Mud clung to his boots as he trudged through the sloppy ground. The rain had made the climate unbearably humid for Thor, whose heavy armor stuck to his large muscular frame unpleasantly—trapping heat and sweat—making him boil in his own juices.
Sweat pooled on his brows, he stopped. The thick humidity in the air made every breath suffocating. His head swims as his skin flushed to bright pink, the heat wreaking havoc on his body.
He's queasy, his knees are like gelatin. Reaching for the straps of his vest, he frantically undid them, throwing the hot, heavy clothing off his body. He breathes a sigh of relief as cool air kissed his exposed torso.
Wiping sweat off his brows he took a seat to rest. He had been walking hours since the fight, his body ached with every step he took, screaming for him to stop—to rest, to drink. He can't, not with his home under attack. A king isn't a king without a kingdom to rule.
He stood, snatching his armor he unclasped his cape, wrapping it around his torso he fashioned it into a cloak. The fabric was light and breathable, better suited for travel than his thick heavy armor.
Gazing at the sky he observed as the clouds cleared, sunlight filtered through the gaps.
He feels warmth as the rays licked his skin, drying the salted dew that coated him.
The change in weather affected his mood as he smiled.
-Linebreak-
The mud sucked him deeper with every step, the sun had half baked the earth making the soil crust on top whilst under it stayed a sloppy stew. It took great effort to walk even a few feet.
Heaving, he pulled his leg. Battling against the ground for dominance, the suction of the mud wasn't enough to hold him as it released his foot with a pop.
Even with his enhanced strength and stamina, traversing the bog had sapped him of his dwindling energy. It took great effort to travel in this terrain—a normal man would have gone fatigued in mere minutes—but Thor isn't a man; he's a God.
The mud didn't bother him. The smell did. Exposed garbage and carcases cooked as a heat wave swept through the land.
His ears perked when he heard explosions. Tensed, he waited for whomever caused them to appear. Scanning the dump he saw a mound burst as gas escaped from the decaying pile, permeating the air with a stench that made his nose wrinkle. The smell so foul it made him gag as gas invaded his mouth making him taste the foul concoction.
He figuratively breathed easy, glad nobody had found him yet. Still the stench was unbearable. Not taking a second more he hastened his pace.
Walking over another mound he saw the great city, his journey's end. Still two miles away, now that he had closed the distance he could take a rest.
Taking a seat on a trash pile he grimaced when something squishy pop beneath his trousers, feeling liquid travel on his leg, he looked down and saw a disgusting, viscous goop seep into his boots.
He sighed, "I'm going to need a bath."
This day had been terrible. First, he lost his father. Second, he has a murderous sister. Third, he is stranded in an unknown land. Fourth, he fought a damn lunatic almost killed him. And Fifth, he is covered in garbage and stunk like a privy.
The city is less than an hour away he can afford to muck around, since the battle his thoughts had always gone back to that feeling. The surge of electricity thrumming through his veins, electrifying him. Compelling him to move, to fight. To kill.
He thought of that mad Asgardian—tattoos marred his pale skin, ratty disheveled hair and those cold, piercing blue eyes. Beneath the rage, the madness, under a thick layer of ice those piercing orbs betrayed sadness and longing.
Thor knew those emotions all too well. The wish to have everything back the way it used to be. Before Hela, before Loki's betrayal, their parents death, his banishment. Back when they used to be so happy, drinking wine and bedding women, getting into fights for the dumbest of reasons. When Asgard was respected and all the realms breathed peace. He supposed it was all for the better things happened the way it did.
Thor wished he divined the name of that mad Asgardian. In his rage he was hasty and delivered swift judgement—ripping his head off. He wanted to know why and how he got here. They could have gone back to Asgard together and stopped Hela—not that he thinks the madman could even scratch her.
If she broke his hammer like glass she would've done the same to the madman.
The madman was strong however—easily the strongest foe he had ever faced. Not even the hulk unleashed that much punishment.
What even is that madman. Definitely not a normal Asgardian, the power he possessed is comparable to the Gods. To harness the elements is something only Gods could do.
He shook his head. Father had great many secrets, who's to say he never hid one more God. Like how he kept Hela's existence from him and Loki.
He wonders about those eyes, the emotions they invoked.
Rage...
Madness...
Bloodlust...
The thrill of battle...
Eyes widened in realization. "Berserker." He whispered.
Berserker…
That man was a berserker, famed warriors of old. Elite warriors lost through history, able to harness monstrous levels of strength by tapping into their innate power...
Warriors Madness.
Father used to tell him and Loki stories about them, when they walked the gardens to watch the sunset, he always looked forward hearing about them and His father's adventures.
In his childish wonder however, he would always forget that his father never told them stories—he told them lessons. Teaching them about values, kindness and how to rule. That a warriors life isn't one to look forward to—something he always ignored, which led him to almost bringing war to the nine realms when he attacked Jötunheim.
He felt giddy knowing he had fought and bested a berserker.
No, not a full berserker. A demigod, half-god half-berserker.
Still, as a warrior this battle is worthy for a song.
He can't wait to tell the Warriors Thre—
He bit his tongue.
What is wrong with him. His home is under attack, how could he be cheerful at a time like this. Supposed he should lighten his mood for a time. If he stews too much in all the negativity of today madness might overtake him.
Enough thoughts for now. This could be saved for later.
Right now, he needed to learn how to harness lightning. In Midgard they had a quaint ritual, harnessing their inner power by meditating.
He closed his eyes and inhaled, blocking out all his senses he concentrated. A thrum reverberated through his spine. Using his body like Mjölnir he channeled his thunder—his inner turmoil. Visualizing electricity coursing through his veins, empowering him. The hairs in his arms stood, heat generated around him, skin prickles as static filled the air.
The shrill sound of electricity echoed in his ears. He opened his eyes, observing electricity sparkle from his fingers. He gradually expanded his gates, allowing more power to filter through. The sparkles grew in length and size.
He smiled, pointing to his neck he channeled his power and unleashed it like a wild torrent straight at the device stuck to his skin.
"Argh!" He fell to the ground screaming as the device shocked him. Electricity—unlike his own—pulsated through his body, lasting more than a minute.
He groaned, his tongue felt numb.
The device beeped twice. It may have activated a beacon and broadcasted his location. Curse this planet and curse that blasted woman.
-Linebreak-
The city was bustling when he entered, ships and scavengers departed droves. Children were playing, splashing water on bystanders as they ran through puddles.
It looked and smelled like any other cities, at first glance nothing seemed too out of the ordinary—he hoped.
He walked around for a while, wandering the streets and letting his feet control where he went.
Eventually he had come across a bar, he couldn't make of what the sign said but judging from the drunks who littered the outside and the occasional scoundrel getting thrown out—and from past experiences—he could discern whether an establishment is a bar or not with a single glance.
Entering the stingy establishment he noticed several pair of eyes staring at him.
Ignoring them he walked over the counter and observed the barkeep, he was tall and heavy built with a potbelly, tattoos marked his hands, faintly hiding the scars on his knuckles. Wearing only a tank top he placed his towel over his shoulder when he finished wiping a glass dry and turned to him.
"...What will it be stranger." The gruff, heavy built barkeep drawled out. The faint stench alcohol lined his breath.
Thor cleared his throat, "J-Just water." His voice hoarse and raw as he spoke.
The barkeep turned and scoffed, "Give me a second."
He eyed the bar and patrons as he waited for his glass of water. He could feel them scrutinizing him, sizing him up. Tugging his cloak tight he hoped they would mind their own business, he doesn't have the time for any drunken squabbles.
"Here's yer glass of water." The barkeep said as he returned, unceremoniously dropping the glass on the table causing the contents inside to spill.
"Uh—thank you." He eagerly took the glass, dying to quench his thirst with water. He swallowed, grimacing in disgust by the flavor. Peering inside the cup he was appalled by its contents—the water was dark, silt gathered on the bottom of the glass. Objects not fit for consumption floated on the surface on the foul liquid.
He sighed, thanks to his Asgardian physiology he was sure he wouldn't get sick from drinking this—maybe. Still his throat was parched and water is water, he took a gulp and immediately spat it out, he couldn't stomach it.
Fury burned in his mind. "What foul beverage did you try and make me drink, cur." He snarled.
A hush fell across the bar.
The barkeep glared at Thor. Crossing his arms. "Listen you cheap bastard, this is a bar—for alcohol. Either you order something or get out."
The sound of skidding chairs echoed through the silence. Patrons brandishing knives encircled him.
"What would it be?" The barkeep asked.
Thor shivered as a warm tongue slithered across the back of his neck.
"Mmm. Salty." The vile miscreant said.
"We get to eat him right?" One of the patrons asked, his breath reeked of vomit and unwashed teeth.
The barkeep nodded. "Yep."
"You do not want this fight." Thor growled.
Earning a couple laughs from the patrons. "Hehehe. Actually, we do."
"I had hoped hoped to avoid this…" Electricity sparked from his fingers, bursting into motion he twirled and gouged out the eyes of the closest patron. His head exploded in a flurry of blood and brain matter as Thor shot lightning through his eye holes.
"How'd he do that!" A patron shrieked.
Thor blasted another with a thunderous hook, relieving the man of his lower jaw.
Two stabbed their knives at him, the flimsy steel bent as it touched his armor. Scowling, he struck their throats. Lightning ejected from his hands as it touched soft flesh decapitating the fools.
He froze, feeling cold steel against his head.
"Don't. Fucking. Move." The voice growled. Silence filled the room, only interrupted by the whizz of his gun. "You just killed Mo, Jo, Joe and Joh. I'm going to blow your brains out." The man stabbed the gun against skin, painfully digging into bone. The sound of gears and metal reverberated through the barrel as the man pulled the trigger.
He feels the man freeze as the sounds of clicks and a whizz stopped his shooter.
Thor craned his head and saw the barkeep wielding his own weapon.
"You shoot 'im and I shoot you." His voice, a low dangerous growl. "What I say 'bout shootin' in the bar? And you," Pointing his gun at Thor, "Ms. Cheap Goldilocks, don't splatter blood on the floor, yer not the one cleanin' this mess…"
His shooter gulped audibly. "Sorry, Pinky. You se—"
"Shut up!" The barkeep snarled, "I didn't tell you speak, Jow. Say Goldilocks… yer free beat these guys brains in but you clean the mess. What say you?"
"W-Wha—"
Jow's stuttering was stopped as Pinky shoved the barrel of his gun in his mouth. "No. Talkin'. So, what's yer decision Goldilocks."
"...Fine by me, barkeep."
-Linebreak-
Thor exited the bar richer than when he had entered. Pinky, the barkeep. Warmed up to him and paid him a share of the loot after he finished cleaning, he even apologized about the sewer water.
It was tedious work—scrubbing the floor, picking up eyes and brain matter—his lack of experience cleaning floors ate precious time that would be better off used for finding and stealing a ship.
He lost his temper in there, he slaughtered them like animals. Unfitting for a King,
While he worked he questioned a few patrons. He found that he is in Sakaar, a backwater planet in the middle of nowhere. Asking how to leave this place led him to a dead end, no one seemed to know how. Or if they do, they're too afraid to say.
This bothered him, if he could only leave using the Bifrost it's safe to assume he is stuck in this planet for a while until he finds his own way to leave. If only his brother was here, Loki. He hoped Loki is safe, he may not be his blood but he is his brother.
He hoped his newly discovered powers are enough to defeat Hela, there simply can't be two rulers of Asgard—not that he thinks they can both rule together, he would never let a person like his sister near the throne.
Supposed he can do a political marriage with her—as disgusting as that sounds—and have her murdered in her sleep. That is if she doesn't kill him first.
He shook his head—No. Diplomacy is out of the question, he had tried it on Earth and it didn't work, she would just have to die.
The sky had darkened considerably, the street is calmer and everybody spoke in a hush.
Now is the time to find shelter, he could find a way out of this place. He swears it, he'll do anything to stop Hela and save his people.
-Linebreak-
"You'll be in room 19." The lady said tiredly. Handing him his key.
He nodded and went to his room. It was the cheapest one available. The building itself was in the part of town that Pinky called, "Murder Alley."
He can attest to that. The walk wasn't very pleasant. Prostitutes lined the streets and groped him when he got too close—he knew they were probing him for money. Thankfully, Loki taught him how to hide money. He didn't need those spells back then, no one would dare to steal from the Prince of Asgard. As much as he detested using sorcery it proved helpful on select occasions.
The hallway to his room was in disrepair. As he passed by the doors he could hear muffled, moans, cries and screaming. It made sense that men looking for a quick lay would use the cheapest establishment. He himself used the hot springs in Vanaheim.
He got to his door, ignoring the dried crust of blood that seeped from his room. Opening it, he entered.
It wasn't very homely.
Rust covered the walls, the smell of death hung in the air. Windows were boarded with sheets of metal. His only source of light was from the bathroom which flickered every fifteen seconds.
Walking over the bed he inspected the sheets, they looked innocent enough. Lifting it up, he was greeted by a cow shaped bloodstain. It was still tinged red, not black which indicated old blood. Poking it with his finger he is relieved to find it dry. He didn't want to sleep on the floor, who knows how many juices has splattered on it.
Flipping the bed he found no signs of bugs, even his skin isn't impervious to bites.
His shoulders slumped, tired eyes slowly dropped as he sighed. He felt as if his body was casted in concrete as he sluggishly rubbed his aching muscles.
The day had finally taken its toll. He couldn't ignore it any longer.
He felt a pang in his stomach, it was as if a knife was doing acrobatics inside of him.
Undoing the concealment spell he opened the pouch and counted his Units.
With his meager earnings he is cautious with spending too much. He could afford a cheap snack and a pair of new clothes—what he currently wore is too suspicious. He needed to blend with the locals if he is to stay in Sakaar for a lot longer than what he planned, a week at most. Preferably he wanted to leave in two day's time, logistically it wasn't possible.
He needed more money to survive a week. Paying for food, clothing and the room would leave him with nothing. He needed to find work.
This could wait tomorrow, he needed to rest. Sighing, he sauntered towards the bathroom.
It was small, barely big enough to accommodate his large frame. Aside from a toilet and a flimsy sonic shower everything was bare. Even essential toiletries were missing. This isn't a hotel, he shouldn't have expected luxury for something this cheap.
He wanted to soak in hot water to ease his muscles. A sonic shower is still a fine replacement. It never penetrated deep enough to touch muscle for safety reasons, some cheaper models have great exfoliating benefits as it would peel first layer of skin rather than dissolve dirt.
He supposed he could use it to clean his clothing. Losing the color of his clothes are of no concern to him. Besides, he kind of like the whole black color scheme.
-Linebreak-
AN: Woah! Easy there! Don't raise your pitchforks yet, I can explain. Yes, Thor won the battle against Baldur, very anticlimactic. I didn't write it—well I did—But I got bored midway through it. I lost interest in doing another battle, I was stuck for days so I just skipped it and went straight for the aftermath.
As to how he won, he had Warriors Madness. I'm pretty bummed out Thor in the MCU didn't have it.
Chapter 1 and 2 would be undergoing a revision soon, I'm cringing just reading them. Nothing too major, plot points would stay the same.
For the readers in SB/SV, why must you choose the story. I had a ton of death battles lined up. Nevermind, good news is I'm working on it. It's a F/SNxAvengers idea I thought up. I'm still plotting it. Very ambitious of me to think people would flock after my shitty writing. Eh /shrug.
Also, I'm moving the Tuesday schedule to Wednesday.
Sorry about the linebreak folks, the damn asterisk won't save.