A massive vortex tore open reality as the freshly stabilized Ground Bridge connected the African continent directly to New Mexico in an instant.
Martin walked at the center. To his left, Optimus Prime. To his right, Megatron. Towering behind him, the 18-meter titan known as Devastator, marching forward with a massive battalion at his back. They descended upon the S.H.I.E.L.D. temporary base like the fist of a vengeful god.
The moment Martin and his army were sighted, alarms blared across the compound. Sharp sirens pierced the night sky like screaming banshees.
"Level One alert! That war-crazed maniac is here!!"
A S.H.I.E.L.D. agent, face drained of color, slammed the alert button as he trembled violently at the sight of the man approaching.
"Good evening," Martin said, smiling warmly, as if he weren't walking alongside two of Cybertron's deadliest warlords. "Is this the temporary S.H.I.E.L.D. base? I've come for a hammer. It belongs to me, just happened to, ah, fall over here by accident."
He lied with the ease of breathing, his smile as disarming as it was horrifying to anyone who knew what he'd done.
This was the man who had obliterated over a thousand U.S. military bases. Who'd killed tens of thousands of soldiers.
He had detonated a nuclear warhead that incinerated thousands more, unleashing radiation that blanketed half a continent and drove entire populations into exile.
If the world were to name its most hated man, there would be no debate. Martin. The butcher. The god of ruin.
"Sir?" one agent managed to whisper, voice shaking. "Do you… want to die?"
Martin just chuckled. Megatron let out a guttural snarl and raised his fusion cannon. Its barrel, the size of a man's torso, leveled directly at the agent's skull, ready to vaporize him with a thought.
From a distance, Jane Foster stared in terror at the advancing army of walking metal titans.
"Looks like you've lost your chance," she whispered. "That monster's set his sights here. No one dares challenge him… everyone who has tried has died. Horribly. His power on this planet is godlike."
Not far off, Thor stood silently, jaw clenched, lightning dancing in his furious gaze.
"Liar," he growled. "That's my hammer. And this mortal dares call himself a god? Once I reclaim Mjolnir, I'll pound every last one of those walking scrap heaps into dust."
"Martin."
The voice boomed through loudspeakers—calm, low, and resolute.
"You have the ability to animate machines. There's no way you don't know exactly what's going on here. If you're here, there's no need to antagonize my people."
"And you are?"
"Phil Coulson. Senior Agent of S.H.I.E.L.D. and the acting commander of this temporary base."
"Finally. A reasonable person. I'm here to reclaim what's mine."
Martin smiled, stepping forward without hesitation. He pointed casually, and Megatron fired. The blast reduced the armored gate to molten slag. The Transformers charged through with a thunderous roar, flattening buildings and personnel alike beneath their metallic strides.
Coulson stood firm beside Mjolnir, eyes serious, unmoving.
Martin approached with a disarming grin, grabbed Coulson's hand like an old friend, and gave it a wildly exaggerated shake.
"Pleasure to meet you, Agent Coulson. That hammer is mine. A divine weapon. I'm here to take it back."
"Mr. Martin," Coulson said evenly, "from what we know, that hammer isn't yours. It appeared in New Mexico without explanation. So tell me, why would something that belongs to you end up halfway across the planet?"
Even as he stood surrounded by towering war machines, Coulson's voice didn't waver.
"I was conducting a teleportation experiment," Martin replied, still smiling. "Used the hammer as the test object. And, as you can see, it worked. I can now deploy my forces to any point on Earth at will."
"Don't test me, Coulson. I've had enough of your idiotic bureaucrats. If pushed, I won't hesitate to erase every nation on this continent that stands against me. Drag their so-called leaders down from their pedestals and execute them one by one in front of the world."
Coulson remained silent. He knew every word Martin spoke was backed by precedent.
Thousands dead. Nuclear fallout. All of it had been warnings.
After a long moment, Coulson stepped aside.
"We've tried everything. We can't move the hammer. It violates every known physical law. If it's truly yours… then pick it up."
"A wise choice," Martin said with a smile. "We'll get along fine. I'm not like that mad tyrant from Latveria. As long as your people don't provoke me, I have no interest in waging war against the world."
He stepped toward Mjolnir, extending his hand to lift it.
"Stop!"
A thunderous roar shook the base. A golden-haired man stormed in, fury blazing in his eyes.
"You miserable mortal! You would dare defile a weapon of the gods with your filthy touch?!"
"This is the hammer of Thor, son of Odin! None but I can lift it!"
Martin paused, hand still hovering just above the handle.
"Only you can lift it?" he echoed, blinking with mock innocence.
"Mighty god, how exactly do you prove that?"
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AN: The protagonist has merged with the AllSpark, giving him limitless vitality and mental resilience. Not even a nuclear detonation can kill him.
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