Aftermath

The battle was over, but the scars it would leave behind would take a long time to heal. Smoke and ash filled the air, mixing with the choking smell of burning debris, cars, buildings, and aliens. The Avengers stood among the devastation, their faces grim as they worked with firefighters and paramedics. Once bustling with life, the streets now lay broken glass and overturned cars with Chitauri weapons and machines all over the streets. The fires were burning in different places; orange flame flickering and casting shadows around the wreckage.

Emergency responders ran through the chaos, trying to help everyone they could. Paramedics knelt beside the injured, trying their best to ease their pain. Children cried for their parents, and the screams of people crying for help filled the air. Despite the efforts of the Avengers, not all could be saved. The heart of the city was broken, and its people were hurting.

Captain America knelt beside a woman who was holding the lifeless body of her child. Tears ran down her soot-streaked face as she clung to the little one. Steve placed a hand on her shoulder, his voice heavy with grief as he said softly, "I'm so sorry." He stood slowly, his jaw tight, and turned to look for more people who needed help.

Close to this scene, Jean. She was using her telekinetic powers to lift heavy chunks of rubble from the entrance of a subway station. The dust and debris fell away as people trapped below became visible. Dirt and blood-stained survivors climbed out, coughing and stumbling towards safety. Her face was pale as she gazed at Steve. "There are more people stuck down there," she said urgently. "We need more help." Kitty and Jubilee were also at work.

A few meters from their location was Psylocke, checking on the aliens, making sure they were dead.

On what was once a street, bustling with activity, stood Natasha, Nick Fury, and Aron. Crumbling tall buildings loomed all around them, their walls ripped wide open by massive holes. Some of them were tilted, as if ready to topple. Natasha was exhausted. She had pushed herself to the limit, fighting to bring down a Chitauri dreadnought.

Fury clicked on the button to his comms. "What is the report of damage?" his sharp voice demanded.

There was a sound through from one of the agents, desperation creeping into the sound of the voice. "Sir, the casualties count is too high: over 100 reported dead, with multiple numbers more injured. Two complete squads lost near Grand Central. We are still counting..."

Fury sighed in long breath and shut his eyes for a fraction of a second. "Roger. Keep me updated."

Iron Man landed by them, his suit battered and sparking. Tony Stark removed his helmet and looked out at the city from a face that was drawn in lines of weariness. "Well, the city's not entirely gone. That's something, right?" The attempt at humor was woefully ill-timed; the moment weighed too heavily.

Johnny Storm hovered above them, his flames barely glowing. He looked down at the city in shock. "I knew it'd be bad, but not like this," he said, his voice quivering.

Bruce Banner walked over in his human form. His clothes were torn, but his expression was calm. "We did what we could, but this kind of damage was unavoidable against an enemy this powerful," he said. "We have to prepare better for next time."

Natasha gave him a tired nod. "If there is a next time," she replied, "there might not be a city left to save."

There, in a battle-scarred Times Square, the agents set up an emergency medical center. Stretchers lined the area and doctors and nurses rushed under stark floodlights to attend to all the injured. Along one side of the square were rows of bodies. The authorities were still working to identify them.

Fury moved through the ranks of the dead, pausing over Agent Ramirez, a S.H.I.E.L.D. operative who had fought hard. For a moment, he stood silent. "You gave everything," he said softly. "And we won't let it be for nothing."

Natasha stood up and touched him on the shoulder. "Thanos will pay."

News crews swarmed the area and broadcast the destruction live on air. Anchors were talking in somber tones while sharing the rising numbers of casualties and images of the wreckage. Outrage among people was already building. A reporter asked angrily, "Where were the Avengers or X-Men before this attack? Did nobody see it coming?"

Politicians demanded answers, and rumors about the aliens and Avengers spread fast, and they started spreading confusion and fear.

Amid all the sorrow, there are moments of hope. A small child emerged from the rubble of a collapsed building, carried by a firefighter. His dad, a middle-aged man, who was crying over his wife's dead body, ran up to his kid while trying to hide his tears.

Clint was sitting on the rooftop, scanning the scene with his binoculars, way up in the sky above the city. He saw a family trapped in a burning building. He shot a grappling arrow and swung into action to save them as the structure crumbled.

Ghost-Spider swung through the streets, carrying medical supplies and ferrying the injured to safety. She was talking to herself, muttering. "We did our best. Didn't we?" Still, that hint of doubt persisted in her voice.

...

Aron walked through the chaos, his boots crunching against shattered glass and metal. The acrid stench of smoke and burning debris assaulted his senses, but it was the psychic weight of despair pressing against his mind that made him stumble. His powers heightened his awareness of the anguish around him—every thought, every scream, every prayer for help reverberated in his skull like a cruel symphony of suffering.

He stopped in front of a crashed car where a father cradled the limp body of his teenage son. The man's thoughts were a storm of self-blame and helplessness. 'Why couldn't I protect him? I should've done more. This is my fault. I wasn't fast enough.'

Aron clenched his fists. He could have stopped this. He should have stopped this. He was so drunk on the power of the Space Stone that it took a while for him to get a grasp of the reality.

His gaze moved to a young girl around 7 or 8, sitting amidst the wreckage, clutching a torn stuffed animal. Her sobs were quiet, but her mind screamed with questions. 'Where's Mommy? Where's Daddy?' Aron dropped to one knee in front of her. "Hey," he said gently, though his voice trembled. "You're safe now. We'll find your parents, I promise." She looked up at him, her tear-streaked face a mixture of fear and hope. Aron lifted her into his arms, cradling her as though she were the most precious thing in the universe.

A few meters away, he saw a dead woman. The kid instantly pointed her finger at the woman and said in a sad voice, "Mommy." Aron quickly put the kid to sleep using his psychic powers and handed her over to a passing paramedic.

As he continued walking, the voices of the injured, the lost, and the bereaved all crashed around him like a tidal wave. He could hear them. He felt their pain as if it were his own.

'I'm scared...'

'Make the pain go away...'

'What's happening?'

'Where's my family?'

'I don't want to die.'

Aron shook his head. It was too much. He couldn't bear it. "No! Stop!" he shouted in anguish, covering his ears.

The air around him warped and crackled with psionic energy as his powers flared out of control. So far everything he had done in this world had been to live a peaceful life and have fun. But fate wasn't too kind to him. He was forced to fight dangerous criminals, mutants, aliens, robots... It wasn't by his choice, still, he did what had to be done. He tried to live a life filled with danger and treated all his fights as fun. He overpowered everyone and easily won every battle so far.

However, right now... There was nothing fun about this.

The world he was treating as a comic world turned out to be more real than he thought. He was reminded of this when the Chitauri attacked. This world was no game. It was filled with real people who really suffered when tragedy struck. Aron couldn't help but feel the guilt and regret weighing heavily on him.

He could have stopped this attack. He should have stopped this attack. Death warned him about Thanos, yet he didn't took it seriously. 

"Aron," Jean said softly, placing a hand on his shoulder. "This isn't your fault."

Aron turned, his voice low and filled with self-loathing. "Isn't it? With my powers, I could've stopped them—stopped all of this—before it began. But I hesitated, Jean. And now look at them. Look at all of them." He gestured to the devastation around them, his voice breaking. "They're dead because of me."

Jean met his gaze, her voice steady but filled with empathy. "I can feel it too, Aron—the pain, the grief, the loss. It's overwhelming. But this? This isn't your burden alone. None of us could've prevented all of it, not even with all the power in the world."

Aron looked away, his jaw tightening. Her words carried weight, but the guilt was too raw to let go. Still, he nodded, acknowledging the truth in her conviction.

Jean placed both hands on his shoulders, forcing him to meet her eyes. "Listen to me. These people don't need you drowning in guilt. They need you to keep going. They need you to help them, because you can. You can still save lives, Aron. Focus on that." Her voice softened, but her resolve remained firm. "We'll face the rest together when the time comes."

"No." Aron closed his mind and took a deep breath. The Phoenix Force began to seep out of his body. "There is still a chance." He clenched his fists, summoning the Phoenix Force around him. He could feel it. The Phoenix urged him to use her power. 'I have the power and I'm gonna use it this time.'

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