Marvel: The Silver-Haired Hacker and Her Mecha Fleet

The chaotic, drunken cheers in the banquet hall were so deafening they practically lifted the vaulted dome off its pillars.

Hundreds of heavily intoxicated Asgardian warriors violently shoved their way to the edge of the cleared arena, aggressively slapping the oak tables and rhythmically stomping their heavy boots onto the marble floor. The intense, rhythmic vibrations made the silver wine cups on the tables physically rattle. Every single pair of eyes in the hall was firmly, obsessively locked onto the two figures standing in the center of the ring, desperately waiting to witness the violent duel between the mysterious mortal and Asgard's greatest female warrior.

Standing on the far side of the arena, the casual, bratty smile on Mira's face slowly faded.

The profound nonchalance in her digital eyes was instantly replaced by a cold, terrifying hint of absolute tactical focus. She gently closed her eyes, centralized her processing power, and mobilized a minuscule fraction of the Mind Cube energy radiating within her cybernetic chassis.

Relying exclusively on her most basic, fundamental Matter Reconstruction algorithms, a faint wisp of ghostly, glowing blue light flickered into existence directly at the tip of her raised right index finger.

The localized light violently converged and instantly solidified into physical mass within her palm.

In the literal blink of an eye, a heavy, matte-black metallic sword hilt materialized out of absolute thin air.

The custom-forged hilt was roughly twelve inches long, coated in a sleek, frosted tactical texture and engraved with highly functional, anti-slip kinetic grip patterns. The ergonomic grip perfectly followed the natural curve of her hand, and a dense, machined metal counterweight hung elegantly from the pommel.

The weapon's overall aesthetic was sharp, highly utilitarian, and overflowing with brutal mechanical texture. It looked absolutely nothing like the ornate, magically forged Asgardian weapons covered in glowing runes and mythological carvings. Instead, it exuded the cold, calculated, mass-produced lethality of an advanced interstellar civilization.

"Oho——!!"

This casual, terrifyingly casual display of creating complex physical matter out of thin air instantly sent the adrenaline of the banquet hall soaring into the stratosphere.

Volstagg violently slapped the oak table so hard the heavy wood fractured. He nearly fell completely off his chair, his booming voice ringing in everyone's ears. "Magnificent! A true magical conjuration! Female warrior of Midgard, what kind of glorious treasure is that?!"

The surrounding Asgardian Einherjar immediately erupted into a deafening chorus of cheers and sharp whistles. The martial curiosity and violent expectation burning in their eyes grew exponentially stronger.

They had lived for millennia. They had witnessed countless magical conjurations, and they had wielded legendary, world-breaking divine weapons forged by dwarven gods. But they had absolutely never seen a simple, matte-black metallic hilt that looked so technologically ordinary, yet radiated such an inexplicable, suffocating sense of lethal kinetic pressure.

However, standing directly opposite her in the arena, Sif instantly dropped her relaxed, confident demeanor.

The warrior's leather gloves tightened violently around the leather grip of her longsword and the rim of her reinforced round shield. Her heroic, beautiful brow furrowed into a deep, highly stressed V.

As an apex, vanguard warrior of the Realm Eternal who had survived hundreds of brutal, bloody planetary campaigns, Sif's combat perception was infinitely sharper than the drunken grunts screaming in the audience.

She could clearly, biologically feel that lurking within that seemingly ordinary, matte-black mechanical hilt was a terrifying, highly volatile energy signature radiating extreme, apocalyptic heat. Even before the weapon was physically activated, the raw thermal radiation made the tiny hairs on Sif's arms instinctively stand on end.

This was absolutely no ordinary magical trinket. This was a true, highly lethal, catastrophic weapon capable of threatening her immortal biology.

Sif took a slow, highly calculated breath. She shifted her heavy boots slightly against the marble, aggressively adjusting her tactical stance. She brought her reinforced round shield up directly in front of her vital organs, and angled her legendary Asgardian longsword diagonally toward the floor.

She assumed Asgard's most standard, highly defensive vanguard opening stance. Every single muscle in her body was coiled and tensed like a loaded spring. Her dark eyes, which had been overflowing with friendly curiosity moments ago, now contained nothing but the pure, violent, absolute battle intent reserved exclusively for facing a highly lethal enemy.

Mira looked down at the matte-black hilt resting comfortably in her hand. A faint, highly amused smirk tugged at the corners of her lips.

Right now, in the entire Marvel Cinematic Universe, absolutely no one possessed the cultural context to recognize what this specific weapon was. After all, the highly controversial Star Wars sequel trilogy wouldn't logically be released in Earth's movie theaters for several more years. Let alone this highly specific, highly recognizable Kylo Ren (scratched out) / Cairo Man'scrossguard lightsaber design.

As an absolute, die-hard Star Wars fanatic—even though she aggressively refused to acknowledge the canonical legitimacy of the unofficial sequel trilogy filmed by Darth Mickey—she had researched the mechanics of lightsabers and the Seven Classical Forms of Lightsaber Combat far more thoroughly than her actual university major.

Holding this custom-built, perfectly reconstructed lightsaber hilt in her hand, a profound feeling of both bizarre unreality and thrilling familiarity flooded her cybernetic heart.

Unlike in her previous reality on Earth, where these weapons were nothing more than cheap plastic toys designed to be swung around in backyards, here... the heavy, dense weight of the lightsaber hilt was a terrifyingly real, tangible physical weapon resting perfectly in her palm.

She slowly raised her right hand holding the weapon. With an arrogant smirk, she gently pressed her thumb against the primary ignition switch located on the side of the emitter matrix.

Vwoom——!!

A highly recognizable, low, aggressively sharp, crackling hum instantly echoed throughout the massive banquet hall, completely silencing the crowd.

Immediately following the audio signature, three blinding, unstable, violently crackling crimson plasma blades violently erupted from the emitter matrix!

The primary central blade was exactly 1.2 meters long, composed of highly concentrated, violently hot plasma carrying literal world-destroying thermodynamic heat. The unstable edges of the crimson blade flickered and sparked aggressively, emitting a constant, terrifying, sizzling, burning audio signature.

Simultaneously, on either side of the primary emitter, two highly unstable, ten-centimeter secondary plasma blades erupted horizontally, forming the brutal, highly iconic crossguard structure of a medieval greatsword.

Under the warm glow of the Asgardian runic lamps, the three violently unstable crimson blades radiated a terrifying, highly dangerous, and deeply eerie thermodynamic luster.

The entire, chaotic banquet hall instantly plunged into an absolute, deathly silence.

The hundreds of Asgardian warriors who had been screaming and cheering like madmen just a microsecond ago were now completely frozen in place like stone statues. Their mouths were hanging open wide enough to fit a solid oak tankard inside. Their eyes were violently glued to the crackling red lightsaber humming in Mira's hand, so shocked they literally forgot how to process oxygen.

They had lived for hundreds, some thousands of years. They had violently traveled the Nine Realms and witnessed countless, unimaginable divine weapons. They had fought against magical longswords that could spit dragon fire. They were intimately familiar with Thor's legendary war hammer that could aggressively summon the wrath of the heavens.

But they had absolutely never, in all their immortal lives, witnessed a weapon quite like this.

There was absolutely no physical metal blade. The weapon was composed entirely, purely of highly concentrated thermal energy, visibly hot enough to scorch the ambient oxygen out of the air. That terrifying, highly aggressive visual cue—the mathematical certainty that the blade could effortlessly slice through absolutely anything it touched—made their battle-hardened scalps tingle violently, even from thirty feet away.

The massive horn cup Volstagg had raised halfway to his mouth completely froze in mid-air. He literally forgot to chew the roasted beast meat currently sitting on his tongue.

Fandral's charming, arrogant smile completely vanished from his face. He leaned forward slightly over his table, his eyes overflowing with unbelievable, profound shock.

Even the perpetually stoic, highly disciplined Hogun suddenly stood up completely from his chair. His hand instinctively, violently gripped the hilt of his mace at his waist as he stared intensely at the crackling crimson crossguard lightsaber.

Queen Frigga, sitting gracefully in the royal main seat, also sat up significantly straighter. Looking at the terrifying plasma weapon humming in Mira's hand, a massive flash of profound surprise and deep, academic admiration crossed her ancient eyes.

The Queen had witnessed countless magical and cosmic wonders, but she had never seen a piece of technology that constrained thermal energy to such a terrifying, absolute extreme purely to forge a microscopic cutting edge. This flawless, absolute thermodynamic control over raw plasma was something even Asgard's apex dwarven craftsmen might not logically be able to engineer.

"By the Norns... what kind of cursed weapon is this?" A veteran Einherjar warrior standing in the front row finally couldn't help but whisper in absolute, terrified shock.

And for Sif, standing exactly ten feet away at the epicenter of the arena, the terrifying sensation was infinitely more intense.

The exact microsecond the crimson lightsaber fully ignited, a massive wave of extreme, blistering thermodynamic heat violently blew directly against her face. Her leather-gloved hand gripping the rim of her shield tightened so hard her knuckles popped.

She could clearly, instinctively feel that her legendary Asgardian longsword—a weapon flawlessly forged by Asgard's finest craftsmen, heavily enchanted to easily resist most magical and physical kinetic impacts —would likely be absolutely no different from wet tissue paper in front of this aggressively crackling red energy blade.

She could anticipate that the exact millisecond her solid steel longsword physically collided with that thermal blade, the Asgardian metal would be instantly, violently melted completely through.

But this extreme, terrifying, highly lethal danger did not cause her to retreat a single inch. Instead, it caused the primal battle intent blazing in her dark eyes to ignite to its absolute, adrenaline-fueled peak.

She aggressively gripped her round shield, stepped her heavy boots down hard against the marble, and violently lowered her center of gravity even further, desperately preparing to face the apocalyptic weapon with every single ounce of her legendary strength.

Mira, however, seemed completely and utterly unbothered by the shocked, terrified gazes of the audience, or the surging, violent battle intent radiating from Sif.

Holding the heavy lightsaber, she gave her right wrist a slight, elegant twist.

The violent crimson blade traced a flawless, highly smooth arc through the ambient air, leaving behind a brief, highly cinematic red afterimage. The violently sizzling, burning sound made everyone's scalp tingle uncomfortably.

In the exact next microsecond, Mira shifted her feet slightly. She stood perfectly sideways, anchoring her physical weight firmly and flawlessly onto her right leg. She casually rested her left hand elegantly behind her back.

She slowly, deliberately raised the lightsaber in her right hand, holding the violently hot crimson blade perfectly, vertical directly in front of her face.

The matte-black hilt was held steadily, confidently by her side, with the primary blade pointing straight up toward the vaulted dome. Her entire arm and the crackling plasma blade formed a flawless, absolute geometric line. She stood tall and arrogant, yet her posture radiated an extremely relaxed, highly lethal flexibility.

Despite physically wielding a brutal, crossguard lightsaber absolutely overflowing with violent thermodynamic destruction, her opening combat stance exuded an almost arrogant, profound elegance. She looked exactly like an apex, legendary swordmaster. Every single microscopic physical movement was precise to the absolute extreme, completely devoid of a single hint of unnecessary swaying or kinetic waste.

This was exactly the absolute, standard opening stance of the Second Form of classical lightsaber combat in Star Wars lore.

It was a style designed explicitly, purely for one-on-one, lethal dueling.

Form II: Makashi.

It was also the highly iconic, arrogant opening salute favored by Count Dooku.

Unlike the broad, sweeping, chaotic strokes and the highly defense-oriented nature of Form I (Shii-Cho), the Makashi combat style was engineered from its very inception exclusively for the lethal art of lightsaber-to-lightsaber duels.

Makashi entirely discarded all redundant, highly kinetic hacking and slashing motions. Instead, it pursued absolute precision, terrifying elegance, and lethal thermodynamic efficiency to the absolute extreme.

With highly tricky, blindingly swift thrusts as its core foundation, every single Makashi movement aimed directly at exploiting the microscopic flaws in an opponent's defense. It utilized the smallest possible physical movements to inflict the maximum, most lethal thermodynamic damage.

It was the absolute, perfect counter-style to heavily armored, brute-force opponents.

And Sif's highly traditional Asgardian combat techniques—which relied primarily on overwhelming physical strength, relentless ferocity, and broad, heavy, kinetic hacking strikes —happened to run directly, violently into the absolute perfect tactical counter-point of the Makashi style.

Mira confidently held the lightsaber and looked up slightly at Sif from beneath her silver bangs.

A highly arrogant, faint smile curled her lips. In her originally clear, highly mischievous digital eyes, only the terrifying, absolute focus and lethal sharpness of an apex swordsman remained.

The violently crackling crimson lightsaber was beautifully reflected in her azure pupils. The aggressive, sizzling hum echoed loudly in the totally silent, hollow banquet hall.

The surrounding hundreds of Asgardian warriors absolutely did not dare to breathe. The once deafeningly noisy hall was now so completely, terrifyingly quiet that the only sounds in the room were the violent burning of the plasma blade and the steady, highly controlled breathing of the two duelists.

Everyone held their breath, desperately waiting for the duel to officially begin.

Sif aggressively stared at Mira's highly unorthodox, elegant opening stance. The pupils of her dark eyes shrank slightly.

She could not understand the tactical pattern of this bizarre sword style. Such incredibly precise, minimalistic swordsmanship had never logically existed anywhere in the Nine Realms.

But her biological instincts as a top-tier, veteran warrior were screaming absolute, bloody warnings at her brain.

This seemingly delicate, highly fragile Midgardian girl, casually holding that terrifying, eerie red energy sword, felt exactly like an apex leopard that had briefly retracted its claws. She appeared highly elegant and profoundly calm, but every single square inch of her physical posture hid highly lethal, absolutely devastating killing intent.

Sif took a deep, massive breath.

She let out a sudden, highly aggressive, booming warrior's shout, and was the absolute first to violently move.

She aggressively raised her heavy round shield to protect her front vitals, and her legendary Asgardian longsword violently whistled through the ambient air.

Utilizing the massive kinetic momentum of her explosive forward charge, Sif swung the heavy steel blade toward Mira's waist in a massive, brutal horizontal sweep. The fierce, overwhelming physical power carried the highly unique, reckless bravery of an apex Asgardian vanguard.

The ambient oxygen was violently sliced open by the heavy steel blade, emitting a terrifying, piercing, high-pitched whistle.

Mira stood her ground.

Watching the highly lethal Asgardian longsword aggressively sweeping toward her ribs, she simply gave her right wrist—currently holding the crackling lightsaber—a very slight, elegant twist.

The violent crimson plasma blade traced an extremely fine, highly precise arc in the ambient air.

Without dodging a single inch, Mira confidently met the brutal kinetic attack directly head-on...

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