Surtur sat upon his throne on the dark side of the planet best known as Muspelheim and contemplated the creature chained up inside the cage hanging from the ceiling of his cavernous hall. It was beneath his dignity as Sovereign of the Fiery World to occupy himself with every foolish being to trespass upon his domain. Yet such trespassers were few and far between, and eternity does grow so very tedious.

Once he had sought to end this tedium – to drown the starways in flame and fury, to choke the very stars in smoke and ashes. The fire of his youth – now lost, almost beyond recall. When pressed, he recalled other things – the bridge of light and colours, the host of the heavens, the eternal flame. It pained Surtur to dwell on these things, and so he pushed them from his thoughts, choosing instead to attend to the present.

May as well have this done with, he thought as he gestured with his maimed and crippled left hand. The cage clanged open, the chains clattered loose and the captive fell from on high. It fell and it fell until the chains snapped taut and it jerked to a halt. There it dangled, spinning slowly as the chains swung with its weight.

Surtur felt a twitch of annoyance followed by a surge of outrage as he realized that he knew this one. It was the spawn of that twice-dead and thrice-cursed stripling, the upstart who styled himself All-Father. This one was the one they called-

"Thor Odinson," Surtur spat out, his voice echoing along the walls of his hall. The fingers of his right hand curled tightly over the hilt of his sword, lain against the side of his throne. It was cool to his touch, but it hummed awake as he did, its dull ember-red brightening to the orange of sunset, approaching the yellow of a young star. If the Odinspawn had been within its reach he might have lopped its limbs off then and there, but as it were, he would have to walk to it, and the thought of the wasted effort made him sigh and reconsider.

"Surtur!" The creature spoke with insolent familiarity as its dull sandy head turned toward him, "You're alive! I thought father had killed you, oh – what, half a million years ago?"

Surtur would have been angry, if he did not find the creature so pathetically amusing. Not the brightest of Odin's brood. "I cannot be killed," he said slowly, considering how best to explain it to this – child – that Surtur was not bound by the meaningless concepts like Time and Death that lesser beings such as Asgardians thought to be absolute facts. He settled for dramatic effect, continuing, "Not until I've fulfilled my prophesied destiny."

"Aaand what prophesy would that be?"

"Of Ragnarok! Of the end of Asgard."

"Is that your game, then?" the Odinspawn called out, "Is that why you've been calling to the Infinity Stones? Is it a power play?"

"I do not know what game it is you speak of, but your coming is the sign I have been waiting for," Surtur felt a fire within him the likes of which he had not felt in – oh, what, half a million years? – and reveled in it, "Once I unite my crown with the Eternal Flame, I shall grow larger than the tallest mountain, and I shall plunge my sword into -"

"Wait, wait," the Odinspawn had swung half around and was now facing away from the throne, jerking on its chain to swing back around. "I just - wait till I come around, I – It just feels strange, talking like this – in a moment –yes, go on, you were saying something about a crown? What crown? You have no crown."

"THIS IS MY CROWN!" Surtur tapped on the huge old metal circle over his brows, extending to both sides like massive curling horns.

"Really? I thought they were just big eyebrows, or something. And once you have the Flame, you would grow larger than a – house, was it?"

"Than a MOUNTAIN! And I will lay waste to Asgard, plunging my sword to its core -"

"Wait, wait – not again – I swear, I'm not even moving, it's just doing this on its own."

Surtur watched the Asgardian make a fool of itself for several moments as it swung all the way around again. A ridiculous creature, draped in a bright red cloak, stained from the soot that passes for air in Muspelheim, yet unworn. Asgardian wear. Always shiny. "I shall destroy Asgard, and fulfill my role in the prophesy," he finished as icily as befit the Sovereign of the Fiery World.

"No, you won't. The Eternal Flame is on Asgard, and Odin will stop you, just as he did before."

Surtur felt the ghost of a smile come upon his mouth. "Odin is no longer on Asgard," he spoke softly, "Could it truly be that you do not know?" He rose to his feet, hefting his sword. It was a greatsword made to his size, taller by far than the Odinspawn, clumsy and unwieldy in just one hand, but Surtur felt confident enough. He had watched this one battle the ancient darkness on the turning of the last cycle, but that battle had been won through deceit and trickery – Like Sire, like spawn. Besides, it was bound and unarmed. This would be no battle – only the Lord of Muspelheim executing a trespasser. And an affront to the Allfather as well – a fitting start to the end of Asgard.

"Even if you are right, you will never succeed. If Odin cannot do it, then I shall put an end to you," the Odinspawn spoke calmly, its voice loud for something so small. Surtur never paused, descending the roughhewn steps that lead to his throne. He recalled briefly that once they were not so rough. Even his throne was once carved intricately, and the deformed pillars of his hall were once as straight and smooth as volcanic glass. "And how will you do that?" he said absently as he gazed around, his sword trailing sparks behind him as its tip dragged over the ground. Why were his halls so empty? Why was he not attended by hosts of subjects? Odin had been served thusly, he knew. He stopped in front of the dangling Asgardian.

"I'll think of something," the Asgardian looked up at him, right in his eyes. There was a crashing sound in the distance, magnified by the echoes. Surtur glanced down the hall. He sensed more than saw some great force approaching. He raised his sword high.

A glint of silver flashed toward the Asgardian, leaving a trail of broken columns of granite and obsidian behind it. It broke free just before the Hammer reached it. Surtur swung true, but the Odinspawn interposed its Hammer. Sparks and flames burst from their impact and Surtur staggered back. He knew that Hammer. The Thunderbringer, Anvil-crusher, Fire and Lightning made Stone.

"Mjolnir!" He growled as his host came to life, boiling out of the very stones surrounding them. They were made of the same igneous stone, harder than diamond, flecked with molten rock. They rushed toward the trespasser, swinging their stone cudgels and half-molten flails. Within seconds, the Asgardian was buried under a boiling river of living stone.

And then the Hammer swung and it was free, whirling the Anvil-crusher like a child's toy, shattering Surtur's warriors with every hit. It threw the Hammer and it flew through six of the stone beings before turning and tracing a wide circle around the Odinspawn, an unstoppable force carving a ring around its wielder that none could pass. Surtur roared and charged the ring, slashing down, but the Hammer returned to the Odinspawn a second too soon and his blade struck bare rock. He looked up to see the Asgardian rising high, the Hammer flashing with the power of the storm. It descended like a thunderbolt, releasing the power. It swept over the hall, dissipating Surtur's minions and pushing him back again.

Surtur was no fool. He knew it was over long before the Odinspawn deftly parried his backhand slash, using its momentum to propel itself to his head, delivering an earth-shattering blow to his crown. In those few moments, Surtur felt oddly at peace, assured of his destiny even as his very being crumbled under Mjolnir's assault.

I shall destroy Asgard, and fulfill my role in the prophesy.