Of course, Fury was coming.
What had started as a routine investigation into an unidentified object had spiraled into something far more complex. Initially, Nick Fury had dismissed the reports of an immovable hammer as little more than a curiosity—another piece of extraterrestrial debris with unusual properties. Such things weren't uncommon in their line of work. The standard protocol was simple: establish a perimeter, set up a research facility, and study the anomaly until they understood its nature.
His decision to send Captain America had been pragmatic rather than desperate. Steve Rogers needed field experience to readjust to the modern world after his decades-long freeze, and the hammer seemed like a low-risk assignment. At worst, they might encounter foreign agents or rival organizations drawn by the unusual readings.
Fury understood better than most that America housed numerous competing interests. Beyond the obvious foreign intelligence services, domestic factions operated with their own agendas—military contractors, corporate research divisions, and shadow organizations that existed in the spaces between official acknowledgment. Any sufficiently advanced technology would inevitably attract their attention.
But what he hadn't anticipated was the cascade of escalating incidents that followed. First, an unidentified mercenary had single-handedly dismantled an entire special forces unit. Then a self-proclaimed god had materialized out of thin air and nearly killed Captain America. Finally, the mysterious Plumbers—the same organization that had appeared at Stark Tower—had sent their own representative to the scene.
Nick Fury prided himself on his ability to read situations, to anticipate threats before they materialized. But as he reviewed the incident reports during his flight to New Mexico, a chilling realization settled over him: what he'd initially dismissed as a simple containment operation was rapidly becoming the opening moves of an interplanetary conflict.
If this Asgard was real—if gods and alien civilizations were taking direct interest in Earth—then conventional responses would prove woefully inadequate. He might need to activate protocols that he'd hoped never to use, call in favors from contacts that most of his subordinates didn't even know existed.
The thought of Carol Danvers crossed his mind, though he quickly pushed it aside. Even if she could reach Earth in time, would she arrive to find anything worth saving?
The Quinjet's advanced engines cut through the atmosphere with barely a whisper, carrying him toward what might be humanity's most crucial hour. Through the cockpit windows, the New Mexican desert stretched endlessly below, deceptively peaceful under the afternoon sun.
Nick Fury's boots hit the ground, his single eye immediately scanning the scene before him. The aftermath of the confrontation was evident everywhere.
Thor remained exactly where the reports had indicate.
Rather than approach him immediately, Fury made his way to where Steve Rogers stood beside Agent Coulson. The Captain's wounds had been properly treated, but the strain of recent events was evident in the tight lines around his eyes.
"Captain," Fury's voice carried its usual measured calm, the tone of a man who'd weathered countless storms. "Status report."
"I'm functional, sir," Steve replied, though his gaze drifted toward Thor's motionless form. "The injuries are superficial."
Fury nodded, then leaned closer, his voice dropping to a confidential register. "Captain, when humanity's survival is at stake, we sometimes have to make difficult choices. Flexibility in our methods becomes a necessity, not a luxury."
Without waiting for a response, Fury strode toward the hammer that had started this entire mess. Mjolnir sat innocuously in its crater, looking like nothing more than an elaborate prop from a Viking museum.
Fury grasped the handle with both hands, muscles tensing as he applied steady pressure. The hammer remained absolutely motionless, as if it had been welded to the earth itself. His expression never changed, revealing nothing of whatever disappointment or frustration he might have felt.
"The individual claiming to represent the Plumbers," Fury said, releasing the hammer and turning back to his agents. "I need a detailed description."
Coulson produced a hastily sketched portrait from his jacket. "Security footage was destroyed during the encounter with the subject claiming to be Loki. This was drawn by one of our field agents based on witness accounts."
Fury studied the image intently—a four-armed humanoid crimson figure with distinctive markings along its limbs. The symbol on the creature's arm was identical to the one worn by the flame-powered individual who'd appeared in New York just days earlier.
"Another alien," he muttered, pinching the bridge of his nose. The implications were staggering. If multiple alien species were taking active interest in Earth, if they were organized enough to have representatives and symbols, then humanity was facing a threat unlike anything in recorded history.
"I want complete files on both incidents," Fury instructed. "Cross-reference any similar encounters in our databases. We need to understand what we're dealing with and assess the potential threat level."
With that settled, Fury approached Thor's position, crouching down to place himself at eye level with the kneeling figure.
"I don't know who you are," Fury began, his words carefully chosen to project strength rather than deference, "but you and your brother have become a direct threat to Earth's security. That makes you my problem."
In the past, such casual dismissal would have ignited Thor's legendary temper. The god of thunder had leveled cities for lesser insults, had challenged cosmic forces that dared question his authority. But now, stripped of his godly power and cast down from the realm of gods, he could only raise his head with tremendous effort.
"Midgard was always within Asgard's dominion," Thor replied, his voice carrying the weight of absolute conviction despite his weakened state. "You have attacked the son of Odin, humiliated the heir to the throne of Asgard. Such actions demand retribution."
The words emerged slowly, each syllable carefully measured. Even in his current state, Thor's fundamental worldview remained unchanged. Earth was a protectorate, its people subjects of a greater realm. Their resistance to Asgardian authority was not just rebellion—it was inconceivable.
"If I still possessed my birthright," Thor continued, his blue eyes blazing with frustrated fury, "I would reduce your cities to ash and your armies to memory. No corner of this realm would escape the consequences of your defiance."
Fury's expression darkened, his jaw tightening as he absorbed the casual threat.
"You think your civilization gives you the right to threaten Earth?" Fury asked, his voice carrying a dangerous edge. "You think being from a more advanced society makes you untouchable?"
He reached up and deliberately removed his eye patch, revealing the scarred socket beneath.
"See this?" Fury gestured toward the ruined eye. "You're not the first alien I've encountered, and you're certainly not the first to claim authority. The creature that did this to me also thought it was beyond human retaliation."
Thor's expression remained unchanged, his pride intact despite his current vulnerability. He'd already witnessed humanity's ignorance during his time in the nearby town, had seen their inability to comprehend the greater universe that surrounded them. This display of defiance was merely another example of mortal foolishness.
But even as the confrontation intensified, the desert around them began to change. The afternoon sun dimmed as if filtered through gathering storm clouds, though the sky had been clear moments before. A wind rose from nowhere, carrying with it the electric taste of approaching thunder.
Thor's golden hair stirred in the unnatural breeze, and for the first time since his fall, his eyes showed something other than defeat.
"Sir," Coulson's voice cut through the building tension, "we have a situation."
Fury looked up to see the sky darkening with impossible speed. Clouds materialized from clear air, swirling into a massive spiral that seemed to reach toward the earth itself. At the center of the vortex, something metallic glinted in the unnatural light.
"I'm not blind yet, Coulson," Fury snapped, though his attention was fully focused on the descending threat. Every instinct he'd developed over decades of crisis management was screaming warnings.
Through the swirling winds, a figure emerged from the heart of the storm. Tall and imposing, its form was wreathed in silver armor that seemed to absorb light rather than reflect it. The resemblance to Stark's Iron Man technology was superficial at best—this was something older, more primal, radiating an aura of barely contained destruction.
"Is this some new Stark prototype?" Coulson asked, his voice barely audible over the growing wind.
But Fury knew better. Natasha had been embedded in Stark Industries for months, providing detailed intelligence on every project in development. Nothing in her reports had mentioned armor like this, and Tony Stark's ego would never allow him to create something so deliberately archaic in design.
Thor's reaction confirmed Fury's suspicions. The fallen god's face had gone pale, his eyes wide with recognition and something approaching terror.
"The Destroyer," Thor whispered, struggling to his feet with movements that spoke of desperate urgency. "Why would Loki send the Destroyer?"
He stumbled toward the descending figure, his voice rising to a shout that carried across the desert. "Loki! How can you deploy the Destroyer? Do you mean to destroy all of Midgard?!"
The armored figure's response was immediate and devastating. The featureless face split open to reveal a core of burning energy, light building to an intensity that made the sun seem pale by comparison. The beam that erupted from its depths struck the sand near Thor's feet, the impact sending him tumbling away like a discarded toy.
The explosion left a crater of molten glass where solid ground had been moments before. The heat was so intense that it could be felt from hundreds of yards away, and the light so brilliant that it left afterimages burned into the retinas of anyone who witnessed it.
From his position in Asgard's throne room, Loki's laughter echoed through the empty halls. "I will not merely destroy Midgard, dear brother. I will erase you along with it!"
Yet even as he spoke the words, something held him back. The Destroyer's aim had been deliberately imprecise, close enough to incapacitate without killing. And now, as Thor lay unconscious in the sand, Loki found himself hesitating rather than delivering the finishing blow.
"You have grown too weak to pose any threat," Loki murmured, his voice carrying conflicting emotions. "Wait until I have dealt with these Midgardian rebels. Then I will decide your fate."
The Destroyer's power was absolute, its energy output surpassing anything in Stark's arsenal by orders of magnitude. A single focused beam could level city blocks, turn mountains to vapor, reshape the very landscape according to its wielder's will.
Nick Fury processed this information with the cold efficiency of a career strategist. Conventional weapons would prove useless against such a threat. Even their most advanced technology would be inadequate against something that commanded the very forces of creation and destruction.
But as his gaze fell upon Thor's hammer, still resting in its crater, a desperate plan began to form. He turned to Steve Rogers.
"Captain," Fury said simply.
Steve understood immediately. His eyes moved to Mjolnir, remembering the moment during the previous confrontation when he'd briefly grasped its handle. The power he'd felt then had been unlike anything in his experience—not the artificial enhancement of the super-soldier serum, but something fundamental, something that spoke to the very essence of worthiness and responsibility.
Every moral instinct Steve possessed recoiled from the idea of claiming another's weapon.
But as the Destroyer advanced across the desert, leaving a trail of molten sand in its wake, Steve realized that moral luxury was a privilege Earth could no longer afford. Sometimes, the greatest honor lay not in personal integrity, but in the willingness to sacrifice that integrity for the greater good.
Raising his shield in his left hand, Steve Rogers strode toward the approaching threat with the measured pace.
The Destroyer registered his approach, its featureless head turning to track this new target.
Steve stopped just outside the creature's immediate reach, his shield held ready but not raised in direct challenge.
Then, without ceremony or hesitation, Steve extended his right hand toward the distant crater where Mjolnir waited.
The hammer responded instantly, tearing free from its resting place to streak across the desert like a bolt of lightning. The sound of its passage was thunder itself, and when it struck Steve's outstretched palm, the impact sent shockwaves rippling through the ground.
In that moment, Steve Rogers became something more than human. Power flowed through him. The hammer's weight felt perfect in his grip, as if it had been forged specifically for his hand.
The Destroyer paused, its energy core flickering with what might have been confusion.
Steve hefted the hammer experimentally, feeling its balance, understanding instinctively how to channel its power. Around him, the desert air crackled with electricity as storm clouds gathered overhead.