Chapter Text
United We Stand
The screams of the Outriders split the air like a chorus of nightmares.
Their grotesque bodies hurled themselves against the golden energy barrier in a relentless tide, sizzling, shrieking, charring into blackened husks—only for the next wave to trample the fallen and press forward. The stench of burning flesh thickened the air.
He tightened his grip on his sword.
The Stark-made armor dragged at him with every breath, heavier than it had any right to be. It didn’t move like his old suit—it was too rigid. Too slow. A cage masquerading as protection.
The dark red plating looked right when he shifted—clean lines, a familiar silhouette, Stark’s best attempt at copying something that had never really been about the metal.
But the weight didn’t lie.
Without the Grid, there was no strength riding behind the motion, no reflexive push carrying him through a strike. The servos helped, just enough to keep the armor from dragging him down, but every step still had to be earned.
Zack was right there beside him, axe resting against his shoulder, Stark plating locked over his frame. Zack caught Jason’s glance and gave him a quick thumbs up, like none of this bothered him at all.
Jason’s gaze flicked down the line. Aisha rolled one shoulder, testing her range with quiet efficiency. Billy stood farther out, posture set, weapon steady—already compensating, already trusting himself to make the armor work.
Stark hadn’t had time to make suits for everyone. Adam and Justin were somewhere among the Wakandan ranks in standard-issue S.H.I.E.L.D. gear—Jason pushed the thought aside. He didn’t have the luxury of worrying about armor he couldn’t give them. Not now.
It was all they had. It would have to be enough.
Beyond the line, the ground trembled again—deeper this time—as the Zords held position behind the Wakandan ranks, massive shapes half-lost to smoke and dust. Backup already in place. Good.
High above, something cut through the haze—fast, controlled—repulsors and wings flashing before vanishing back into the chaos. Air support was up. At least that part of the plan was holding.
Jason exhaled through his nose and reached inward, careful, to the well of reserved energy he could feel humming beneath the surface. He let the Ranger strength bleed through in measured increments—just enough to counter the armor’s weight, just enough to stay lethal. Any more and he’d burn it too fast. If he blacked out here, he was a dead man.
Not today. Not with this many enemies.
Beside him, Steve Rogers adjusted his shield, posture settling into that familiar, immovable calm. At the front of the line, T’Challa stood utterly still, his Black Panther suit catching the sunlight like a living thing—silent, coiled, ready.
Then the words came.
“Wakanda Forever!”
The cry rolled through the ranks like thunder. The ground trembled as the Wakandan army answered, voices crashing together into something fierce and unbreakable. Jason felt it hit his chest, felt his pulse lock in with the rhythm of it.
For a fleeting second, everything narrowed—noise, heat, the press of bodies on the other side of the shield.
“Now!”
The golden barrier flickered—then vanished.
The Outriders surged forward in a black tide.
Steve and T’Challa surged ahead.
They hit the charge like living weapons—Steve accelerating with impossible speed, shield already up; T’Challa a blur of black and silver, claws flashing as he launched himself straight into the oncoming swarm.
Jason followed a step behind.
He let them take the initial impact, watched the line buckle where they struck, then moved into the gaps they left behind. His boots hit churned earth as the first Outrider broke through the chaos, lunging low with a screech.
Jason twisted aside, letting the creature overcommit.
His blade came up in a tight, economical arc, driving straight through its sternum. The plasma edge hissed as it burned through armor and bone, heat splashing against his visor as the body collapsed around the sword.
Another surged in from his left.
Jason twisted sharply, deflecting with his forearm guard before stepping into its space. His elbow smashed into its throat with brutal precision. The thing choked, staggering back—
—Jason followed through, cleaving its head from its shoulders.
No wasted motion. No flourish.
Just survival.
Ahead of him, Steve was already clearing space, shield ricocheting through bodies, while T’Challa tore a path straight into the heart of the swarm.
Jason tightened his grip and kept moving.
A blur of motion caught his eye—Zack, tearing through the enemy line with raw, untamed aggression. His axe cleaved straight through an Outrider’s midsection, black ichor spraying as the body crumpled. Another leapt for him—Zack caught the creature mid-air and slammed it down with bone-cracking force. Before it could recover, his axe was already coming down like a judge’s gavel.
Crunch.
“I hate these things!” Zack barked, flicking black ichor from his blade. “You remember when we used to complain about Putties? Good times.”
“Zack, focus!” Jason snapped, twisting to evade another Outrider’s strike.
Nearby, Aisha moved like a phantom in the chaos. An Outrider lunged—Jason tensed—but before he could react, she was already slicing through it with lethal precision. Her daggers flashed, cutting it down in a single fluid motion. It gasped, staggered, and before Jason could call out, she was gone, vanishing into the storm of bodies.
Billy held the flank, a strategist even in battle. His plasma shots lanced through Outriders with pinpoint accuracy. One rushed him—Billy barely shifted before a double-shot put it down mid-stride. Another lunged, and he snapped his pistol up, firing once. The creature dropped without another sound.
Jason barely had time to breathe before another Outrider slammed into him.
He feinted left and dropped low, his blade carving a deep gouge through its leg—but something hit him from behind, a crushing blow that drove the air from his lungs and sent him sprawling. His sword skidded away across the blood-slick ground.
Claws pinned his arms. Weight crushed him into the dirt. Hot, fetid breath washed over his visor as the creature reared back to strike.
A sharp crack cut through the noise.
The Outrider jerked, its skull snapping sideways as a vibranium shield slammed into it at full force. It collapsed in a heap, twitching.
“On your feet,” Steve Rogers said, already moving. “Can’t have you slacking already.”
Another Outrider lunged—Steve met it head-on, shield flashing as he drove it back with brutal efficiency.
Jason exhaled sharply, retrieving his fallen claymore. “Yeah, yeah. I’m on it.”
He favored one leg for half a step, his weight settling wrong on his knee as he found his footing. He locked it down and pushed through.
Shit. Tanking hits is harder than I remember.
He rolled the joint once, reset his grip, and stepped back into the fight.
The battlefield was a chaos of fire and metal—a warzone drowned in smoke, screaming creatures, and the thunder of impacts too heavy to belong to anything human.
Above it all, the Zords moved.
The colossal machines advanced through the fight with deliberate restraint, each step calculated to avoid the clusters of Wakandan soldiers and Avengers fighting below. Their mass displaced the battlefield itself—mud buckling, debris scattering—but their movements were precise, almost surgical.
The Black Smilodon Zord prowled along the outer edge of the engagement. It darted forward in sharp bursts, plasma claws flashing as it picked targets clean—Outriders crushed underfoot or torn free from the swarm before they could overwhelm the ground forces. When enemies leapt for it, its armor rang with the screech of claws on reinforced plating as it shook them loose in violent, controlled snaps.
The Red T-Rex held the center.
It lowered its massive head and bit, jaws closing around clusters of Outriders with bone-crushing force, then shook them free in showers of ichor and shattered limbs. But the swarm adapted—more bodies piling in, tearing at joints and exposed hydraulics, clawing at anything that moved.
Sparks and oil sprayed across the churned earth.
Jason felt it in his gut.
They weren’t failing—but they were being misused. Zords were siege engines. Titan-killers. They were built for giants, not an endless sea that refused to break.
A sharp movement pulled his focus back to ground level.
Zack was still standing his ground—but something was off.
He was distracted.
Zack’s axe was still moving—still lethal—but his attention kept flicking toward the Zords, toward the shifting battlefield, toward everything except the threat breaking through his blind side.
“Zack—!” Jason shouted.
Too late.
Zack pivoted, bringing his axe up—but the creature slammed into him mid-turn. Claws raked across his chest plate with a brutal, screeching crunch. The Stark alloy buckled, shock transferring through the armor as Zack was driven backward, boots carving trenches through the dirt before he hit hard.
Jason was already moving.
His claymore flashed up, angling for a killing strike before the creature could follow through—
A white mass slammed into the battlefield with catastrophic force.
The Dire Wolf Zord came down right where they were standing.
Jason barely managed to throw himself sideways as the ground exploded beneath him. The impact shook the air from his lungs, dirt and debris blasting outward in a concussive wave. The Outrider vanished beneath reinforced metal jaws as they snapped shut with bone-grinding force—close enough that Jason felt the heat and vibration through his armor.
For half a heartbeat, he thought the Zord was going to land on top of them.
Jason’s heart hammered. That would’ve been a hell of a way to go.
The Dire Wolf wrenched its head sideways, tearing the creature apart and flinging the remains clear, its massive forepaw slamming down inches from where Jason had been a second earlier.
Jason skidded along the ground and came up on one knee, chest heaving.
He slapped his comm.
“Damn it, Barnes!” he snapped into the comms, fury cutting through the static. “You trying to crush us now?”
The Dire Wolf’s head tilted a fraction—Bucky’s voice cut in over comms. “Sorry—I’m still getting the hang of this thing! It doesn’t stop the way I expect it to!”
“That’s because you’re muscling it!” Jason barked. “Zords aren’t tanks—they run on intent! Controlled focus, not brute strength!”
There was a pause. Jason could almost hear Bucky biting down on whatever comeback he wanted to snap back.
“…Copy,” Bucky said. Short. Focused. No excuses.
The Dire Wolf adjusted, shifting into a lower, more predatory stance, its weight redistributing with precision as it turned back toward the swarm.
Better. Not perfect, but Jason would take it.
Jason turned back to Zack and grabbed him under the arm, hauling him upright. “Still breathing?”
Zack coughed once, then again, then forced out a rough laugh. He shoved Jason back with his shoulder and rolled it, testing range of motion. “Yeah. Yeah—I’m good.” His fingers tightened around the haft of his axe. “Gonna take more than that.”
The weapon settled into his grip like it belonged there.
Jason caught the look in his eyes—focused, defiant, unbroken.
Just like old times.
But the ground was slipping.
Jason felt it in his bones, in the way the line kept bending instead of holding. Too many bodies. Too many attackers.
The Outriders kept coming, a relentless press of claws and teeth and mass. His muscles burned, lungs scraping for air, sweat stinging his eyes beneath the helmet. Smoke and ozone hung thick in the air, metallic and sharp.
He pivoted and swung, severing an Outrider’s arm at the elbow. Black ichor sprayed across his armor.
The Outrider barely slowed.
Jason cursed and drove his blade straight through its chest, the plasma edge burning through with a jolt that rattled his arms. He ripped the sword free and turned—
—and the air screamed.
Golden sparks carved a perfect circle through smoke and ash. A sling-ring portal snapped open with surgical precision, the sudden displacement shoving the pressure of the battlefield sideways like reality itself had flinched.
Doctor Strange stepped through.
No announcement. No hesitation.
The portal collapsed behind him as his cloak snapped outward and settled, and Strange was already moving. His hands cut sharp, practiced arcs through the air—clean, economical.
A flaming mandala expanded outward, slamming into the next wave like a wall of burning geometry. Outriders hit it at full sprint and crumpled, momentum folding back on itself as bodies slammed into bodies.
Strange pivoted.
Portals opened beneath the creatures’ feet—tight, brutal drops. Outriders vanished mid-stride, screams severed as the rings snapped shut.
Jason felt the pressure ease for half a breath.
Then Strange’s attention shifted.
The sorcerer’s gaze flicked across the field—past Jason, past the Wakandan line—toward the far flank, where Natasha was locked in with Proxima Midnight.
Jason cut down another Outrider and risked a glance—following Strange’s line of sight—then whipped back towards Strange—
“Don’t—"
Strange raised his hands, fingers aligning with deliberate precision. His thumbs pressed together; his wrists rolled inward in a practiced motion, like turning a hidden key.
The Eye of Agamotto flared.
Green light spilled outward, bright and unmistakable, cutting through smoke and ash like a beacon. Strange let it burn longer than necessary, longer than was smart—long enough to be seen.
Jason felt his jaw tighten.
Idiot.
Then time hitched.
Outriders mid-leap hung for a fraction too long, momentum bleeding away before gravity reclaimed its due. The front line collapsed into itself—creatures tripping, piling over bodies that should have already moved.
The Eye pulsed again.
Bright. Exposed.
The battlefield lurched back into motion, chaos snapping into place—but the damage was done.
Across the field, Proxima Midnight turned.
Her spear faltered mid-strike, her gaze locked on the green light burning against Strange’s chest.
Jason exhaled through his teeth, tightening his grip on his sword.
You better be right about this, he thought.
Strange flicked two fingers and a portal snapped open sideways, redirecting a charging Outrider into empty air. He didn’t look strained. Didn’t hesitate.
Portals tore open beneath clustered Outriders, dropping them screaming into nothing before snapping shut. A flaming mandala expanded outward, slamming into the next wave like a riot shield made of geometry. Crimson bands lashed out, binding a leaping creature midair and crushing it into itself.
An Outrider lunged at Jason’s flank—
—and Zack split it clean in half.
“This is the part where the wizard saves us all, right?” Zack barked, already turning back into the fight.
Strange didn’t look at him. “I’m buying you time.”
Jason exhaled sharply. “You’re doing a hell of a job being obvious about it.”
Strange’s mouth twitched—not quite a smile.
“That is the point,” he said, raising his glowing hand again as the Eye flared brighter. “It is all part of the plan.”
Yeah, Jason thought grimly. It’s a stupid plan. I can’t believe I agreed to this.
The battlefield was shifting again.
The Outriders were adapting. Strange’s spells were holding them back—but just barely.
Strange exhaled, his expression unreadable. Power flickered at his fingertips, arcs of eldritch energy snapping between them. “This buys you moments. Make them count.”
Jason met Zack’s gaze. A single nod—then he was in motion.
Zack was a force of nature, his axe carving through enemy ranks in thunderous arcs, each swing splitting bodies like a war god let loose on the battlefield. Shockwaves rippled outward, sending Outriders crumpling like broken dolls.
Jason stayed in sync, never needing to check his blind spots—Zack was there, just as he had always been. The rhythm of war was second nature to them, forged in a hundred battles, unshaken by the blood and fire around them.
To their left, flashes of yellow cut through the smoke. Aisha moved in blurs of steel and motion, weaving through the chaos with liquid precision. Her daggers struck fast and deep, each movement clean and decisive. She fought alongside Okoye and Natasha, their attacks overlapping seamlessly—a tight, lethal formation that left nothing standing.
Billy’s voice snapped over the comms, sharp and focused.
“Pressure point, three o’clock—push now!”
Jason tore his blade free from a fallen Outrider and pivoted with the call, spotting the shift immediately. War Machine dropped from the smoke in a controlled dive, repulsors flaring as he tore into the exposed flank. The Outriders scattered—then regrouped, relentless, pressing back into the line.
A presence settled at Jason’s side.
T’Challa landed without a sound, claws slick with alien blood. He didn’t look at Jason at first. He didn’t need to. The same hard calculation burned in his eyes.
“They keep coming,” Jason muttered, scanning the horizon. “They’re probing us. Testing the line.”
T’Challa’s jaw tightened. “They are expendable. The real enemy has not yet entered the field.”
Jason adjusted his grip. “Then we hold.”
T’Challa turned, his voice carrying cleanly across the ranks. “Strengthen the left flank. Shields up. Do not break formation.”
The Wakandan soldiers moved as one—shields locking, spears bracing—unyielding.
Jason had just enough time to register the discipline of it, the way an entire army could pivot on a single command, before something else cut through his focus.
The ground rumbled beneath them.
The tremor came first, subtle but insistent, rolling through the earth in a low, predatory vibration. Jason felt it in his boots, in his knees, in the base of his spine. His grip tightened on his sword without him thinking about it.
Too deep, his instincts warned. Too close.
Then came the sound.
A metallic shriek tore through the battlefield—distant at first, like steel grinding against steel somewhere far underground. It rose quickly, sharpening into a scream that clawed at the air, echoing off shields and armor like a warning siren.
Jason’s head snapped up. “What the hell is that?”
The ground quaked harder now, fissures spiderwebbing across Wakanda’s soil. The vibration punched up through his bones as something massive forced its way toward the surface.
Then the earth split apart.
Steel screamed as the buzzsaw threshers erupted from below, colossal machines bursting free in showers of dirt and shattered stone. Whirling blades spun at impossible speeds, serrated discs chewing through fortifications like paper. They didn’t slow. They didn’t hesitate. They hunted—carving through the battlefield with the same cold efficiency Jason had seen in predators back when the monsters had been flesh instead of metal.
Soldiers were flung aside like debris. Shields shattered. Screams rose and were swallowed by the grinding howl of machinery tunneling forward.
Jason took a step back without realizing it, eyes tracking the nearest thresher as it tore through the line like a living sawblade. The machine surged past Wakandan shields as if they were nothing more than tall grass, whirling teeth throwing dirt into the air.
“You’ve got to be kidding me,” he muttered.
A voice crackled in his earpiece, sharp and urgent. “Zords incoming!”
Jason exhaled hard, forcing himself to pivot and clear space as the battlefield shifted yet again.
“About damn time,” he said under his breath—because if those things were the next problem, they were going to need something just as big to meet them.
The ground shook as the Tyrannosaurus Zord broke through the smoke, red plating scorched and gleaming under the fire-lit sky. Rocky drove it forward at a full sprint, each thunderous step flattening Outriders beneath its feet. The massive head dipped low as it roared, the sound rolling across the battlefield like a challenge.
To its right, the Smilodon Zord streaked in, sleek and black, moving with predatory speed. Maria Hill piloted it with sharp, calculated precision, keeping it low and fast as it weaved between debris and infantry lines, plasma claws humming as it carved a path through the swarm.
The Dire Wolf Zord hit moments later, gunmetal-white armor catching the light as it bounded into position. Barnes brought it in hard, the machine letting out a mechanical growl as it slid into formation beside the others—powerful, aggressive, and just a little too eager.
Jason barely had time to register all of it before the first threshers engaged.
The T-Rex Zord met them head-on.
Its metal jaws clamped down on a spinning thresher disc with a deafening shriek of grinding steel. Sparks exploded outward as the machine twisted violently, sawblades shrieking as it tried to wrench free. The T-Rex dug in, servos screaming as Rocky fought to hold it in place.
The Smilodon darted in low, claws raking across the enemy’s flank in a blur of plasma and motion. The attack should’ve gutted it—but the thresher barely slowed before lashing out, a spinning blade slamming into the Smilodon’s side and sending Maria’s Zord skidding across the dirt in a shower of sparks.
“Smilodon, fall back!” Jason shouted instinctively, even though he knew she could already see it.
Another thresher broke through the chaos, its spinning disc angling straight toward a cluster of Wakandan soldiers scrambling to regroup.
Before Jason could react, the Pentaceratops Zord thundered into position.
Fitz brought it down like a wall, its massive shielded head lowering as the spines along its crest ignited. An iridescent force field flared to life just as the thresher struck, the impact detonating in a violent shockwave. The shield flickered—once, twice—but held, the machine’s sawblades screaming as they scraped uselessly against the barrier.
High above, the Raptor Zord screamed through the sky, Clint banking hard as it dove. Talons snapped open mid-pass, tearing into exposed joints before it pulled up sharply, engines whining as it barely cleared the rising debris.
A second shadow crossed the battlefield overhead.
The Falcon Zord.
Sam brought it in low, wings cutting through smoke as missile pods flared. Rockets streaked downward, slamming into clustered Outriders and detonating in rapid succession, blackened bodies scattering beneath the blast.
The Dire Wolf lunged.
Hydraulics groaned as Barnes forced it into a brutal charge, metal jaws snapping shut around a thresher’s spinning disc. The impact snapped teeth and blades alike, metal screeching like something alive and dying.
Then the ground buckled.
Another thresher drilled up from below, bursting out of the earth directly under the Dire Wolf’s flank.
“Barnes—!” Jason shouted.
The Dire Wolf staggered as the machine surged up like a demon from the soil, sawblades ripping at its underside. Barnes wrenched the controls, barely pulling free as the ground collapsed behind him.
They were losing ground.
Jason could see it now—the pattern forming. The threshers weren’t just charging blindly anymore. They were coordinating, timing their strikes, forcing the Zords to split attention and overcommit.
Billy’s voice snapped over comms, tight with focus. “I’ve got eyes on it. They’re adapting—adjusting attack vectors in real time.”
Billy had taken position with Tony and Rhodey, feeding data and coordinating the Zord pilots as fast as he could, trying to build a solution on the fly.
Then came the words Jason both dreaded—and knew were inevitable.
“Power’s failing!” Fitz’s voice crackled. “They’re adapting—fast!”
Jason watched it happen in real time.
The Smilodon’s front armor was caved in, plating scorched and buckled. The Raptor Zord took a hit and wobbled, Clint fighting to keep it airborne. The T-Rex slowed, servos straining under the constant pressure of blade and mass.
Jason’s fingers curled into fists.
They needed to end this.
Now.
Time to call in the big guns.
Jason hit the comm, his voice razor-sharp over the chaos. “Rocky! Call it!”
For half a second, there was nothing but static and the shriek of tearing metal.
Then—reckless, electric laughter.
“Oh, HELL yeah!” Rocky’s voice cut through the comms, wild and unmistakably thrilled. “It’s GO TIME, baby!”
Jason felt a grin tug at the corner of his mouth despite everything. Damn right it is.
“Wait—hold up.” Clint’s voice broke in, sharp with confusion and more than a little irritation. “What the hell is he talking about?”
The White Dire Wolf Zord bounded across the battlefield, its movements suddenly tighter, more deliberate. The mounted sniper rifle barked, each shot a controlled, bone-shattering report. Rounds punched cleanly into exposed thresher joints, detonations flaring like dying stars through the smoke as spinning blades shattered and collapsed.
Bucky’s voice came through, steady but edged with strain. “We’re getting torn apart out here—Rocky, tell me you’ve got a plan.”
Jason could hear it now—the difference in Rocky’s tone as the switch flipped. The laughter vanished, replaced by something focused. Commanding.
“Oh, I’ve got a plan,” Rocky said. His voice dropped, loud and unmistakable over every channel. “ACTIVATING MEGAZORD SEQUENCE.”
A pulse of raw energy tore outward as the command locked in.
The Red Tyrannosaur Zord reared back and roared—not a synthetic bellow, but something deeper, older. The sound rolled across the battlefield like a challenge, vibrating through armor and bone alike. Steam vented violently from its joints as massive actuators engaged, steel muscles locking into place.
Then it began.
With a thunderous CLANG, the T-Rex’s chest plates split apart. Pistons fired. Armor segments shifted and folded inward, rotating with brutal precision as the massive frame reconfigured. The transformation wasn’t graceful—it was industrial, violent, the sound of metal being forced into a new purpose.
The Black Smilodon Zord skidded sideways, claws digging furrows through scorched earth as it pivoted hard. Its sleek frame compressed, limbs snapping inward and reforging mid-motion. In seconds, the predator was no longer a beast but a massive, armored right arm—dense, brutal, built to keep hitting.
To Jason’s left, the Dire Wolf Zord threw its head back and howled—a sharp, metallic cry that cut through the chaos. Then it folded in on itself, armor plates collapsing and rotating as its form condensed. With a final, ringing CLANG, it locked into place as the left arm, silver plating gleaming through smoke and ash.
Above them, something flashed gold.
The Raptor Zord screamed out of the smoke-choked sky, wings retracting mid-dive as it twisted with impossible agility. Metal snapped and locked as it fused into the forming torso, the impact sending a shockwave rippling across the battlefield. Soldiers staggered. Outriders shrieked and scattered.
Then the ground answered.
The Blue Pentaceratops Zord charged forward like a living landslide, each step cracking the earth beneath it. Its armored bulk shifted as it ran—plates rotating, limbs compressing—until it slammed into position and reshaped into the massive legs of the titan taking form above it.
THOOM.
The earth buckled in protest.
Dust and debris billowed outward as the final lock engaged, the transformation slamming into place with a force that silenced the battlefield.
And then—through the haze—it stood.
The Megazord rose, a jagged steel colossus towering over the ruined plain. Steam blasted from its joints in violent bursts, power arcing across battle-scarred plating. Every line of it screamed purpose. Finality.
For a heartbeat, even war hesitated.
Wakandan warriors froze mid-charge, shields half-raised. Outriders slowed, twitching and snarling as if some buried instinct recognized the new apex predator standing before them.
Jason felt the silence hit—heavy, razor-edged—settling into his chest like a held breath before impact.
A voice broke across the comms, stunned and a little too loud.
“Hold on—” Rhodey demanded, voice echoing through his armor. “Nobody told me those things tuned into a damn Jaeger! Why didn’t we do that earlier?”
Jason shook his head once, a short, sharp breath leaving him as his grip tightened on his sword.
Rookies.
A slow smirk tugged at Jason’s mouth as the Megazord shifted its weight, servos growling low and hungry.
“Now we’re talking.”
The Megazord took a single step forward, and the earth buckled beneath it. Plates locked. Joints hissed and coiled, the sound less mechanical now than predatory—like something massive settling into its stance.
Then the ground exploded.
Threshers tore free from the churned battlefield, serrated discs screaming as they burst through soil and shattered stone. The air filled with the shriek of grinding metal, a violent chorus that set Jason’s teeth on edge. They surged toward the titan in a coordinated wave, blades spinning, momentum building.
Fast. Relentless. Purpose-built to kill something exactly that big.
Jason didn’t look away as the Megazord moved to meet them.
The world shook again—and the fight belonged to the machine.
~~~~~~~~~~
"Engaging!"
Rocky’s voice was steady—far steadier than his grip on the controls. Sweat slid down his temple as the cockpit shuddered beneath him, the feedback rattling through the harness and into his bones.
Outside the HUD, the Threshers converged.
The cockpit lurched violently as a Thresher slammed into the Megazord’s flank. The saw bit deep. Armor screamed as teeth ground into plating, vibration shuddering through the frame like something alive and furious.
Another impact followed—harder. Lights flickered.
Maria’s voice crackled through the comms, tight and breathless. “I’m losing stability—something’s wrong.”
“Hold it together,” Clint snapped, wrestling his controls as the HUD stuttered. “We don’t have room to fall here.”
Metal shrieked. The Megazord buckled, servos straining under the pressure as warning sirens layered over one another.
A third impact hit. Something gave—sharp, ugly.
The Megazord lurched, its entire frame tilting, sawblades digging deeper, threatening to drag them into a slow, grinding death.
And Rocky?
Rocky let out a short, breathless laugh—more reflex than humor. “Man… I missed this.”
Bucky snapped his head around, deadpan. “Are you serious?”
Rocky grinned through the pain, tasting blood where he’d bitten through his lip. “Hell yeah!”
Rocky’s smirk vanished. His fingers flew over the console. "Fitz—reroute power to the servos."
Fitz hesitated. "That much strain is gonna—"
"We’ve got three seconds before we lose the arm. Do it!"
A sharp exhale—then Fitz’s hands blurred across the console.
Electricity surged. The Megazord roared.
Power ripped through its frame, servos shrieking as it wrenched its arm free. The embedded sawblade tore loose in a violent explosion of shredded metal and sparking circuits.
The severed disc spun across the battlefield like a murderous comet—
—cleaving straight through the next wave of Outriders.
The Megazord staggered, vents blasting smoke in furious bursts, limbs trembling—but it didn’t fall.
“Holy—okay. That worked?” Her eyes raked over the HUD. “Power redistribution successful—but we’ve only got minutes before systems start failing.”
Clint exhaled. "Great—now what?"
Rocky rolled his shoulders. The gauntlets adjusted with the motion, servos flexing. His smirk widened. "Now? We hit back."
His fingers tightened on the controls.
"Barnes. Activate the Power Sword!"
Bucky didn’t even blink. "Charging it now."
Inside the cockpit, the Megazord’s core pulsed—raw energy burning through its steel bones. The air itself vibrated, HUD blaring warnings as power levels spiked past safety thresholds.
Then—the tremor.
The air itself shuddered. A pressure drop—deep, unnatural, as if the battlefield had just taken a breath.
The Megazord moved. Slow. Intentional. Then—the Power Sword tore free.
A colossal executioner’s blade, its molten circuitry alive with arcs of crackling plasma. The white-hot edge ignited, humming with barely contained devastation.
Clint let out a low whistle. "Now we’re talking."
Rocky flexed his fingers. The Megazord mimicked the motion—testing the weight of the blade, servos thrumming with lethal potential.
Rocky’s ecstatic voice rippled through the comms. "Alright, rookies. Time to show these bastards what a real fight looks like."