Early Morning, Manhattan
The sun hadn't yet cleared the horizon when Steve found Garen and Darius already in the Tower's training room, their weapons propped carefully against the wall. The Demacian was going through a precise set of sword forms, each movement flowing into the next with practiced grace. His massive blade cut through the air with surprising speed, the morning light catching its edges. Meanwhile, the Noxian general performed a series of controlled strikes with a training axe, each impact powerful enough to create audible displacement of air.
"You're up early," Steve observed, wrapping his hands with tape. He'd expected to have the training room to himself at this hour, but he should have known better. Warriors were warriors, no matter which world they came from.
"Old habits," Garen replied, completing his form with a flourish that would have decapitated three opponents in a single swing. "In Demacia, the Dauntless Vanguard trains before dawn. It builds discipline and reminds us that duty never rests."
"The Trifarian Legion has similar practices," Darius added, his axe coming to rest at his side. He studied Steve's methodical preparation with approval. "Though we usually train with live steel. Helps maintain the proper... motivation."
"Your soldiers must have excellent health coverage," Steve remarked dryly, earning a bark of laughter from the Noxian.
"They either learn to dodge or they learn to heal quickly," Darius responded, a hint of dark humor in his voice. "Those who can't do either don't remain in the Legion long."
Garen shook his head, but there was a grudging respect in his voice. "Say what you will about Noxian methods, they do produce results. Though I prefer our approach of building excellence through discipline rather than survival."
"Well," Steve moved toward the sparring mat, shield settling onto his arm, "how about testing those methods against something new? I'm curious to see how your training holds up against mine."
Both warriors turned to him with interest, and Steve could see them already assessing his stance, his equipment, the way he carried himself. It was the look of experienced commanders evaluating a potential threat – or ally.
The first exchange came from Garen, his training sword sweeping in a precise arc that would have overwhelmed a normal opponent. Steve's shield met it with a resounding clang, deflecting the blade while simultaneously moving into a counterattack. Garen's eyes widened slightly – clearly, he hadn't expected such speed from someone without magical enhancement.
"Your reaction time," Garen noted, recovering smoothly. "It's remarkable for one without arcane augmentation."
"Science, not sorcery," Steve replied, already moving to counter Darius's flanking maneuver. "Though where I'm from, sometimes it's hard to tell the difference."
Darius observed for another moment before joining the fray in earnest, turning it into a three-way spar. His style contrasted sharply with Garen's disciplined technique – all brutal efficiency and crushing power. Steve found himself caught between Noxian aggression and Demacian precision, forcing him to employ every trick he'd learned since receiving the serum.
"Your footwork," Garen noted, recovering from a shield bash that would have staggered a lesser warrior. "It's unlike anything I've seen in our realm. No wasted movement, yet you incorporate elements I'd expect from a dozen different fighting styles."
Steve rolled under one of Darius's sweeping strikes, coming up between them. "Modern military training, mixed with a few years of Brooklyn street fighting. When you start out as the smallest guy in every fight, you learn to be efficient."
"Smallest?" Darius scoffed, launching another attack. "You jest, surely."
"It's a long story," Steve replied, parrying the blow. "Involving a lot of science I still don't fully understand."
The next exchange had Darius and Garen inadvertently working in tandem, forcing Steve to demonstrate why he was considered one of Earth's greatest fighters. His shield became a blur of motion – blocking Garen's overhead strike while its edge caught Darius's ankle sweep, then spinning into a throw that scattered both warriors.
"Impressive," Darius admitted, rising with a predatory grin. "In Noxus, we'd have recruited you young. Though perhaps not as young as you're suggesting you once were."
"Pretty sure Demacia would have gotten to him first," Garen countered, settling back into a ready stance. "That level of discipline and honor isn't born from Noxian training yards."
"No?" Darius's grin turned challenging. "Tell me, Captain, what drives you? Is it Demacian ideals of justice and duty, or Noxian strength and determination?"
"Neither and both," Steve replied, shield ready. "Where I'm from, we believe that strength without compassion becomes tyranny, and ideals without the power to defend them are just empty words."
Both warriors considered this, and Steve could see them processing the philosophy. Their brief contemplation was interrupted by Tony's voice over the intercom, carrying its usual mix of urgency and amusement.
"Cap, our dimension-hopping friends might want to see this. Turn on the news," Tony's voice came through the intercom. The wall screen activated, showing footage of cleanup efforts in Manhattan. Crews were attempting to move Chitauri debris, but some pieces were proving too heavy or dangerous to handle conventionally. Emergency workers were struggling with a particularly large piece of alien technology that had partially embedded itself in the side of a building.
"Looks like a job for some super-powered moving crews," Tony's voice held a hint of suggestion. "Unless our guests prefer to stick to training exercises? And before you ask - Thor's still off-world dealing with Loki's trial on Asgard, Banner's holed up in the lab studying that weird piece of Chitauri tech we found yesterday, and Fury called Romanoff and Barton back to S.H.I.E.L.D. for some urgent briefing. Looks like it's just us for cleanup duty today."
Steve looked at the two warriors, both of whom were studying the footage with professional interest. "Feel like helping? It's not as glamorous as combat, but it's just as important."
"Reconstruction is a warrior's duty as well," Garen replied firmly. "In Demacia, we believe that protecting the people means more than just fighting their battles."
Darius nodded in agreement, though his reasoning differed. "Strength is best demonstrated through action, not words. We'll help."
An hour later, the unlikely trio found themselves in midtown Manhattan, where the extent of the destruction became truly apparent. The organized teams already at work paused briefly to stare at the newcomers – Garen's ornate armor and massive sword drew particular attention, as did Darius's imposing presence. However, after they easily lifted what would have taken machines to move, the looks turned appreciative.
Tony arrived shortly after, unable to resist joining what he called "the super-powered construction crew." His arrival sparked an immediate debate about the relative merits of technology versus traditional warfare, with both Garen and Darius expressing skepticism about the reliability of such complex armor.
"What happens when your enchantments fail?" Garen asked, watching Tony effortlessly lift a massive piece of debris.
"First, they're not enchantments – they're sophisticated technological systems," Tony corrected, his faceplate lifting to reveal his grin. "And second, I have redundancies for my redundancies. Though I have to admit, there's something to be said for the reliability of good old-fashioned steel."
"The warrior's strength should come from within," Darius added, hefting a large chunk of concrete. "Though I cannot deny the effectiveness of your methods."
"Says the man wielding a magically-enhanced axe," Tony pointed out.
"That's... different," Darius muttered, though he seemed less certain.
The morning's work was interrupted by the arrival of Spider-Man, who swung onto the scene with his characteristic flair. He landed in a crouch atop a partially cleared pile of debris, head tilting as he took in the unusual group.
"Wow, when they said we had visitors from another dimension, I was expecting something a little more... I don't know, alien?" He dropped down to street level, approaching the group. "Though I guess the armor's pretty otherworldly. Quick question – how do you guys do bathroom breaks in all that? Asking for a friend who sometimes has to wear his work clothes for eight hours straight."
Garen looked bewildered by both the question and Spider-Man's casual demeanor. "I don't understand," he said, watching the hero casually web up some unstable debris. "You have the power to rival mages, yet you make jokes while fighting?"
"Hey, if you're gonna swing around the city in red and blue spandex, you gotta have a sense of humor about it," Spider-Man replied, hanging upside down. "Speaking of fashion choices, is the shoulder pad single or double-breasted? Asking for a friend who's definitely not me trying to upgrade his costume."
"The spider has a point," Tony interjected, landing beside them. "Though I have to say, the medieval warlord look is working for both of you. Very intimidating. Maybe we should consider a lineup of historically-inspired armors."
Darius, who had been quietly working nearby, actually cracked a smile. "The spider's approach is not without merit. Though in Noxus, such behavior would get you—"
"Let me guess," Spider-Man interrupted, still inverted, "executed? Imprisoned? Forced to watch reality TV? Wait, do you guys have reality TV in your dimension? If not, trust me, that last one's worse than it sounds."
"...promoted, actually," Darius finished, surprising everyone. "Psychological warfare is still warfare. A laughing warrior who can back up his words is often more intimidating than a silent one."
"See?" Spider-Man gestured triumphantly, though the effect was somewhat diminished by his upside-down position. "The scary axe guy gets it! Though I have to say, my quips usually come from a place of nervous energy and crippling responsibility rather than psychological warfare."
The arrival of the Fantastic Four added another layer of complexity to the cleanup – and to the cultural exchange. Johnny Storm took one look at the warriors' armor and couldn't resist commenting.
"Hey Ben, looks like you've got competition in the fashion department!" Johnny called out, flames dancing around him as he flew past. "Though I gotta say, the whole 'medieval knight' thing is a bit last century. Or last millennium, I guess."
The Thing's gravelly reply was immediate. "At least their armor's supposed to be medieval, Matchstick. What's your excuse for that uniform? Did you lose a bet with a blue spandex salesman?"
"It's flame-retardant!" Johnny protested, executing a fiery loop-de-loop.
"So's your personality, kid," Ben shot back, easily lifting a fallen streetlight. "Hey, tall dark and armored," he called to Darius, "bet I can clear more debris than you in the next hour."
Darius's eyes narrowed at the challenge. "Your confidence will be your undoing, creature of stone."
"Oh, it is on," Ben grinned, cracking his rocky knuckles.
Meanwhile, Reed Richards had become fascinated by the composition of their armor, his stretched neck and arms winding around Garen like curious snakes as he examined the metalwork. "Fascinating! The molecular structure suggests properties that shouldn't be possible with medieval metallurgy. The magical enhancement must have altered the very atomic structure of the metal!"
"Dr. Richards," Garen said with remarkable patience, "while I respect your scholarly interest, I would appreciate if you could conduct your examination with a bit more... personal space."
"Oh! Of course, my apologies," Reed retracted himself, though his excited expression remained. "It's just that the implications for materials science are extraordinary! The integration of mystical energy with physical matter at such a fundamental level..."
"Reed," Sue Storm called out, creating a force field to stabilize a precarious structure, "maybe save the scientific analysis for when they're not trying to work?"
The morning's already complex dynamics shifted again with the arrival of the X-Men. Storm's command of weather drew genuine respect from both warriors, though they debated whether her powers would be considered sorcery in Demacia.
"In our world," Garen explained to her, helping move a large piece of debris, "such powers often come with a price. Many who wield them become corrupted, twisted by their abilities."
"In this world too," Storm replied, her eyes going white as she lifted debris with controlled winds. "But we choose how to pay it. Power itself is neutral – it is the wielder's heart that determines its nature."
"Your wisdom rivals that of our greatest scholars," Garen admitted. "Though I fear many in Demacia would still struggle to accept such ideas."
"Change comes slowly," Storm agreed, "but it does come. We have fought similar battles here."
The day's most entertaining moment came when Logan, passing by with a large chunk of alien metal, caught a familiar scent and stopped. His nostrils flared as he processed the unusual odor.
"Hey, bub," he called to Darius, "your axe – that blood on it, it's old but... different. Not like anything I've smelled before."
Darius raised an eyebrow, studying Logan with new interest. "Vastayan. Rebel faction. Fast healers, enhanced senses. Not unlike yourself, it seems."
Logan grinned, extending his claws with their signature sound. "Got some of those myself. Though I'm guessing your world's healing factors don't come with built-in cutlery."
"Fascinating," Darius studied the adamantium blades with professional appreciation. "The Smith God Ornn himself would admire such weaponry. Clean cuts, unbreakable edge... perfect for both precision and power."
"Yeah, they come in handy," Logan retracted the claws. "Though sometimes I miss the simplicity of a good axe. Less... complicated."
"There is beauty in simplicity," Darius agreed. "Though I admit, such additions to my own weapon would not go amiss."
The day continued with similar moments of cultural exchange and cooperation. By late afternoon, Tony had convinced Garen to try a hot dog from a street vendor – the warrior's expression upon tasting it was something between confusion and delight.
"This... street food," Garen said, carefully wielding the hot dog like it might explode, "it's surprisingly complex in flavor. Though I question the wisdom of selling meat in such a casual manner."
"Welcome to New York," Tony grinned. "Where the best food often comes from the most questionable sources. Just wait until you try pizza."
Darius, meanwhile, had developed an appreciation for coffee, though he insisted it wasn't as strong as Noxian brews. "Decent," he admitted after his third cup, "but our soldiers drink something that would make this taste like water."
"Sounds like a challenge," Logan remarked. "Ever tried espresso?"
As the sun began to set, casting long shadows between the buildings, both warriors had begun to adjust to their new reality – though neither could shake the feeling that this was just the beginning of their strange journey.
"Time to head back," Steve called out, surveying the day's progress with satisfaction. "Good work today, everyone."
"You know," Spider-Man said as they prepared to leave, hanging from a nearby lamppost, "if you guys are staying a while, you should really check out some of the city's landmarks. The Empire State Building has this whole medieval castle vibe at the top - might make you feel right at home. Though probably less heavily armed."
Before either warrior could respond, a hot dog vendor called out from his cart.
"Hey! These guys with you?" The vendor gestured to the warriors. "They helped save my cart from some falling debris. They eat free here, any time!" He paused, looking at their armor. "Though maybe come in civilian clothes next time? You're scaring away the tourists."
"See?" Spider-Man quipped. "Already making friends. Next thing you know, you'll be getting Twitter accounts. Though maybe we should work on your usernames. 'BigSwordEnergy' and 'AxeToGrind' are probably already taken."
As they walked toward the waiting Quinjet, Garen and Darius shared another look. They'd survived another day in this strange new world, learning more than either had expected about its people and its ways.
"Their world is as strange as ours," Darius muttered as they watched Johnny Storm fly past, flames trailing behind him. "Perhaps stranger."
"Perhaps," Garen replied, helping secure a final piece of dangling debris. "Former enemies fighting side by side, powers that would be feared in our world being used openly to help others." He paused, considering. "Something we could learn from."
"Don't get sentimental," Darius growled, but there was less edge to his voice than usual. "Though... their methods do seem effective. And their coffee isn't entirely terrible."
The Quinjet lifted off as the last rays of sunlight painted the Manhattan skyline in gold and crimson. Below them, the city continued its recovery, its heroes – both super and ordinary –