"This is impossible..."
Thor's carefully reconstructed worldview collapsed like a house of cards caught in a hurricane. After years of exile, loss, and gradual enlightenment, he'd finally understood the true meaning of worthiness. So many people had guided him toward this moment—Ben Parker, the King of Sakaar; T'Challa, the Prince of Wakanda; Steve Rogers, who'd shown him what real leadership meant; even Loki, who'd lifted Mjolnir in defense of others.
And Jane Foster, whose love had taught him what it meant to protect something precious.
All of these experiences had crystallized into a single, burning truth: kingship wasn't about power or privilege, but about responsibility to those who depended on you. For that realization, Mjolnir had finally answered his call after years of shameful silence.
"How could you possibly lift Mjolnir?" Thor whispered, staring at his legendary weapon as if it had betrayed him personally.
For years, he'd used the hammer as the ultimate measure of worthiness—the space judge that separated true leaders from pretenders. The enchantment was supposed to be absolute, incorruptible, beyond manipulation or deception.
But how could someone like Hela possibly meet its standards?
The Warriors Three shared his stunned disbelief, their faces reflecting the same existential confusion that was tearing through Thor's consciousness.
"Maybe the enchantment failed when the All-Father died?" Peter suggested tentatively, his scientific mind searching for logical explanations. "If the magic was tied to Odin's life force..."
"The God-King's sorcery doesn't simply evaporate upon his death," Fandral replied with grim certainty. "Magic of that magnitude is woven into the fundamental structure of reality itself."
If Mjolnir had truly lost its mystical properties, they should have been able to lift it back at the Plumber station. Conversely, the orbital facility would have been dragged out of Earth's orbit by the hammer's planetary mass.
"How is this possible?" Thor repeated, his voice breaking with desperate confusion.
"How is it not possible?" Hela countered with cruel amusement, tossing Mjolnir between her hands like a child's toy. The legendary weapon responded to her touch with the same obedience it had once shown him, its mystic energies flowing through her fingers as if she'd wielded it for millennia.
"Who do you think this hammer was originally made for?" she asked with mock curiosity, studying Thor's anguished expression with obvious satisfaction.
"I am the rightful heir to Asgard's throne!" she continued with absolute conviction. "If Odin hadn't sealed me away, I would have ruled this realm for over a thousand years. Mjolnir recognizes legitimate authority when it encounters it."
The logic was flawless and horrible in equal measure. If Hela was indeed Odin's firstborn—if she had the stronger claim to Asgard's throne—then perhaps the hammer's judgment reflected space law rather than moral worthiness.
"Surrender to me, and I'll return Mjolnir to you," Hela offered with false generosity, recognizing the psychological leverage she held. "Otherwise, you die alongside your pathetic allies."
She could see Thor's weakness clearly. Without his mystical focus, his awakening divine power had no proper channel for expression. The poor fool still believed the hammer was the source rather than merely the conduit for his abilities.
"I'd rather die fighting than kneel to a kinslayer!" Thor snarled, his resolve hardening despite the space unfairness he faced.
Surrender had never been an option in his vocabulary, especially when confronting someone who'd murdered his parents and planned to drag the entire universe into endless warfare. Whether the threat came from Hela or Malekith made no difference—their success would doom countless innocent worlds to destruction.
Asgard might lie in ruins, but Midgard remained peaceful. During his years of mortal exile, Thor had fallen deeply in love with Earth and its people. He would not allow that sanctuary to be corrupted by space ambitions.
"Admirably brave," Hela observed with cold appreciation, casually dropping Mjolnir to the stone ground. "But ultimately pointless. I no longer need that trinket—the Dwarf Kingdom will forge me weapons more suitable for a true sovereign."
She raised her hand with lethal intent, obsidian blades materializing around her fingers like deadly extensions of her will.
Meanwhile, several kilometers away, the aftermath of T'Challa's massive explosion was still settling across the devastated landscape.
Quicksand whirlpools had trapped dozens of undead enemies beneath the transformed terrain, their supernatural forms struggling against the silicon prison that held them in place. In the center of the largest vortex, William Baker's colossal sand-form rose like a geological monument, his consciousness spread throughout the mineral matrix to maintain control over his captives.
T'Challa emerged from the debris field with feline grace, his vibranium suit gleaming despite the battle damage scored across its surface. But even with his enhanced physiology and advanced technology, he couldn't maintain this level of engagement indefinitely.
More enemies watched from safe distances, waiting for the perfect moment to resume their assault.
"Can you manage another explosion like that?" Sandman asked hopefully, his voice echoing from multiple sand formations as he continued restraining their buried opponents.
The undead Dark Elves and corrupted Asgardians were still fighting to escape their sandy tomb, their supernatural resilience making permanent containment nearly impossible. He could maintain their imprisonment through constant effort, but the drain on his concentration was enormous.
"I'm completely depleted," T'Challa admitted with frustration. "That blast consumed all the kinetic energy I'd stored before departure. Accumulating that much power through normal combat would take hours I don't have."
He glanced hopefully toward the palace complex. "But I saw Mjolnir flying overhead earlier—either Thor or Steve must be reclaiming their divine heritage. Maybe this battle will be over soon."
T'Challa examined the technological hammer in his grasp, noting its vibranium construction and sophisticated systems. Unfortunately, against space-level threats, even advanced weaponry had clear limitations.
"Plus, we still have Quicksilver conducting forward reconnaissance," he added with forced optimism.
At that very moment, Pietro had penetrated deep into Asgard's royal palace through a combination of superhuman speed and careful stealth. His velocity had carried him past the main battle entirely, leaving him to explore the devastated complex alone.
The once-magnificent halls now resembled a war zone. Blade marks scarred every surface, burn patterns decorated the walls, and dried blood stained the golden floors in abstract patterns that spoke of desperate final battles.
"Doesn't look like anyone's home," Pietro muttered, slowing his pace to conduct a more thorough search.
His enhanced sensors detected no immediate life signs, but Asgardian magic-technology might easily fool Plumber scanning equipment. If survivors were hidden somewhere within the palace's depths, he'd need to locate them through direct investigation.
"Hope Wanda's handling herself better than I am," he whispered, worry coloring his voice despite his confident demeanor.
"Shh!"
The sharp command came from directly beside him, accompanied by a familiar figure stepping out of apparent empty air. Loki pressed one finger to his lips in a gesture demanding silence while his free hand gestured toward deeper sections of the palace.
Three distinct colors of magical energy clashed with hurricane force across the death-blade forest, their collision creating a mystical storm that reduced the remaining obsidian spears to scattered fragments. The arcane tornado expanded outward with devastating effect, leaving nothing but bare stone and space dust in its wake.
Wanda tumbled from the maelstrom like a broken doll, rolling across the ground multiple times before coming to rest against a pile of rubble. Her protective suit had absorbed most of the impact damage, but exhaustion weighed on her like physical chains.
In contrast, Amora and Lorelai descended from the magical chaos with ethereal grace, their forms wreathed in emerald and sapphire energies that made them appear almost divine.
"Asgardian sorcery truly is formidable," Wanda admitted grudgingly, struggling to rise while keeping both sisters in her field of vision.
As a thousand-year-old divine realm, Asgard had accumulated magical knowledge that rivaled even the Sanctum Sanctorum's ancient libraries. Under Odin's rule, diplomatic relations with Vanaheim and other mystical realms had provided access to virtually every significant spell-craft tradition in known existence.
If Wanda had achieved full awakening of her Chaos Magic potential, she wouldn't fear these opponents. But her current capabilities fell far short of her ultimate destiny.
"Is this the level of Midgardian witches?" Amora laughed with aristocratic disdain. "I've heard tales of the Supreme Sanctuary and its mystical defenders. Are they all as pathetically weak as you?"
"Perhaps our alliance with Queen Hela was wise," Lorelai added with cruel satisfaction. "Midgard appears even more primitive than we assumed. To think that senile fool Odin actually welcomed the 'King of Sakaar' as an equal—and that shameless wretch Loki acknowledged him as his master!"
Both sisters had witnessed Ben's reception during Thor's coronation ceremony, and like many Asgardians, they'd viewed Odin's courtesy as beneath their realm's dignity. The complaints had been muted during the All-Father's reign, but ambitious courtiers had always whispered that foreign kings should approach Asgard as supplicants rather than equals.
"How dare you insult the Plumbers!" Wanda snarled, her eyes blazing with personal offense.
For Wanda, Ben Parker represented salvation itself. When her life had reached its darkest point in war-torn Sokovia—a country with no future, no hope, no possibilities beyond revenge and despair—he had pulled both her and Pietro from the metaphorical pit they'd been drowning in.
Without Ben's intervention, Pietro would have eventually joined the local criminal organizations, either dying in gang violence or slowly becoming a crime boss himself. They would have spent years plotting revenge against Tony Stark, probably selling their souls to terrorist groups or enemy governments for the power to strike back.
But Ben had appeared like a ray of sunlight piercing through perpetual storm clouds, offering them not just escape from their circumstances, but genuine family among the Plumbers.
Wanda would never forget the Christmas she'd spent in Queens with Ben's extended family. It had been completely ordinary compared to other households' celebrations—no elaborate gifts, no exotic foods, no spectacular entertainment. But to her, it had represented the unattainable dream she'd carried since childhood: a real home where she belonged.
Amora placed her heel against Wanda's shoulder, grinding the sharp point into her protective suit with sadistic pleasure. "Don't want to be humiliated? I'll personally lead the conquest of Midgard alongside the Goddess of Death!"
"You probably don't understand my true capabilities yet," she continued with predatory satisfaction. "Everyone calls me the Enchantress because no man in existence can resist my power! I'll control all those pathetic Midgardians and force them to slaughter the Plumber organization with their own hands."
Lorelai glanced at her sister with barely concealed skepticism, remembering Thor's complete immunity to such manipulation. But this wasn't the time to mention Amora's past failures.
"You'll discover that everything you cherish is worthless before my might!" Amora declared with demonic glee.
She extended her perfectly manicured fingers toward Wanda's face, emerald energy crackling between her digits as she prepared to invade the young woman's mind. Mystical power flooded through Wanda's consciousness, conjuring the most terrifying visions her imagination could conceive—
The illusion showed Ben's broken body lying in space void, the Plumber station burning like a falling star, Pietro's lifeless form surrounded by the corpses of everyone she'd learned to love. Every person who'd ever shown her kindness died screaming while she remained helpless to save them.
BOOM!
But instead of crushing Wanda's spirit, the psychological assault triggered something far more dangerous. Her grief and rage didn't turn inward toward despair—they exploded outward with volcanic force.
"Is that so?" she whispered, her fingers clamping around Amora's ankle with grip strength that made the Enchantress gasp in genuine pain.
When Wanda raised her head, her eyes held depths of power that seemed to connect directly to the chaotic forces underlying reality itself.
"Let me show you what insignificant really means!" she screamed, her voice carrying harmonics that made the air itself tremble with anticipation.
BOOM!!!
Scarlet energy erupted from her position like lava bursting through the planet's crust, creating a pillar of Chaos Magic that reached beyond Asgard's atmosphere before cascading downward in waves of pure destructive force.
Everything the energy touched simply ceased to exist—not burned, not vaporized, but unmade at the fundamental level as reality revised itself according to Wanda's unconscious will.
Lorelai screamed a warning, but her words were lost in the magical hurricane that swept both sisters away like leaves in a space storm. All her centuries of training and divine heritage became meaningless before the raw chaos rewriting the laws of physics around them.
In seconds, she went from untouchable goddess to helpless victim, completely unable to defend herself against power that operated beyond conventional mystical principles.
The energy wave expanded across all of Asgard in heartbeats, its scarlet radiance blooming like a flower of annihilation that threatened to consume the entire realm.
Even Hela felt her immortal heart skip beats as the destruction approached her position.
"This power could obliterate all of Asgard!" she whispered in horror, staring at the expanding crimson storm with the first genuine fear she'd experienced in millennia.
Where had Midgard acquired such a terrifyingly potent individual? Hela had always dismissed the mortal realm as the weakest of the Nine Kingdoms—a backwater world of primitive beings barely worth conquering.
But the energy signatures she was detecting suggested something that could challenge even her space authority.
More critically, her own existence was mystically linked to Asgard's continued survival. If the realm was destroyed, she would die alongside it—all her ambitions reduced to space dust.
Regardless of where this power originated, it had to be stopped immediately. Conquering the Nine Realms meant nothing if she didn't survive to enjoy her victory.
"Perfect opportunity!"
While Hela stood transfixed by the approaching magical catastrophe, the Plumber team members who had been helpless against her overwhelming power suddenly found their chance for retaliation.
Thor seized the moment with desperate courage, ripping the cursed Death Blade from his wounded flesh and lunging forward with the last of his mortal strength. The weapon intended for his destruction became his salvation as he drove its point deep into Hela's chest, her immortal blood fountaining across the palace stones.
Hela toppled backward, the force of Thor's strike carrying both of them to the ground. She lay pinned against the courtyard like a space specimen, the Death Blade's hilt protruding from her sternum while Thor collapsed from blood loss and exhaustion.
Simultaneously, the Warriors Three overwhelmed Heimdall through coordinated assault. Volstagg's massive frame tackled the corrupted guardian in a wrestling hold that would have impressed professional athletes, while Fandral and Hogun secured his arms to prevent further resistance.
Steve and Peter capitalized on the chaos to subdue Sif, the former using his vibranium shield to deflect her strikes while the latter deployed one of his submission discs to neutralize her enhanced abilities.
But everyone present understood that Hela's apparent defeat was temporary at best. Her divine nature made permanent death virtually impossible within Asgard's borders.
Meanwhile, Thor was rapidly approaching genuine mortality from his accumulated injuries.
"Get him the hammer!" Volstagg shouted urgently, recognizing the critical nature of their situation. "He'll die if he doesn't regain his divine power!"
Thor's wounds would prove fatal to any mortal, but his true godly nature could heal virtually any damage if properly awakened. Unfortunately, he lacked the strength to lift Mjolnir in his current condition.
Steve and Peter exchanged meaningful glances, both recognizing what needed to happen. They sprinted toward the legendary weapon simultaneously, their minds focused entirely on saving their teammate rather than questions of personal worthiness.
Both heroes grabbed Mjolnir's handle together—not competing for the honor, but cooperating to achieve their shared goal of preserving Thor's life.
The hammer rose without resistance.
RUMBLE!
Thunder answered their call as they hurled Mjolnir toward Thor's motionless form. His dying reflexes somehow managed to catch the weapon, and the moment his fingers closed around its familiar grip, space power flooded through his mortal shell like defibrillation on a universal scale.
Silver scale-mail materialized around his body as divine authority reasserted itself, while his scarlet cape billowed with supernatural wind that acknowledged no earthly source.
"I am Thor, God of Thunder!" he declared, rising from near-death with renewed majesty. "For the glory of Asgard!"
He raised Mjolnir toward the storm clouds gathering overhead, calling down lightning that connected heaven and earth in pillars of pure electrical force. After years of exile and humiliation, he had finally returned to claim his birthright.
Thor turned toward Hela with divine judgment burning in his eyes.
"I will not execute you," he pronounced with space authority, "but you will spend eternity imprisoned within Asgard's deepest dungeons—until the All-Father's soul forgives your crimes and the All-Mother's spirit shines with redemption!"
He channeled the full might of the storm into Mjolnir, preparing to hurl the weapon with enough force to shatter mountains and humble gods.
BOOM!!!
Lightning raged around the legendary hammer, but the attack never reached its target.
Hela raised one hand with casual indifference and simply caught Mjolnir mid-flight, stopping Thor's ultimate assault with the same effort most people would use to swat a fly.
"This is impossible..." Thor breathed, staring at his mystical weapon trapped in his sister's grasp.
He was channeling his full divine power through Mjolnir—the infinite forces of thunder and storm that had made him one of Asgard's mightiest warriors. Hela's ability to lift the hammer didn't negate the space energies he commanded, yet she had stopped his attack with contemptuous ease.
For the first time since regaining his godhood, Thor felt completely powerless.
"You have no concept of what 'impossible' truly means, dear brother," Hela replied with icy amusement.
Then her own divine power invaded Mjolnir's mystical matrix, corrupting the weapon's fundamental structure with necromantic energy.
CRACK!!!
Mjolnir—the legendary hammer forged in the heart of a dying star, enchanted by Odin himself, the space judge of worthiness—shattered into fragments that scattered across the palace stones like broken dreams.
Thor's symbol of divine authority, his connection to the storm, his proof of space worthiness—all reduced to worthless debris in the span of a heartbeat.
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