Chapter 353: Gentlemanly Conduct

The charred steel, collapsed buildings, and indistinguishable corpses in gold and black armor created a scene akin to hell for anyone unacquainted with war. Jane Foster and Darcy stumbled through the wreckage, lugging Erik Selvig's instruments toward their target locations. Their task was to deploy and activate the devices, which would neutralize the chaotic portals scattered across Greenwich University.

However, every few steps, they had to stop and vomit. The stench of charred flesh and decaying bodies saturated the air along their path. This corridor had been the primary battleground for Asgardian Einherjar, Dark Elf soldiers, and S.H.I.E.L.D.'s surviving agents. Though the fighting had moved elsewhere, the aftermath remained—a grim reminder of the carnage.

Darcy's nose burned from the stench, and nausea blurred her vision with tears. She clung to Jane Foster's guidance, her steps hesitant and shaky as she repeatedly slipped on spent shell casings. If not for Jane's persistent encouragement, Darcy might have collapsed onto the rubble and cried like a child.

"Damn S.H.I.E.L.D.! Damn Erik!" Darcy cursed through hiccups induced by her constant retching.

Before she could vent further, a deafening crash erupted beside her. Thor and Malekith, locked in combat, crashed through a nearby building and tumbled down the stairs, slamming into a wall before disappearing from view.

"They…" Darcy pointed at the spot where they vanished, her voice trembling. "Erik's detector didn't pick up that portal, did it?"

"The gravitational disturbances are getting worse," Jane replied, jabbing the device's long probe ahead of her. "The detectors might not catch everything. Be careful."

Jane prodded the air with the device and hit something invisible yet solid. Her stubborn nature as a Nobel-nominated physicist kicked in, and she jabbed harder. A black-haired woman in armor abruptly fell out of nowhere, landing with a grunt.

"You're Jane Foster?" Sif clutched her side where the probe had jabbed her, gasping for breath. "Have you seen Thor?"

Two fingers pointed toward the spot where Thor had disappeared. Sif thanked them and rushed off, determined to find him. She had traversed multiple worlds through chaotic portals, including smaller realms, but had found no sign of him. As the betrothed of Asgard's king-in-waiting, fighting alongside Thor was her duty.

However, her attempt to follow through another portal was thwarted when she collided headfirst with a wall.

"Maybe you should stick with us," Jane offered, noting Sif's red, bruised nose. "We're working on stabilizing the gravity disruptions. These portals are unpredictable. If you wander off, you'll never find him."

Darcy tugged at Jane's sleeve in protest, but Jane ignored her.

"Fine," Sif mumbled, her voice muffled as she held her nose.

"Shit! Woman, are you doing this on purpose?" Solomon groaned, clutching his abdomen. The hastily stapled wound throbbed painfully.

Skye had been handling the industrial stapler as though she were fixing a broken chair. Her rough, uneven stitching left Solomon wincing in agony with each misaligned staple.

Fortunately, S.H.I.E.L.D.'s biologist Simmons intervened to salvage the situation. Otherwise, Solomon's injury might never have healed properly.

"I'm older than you, kiddo," Skye retorted smugly. "And messing with my memories deserves payback! Sure, you have magic, abs, and pecs, but I'm still mad. Even Simmons knows what you did—that's why she didn't give you any painkillers!"

"Fine, Coulson, drop me into the battlefield," Solomon said, eager to change the subject. Enchanting someone without their knowledge was a dubious act, and Solomon preferred to avoid confronting the consequences of his actions.

Coulson handed Solomon a set of devices similar to Erik Selvig's instruments.

"These are Fitz's designs," Coulson explained, gesturing toward the equipment mounted throughout the bus. "They extend the range of Erik's prototypes. This tech creates a stable gravitational field, preventing the bus from disintegrating mid-flight. Fitz wanted to mount one on your armor, but his drill couldn't penetrate it."

"Lucky me," Solomon muttered, rolling his eyes. He silently thanked the superior craftsmanship of his armor, which had spared him from Fitz's "upgrades."

"Just a heads up," Coulson added, "the devices run on batteries, so their uptime is limited. If you need extras, Fitz has spares."

"Let's hope it doesn't come to that."

Solomon donned his armor, cradling the brick-like instruments as he approached the cargo bay. The Dragon Wing boosters roared to life, propelling him out of the bus and onto the scorched remains of Greenwich University's courtyard. What was once grass was now charred carbon, a testament to the engine he had destroyed on the Dark Elf ship.

"Master!"

His homunculus assistant was already waiting for him. As her creator, Solomon shared a unique bond with her that kept her informed of his location. She greeted him with a mix of pride and excitement, brandishing her massive sword and a severed Dark Elf arm.

"I've killed so many Dark Elves," she declared, her tone betraying a hint of boastfulness.

The severed arm dripped blood, clearly a recent acquisition. As for its former owner, Solomon's gaze landed on a nearby pile of smoking flesh and shredded metal—courtesy of the homunculus' explosive rifle.

"What's next, Master?" she asked eagerly.

"We're moving to the designated location," Solomon replied, nodding toward the approaching group of women. Jane Foster and Darcy stumbled toward him, panting for breath, while Sif strode ahead effortlessly, carrying a stack of heavy instruments. Her nose, however, was still red from her earlier mishap.

"Help them set up the detectors," Solomon instructed. "We need to neutralize the gravitational chaos before we can deal with Malekith."

"How do we do that, Master?"

"Nothing for now." Solomon tapped the scorched ground with his foot. "Malekith will show himself soon enough."

"Like a game of whack-a-mole?"

"You're just going to stand there while we do all the work?" Jane snapped, hands on her hips. "Aren't you supposed to be a gentleman? Get over here and help, or your precious research is toast!"

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