In the end, Thor's desperate attempts to lift Mjolnir proved futile. The hammer remained as immovable as a mountain root, its enchanted weight mocking his diminished worthiness with space indifference.
But the support team couldn't afford to wait for divine redemption. Across the Nine Realms, Malekith's conquering forces continued their systematic destruction, having already absorbed Muspelheim and Alfheim into their growing empire. Intelligence reports indicated that the Dark Elf alliance—now bolstered by fire demons and enslaved light elves—was advancing toward additional realms with terrifying efficiency.
"Agent Beta Ray Bill has deployed his fleet to provide defensive support for the remaining free worlds," Norman explained during their final mission briefing, his voice carrying the weight of strategic necessity. "Our objective is more focused—infiltrate Asgard, extract surviving Asgardian warriors, and return to base immediately."
He'd made the deliberate choice to avoid committing Earth's conventional military forces to this space conflict. The power differential was simply too vast; even with technological enhancements, human soldiers would be obliterated by enemies capable of cleaving through Asgardian defenses. The current Thunderbolts roster was barely adequate for the mission as it stood.
Only the recent addition of Wanda and Pietro Maximoff had elevated the team's capabilities to minimally acceptable levels for such an operation. Their reality-warping and super-speed abilities might provide crucial advantages against the supernatural threats they'd inevitably face.
"Since no one present can lift Mjolnir," Norman continued pragmatically, "we'll transport it mechanically and hope circumstances change during the mission."
"How exactly do we transport something that weighs as much as a planetary core?" Steve asked, voicing the question that had been puzzling everyone present.
The hammer's physics defied logical explanation. Mjolnir could rest on walls without structural damage, ride in elevators without triggering weight sensors, yet resist every attempt at manual lifting with the immutable force of space enchantment. Vehicles couldn't tow it, machinery couldn't budge it, yet somehow it didn't collapse through floors or drag structures into gravitational chaos.
Rather than explain the metaphysical mechanics involved, Norman simply produced a remote control and pressed a single button.
The floor beneath Mjolnir rose smoothly upward, revealing an integrated platform system equipped with precision wheels. The hammer rode its mechanical transport toward their spacecraft like an honored passenger rather than dead weight.
"I'm not even going to try understanding that," Peter muttered, shaking his head in bemused surrender as he followed the group toward their departure vessel.
Their mission roster represented an interesting mixture of capabilities and personalities: Captain America brought tactical leadership and enhanced physiology; Sandman provided versatile shapeshifting abilities and near-invulnerability; Wanda and Pietro offered reality manipulation and superhuman speed respectively; Black Panther contributed vibranium-enhanced combat skills and strategic intelligence; Thor supplied mythological knowledge and desperate motivation; while the Warriors Three—Fandral, Volstagg, and Hogun—added Asgardian combat expertise and familiarity with their destination's geography.
The initial boarding process carried awkward undertones as several team members navigated their complex history with the Maximoff twins. Steve and Peter particularly struggled with memories of Wanda's mental manipulations during the Ultron crisis, when her telepathic abilities had been used to devastating psychological effect against the Avengers.
However, their shared professional commitment gradually overcame personal reservations. These were individuals who'd chosen heroism despite their tragic backgrounds—orphaned by Stark Industries weapons, manipulated by desperate circumstances, ultimately redeemed through courage and sacrifice.
Besides, Tony Stark bore considerable responsibility for the twins' original antagonism. His weapons had destroyed their family; his reckless creation of Ultron had provided the framework for their misguided rebellion. If anyone deserved their anger, it was him.
"Tell us about Asgard's current defensive situation," Steve requested as their spacecraft achieved stable orbit, shifting the conversation toward tactical planning. "What assets remain? What terrain features might help or hinder our operations?"
"There aren't many troops left in the realm," Fandral admitted grimly, his usual jovial demeanor subdued by the gravity of their circumstances. "The All-Father had been planning a complete relocation of Asgard's population—establishing New Asgard in a more defensible location. Many civilians had already evacuated before Malekith's assault. Otherwise, the Dark Elves never could have breached our defenses so easily."
Thor's head snapped up in confusion. "Relocation? Father never mentioned any such plans to me!"
The revelation stung deeply. As Asgard's eldest prince and heir apparent, how could such monumental decisions be made without his knowledge? What if he eventually regained his worthiness and lifted Mjolnir, only to find that his home had literally moved without leaving forwarding instructions?
"The All-Father and All-Mother remained in the palace," Volstagg clarified, his massive frame conveying both reassurance and concern. "Most of our military forces stayed as well—only non-combatants were evacuated. So Fandral's assessment isn't entirely accurate. We should be grateful for the partial evacuation, otherwise our losses would have been catastrophic."
"Every Asgardian is a warrior!" Fandral protested with wounded pride, though his objection lacked real conviction.
Everyone present understood the distinction between ceremonial warriors and true combat veterans. Most Asgardians possessed enhanced physiology compared to humans—roughly three times normal strength and durability—but that hardly qualified them to face supernatural entities like Malekith's Cursed Warriors or Hela's death magic.
Warriors like the Three Warriors represented Asgard's elite, comparable in skill to Midgard's enhanced heroes. The average citizen, even with their superior genetics, would be helpless against space-level threats.
"Remember, our Earth branch has limited personnel," Norman emphasized, ensuring everyone understood their operational constraints. "Don't attempt heroic last stands. Extract survivors, gather intelligence, and return immediately for debriefing."
The unspoken question haunted Thor's thoughts: would there be any survivors to rescue?
Logic insisted that Odin All-Father remained capable of defending his realm against any threat. The Dark Elves had been defeated five thousand years ago; surely they couldn't have grown powerful enough to challenge the ruler of Asgard directly?
But if that assessment was accurate, why had no communication emerged from the Golden Realm? Why were they mounting a rescue operation instead of receiving victory reports?
Thor forced himself not to pursue those dark possibilities.
"Director Norman," he said, struggling to keep desperation from his voice, "the distance between Earth and Asgard spans cosmic gulfs. Even with Plumber engine technology—the finest in the known universe—wouldn't the journey require several months of travel time?"
The Nine Realms represented far more than nine simple kingdoms. In Asgardian cosmology, they encompassed the entirety of known existence, with vast interstellar distances separating each realm. Even utilizing stable wormholes and dimensional shortcuts, conventional space travel between realms consumed enormous amounts of time.
By the time they reached Asgard through normal means, the crisis would have resolved itself one way or another—likely in Malekith's favor.
"Don't worry," Norman assured him with confident authority. "We'll be using advanced quantum transportation technology. Our particle collider can open pathways through quantum space, allowing instantaneous transit to Asgard's stellar region."
"Particle collider? Quantum mechanics?" Peter and T'Challa exchanged incredulous glances, their scientific backgrounds allowing them to grasp the theoretical implications. "If that's actually functional, the Plumbers' quantum technology has surpassed even Dr. Pym's research capabilities!"
The reference to Hank Pym carried bitter undertones. The former Ant-Man remained imprisoned for his role in the Ultron rebellion, having used quantum interference technology in a failed attempt to disrupt Plumber communications networks. His current incarceration served as a reminder of how good intentions could be corrupted by desperation and poor judgment.
Thor couldn't distinguish between "quantum" and "non-quantum" technologies, but the promise of rapid arrival was enough to ease his anxiety. He secured his restraint harness properly, then found his gaze drawn inexorably toward Mjolnir's mechanical transport platform.
T'Challa's earlier words echoed in his memory like a philosophical mantra: What is the most important quality for a king? Kindness? Courage? Integrity? No—it is understanding responsibility, recognizing that the crown's weight comes not from its metal, but from the people who depend upon it.
The realization struck him with startling clarity.
When his divine power had been stripped away, his immediate reaction had been furious indignation. The Frost Giants' intrusion into his coronation ceremony had felt like personal insult, requiring violent retaliation to restore his wounded pride. He'd wanted to launch an inter-realm war over a diplomatic incident, prioritizing his ego over countless lives that would be lost in such a conflict.
Even worse, when Odin had rejected his warmongering, Thor had defied royal authority entirely, leading an unauthorized assault on Jotunheim without considering the catastrophic consequences of his actions.
"I was blinded by anger and wounded pride," he admitted to himself, studying his empty palms with new understanding. "If I'd inherited the throne in that state, I would have become exactly the kind of tyrant that Asgard's enemies claimed we were."
But his behavior since losing Mjolnir hadn't been much better. Instead of rising to meet the challenge of redemption, he'd wallowed in self-pity and defeatism. Rather than working to become worthy of his birthright, he'd complained about space injustice, doubted his own abilities, and consistently placed responsibility for Asgard's protection on other people's shoulders.
If only Loki were here... If only Steve could lift the hammer... If only someone else could save my realm...
Such thinking represented the mentality of a weak king—someone incapable of protecting his people or restoring his kingdom's glory. No wonder Mjolnir remained unmovable; he'd been approaching worthiness from entirely the wrong direction.
Thor clenched his fists with newfound determination. Regardless of whether he ever regained his divine power, he had an obligation to protect Asgard. The people who'd sworn loyalty to his family deserved better than a prince who abandoned them in their darkest hour.
"Prepare for quantum transit initiation," Norman announced over the ship's communication system. "You may experience some physical discomfort during the transition, but such effects are completely normal."
He activated the particle collider's startup sequence from the control room, triggering a spectacular display visible throughout local space.
Outside the Plumber orbital station, a massive circular reactor rose into position like a technological monument to human ingenuity. The device resembled an enlarged Arc Reactor, its diameter spanning dozens of meters and its energy output blazing with brilliant azure radiance.
Peter pressed himself against the nearest viewport, his scientific curiosity overwhelming any concern for dignity. "Harry would absolutely lose his mind if he could see this," he breathed, watching exotic particles dance through containment fields that bent spacetime around their edges.
Steve observed the proceedings with the bemused wonder of someone whose educational background couldn't quite accommodate such advanced concepts. His formal learning had ended in the 1940s, and while he'd absorbed considerable knowledge since his revival, theoretical physics remained largely foreign territory.
Still, he could appreciate the raw spectacle of human achievement reaching toward space forces.
"Are we actually going to travel through that structure?" he asked, studying the reactor's imposing scale.
"Even our spacecraft might have difficulty fitting through such a passage," he continued, noting their vessel's considerable dimensions.
Their transport was a modified Herald-class ship—approximately seven stories in length with retractable wingspan equal to its total size, equipped with advanced engines, defensive systems, and specialized mission equipment.
"The wings retract automatically, Captain," Pietro explained with cheerful enthusiasm, apparently unbothered by their team's complicated history. "But we're not actually passing through the collider itself. Instead, we'll use the quantum energy it generates to open a dimensional pathway and transit through that."
Steve nodded understanding while mentally adding another ten dollars to the tip he owed Ben Parker for his earlier promise never to be surprised by anything again. The rate of technological advancement he'd witnessed since his revival consistently exceeded his most optimistic projections.
"At this pace, time travel and multiversal exploration will probably be routine within a few years," he mused aloud.
"You know about multiversal theory?" Pietro asked with genuine surprise. "I thought you were more of a... historical figure."
"I watch science fiction movies when I have free time," Steve replied with good humor. "Though I'm starting to think our reality surpasses most fictional scenarios in terms of sheer impossibility."
"Hold on tight, everyone!" Norman's voice carried new urgency as the particle collider reached critical energy levels.
The device released a concentrated pulse of exotic radiation that tore through local spacetime like space scissors. Reality twisted and buckled under the assault, opening a swirling vortex that defied conventional physics with its impossible geometry.
The wormhole's edges fluctuated wildly, suggesting the technology remained imperfect despite its functional capabilities.
Peter maintained his vigil at the viewport, though the others required protective eyewear to shield themselves from the intense radiation output. The quantum energies weren't merely bright—they operated across electromagnetic spectrums that could permanently damage unprotected retinas.
Dr. Helen Cho's voice crackled through the communication link from her laboratory station: "I suspect Dr. Octavius isn't entirely satisfied with the collider's current performance parameters."
"He believes excessive energy discharge indicates structural instability," Bruce Banner confirmed while inputting real-time calculations to help stabilize the quantum pathway. "However, spatial distortion has achieved acceptable parameters. We're cleared for wormhole transit."
"Acknowledged, mission control," Norman responded with professional calm. "T'Challa, take us through."
"Thunderbolts team, deploy!" the Black Panther called out with royal authority as he assumed pilot controls.
After the collider's energy output subsided to safe levels, T'Challa engaged their engines and guided their spacecraft directly into the swirling quantum vortex.
BOOM!
Reality shattered around them as they plunged into dimensional space, where normal physics became optional suggestions rather than immutable laws. The cosmos transformed into a kaleidoscope of impossible colors and twisted geometries, though none of the passengers had sufficient leisure to appreciate the alien beauty surrounding them.
The quantum transition subjected every molecule in their bodies to exotic forces that human physiology had never been designed to endure. Even Peter's enhanced spider-powers provided minimal protection against spatial distortion effects that operated on a subatomic level.
T'Challa's vibranium suit flickered between solid and translucent states as its molecular bonds repeatedly dissolved and reformed under quantum stress. Sandman fared even worse—his sand-based physiology completely dispersed throughout the cabin before struggling to reconstitute his humanoid shape.
"Hey, he exploded!" Pietro shouted in alarm, his super-speed useless against space forces that affected every particle simultaneously.
Only Wanda's reality-warping abilities provided any defense against the quantum storm battering their ship. Her Chaos Magic expanded protectively around the team, creating a pocket of stable spacetime that gradually restored normal physics to their immediate environment.
"I feel like I'm going to be sick," Peter groaned, his enhanced metabolism unable to process the contradictory sensory input from their dimensional transit.
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