The Norwegian countryside was ablaze with chaos, the darkness broken not only by the ethereal glow of the aurora borealis dancing overhead, but by the orange flames consuming buildings in the ancient village of Tønsberg below. HYDRA forces moved through the streets with mechanical precision, their black uniforms making them nearly invisible against the night as they herded terrified civilians from their homes. The ground still held puddles from yesterday's rain, now reflecting the hellish glow of the burning town.
Distant screams echoed across the landscape as the massive Landkreuzer tank crushed through another building, its treads grinding over centuries old cobblestones. The scarlet HYDRA emblem on its hull seemed to glow in the firelight as it systematically demolished anything that might offer the villagers shelter.
On a hill just outside the village, the Bifrost bridge manifested without warning. A pillar of rainbow energy tore through the dimensional barriers between realms, its brilliant light momentarily outshining even the fires below. The beam struck the soggy earth with tremendous force, carving a perfect circle into the hillside and sending up clouds of steam where divine fire met earthly moisture.
From the brilliant light stepped a figure of impossible beauty and power. Balder Odinson stood over seven feet tall, his golden hair flowing like liquid starlight, his armor gleaming with the craftsmanship of Asgard's finest smiths. Around his neck rested a small stone pendant that pulsed with ancient magic, but it was the weapon at his side that truly marked him as divine. Svraden, the Realm Walker, hung in its scabbard like a piece of captured lightning. The Odin blessed sword could be summoned across the Nine Realms to its master's hand, and in the right circumstances, transport beings between worlds.
The Nornstone had been placed around his neck by his mother Frigga the moment he drew his first breath, a mother's desperate attempt to protect her beloved youngest child. In the old days, mortals across the Nine Realms believed it was this stone that made Balder invulnerable, that Frigga had made everything in existence swear an oath never to harm her precious son. The truth was both simpler and more complex. The stone's power bent reality around him, making him invisible to scrying eyes and prophetic sight, shielding him from the visions that might have revealed too much of his fate too soon. Even Heimdall's all-seeing gaze could not penetrate its veil, though none in Asgard suspected this quirk of the artifact's magic. Before Loki's arrival in their family, Balder had been Frigga's youngest, and her adoration for him was matched only by the love the entire Nine Realms felt for the Prince of Light.
Balder surveyed the Norwegian landscape with growing horror, his boots squelching slightly in the rain soaked earth as he took in the destruction below. The cosmic disturbance that had shaken the very foundations of Yggdrasil had originated from this realm, and the All Father had dispatched his middle son to investigate. But he had not expected to find mortal suffering on such a scale.
"By the Tree," Balder breathed, watching as HYDRA soldiers dragged an elderly man from a burning house. The cosmic disturbance he'd been sent to investigate seemed secondary now to the immediate horror unfolding before his divine eyes.
Moving with fluid grace across the wet ground, Balder began making his way toward the village, following both the lingering traces of Tesseract energy and his own moral compulsion to aid the innocent. The cosmic cube's activation had left psychic echoes that only divine senses could detect, ripples in the fabric of reality that spoke of power unleashed without wisdom. But it was the very human screams from below that demanded his more immediate attention.
As he approached the burning town, a familiar stench filled his nostrils beneath the smoke and cordite. Brimstone. The acrid smell of sulfur and hellfire. Balder's divine senses recoiled from the corruption that tainted the air, realizing this was not merely human evil, but something far worse.
"Mortals with cosmic power," Balder murmured, pausing at the edge of destruction while fighting back revulsion. "And something darker orchestrating them."
The sounds of battle were dying as HYDRA completed its methodical slaughter. Bodies lay scattered in the streets, survivors herded toward transport trucks with brutal efficiency. Balder's jaw clenched as he witnessed the systematic murder of innocents.
He was so focused on the atrocity below that he failed to notice the shadows deepening around him, taking on substance and purpose. The temperature dropped despite the mild March night and the heat from burning buildings, frost forming on wet stones.
As the darkness gathered, Balder's divine senses suddenly recoiled from a sound that made his blood freeze. Screaming. Thousands upon thousands of voices crying out in agony, their words barely audible but unmistakable: "HELP! HELP ME! PLEASE!" The voices of the damned, souls trapped in eternal torment, their desperate pleas echoing from somewhere far below the mortal realm. The sound lasted only seconds before fading, but it left Balder shaken to his core.
"Magnificent work, don't you think?" came a voice like honey over broken glass.
Balder spun, his hand moving instinctively to Svraden's hilt as Mephisto emerged from the darkness. The demon lord's perfect features were illuminated by both the aurora's glow and the orange light of the burning village below, his immaculate black suit somehow unmarked by the journey from the depths of Hell. The stench of brimstone grew stronger, making Balder's eyes water despite his divine constitution.
"I know what you are," Balder said, his voice steady despite the revulsion he felt and the rage building within him at what he'd witnessed. "A creature of the pit. And I heard them screaming when you came through. How many souls suffer because of you?"
"Oh, countless millions," Mephisto replied with casual pride, examining his perfectly manicured nails. "Each one adding to Hell's eternal chorus. But I'm not here to discuss my collection, prince. I'm here because my associate has been eager to meet you."
Before Balder could respond, the air around them began to shimmer with heat that had nothing to do with the mild spring night. The ground beneath their feet grew warm, and the puddles of rainwater began to steam. From the thermal distortion stepped a figure clad in ancient armor that seemed to drink in the aurora's light.
Ares stood before them in his full war regalia, bronze plates and leather that had been worn in conflicts spanning millennia. Over the divine armor he wore a modern military greatcoat, the fabric somehow managing to contain his massive frame while bearing no insignia of any mortal nation. His eyes burned with an inner fire that spoke of battlefields stretching back to humanity's first war.
"Well, well," Ares said, his voice carrying the weight of every sword that had ever been drawn in anger. "If it isn't Odin's golden boy, come slumming in the mortal realm."
"Ares." Balder's hand tightened on Svraden's hilt, though he made no move to draw the blade. "I might have known you'd be behind this corruption. Crawl back to whatever hole you've been hiding in and leave these mortals alone."
"Hiding?" Ares laughed, the sound like steel grinding against stone. "I've been preparing, Asgardian. While you've been playing the perfect prince in your golden halls, I've been down here where the real work gets done. Where men show their true nature."
"And what work is that?" Balder demanded, though he suspected he already knew the answer. "Teaching mortals to build better ways to kill each other?"
"Teaching them nothing," Ares replied, beginning to circle Balder like a predator sizing up its prey. "Simply giving them the tools to express what's already in their hearts. The capacity for war has always been there, prince. I'm just helping it reach its full potential."
"You speak of war as if it's humanity's natural state," Balder said, his voice carrying disgust. "But I've seen mortals choose peace, choose sacrifice for others. You corrupt what could be noble."
"Noble?" Ares sneered. "Look around you, god of light. See how quickly their nobility burns when given the proper motivation. Every man is a killer waiting for the right moment."
"I seek no conflict with you," Balder replied, his voice carrying the absolute sincerity that had made him beloved throughout the Nine Realms. "But I cannot allow cosmic power to fall into the hands of those who would misuse it."
"And I cannot allow self-righteous fools from rival pantheons to interfere with plans that have been centuries in the making," Ares countered, his hand moving to the weapon at his side.
The blade that materialized hungered for blood. This was no mere sword, but a weapon forged from humanity's capacity for murder, tempered in the gore of every battlefield since the dawn of war. Its dark metal had drunk deep from the veins of kings and peasants, heroes and cowards, gods and mortals alike. The blade whispered with the voices of its countless victims, each death adding to its terrible power. As Ares drew it fully, the weapon seemed to pulse with malevolent life, eager to add Balder's divine blood to its endless tally.
"If you insist on this path," Balder said sadly, drawing Svraden from its sheath, "then I will do what I must to protect the innocent."
His blade blazed to life as it cleared the scabbard, brilliant light pouring from the metal like captured starfire. Where Ares's weapon embodied murder and slaughter, Svraden radiated hope and creation. The contrast between them turned the Norwegian countryside into a battlefield between fundamental cosmic forces.
They circled each other warily, two gods from different worlds testing their opponent's resolve. Ares moved with the predatory grace of someone who had bathed in blood since civilization's first war, while Balder flowed like light made flesh, his every movement carrying the promise of dawn after the darkest night.
"You cannot win, Ares," Balder said as they moved. "Your power feeds on despair and hatred. Here, fighting to protect innocents, I am at my strongest."
"My blade has drunk the blood of ten thousand gods," Ares replied with a savage grin, his weapon seeming to writhe in his grip like a living thing. "It thirsts for yours, prince. It whispers to me of how sweet divine ichor tastes when spilled in rage."
Ares launched himself forward.
Their first clash sent shockwaves across the landscape. The meeting of their blades created a thunderclap that shattered windows in the distant village. Ares pressed his attack immediately, his sword cutting vicious arcs through the air that forced Balder to give ground.
Ares fought with brutal skill, each strike meant to kill. Balder parried desperately, his blade moving fast to block strikes that could have shattered mountains. Ares's relentless aggression was wearing him down.
"Still the same predictable fool," Ares snarled as their weapons locked. "Fighting for mortals who will never appreciate your sacrifice."
Balder twisted away from the bind and drove his pommel toward Ares's chin. The God of War barely leaned back in time, but Balder's follow up caught him across the ribs with the flat of his blade. Ares grunted and stumbled backward.
"And you remain the same bitter exile," Balder replied, pressing forward.
Ares roared and launched himself back into the fight. Their battle raged across the Norwegian countryside, divine feet leaving deep prints in the wet earth. Where their blades met, the air caught fire. Trees splintered and fell as the gods crashed through them.
For hours they fought, trading wounds that would have killed mortals instantly. Ares's sword opened a gash along Balder's shoulder that bled golden ichor. Balder's blade scored deep across Ares's chest, tearing through divine armor. Both gods were breathing hard now.
The tide began to turn when Ares made his cruelest gambit.
"Tell me, prince," he said during a brief pause, "do you hear that?"
In the distance, terrified screams reached them from Tønsberg. The few villagers who had survived HYDRA's initial assault had awakened to find their homes shaking from the divine battle, windows shattered and the ground trembling.
"The mortals you claim to protect," Ares continued with a savage smile, circling just out of sword range. "How long before our battle brings down their houses? How many will die tonight because you chose to fight me?"
Balder's expression shifted from determination to anguish. Every moment they continued fighting put innocent lives at risk. The energy waves from their battle were already causing damage throughout the village. He could hear children crying in the darkness.
"We must move away from populated areas," Balder said, beginning to back toward the open wilderness.
"Must we?" Ares asked, not moving. "Or perhaps you could simply surrender and spare them."
"I cannot allow you to corrupt mortal conflicts with divine power," Balder replied, though his attention was clearly divided between Ares and the innocent villagers. "But neither can I allow harm to come to these people."
"Then you face an impossible choice," Ares said with satisfaction. "Fight me and watch mortals die in the crossfire, or surrender and watch them fall to powers they cannot comprehend."
Mephisto's voice cut through the night like silk over steel. "Allow me to resolve this dilemma."
The demon lord raised his hand, and hellfire erupted through the village below. The few survivors who had been cowering in basements and hiding in ruins screamed as infernal flames consumed them. Men, women, children—all burned alive in seconds, their agonized cries echoing across the countryside before cutting off abruptly.
"No!" Balder roared, his divine senses reeling from the sudden extinguishing of so many innocent lives. "You monster!"
"Problem solved," Mephisto said with casual indifference, brushing imaginary dust from his perfect suit. "Now you can fight without distraction."
It was exactly the opening Ares had been waiting for. As Balder stared in horror at the burning village, his attention completely fractured by grief and rage, the God of War struck with vicious precision.
His blade swept low, catching Balder behind the knee and sending him stumbling. Before the God of Light could recover, Ares reversed his grip and drove the pommel of his sword into Balder's temple with crushing force. The impact rang like a bell, and Balder dropped to one knee, his vision blurring.
"Your compassion was always your weakness," Ares snarled, raising his sword for a killing blow.
But Balder wasn't finished. Even wounded and disoriented, he managed to roll aside as Ares's blade crashed down where his head had been. The God of Light swept Ares's legs, sending his opponent crashing to the ground, then struggled to his feet with his sword raised defensively.
Blood ran down the side of Balder's face from where Ares had struck him, and he swayed slightly on his feet. The blow to his head had been devastating, even by divine standards. His vision kept shifting in and out of focus.
"I will not let you corrupt this realm," Balder said, though his voice was weaker now, less certain.
Ares climbed to his feet, his ancient eyes gleaming with victory. "You're already beaten, prince. You just don't know it yet."
They clashed again, but this time Balder was clearly at a disadvantage. The head wound had affected his balance and timing. Ares pressed his advantage ruthlessly, raining blow after blow on Balder's desperate defense. Each impact sent fresh waves of pain through the God of Light's skull.
Finally, Ares managed to trap Balder's sword in a bind and drove his knee into his opponent's stomach. As Balder doubled over, gasping, Ares brought the pommel of his sword down on the back of Balder's neck. The God of Light collapsed face first into the wet earth, his weapon falling from nerveless fingers.
"Pathetic," Ares spat, standing over his fallen opponent. "The great protector of mankind, brought low by his own weakness."
Balder struggled to push himself up, but his arms wouldn't support his weight. Blood from his head wound was turning the muddy ground crimson beneath him. "The village..." he whispered. "The innocents..."
"Are all dead," Mephisto said with mock sympathy. "I made sure of that."
From the shadows behind Balder, Mephisto struck. His attack wasn't physical but mental, hitting Balder's mind while the God of Light was already reeling from Ares's brutal assault.
The blow caught Balder off guard. Pain exploded through his head as Mephisto's power tore through his mental defenses, made weak by the physical trauma Ares had inflicted.
"What..." Balder staggered, hands clutching his head as agony overwhelmed him. Blood ran more freely from his wounds. "What have you done?"
"What was necessary," Mephisto replied coldly. "Ares softened you up nicely, but I needed a more precise touch."
Balder fell to his knees, hands clutching his head as memories began to fragment and dissolve. Ares's physical beating and Mephisto's mental attack were tearing his consciousness apart. The Nornstone around his neck pulsed frantically, trying to protect him, but its power was designed to shield against prophecy, not direct mental attack on an already damaged mind.
"My... my name is..." Balder struggled to hold onto basic facts about himself as Mephisto's power ate away at his consciousness. The head wounds made it worse.
Mephisto leaned closer, his voice like poisoned honey. "You're confused, aren't you? Can't quite remember who you are? Let me help you." His words slithered into Balder's damaged mind like snakes. "You're a test pilot. You crashed your experimental aircraft. You volunteered for dangerous missions to help end the war."
"No... I..." Balder tried to resist, but the false memories felt real, solid, while his true memories crumbled like ash.
"Your name is Wilhelm," Mephisto continued, his power reshaping Balder's mind with surgical precision. "You don't remember much because of the accident. But you want to help. You want to serve. You want to make sure no more soldiers die because of better weapons."
"Wilhelm..." Balder repeated weakly, the name feeling foreign yet somehow right. His memories of Asgard, of his family, of his true nature, all dissolved into nothingness.
"The village..." he whispered, still trying to focus on something, though he couldn't remember what.
"What village?" Mephisto asked with false concern. "You crashed in the mountains, remember? These men found you and saved your life. You should be grateful."
Balder's divine awareness slipped away completely. The Nornstone's magic, while unable to prevent the attack, began adapting to hide his transformed state from any who might seek him.
"Sleep now," Mephisto said gently. "When you wake, you'll remember what I've told you. You'll want nothing more than to help these good men save lives."
As Balder's consciousness faded, his last coherent thought was gratitude. These people had saved him from his crash. He would help them however he could.
Schmidt emerged from the treeline with his HYDRA escort an hour later, having waited at a safe distance during the divine battle. He found Ares and Mephisto standing over what appeared to be an unconscious man in strange armor. The figure was massive, easily seven feet tall, with golden hair and features that looked almost too perfect to be human. His breathing was labored, blood matted his hair, and his eyes remained closed.
"The Tesseract is secured," Schmidt reported, patting the case at his side. "But who is this?" He studied the fallen figure with scientific curiosity, noting the unusual armor and the man's impressive physique.
"No one of consequence," Ares said dismissively, not even glancing down at the unconscious form. "A fool who interfered. Do what you will with him."
Mephisto smiled thinly. "Consider him a bonus for your research efforts. He survived quite a beating. Perhaps your scientists will find him interesting."
Schmidt knelt beside the unconscious figure, noting the obvious head trauma and the strange pendant around his neck. "Remarkable constitution to survive such injuries. His size suggests some form of enhancement." He gestured to his men. "Load him with the other specimens. Dr. Zola will want to examine him."
As HYDRA soldiers carefully loaded the unconscious figure into their transport vehicles, none of them suspected they were handling anything more than an unusually large human in exotic armor. The blood on his head and his obvious injuries suggested he'd been caught in the battle's crossfire. To Schmidt's forces, he was simply another potential test subject for their enhancement programs.
"Will he cause problems?" Schmidt asked, though his tone suggested it was merely a practical concern.
"Unlikely," Ares replied with cold indifference. "He took quite a blow to the head. May not even remember his own name when he wakes up."
The last thing Balder saw before losing consciousness completely was the aurora dancing overhead, its lights seeming to whisper a lullaby in a woman's voice that felt hauntingly familiar. But by the time he woke in a HYDRA medical facility three days later, even that memory had faded into nothingness.
And that is how the great protector of humanity became our most cooperative research subject," Ares concluded, his voice returning to the present moment in Zola's laboratory.
Schmidt picked up the story from there. "When he first awakened in our medical facility, he was confused but not hostile. The cover story Mephisto had implanted worked perfectly. He believed he had volunteered for dangerous experimental aircraft testing in service of ending the war."
"He was so grateful," Zola added with clinical detachment. "Grateful that we had saved his life after the crash, grateful for the medical care, eager to help however he could. When we explained that his enhanced physiology might hold the key to treating wounded soldiers, he volunteered for every test we proposed."
Wilhelm looked up from where he had been listening with growing confusion. "Are you talking about me? But my name isn't Balder, it's Wilhelm. And I don't understand all this talk about gods and Norway. Dr. Zola, you said I crashed in an experimental aircraft over Germany."
Schmidt's smile was coldly satisfied as he watched the god's complete bewilderment. "Indeed you did, Wilhelm. Indeed, you did."
Zola opened his research folder, revealing detailed anatomical charts and test results. "The knowledge we've gained from studying him has advanced our understanding of enhanced physiology by decades. His blood samples have provided crucial insights into cellular regeneration that we've incorporated into Baron Zemo's serum research."
"Not to mention the mechanical applications," Zemo added, gesturing toward G.I. Robot's examination table. "Combining Asgardian biological principles with mechanical engineering has opened up possibilities I never could have imagined."
"I'M GONNA RIP YOUR HEADS OFF AND PISS DOWN YOUR NECKS!" G.I. Robot roared from his restraints, his mechanical voice echoing through the laboratory. "YOU NAZI BASTARDS CAN GO STRAIGHT TO HELL!"
"Show them," Schmidt instructed, ignoring the mechanical soldier's threats.
Zola led them to a secured cabinet containing several prototype devices. The first appeared to be a sophisticated prosthetic limb, but its construction incorporated design elements that seemed to blend organic curves with mechanical precision.
"Using principles derived from both subjects, I've begun developing mechanical augmentations that can integrate seamlessly with biological systems," Zola explained with obvious pride. "This prosthetic doesn't just replace lost limbs; it enhances them beyond normal human capabilities while maintaining full sensory feedback."
He activated a control panel, and the prosthetic limb began moving with fluid, lifelike motions. "The power source draws inspiration from G.I. Robot's energy systems, but the neural integration protocols come from studying Balder's nervous system responses."
"WHEN I GET OUT OF THESE RESTRAINTS, I'M GONNA TEAR THIS WHOLE PLACE APART!" G.I. Robot continued his tirade. "ESPECIALLY YOU, SCARFACE!"
"Impressive craftsmanship," Mephisto said, examining the prosthetic with mild interest. "Though frankly, these mechanical toys seem rather crude compared to the wonders I could offer. Still, Dr. Zola, your ingenuity is... noteworthy."
"Precisely," Schmidt confirmed. "But that's only the beginning. Zola has been developing full-body mechanical enhancement suits, powered armor that would make a single soldier equivalent to a tank in terms of both protection and firepower."