Masquerade of Marvel: Chaos Reborn

The cellar's damp wreckage sank into a crackling hush, Rogue's electric hum a fading jolt as he spun the Mask in his hand, its grin glinting off splintered wood slick with steam. Her drawl—"I'll shock you again"—lingered like a live wire as he slid it on, green light erupting, the zoot suit snapping into place with a reckless swagger. "Time to burn the titan's cage," he murmured, stepping through hissing puddles to a rusted hatch.

A tremor tore through the night—cosmic, unyielding, shaking the city's core. The sky ripped open, a purple gash spilling dread, and Thanos descended, his bulk a silhouette against the void, throne hovering with cold menace. The Black Order fanned out: Ebony Maw's sly smirk, Cull Obsidian's hulking threat, Proxima Midnight's spear a cruel gleam, Corvus Glaive's blade a whisper of death. "Your chaos festers," Thanos rumbled, voice a seismic crack that split the street. Outriders surged, a black tide of claws and shrieks swallowing the dark.

The Mask's rasp sliced through his mind, wild and eager: "Titan's crew's back, kid. Torch 'em." "Thanos, take three?" he grinned, stretching an arm to weave through Proxima's spear thrust, asphalt fracturing where it bit. "Masquerade—chaos bends for no one!" The charisma surged, a rogue flare, but Thanos' gaze stayed granite, his gesture unleashing Outriders in a snarling flood. He bent fluidly, unleashing a vortex of green chaos that shredded a dozen, slamming them into a wall—screeches snapped off in a crunch of bone. Maw's telekinesis gripped a bus, flinging it—he countered with a pulse of shimmering tendrils, tearing it apart mid-air, debris raining like ash.

Cull charged, a fist like a meteor—he twisted high, a chaos whip lashing the brute back, cratering the street with a thunderous boom. Corvus struck, glaive arcing—he flowed like ink, a jagged shard sparking against the blade in a violent clash. The city shuddered, the Order's wrath a relentless tide—then a golden streak blazed through the fray. Nova slammed down, Richard Rider's suit aglow with Centurion fire, helmet a beacon in the dark. "Your chaos tears at the stars," he said, voice sharp with duty, syncing with his green haze in a radiant jolt.

The Mask purred, low and ravenous: "Star blaze is here, kid. Ignite him." "Nova?" he laughed, dodging Corvus' next slash, the air singing with the blade's edge. "Cosmic flame with the shine? I'm Masquerade—chaos burns free!" Nova's energy flared, brushing his tendrils, caught in the pull—a flicker of awe softened his stern jaw. "You're… searing," he murmured, duty bending under the heat's pull. Thanos bellowed, "End them!" but Nova seized his arm, stretching them through a wall into a shattered warehouse as Proxima's spear grazed the edge.

The warehouse was a husk—crates toppled, dust swirling in shafts of broken light, the city's chaos a muted roar beyond. Nova slammed him against a wall, his strength a stellar hammer, tearing his suit with hands pulsing with Nova Force. "You're a supernova," he growled, but his lips met his, a fierce clash of starfire and grit, the Centurion's power surging through. His shirt shredded under Nova's grip, and he tugged the suit down—gold fabric peeled away, baring tanned skin kissed by a cosmic glow, Nova's breath a sharp hiss as his hands traced him—over lean muscle, sinking into his radiant core, fingers clawing at his stellar heat.

"Supernovas flare," he growled, lifting Nova with a surge. His legs locked around him, thighs rippling with Centurion might, and they crashed onto a crate—wood buckled, splintering beneath them. Nova's suit shed fully, energy shimmering off his skin like a dying star, and he stripped him bare—light pulsed along his form, a celestial fire beneath flesh. His mouth roamed—neck, chest, the seam where power met skin—drawing a moan, sharp and resonant, laced with a star's hum. When he entered—slow, then fierce—Nova's cry was a burst of light, energy flaring across the walls in a radiant sweep.

The Mask blazed, amplifying every jolt—the stellar sear of his core, the tremor of his gasps, the grinding rhythm as Nova met him, relentless and luminous. The warehouse twisted—crates lifting, air shimmering with star-dust—as Nova rode him, helmet cast aside, eyes glowing gold with raw want. His climax erupted like a solar flare, light surging, cracking the floor into fissures, and he spilled into him, a torrent that made the Mask howl, green sparks threading through his golden blaze. A seed took root, chaos and cosmic fire fused, and they slumped, slick with sweat, Nova's weight atop him a smoldering anchor.

Nova's smirk gleamed as his breath steadied, a faint shimmer in his gaze. "You're a flare, Masquerade—too wild to quench." "Flares need a star," he grinned, the glow still searing his skin. Nova rose, suit reforming in a flicker of light, his glance a blend of duty and hunger. "I'll blaze with you again." He streaked through a shattered window, a golden arc against the night, leaving him with the Mask, its voice a smug hum: "Twenty-two down, kid. The order's fracturing."

He rose, the warehouse a ruin of cracked stone and glowing dust, Thanos' wrath a fading rumble beyond. Nova's blaze, Rogue's lightning, Namor's storm, Natasha's sting, Mantis' grace, Bobby's frost, Jean's fire, Venom's bite, Pepper's spark, Nebula's steel, Psylocke's edge, Kitty's phase, Emma's mind, Sue's shield, Gamora's blade, Carol's radiance, Mystique's fluidity, Storm's storm, Wanda's magic—the world buckled under his chaos. Thanos loomed, SHIELD hunted, and the X-Men circled. He slid the Mask back on, grin sharp as a supernova. "Time to torch the cosmos."