Asgard.
The once-magnificent Golden Realm now drifted through space void like a monument to fallen glory, its celestial radiance extinguished by shadows that seemed to devour light itself. The floating landmasses that had once supported gleaming spires and rainbow bridges were transformed into something resembling a necropolis—a city of the dead suspended in eternal twilight.
Where magnificent architecture had once reached toward the stars, countless obsidian blades now pierced the earth like a forest of thorns. Each weapon stood as tall as the towers they'd replaced, their razor edges gleaming with malevolent purpose. The very air around these death-spears seemed to writhe with spectral energy, as if the boundary between life and death had been permanently severed.
"Is this... really Asgard?" Thor whispered, his voice barely audible above the space wind that howled through the realm's broken foundations.
The devastation defied comprehension. It seemed like only yesterday that he'd departed from these lands—Asgard had been decorated with festival banners and ceremonial lights in preparation for his coronation, every surface polished to gleaming perfection, every citizen radiating pride in their golden realm's eternal prosperity.
How could everything have changed so completely in such a brief span of time?
Even the Warriors Three stood speechless, their faces pale with shock as they struggled to reconcile their memories with the nightmare landscape spread before them. This wasn't the home they'd left behind—this was something from the darkest folklore, a realm where hope came to die.
Ghostly figures drifted between the blade-forest like lost souls seeking redemption they would never find. Their translucent forms moved with purpose that suggested intelligence, but their hollow eyes reflected only hunger for the warmth of life they'd permanently lost.
"Looks like we're walking into more trouble than we bargained for," Steve observed grimly, his tactical mind already analyzing potential threats and escape routes.
"Let's establish a landing zone first," T'Challa replied, engaging their spacecraft's stealth systems as he guided them toward Asgard's surface. "We need to secure our extraction point before investigating further."
The closer they approached to the corrupted realm, the more oppressive the atmosphere became. Those obsidian blades weren't merely weapons—they radiated an aura of wrongness that made the air itself feel thick and poisonous, as if breathing too deeply might contaminate their souls with whatever dark magic had created this abomination.
"There's definitely more than just Dark Elves operating here," Wanda murmured, her mystical senses recoiling from the necromantic energies saturating local space. "Something much older and far more dangerous has claimed this realm."
Before their departure, the Warriors Three had provided detailed intelligence about Malekith's forces and capabilities, but the magical signatures Wanda detected bore no resemblance to Svartalfheim sorcery. This felt like something primordial—death magic wielded by entities that predated most of recorded history.
The Asgardians exchanged troubled glances, clearly recognizing that their situation had escalated far beyond their worst-case scenarios.
"Navigate toward that outcropping," Thor instructed, pointing toward a cliff formation partially concealed by dense forest growth. "I remember that area—it's secluded but provides direct access to the palace district."
Protecting their spacecraft took absolute priority. If they lost their extraction vehicle, the support team might find themselves stranded in this hellscape indefinitely, waiting for rescue that might never arrive.
Their infiltration proceeded smoothly—perhaps too smoothly. Asgard felt like a tomb, silent except for the whisper of wind through broken stone and the distant rustle of movement among the blade-forest.
"Set us down here," Steve commanded as they reached the designated landing zone.
The location offered excellent tactical advantages: close enough to the palace for rapid reconnaissance, hidden by natural camouflage, and easily defensible if they faced pursuit during extraction. The ship's autopilot system would activate immediately upon receiving their evacuation signal.
"Equipment check, everyone," Steve announced, positioning himself at the deployment hatch while the team made final preparations.
The Plumber insignia gleamed prominently on his vibranium shield, a symbol of their organization's growing influence across the universe. In his right hand, he carried what appeared to be a standard war hammer—but appearances were deliberately deceiving.
Steve's weapon wasn't Mjolnir, but rather a sophisticated piece of Plumber technology disguised as traditional Asgardian armament. The "hammer" contained advanced artificial intelligence, multiple weapon systems, and flight capabilities that essentially made it a portable suit of Iron Man armor shaped like Thor's traditional weapon.
The equipment department had constructed the device after Steve expressed interest in hammer-based combat techniques. If traditional hammers worked for Thor, perhaps enhanced versions might suit Earth's defenders.
Thor carried an identical weapon, which he'd affectionately dubbed "Mjolnir 2.0" despite its technological rather than mystical nature.
Peter required no special armament beyond his nano-vibranium suit, though his version had received significant upgrades for this mission. Since they expected to face supernatural entities rather than conventional criminals, his weapon systems had been calibrated for maximum lethality against non-human targets.
Wanda and Pietro wore protective gear but relied primarily on their innate abilities—reality manipulation and superhuman speed respectively.
"Ready when you are," Sandman announced, deliberately shedding his black tactical uniform.
For most team members, their specialized clothing provided crucial protection against environmental hazards and enemy attacks. But Sandman's gear served the opposite function—the bio-suppression fibers helped him maintain human form during non-combat situations. In battle, those same fibers became restrictive limitations on his shapeshifting capabilities.
The team disembarked efficiently, with T'Challa directing the mechanical platform carrying Mjolnir to follow their formation. While none of them could lift the enchanted hammer currently, Thor's potential awakening remained a possibility worth preparing for.
The last thing they needed was their spacecraft getting demolished when Thor attempted to summon his weapon from wherever they happened to be fighting.
They advanced toward the palace district in tactical formation, moving through terrain that grew increasingly disturbing with each step. The lush forests that had once provided natural beauty gradually gave way to fields of those razor-sharp obsidian blades, each one standing like a gravestone in some space cemetery.
"What are these things? I've never seen Asgardian vegetation like this before," Peter commented, his scientific curiosity overriding caution as he reached toward one of the blade-weapons.
The moment his fingertip made contact, a hairline scratch appeared across his supposedly impenetrable vibranium suit, forcing him to jerk his hand back in alarm.
"Those aren't native to Asgard," Thor said with grim certainty, his voice carrying the weight of sixteen centuries of familiarity with his homeland. "I've never encountered anything like them in all my years here."
"Stay alert," he continued, studying the forest of death-weapons with growing unease. "These might be cursed artifacts left by Dark Elf forces. Direct contact could have unpredictable consequences."
The warning sent visible tension through the group. Everyone began moving more carefully, unconsciously shrinking their profiles to avoid accidental contact with the ominous blades while maintaining vigilant watch for additional threats.
That was when Wanda's eyes began glowing with scarlet energy, her mystical senses detecting approaching danger.
"Something's moving toward our position," she announced urgently.
As if summoned by her warning, rustling sounds echoed from the blade-forest around them. Hundreds of Dark Elf warriors materialized atop the obsidian spears like malevolent spirits, their pale faces twisted with cruel anticipation as they studied the intruders with predatory intent.
"Yeah, I see them too," Peter muttered unhappily, his spider-sense screaming warnings about the supernatural malice radiating from their enemies.
The team immediately shifted into combat formation, weapons ready and powers activating as they prepared for battle.
Wanda grimaced with frustration—something about Asgard's current magical environment was interfering with her abilities, preventing her from detecting threats until they were practically on top of their position. The necromantic energies saturating the realm seemed designed to disrupt external mystical perception.
"Prepare for engagement!" T'Challa commanded, his vibranium claws extending with metallic whispers.
BOOM!
Sandman launched the first assault, raising his arms skyward to create a massive cyclone of particulate matter. The high-velocity sand cloud became a living weapon, countless grains moving like microscopic blades that could strip flesh from bone in seconds. The improvised tornado swept toward the Dark Elf positions with the devastating force of a natural disaster.
The rest of the team joined the attack immediately.
Wanda gestured with both hands, using telekinetic force to uproot one of the massive obsidian blades and wielding it like a colossal sword. The death-weapon carved through Dark Elf ranks with supernatural sharpness, each swing leaving devastation in its wake.
Pietro activated his combat systems, his protective suit transforming to resemble something closer to the Flash's iconic costume. As his nano-mask deployed across his entire body, retractable arm-blades extended from his forearms. He became a silver blur moving through enemy lines, decapitating opponents faster than the eye could follow.
The others operated with less efficiency but still impressive results, causing the three Asgardian warriors to stare in open amazement.
Were these truly the same primitive Midgardians they'd always considered barely above barbaric?
The Warriors Three had maintained subtle condescension toward Earth's inhabitants throughout their association with the Avengers. Even when requesting assistance for this mission, they'd secretly hoped Thor would awaken his powers rather than relying on "inferior" human capabilities.
But watching these enhanced individuals tear through supernatural enemies like space forces of nature forced them to reconsider their prejudices entirely.
"We can't let them show us up!" Fandral declared, raising his enchanted sword with renewed determination.
Volstagg was already charging into battle, his massive war-axe cleaving through Dark Elf formations like a berserker avatar. His combat capabilities easily matched those of Dr. Connors in full Lizard form—perhaps even exceeded them.
Peter demonstrated similar power levels as he webbed enemies while simultaneously delivering bio-electric shocks through his enhanced spider-abilities. Ben's genetic upgrades had granted him capabilities from multiple Spider-People across the multiverse, allowing him to temporarily paralyze opponents with electrical discharge before his extending nano-spears delivered killing blows from behind.
Working together, the combined team made short work of the Dark Elf assault force despite being significantly outnumbered.
"That was almost too easy," Pietro commented as he decelerated from combat speed, retracting his helmet to survey the battlefield littered with enemy corpses.
Relief flickered across several faces as they processed their decisive victory. If this represented the quality of opposition they'd face, then Odin and Frigga were probably safe within the palace's defenses.
But their optimism proved premature.
Suddenly, emerald flames erupted from the fallen Dark Elf bodies like hellfire consuming the dead. Within the mystical conflagration, the enemies they'd just killed began stirring, wounds healing and vitality returning as they rose from death with renewed murderous intent.
"Physics has officially left the building!" Peter shouted as he narrowly avoided a sneak attack from a Dark Elf who should have been permanently deceased. "Who can help me nail down Newton's coffin?"
"This would be biology, not physics!" Pietro called back while frantically dodging grab attempts from supposedly dead enemies. "And you should use your super-strength to hold down their coffin lids instead!"
He'd relaxed his guard after their apparent victory, allowing one of the "corpses" to seize his ankle before dozens of resurrected Dark Elves swarmed his position.
Thor quickly hurled his Mjolnir 2.0, the technological weapon's artificial intelligence guiding it to strike multiple targets and create an opening for Pietro to escape with his arm-blades.
"Your intelligence reports didn't mention resurrection capabilities!" T'Challa accused as he tackled an approaching enemy, his vibranium claws seeking vital points that might actually matter against undead opponents.
"We had no knowledge of this development!" Hogun replied defensively while parrying strikes from enemies who should have been incapacitated.
"They were definitely mortal when we left Asgard," Fandral added, his sword work becoming increasingly desperate as he faced opponents who shrugged off potentially fatal wounds. "Something catastrophic must have occurred during our absence!"
Volstagg continued his berserker charge, apparently unconcerned with the philosophical implications of fighting supernatural enemies.
"This engagement is unsustainable," Steve declared with tactical clarity, studying their deteriorating position. "We need area-denial capabilities. Sandman, can you trap them in quicksand? Wanda, prepare to provide aerial extraction for the team."
"I'll create a containment field with liquefied sand," Sandman confirmed, his body already beginning to disperse in preparation for large-scale environmental manipulation.
Wanda nodded and began floating upward, scarlet energy swirling around her form as she prepared to lift the entire team above the undead threat.
But before she could complete the maneuver, a bolt of emerald magical energy struck her from the shadows, disrupting her concentration and sending her tumbling toward the ground.
Pietro's superhuman reflexes allowed him to catch his sister before she hit the obsidian blades, while the rest of the team spun toward the source of the attack with weapons raised.
Two female figures emerged from concealment, their appearances suggesting Asgardian nobility despite their obvious hostility toward Thor's rescue mission.
The first woman possessed flowing golden hair and wore elaborate green armor that emphasized both protection and seductive appeal. Her friend had rich brown hair and favored a blue dress adorned with ornate golden arm-rings that suggested both wealth and magical significance.
The blonde studied Wanda with obvious mockery. "You're not the only sorceress present, little girl."
"Amora... Lorelai?" The Warriors Three recognized the sisters immediately, their voices carrying surprise and disappointment.
These were prominent figures in Asgard's magical community—Amora the Enchantress was renowned as one of the realm's most powerful spellcasters, while her sister Lorelai possessed formidable abilities in her own right.
"Look what we have here," Amora continued with aristocratic disdain, her gaze settling on Thor with visible contempt. "A few stray dogs seeking help from primitive allies?"
If this had been the Thor of old—divine power intact, confidence radiating from every gesture—Amora might have shown interest in recruiting such a valuable asset. But the broken figure before her held no appeal whatsoever. Power attracted the Enchantress; weakness merely disgusted her.
"Amora, why are you attacking us?" Thor demanded, his voice carrying desperate confusion. "What's happened to Asgard? Where is the All-Father?"
"The All-Father is dead," she replied with casual cruelty, as if discussing weather rather than space catastrophe. "Now there is only the Goddess of Death, and she rules with absolute authority."
"That's a lie!" Thor roared, fury overwhelming shock as he raised his technological hammer. "You're lying!"
The weapon flew from his grasp trailing artificial lightning and rocket exhaust, its sophisticated targeting systems locked onto Amora's position with lethal intent.
The Enchantress barely managed to dodge the attack, her eyes widening with surprise at the unexpected threat.
"Thor, have you regained your divine power?" she asked with newfound wariness.
But Lorelai's more analytical mind quickly identified the deception. "That's a technological substitute, sister. Look at the propulsion systems."
She gestured dismissively, her own magic deflecting the returning hammer and revealing the artificial nature of its flight capabilities. Where Mjolnir had moved through mystical connection to its wielder, this device operated on purely technological principles—jets, artificial intelligence, and electromagnetic systems rather than space enchantment.
"Poor, powerless Thor," Lorelai continued with pitying condescension. "You have no comprehension of the enemy you're attempting to face."
"Really?" Thor replied, summoning his weapon back with technological rather than mystical command. "Then you have no idea what kind of allies I've brought!"
"Is that so?" Amora clasped her hands together, emerald energy forming complex geometric patterns around her fingers. "Let me show you the futility of your resistance."
The teleportation circle erupted with magical force, depositing hundreds of additional figures onto the battlefield in perfect formation.
Thor and the Warriors Three stared in horror as they recognized the new arrivals—these weren't Dark Elf reinforcements, but Asgardian warriors who had once sworn loyalty to the Golden Throne.
Leading them was a distinctive figure: completely bald except for two small tufts of hair that resembled fangs, wearing black ceremonial armor and carrying twin blood-red executioner's axes across his back.
Skurge the Executioner—Asgard's official judge and headsman, though the position had become largely ceremonial during the realm's recent centuries of peace.
"Surrender, Thor Odinson," Skurge commanded, though shame flickered briefly across his features before resolve hardened his expression. "Asgard is no longer your father's kingdom. We serve its rightful ruler now—our true Queen!"
"I don't know what madness has infected your mind!" Thor shot back, pointing his hammer accusingly at the turncoat judge. "You've betrayed everything Asgard represents! You're nothing but a traitor who sold his honor to Dark Elf invaders!"
"You misunderstand the situation entirely," Skurge replied, his voice carrying the weight of absolute conviction. "We haven't surrendered to the Dark Elves—quite the opposite. Those Svartalfheim dogs now serve at our Queen's pleasure, enslaved by power they cannot comprehend. Asgard belongs to her by right of birth and conquest. She will restore our realm's glory and reclaim the Nine Realms as our rightful domain... once again."
The emphasis on that final phrase carried ominous implications about Asgard's forgotten history.
"Submit willingly, Thor," Skurge continued with something approaching sympathy. "Despite your loss of divine power, you remain the Queen's brother. If you acknowledge her authority, she may choose to forgive your ignorance. She might even restore your hammer's true power."
"Brother?" Thor's confusion was absolute. "What are you talking about? I am Thor Odinson, eldest child of Odin All-Father!"
Skurge shook his head with pitying certainty. "You never were the eldest, Prince Thor. You never were."
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