had lifted to engage, their hulls simultaneously exploding and crackling as they're cooked in the fire of her fury, some of those blasts lancing down amongst the defenses the Svartalfar were still constructing, causing those working toward those foul ends to be blasted into the air or impacting into the structures themselves

Thor has posed:
    
    In the sky the clouds darken, marked by the passing of the woman who is sister to the Thunder. Magical hammer blurring as the weapon lashes out, surging with power and letting that power dance between the forms of ship, and man, and monster. She makes good use of those golden seconds, felling a squadron of ships that had lifted to engage, their hulls simultaneously exploding and crackling as they're cooked in the fire of her fury, some of those blasts lancing down amongst the defenses the Svartalfar were still constructing, causing those working toward those foul ends to be blasted into the air or impacting into the structures themselves.
    Then even as those dark clouds coalesce, through them rush Alura, first seen as an abrupt /chuff!/ as the clouds part instantly around her hurtling form. Then she lances into one of the larger ships. Her momentum is slowed, for a split second it almost seems as if she's being held in a single snap shot of a moment. Light flashing across the ship's shield and dancing around it, then suddenly flaring as its energy compensation reaches a critical point. The shield collapses and she slashes through, trailing engine and core and armor, the large cruiser turning over on its side, banking slowly as the engines fire... struggling... struggling.
    Then it heels over into the ocean, its weapons firing one last time before exploding powerfully, sending a large wave to wash over in the direction of the starport.
    Her eyebeams blaze to life as she makes for the heart of the Starport, crimson lines slicing across the distance then lashing into yet another field, though this one seems to be held by those black-clad figures in the heart of the Starport. She does gain the attention, the focus, weapons fire from the battleships above begin to lash out in her direction, precision strikes, light beams slashing out. Though the most telling is when the eyes flash of the large black figure in the center of this whole fiasco. When he extends a fist and closes it. Which sets other Svartalfar into motion.
    More join the fray as royalty lends its aid from the sky and the stars. Or the moon. Blackagar's arrival serves to cause one of the rushing cadres from the beach side to falter, their weapons tracking, coming up, sending rounds in the direction of the hero and his hound. Only for them to be suddenly bowled over by the silent man with the strength of the Gods.
    That large wave caused by the falling ship is then grasped, twisted, adjusted, and turned into a weapon of revenge as the Sorcerer Supreme appears, that cape flapping. He causes the other side of the clover that is threatened to be washed away of the intruding Svartalfar, their undersea armor making them too slow to react even as they are hurled powerfully away by the purloined wave.
    A roar of jet engine is heard as one of the F-35s banks sharply to pass near Strange. And in the midst of all the chaos a simple greeting is given as the pilot waggles the wings of his jet. Silent thanks given.

Natasha Romanoff has posed:
And Natasha Romanoff is over in oen of the Quinjets. As the massive melee goes on, she moves to go off the ramp. Then she goes to hit a button her palm. Her body shifts, as mirror camouflage goes over her and she ripples to seemingly drop from sensor, sight, and sound. Going to put on the full spectrum cloak. Then she's going to extend a pair of gliders from her arms an da small air-burst pack.
    This has her gliding and using blasts of air to keep herself aloft and going quickly, above the haze of the battlefield, and teh chaos and the brutal fighting at the chokepoint, the detonations and chaos and carnage going about.
    Natasha is going after somewhat bigger (or smaller) prey. She's heading towards one of thsoe heavy cruisers that she spent so much time over on. She knwos the layout, she knows how they work, and she knows where to hit them. She's even spent a few hours learning the runes for 'weapons' and 'targeting'. If it isn't broken..
    THen use it to break other things and kill it. She's jus tintent on gliding towards the nearest heavy capital ship and moving towards one of the launch ports.

Sif has posed:
The line was held but there was a larger danger than the Starport being overrun. Malekith was within that center garden area and some sort of ritual was underway. For Malekith himself to be here instead of just his mages? It did not bode well.

Sif slashed at an oncoming Dark Elf, separating his head from his shoulders as she continued to maintain the line. She was a warrior born and raised, a terror on the battlefield and it showed as she swung her blade or blocked attacks with the shield held in her left hand. There was no question why she led the Asgardian troops present and why she was respected amongst her people for her prowess in war.

Goddess in fact. Her blood was singing in her veins, the battle drawing her forward like an old lover. Asking her to just give in and let herself savor that battle she was the epitome of. And Sif made a choice in that moment. She looked to her men. "Captain. Hold the line. Do not let them cross." Then she stepped past that barrier. "And do not follow me. I will need space."

A soft whisper followed. "Malekith you will pay for what you have done!" And she began to stride forward. It was hard won but bit by bit, she was making an attack instead of defending. Bodies fell and she moved over them as though they were nothing. The blood lust grew and for the first time, she didn't fight it.

A scream of primal fury was torn from Sif as she let the purity of her rage take over. Rage at what the Dark Elves had done. Rage at always feeling they were behind during the attacks. Rage at so many lives lost. And perhaps strongest of them all--rage that this bastard had taken her best friend from this world.

And suddenly what had been a hardened Asgardian battle-maiden became the Goddess of War. Though her appearance did not change, it was there. That moment she embraced her true nature. Her true darkness. Her movements sharper, faster, more primal. Her skill did not lapse but now it was purely a drive to reach that figure in the center.

Diana Prince has posed:
The lasso of Hestia flares to life, a golden beacon in the chaos of battle. Diana lashes out with the lasso to grab hold of a weapon from one of the Cursed, before it can be brought down on a line of defending Wakandan warriors! The Cursed pulls hard on the rope, only to have the taut line pulled back upon by Diana, who tenses her muscles, leans backward and throws the Cursed monster through the air. With a howling roar, the creature is sent twisting through the sky back toward where he'd come from, hitting the ground hard and rolling across the stone floor in to the edge of the desecrated gardens at the heart of the Starport complex.

Diana's lasso is twirled back in to her grasp then, the divinely hued illumination casting a golden glow upon her visage as she peers out from within her ornate helmet to the sky... Diana speaks something softly outloud, even amidst all the chaos, the source of whome she softly speaks to understands...

The skies light up with a torent of blue plasma energy fire, as the 'Invisible Jet' screams on to the scene, moving to support the Raptors, to help keep their tails as clean as possible, the Lansinarian-powered Jet defying Earth's gravity as it moves on its own accord, the only way to track it being its sudden bursts of rotary plasma cannon fire!

On the ground, Diana leaps in to the air, her arms and legs pin-wheeling as she arcs up, gracefully glides down again, then lands on the leather saddle of her own Kanga mount. Fully armored, the Battleroo starts to charge forward, and from his saddle, Diana wields her own bow, which she soons begins to unleash a rapid volley of golden arrow, after golden arrow, their silver-tipped Themysciran 'Amazonium' arrowheads corkscrewing through the air, before impacting with vital weakspots on the Dark Elven enemies!

SMASH! Diana's Kanga slams through a line of foes, only to curve back around and begin to make massive leaps through the air, avoiding enemy fire as it slams back down on the heads of their enemies who are pre-occupied with ongoing conflict!

Thea Queen has posed:
The first blast hits just above her head. It gets Thea to shift her gaze sharply towards the oncoming shots. Was it just a lucky shot that came too close? Considering the rush of beams coming her way it seems not. "Fantastic..." it really isn't.. No time for more as she is then on the run, dodging, running, edging behind Asgardian and Themysciran shields alike to keep herself out of arms way, some debris hitting her, pain lancing through her body.

Just enough that they need to come closer, away from their protections. Setting them right into range for Diana's arrows to pierce through them. Yea, that's what you get for targetting the archer! Besides her now bleeding arm. But she ain't got time to bleed.

It leaves her close to see that shift on Sif. When she starts that stride forward she knows any words will be moot. The Asgardian is set on reaching the middle.

And damn right Thea will be providing cover. "Focus fire to make a path for Sif!" not that she expects to be listened to but she draws her own arrows. "Alright, Ollie. Let's see how good your arrows really are..."

Explosive arrows fill the air as she unleashes a volley. Arrows that Oliver usually gets to use when with the Justice League. She is hoping they pack a good punch.

Zatanna Zatara has posed:
Alura's hand on her shoulder had made her eyes sting. Afraid of what lay ahead, she had nearly unburdened herself to the alien champion, but it would change nothing to confess her fear of the coming pain and only murmured, "Your help is precious. Thank you for being here, Alura," before turning away.

In the North Atlantic:

Zatanna does not posses Dr. Foster's strength or speed. Instead, she is the elements' mistress, transforming them into weapons of destructive magic. Orienting to the twin plumes of smoke marring the sky, the mistress of enchantment rises high over the waves as jets roar past, purple rays of energy mirrored off their shield. She has memorized a novel arsenal of spells with the intent to maim.

Her first target is the largest of the Svartalf craft hovering serenely over its prey. The mother ship. Precious seconds tick past as she portals to her objective, already shaping the words between gritted teeth. Zatanna flashes into existence as close to the behemoth as its wards will let her. Finally, she stops, takes a deep breath, and commands,

"!MOOB - noissif raelcun tniopniP"

Between her spread hands, an orb of light is born whirling at atomic speeds, full of arcane magics to cut through the shield. With a flip of her wrist, it attaches to the ship's shield like a limpet. The sorceress knows better than to linger and disappears before she takes another breath, on to her next objective.

Jane Foster has posed:
<The sky shall grow unbearably bright. Guard your vision!> Ds. Foster's warning resonates throughout allied forces among the Starport and the carrier group, relayed through the comms. For the Midnight King, the brush of her thoughts radiates an electrified crackle to say the same. <<Look down for a moment. I'm afraid this shall burn otherwise.>>

Sorcerous winds buffet her as Jane cuts across the bowshock of Alura's descent, stretching out her palms to catch Mjolnir as they both reunite in a delirious frisson of crackling energy wisps. Sif's battle cry rings in her ears and she answers in the verbal authorization protocol waiting to discharge Alura's gift: "Sol er landa ljome; luti ek helgum dome."

The salvo released from the carrier group rains down and still that might not prove sufficient against Malekith's devices alone. Things fall apart; the centers blink and hold.

Mere anarchy is loosed upon the world, the sun-scorched tide is loosed.

150 milion kilometers away, an ejected plume from the stellar atmosphere kicked up by a Kryptonian woman meets human technology strung in daisy chains. Satellites swing through the nanoflares that seethe, hitting the swirling pools that not even a photon can escape. The other sides of the black holes are calibrated on the delivery vehicles themselves engaged in the fight. So they bring a minute portion of a coronal mass ejection here instantaneously instead of the 18 hours it usually takes.

Thunderstorm night becomes high noon in the desert on the summer solstice. Auroras explode into existence where the Earth's magnetic field catches the coronal discharge. Pinpoint wormholes open over the Atlantic as Sol feeds its daughter, channeling the accelerated protons and electrons across the Svartalfjar ships. Energetic sparks fluctuate into new tiny suns, overlapping in superheated waves of visible light and intense ultraviolet that scythe through metal, flesh, and all else between where they can be directed.

Unseen torrents of positively charged ions whirl around Jane as she lands in a radiant halo not that far from where Blackagar stands. Lightning remaining in the chaotic atmosphere needs a direct path to the ground, and she points in Malekith's general direction to send it roaring at his knot of functionaries. The force knocks her fully off her feet, but she can rise sooner or later. Right?

Alura In-Ze has posed:
The plan worked - draw their fire. That big ship instead of blasting at the USS Eisenhower, and those large ships, turn their attention upon Alura and let rip. As she rises back away for a second pass, hoping distance will dim the horrible feeling Malekith is creating in her, the munitions striking against her light her up like a shining star flying through the sky.

Alura grits her teeth for even though she knows Kal survived being nuked once this - this is an excruciating pain like none she's ever felt before. She can feel the uniform she made peeling as its micro structures start to break down and for a moment she feels like she's about to black out.

Hurtling through the sky she finds her mind drawn back to a dark place. The Phantom Zone. Exhausted, her life feeling like it's draining from her, she felt a hand upon her shoulder. It was filled with warmth and fire. The hand belonged to the woman in a white gown that somehow glowed even in this dull place. Firebird. If only she had Firebird's strength to aid her now.

It's a good thing Alura learnt how to fight with the Amazons otherwise she never would have learned how to use a shield. Especially not in the way they use them. A magic warding shield is even more special to augment the magical warding on her person. What looks like a simple piece of metal to Alura holds mystical properties she couldn't even measure if she had the time to try.

It's a good thing because Alura feels something truly impossible as Malekith focuses his dark will upon her. Magic. She has never fought against it and her only real knowledge of it is from what Kal wrote in his logs from his encounters with it.

This isn't like Kryptonite poisoning. That was horrible enough. This feels like having the solar energy inside her ripped out - except it isn't. She pulls that shield Zatanna gave her from her back and angles it down toward Malekith. The relief is instantaneous, but now she knows the threat of magic is very very real and the only thing between her and probable death is this small magical piece of shield . o O ( Thank you Zee )

Alura snaps back to the moment and lifts her chin up. There's a squadron of those darts chasing her and having free rain firing at her. Drawing in a deep hot breath from the burning air around her, she turns and blows out super cold air at the darts, watching their exteriors freeze up and their ability to fly fail as they shake about like leafs in the wind and fall away from her.

That big beam from the largest ship was the one that was hurting her the most. It didn't seem to be able to sustain its burn upon her but gosh did it do some damage. She could feel her skin blistering still as her heat vision lit up her eyes and beneath the skin of her face. She bursts up through through the air toward its primary weapon as her next target.

Her heat ray lashes out at the capitol ship and their shielding splashes it across its underbelly like red lightning flashing across the sky. She's not sure how much of a dent she put in it, but she does know she can't let that big weapon have free reign burning her away a piece at a time.

As Jane unleashes the solar weaponry they improvised she feels a rush of energy come back in to her. A big breath is taken in and she puts the magical shield placed on to her back once more. Her cheeks flushed and her body feels buzzed as if she had just done a fly by of the sun herself.

She taps the comms <<"Superwoman to Eisenhower - focus Solar Lance Missiles on the capital ship near its primary weapon. We're going to take it out.">> After all, a Kryptonian is but a solar battery - why not blast the shields with the sun itself. <<"I don't know how much longer those satellites will survive in orbit - we need to use it while we have it.">>

Blackagar Boltagon has posed:
The battle continued to range around him, perhaps landing in the midst of the Dark Elves had not been the 'wisest' of actions, but it was the one that Blackbolt had chosen. Enough of a threat perhaps he could split the offensive; alleviate the tension up front. But oh, how is it possible to make oneself seem a threat. He appears to be just a man, wearing a black leather outfit with a white bolts over it and a chain holding a tuning fork glowing with blue energy.

Become a threat by simply being a threat.

Blue eyes scan the field for the largest and most intimidating looking Dark Elf in his proximity. Steady strides take Bolt towards him, others swarm to engage this 'human' in their midst and are quickly, instantly dispatched with waves of energy washing off him. As he approaches, the Commander present spots Blackagar and turns to face him. The two begin to circle one another even as the battle raged around them. The sounds of struggle, the energy of magic and the explosions echoing overhead. The eyes lock, the Captain pulling his curved sword and preparing dark magic while Blackbolt smiled. He was no ordinary adversary. The Elves had no idea.

The world, really had no idea.

Bolt held back his power, knowing any slip could be untold destruction. He watched as the Elf lunged forward, sword aimed for his heart but the King was ready, sliding to the side and striking with a lighting fast counter to the Elf's throat. The Elf staggered backwards but quickly regained his footing and unleashed a powerful blast of Dark Energy towards the King, but he was ready once again. Dodging the attack once more, a counter wave of concentrated electrons rippled over his arms and lashed out to puncture into the Elf sending him flying backwards into his soldiers, smoldering.

With the fight over, the battle still raging, Blackagar turned to look at the rest of the Elves around him, eyes intent and focused; challenging.

They surround him, and then the King lowers his gaze. Confusion perhaps for the opponents, until the brilliance of the sun scorching energy washes over the area. The warning from Jane is heard, and as his gaze lifts once more, Blackagar begins to wash aside the forces near him who are stunned. The arrival is met with an upturned eyebrow and motions of hands in sign, ~Subtle.~

Stephen Strange has posed:
The winds dissipate. The master of the mystic arts has a different target in mind. One that immediately pulled Strange's attention the moment he made his appearance. And, from the direction that Strange is turning to, it is pretty obvious what has his focus.

The ritual in the middle of the garden. And, in particular, the figure in the middle of the ritual. Malekith, himself.

Though, it seems that Stephen has his work cut out for him. To get close means to pit one (or few) against many. The svartalfar mages have the numbers...and they seemed to have at least prepped for some interference. The wards around the garden are very much like the shields that both Zatanna and Strange use themselves...and it is keeping Strange at bay.

But...not for long.

The sorcerer makes his way towards the garden from the air, choosing to land on his feet at the edge of the destroyed east clover. A pincer attack, with just one person? Would such a mad tactic even work? Perhaps, if that single person is the defender of the Earth realm.

But how does Strange intend to break through the wards? Already, his hands are in motion, carving patterns in front of him. Sparks fly, first forming a sort of energy whip, then it solidifies, forming a scimitar of mystical might. Thinner than a razor, but stronger than steel. And, somewhat emulated from perhaps another. Sword in hand, Strange starts forward, swinging. A machete can clear a path physically. No reason why a magical one cannot do the same, to slice through the moorings of the wards.

Thor has posed:
    The sorcerers present feel the change in the atmosphere.
    The awareness is amongst them.
    Malekith's hand is felt, and the power of the enchantment woven is a palpable thing to them. They can feel the eyes on them now. The awareness of the sorceress, the sorcerer. And as Malekith knows, so too do all of the Svartalfar.
    For though Alura is being targetted, the weapon systems of the hovering ships turning on her, firing, lashing out with the utter hatred and contempt an entire army can gather...
    The Dark Elves are not without cunning.
    Groups of ships break off, even as from the grand mothership above a quartet of corvettes are released, falling free as their weapon systems come online. The snapping capes, the grand ship, those are the targets. The shark-like vessels drop to the hunt, hurtling toward Zatanna, and the good doctor.
    Down at the chokepoint, Sif roars her challenge even as she presses forth. Her rush draws the surrounding warriors forward, emboldened by her cry. And it works. The heroes move forward, Diana's lasso serving as a beacon to the cause, her smashing of one of the Krused to the side gives Sif that lane to charge forth. Several other Kursed meet their fate to the magical blades of the warrior women, even as The Young Queen Thea nocks arrow after arrow and sends them down range with perfect timing. Even as one of the shield-bearing Kursed rushes toward Diana, an arrow slices into its knee causing its charge to be checked with a heavy _WHUMPF_ of an explosion just as Sif barely makes it through.
    Another arrow flies catching a heavy gunner in the only vulnerable spot in his armor, in the eyeslit of his helmet. It staggers back briefly, then its helmet explodes outward.
    Up in the sky the raptors continue to make their presence known as other fighters join from the Eisenhower. Their explosions going from the dark singularity silent explosions... to abrupt white hot bursts of flame that stagger any sensors trying to track them, let alone a bare eyeball. Yet the damage from them is intense as several other Dark Elf ships feel that wrath. Some of the smaller black alien ships drop onto their six, tracking some of the fighters, only for the blue plasma to slash out from Diana's hidden ship, wiping those tails clean with a surge of violent energy.
    Then suddenly the giant ship becomes the focal point as without warning there's another bright flash that turns the day into an intense blaze of sunlight blazing all of the shadows out of existence for the single second the ignition lasts upon the hull of the monolithic dreadnought. For an instant it is hidden from view its shimmering shields flickering, surging, then dissipating the power around itself. It remains unmoved, remaining tall and dour in the sky, its limited weapons-fire falling silent for the moment.
    Then the cacophony of light and fire is joined as Jane makes her landfall upon the Clover, her gesture sharp as she motions and across the way the purity of light washes over those dark figures, sizzling, blazing, burning. A horde falls like so many dominos pushed over and leaving ash as the only mark left to them through which to influence the world.
    In the middle of the clover behind barrier and shield and magic, Malekith's Kursed Guard, some forty in number ready as they raise their fauchards as the defenders charge forth, already forming a protective barrier despite there being a fair number of warriors in between. Yet there is a clang and a clatter as the black figure of Malekith _rips_ his helm free. Anger is visible on his features as he slams the helm into the ground. His two-toned face lifts to look upon the sky, upon the horizon, upon those that defy him. His lips twist with rage then he says sharply, "First. Priorities."
    Then across the comms, Alura gives voice to her need and in answer she hears the voice of the captain responding, << Roger that, Raptor raptor. Give me a read on ordinance. If you're still packin' redirect to BB-Mannaz. >>
    Answering on the radio those raptors with remaining missile

Thor has posed:
    Answering on the radio those raptors with remaining missiles break off to the side, accompanied by the 'Invisible Jet' as they gather and start to make their run on the ship. Though now fire has picked up on them as rounds start to be sent in their direction. One of the raptors takes a round through the cockpit and wings over toward the ocean, trailing debris as it heads toward a watery grave.
    Down upon the clover near the raging defense, one of the Svartalfar champions had broken through on the flank, only for him to be confronted by the silhouette of a single warrior, the leader of the Inhumans was unrecognized, and likely the Svartalfar had few tales about these beings. Yet no tales would be told, for those that had raised hand against him were suddenly washed away, burned out of life by that blaze of energy, their champion destroyed with them.
    
    All of this sparks the ire of the Grand Sorcerer, Malekith. For now standing over his discarded helmet, he shakes his head. One of his coterie screams and grasps at his head as the bladework of the Sorcerer Supreme fells one ward... then another. The dark elf monarch growls, "First thing is to be first."
    His crimson eyes focus on the charging form of Sif, he shakes his head, reaching out with a fist and _closing_ it tightly, then slashing it to the side. No vulgar magic. No brilliant display of power nor light. It is simply the manifestation of his hatred and it strikes with silence.
    Then he turns and his eyes blaze with a silvery light, the ships that had decoupled from the dreadnought above turn, tracking and tracking. Findnig. Zatanna. The Eisenhower. Those are the targets to die. The ships that had fallen free suddenly explode outward as they release their many missiles in one of those death blossom maneuvers the some of the heroes had seen before.
    Dr. Strange? He is given four of the Kursed. For clearly they should be able to destroy him as they walk out of the protection of the wards and confront the sorcerer.

Natasha Romanoff has posed:
The sheilds on some of them are down. Others aren't. Natasha goes to move to rapidly ascend towards one of the heavy cruisers. Natasha's cloak holds her steady. The ship still has the same chutes to deploy drop pods for soldiers. And they'll have most of the crew at actions tations, which ironically means that the least secured part of the ship will be from where all the soldiers have deployed from.

So her arrival in it is generally unnoticed as she moves to arrive in full concealment and cloak. Presuming she can do this, she's assessing where the bridge is. The last time it wasn't particularly functional for long.. But now? Now she has somewhat grander plans. Rather than sipmly fighting her way through things and sabotaging it..

Now she has rather grander ones. This is not a fight htat is going to be won by single acts of heroism and cunning. IT is one that will be won by gods against armies, beasts against everyone. So she'll just do her part the same way she always does.

Cheating to even the odds and turn them in her favor. So cloaked, she makes her way towards the bridge, avoiding interruption

Sif has posed:
Bodies fell, one after the other. Explosions ripped through the area around her, fired by a friend trying to clear her line to the villain. Sif was vaguely aware of them but she had allowed her emotions to overtake and that had her unable to give a moment's thought to the young archer giving that cover. Pale eyes were focused on Malekith. A Svartalfar would leap into her line-of-sight and a moment later, fall to be added to the pile of bodies she was leaving in her wake. Though now she was getting to the more powerful of his guard and thus her forward advancement was slowed to a crawl though she battled the Kursed with the same fury and focus. She was not unscathed. Her body showed signs where they had gotten in their strikes, a slice here or there on her armor or through her skin leaving crimson trails leaking downward.

She staggered a moment under a powerful blow but a spin and strike with her sword took down that attacker and she was moving forward again a moment later. Her eyes met Malekith's and the Goddess of War--nay, the Goddess of Death as she was certain she could wrest that title from Hela herself in this moment--smiled.

And that was when he struck.

Sif was unprepared for this type of attack. While nothing had shown in the hand of Malekith, his malevolence did have form. The glow of magic rose around her--nay, inside of her. The aura of it just showing external like a corona of blue light around her body. It was focused on her true self. That which made her Sif. Her soul was grasped in that magical glow and was being pulled, twisted. She screamed and this time it was both rage and pain. There was no physical manifestation, her body didn't show wounds or twist. She simply felt it within her and that glow could almost be a trick of the light. Even as she willed her soul to remain intact, as she fought with all of might to keep that core within herself. Was this what he had done to Thor? Stolen his essence from him? But no, that had looked different. She screamed again as she fell to a knee, sword faltering in her hand as she clutched her arm against her chest as though she might physically halt the agony of her soul being torn asunder. To keep Malekith from taking that very embodiment of her being and using it for his own foul purposes. She could use blade and bow, sword and spear. Yet this was a form of attack she was not able to counter with a sword, not able to stop with a shield, as she tried in vain to battle with sheer will alone, to deny the Dark Elf lord his prize.

Diana Prince has posed:
Bounding along atop her trusty Kanga mount, Diana grips her javelin at the ready as she charges towards the line of Dark Elves. With a howling battle cry, she skewers several of the enemy soldiers with precise thrusts of her weapon, sending them tumbling to the ground. Without breaking stride, she urges her mount onward towards the choke point leading to the heart of the civilian clover platform. As she reaches her own Themysciran forces, she dismounts and charges into the fray with renewed vigor, fighting fiercely to hold the line and defend her people.

The Princess  continues to charge forward on her Kanga mount, her eyes fixed on Captain Bria, the commander of the Themysciran forces at the Starport. But before she can reach the Captain, she is cut off by a swarm of Dark Elves who close in on her from all sides. As she fights to fend off the enemy soldiers, she catches a glimpse of Bria in the distance, surrounded by a sea of foes. The Captain fights valiantly, but she is outnumbered and struggling to hold her ground. With a desperate desire, Diana urges her mount forward, determined to break through the enemy lines and reach Bria's side to provide much-needed support.

Jumpa, with Diana mounted atop his saddle, take to the air, leaping out of the horde of Dark Elves that were still standing around them... now soar toward the Captain, to provide her with backup! As Diana dismounts her Kanga, and they both land side by side, the Cursed attacking Bria all fan out, leaving the sight of Captain Bria on her knees, impaled through the torso by two of the Cursed weapons, raises her sword up and jams it through the neck of the Cursed standing over her, only to have a volley of energy weapons fire sizzle in to her back.

Diana calls out, shouting words in her people's ancient tongue, as she lunges through the air toward her fallen sister.  She lands over her, dropping to one knee and slamming her bracers of submission together with a fierce result of kinetic energy exploding outward in front of she, and her fallen Themysciran warrior.

The kinetic wave of energy smashes in to the line of the Cursed who had surrounded Bria, sending them tumbling end-over-end out over the edge of the Starport's guard railing, and down in to the ocean waters below where Atlantean defenses begin to swarm them in the waters, and tear them limb from limb...

Amazon reinforcements arrive at the side of their Princess and Captain, as Diana lowers her crossed-forearms, and crouches over her injured sister, reaching a hand down to place it on the side of the woman's blonde braided hair.  She speaks to Bria, who clutches one of Diana's hands with one of her bloodied own, and struggles to reply.

All around the two women, the forces of the Themyscirans defend the edge of the choke point now, a wave of rage rolling through the warrior women.

Thea Queen has posed:
Explosions go off all around Thea. Screams of falling warriors. It's chaos and pain and death. All too much for the simple human that was caught in currents of Gods and heroes. But yet she stays, firing arrow after arrow...

Wishing she could have a drink right now.

The absurdity of such a mundane desire amidst what is happening around her keeps her grounded and not panic and run like her whole body is screaming for her to do. Why is she here fighting among Gods? Is she that vain that she believes she can make a difference? No. She is here because her friends need help. And that's enough for her.

She watches Sif drop to a knee and starts running. Forward instead of back. She picks up a shield dropped from a warrior while on the run and jumps over, moving in front of Sif to provide cover with her shield against the incoming Kursed. For whatever time she could gain them with that. Not that she expects the kursed to have too much trouble getting past her if they want to. But maybe she will just buy enough time.

"Fight it, Sif! We need you." she pleads desperately.

Zatanna Zatara has posed:
The enemy had turned all their malevolent intelligence toward protecting themselves. Zatanna's first arcane explosion was meant to test the waters, distract and soften the target, leaving it more open to the next attack. She had intended to plant more. But as von Moltke said: 'No battle plan survives contact with the enemy.'

In the seconds spent in inter-dimensional space Zatanna was unreachable, missing the majestic flash of the solar flare channeled into the battle by Alura and Dr.Foster's science.

Evidently, she had earned Malekith's ire but she wasn't the only one. Back in the world, missiles bloom in deadly bouquets, streaking toward her and the Eisenhower. The real world wants her dead, and there is no time for thought. She calls on the energy of the ocean winds and waves, erecting a transparent shield of adamant around the carrier and a tiny bubble around herself as an afterthought. But, she is no longer manipulating the elements to protect life. While, she maintains the shields, she chants,

"!redneS ot nruteR sserpxE"

The missiles trajectory change, doubling back on themselves.

Then, with a swoop of her arm, she fashions missiles of her own making that careen upward with deadly accuracy from the waves below, headed for the ships targeting her and the carrier.

At that moment she senses a sweep of necromancy so vile that it sickens her. But she doesn't have the luxury to indulge in revulsion. Malekith has struck.

She doubles the spell laid on the Eisenhower, readying it for the next volley of missiles then turns for the Starport.

Jane Foster has posed:
Sol's splendour blazes a beacon of hope against the dome of the heavens, supercharged particles aligned in searing walls or completely disobeying neat lines to slither in undulating bands. Whatever they touch risks melting or becoming vaporized if the substance's boiling point is sufficiently low. Skyfire ignites the moisture-heavy air in its wake. Altogether perfect conditions to fuel Alura's Kryptonian physiology and support the USS Eisenhower unleashing volleys against the mothership and its supporting army. For Mjolnir to reap the whirlwind that they together sowed. The overheated troposphere normally puts a cap on the height thunderclouds might hope to reach, but pockets of hot air keep ascending and drawing up moisture from the endless supply provided by Mother Ocean.

Everyone, the ceremony of diplomacy is drowned. Jane's eyes close to pull down the weight of that storm through the uru hammer until her bones ache and her sinews creak under the force. Sparks of lightning dance off the metallic vambraces girding her, and she thrusts Mjolnir as far as her arm allows in a wrathful circle. Aesir enchantments laid down by the All-Father himself to contain something larger than anyone upon the field must be trusted. "Stop him. But not at risk to yourself," she murmurs, and whips the hammer hard as she knows how down the length of the ruined spaceport for Malekith.

"Black Bolt! Last dance with the mad one over there!" A matter of blind faith that Mjolnir will cleave a path as she launches into the fray, eyes bright on Sif in that battle of wills and the ferocious attack spun against the Sorcerer Supreme. It is not wise to meddle in the affairs of wizards or dragons. Alas, she's never listened particularly well to adages about what never to do. Specialist in shattering glass ceilings.

The sprint becomes an airborne sweep, hurled aloft to return the favour of Sif's life-saving spear throw that stopped a dark elf from ending her unlife. Streamers of light ripple behind her cape, accelerating the collision that summons every iota of strength to toss at Malekith's shield. Or more significantly the casters supporting him, since if she can tear a hole through the mystical armour, they won't keep their concentration when punched in the face or hurled into another of their erstwhile mates.

Alura In-Ze has posed:
As quickly as her burns had healed by the first ever test fire of the solar weapon Alura and Jane had MacGyver'd together. The big beam weapon was burning her once more. More of the ships focused their fire on her. Back to the unbearable pain as she cries out, her shout echoing through the skies far louder than she had intended.

She feels her skin literally peeling away from her, her suit in tatters barely clinging on to her, her cape falling apart and her boots dripping from her skin.

Darkness fills her vision once more as she feels that hand help her stand up. Back in the Phantom Zone. Firebird is standing before her but she doesn't know her by that name yet. Her light penetrates the darkness and fills her with an energy she has never felt in her life.

The voice of Firebird seems to echo around her and she says, "I need you, Alura In-Ze. You cannot quit me now. You have a mission to complete."

Alura snaps back to the moment and sees the incoming jets and missiles. She has to give them time so she flies back drawing the enemy fire with her.

Above the battle on the ground, the air war rages. Another raptor is struck by the lance of an energy beam, one of its wings twisting off into the air as it loses itself in a catastrophic spin. The others remaining lift their noses and launch their remaining SHIELD-Specials up toward the dreadnought hovering there ominously. Most of them fly true, twisting on their contrails as they bring their warheads to bear. Yet each time those missiles impact the blaze... the flare... is immense. Another missile impacts, then another, all adding to the glow, though the last two seem to fizzle without lending further strength to the explosion.

So staggeringly bright and immensely powerful that the after-image will linger on the retinas for days to come if one is not immediately blinded. The bright shields of the Mannaz classification Dreadnought flare as well, the impacts striking true and suddenly it lists slightly to the side as those shields shatter into a series of polygonal crystals flaring to life, then falling.

"/rrofish kryp - rao i shom - mdivil chao ighai/" And we shall rise, a fire in Rao's hearth, burning and free. Alura was never one for religion but in moments like this, her charred body is flushed with the light of the sun through those micro portals from the missiles, she cannot help but reflect on the impossibility that has become her life and the life of her extended family.

She thrusts her fists forward and shoots straight for the big beam weapon of that looming colossus of a ship. With a satisfying crunch, the energy that has been burning her and the starport below is cut off as the weapon is obliterated. Alura clings to the side of the ship catching her breath.

She can see her hands shaking. This pain and renewal, pain and renewal, - no one was meant to go through this. She's not sure how much more of that she can bare. Time to put an end to this.

She pushes against the ship to try and move it out of its position, fling it off in to space and away from Earth - but it doesn't budge. She puts her shoulder in to it and brings a knee sharply up in to its exterior hull and instead of a dent in it she gets a sharp pain through her body.

Gritted face she lets out another agonised cry of pain. This is what she'd have expected to happen back on Krypton before she got super powers. It must be Magic. <<"I think the big ship is magically protected. I can't do anything to it... unless...">> She flies back from it moving faster than the other ships can track her and observes the giant runes, <<"Zee, Hammer Science - someone mentioned symbols on their big ship. But they never finished the thought -">>

Blackagar Boltagon has posed:
Jane indicates the threat, Malkeith, there beyond the horizon of warriors that separate them. The small moment of smile that had come with his teasing of Jane is gone, hands lifting again as sign language flows, ~Then to him we shall go if that is what is needed.~ The somber, focused disposition of Blackagar turns from Jane and looks for the most direct path. The path that will be through.

Steps forward turn into a blur of movement as the King moves forward to create the clearing on the heels of Mjolnir's path.

It was a chaotic scene of destruction, the clashing of swords, the roar of magic, but Bolt was focused on this task and his eyes fixated not on that which was immediately around him, but on the destination. The elves closed in, hands raised up in front of him, Blackagar swept them outwards sending sonic energy with the motion, waves crashing outwards. From the sides Elves swarmed, swords flying, hits landing, magic burning through. But all it did was pull forward further focus, intensity, anger.

It was clear that to pass Jane through to where they were headed would take more than just strength of arms. Reaching up, he held an arm out towards her, indicating for her to stay back as two steps are taken forward. Looking out over the force before them... the Midnight King of the Inhumans opens his mouth.

"Enough," he whispers.

Stephen Strange has posed:
Four of the Kursed. Huge hulking brutes. And Strange in front of them, looking downright miniscule in comparison. Until Strange utters three words...

"By multiplicity's dictum."

The sorcerer takes a step forward...and duplicates emerge forth, each holding the same mystical scimitar used just moments before to penetrate the wards. A quartet of sorcerers, equal in number to the adversaries before him. Which, at least for a moment, causes hesitation with the dark elf assault.

And that moment of hesitation is all that Stephen needed.

One of the good Doctors lifts up a hand, the mystical sword construct dissipating. The fingers spin...and the tell-tale showers of sparks appear to the side of one of the Kursed. A portal, certainly. And from the view within, a portal to a particularly nasty place, with the smell of brimstone certainly apparent, for those in the know. At nearly the same time, another Strange (or was it the same one? There are so many!) thrusts his hand forward, palms outward, towards the attacker near the portal. A powerful blast of air, the very same spell used to great effect just minutes prior, slams into the brute, shoving it into the portal, which snaps closed instantly.

"Enjoy the comforts of Limbo."

Another Kursed, angered that Strange took care of one of their number so damn quickly, charges in, swinging its great weapon in a clear attempt to behead the sorcerer. But, it would appear that Strange is one step ahead, for the moment the weapon touches the throat of one of the Stranges, he (it?) disappears, betraying the fact that it was one of the doppelgangers. But, more than just a doppelganger, but a trap laid in wait. The dark behemoth starts to crack, like shattered glass. Lines of light play across the form, radiating out, almost resembling a stained glass work of art....before a flash and it disappears. To the Mirror Dimension, no doubt.

Two down, two to go.

The two remaining Kursed are on the same page, at least for this moment. They both charge towards a singular Strange. And it would seem that their luck is good, for this Strange, instead of standing still and taking the strike, moves to defend himself. The other two remaining images drop, confirming the fact that the two brutes have the proper target in their sights. Yet, even with the pair closing in upon him, Stephen is calling an audible. The dark magics at work, from Malekith, in trying to destroy the goddess Sif is too much to simply ignore. And Strange responses by....throwing his only apparent means of offense, the scimitar construct. Not at Malekith, nor at Sif, but at the space between the two. The thread of power that only those schooled in magic would be able to see. The thread between Malekith and Sif that Strange intends to cut.

Stephen does not watch to see if his aim is true. For, even as the scimitar is released, the two Kursed are upon him. And...it is all that Strange has to avoid the downward swing of a great axe, missing him by mere centimeters. His stance shifts, adopting a more martial stance, honed from years of training. Another swing from the axe, this one for his chest, causes Stephen to drop down, shooting out a leg in an effort to sweep the feet out from his aggressor. And...a tug from the cloak, as it pulls him backwards, narrowing saving that outstretched leg from being severed by the other.

It pays to be on the good side of the Cloak of Levitation.

Thor has posed:
    The halls of the Svartalfar ship are dark and grim. No hint of the battle outside reaches within, very few sounds carry save for the distant thrum of the engine. Most of the ship's crew are focused on the deployment of soldiers and drones, the steady /whoosh!/ adding to the sounds of the ships functioning. It is a quiet journey for Natasha as she sneaks within, moving toward the fore of the ship and along that long hallway. Until she reaches the double doors that lead to the bridge, her targets within.
    On the battlefield when Sif falls the Svartalfar do not hesitate to strike. They menace the fallen goddess, their weapons rising. The molten armor of the Kursed gleaming with crimson hate. Nearby Diana pushes her mount to the fore, rushing further into the fray as the defenders make their counter-surge. Bria is given respite, and in turn so too is Sif as the Amazons make their charge. Blades flash and weapons fire rages. There are no small numbers of warriors defeating their foes, and no gentle honorable battle this. For fallen foes are finished, and whichever side wins... survivors will be slim.
    The young Queen skids to a halt beside Sif even as the tide starts to be pushed back. She turns her eyes and pleads with the fallen Asgardian even as a sizzling bolt slices through the air and embeds in the shield she holds, its end dripping with a vitriolic venom. She has a moment of breath, a single instant of peace as she holds there, imploring the Asgardian back to the fight.
    Those black daggers of ships that had been hurled toward the Eisenhower and Zatanna, they release their payload and the Mistress of the Mystic Arts is ready for them. She likely remembers the carnage these ships can create, and she turns it back upon them with a gesture of her hand and the focus of her power. That spell causes those robotic minds to twist back on themselves, to spin, to contort. Several surge past, roaring toward the ship that Zatanna protects, the others are hurtled back, flying into the ones that fired them... and Zatanna is rewarded with a popcorn-like crackle as a series of explosions all mark the end of those ships.
    But not before three of those cruise missiles slam into the shield. Seeming to pierce through it and hang there as just the warhead pokes through. Then all there suddenly vomit forth so many of those horrid drones they had faced before, deploying through the shield as if something in the warhead gave it purchase. The small monstrosities immediately start burrowing into the carrier's air deck.
    As the explosions and thunder ripple above with the shattering of warheads and the lowering of the ship's shields, there is another crackling call of fire and light. Mjolnir sings as it slices down the concourse carrying its wilder into the impact of those wards and that shield. She can feel the solid slam of uru metal into the mystical barriers that confound them. And even as she strikes, she can see his supporting sorcerers turning. Can see them as one focusing upon this Thunderer.
    She has time enough to hear the mad voice of Malekith as he says simply, "What are you supposed to be?" Even as behind him, two of his sorcerers who put so much of themselves into the barrier... fall _dead_ instantly, their souls taken at the behest of their master.
    And that barrier remains.
    Behind and above them the great ship suffers. The explosions, the impact of the hurtling Kryptonian. Its shields breached it sounds a loud ominous alarm, like a distant lighthouse warning ships away. Then there is a rough secondary explosion that clips that long beam-cannon in twain, pieces of crystal and metal and matter fall to the ground in a cascade as the weapon tries to fire one last time straight int Alura, but its energy dissipates in a thousand different directions, burning and blazing, but nowhere near focused as it once was.
    The smugness on the Dark Elf King's face is short-lived, though it is... as ever, always tinged with madness. For then a single word is uttered, a word that comes on the heels of Jane Foster's ey

Thor has posed:
    The smugness on the Dark Elf King's face is short-lived, though it is... as ever, always tinged with madness. For then a single word is uttered, a word that comes on the heels of Jane Foster's eyes holding the crimson irises of that bitter king. A single word that carries the weight upon it of a legion.
    It is enough to explode outwards, creating a perfectly triangular burst of power that tears up the cement, causes corpses, armor, metal, drones, debris, furnishings all to take to the air, seemingly floating for one moment as the moment seems to stop time itself...
    Then intertia remembers itself, force, kinesis, all suddenly reasserting to the universe that it exists. And BLOWS backward into those wards, causing so much shattering and crashing as everything splashes back, like being negligently gripped by a tornado and hurled away.
    Strange feels it first. So close. He feels the break in the wards as the Inhuman monarch lends his strength to their shattering. His weapon hurled slices that connection between Goddess and Svartalf, releasing the invisible hand upon her heart.
    Those Kursed remaining move in upon the weaponless spell-caster. But even as the wards fall...
    Malekith scowls, holding his hand up as the last of those wards collapse, even as behind him more of the landing pods land. He holds up a hand and twists it...
    Then without warning. The Kursed there... one after another collapses. Another and another. Several... a dozen. Jane can feel it in her connection to the very firmament of the soul and the passing. The mages can feel that very affront the spell must be to be so invoked.
    As suddenly the entirety of Malekith's guards all fall, slumping over, dead. Even as the black armored figure with the two-toned skin and the wild eyes rises with a smile, his armor surging with spines and blades, his features aggrandized by his mirth. Three ghostly draconic heads surge into life around him, his chest, his arms, swirling up and around as those who have battled them before will recognize those ancient dragons.
    Ancient bones manifest around the Dark Elf king's body, even as his coterie raise their hands, making ready for battle while above more and more ships begin to discharge their weapons.

    Which is when the clouds above give way one last time.
    As through the clouds the Bifrost is seen, blazing against the sun as the sky captures that rainbow hue perfectly. A cascade of energy falls, surging downward partially hidden by the hull of that dreadnought that suffers with its shield down...
    Only obscured for a bare moment as the Bifrost EXPLODES through the front of that massive ship, slashing downward cleaving off the very end of its nose, causing several of the runic symbols to char, to crisp. And once it is clear, listing to the side, smoking.
    The Bifrost slams into the ground, revealing a quartet of silhouettes appearing.
    The Bifrost fades. And one of those silhouettes is the man they know as Thor, holding a silvered axe and beside him his fine comrades.