With a flash of blue energy, Arthur materialized back on Earth. The sudden transition from the sterile environment of Mar-Vell's laboratory to open air was disorienting—oxygen-rich atmosphere flooding his lungs after the recycled air of the space station.
No time to savor it. No time to think.
Using the flying technique he'd learned from Voldemort's memories during Harry's first year, Arthur shot upward into the sky with maximum speed. He needed to see the threat with his own eyes.
The wind tore at his clothes as he ascended, the ground below shrinking with alarming speed. Clouds embraced him, cold and damp, before he burst through their ceiling into the crystal clarity above.
Higher, faster—his determination pushing him beyond normal limits. The air grew dangerously thin. Each breath became a struggle, his lungs burning with inadequate oxygen. His vision began to darken around the edges.
"Bloody hell," Arthur gasped, fingers scrabbling at the collar of his stolen Kree suit. He located the activation node near his collarbone and pressed firmly. The suit responded instantly by forming a sleek helmet that completely covered his face. Fresh oxygen flooded his mask, and Arthur gulped it gratefully.
"That's more like it," he muttered, voice sounding alien through the helmet's filter.
Now properly equipped, Arthur tilted his head back and searched the dark space. What he saw made his blood freeze.
Ronan's Accuser fleet hung in low orbit—five massive warships like obsidian blades against the stars. Their angular silhouettes blotted out like cosmic predators.
Arthur's stomach clenched. This wasn't supposed to happen yet. Not while Carol was still a captive.
As Arthur watched, dark apertures yawned open across the vessels' undersides. Launch bays. Within each, something glinted—the metallic sheen of missiles, dozens of them, primed and ready.
"Where is everyone?" Arthur whispered.
He scanned the skies desperately for reinforcements. Where was the Ancient One? Surely she'd foreseen this threat with her ability to perceive timelines. Where were the sorcerers of Kamar-Taj with their defensive portals? The Asgardians, supposedly Earth's ancient protectors? Weren't they obligated to defend Earth from exactly this type of existential threat? Even the Eternals, unlikely as it seemed, might emerge to save the planet they lived on.
Seconds ticked by agonizingly but no one appeared. No one was coming.
The first missiles detached from their bays, falling in nightmarish slow motion at first, then gathering momentum. Arthur counted feverishly—fifty, maybe sixty ballistic weapons, each capable of devastating a major city.
Panic seized him, a cold vice around his chest. He wasn't ready for this. He'd come to study the Marvel universe's power hierarchy, not save an entire planet from alien annihilation. He was supposed to observe Captain Marvel's battle, gauge her abilities, then slip away to continue his life. Fighting against Ronan's fleet was completely outside the syllabus.
This isn't your world, a treacherous voice whispered in his mind, cold and seductive. Not your responsibility. Apparate away. Save yourself.
The pragmatic Slytherin in him agreed completely. The logical move was retreat—preserve himself, return later with greater power, perhaps even avenge this day. Earth wouldn't be completely destroyed; humanity was resilient. Survivors would rebuild the world from the ashes.
His fingers twitched, ready to form the gestures that would take him far from here—
—when a sickening realization struck him like a physical blow.
This is my fault. The current desperate situation was his fault.
His interference in Carol's story had accelerated events, altered the timeline. He'd disrupted the natural course of events where Carol broke free and confronted Ronan before the bombardment began. If Earth burned now, the blood was partly on his hands.
"Bloody hell," Arthur hissed.
The first missile had nearly reached him, its conical tip gleaming in the sunlight. He needed to do something now.
The Tesseract pulsed in his hand, its blue glow intensifying as if sensing his desperation. An insane plan crystallized in his mind—dangerous, likely fatal, but possibly Earth's only chance.
Arthur laughed softly, the sound hollow inside his helmet. He'd never pictured himself as the heroic type. Self-preservation had always been his guiding principle through two lifetimes. Yet here he was, preparing to sacrifice everything for a planet of strangers.
"Well, at least I'll make an impressive exit," he muttered.
He gripped the Tesseract with both hands, dissolving the magical barrier he'd carefully maintained between himself and the Infinity Stone. The Kree suit would probably provide some protection against the raw cosmic energy about to course through him.
With a deep breath, Arthur closed his eyes and concentrated. He poured his entire magical core, his complete will into the Space Stone—not trying to control its infinite energy, but to guide it toward a single, desperate purpose:
Redirect them back.
The response was immediate and overwhelming.
Space tore open around him like fabric ripped by impossible hands. High above, a shimmering portal materialized directly in the path of the nearest missile. The weapon plunged into the swirling blue vortex and vanished without a trace.
An instant later, a corresponding portal opened high above it, ejecting the missile back out—now aimed directly at the Kree Accuser fleet.
—
Aboard the Dark Aster, Ronan the Accuser stood on the command deck, watching with cold satisfaction as Earth's doom descended. The primitive planet would serve as an example to all who defied Kree authority.
"First wave impact in thirty seconds," reported a tactical officer.
Ronan nodded, anticipating the cleansing destruction to follow. Then—impossibility. His eyes widened as a shimmering blue tear appeared in space directly before one of his missiles.
"What is that?" he demanded, stepping forward.
Before anyone could respond, the missile vanished into the portal. An instant later, another portal opened directly above them, spewing the same missile back—now aimed at his own ship.
"Evasive maneuvers!" Ronan bellowed. "Raise shields!"
More portals blossomed across space, dozens of them, each swallowing a Kree missile only to redirect it back toward the fleet.
"Impossible," whispered one of his officers, fear evident in his voice.
"Deploy fighters!" Ronan commanded, his rage building as he watched his own weapons turning against him. "Intercept those missiles! Full power to forward shields!"
The fighters launched, sleek and deadly, racing to intercept the redirected missiles. Some succeeded, detonating the weapons at safe distance. Others missed, and explosions began to rock the fleet.
"Who dares?" Ronan snarled, gripping his war-hammer so tightly his knuckles whitened. "What sorcery is this?"
"Energy signature detected," called a science officer. "It matches... it matches the Core, Accuser."
"The Core?" Ronan's eyes narrowed. "Vers has it?"
"No, Accuser. Different signature. Human."
Ronan stared at the viewscreen, watching as more of his missiles disappeared into portals only to emerge aimed back at his fleet.
—
Far below, Arthur's body trembled violently inside the Kree suit, every muscle straining against the overwhelming force flowing through him. Creating dozens of stable wormholes simultaneously wasn't just difficult—it was never meant to be possible for a human body.
Blood trickled from his nose, spreading inside his helmet. Pain lanced through his skull like white-hot needles. His own magic fought desperately, weaving intricate shields around his cells, reinforcing his physical structure against the overwhelming tide of spatial energy.
Arthur forced himself to continue, watching through pain-hazed eyes as Kree fighters scrambled to intercept their own redirected weapons. The scene above him transformed into chaos—explosions silently blooming across the darkness of space, fighter craft darting between them like fireflies, the massive Accuser warships desperately maneuvering to evade destruction.
He could see the Dark Aster's shields flaring brilliantly as they absorbed impact after impact. The flagship remained largely undamaged, but the smaller support vessels weren't faring as well. One took a direct hit to its propulsion system and began listing badly, venting atmosphere into space.
"Not so invincible now, are you?" Arthur whispered through gritted teeth.
He pushed harder, opening more portals, larger ones, redirecting the remaining missiles with deadly precision. Each new effort sent fresh waves of agony through his body. Inside the Kree suit, his skin began to glow with the same ethereal blue energy as the Tesseract itself.
Despite the fighters' desperate interception attempts, enough missiles reached their targets to force the Kree fleet to break formation. The bombardment of Earth had been completely disrupted.
One final missile—massive, likely carrying enough destructive power to level an entire continent—emerged from Ronan's flagship. Arthur summoned his remaining strength and formed the largest portal yet, swallowing the doomsday weapon and redirecting it toward the Dark Aster itself.
The missile struck the flagship's shields head-on. Though it didn't penetrate, the impact was catastrophic enough to send the massive warship reeling. Emergency lights flashed across its hull as secondary systems failed under the strain.
The flow of missiles gradually dwindled, then stopped completely.
He'd done it. Earth was safe—for now.
Then came the cost.
Arthur's magic gave out with the suddenness of a snapped cable. The final reserves drained by his desperate gambit, he began plummeting toward Earth, helpless as gravity reclaimed him.
Worse still, without his magic to buffer the connection, the Tesseract's power flowed directly into his physical form, unfiltered and unchecked. Every cell in his body vibrated, destabilizing, threatening to simply... come apart at the atomic level.
So this was it. Arthur Hayes, the reborn wizard, falling from near-space, facing two equally certain death scenarios: disintegration from cosmic energy overload or fatal impact with the ground. Both seemed equally likely, and both equally imminent.
The strange thing was, Arthur didn't feel regret. He'd made a choice that went against every self-preserving instinct he'd cultivated across two lives. He'd chosen something greater than himself—foolish, perhaps, but necessary.
The ground rushed up to meet him, accelerating faster and faster. Wind screamed past his helmet. The Tesseract's energy continued to surge through him, his body becoming increasingly translucent, increasingly unstable.
Arthur closed his eyes, prepared for the end.
I wonder if I'll get a third life...
Suddenly Arthur felt heat enveloping him—not the searing heat of atmospheric reentry, but something different. Warm. Almost... comforting. He sensed an orange glow through his closed eyelids. Was he in heaven?