Thor felt like he was trapped in an endless nightmare.
Just yesterday, he had been the honored prince of Asgard, mere hours away from his coronation as the new king. He should have basked in the adoration of thousands, their cheers echoing through the golden halls of the royal palace. He should have been carried to the throne on the shoulders of his people, toasted by every warrior in the realm as they knelt before him in loyalty and reverence.
This was his birthright—his destiny.
Born a prince of Asgard, heir to the throne of the Nine Realms, Thor had never questioned that this moment would come. The weight of Mjolnir in his hand, the thunder responding to his call, the respect in every eye that looked upon him—these were the constants of his existence.
But now? Now everything lay in ruins.
Odin, the All-Father, had cast him out. Stripped him of his throne, his godly power, and—most humiliating of all—his beloved Mjolnir. The loss of his godly strength was one thing, but what truly grated against his pride was this: on this backwater planet, no one had even heard his name.
These mortals showed him no respect whatsoever. They wouldn't even address him as Thor, God of Thunder! Some had the audacity to call him "crazy" or "delusional."
"The gods are unfair!" he muttered bitterly as he trudged through the desert.
How many battles had he won for Asgard over the centuries? How many realms had he helped bring under his father's rule? Yet the moment he declared war on the Frost Giants—the moment he showed the strength and decisiveness a true king needed—Odin had banished him like a common criminal.
In Thor's mind, his father had grown weak. The God-King who once conquered the Nine Realms and brought order to the cosmos was gone, replaced by a cowardly old man too afraid to defend Asgard's honor. When the Frost Giants had dared to interrupt his coronation ceremony, Odin had done nothing. Nothing! He'd made Asgard look weak in front of the entire Nine Realms.
Thor's jaw clenched as he walked. He would return to Asgard and demand answers. He would make the All-Father understand his mistake. Then he would lead the armies of Asgard against Jotunheim, crush every last Frost Giant, and restore his realm's glory.
But first, he needed to reclaim Mjolnir.
The desert sun beat down mercilessly on his shoulders. Without his godly constitution, Thor discovered the unpleasant reality of mortal existence—hunger, thirst, and exhaustion. His throat felt like sandpaper, his stomach cramped with emptiness, and sweat poured down his face despite the dry air. If he stayed out here much longer, he'd probably collapse from heatstroke.
At least this torment wouldn't last much longer. He'd learned of Mjolnir's location from the locals in a nearby town. The ignorant mortals of Midgard had mistaken his hammer for some kind of fallen satellite and were apparently trying to study it, as if they could comprehend its power.
Thor wasn't angry about their presumption. After all, he knew the truth—no one but him could lift Mjolnir.
Steve Rogers and Agent Coulson approached the impact site, ducking under the simple barrier tape that marked the perimeter. After weaving through the maze of support struts and equipment, Steve finally got his first clear look at the mysterious object.
"Well, it's definitely a hammer," he said, unable to keep the bemusement out of his voice.
The weapon before him was beautiful in its simplicity—a square-headed hammer with intricate engravings along its surface, embedded firmly in the compacted earth. Despite its relatively modest size, it had the look of something that had seen countless battles.
Steve studied the crater surrounding the hammer, noting its dimensions. "If this thing really is so heavy that nobody can lift it, wouldn't the impact crater be a lot bigger than this?"
"That's one of the things that's been puzzling us," Coulson replied, adjusting his tie. "The physics don't quite add up."
Several sophisticated monitoring devices had been positioned around the hammer, their screens displaying various readings. Steve approached for a closer look, taking in the weapon's details. The handle was surprisingly short, wrapped in what appeared to be leather, with a lanyard at the end that looked like it had been braided from some kind of hide.
If that material really was organic, it should have been incinerated during atmospheric entry. Yet here it was, completely intact.
Steve found himself wondering what kind of warrior would choose such a compact weapon. In his experience, effective close-quarters combat required reach and leverage—this hammer would put its wielder at a significant disadvantage against anyone with a longer weapon.
"Our instruments confirm it's not emitting any harmful radiation," Coulson said, noticing Steve's interest. "Want to give it a try, Captain?"
Steve nodded, rolling his shoulders to loosen up. He'd always been confident in his enhanced strength, and he had to admit he was curious whether this hammer was really as immovable as everyone claimed.
He reached down and grasped the handle firmly.
A crackling sound suddenly filled the air—like electricity arcing between live wires.
Coulson pressed his earpiece. "What's happening?"
"We've got an intruder!" Agent Brock's voice crackled through the comm. "He's tearing through the perimeter like it's made of paper!"
Steve immediately released the hammer and swung his shield from his back to his arm in one smooth motion. Coulson was already reaching for his sidearm when the temporary structure's entrance exploded inward.
A massive blond man burst through, swinging his arms like a man possessed. He was even taller than Steve, built like a Viking warrior from the history books, and he moved with the unstoppable momentum of a charging bear.
"Mjolnir!"
The intruder's eyes locked onto the hammer immediately, his face lighting up with the kind of joy Steve had seen in soldiers' eyes when they spotted home after months of deployment. The man rushed forward as if he were about to embrace a long-lost lover.
Steve stepped between the intruder and the hammer, shield raised defensively. The man before him was shirtless, his torso a masterwork of muscle and sinew that looked like it had been carved from marble by a master sculptor. Every line spoke of countless hours of training, of battles fought and won.
Thor finally seemed to notice he wasn't alone. His eyes fell on Steve, and his expression shifted to one of disdain mixed with outrage.
"Do you know who stands before you?" Thor demanded, his voice carrying the authority of someone who had never been refused anything in his life.
In his mind, all of Midgard was Asgard's domain, which made every person on this planet his subject. As a prince of Asgard, he deserved—no, he was entitled to—courtesy and respect from everyone he encountered.
"I don't care who you are," Steve replied, positioning himself protectively in front of Coulson. "I'm advising you not to do anything stupid."
The mortal's defiance ignited Thor's rage like a match to gunpowder. These Midgardians didn't just fail to show proper respect—they actually had the audacity to threaten him?
"Excellent!" Thor roared, his voice echoing off the temporary structure's walls. "You have angered the Prince of Asgard, Thor Odinson!"
He sized up Steve with the eye of a seasoned warrior. "I can see you're a fighter. That's good—I respect strength." His lips curled into a battle-hungry grin. "But the one standing before you now is Asgard's greatest warrior!"
"Face the wrath of the God of Thunder!"
Without another word, Thor lunged forward, his fist cutting through the air toward Steve's face. Despite losing his godly power, his warrior's instincts remained sharp, his mastery of combat techniques intact. This would be a quick fight—he'd put this insolent mortal in his place, reclaim Mjolnir, and be on his way back to Asgard.
The world spun.
Thor found himself flat on his back, staring up at the ceiling of the makeshift base. His head rang like a bell, his vision swimming in and out of focus. For a moment, he couldn't tell if he was dreaming or if this was some kind of elaborate hallucination.
"Huh," Steve exhaled, looking back and forth between his shield and the fallen "god" at his feet. A note of genuine surprise colored his voice as he spoke:
"What a weak god."
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