For the S.H.I.E.L.D. agents, they had prepared for many scenarios—conflict in Belarus escalating, chain reactions across the region, even comprehensive countermeasures against missile bombardments.
But Thor, the God of Thunder, assigned here for the "Metamorphosis" operation, suddenly being embraced by local refugees as their new leader? That was something none of them had ever imagined.
It might only have been a few hundred refugees, seemingly a small matter. Yet S.H.I.E.L.D. knew well how deeply the people of Belarus despised their current rulers. They were desperate—desperate for a true leader to rise.
And Thor...
He was the crown prince of an advanced civilization. His charisma as a leader was undeniable.
Not only was he strong and formidable, but he also carried responsibility, compassion, and an approachable nature. He fit perfectly into the image of the leader the refugees yearned for in their hearts.
Given the chance...
The S.H.I.E.L.D. agents had no doubt Thor could walk a path they had never accounted for.
The mythical God of Thunder, a man who truly had the power to rebuild a nation. If Thor really became the new ruler of Belarus... what then?
S.H.I.E.L.D. could not allow a god to carve out a kingdom on Earth. That could easily ignite a war between two civilizations.
And worse—what if Thor developed deep attachments here, and refused to return to Asgard? Could S.H.I.E.L.D. afford to anger Odin? Or worse yet, the Homelander?
The thought alone made their stomachs twist.
Odin might have seemed distant to them, but provoking the Homelander's wrath? Not a single agent dared imagine the consequences. His nature was spelled out clearly enough in those autobiographies. These operatives were certain: The Boys was Herman Chu's warning to the world.
Don't make me unhappy—or I'll make sure you never feel joy again. That image of Herman burned through the minds of every agent.
Just thinking of it sent chills down their spines.
"Stop, stop, stop!"
As soon as the refugees began talking about how to campaign for Thor when rebuilding their homeland, Uncle Sam immediately jumped up to cut them off.
"Thor's illiterate—he's not fit to lead."
The moment he said it, Sheldon and Penny quickly chimed in.
But the refugees weren't convinced.
"We already elected a clownish actor as our leader! What's wrong with being illiterate? Thor's more than capable! Illiterates don't have all that scheming in their hearts!"
"That's right! The more educated someone is, the more deceitful they are! Back in the Middle Ages, no one picked their leaders by counting how many books they'd read!"
"I heard King Arthur barely read at all!"
"King Arthur wasn't fictional?"
"Sam, Penny, Sheldon—are you jealous of Thor? He's been nothing but good to you! How can you speak against him?"
The fact that Thor couldn't read didn't lessen their faith in him.
If anything, their support only grew stronger.
Some even began scolding the S.H.I.E.L.D. agents who had spoken against him.
Facing the furious stares of the refugees, the agents didn't dare push the issue any further.
"No, what we mean is—don't be so rash, and—"
But before they could finish, the refugees kept rising to Thor's defense, leaving the agents stunned, their panic growing.
Had they really gone and backfired this badly?
Were they about to help crown Thor as the ruler of Belarus right here on Earth?
Just as they scrambled for some strategy to derail this ridiculous "election"...
Suddenly…
The clear blue sky twisted violently in moments. Dark, heavy clouds surged together above Belarus.
"Rumble!"
The storm clouds began to churn, flashes of lightning writhing within them, forming into a massive, spiraling vortex.
"What's happening!?"
"What's wrong with the weather!?"
"Oh my god, what is that!?"
On the ground, countless eyes turned skyward, stunned by the terrifying spectacle.
Even the S.H.I.E.L.D. agents, who had been ready to sneer "Even the heavens oppose Thor's coronation," froze where they stood.
What they saw in the sky left them just as dumbfounded as the rest.
Amid the storm of crackling lightning, a vague black silhouette flickered within the clouds, its head thrown back, arms raised high as if howling in rage.
The deafening thunder that shook the sky sounded like its furious roar, as though it meant to drown out every sound in the world.
The sun vanished behind the storm, plunging much of Belarus into terrifying darkness. Only scattered streetlights and faint lanterns on the ground provided a fragile glimmer of light. Within that shrouded zone, the world felt as though it had fallen into the apocalypse.
Panicked cries broke out among the people.
"Quick! It's falling! Everyone, into the air-raid shelters!"
The temporary camp had been set up near the city's bunkers.
From the heart of the swirling black vortex, the humanoid figure broke free, wreathed in fire as it plummeted toward the city.
The S.H.I.E.L.D. agents reacted instantly, shouting commands as they herded the refugees toward safety. The camp erupted in chaos, terrified men, women, and children scrambling toward the shelters.
"Thor! Hurry!"
Uncle Sam, spotting Thor still staring up at the sky, shouted urgently. Around them, most of the refugees were paralyzed with fear, while the elderly and children, too frail or too slow, needed someone strong to help them make it in time.
"I'm coming!"
Thor tore his eyes away from the heavens and threw himself into the evacuation effort, though his gaze kept drifting upward.
That massive form hurtling down from the clouds was one he knew all too well—his father Odin's armor. But hadn't Asgard already been destroyed by that terrifying dark god?
Could it be that the dark god had discovered Thor still lived, and now sent Odin's war-armor to hunt him down? Thor remembered Herman wielding Odin's weapon, and the thought sent fresh dread through him. The possibility could not be dismissed.
He had no plan for how to face such a threat. For now, all he could do was help the refugees escape.
"You know what that thing is?"
Uncle Sam's keen instincts didn't miss Thor's reaction. Even as he carried an old man on his back toward the bunker, he pressed for information.
"It's called the Destroyer," Thor answered gravely. "A suit of armor forged for nothing but destruction and conquest. A dreadful artifact my father created one day, without warning." His voice was thick with unease.
"In all of Asgard, only my father could resist its power." His words grew hoarser as he spoke, but he didn't stop running, still carrying the old man toward safety.
"At a time like this, and you're still staying in character?" Uncle Sam muttered under his breath, his heart lurching. Outwardly, he kept up the act.
Age worked in his favor—his face betrayed nothing. But Sheldon and Penny, the younger agents, could no longer hide their fear.
The weapon of the Norse God-King, something only Odin himself could withstand—how could ordinary humans like them not be terrified?
"Rumble!"
The ground shook violently, like an earthquake, as the colossal figure struck the earth dozens of kilometers from Thor's camp.
The armor towered tens of meters high. The impact of its landing cracked the ground open, sending a massive shockwave that raised a choking cloud of dust.
"Damn it! What is that thing?!"
"Is it a robot!?"
"Russia's secret weapon?!"
The Destroyer had crashed directly onto a Belarusian military encampment. Those soldiers hadn't been stationed there to protect civilians, but to stop them from fleeing the city—leaving them as easy targets for Russian missile bombardments.
Now they paid for those atrocities. The giant armor smashed down in the middle of their camp, instantly crushing scores of soldiers.
Tanks and armored vehicles alike were flattened into twisted scrap.
"Giant robot! I read in declassified WWII files that Russia built weapons like this! They even said the Statue of Liberty was one of them!"
A soldier, clearly a fan of pulp war tales, screamed in panic.
He was the first to throw down his weapon and bolt.
His flight triggered a chain reaction—the camp dissolved into chaos as soldiers broke ranks in panic.
The commander, face pale, immediately opened his comm channel to connect with the presidential command center.
"We're under attack by an unknown force! Requesting backup! Requesting immediate evacuation!" the commander roared into the comms channel.
Thud, thud, thud—
The massive silver-armored giant began to move. Every step of its colossal steel feet sent tremors rolling through the earth like small earthquakes.
Rat-a-tat-tat—
Desperate soldiers opened fire, but it made no difference. Rifles, heavy Gatling guns, even howitzer shells couldn't leave the faintest scratch on its gleaming surface.
"What the hell is that thing?!"
A panicked, undisciplined soldier broke down screaming.
Staring at the towering figure in the distance, he collapsed to the ground, wetting himself in terror. A steel giant dozens of meters tall—its very presence was enough to crush the will of anyone who faced it.
Especially when even artillery couldn't slow its advance.
The soldiers' morale shattered.
Before receiving any orders, they threw down their weapons and ran. Only a few officers with real rank clenched their teeth and tried to maintain contact with command.
"This is the monster we're facing!"
The field commander transmitted a shaky, handheld video back to headquarters. He hadn't meant it as a tactical report so much as proof of how absurd the enemy was—evidence strong enough to justify an urgent order for withdrawal.
But instead…
The video went through, and headquarters not only refused his request, they gave him an order he found utterly impossible.
"Control it! Suppress it!"
The words crackled over the radio.
The commander froze, thinking he'd misheard. He asked for confirmation, only to receive the exact same command.
"For the future of our nation! Control it! Suppress it!"
Had the voice not belonged to the President himself, the commander would have spat curses into the line.
"We can't! Our weapons don't do a damn thing! I doubt even America's most advanced arsenal could scratch it!" Even knowing it was the President, the commander shouted back, his voice raw with rage and desperation.
"Exactly why we must control it," the President's warm, persuasive voice replied calmly over the radio. "Think about it—if we could bring such a colossal war machine under our command, wouldn't it make every other nation bow in fear? This armor is far more powerful than America's machine legions ever were."
"If we master this technology, not just America—the whole world will kneel at our feet. Even the Homelander will no longer be a threat.
Everyone across the globe will cheer for us. I know you want to see that day as much as I do. That's why you must control it, bring it back for our scientists to study. Then we can forge an Iron Legion of our own.
This is all for Belarus."
The President's voice was filled with fiery passion, as always sounding like he was reading from a rehearsed script.
On ordinary days, when it was all just talk of profit, people would play along and pretend to be moved. But now? This was a matter of life and death.
"You fucking idiot!" The commander finally snapped, his patience gone. "You want me to contain that thing and bring it back? Fuck off! Have you lost your mind? If you want me to fight it, at least give me two nuclear warheads!"
Clearly, resentment had been festering for a long time.
Now it all spilled out.
The commander unleashed a furious tirade at headquarters, then cut the line and immediately prepared to rally his men for retreat.
But when he stepped out of the temporary camp, all he found was emptiness.
"Where the hell is everyone?"
His soldiers had already vanished.
They didn't need orders to act. They had legs—and they'd run faster than he could have imagined. As the ground quaked beneath him, the commander saw the colossal Destroyer Armor drawing closer with every step.
"Motherfucker!"
The truth hit him—those comrades who always boasted they'd take a bullet for him were nowhere to be found. Not a single one.
He realized how naive he'd been.
Shaking off the shock, the Belarusian commander turned and bolted toward safety. But the Destroyer Armor was too close. Even without stepping directly on him, chunks of concrete blasted into the air by its steps crashed down onto his body.
"Help me! Somebody, help me!"
Crushed beneath the massive debris, the commander spewed blood, his organs torn and displaced. Yet his will to survive kept him crying out in desperation.
But the refugees had long since been driven away from this area. No one was left to save him. In fact, only one person was watching.
"So there really is such a thing as karma?"
High above, Herman floated in the sky, having witnessed the entire descent of the Destroyer Armor. When he had teleported in moments earlier, it had practically brushed right past him.
He felt no sympathy for Belarusian soldiers. In recent days, thanks to Thor, he'd been following the news of the conflict between Belarus and Russia.
And what could he say?
Soldiers using civilians as human shields? Even turning their weapons on their own people just to frame their enemies?
"Odin's armor... and yet it still ended up being thrown onto Earth." Herman drew his gaze back, focusing on the Destroyer Armor. He hadn't expected that even with his interference, Odin's weapon would still appear here.
Was Odin just a drama king?
Or did he really want to watch Loki and Thor tear each other apart?
Herman knew that many ancient rulers on Earth had used similar schemes, raising their heirs by pitting them against each other. He hadn't thought the ruler of Asgard would rely on the same methods.
The common flaw of rulers, it seemed.
Still, he couldn't understand why Odin would allow such melodramatic infighting, especially now that Thor had already transformed.
"Sigh... looks like I'll have to take care of this myself."
Herman kept his eyes fixed on the battlefield below, ready to step in at any moment.
He knew far more about the Destroyer Armor than either Loki or Thor. Even Thor at his full power, wielding Mjolnir, would almost certainly fall before it.
Because this armor hadn't been created for something simple.
It had been forged to face that terrifying race.
...
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