M96- Burn

The city was too quiet.

New York never went silent unless something big was coming. Even the usual hum of traffic, the distant horns, and the murmur of people had faded. The streets weren’t empty, but people moved differently—heads down, steps quicker, glances sharper. Those who had lived in the city long enough recognized the feeling. The kind of quiet that meant something was about to break.

Atop a rooftop in Hell’s Kitchen, Nero stood with others, watching the skyline. Their masks were on, their eyes glowing in their designated colors. Below, the streets were lined with shadows moving between buildings—civilians getting home early, criminals sensing an opportunity, and a few scattered cops pretending they could handle whatever was coming.

“They know,” Diego said, cracking his knuckles. “Even if they don’t know exactly what’s coming, they feel it.”

Anthony exhaled. “Then it’s just a matter of time before the first spark hits.”

Sofia tapped her tablet, checking feeds, surveillance footage, anything that might give them an early warning. “SHIELD’s moving, but they’re stretched thin. Fisk’s men are already making plays. Looks like the villains aren’t waiting for the main event.”

Nero adjusted his gloves. “They wouldn’t. If Loki and The Other are smart—and they are—they won’t start with an invasion. They’ll start with making people panic.”

Diego grinned. “And here I thought they’d just drop ships and let us handle the fun part.”

“The Other wouldn’t allow that,” Sofia muttered, scrolling. “He’s got investments to protect. He’ll milk this for all it’s worth before he lets it all burn.”

Anthony tilted his head. “So what’s the priority?”

Nero looked down at the streets. “We keep the chaos from spreading too fast. Loki wants us playing catch-up. We make sure we’re ahead.”

Perched on the edge of a rooftop, Spider-Man dangled his legs over the side, spinning a web idly between his fingers. “Alright, so hear me out—what do you call a criminal who becomes a chef?”

Cat Burglar, crouched nearby, rolled her eyes. “Oh no.”

Black Cat, arms crossed, gave him an amused look. “I feel like I don’t want to know.”

Daredevil, standing with his arms folded, sighed. “I already regret listening.”

Spider-Man grinned beneath his mask. “A crookpot.”

A long silence stretched between them.

Cat Burglar let out an exasperated groan. “That was awful.”

Spider-Man shrugged. “I never said they’d be good.”

Black Cat smirked. “You could’ve at least tried.”

“Oh, trust me, I am trying,” Spider-Man said, pointing a web at Daredevil. “Which reminds me, Matt, you’re being awfully quiet. Don’t tell me you don’t appreciate fine comedy.”

Daredevil exhaled. “I’m deciding whether to ignore you or push you off this building.”

Cat Burglar snorted. “Bold of you to assume he’d fall.”

Spider-Man shot a finger gun at her. “See? She gets it.”

Daredevil shook his head, turning slightly to scan the city below. “You’re cracking jokes because you’re worried.”

Spider-Man stretched his arms over his head. “Oh, I’m absolutely worried. Have you met me? I stress-talk. And stress-joke. And stress-web people to walls. But, you know, one thing at a time.”

Black Cat’s gaze flicked toward the streets. “People feel it. The tension. Even the thieves are laying low.”

“Smart thieves,” Daredevil muttered.

Cat Burglar leaned against the ledge. “Too quiet means the wrong people are making moves.”

Luke Cage wasn’t in the mood to argue.

People weren’t listening. Some were standing outside their stoops, arms crossed like stubborn sentinels. Others moved like nothing was wrong, like today was just another day. It wasn’t.

Hercule Lucifer spread his arms wide, voice booming, “Dear amigos! I understand! I do! It is a beautiful day, the air crisp, the city alive—but today, I must insist, take the party inside!”

A woman on the corner, arms full of groceries, shot him a look. “Ain’t no party inside, man.”

Hercule grinned. “Then let’s make one! Come, I will tell stories of my grand adventures! You will laugh, you will cry, you will be thoroughly entertained!”

Luke rubbed his temple. “They don’t need entertainment. They need to go home before shit gets ugly.”

The woman scoffed, shifting her bags. “What, another riot? We’ve seen worse.”

Luke let out a slow breath. “Not a riot. Worse.”

People murmured, looking at each other. They knew Luke didn’t spook easy. If he was out here trying to get people inside, it meant something was coming.

A man in a hoodie leaned against the wall, skeptical. “And what exactly is worse?”

Hercule clapped a hand on Luke’s shoulder. “Ah, my friend here is not one for theatrics, so allow me to elaborate!” He stepped forward dramatically. “There are things in this world, things beyond our understanding. And today, my dear people, those things come to our doorstep! Not metaphorically! Quite literally!”

Silence.

Luke rolled his eyes. “Aliens.”

More silence.

Then laughter.

A teenager in an oversized jacket let out a sharp chuckle. “Man, come on. For real?”

Hercule looked offended. “Do I look like a man who would jest about something so grave?”

The teenager squinted at him. “You look like a dude who talks too much.”

Hercule put a hand over his chest. “Ah! You wound me, niño! But fine, let me be blunt. You stay out here, and you may find yourself under the boot of something very unfriendly.”

An old man sitting on a stoop waved a hand. “Every damn year, some new shit. Y’all superheroes take care of it. We don’t run for every little thing.”

Luke frowned. “This ain’t little.”

More murmuring. They believed him, but belief didn’t mean action. New York had been through too much. If they ran every time danger came knocking, they’d never stop running.

A kid tugged on his mom’s sleeve. “Mama, we should go.”

She hesitated, looking between Luke and the others. She could feel it too—that tension in the air.

Luke sighed. “Look, I get it. You’re tired of running. But this ain’t something you fight with a baseball bat or a locked door.” His voice lowered, serious. “You stay out here, you might not get another chance to run.”

That got them moving.

In the air, an invisible plane floated over the city, carrying the X-Men and a few additions. Toph sat with her arms crossed, one foot tapping against the metal floor. She scowled at nothing in particular.

“I hate flying ships.”

Sokka snickered from the seat next to her. “It’s not a ship. It’s a plane.”

“Same thing,” Toph huffed.

Storm, standing near the cockpit, glanced back. “It’s not. A ship sails. A plane flies.”

Toph’s scowl deepened. “I swear, if one more person explains this to me—”

“Relax,” Logan muttered, arms folded. “You’re in good hands.”

Toph tilted her head toward him. “Yeah? You flying it?”

“Hell no.”

Cyclops exhaled. “Let’s focus. We’re not here to argue semantics.”

Jean, checking a display, nodded. “We’re about ten minutes out from the city.”

Nightcrawler, sitting on a crate near the back, looked up. “And we are certain this is where we should be?”

“It’s not about should,” Storm said. “It’s where we’re needed.”

Wolverine grunted. “And where the fight’s coming first.”

Sokka stood, walking over. He pressed a hand to the reinforced glass and narrowed his eyes. From up here, he could see the tension in the streets. People moving too fast or standing too still. Groups gathering in alleys.

He let out a breath. “It’s already started.”

Jean frowned. “There’s no fighting yet.”

“Not yet,” Logan muttered. “But that’s not what he meant.”

Sokka nodded. “They know something’s wrong. Even the criminals are waiting for the right moment.” He turned back to the group. “This isn’t just an invasion. It’s a takeover. And it’s not happening all at once.”

Ezio stood in the shadows, listening to the city. The distant hum of traffic, the occasional shouts of people on the streets, the shifting of rooftops under light footsteps—it was all noise to the untrained ear. To him, it was a map. A constantly shifting battlefield.

Behind him, gathered in the darkness, were two factions that, not long ago, would’ve gladly slit each other’s throats. Assassins and Thieves—one built on murder, the other on opportunity. Different codes, different methods. Yet, tonight, they stood under the same banner. His.

One of the thieves, a wiry man with a scar across his cheek, leaned against the rooftop’s edge. “Didn’t think I’d see the day we worked with knife-lovers.”

A hooded Assassin, standing a few feet away, didn’t even glance at him. “We work for the same reason. Gold.”

Ezio didn’t correct him. Money was the excuse, not the reason.

Another thief, a woman with quick fingers and quicker eyes, watched the streets below. “Word is, Fisk’s men are already making moves. We waiting for orders, or we start picking them off?”

Ezio exhaled. “No. Let them think they own the streets a little longer.”

The Helicarrier floated above New York, its massive form blending into the clouds as it scanned the city below. The control room was silent except for the hum of machinery and the occasional beeping from the monitors.

Fury stood at the front, arms crossed, his single eye fixed on the surveillance feeds. Beside him, Erwin had his hands in his pockets, watching the screens like a man who had already calculated every possible outcome. Hill was at the console, running tactical overlays.

Behind them, the Avengers were waiting.

Tony Stark tapped his fingers against his gauntlet. “So, are we gonna acknowledge the obvious, or are we just standing here until the fireworks start?”

Steve Rogers didn’t take his eyes off the screens. “Which part?”

“The part where everything is about to go to shit,” Tony said. “We all see it coming. Fisk is already making his moves, the masked vigilantes are running interference, and the X-Men are flying in like this is some field trip.” He turned to Fury. “Meanwhile, we’re up here, watching like concerned parents. Feels a little passive, don’t you think?”

Fury didn’t look at him. “We move too soon, we become the target. You want that?”

Tony considered. “Depends. How big of a target?”

Hill sighed. “The kind that makes SHIELD’s enemies put aside their differences to kill us first.”

Tony rolled his eyes. “Fine. So we wait.”

Clint Barton leaned against the wall, arms crossed. “We got an ETA?”

Hill checked the feeds. “Villains are already mobilizing. Loki and The Other won’t make their real move until the city is unstable.”

Natasha Romanoff scanned the reports. “They’ll wait for SHIELD to be stretched thin. Force us to divide.”

Erwin hummed in thought. “They won’t need to try very hard. The panic is already doing the work for them.”

Sam Wilson adjusted his goggles. “You think SHIELD is gonna hold?”

Erwin glanced at Fury before answering. “No.”

There was a pause.

Steve looked over. “You really think it’s that bad?”

Erwin exhaled. “SHIELD was never built for this kind of war. We’re a countermeasure, not an army. The moment the invasion begins, the real fight isn’t between us and them. It’s between the people left standing.”

Natasha nodded slightly. “You mean the criminals.”

“And the ones who don’t follow anyone’s rules,” Erwin added. “Fisk and Loki aren’t the only ones planning something.”

Hill pulled up a secondary screen. “We’ve intercepted chatter. Kira is still in play.”

Tony let out a low whistle. “Oh, great. As if things weren’t messy enough.”

Steve frowned. “He’s not with Loki?”

Hill shook her head. “No.”

Clint raised an eyebrow. “That’s weird.”

Natasha’s expression didn’t change. “Not really. He doesn’t work for anyone.”

Sam crossed his arms. “Yeah, but this? He’s turning down power, an army, the kind of control guys like him kill for. And he just walks away?”

Fury finally spoke. “Doesn’t matter. What does matter is what he does next.”

Erwin was still watching the screens. “I already know.”

Steve looked over. “What do you mean?”

Erwin didn’t take his eyes off the city below. “He’s going to make sure this invasion doesn’t happen.”

Tony blinked. “Wait, hold on. Are we talking about the same Kira? The guy who torches entire neighborhoods because someone pissed him off? That Kira?”

Erwin nodded. “That Kira.”

Sam frowned. “You’re saying he’s protecting the city?”

Erwin’s fingers tapped against his arm. “No. I’m saying he’s protecting what’s his.”

Natasha folded her arms. “Then that means we’re on the same side. For now.”

Hill frowned. “Until he decides we’re in his way.”

Clint sighed. “Love it when allies are temporary.”

Magneto sat on a park bench, dressed in civilian clothes, blending in with the rest of the city. Beside him, Raven had taken on the guise of a regular woman—dark hair, a scarf wrapped loosely around her neck, nothing that would draw attention.

“You think they’re coming?” she asked, eyes scanning the park.

Magneto didn’t look at her. “They’re already here.”

She exhaled. “How bad?”

He tilted his head slightly, listening to the way the metal beneath the city trembled. “Bad enough.”

Raven crossed her legs, resting her elbow on the armrest. “And you’re just sitting here?”

“For now.”

She narrowed her eyes. “You already know what you’re going to do.”

“I do.”

She studied him for a moment. “And?”

He finally turned his head, meeting her gaze. “I will not kneel.”

Raven smirked. “I didn’t think you would.”

“They want to claim this world,” Magneto continued, voice even. “But it is already owned.”

She chuckled. “Let me guess. By you?”

“By Homo Superior,” he corrected. “By those who have fought for it. Bled for it. If someone is going to take it, it will not be from above.”

The moment the flames appeared in the sky, all eyes turned upward.

Nero chuckled, recognizing the figure standing on a platform of fire, floating effortlessly above the city. Kira. He had started with nothing more than a basic C-Tier Pyrokinesis, yet here he was, shaping his flames to carry him through the air like a natural extension of his body.

“To think he could push it this far,” Nero muttered. “Genius.”

His original plan was for Kira to control the dark side of the city, managing villains and keeping crooks in check from the shadows. Instead, Kira had carved his own path, making himself an unavoidable force. He wasn’t interested in control—he wanted dominance. And right now, he was making that very clear.

A message burned into the sky, bold and impossible to ignore.

FUCK OFF!

Before anyone could react, the letters imploded, sending out thousands of tiny embers. They floated lazily downward, almost harmless—until they touched Fisk’s men and the scattered remnants of Green Goblin’s forces.

Screams erupted as bodies ignited on contact, fire consuming them in a matter of seconds. Some tried to put it out, slapping at their clothes, rolling on the ground. It didn’t help. The flames stuck, burning through their skin like oil-fed fire, spreading faster the more they struggled.

On the rooftops, Spider-Man tensed. “Okay. That’s… definitely one way to make an entrance.”

Daredevil frowned. “This is escalating fast.”

Black Cat watched the chaos unfold below. “Kira doesn’t do slow.”

Cat Burglar smirked. “At least he’s efficient.”

At street level, Luke Cage gritted his teeth as another of Fisk’s men hit the pavement, thrashing before going still. The smell of burnt flesh was already spreading. He turned to Hercule Lucifer, who was watching the display with mild amusement.

Hercule let out a low whistle. “Amigo’s got style.”

Luke shot him a look. “That’s what you’re focusing on?”

Hercule spread his arms. “What else can I say? This is his city, no?”

Above them, the criminals who hadn’t been hit were scrambling. The message had been clear. Kira wasn’t drawing battle lines. He was setting fire to them.

Further down the street, Vulture’s men, clad in borrowed Chitauri tech, were backing away, muttering to each other. One of them grabbed his radio. “Boss, we got a—”

A streak of fire shot through his head, cutting off the transmission.

Above, Kira lowered his hand, his fingers still glowing from the attack. “You don’t have permission to speak.”

The remaining mercenaries made their choice quickly, running for cover, diving into alleyways, tossing weapons aside in hopes of being ignored.