Marvel x Genshin: Mavuika, The Sun Goddess Rules Asgard — Chapter 180

Chapter 180: Cut Until It Can No Longer Grow Back

He rushed over again, a silver blur streaking across the ruined landscape.

This time, Thor did not wait for him to close the distance. He raised Mjolnir high, the head of the hammer crackling as it drew down the power of the storm. With a guttural roar, he slammed it fiercely into the ground.

A ring of pure lightning erupted outward from him, a blinding, expanding shockwave of electrical fury that tore through the earth.

No matter how fast Pietro was, he couldn’t possibly outrun the instantaneous spread of the blast. The wave of energy caught him, forcing him to skid to a halt and throwing him back several steps, his body spasming from the jolt.

Thor rose to his full height, the electricity still dancing across his armor. He looked at the panting speedster, his expression stern. “I told you before,” he said, his voice rumbling like distant thunder, “you are still far from ready.”

On the other side of the battlefield, Loki faced Wanda.

Tendrils of dark, chaotic red energy danced at Wanda’s fingertips, coiling through the air like living, ethereal snakes. She watched Loki, her eyes a complex mixture of hatred and a deep, instinctual wariness.

Loki stood opposite her, arms crossed casually over his chest, a faint, knowing half-smile playing on his lips. He raised a single hand, and a shimmering green magical light began to gather at his fingertips, clean and sharp.

Wanda did not back down. With a sharp intake of breath, she thrust her hands forward. The dark red light surged from her palms, twisting into thick tentacles of raw power that lashed out, coiling toward Loki.

With a dancer’s grace, Loki sidestepped the attack. The green light in his hand solidified, forming a razor-sharp magical blade that he swung in a clean arc, slashing at the incoming tendrils.

The dark red and emerald green energies collided in mid-air, erupting in a blinding flash of brilliance that forced both of them to shield their eyes.

Wanda staggered back a step, her face turning a shade paler. She could feel it with unnerving clarity: this man’s magic was far, far more powerful than her own. Her abilities were a maelstrom—chaotic, wild, and barely contained. His, by contrast, were precise, elegant, and ruthlessly efficient. Every ounce of power was wielded with perfect intent.

“You…” Wanda’s voice was tight, strained. “Who exactly are you?”

Loki looked at her, and for a fleeting moment, a rare, almost gentle light flickered in his emerald-green eyes.

“A… traveler,” he said softly, his voice smooth as silk. Although he had come to Earth to see his sister, he was, in a sense, traveling. Loki considered the thought. The description was fitting enough.

Wanda was stunned into a moment of silence.

As a being who walked the hidden paths of fate, Loki saw through the storm of confusion and hatred in Wanda’s gaze with a single glance. He saw the pain beneath it.

A small smile touched his lips. “You have been used by HYDRA,” he stated, not as an accusation, but as a simple fact. “They gave you power and told you it was your ‘mission’. But you know, deep down, that isn’t the truth.”

Wanda’s hands began to tremble.

“You don’t actually want to hurt anyone, do you?” Loki continued, his tone soft and persuasive. “But you felt you had no choice.”

Her eyes reddened, welling with unshed tears. “How do you know?” she whispered.

Loki lowered his hand, and the green magical light at his fingertips extinguished as if it had never been.

“Because today,” he said, his gaze holding hers, “you have the power to choose.”

Wanda stared at him, something shifting in the depths of her eyes. She opened her mouth, a question or a plea forming on her lips, but just then—

A column of golden-red light descended from the heavens.

Mavuika landed silently on the ground between them, the very air seeming to grow still and heavy with her presence. She glanced at Loki, then turned her gaze to Wanda. “Is it resolved?”

Loki gave a slight nod. “Almost.”

Mavuika’s attention settled fully on Wanda. Her amber eyes were as calm and warm as the rising sun, yet held a depth that felt as ancient as the stars.

Wanda instinctively took a step back. She could feel it—a pressure, an aura. This woman’s power was greater than anyone she had ever encountered. It wasn’t just a matter of being a little stronger; it was a level of strength so vast it bordered on beyond understanding.

“You…” Wanda’s voice trembled.

Mavuika offered her a gentle, disarming smile.

“Don’t be afraid,” she said, her voice a soothing balm. “We are not here to hurt you.”

Wanda remained silent, her heart hammering against her ribs.

In the distance, the fight between Pietro and Thor had also ceased. Pietro stood amidst a pile of rubble, panting heavily. A trickle of blood ran from the corner of his mouth, and angry red burns marked his skin and uniform.

Thor stood opposite him. Though he had taken a few hits, he looked far better off than his opponent. He regarded Pietro not with hostility, but with a strange sort of pity.

“You are strong,” Thor said, his voice losing its earlier booming quality. “But you have used your strength in the wrong place.”

Pietro gritted his teeth, a flash of defiance in his eyes. “You think I wanted this?”

Thor was taken aback for a moment.

Pietro’s head dropped, his voice becoming very low, thick with despair. “We had no choice.”

The battle was over. From the moment Mavuika, Thor, and Loki had arrived on the field, the outcome had been decided.

Under the relentless counterattack from Natasha Romanoff and Clint Barton, HYDRA’s remaining troops were in full retreat. Without the overwhelming power of the Maximoff twins to support them, the soldiers were simply no match for the elite S.H.I.E.L.D. agents. One by one, they were subdued, arrested, or, when necessary, eliminated.

Alexander Pierce stood in the command center, his face ashen as he watched the red dots representing his forces vanish from the holographic projection.

His plan had failed. The Helicarriers were destroyed, the Maximoff twins were neutralized, and his ground troops were being routed.

He turned, his shoulders slumped in defeat, ready to leave.

And then he saw the figure standing in the doorway.

Nick Fury stood there, a pistol held firmly in his hand. His single eye was fixed on Pierce, its gaze as cold and sharp as a shard of ice. His clothes were stained with blood—not his own, but the enemy’s—and several fresh abrasions marked his face. Yet he stood perfectly straight, an unyielding pine tree that had weathered the fiercest storm.

“Alexander Pierce,” Fury’s voice was a low, calm rumble.

Pierce looked at him, silent for a few long seconds.

Then, he smiled. It was a hollow, bitter thing, filled with unwillingness, but also a strange, liberating sense of relief.

“Nick,” he said, his voice raspy. “You always arrive faster than I expect.”

Fury walked into the room, the muzzle of his gun never wavering from Pierce’s chest. “It’s over.”

Pierce spread his hands in a gesture of surrender. “Perhaps. But HYDRA will not perish because one man falls. You cut off one head, and two more will grow in its place.”

Fury’s eye narrowed. “Then we’ll keep cutting,” he said, his voice devoid of all emotion. “One by one. Until they can no longer grow back.”

Pierce fell silent. He lowered his head, looking down at his own hands—the hands that had signed countless orders, that had decided the fates of millions. They were trembling slightly.

He looked up at Fury again. “Do you know why I did all this?”

Fury did not speak, merely watched him.

Pierce continued, his voice taking on a lecturing tone. “This world is too chaotic. War, hunger, disease, hatred… humanity is doomed to repeat the same mistakes, over and over. I just wanted to… bring it order.”

“By killing?” Fury’s voice was dangerously quiet.

Pierce’s bitter smile returned. “Sometimes, sacrifice is necessary. You, of all people, should know that very well.”

Fury’s expression remained unreadable. He did, in fact, agree with the statement. He had never been a rigid idealist chasing some perfect form of justice. On the contrary, if sacrificing a few could save the many, he would make that call without hesitation.

“But not your way,” Fury stated, his voice like flint. “A method like yours isn’t called sacrifice. It’s called carnage.”

Pierce was silent for a long time.

Then, he let out a soft, weary sigh. “Perhaps.”

He raised his hands.

“I surrender.”

At the other end of the corridor, Steve Rogers dragged his exhausted body toward the S.H.I.E.L.D. headquarters. Fresh scratches marred the surface of his shield, his face was bruised, and the corner of his mouth was split and bleeding. His left arm, injured in the battle, hung uselessly at his side, but he did not stop.

Beside him walked Bucky Barnes.

The fog was gone from Bucky’s eyes. They were clear, lucid. Wanda’s mental control had been lifted.