Chapter 187 to Chapter 197
…
"Hello, Thor Odinson."
"You can call me Blackheart."
The visitor was none other than Blackheart. He had sensed the energy fluctuations caused by Odin's banishment of Thor. Seizing the opportunity, he traversed the depths of Hell and arrived in Mexico to find the fallen god.
His purpose? Simple: to sway Thor to his side—or, more precisely, to corrupt him.
Thor's identity alone made such an endeavor worthwhile.
To Jane, Dr. Selvig, and Darcy, the name "Blackheart" sounded strange, almost like a nickname. Dr. Selvig was on the verge of muttering a disparaging remark when Thor raised his hand, signaling him to stop. Thor stepped forward, his gaze fixed on Blackheart, and asked in a deep, measured voice, "Are you a devil?"
The response, "You are a devil," sent a shiver down the spines of Jane, Selvig, and Darcy, their hearts pounding with unease.
What did this mean?
Watching the exchange between the man calling himself Blackheart and Thor, it became increasingly clear that everything Thor had said might be true. Was he really Thor, the God of Thunder from myth and legend, exiled to Earth by Odin?
Selvig opened his mouth, as if to speak, but after assessing the tense atmosphere, decided to stay silent.
Jane, meanwhile, wrestled with her emotions, her thoughts swirling in confusion.
Darcy, on the other hand, remained her straightforward self. She found the situation cool—very cool. A chance meeting with a handsome guy, who now turned out to be a literal mythical figure, was the highlight of her day.
The three humans had their own varied reactions, but Blackheart paid them no mind. His focus remained entirely on Thor. With a sly smile, he said, "Although the All-Father has stripped you of your divine power, your senses remain sharp."
"I've encountered many devil in my time," Thor replied, his tone measured but devoid of warmth. "And I would never forget their stench."
Devils were a broad category, encompassing countless beings across the Nine Realms. The fire giant Surtur, for instance, was an ancient demon of Muspelheim. Thor had crossed paths with many demons and devils throughout his life. Most left a poor impression, but there were exceptions—some had even become allies.
Thor had no immediate ill will toward Blackheart, especially since the latter seemed to have no hostile intent. Devoid of his divine power, Thor knew better than to antagonize the stranger.
"I believe I've heard of you," Thor said, his gaze steady. "You're the son of the one who rules Hell…?"
Thor's eyes remained fixed on Blackheart, his expression unreadable.
Blackheart was not surprised. His father, Mephisto, was renowned across many dimensions. It made sense that Thor, as the prince of Asgard, would be familiar with the name. Smiling slyly, he replied, "Yes. By human standards, I suppose you could call me a standard second-generation devil."
Thor's gaze remained steady as he retorted, "Have you forgotten that Midgard is the domain of Asgard?"
"Aha," Blackheart chuckled. "I think you'll find that Midgard, after gaining its own guardian, no longer considers itself subordinate to Asgard."
"Midgard has its own guardian?" Thor repeated, visibly confused. He rarely visited Midgard, which he considered the least significant of the Nine Realms. Its civilization was primitive and posed no threat to Asgard. The idea that Midgard had a guardian was foreign to him.
Blackheart hesitated before answering. "I think there's at least one. Maybe two or three," he said thoughtfully. He recalled his encounters with the wielder of Chaos Magic and another man—both formidable beings. Whether they officially guarded Earth, he couldn't say for certain. Still, their allegiance to humanity seemed natural.
Thor frowned, the revelation unsettling. "I haven't been here in centuries. It seems much has changed without my knowledge."
"Indeed," Blackheart said with a shrug.
Jane, Selvig, and Darcy continued to listen in silence. The more they heard, the more uneasy they became.
Thor, true to his straightforward nature, cut to the chase. "So, you still haven't explained your purpose here."
Blackheart's smile deepened, his tone dripping with subtle mockery. "As the noble prince of Asgard, surely you detest being stripped of your divine power and exiled to this… what did you call it? Barbaric and backward world?"
Thor's expression darkened. "Speak plainly, devil," he said curtly.
Unfazed, Blackheart laid out his proposal. "I can help you regain your divine power, restore your glory, and even aid you in ascending the throne of Asgard. But in exchange, I need your help."
Thor's brow furrowed, his expression resolute. "What is it you want my help with?"
Blackheart studied Thor's face and sensed resistance. It was clear the Asgardian was not easily tempted. After a moment's pause, he said, "I need you—and perhaps Asgard's forces—to help me overthrow my father's rule."
Thor's expression immediately shifted, his displeasure evident. "That is impossible. Your father, Mephisto, is the King of Hell. He and my father, Odin, are equals in power and stature. Were I to aid you, it would undoubtedly spark war between Hell and Asgard—a war that would lead to countless deaths."
Thor shook his head, his tone firm. "I will not bring that destruction upon my people or the Nine Realms, no matter my personal grievances. My answer is no."
Blackheart's smile faltered for the first time. It seemed his carefully crafted offer had fallen on deaf ears.
But that didn't mean Thor could hate Odin, let alone consider overthrowing his rule. To ascend to the throne by using Asgard as a bargaining chip? The cost was far too high, and it clashed with his sense of honor.
"You're a little different from what I imagined, Thor," Blackheart said, his tone calm despite the rejection. It wasn't surprising—after all, anyone with sense would see the imbalance in the transaction he proposed.
His offer was made with ulterior motives, of course, but it was worth a shot.
After a brief moment of thought, Blackheart smiled and said, "In that case, I'm willing to extend a hand in friendship. For this, I'll help you reclaim your glory."
Thor remained unshaken. His piercing gaze stayed on Blackheart as he replied solemnly, "You give me a bad feeling, devil. My mother once taught me that any free offering always comes with strings attached, for greater rewards later."
He leaned forward slightly, his voice firm. "You radiate danger, and I suspect your ambitions would use me as a conduit to spread into Asgard. There will be no friendship between us."
Blackheart sighed dramatically, his expression a mix of disappointment and feigned sorrow. "How tragic, Thor. It's such a pity that you would reject my offer of friendship."
But before Blackheart could say anything more, another voice cut through the air, sharp and commanding:
"I don't think so, Blackheart!"
…
"Obtaining the friendship of a devil is undoubtedly a very dangerous decision."
Crack!
Following the sharp sound, a large crack appeared in the air just a few meters away from everyone—like a broken mirror suspended in space. With a crisp, shattering sound, three figures stepped through.
The leader was strikingly delicate in appearance, with a sweet, almost angelic face. His long blond hair framed his features, and he wore a bright red jacket over a white shirt, paired with jeans and a necklace that glimmered against his chest. Flanking him were two tall, muscular teenagers, their sharp eyes and confident demeanor exuding danger. Dressed in stylish, branded clothing that emphasized their powerful physiques, they looked more like predators than mere humans.
Their sudden and dramatic entrance left Jane, Dr. Selvig, and Darcy frozen in shock. Verbal explanations could never compare to the visceral impact of this spectacle.
Thor's earlier conversation with Blackheart had bolstered Jane and her companions' confidence, though lingering doubts remained in their hearts. Yet the extraordinary arrival of these three strangers shattered any skepticism they still harbored.
Everything Thor had claimed was true.
He was not a delusional man clinging to fantastical stories. He was the son of Odin, Thor, the God of Thunder, a figure who truly existed in the mythologies they thought were mere tales.
The appearance of these three individuals elevated the tension to its peak, pushing this encounter between beings from Hell, Midgard, and Asgard into its climactic stage.
Both Blackheart and Thor turned to face the unexpected newcomers. The devil's gaze landed on Wanda, the leader of the trio, and the corners of his eyes twitched involuntarily.
After all, this young woman's formidable power had bested him before.
Despite the bitter memory, Blackheart betrayed no outward anger. Instead, he regarded Wanda with calm composure, his voice smooth but tinged with unease.
"Nice to see you again, beautiful lady," he said. Then, with a slight shrug, he added, "It's a pity I didn't get to see that gentleman again."
Who is that gentleman?
Though Blackheart tone was even, the fear lurking beneath his words did not escape Thor, Jane, or Darcy. They exchanged glances, silently absorbing the implications.
Wanda's response was curt and unyielding. "That day, when he expelled you, he said that if he saw you again, you would die. You should consider yourself lucky he didn't come."
Blackheart shrugged again, though his movements were more strained. "I am indeed very lucky. After experiencing his overwhelming power, I understand why my father was defeated and humiliated."
Thor's eyes widened in surprise. Blackheart's father, Mephisto, was a mighty entity who ruled over Hell, his power on par with Odin's. Yet, according to Blackheart, Mephisto had suffered a crushing defeat at the hands of someone on Earth—a human, no less.
Thor frowned, his eyes darting between Wanda and her companions. He recognized them. Earlier in the day, while eating at a small restaurant, he had noticed these three sitting in a quiet corner. At the time, they had struck him as slightly unusual, but now he realized that "unusual" didn't even begin to describe them.
They could meddle in the affairs of Hell and even had the power to make Mephisto himself suffer.
He had not been to Midgard for hundreds of years. Could this realm truly have produced such a character? It was almost beyond comprehension.
"Although you are a devil, I have to say that you disguise yourself very well," Wanda remarked, her voice sharp and unwavering. "If you were just an ordinary person, no one would see through your true form."
Wanda, ever straightforward, had no patience for devils who enjoyed toying with others.
Blackheart, however, seemed completely unfazed. He merely smiled, a shameless expression that made it clear he had no intention of responding to her accusation.
Wanda found his composure grating. Without another glance, she shifted her focus to Thor.
Though Wanda remained composed, her very presence radiated a commanding authority. Her demeanor, words, and even her gaze carried an unrelenting force.
Thor, now stripped of his divine power and rendered mortal, could still feel the piercing sharpness in Wanda's gaze. Despite this, the Asgardian Prince stood firm.
"I have met many remarkable women over the years, but you… you are the most extraordinary," Thor said, meeting Wanda's eyes without faltering. His voice was solemn, befitting the Prince of Asgard. "I can sense a terrifying power within you. Something unlike anything I've encountered before."
Wanda raised an eyebrow, intrigued. "Sure enough," she said with a sly smile. "Although the All-Father sealed your divine power and transformed you into a mortal, you still carry the blood of the Odinson family."
Thor blinked, uncertain. Her choice of words struck him as odd. Sealed, not stripped.
Wanda, having delved deeply into black and white magic, had also honed her spiritual abilities to an extraordinary level. Her mastery allowed her to perceive what most could not—souls, emotions, and even glimpses of a person's past and future.
Though her sight had limits when facing beings of immense power, it was sufficient to set her apart from most mystics. Her rapid growth had brought her closer to the level of the Ancient One, the Supreme Sorcerer herself.
Through her enhanced perception, Wanda could see the truth about Thor. While he appeared to be a man stripped of his divine power, his soul and body told a different story. Both were still inherently strong, carrying within them a latent, suppressed power.
Thor and even Blackheart believed Odin had deprived Thor of his divine strength, rendering him mortal. But Wanda knew better. His power had not been taken—it was sealed.
As a member of the Odinson bloodline, Thor's divine power could not simply be removed without consequences. To strip it entirely would mean cleansing Thor of his family's lineage, severing him from the Odinson name. He would no longer be considered an heir of Asgard or a son of Odin.
Even if Odin later forgave Thor and restored his title, the stigma of such an act would remain forever.
A seal, on the other hand, was different. It could be broken given the right opportunity or circumstance. This distinction was critical, and Wanda, observing Thor's energy, had confirmed the truth: his divine power remained intact, merely suppressed.
"So, you're a witch? Or perhaps a mystic?" Thor asked, his curiosity evident.
Wanda tilted her head slightly, her lips curving into a faint smile. "For now, I suppose you could call me a sorceress."
…
"Well, it should all be the same."
Thor was unsurprised. There were countless magic systems throughout the universe. In essence, they all focused on different directions, but their nature remained similar. They harnessed energy in one form or another. As for the practitioners, some were called witches, others mystics, or by various other names. The terminology varied, but the core principles were largely alike.
To Thor, Wanda clearly fit into this category.
What truly surprised him was how someone from a seemingly backward civilization could possess such formidable power. It defied his expectations.
"So, is your target also here to find me?" Thor asked, his voice deep and steady.
Wanda stood tall, unflinching. "I came to watch the show, and, incidentally, to meet you—the prince of Asgard."
"There's nothing better than forging new friendships," Thor said with a smile, casting a glance at the silent Blackheart. "You are very straightforward, madam. Thor Odinson. Pleased to meet you."
"Wanda."
"Sergei."
"Pietro."
The two sides formally exchanged names, signaling the beginning of a tentative friendship.
Blackheart, standing off to the side, could only watch with a sense of helplessness.
He knew why. His identity and ulterior motives made it impossible to earn Thor's trust.
After a brief moment of thought, Blackheart finally spoke. "Although I've not yet earned your trust, I still hope to gain your friendship, Thor. I look forward to our next meeting."
"I hope that next time, your intentions are more genuine," Thor replied solemnly.
Blackheart smiled faintly, gave a polite nod to Wanda, and then his form dissolved into a plume of black smoke, dissipating into the air.
His departure caused little disturbance. Thor remained largely unaffected, his thoughts elsewhere. In Thor's mind, he and Blackheart existed in entirely separate worlds. He was never one to withhold friendship, but his respect was reserved for those who earned it. Blackheart, despite his strength, could not.
Blackheart's ambitions and schemes reminded Thor far too much of his brother Loki. Yet, when it came to others, Thor's judgment was clearer. Impulsive and reckless though he often was, he knew where to draw the line.
After losing his divine power, Thor experienced life as a mortal. He met Jane, Dr. Selvig, and Darcy. Spending a day with them, he found himself both confused and fascinated by their kindness and humanity. Jane's intelligence and beauty, Darcy's outspoken charm, and Dr. Selvig's wisdom and experience had an unexpected effect on Thor—they made him reflect on himself and begin to calm the storm within.
Thor's naturally perceptive instincts, now unclouded by arrogance, gave him an immediate sense of disgust toward Blackheart. But unlike Blackheart, the trio of Wandas exuded an undeniable aura of strength. This wasn't something that could be faked—their confidence and clarity were apparent in their eyes.
As the son of Odin and prince of Asgard, ruler of the Nine Realms, Thor was used to commanding respect. Yet Wanda and her companions faced him without hesitation or intimidation, their confidence unshaken by his status. This earned his admiration.
"Wow, the annoying guy is finally gone. I was getting itchy just looking at him," Pietro said, visibly relieved.
"I think you just want an excuse to fight a demon, especially one like Mephisto's son," Sergei commented dryly.
Pietro shrugged shamelessly. "Is that a problem?"
The real reason for Pietro's disdain toward Blackheart was simple: Wanda hated him. As her twin brother, Pietro had always been deeply connected to her. While the two often bickered and teased each other, they shared an unspoken bond and deep care for one another. Wanda knew this, so instead of retorting with her usual sarcasm, she simply rolled her eyes at him.
"I admire your confidence, son of Pietro," Thor said with a booming laugh. Pietro's boldness and spirit resonated with him.
"Well, to be honest, being called 'Son of Pietro' feels... weird," Pietro replied. In an instant, he disappeared and reappeared in front of Thor, moving so fast that no one could follow him.
Thor raised an eyebrow, impressed but composed. Pietro circled him, rubbing his chin as if appraising him. "Muscles often mean strength," Pietro mused. "I bet when you had your divine power, you were a hell of an opponent."
He made no attempt to hide his enthusiasm for a fight. Sergei seemed to share the sentiment.
"Believe me, my friend," Thor said with a grin, "when I regain my power, our battles will be legendary."
Thor appreciated Pietro's fiery fighting spirit. It stirred something within him—a primal yearning for battle. If circumstances allowed, he'd love nothing more than to test himself against Pietro.
Jane, however, didn't quite understand this male camaraderie built on the promise of a fight. Watching Thor and Pietro's intense expressions as they stared each other down, she decided to interrupt.
"Honestly, how about joining our barbecue party instead?" she offered, breaking the tension with a warm smile.
As the host, Jane extended the invitation naturally. Despite the surreal presence of demons and mythical figures, she found herself liking Wanda and her companions. Their confidence and poise, along with their striking appearance, made them stand out in every way.
Wanda met Jane's gaze, noticing her sincerity. She glanced at the barbecue on the table nearby, then tilted her head slightly. "Our appetites might be... bigger. So, these foods may not be enough. Let me help."
With a snap of her fingers, Wanda conjured a grand feast. In an instant, a large table appeared on the lawn, laden with an array of dishes—barbecue, fried beef and lamb chops, roasted suckling pig, fruit salad, hairy crabs, king shrimp, and more. Beneath the table, crates of beer were stacked neatly.
Jane, Dr. Selvig, and Darcy stared, their mouths agape.
"Oh my god," Darcy exclaimed. "Are you a goddess? Did you just create food out of thin air? How did you do that?"
…
Darcy's exaggerated expression brimmed with envy.
She didn't have a huge appetite, but the ability to summon food on demand was undeniably drool-worthy. For her, it was nothing short of a magical skill—a potential game-changer for saving money.
As Jane's assistant, Darcy's salary wasn't particularly high, and a good portion of it went to food. The rest? Shopping. If she could cut down on her food expenses, wouldn't that mean more funds for clothes and luxury items?
Perhaps the snap of this girl's fingers didn't only summon meals; maybe it could conjure the gorgeous outfits from TV that had kept Darcy awake at night with longing.
Wanda turned her gaze to Darcy, pausing briefly as her eyes swept over her larger frame. Without comment, Wanda walked to the table, waited for everyone to gather, and began to explain.
"These dishes are from the manor's chef. The food and drinks were already prepared; I simply transported them here through magic." She added with a slight smile, "But yes, I can create things too."
"I love your abilities," Darcy said earnestly.
"Thank you," Wanda replied warmly.
Despite the feast laid out before them, Darcy, Jane, and Dr. Selvig only picked at their portions. They were already full from the earlier meal. The same couldn't be said for Thor.
Even in mortal form, Thor's physical constitution rivaled the world's most elite athletes. His metabolism and appetite far outpaced that of ordinary people. Fueled by beer and camaraderie, Thor drank heartily, a massive mug in hand.
Sergei and Pietro weren't ones to back down from a drinking challenge. Their resilience and stamina ensured they could keep up, no matter how long the revelry lasted. Their lively participation made Thor even more boisterous, his laugh echoing through the room.
With the wine flowing freely, Thor began to vent, slamming his mug on the table and leaning toward Sergei with one muscular arm exposed. His voice, deep and commanding, filled the room.
"My father—your Odin, the wise, benevolent, and powerful king of your Midgard myths—is not the man you think he is. He's aged, his sharp edges dulled, his glory faded."
Thor's tone grew sharper, his words tinged with bitterness.
"He's lost the ferocity that once made the Nine Realms tremble before him. His iron hooves and spears spread Asgard's might, forcing those who defied us to kneel—or perish. That strength, that iron will, created the glory of the Odinson name."
"I once wanted to follow in his footsteps," Thor continued, his voice laden with frustration. "To win wars, to protect Asgard with my own strength and glory. But he told me I needed mercy, kindness. He demanded I set aside my pride and arrogance, abandon recklessness and impulsiveness. In the end, he stripped me of my divine power, cast me out, and made me a mortal."
Thor took another long swig of beer, his discontent unmistakable.
Jane Foster, Darcy, and Dr. Selvig exchanged uneasy glances. The more Thor spoke, the less he sounded like the noble God of Thunder they knew and admired—and more like a bitter son decrying a cruel and distant father.
Sergei, Pietro, and Wanda, however, shared a knowing look, their brows furrowing slightly. To them, Thor's grievances weren't shocking; they understood the harsh realities of power. Strength dictated everything. If Asgard had conquered other realms, it was because those realms were too weak to resist.
Still, Jane couldn't hold her tongue any longer. Anger flared in her voice as she interrupted. "You're wrong, Thor."
Thor blinked in surprise, turning toward her. "What?"
"I said you're wrong, Thor!" Jane repeated, her voice rising. "War is never the only option. If you look at history, you'll see countless wars waged over greed, colonization, and power. They've broken families, taken countless lives. Only those driven by selfish ambition thrive in such chaos. Everyone else suffers."
She stood, her eyes blazing with conviction. "Defending your home is one thing, but do you really think invading others and slaughtering innocents for glory is justifiable? They have families too, Thor. They have people they love."
Her words hit Thor like a thunderclap. For the first time, his bravado faltered.
"You may be thousands of years older than me, but right now, you're acting like a child," Jane said, her voice unwavering.
Dr. Selvig stepped in then, his tone calm but firm. Pulling a chair close to Thor, he sat down and spoke softly.
"Thor, I don't pretend to understand Asgard's idea of glory. But from what I've learned, true glory doesn't come from war or bloodshed. It comes from protecting your home and people without becoming a tyrant in the process."
Thor stared at the older man, his hammer-like grip tightening around his mug.
"You have immense power," Dr. Selvig continued. "Power that most people can't even fathom. But wielding it without compassion will only breed fear and hatred. If a ruler lacks mercy, then unless they destroy every enemy in existence, bloodshed will never end."
The room fell silent. Jane sat down, still fuming, while Darcy hesitated, glancing between Jane's righteous anger and Selvig's calm reasoning. Ultimately, she stayed quiet.
Thor looked down at his mug, his expression unreadable. His gaze shifted to the untouched food before him, his stormy blue eyes flickering with unspoken thoughts.
Wanda, sitting nearby, tilted her head slightly as she studied him, saying nothing.
…
After that, there were no more arguments. Thor drank heavily and deftly steered the conversation toward lighter topics as he chatted with Sergei and the others.
This was precisely Wanda, Sergei, and Pietro's intention. Their plan was twofold: first, to secure Thor's friendship, and second, to learn what they could from him.
Wanda had read extensively at Kamar-Taj, including records about Asgard and the Nine Realms, but those were just written accounts. They couldn't compare to firsthand knowledge. Thor's long life and unique identity meant he had experienced and witnessed far more than most beings could imagine. He was a living repository of invaluable information.
Through Thor, Wanda learned about a gentle and benevolent god living on the galaxy's edge—a guardian of their realm. He also shared intimate knowledge of the Nine Realms and revealed secrets about the universe that had never been documented.
Jane Foster and Dr. Selvig listened intently, their initial wariness fading. Jane, in particular, set aside her earlier anger, eager to jot down Thor's revelations. Some of the details Thor casually mentioned could upend the scientific community and reshape humanity's understanding of the cosmos.
But time marched on, and even Thor, now in mortal form, could not withstand the effects of alcohol forever. After countless bottles of beer, he finally succumbed to drunkenness.
Thor's inebriation signaled the end of the night. Wanda, Sergei, and Pietro helped Jane carry the unconscious Thor to the sofa before saying their goodbyes.
Over the following days, Thor stayed at Jane's house. Sometimes, he wandered the town, taking in the sights. Other times, he stood alone on the rooftop, a bottle of beer in hand, gazing into the distance. His eyes always seemed to fix on the horizon—the direction of Mjölnir.
He had seen the news not long after meeting Wanda and her companions. His hammer had come to Midgard with him.
At first, Thor wanted to retrieve it immediately, to reunite with the weapon that symbolized his power. Yet, as he hesitated, Dr. Selvig's words echoed in his mind. Jane's anger and the truths spoken that night continued to haunt him.
Perhaps his father wasn't stubborn or foolish after all. Perhaps… he was the one who had been wrong.
Instead of rushing to Mjölnir, Thor chose to linger in the town. He observed the people around him—how they lived, how they loved. The townsfolk weren't wealthy, but they were warm-hearted and close-knit.
Thor's charisma made him a favorite among them. He chatted with the elderly woman next door, accepted Old John's invitation to a local beer-drinking contest (and promptly outdrank every competitor), and earned the cheers and admiration of everyone who attended.
In these days of quiet observation, Thor experienced something new: peace.
The little town was unlike the battlefields he'd known or the grand halls of Asgard. There was no bloodshed here, no war, no rebellion. Just families sharing meals, children laughing, and friends enjoying each other's company.
It reminded Thor of the happiness he'd once seen in Asgard, before the wars. And it made him think of the other realms and races he'd fought. Would he, as king one day, use war to achieve peace? Would he, in doing so, destroy the joy and warmth that others held dear?
Some lessons are best learned through experience.
Thor's banishment by Odin had filled him with anger, confusion, and resentment. But now, these feelings began to fade, replaced by something new: reflection. For the first time, Thor truly contemplated mercy and kindness.
One evening, storm clouds gathered in the sky. Thor stood on the rooftop, beer in hand, leaning against the railing as he watched the townsfolk below. Their laughter and chatter carried faintly through the air.
"Father… is this what you wanted me to see?" he muttered, his voice barely audible over the rising wind.
A familiar voice interrupted his thoughts.
"It seems your life in the mortal world isn't so bad, my brother."
Thor turned sharply, and his eyes widened in recognition.
"Loki!" he exclaimed.
His younger brother stood behind him, his expression unreadable. Thor strode forward and embraced him, too elated to notice Loki's hesitation.
"Are you here to see me?" Thor asked, slapping Loki's back with enough force to make anyone else wince.
Loki's voice was measured, tinged with something Thor couldn't quite place. "Brother, you've changed. You're not the same as before."
"Maybe," Thor admitted, stepping back to look at Loki. "The mortal world… it's taught me a great deal. Father was right. I was reckless, arrogant, and proud."
Loki nodded slowly. "This transformation must not have been easy."
Thor chuckled softly. "No, it hasn't. But this little town—there's something magical about it. It's calmed me, made me rethink my mistakes."
"I'm glad to hear that," Loki said, though his tone betrayed a complexity of emotions. He paused, then asked, "How is Father?"
Thor's cheerful demeanor faltered. "What do you mean? Is he not well?"
Loki's next words hit Thor like a thunderbolt.
"Father… has entered his eternal sleep."
Thor froze. The bottle slipped from his hand, shattering on the rooftop. "What?" he whispered, his voice trembling.
"I'm sorry, brother," Loki said softly. "It happened yesterday. His mind had grown weary. He was angry and saddened, and under Mother's watchful gaze, he… closed his eyes for the last time."
Thor staggered back, his heart pounding. "No… it can't be… Did I—was it because of me?"
His voice broke as tears welled in his eyes. "Because of my stubbornness? My pride? My failure?"
"Father!"
Thor's cries echoed in the storm. Overcome with grief and regret, he clenched his fists so tightly that the broken shards of the bottle cut into his palm. Blood dripped onto the rooftop, but he barely noticed.
The physical pain was nothing compared to the anguish in his heart.
…
In the afternoon, Jane Foster, Daisy, and Dr. Selvig sat on the sofa, exchanging uneasy glances.
Since returning to their apartment after surveying celestial bodies, they noticed something off about Thor. He seemed lost, his usual boisterous energy replaced by a heavy, soul-draining sadness. It was a stark contrast to the Thor they had come to know.
Having spent several days together, the three had grown close enough to consider him a friend, making his sudden shift in demeanor all the more concerning.
Jane was just about to ask Thor about his state when the screech of tires outside startled them. The sharp sound drew their attention to the transparent glass walls of the house. Through the front windows, they spotted several black SUVs pulling up.
Men clad in combat uniforms poured out of the vehicles, armed to the teeth with high-caliber weapons. The ominous scene froze Jane, Daisy, and Dr. Selvig in place.
The armed agents wasted no time. They broke through the glass door and stormed in, their guns trained on the group, ensuring no one dared to move.
"Who are you?" Jane managed to stammer, panic creeping into her voice.
A middle-aged man in a suit and sunglasses stepped forward. Slightly bald but exuding authority, he reached into his pocket and pulled out an ID.
"I am Agent Phil Coulson of the FBI," he announced, his tone firm but calm. "We need your cooperation with an investigation."
Before Jane could respond, Coulson continued, his tone brooking no argument.
"According to our findings, Dr. Jane Foster, you encountered an unidentified individual a few days ago and took him to Griffin Hospital. After regaining consciousness, he caused significant disturbances at the hospital before you retrieved him. Is that correct?"
As Coulson spoke, an agent handed him a tablet. He glanced at the screen and then gave a curt wave to his team.
"We'll need you to come with us."
Jane, Daisy, and Dr. Selvig could only watch helplessly as the armed agents moved past them, heading upstairs to search the apartment.
Island Duel: Lomonvs. Abomination
On a remote Pacific island, two titanic fists collided in a thunderous clash. The ground beneath them cracked under the sheer force of their blows. A violent shockwave rippled outward, bending nearby trees and sending dust swirling into the air.
Locked in a fierce standoff were two giants. One was the hulking Abomination, over two meters tall and weighing nearly a thousand pounds. Opposing him was Lomon, shorter at just over 1.8 meters but radiating raw power. His short black hair whipped in the turbulent winds created by their clash.
Abomination's feral eyes burned with hatred as he roared and pushed with all his might, determined to overpower his opponent. Yet, despite his immense strength, Lomon held his ground.
Though Lomon felt the strain, he wasn't about to yield. Fighting wasn't just about brute strength—it was about skill and strategy. And right now, he was determined to prove his superiority.
With a deep breath, Lomon summoned his full power. Sparks of electricity crackled around him as the aura of thunder intensified. In an instant, his strength surged, overwhelming Abomination's resistance.
Abomination grunted as his arms and body were forced back. Sensing the shift, Lomon grinned and seized the opportunity. He wrenched Abomination's arms apart, wrapped his left hand around the beast's waist, and unleashed a devastating blow to his chest.
The impact sent Abomination hurtling backward like a missile, crashing through trees and rocks before skidding to a halt.
Smoke and dust filled the air, and nearby birds scattered in terror.
Lomon stood still, watching the chaos settle. Moments later, Abomination's massive form emerged from the debris, leaping hundreds of meters to land in front of him.
But this time, the fight had left Abomination's eyes. The beast's ferocious light was gone, replaced by reluctant defeat.
"Do you still want to fight?" Lomon asked, twisting his neck and locking eyes with the hulking figure.
Abomination shook his head. "No more fighting."
His voice carried exhaustion and bitterness. Since his capture, Abomination had been relegated to the role of a sparring partner. It was a humiliating fate for someone once so proud of his strength.
Initially, he believed he could overpower his captors. After all, he was a monster among men. But he quickly learned the harsh truth: his opponents were far beyond him.
The first to humble him was Natasha. Her skill left no room for him to retaliate, and he knew better than to provoke her again. Next, he challenged Wanda.
That was a mistake he deeply regretted. Wanda had obliterated him with her magic, leaving him unable to even muster his strength. In his anger, he foolishly mocked her, only for her to unleash a new wave of pain.
After that, he moved on to Pietro, whose speed rendered Abomination helpless. Even in terms of raw strength, which Abomination had always prided himself on, Pietro proved superior.
One by one, he challenged the members of this peculiar group. And one by one, he was soundly defeated.
His final opponent was Lomon. But even here, he was no match. The group, in its entirety, was composed of monsters—monsters far more terrifying than Abomination himself.
Now, battered and humbled, he stood before Lomon, his pride shattered.
For the first time, Abomination realized that strength alone wasn't enough in this world of gods, mutants, and enhanced beings.
...
What could he say? Monsters, big and small, could only live in one nest.
"It's hard to imagine that this world would have such horrific monsters as you," Abomination said, staring at Lomon Losov with a mixture of disgust and curiosity.
"Monster?" Lomon replied, unfazed. "Sounds a lot like praise."
"I'm not stupid enough to praise you," Abomination shot back.
Lomon's eyes narrowed thoughtfully. "It's strange, though. Bruce Banner's mutation created another conscious Hulk, but you didn't."
Abomination smirked, his grotesque face twisting into an expression of both pride and derision. "Because I don't need a second consciousness. I'm a soldier and a warrior. If another consciousness tried to take over my body, my first thought would be to kill it—not let it grow independently."
The venom in his voice revealed disdain, not just for Bruce Banner but for the concept of sharing control.
After mocking Banner and the Hulk, Abomination fell silent for a moment, lost in thought. A memory stirred in his mind—a piercing gaze that once robbed him of his will to fight. It was a look that felt almost divine.
"So, the strength you possess… was it all given by him?" Abomination asked, his voice tinged with something close to reverence.
Lomon didn't need to ask who "him" referred to. He tilted his head, meeting Abomination's eyes without hesitation. "Yes, everything we have was given by him. When we were at our most desperate, he appeared—like the sun."
"From the lowest depths, he led us to see a completely different world. He broadened our horizons," Lomon added calmly.
Abomination let out a bitter laugh. "What an incredible person. Just when I thought becoming Abomination had made me the most powerful warrior in the world, she woke me up."
"She?" Lomon raised an eyebrow.
"That woman—Natasha." Abomination's tone turned venomous. "The fall from thinking I was at the top to realizing I was nothing… It's unbearable. Especially for someone as proud as me."
"If you're planning to seek revenge on Natasha, I'd advise against it," Lomon said coolly. "She's worse than me. Even with your so-called 'strong self-healing abilities,' you wouldn't last long."
"I'm not that stupid," Abomination muttered, shrugging. Then, almost as an afterthought, he said, "If I told you I wanted to join your organization, would you accept me?"
"Join us?" Lomon looked at him with mild surprise. Despite his composure, he couldn't hide his curiosity. After all, Abomination wasn't known for his honesty or reliability.
"Yes," Abomination confirmed. "I want to join you."
"Why? Tired of being a sparring partner?"
"When I was a child, I was bullied relentlessly," Abomination began, his voice uncharacteristically calm. "My father told me tears wouldn't solve anything. He said if I didn't want to be bullied, I had to become strong. Truly strong.
"So, I joined the army. I trained harder than anyone else and quickly rose through the ranks, eventually joining the special operations force. But it wasn't enough. No matter how good I was, there were others who surpassed me—those with superpowers, mutants, even Iron Man flying around in his shiny suit.
"It filled me with rage."
He paused, his monstrous form trembling slightly. "Then Hulk appeared. He gave me hope. I waited for my chance, and when it came, I gambled everything on a blood sample. I became Abomination.
"I thought I'd finally reached the top," he continued bitterly, "but then you showed up. You shattered my illusion. In front of you, I'm just a ridiculous clown—a sparring partner. If this continues, I'll die full of resentment, surpassed by kids younger than me."
Abomination clenched his fists, his voice raw with desperation. "I don't want that. I need to get stronger."
At that moment, all traces of cunning and deception disappeared from Abomination's demeanor. He bared his soul, revealing the singular drive that consumed him: the desire to become the strongest warrior, no matter the cost.
Lomon studied him intently. His ability to sense emotions and truth—his Observation Haki—confirmed that Abomination's words were genuine.
"Interesting," Lomon said with a faint smile. "So, do you think you're worthy of joining us?"
Abomination met his gaze without flinching. "Do you?"
Lomon didn't hesitate. "It's not my decision to make."
Abomination nodded, understanding immediately. The final decision rested with someone else.
Lomon tapped his earpiece. "Clarice."
From the other end came the cheerful voice of Clarice. "Wow, you actually killed my character, brother Lomon! You owe me compensation."
"Fine, fine," Lomon replied with a sigh. "I'll buy you whatever you want. Just get ready."
"Hehe! It's open!"
With a triumphant laugh from Clarice, a portal shimmered into existence.
Half an Hour Later
Abomination stood in the vast hall of a sky base, his nerves on edge. Below the transparent glass floor, he could see thick clouds and the faint blue of the sky.
The hall was eerily quiet, save for the distant sounds of children playing. Abomination's focus, however, was elsewhere. This was a pivotal moment in his life, and his anxiety was palpable.
He rarely felt fear, but now his heart pounded in his chest.
Suddenly—
Weng!
A burst of golden particles filled the air, coalescing into the shape of a tall, majestic figure. The golden cross-shaped starburst illuminated the hall, signaling the arrival of someone extraordinary.
...
Dressed in a black leather jacket with a white shirt underneath and denim jeans, Leon appeared both fashionable and strikingly handsome.
Abomination stared at the young man before him, an inexplicable nervousness clawing at him. He couldn't pinpoint the source of his unease, but his instincts screamed at him not to provoke this person. Doing so would undoubtedly lead to his demise—swift and devoid of dignity.
Leon merely gazed at Abomination with calm indifference, saying nothing.
Abomination seemed to grasp something. Slowly, he knelt on one knee, placing a hand on his thigh to steady himself as he lowered his head.
"I am willing to submit to you for eternity," he declared solemnly. "All I ask is that you fulfill my desires, my dear master."
"You are indeed clever," Leon remarked, echoing the words of Lomon Losov. He approached Abomination, bending slightly to look him in the eyes.
"Raise your head."
Abomination obeyed the calm yet commanding voice, his heart trembling as he lifted his gaze. He was met with Leon's strikingly handsome face, a blend of Eastern and Western features that seemed universally appealing.
But it was Leon's eyes that stood out most. Calm, clear, and untainted, they harbored boundless storms—eyes that could consume one's soul at any moment. The restraint they exhibited was terrifying, but Abomination shuddered to imagine their unrestrained sharpness, capable of shattering a soul with a mere glance.
No words could describe the overwhelming power in those eyes. Although Leon had done nothing to him, Abomination felt dwarfed by his presence. This man was incomparably stronger—hundreds, perhaps thousands of times more powerful than anyone Abomination had ever encountered, including Natasha, who had easily defeated him.
Under this gaze, Abomination lacked the courage to resist. He surrendered without hesitation.
Leon's voice, as pure as his eyes, now carried an undeniable authority.
"You are perceptive and pragmatic. I appreciate that. I can grant you the power you seek," Leon stated.
"However, your soul and will must be handed over to me entirely. So I will ask just once more—do you wish to surrender?"
"Yes!" Abomination answered resolutely, bowing his head. He had ambitions and refused to remain a stepping stone for others, watching one challenger after another surpass him. That fate was worse than death.
"Very good."
Leon nodded, raising his hand and snapping his fingers.
Snap!
A sudden, immense power enveloped Abomination, lifting his massive body into the air. Yet he didn't resist; he waited silently, trusting in his value.
Moments later, an unimaginably intense and scorching force surged into his body.
Crack!
His body began to transform. Bones, cells, and even his genetic structure underwent a monumental change. The process brought excruciating pain, but Abomination endured it without resistance.
Leon listened to Keisha's cold, ethereal voice echo in his ears:
"Beast Warrior genes detected. Initiating genetic modification process. Estimated completion time: one minute. Stripping inferior genes and optimizing genetic sequences."
As the one-minute countdown began, Leon watched Abomination's grotesque skin fade away, his thousand-ton frame shrinking gradually. Bit by bit, he reverted to his human form—Emil Blonsky.
Blonsky felt as though he were submerged in molten lava, the unbearable heat and pain clouding his senses. Yet beneath the agony, he could feel himself evolving in extraordinary ways.
Smaller did not mean weaker. On the contrary, Blonsky knew he had become unimaginably stronger.
Finally, the countdown ended.
Blonsky's body floated to the ground, now clothed in pristine white garments conjured by Leon's will. He landed with a firm step, widened his eyes, and clenched his fists.
Bang!
The air between his hands compressed and exploded, unleashing a terrifying shockwave that rippled outward.
The power Blonsky now wielded far surpassed anything he had ever known. It intoxicated him. He relished his newfound strength, fully aware of who had granted it.
Dropping to one knee, Blonsky addressed Leon with fervent devotion, his voice filled with zeal:
"Master, thank you for this magnificent power."
At that moment, Blonsky's mind held no other thoughts but reverence and loyalty. The man before him was like an omnipotent god, and he would willingly give everything—his life, his soul—to serve him.
Leon nodded. "Reclaim your original name. In your base form, your power now surpasses a thousand tons. Additionally, your beast genes allow you to transform into your Abomination form, tripling your strength. As you continue to explore your potential, your power will only grow.
"The only limitation is that you cannot fly. However, prove your worth, and I will continue to optimize your genes and make you even stronger."
"Can you meet these expectations?"
"I can, Master!" Blonsky vowed. "I will always be your most loyal servant and warrior. Wherever you direct your gaze, I will tear apart your enemies."
"I look forward to that day," Leon replied. "For now, your task is to acquire new knowledge. Three types of Haki and advanced combat techniques have been implanted in your consciousness. In one year, you will train the recruits at the base.
"When the time for war arrives, you will be my sharpest blade."
"Yes, Master!"
As Blonsky departed, Leon watched him go, the corners of his mouth curling into a faint smile.
…
The surrender of Abomination was entirely expected. Leon knew the creature's character well. Power had always been his ultimate pursuit.
When Abomination witnessed the strength of Leon's forces, it was clear he would never settle for being a mere sparring partner—not if he had any sense.
From the very start, when Leon captured Abomination, he instructed Keisha to use Sky Blade Seven to create the first generation of Beast Warrior genes. These were derived from Hulk, Abomination, and other unique sources, including vampires and werewolves.
Leon never doubted Abomination's loyalty. Embedded within the optimized genetic sequence was a command from Sky Blade: absolute obedience. Not only would Abomination never betray Leon, but the thought wouldn't even cross his mind.
This was one of the greatest strengths of angelic civilization's technology.
And Abomination would not be the last. More would follow in his footsteps.
Their purpose was clear: super-powerful, single-combat units. While they couldn't rival god-level entities in a large-scale war, their impact would be devastating in the thick of battle.
These units were tanks—durable yet capable of immense damage. Pure war machines.
But their shortcomings were also evident. Their resistance to magic was inferior to their physical defenses. To address this, Leon planned to have Sky Blade Seven further optimize the genetic sequence of the Beast Warriors, perhaps even incorporating some "Purple Sweet Potato Essence" genes for additional enhancement.
As Leon contemplated these future developments, the hall door opened automatically. A beautiful, slender figure walked in.
Leon recognized the familiar scent before even turning his head.
The figure approached him, her familiar voice breaking the silence.
"After being injected with the super-soldier gene, his strength increased far beyond what I expected."
Leon turned to face the woman, his lips curling into a faint smile.
"Are you worried?"
"I admire your confidence—always have. You seem to have everything under control, but that doesn't stop me from worrying."
Natasha stepped closer to Leon. Her delicate, beautiful face was now mere inches from his, their breaths mingling. Their eyes locked, neither flinching.
"What are you worried about?" Leon asked.
"I'm worried that your confidence might lead to your downfall someday. But, when that day comes, I'll be there to pull you back up," Natasha replied, her eyes hazy, her breath warm and intimate.
"Perhaps that day will come," Leon said, his tone calm yet teasing. "Who knows? You'll just have to wait and see."
"Underneath your calm and cheerful facade, you're full of confidence and mystery," Natasha remarked, stepping even closer.
Her boldness caught Leon off guard.
"You seem a little different today," he observed.
"No," she replied, her voice softer, tinged with something deeper. "I've just realized the boy I once knew has fully matured."
There was a unique aura around Leon now—something Natasha found irresistibly fascinating. Her slightly husky, alluring voice softened further as she spoke.
"What do you do when you see ripe fruit on a tree?"
"So, you're the fruit picker, and I'm the fruit?" Leon teased.
At this moment, Natasha's genes—perfected through angelic optimization—were nearing flawless refinement. Her appearance, skin, even the smallest details like her pores and her aura, exuded perfection. She was like a living succubus, radiating an allure no one could resist.
Leon, however, was no ordinary man. He would never allow himself to be the passive party.
Without hesitation, he slid his hand to Natasha's waist and pulled her into a kiss, their lips meeting passionately. Natasha didn't resist. Instead, she wrapped her arms around his broad back, her bright eyes locking onto his with a hint of a smile.
The kiss lingered, deep and electrifying. When their lips finally parted, a faint glisten remained between them.
Natasha, slightly dissatisfied, opened her mouth to speak, but before she could, Leon scooped her up in a princess carry. In the blink of an eye, they disappeared from the hall, leaving only silence behind.
An earth-shattering "battle" was about to begin.
Meanwhile, in a temporary camp set up dozens of kilometers away from a small Mexican town, Thor sat dejectedly in an enclosed room made of special glass. Slumped in his chair, he stared at the ground, lost in thought.
Outside the enclosure, Jane Foster, Daisy, and Dr. Selvig were being questioned by Coulson. The interrogation was thorough to the point of frustration, wearing on the trio's patience.
"Damn it! You've asked the same questions ten times already!" Jane snapped, slamming her hands on the metal table as she stood. "Are you wasting our time? You interrogate us like we're criminals!"
Coulson, unbothered by Jane's outburst, maintained his usual calm smile. Despite his polite demeanor, his words were firm.
"Apologies, Ms. Foster, but this is standard procedure. If you want to continue, we need to ensure everything checks out."
He gestured to an agent standing nearby, who handed him a file. Placing it on the table, Coulson continued, "This contains the necessary documentation. You can verify our credentials using the contact details provided, though I'd suggest skipping that step."
Jane glared at him but didn't touch the file. "We've told you everything we know. What more do you want?"
Coulson's expression didn't falter. He glanced at the trio before speaking calmly.
"Though you may not realize it, your body language tells a different story. From my training in psychology and micro-expression analysis, I observed thirty-seven instances of suspicious behavior during this interview.
You avoided eye contact, made subconscious gestures, and reacted defensively. All these signs point to one conclusion—you're hiding something about the origin of that man. I regret to inform you, your efforts to deceive us have failed."
…
"We extracted his fingerprints and blood but found no matching data. This means he is either an untraceable figure in the world—or not from Earth."
"So, Dr. Jane Foster, Dr. Selvig, can you provide any answers?" Coulson stated, laying out the S.H.I.E.L.D. investigation findings.
He opened the files displayed on the desktop. One of them featured images taken through an astronomical telescope. A red-tinged photograph of the distant starry sky revealed a faint but discernible figure.
"Do you have any explanation for this image?"
Faced with Coulson's evidence, Jane Foster, who had been fuming moments ago, now found herself at a loss for words.
"Um, this... uh—" she stammered, clearly flustered.
Coulson maintained his polite smile, though to Jane it now resembled a devil's grin, sending a chill down her spine.
Dr. Selvig, the calmest of the group, stood up. Gently guiding Jane back to her chair, he turned to Coulson. "I wasn't aware the FBI had taken an interest in so-called alien matters," he remarked.
"Then again," he continued, "I recall an old acquaintance mentioning he'd joined a mysterious and powerful organization—one not exactly public, with an equally enigmatic research scope."
"You're sharp, Dr. Selvig," Coulson replied. "You're correct. I'm not with the FBI. We're S.H.I.E.L.D., a division tasked with managing supernatural phenomena—including your recent 'guest.'"
Coulson's honesty was disarming. Sincerity, after all, was one of his greatest tools. By the end of this conversation, these three would either sign confidentiality agreements or join S.H.I.E.L.D. outright. Their post-incident processing capabilities far exceeded those of typical agencies like the FBI.
"Since we're being upfront," Coulson continued, "there's no need for pretense. Doctor, this world has never been as peaceful as it seems. Your 'friend' may have noble intentions, but his arrival introduces uncertainties that concern not just us but the entire world. To maintain order, we must understand him—and whatever forces might be linked to him."
Coulson leaned in slightly. "So please, don't try to withhold information. Consider this goodwill on our part in welcoming extraterrestrial guests."
Dr. Selvig exchanged a look with Jane and Darcy. After a moment, he turned back to Coulson. "I'll share what I know—but only if your assurances are genuine."
With that, Selvig began recounting the events surrounding Thor's arrival and what followed.
The more Coulson listened, the more his mind raced. He had suspected Thor might be an alien visitor, but to learn he was the Thor of Norse mythology, the son of Odin? It was beyond belief.
And it didn't stop there. Selvig mentioned other extraordinary figures: Blackheart, the demon son of Mephisto; Wanda and Pietro, human allies with uncanny abilities; and Sergei, another enigmatic figure. According to Blackheart, he had encountered Wanda—and hinted at a shadowy figure orchestrating events, someone capable of outwitting even Mephisto himself.
The implications were staggering. Coulson couldn't help but think of the still-unsolved mystery in Houston—a massive crater and golden anomaly that defied explanation.
He muttered under his breath, "What the hell..."
Asgard, Odin, Thor, demons, Mephisto—their existence meant humanity's understanding of the universe would be irrevocably shattered. And the sudden appearance of Wanda and Pietro raised more questions than answers.
Coulson nodded thoughtfully. "Thank you for your cooperation, Dr. Selvig. Trust us—we'll treat all parties with fairness and goodwill."
He straightened. "Once we've confirmed some details, you'll be free to go. But before that, we'll need you to sign a confidentiality agreement."
"What about Thor?" Jane asked hesitantly.
"Ma'am, we'll need to speak with him further. This may well be the first meaningful dialogue between a god and humankind." Coulson's tone carried a weight of deeper implications.
With that, he turned and exited the room, leaving Jane, Selvig, and Darcy to their thoughts.
Coulson stepped into the hallway, signaling to his assistant. "Encrypt all surveillance footage from this room, Room 577, and Thor's quarters. No one views the data before it reaches the director."
"Understood," the agent replied crisply, hurrying off.
Coulson made his way to Thor's room. As he opened the glass door, he was taken aback by what he saw: Thor, seated, his posture slumped, exuding an air of profound sadness.
Dr. Selvig had mentioned Thor's initial emotional instability after being exiled by Odin and stripped of his powers. Yet Thor had reportedly grown more cheerful during his stay in the small town. What had happened to reduce him to this state once again?
Coulson's sharp mind raced, trying to piece it together. Decadence was one thing, but this sadness... it hinted at something deeper.
After a moment's hesitation, Coulson broke the silence. "Thor Odinson," he said formally.
"I'm here to meet with you on behalf of S.H.I.E.L.D."
...
Half an Hour later.
Coulson walked out of the room helplessly, glanced left and right, then took out his cell phone and dialed the Director's number.
Soon, the connection was established, and a familiar voice came from the other end.
"Coulson~~"
"Director, your guess was correct. This time, we are indeed dealing with visitors from outside. And there are… unexpected developments." Coulson took a deep breath and relayed the details from Dr. Selvig, word for word.
After he finished, silence followed. Coulson listened intently as the faint sound of footsteps came through the line. After a long pause, Fury's voice returned.
"Do you think it's credible?"
"We used instruments to analyze his micro-expressions, eye movements, and heartbeat throughout the process. Everything checked out." Coulson didn't answer directly but added, "Moreover, much of the information Dr. Selvig mentioned requires a significant amount of specialized knowledge, resources, and manpower to fabricate."
"If they're lying, the stakes are too high to justify it. So, what could their motive even be?"
Fury exhaled heavily. He didn't respond immediately, but the implications were sinking in. SHIELD had already investigated every possible angle. Jane Foster, Erik Selvig, and Darcy Lewis had their lives, finances, and histories scrutinized. Everything seemed perfectly ordinary.
Coulson continued, "If we eliminate all impossibilities, then what remains, no matter how improbable, must be the truth."
Fury sighed. His headache was worsening. Though he had known about aliens since the 1990s—especially with the Skrulls as allies—this situation was spiraling far beyond his expectations. The arrival of the Kree and their advanced technology was one thing, but now demons like Blackheart, Mephisto, and even figures like Thor and the Asgardians had entered the equation.
The world wasn't just about aliens anymore. It was about gods and demons, too.
These were external threats SHIELD couldn't ignore, and Fury hated feeling like humanity was so insignificant in comparison.
"Damn it…" Fury muttered under his breath.
He had originally hoped that recruiting mutants for the Avengers would bolster Earth's defenses against extraordinary threats. But now, even that felt insufficient.
Still, buried within the bad news, there was a sliver of hope. Thor and Asgard, if genuine, could potentially be allies. At least for now, they seemed non-hostile and willing to communicate.
On the other hand, demons like Mephisto represented a far greater danger. But according to Blackheart, someone had already defeated and banished Mephisto back to Hell.
This mysterious figure intrigued Fury. He had long been tracking the elusive man who seemed to be at the center of these extraordinary events.
"Why would he stay hidden?" Fury muttered to himself. "Is it really just to avoid entanglement in human affairs? Or are those untraceable incidents also his doing? Like SHIELD, perhaps he's fighting from the shadows…"
This line of thought was unsettling but plausible. Fury recalled how Thor had been approached almost immediately upon arriving on Earth. That kind of coordination pointed to a highly capable and resourceful organization.
For now, Fury felt a small sense of relief, knowing someone was capable of countering beings like Mephisto. But that relief quickly turned into unease.
The mysterious man was powerful—powerful enough to defeat a demon lord. Based on Thor's conversations, Odin, the All-Father, could destroy entire planets. If this man was anywhere near Odin's level, his power could devastate the Earth.
Fury grimaced. If his pursuit of this figure angered him, SHIELD—and possibly the entire planet—might not survive.
"Director?" Coulson's voice snapped him back to reality.
Fury steadied his thoughts and replied, "You mentioned his mood seemed off?"
"Yes. According to Dr. Selvig, Jane Foster, and our own observations, he's been stable for the past few days. But today, his mood shifted drastically. He seems… sad, depressed. He's refusing to communicate."
"What do you think caused it, Coulson?"
"Maybe he's not the only one who came from Asgard."
"You're suggesting other Asgardians are on Earth and said something to him that upset him?"
"It's the only possibility that fits," Coulson replied.
Fury rubbed his temple. "It seems like something significant may have happened within Asgard. Keep observing. If he wants to approach the hammer, let him. Don't interfere. I suspect we'll see some unexpected developments soon."
"Understood. And Director… what do you mean by 'unexpected developments'?"
"Just a feeling. Our team in Mexico is ready to provide backup if needed. Keep me updated."
"Got it."
"Oh, and Coulson," Fury added, his tone softening slightly, "there's a surprise waiting for you when this mission is over."
"Looking forward to it, sir."