Nidavellir, Kingdom of the Dwarves
Throughout the cosmos, Nidavellir's name spread like whispered legend—a realm where impossible dreams took physical form through hammer and flame. Countless weapons of miraculous power had emerged from this hidden kingdom, forged by master craftsmen whose skills bordered on the divine. Like shooting stars carrying destiny, these artifacts found their way to worthy warriors across the universe, empowering heroes to achieve the impossible and reshape the fate of worlds.
As generations passed, most civilizations dismissed Nidavellir as beautiful mythology—a fairy tale told around campfires, inspiring but ultimately fictional. The very idea of a realm dedicated entirely to magical weaponsmithing seemed too fantastic for the cold realities of space.
But the Nine Realms knew better. When Odin conquered his empire, Nidavellir had bent the knee alongside the rest, trading independence for protection. From that moment forward, the planet-core forge that powered their impossible creations served Asgard almost exclusively, and in return, the golden realm's military might guaranteed the dwarves' eternal safety.
Until today, when a merciless armada arrived to shatter that ancient covenant.
"So this is Nidavellir?" Psyphon stood at the observation deck of his flagship, studying the seemingly lifeless world that hung before them like a space graveyard. "The legendary forge where weapons capable of slaying gods are born?"
At first glance, Nidavellir appeared utterly barren—a gray, desolate sphere of bare rock and windswept dust. No atmosphere softened its harsh edges, no vegetation painted its surface with life. When stellar winds caught the loose sediment, vast dust storms swept across continents of stone, creating an ever-shifting landscape of desolation.
Any casual observer would dismiss it without a second thought, just another dead rock drifting through the void among billions of similarly unremarkable worlds.
But Psyphon wouldn't be fooled by surface appearances. Five millennia ago, the Dark Elves had possessed military might to rival Asgard itself, and their knowledge of the Nine Realms ran deep as the roots of Yggdrasil.
Nidavellir existed on this world, but not on its surface. The dwarves dwelt in vast caverns carved from the planet's heart, drawing sustenance and power from the stellar core that burned eternal at the world's center. That same cosmic fire, combined with their ancestral mastery of metallurgy, allowed them to create artifacts that defied the laws of physics.
"Weapons capable of killing gods," Psyphon murmured, anticipation gleaming in his alien eyes. "Such power belongs with Lord Vilgax."
"Not true god-killers," corrected one of his Dark Elf friends, a veteran warrior whose scarred features spoke of countless battles. "Merely weapons of extraordinary potency."
Because Psyphon had successfully helped Malekith conquer both Muspelheim and the Ash Queen's domain, many Dark Elves now trusted his counsel more than Loki's smooth words. For this assault on Nidavellir, however, Malekith hadn't deemed the target worthy of Cursed Warriors—a decision Psyphon found mildly disappointing, as he could have used the enhanced soldiers to strengthen his own forces.
"Legend speaks of a Black Death Sword capable of slaying any god," the Dark Elf continued, "but such tales are likely mythical. The dwarves craft powerful artifacts, nothing more."
Psyphon's interest sharpened. Even 'merely powerful' in dwarven terms meant weapons that could cleave through starship hulls or channel the force of supernovas. But this Sword... if it truly existed and lived up to its reputation, it would be a prize worthy of Vilgax's attention.
"I'll search Thanos's archives later," Psyphon decided. "The Mad Titan collected information on space artifacts—if the Sword is real, he would have known about it."
For now, though, Malekith's mission took priority. Though Psyphon served Vilgax in truth, there was no immediate conflict between his master's goals and the Dark Elf king's ambitions. In fact, the more chaos Malekith spread throughout the Nine Realms, the easier it would be for Vilgax to pursue his own objectives. A direct confrontation with the Plumbers would be ideal.
"If they possess the ability to forge god-tier weapons," Psyphon mused aloud, "surely they won't fall easily?"
The question drew a contemptuous sneer from his Dark Elf ally. "Artifacts require wielders of sufficient strength, and the dwarves possess none. They create power but cannot wield it—a fundamental weakness."
"Ah," Psyphon nodded with understanding. "That's why they sought Asgard's protection."
Being able to craft ultimate weapons while lacking the personal strength to use them wasn't a blessing—it was a curse. Treasures that couldn't be defended inevitably attracted those who could take them by force, as today's assault clearly demonstrated.
"Then let us begin!" Psyphon's eyes blazed with anticipation. "We shall claim unprecedented armaments for Lord Malekith, soon to be ruler of all Nine Realms!"
At his signal, the cloaked invasion fleet shimmered into visibility like a nightmare materializing from deep space. Dozens of sleek Dark Elf vessels hung against the star field, their hulls gleaming with alien alloys and crackling weapon arrays.
The bombardment began immediately.
Torrents of coherent energy lanced downward in a devastating light show that could be seen from neighboring systems. The concentrated firepower struck Nidavellir's surface with the force of colliding planetoids, sending massive shock waves through the world's crust and deep into its molten heart.
Though the dwarves lived far below the surface, the planet-shaking bombardment jolted them from their forges and sleeping chambers. King Eitri felt the tremors in his bones as he rushed toward the great cavern's entrance, his people gathering behind him with hammers and tools that doubled as weapons.
Before they could organize a proper defense, Dark Elf assault craft poured through the massive apertures that led to the planet's core. Countless warriors leaped from their transports with predatory grace, their elegant features twisted by bloodlust and the promise of conquest.
Eitri's heart sank as recognition dawned. "Dark Elves? But King Bor sealed them away five thousand years ago!"
Confusion clouded his thoughts, but training took over. The Dwarf King raised his massive forging hammer—a weapon that had shaped countless legendary artifacts—and led his people into battle.
"Defend our home!" Eitri's voice boomed through the caverns like ringing steel. "Drive out these ancient enemies!"
The dwarves might lack individual magical power, but their physical strength was legendary. Centuries of working beside stellar forges had transformed their bodies into living embodiments of their craft—muscles like iron cables, bones dense as starship armor, skin toughened by exposure to space radiation. Only the mightiest beings could survive in the heart of a planet, let alone use stellar cores to forge weapons.
But even their impressive physiques proved insufficient against their attackers.
Dark Elf warriors moved like living shadows, their millennia-honed assassination techniques and devastating sorcery cutting through dwarven defenses with clinical efficiency. Worse still, Sindr the Ash Queen had brought her Fire Demons—beings whose raw physical power matched or exceeded even the dwarves' legendary strength.
With casual gestures, Sindr summoned massive creatures of living flame from the planet's molten depths. Serpents of fire large enough to coil around buildings, centipedes whose burning carapaces dripped molten metal, dragons whose wings spread wide enough to eclipse forge-light—one nightmare after another poured into the battle like predators descending on helpless prey.
The tide of battle shifted dramatically against the defenders.
Psyphon joined the assault with elegant brutality, his psychic powers manifesting as visible distortions in the air around him. Unlike his universe's Sword-wielders who channeled all their energy into physical enhancement, Psyphon focused primarily on mental domination and telekinetic destruction.
The fundamental difference lay in their source of confidence—Sword-wielders drew strength from belief in themselves, while Psyphon's power stemmed from absolute faith in Vilgax's supremacy. As long as he believed his master to be invincible, his own abilities would never waver.
Between telekinetic strikes that sent dwarven warriors flying, Psyphon found time to admire Nidavellir's hidden majesty. Though built within a hollow planet, the great cavern wasn't dark—a captive star blazed eternal at its heart, bathing everything in warm golden light that made even the stone walls seem to glow.
Three massive artificial rings orbited the stellar core in perfect synchronization, channeling its infinite energy toward the great forges that lined the cavern walls. The engineering was breathtaking—a feat that married space forces with artisanal precision.
"Exquisite craftsmanship," Psyphon murmured appreciatively. No wonder the dwarves' work was renowned throughout the cosmos. No wonder they could create true artifacts instead of mere weapons.
In his original universe, genuine artifacts were extraordinarily rare. Beyond technological marvels like the Omnitrix, Psyphon had only heard legends of items like Ascalon's reality-cutting blade, the stellar cores that granted space power, or the mystical charms that controlled dimensional mana itself.
"I'm increasingly curious about what surprises they might provide," he said with anticipation. "Capture them all alive!"
The dwarves were needed to forge weapons, so the assault focused on subjugation rather than slaughter. Even so, the defenders were quickly overwhelmed by superior numbers and magical firepower.
As more of his people fell wounded around him, King Eitri's hammer grew heavier in his hands. Desperation crept into his voice as he made one final attempt to end the violence.
"Stop, Dark Elves!" Eitri's booming shout echoed through the cavern like a bell tolling. "Do you dare invoke the wrath of Asgard?"
His massive form stood defiant despite the odds, hammer raised like a challenge to the cosmos itself. "Nidavellir stands under the protection of Odin All-Father! Withdraw immediately, or face the consequences!"
Even as the words left his lips, a cold dread settled in Eitri's stomach. He'd expected Asgardian reinforcements to arrive through the Rainbow Bridge within moments of the attack beginning. Heimdall's all-seeing gaze monitored the Nine Realms constantly, and Odin's response to threats against his protectorates was typically swift and overwhelming.
The absence of golden warriors and rainbow light suggested something had gone terribly wrong.
Perhaps the Dark Elves had somehow hidden their approach, or maybe Asgard faced its own crisis. Either way, Eitri could only hope to hold out until help arrived—Odin would not abandon them.
The Dark Elf's response shattered that hope like glass.
"Odin is dead, you fool!" The warrior's laughter carried cruel satisfaction. "You are alone and forgotten!"
The words hit harder than any physical blow. "Kneel, dwarf! Swear eternal servitude to your new Dark Elf masters!"
But before Eitri could process the full implications, a new voice cut through the chaos—strong, clear, and absolutely resolute.
"No one here will serve as slaves. Surrender immediately, Dark Elves!"
Every eye turned toward the cavern's main entrance, where an enormous shadow blocked the stellar light streaming from space. Psyphon immediately recognized the silhouette of a massive warship, and emblazoned on its hull was a symbol that made his alien features twist with recognition.
"Plumbers," he breathed, the word carrying both respect and anticipation for the coming conflict.
Eitri's war-weary features transformed with sudden hope. During Loki's brief coronation ceremony, he'd glimpsed representatives of this legendary organization from afar. If they truly served as Odin's allies and successors, perhaps Nidavellir could still be saved.
Aboard the massive vessel, Beta Ray Bill stood in gleaming Plumber uniform, Ronan's Universal Weapon gripped firmly in his cybernetic hand. The sight of Dark Elves and Fire Demons ravaging the ancient kingdom filled him with righteous fury that burned like the stellar forge itself.
The devastation reminded him too vividly of the Korbinites' own tragedy—their homeworld invaded and destroyed, their people scattered to the space winds and hunted through the void by merciless enemies. He'd sworn an oath that no other civilization would suffer the same fate if he possessed the power to prevent it.
Justice blazed in his artificial heart like lightning given form. Though he'd never met the dwarves personally, he would not allow Nidavellir to repeat his people's bitter history.
"I am Beta Ray Bill, Senior Agent of the Plumber Corps!" His voice carried the authority of absolute conviction, amplified through the ship's communication systems to reach every corner of the vast cavern.
"Dark Elves, Fire Demons—surrender immediately! Otherwise, the Plumbers will respond with overwhelming force!"
Psyphon's features darkened with calculation. A direct confrontation with the Plumbers wasn't part of his immediate plans, but perhaps this unexpected development could serve Vilgax's greater purposes.
The Dark Elf warriors showed no such tactical considerations, their contempt for the Plumbers evident in their dismissive laughter.
"Just one sheriff?" The lead Dark Elf's scarred features twisted with amusement. "If we can capture their warship here, Lord Malekith will shower us with praise and rewards!"
The logic seemed sound to beings who knew little of the Plumbers' true capabilities. After all, wasn't that silver-tongued Loki also merely a 'sheriff' in their organization? How dangerous could one officer be, even with a ship behind him?
More importantly, they hoped to extract information about the Aether's location from their captive. Such intelligence would elevate the successful interrogator far above their current station.
"Sound reasoning," Psyphon agreed with false enthusiasm, recognizing an opportunity to weaken both forces simultaneously. Since everyone present technically served Malekith, their deaths would cost him nothing personally. In fact, mutual destruction would serve his true master's interests perfectly.
Inside the Plumber vessel, Korg and his stone-skin brother Druuk flanked Beta Ray Bill as he prepared for battle. The Kronan warrior stroked his rocky chin thoughtfully.
"It appears they've declined our generous offer of surrender," Korg observed with characteristic understatement.
"Then we make them surrender," Bill replied without hesitation, his grip tightening on the Universal Weapon as he strode toward the ship's deployment bay.
The elite warriors who followed him represented the finest soldiers Sakaar's gladiatorial trials had ever produced—veterans who'd survived countless death matches and earned their freedom through skill and determination. Behind them came the newest generation of Plumber recruits, drawn from both Sakaarian and Korbinite populations eager to prove themselves worthy of the organization's trust.
These newer agents might lack battlefield experience, but their training was second to none. Ben Parker and Eunice. had analyzed transformation enhancement data from multiple sources, developing training regimens that elevated every Plumber to peak combat readiness. Their basic physical capabilities now matched those of Asgardian warriors, and their equipment represented the cutting edge of space military technology.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Writing takes time, coffee, and a lot of love.If you'd like to support my work, join me at [email protected]/GoldenGaruda
You'll get early access to over 50 chapters, selection on new series, and the satisfaction of knowing your support directly fuels more stories.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~