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War among the Realms is, for several reasons, difficult to sustain. Moving masses of troops between the various planets requires tremendous amounts of energy. And even were someone to manage to power such an invasion, such a tear in the fabric of the worlds would ring the city of Asgard as if it were a giant, golden bell.
But lesser incursions are quite possible, and lately all too common a practice. Asgard cannot close all the doors and all the windows into the many realms, and the enemies of Asgard— and Midgard— use this to their advantage.
Twenty giants of Muspelheim is a day of mild sport for an Asgardian war party, but the damage they could do to New York is not insignificant.
The fact that the portal to Muspelheim boils open right in front of Asgard's Embassy is clearly just a snub of the nose to the Prince of Asgard. Giants pour out of the portal with weapons of fire and armor of darkling iron, immediately engaging in the sort of wholescale chaos that is perhaps less efficient than a military operation, but much more difficult to control.
The goal is panic, not a target objective; in this regard, they succeed from the moment the first of them flings a car at a passing city bus. Glass shatters, horns blare, and screams of panic like so many shrieking monkeys shatter New York's hum.
He never considered it possible, the concept that reality itself could have heartburn. But there it is, a sullen bubble sitting right at mid-chest in metaphysical warning to the Sorcerer Supreme that something is up. Something is going down. Something's probably on fire.
That's why, within the minute of the opening of the foreign Gate, another opens up just above the Asgardian Embassy proper. Out flits Strange, kept aloft by crimson Cloak and wearing his stormy-blue battle-leathers. The flash of citrine proves the Eye about his throat and the first thing out of his mouth isn't a very nice word. What follows is an immediate appraisal of the situation — which doesn't look good this early on.
"You mealy-ash-mouthed bastards," he growls, his hands limned in small comets of oceanic power. "What on earth provoked this?!"
After dealing with Vulture and a Marvel Team-Up! (tm) with Piper this morning, Spider-Man was out enjoying… okay, enjoying is a harsh word. It's cold. And even with the extra layer of long johns beneath his spidey-suit, he's feeling the cold sting of frosty air. And what goes better with frosty air than frost giants, right?
Thwipping out several lines, Spider-Man catches the flung car in mid-air and sets it down on it's side. "I'm as much of a closet sci-fi fan as the next geek, but why can't it be for once, just once, 50 foot tall centerfolds rampaging because they missed the latest sale at Macy's?" he asks noone in particular as the small figure launches a line to propel himself above the giants.
"Fee fi fo fum, I smell.. whew— when was the last time you guys had a bath?" As Strange appears in a puff of smoke, Spider-Man swings by, "Five dollars on Loki! This week was supposed to be alien invasion week, next week was Giants!"
Twenty years from now, a very wise woman will point out that it just goes to show you- if it ain't one thing it's another. Either you get apparitions in the middle of the night in the park, or suddenly giants are throwing cars at you in broad daylight.
"Oh you've got to be-" Keith is good wth his motorcycle, the two of them have been through a lot together across two continents. Together, they have survived attempted hijackings, kidnappings, anti-mutant teams (even though he *isn't* a mutant, but you try explaining that to them), but everything has to come to an end sometime. The Cheshire cat tries to dodge as best he can, having made a sharp turn into this street only to find pandemonium let loose, but it's clear that he's not going to make it as the car makes its way towards him-
And then it gets plucked out of the air by … webbing?
"Holy crispies…" the Cheshire cat makes a hasty stop and hops off his bike, dismissing the illusion that keeps his appearance human, with the clear intent of providing some assistance.
But then he clearly hesitates, because these are clearly giants, and he's… not.
The Doctor is in, though. As is the Spider Guy. He quickly steps through a Rabbit Hole and appears on the roof of the Embassy, to get the high ground.
"Alright, then. Bigger they are, harder they fall, etcetera. How do we test that?" he calls out, because he is vaguely aware that situations like these require some sort of banter. He's not terribly experienced.
The giant response to Strange is succinct and to the point— one of them grabs a Buick, spins like a shotput hurler, and throws it at the Sorceror Supreme like a 4,000 pound fastball.
One of them shouts in outrage at Peter and tries to swat at him, but the massive giant— strong as it is— moves like molasses compared to the nimble spider. He misses by a country mile, though to the naked eye it looks like the giant must have come within inches of swatting the tiny spiderman.
The giants, their helmets scraping the twenty-foot mark, start a fairly effective campaign of demolition. From their joyous shouts and curses of laughter, they are enjoying themselves immensely. Only someone fluent in the tongues of Muspelheim would enjoy the explanation of their purpose: solely to embarass Thor by defiling Midgard near his vacation home.
The giant that had hurled the car at Keith roars and rushes at the cat, heavy, hob-nailed boots digging six-inch dents in the ground as he prepares to squish the Cheshire Cat.
Frowning at the chaos spreading below, Strange's lips begin to move in a humdinger of a spell. Then comes the thwip of a limber body sporting red-and-blue past his general person and he literally pauses in mid-Word, glancing over at the newcomer.
"I doubt it's the youngest Prince," he replies after a moment to young Spiderman. Then shows Keith, far below and then upon the rooftop and now there's plenty of aid on hand.
"They don't fall easily, Vorpal, I recommend staying far out of — " The Sorcerer has to abruptly stop talking and execute a sharp barrel-roll to avoid becoming the next hood ornament for the flung car. "Son of a bitch," he hisses, pointing in particular at the giant in question. "Effusorium Gelidus!"
Nothing like the ambient moisture being pulled from the air for a lancing blow of Arctic-chilled water straight to the torso.
"Where is the eldest Prince?!" With eyes a-glow in Mystical power, the air crackles about him as he gathers up more willpower and prepares for a larger spell yet. "Stop them from hurting the bystanders!!!"
"I think tyhat was the general game plan!" Spider-Man offers as he leaps over and around the giant arm swatting at him. "…so this is what it's like to be a mosquito in August." he mutters to himself, just as the car is hurled towards Strange. "Mind if I borrow that?" he asks, a pair of lines going out to grab the back of the Buick.
He lets the laws of physics yank him onto the car after using his makeshift slingshot, and holding his lines, he turns the car around.
"Eat your heart out, Fantasticar." Spidey offers as he brings the Buick in to crash against one of the giants right after Strange's ice pick attack. Leaping away from the car, Spider-Man sends out another line. "I don't know, which Prince? Albert? He's in a can!"
"Stop them? Piece of cake," Vorpal says with a smirk. Because he was strong enough to stop these monstrosities, of course. Right.
However, there is time to consider his inadequacies later, much later. Right now there is a giant trying to can-can kick him off the roof and into the next life. The cat decides to try a gamble, which could be either be something really cool, or something that kills him. He opens a Rabbit Hole just as that boot begins to come his way, timing it so that the stomp has a higher chance of going through the hole. The exit to the Rabbit Hole should open right behind the gian't head.
"Oh gods please let this work…" he mutters to himself."
The ice spear slams into one of the giants, and the iron-black armor is instantly coated with spreading hoarfrost. Heat and ice crackle and contest with one another, and the boiling temperature of the giant's core fights Strange's magics. The armor rends itself down the middle with a *CLANG* like an iron bell, and falls apart to dangle only by leather straps. The giant panicks and swats at his armor, receiveing no help from his allies at his distress.
The Buick, swung as well, whips around and strikes one giant in the temple. He goes down like a bag of hammers, the strength cut from his legs like a marionette with severed strings. He falls heavily as a toppling building, crushing a newspaper booth.
Vorpal's foe manages to kick himself in the back of the head. It's hilarious and terrifying all at once; the boot stuns the giant and he goes stumbling sideways. Trapped as he is partially in Vorpal's rabbit hole, the giant's leg stays partially stuck. Caught in an infinity between the edge of the hole and reality around it, the giant's leg is severed below the knee so cleanly that it could be used as a medical reference. Howling in pain, he staggers, then falls fifty feet off the side of the building and lands on his head. Unconscious, and no doubt dead in minutes.
At that moment, stormclouds gather overhead in the clear blue of the winter sky. Cloud blacken and toss violently, and lightning splits the sea of their tempest.
An explosive kaleidoscope of color shatters the sky, and a meteor crashes to Earth— a meteor with shaggy blonde hair, gleaming armor, and a hammer.
Six Asgardian warriors pour out of the embassy, holding their weapons in readiness, and Thor aims his hammer at the awestruck giants.
"Think you that I do not pay heed to Midgard?" he scoffs at them. "A foolish mistake, ash-breathers. The watchful eye of Asgard sees all that transpires. You'll pay the price for your arrogance," he booms, his voice like a cannon's peal.
The giants seize their weapons, and— ignoring the other players on the field— rush towards Thor and his entourage.
"Kill the Princeling!" the leader bellows, and the casual chaos of the giant's activites abruptly ceases. Apparently, their real objective was to lure Thor to Earth— and it seems to have worked, as the assassins charge him.
"I doubt they could fit the Prince into a can," he replies deadpan back to Spiderman. They've already begun to chop into the fire giants' numbers, which the Sorcerer can count as well and good. He continues to gather in ambient Mystical energy about himself and the arrival of the eldest Prince is perfectly timed.
"There we are," he grumbles to himself. "It's about time!" His yell to Thor might be heard over the tumult of the approaching fire giants. "Gentleman, if you'll excuse me. Mind your footing." With that, he flits up higher still above the mansion. Here, the air movement, already stirred up by the Prince's arrival, grows more chaotic still. The ambient temperature holds, but the cloud cover darkens further.
An auroral glow in pale blues surrounds him as his scarred hands form mudras and his voice echoes through the wind:
"From the frigid wastes of Ikthalon,
With biting, ragged chill thus drawn
Into this plane, thine cold to free —
Through my will, so mote it be!"
From the cosmic emptiness of space, ribbons of sub-zero near-matter wend out from pockets appearing before his outspread hands and zip down towards the fire giants.
Ignored? Really? Did you not just see what Spider-Man did to one of them?
Of course, he can already see the headline tomorrow 'Spider-Menace Destroys Car and Daily Bugle Newstand!'
Because that's how his luck goes. "Oh. That prince." Okay, that makes a lot more sense to Spidey after Thor arrives. With all the giants turning their attention on the Princeling, there's a momentary thought and then Spidey calls out to Vorpal. "Hey! How big of a hole can you make?"
Because there's a plan. Part one is on Spider-Man as he gets ahead of the charging giants and since he's not being paid attention to, he quickly makes several lines wrapped together, stretching them across the street and anchored between two buildings.
Really. Spidey is building a tripwire to pratfall the charging giants. Hopefully into a rabbit hole.
And then Strange has to make it colder. "Why couldn't it be Frost Giants? Why can't we do this on the beach.. I so need better longjohns."
Vorpal clearly had NOT thought this through all the way. Because the moment that severed leg falls off the Rabbit Hole and the ensuing… well, you know, comes out, he turns round and tries VERY HARD not to lose his cookies all over the Embassy Roof.
It takes him a bit, but he finally turns around in time to hear Peter.
"Teen feet across, Spidey!" the Cheshire cat calls out, getting a gist of what Spidey is aiming at.
He begins to focus, and prepares himself to create a Rabbit Hole to catch any stumbling giants. He thinks about where the other hole could open, and he decidess that over the ocean is as good as any destination. Somewhere where they won't crush people when they fall, right?
"Just say when!"
The Asgardians, despite being close to mortal stature, roar bellows of challenge and fling themselves into the fray without hesitation. With Thor in the lead, it's not a lion leading the charge— it's a force of nature, his hammer and lightning a crash of power that sends giants flying as he slams into them.
Strange's call of cold hurts the giants. It hurts them on a deep, almost metaphysical level— near-infinite sinks of heat that rob their magical strength. The fires in their bellies quell and stifle, and several stagger and turn ashed-faced as their very lifeforce is leached away. Peter's attack, and Vorpal's aid, create a much more subtle effect; several giants trip, stumble, and find themselves falling a hundred feet into the cold oceans off the Bay. Muspelheim is a land without flowing water, and for many, the ocean is an unwelcome shock of cold in which they cannot survive.
From on high, surrounded by his vortex of chill, one can see the frost begin to collect on the fringes of his boots and the crimson Cloak. Puffing a sharp sigh and gritting teeth for his efforts, Strange holds faith in the charmed weavings of his battle-leathers to keep the worst of the cold at bay. He continues to conduct the weaving streamers of cosmic-freeze throughout the fray, doing his utmost to keep them from coming too close to the Asgardian Prince and his immediate allies.
At a glance, he sees the results of complimentary handiwork between Spiderman and Keith and the grimace turns into a rictus grin in passing. He can't spare the focus for the comment, but his approval is a bright mental projection into the immediate radius of the area around and below him.
"Have a nice trip!" Spider-Man is trying to set up Vorpal for the next part of the line, because you know, you have to get the newcomers to practice their quipping somehow.
Then he feels that mental pat and Spidey frowns. "I'd do with some magical warming longjohns!" If he's handing out thanks, that is.
But the night is still young, and with the roar of battle and Thor and the Asgardians joining in, Spider-Man launches himself back into the fray, trying not to land directly on a flaming body as he tries to thwip one, and his line melts. "…okay, that's going to need some work." he mutters as he considers the street. "Fire hydrants! Direct the water directly onto them!" he calls out to Vorpal.
"Don't forget to send a post-card!" Vorpal adds to Spidey's quip, and looks at the webslinger for approval. Did he get it right? Will there be a quiz after the fight? Ideally over a pizza dinner? No time to check answers, though, because his second assignment seems to be Wanton Property Destruction In The Name Of The Greater Good.
"You got it!" He leaps over the edge of the Embassy and opens another Rabbit Hole, allowing him to land by one of the fire hydrants in a crouch. "Gosh I hope he knows what I'm doing," Vorpal mutters, and summons a Rabbit Hole over the hydrant. He then moves it down and causes it to cut the Hydrant off, releasing the torrent of high-pressure water. The other rabbit hole is pointed directly at the gigantic targets, and soon it spews the water at them. Vorpal has enough control to make the second hole move around, sending the high-pressure stream in a wide arc to cover as many as possible.
"Guess these guys are all wet behind the ears!"
Peter is probably entering one of the stages of regret right about now…
The cold from Strange is bad enough, but ice and water have a powerful mystical sympatico. The deluge would normally boil off in seconds after contacting Muspelheim flesh; instead, it clings and crystallizes. The giants grow sluggish and weak, the pain of the cold striking them to their core in a way that even fierce blows could not.
Thor and his small army of Asgardians launch into the fray. They are outnumbered three to one, and none of them seem remotely upset by the odds. Thor bowls over the three in the lead and his allies close the gap, spears and swords making short work of the giants. This is a dance that the Asgardians have played well; Thor knocks them over and his allies do the work. Lightning crackles and sparks from overhead, and when one giant thinks to hurl a javelin the size of a phone booth at Thor, a crackling bolt of elemental power takes him in the chest and drops him to a twitching mass on the ground.
The head count for the giants is slowly lessening. Strange keeps a sharp eye on the proceedings below. Seeing a particularly advantageous opening, five of the ice-sharp sylphs zip through the fire giants. They slip through legs to lock joints, wind briefly around weapon arms to freeze muscles stiff, and generally create what could be construed as a hockey scrum — save for that's not a hockey stick, that's a Hammer.
Ugh. Really, Vorpal? Someone will need to help him with his quipping.
With Thor and the Asgardians looking to be firmly in control, Spidey takes a role as backup as he sends up several lines to keep the fire giants from retreating from the immediate area to threaten other parts of the city - effectively trying to box them in so that Team Strangehammer can finish them off.
Vorpal starts getting creative now, since he realizes that using a fire hydrant is limiting yourself in the fulness of your artistic expression. Screw hydrants, he says- cast your net farther afield.
The ocean is as far afield a field can get, and when the Rabbit Hole opens next, it does so by bringing a steady torrent of blue-green water from the ocean, cold and chilly with winter's greetings. It hasn't occurred to Vorpal yet that the volume might be a little too much, since he is still enamored with his impulsive idea. He just wants to help, after all- and what's better than burying those giants under a wave of salty, icy water?
And then he frowns for a second. Wait…. can Asgardians swim?
"Oh shi-" he quickly closes off the hole, but by this point there is a bit of a sizable wave heading towards the team.
Thor's a little fast and loose with his lightning. He flings the bolts of power out with a joyous laugh, boisterous and booming over the clanging of battle. The giants are frozen, wet, cold— and then, Vorpal opens the seas into the roads of New York just as Thor sends a clash of lightning into the heart of the melee.
Moments later, everyone with a foot on the ground gets a solid jolt of Asgardian lightning. The giants in their armor and soaked skin are far more vulnerable, but it gives most of the Asgardians a solid jolt and the crackling short blows out transformers and fuses in a four-block area as it shorts out multiple power lines under the sidewalks.
For a moment, the battle goes eerily silent as everyone with a foot on the ground is sent flying to their rears, save Thor himself. He blinks in surprise and glances at Mjolnir, a little stunned at how effective that technique abruptly proved itself.
From on high, Strange's mouth…literally drops open. Oh Vishanti's infinite wisdom, that was a wave of seawater flooding the street before and around the Asgardian Embassy. …at least the car-fires are put out?
Controlled lightning and near-frozen water do the most interesting things when put together. Is that a fulgarite made from ice itself, still conducting a charge? Surely no fire giants remain standing after that explosive discharge on the Prince's part? Dismissing the spell with the simplest breaking of mudras and flick of his wrists, the Sorcerer stoops from on high like a falcon and pulls up short of Thor. He sheds ice crystals in his wake and down here, it's no warmer, unfortunately. Or fortunately?
"Your highness, did you do something to encourage this incident?" His tone is absolutely unamused. The youth in the spider-themed suit and the one he knows as Vorpal as found by sight and given affirmative gestures, part thumbs-up and part warning in turn. "Stay off the ground!" he calls, a suggestion likely not needed in lieu of the examples of many blown-out street lights and ragged pseudo-berms scattered across the tarmac.
Well, yes, staying off the icy electrified street is a grand idea at the moment, and that's exactly what Spider-Man is doing.
However, in the wake of the electrified flooding, he's going from car to car, making sure that there are no more civilians in the area as the young hero swallows hard.
Though hopefully, there are no more fire giants. "…I don't think that would have made Fire Ranger rick very happy.":
Vorpal is perched on a car, watching the effects of his actions with a terrified look on his face.
"Did I… do that?" Yes, Vorpal. Yes, you did. He's trying to ignore the fact that some residual shock is making some of his fur stand up on its end. He tries to look dignified (critical fail) and waves at Thor and Strange. If he pretends he totally didn't just screw up four blocks of New York, they'll believe him… right?
He looks at Spidey, hopping from car to car, and shoots him a panicked look: Help me. Help meeee…
Thor slogs through the crackling electrical discharge without a care. His allies have been struck by lightning before (hazard of the job) and seem to be enduring his magic well enough, though they're not lingering in the salty cold.
"Hail, Strange," Thor greets the sorceror. "Nay, not but exist, my friend— Muspelheim often strikes at the icons of Asgard on many worlds. 'tis done not as an act of war, but merely disdain for the rule of my Father."
He kicks a twitching giant onto his back. "Turn this one to the racks, and the most skilled torturer would find that he did this for little else but the thrill of vandalism. Best to banish them to another realm," he suggests. "Jotuunheim, perhaps."
He looks over at Spider-Man and Vorpal, as if just noticing them. "Allies of yours, Doctor?" he inquires of the Sorceror. "Passing strange garb the one of them wears," he confides, gesturing at Peter with Mjolnir. "Such frippery is most uncommon, aye?"
Vorpal gets a pass. He's a giant cat. What's so weird about that?
The long-sufferingly sigh is one that the Prince probably knows well by now.
"Of course," Strange replies, eyeing the fire giants with marked distaste. A wet cat looks more thrilled than he does about the result of this incursion. "I would agree with Jotuunheim but for the want to avoid further diplomatic conflict between the worlds. This is enough trouble for Midgard and Asgard both as is. They'll return to Muspelheim and let it be a lesson." He folds his arms tightly, hovering above the charged ground at enough of a distance to avoid being shocked.
"The two gentlemen? Yes, I consider them allies. I cannot explain the suit, given that I don't know the young man's name — or nom de guerre," he amends, knowing the propensity for superheroes to take on monickers given to them by press or their own creativity. "The giant cat is Vorpal, if I remember correctly." Poor Keith; he looks like he stuck a fork in a toaster. Peter looks far more hale and he gets an inquiring look from Strange as is. Indeed, these two haven't formally met.
"You know, you look like a cat on a cold tin roof there." Spider-Man offers to Vorpal, before he shoots a webline down to him. "I'll give you an alley-oop up to the other two." he says with an offer. And if Vorpal accepts, Peter will carry the young man to set him down before Strange and Thor. And then.. blink.
"You're the God of Thunder! That's like.. so cool. Big fan. Appreciate your work. Awesome stuff you do in the sky." Peter offers with a grin beneath his mask, before turning his attention to the Sorcerer Supreme. "Is that robe warm? It looks warm?" He's having to dance back and forth on his feet because it's cold. "Oh.. I'm Spider-Man. Friendly neighborhood webslinger!"
"Sure, anywhere but this island-" Vorpal eagerly accepts the hop-over. He doesn't want to use his Rabbit Hole in case it reminds Strange of what he just did. As he lands next to Strange and Thor, he lets Spider's mouth do the motoring and he hangs back a little. With a smirk, he appreciates the fact that Spidey doesn't shut up. Here is someone who can teach him the ways of quip-fighting.
The cold doesn't bother him much because a) he is covered in fur, of course, and b) he is also wearing what he usually wears when he is out on the road on his motorcycle- namely leather, which adds to the warmth.
"I am the Cheshire cat," he adds to Strange's presentation, although he doubts the Asgardians may have heard of the realm from where he came.
He is actually curious about that, now. Maybe he can ask Thor whether Wonderland falls under 'Midgard', or one of the other worlds. At some other point, perhaps.
He gives Doctor Strange a side-glance, "So….er…. how are we going to fix the… um… accident?"
What he hasn't noticed is the fact that his beloved motorcycle? It's no longer where it was parked. It was carried away by that wave.
Thor gives Spider-Man an up and down that's a little concerned, but forces a grin and slaps the younger man on the back, jovially. "Well met, Spider-Man!" he booms, his voice a little over-loud. "You comported yourself with courage. I had taken you for a jester with your colorful garb. It pleases me to see a warrior's spirit behind the clown's attire."
"And the Cheshire Cat," Thor says, carefully sounding out Vorpal's name. It aparrently gives him pause; Cheshire has no translation in the tongue of the All-Speak. "'twas it your magic that unleashed the deluge onto the city? A clever tactic, though I think that the residents might complain. Any port in a storm, as they say, aye?" he says, before booming another ribald laugh.
Strange takes a moment to rub fingerpads back and forth across closed eyelids before running a hand back through his dark hair, silvered at the temples as it is. It's to Keith he replies to first.
"I can banish the worst of it along with the giants back to Muspelheim. I can't be blamed for the general pull of the banishment spell upon its surroundings." Oh, that's a dark and snarky smirk on his part. Maybe the pile of mostly-frozen giants and gathering of frozen water will even land someplace potentially useful, like on the throne of their leader. Wouldn't that be delightfully karmic? Next, he speaks to Spiderman, whose nom de guerre is now known and irrevocably filed away in the Sorcerer's memory bank. "The entire outfit is warm, yes. I have a heating charm interwoven within the fibres." The Cloak shakes off a lingering layer of ice about its edges of its own accord, counter to gravity and wind, betraying its sentience.
"Man, I really should have studied more magic when I was reading Lord of the Rings." Spider-Man grouses softly for a moment, before Thor sorta.. kinda.. compliments him. "Yep! A regular laughing warrior, that's me!" the young sounding man offers with what is probably a smile underneath his mask. "Anyway, love to stay and chat, but.. I'm going to be a Spider-Scicle if I stand out here much longer, and I need to keep moving to keep warm!"
The Cheshire cat frowns and looks at Spider-Man's outfit. "… are you seriously wearing tights in New York in winter without long johns underneath?" He stares and shakes his head. "You're going to freeze your spinners off, man!" not that he had a uniform, but if he had, he could get away with doing that because he was, again, covered in fur.
Of course, he would probably suffocate in the summer.
He looks at Thor with a sheepish grin, "Yyyeah, that was my doing. I didn't really think it all the way through. If I had known…" then something dawns on him. "Crap. Doctor. We're leaving them without power in winter … do try your magic, we can't leave all these people like that!"
"Aye, 'tis a bitter winter day," Thor tells Spider-man, with a considerate nod. He looks unbothered, but— it's pretty unlikely the God of Thunder is prone to the chills.
"Care well for yourself, my young friend! You fought well and I should hate to see you perish due to the winter's embrace!"
His laugh sobers quickly at Vorpal's comments, and he gives the silenced apartments a look of concern. "Aye, 'tis chill enough that without the heat of fires, some might suffer," he agrees, grudgingly. "And the electricity of the mortal realms seems to be key. Let us bless them with light and warmth, friend Strange," he urges the Sorceror Supreme. "Let them not remember the invasion of the giants as the herald of cold and fear."
The dark windows of the apartment get a long consideration from the Sorcerer Supreme. Indeed, it's far too cold to leave these people without power — and it's not as if they asked for the fire giants to waltz in and disrupt what could have been a peaceful evening for this sector of the city.
"You needn't stay longer, Spiderman, if it's too cold. Thank you for your assistance. We would still be fighting the things had you not kept them corralled." The young man in the spider-suit gets a nod from Strange before he turns his attention back to the buildings surrounding the streets. "Vorpal…if you could please move to the front steps of the Embassy," and he gestures to the mansion behind them. "I'm going to need you to stay, however, your highness. I'm going to trade with Muspulheim: their warriors for their heat. The very second that I cease the spell, I'm going to need you to charge the nearby lines with another shock; this will carry an ammeliorating element to it. I have hopes that will fix the blown wiring farther down the power lines." It doesn't necessarily have to make sense because magic, but…hey, it should work.
"I'd love to say I wasn't wearing long underwear under this, but I am. And I'm still freezing my spinerettes." There's an image for you. Peter nods once, and jumps off the side of the building, thwipping a line before swinging off into the distance. To find someplace warm to curl up and hide.
"Right… because chaos magic, got it." Vorpal moves to the front steps of the embassy, looking slightly chastened because this is his fault, in a way, and… well. Chaos. "Let me know if you need me to do anything. Or not do something. Like breath. I can hold my breath pretty well. I have practice."
He then ponders about what he just said, an clarifies, "Because I did a lot of diving in highschool." Just in case.
"Aye, however I can lend my aid, friend Strange!" Thor flicks Mjolnir in a tight circle, bidding the Asgardians withdraw to the Embassy. In short order, he and Strange stand alone; when the Sorceror Supreme works his magical fix, Thor supercharges the spell with a crackling of eldritch lightning. In mere minutes, the giants are gone, many of the damaged fuses are repaired, and the bulk of fifty-thousand gallons of seawater are banished to Muspelheim with the giants.
A fitting end for a worthy battle!