Beta Ray Bill descended into Nidavellir's depths like a falling star, his Mana-enhanced form trailing space energies as he carved through layers of planetary rock in pursuit of his escaped enemy. The ten-minute window of enhanced power was already ticking away, and eliminating Psyphon took absolute priority—the alien served Vilgax directly, making him a far more dangerous threat than even Malekith's forces.
But when Bill's trajectory finally terminated in a vast underground chamber, he found only empty space and the glittering treasures of the dwarven vault.
His cybernetic eyes swept the cavern with tactical precision, cataloging thousands of weapons arranged in meticulous displays. Swords whose edges seemed to cut reality itself, spears that hummed with contained lightning, war hammers that pulsed with gravitational forces, battle axes that radiated cold deeper than the void between stars—each artifact represented centuries of masterful craftsmanship and space materials beyond price.
Yet for all their individual magnificence, true divine weapons remained rare even among the dwarves' legendary creations. Forging genuine artifacts required more than skill and stellar forges—the process demanded Uru steel as a foundation, then the blessing of divine power to awaken the weapon's true potential. Such combinations occurred perhaps once in a generation, if at all.
But the treasure vault's contents weren't Bill's primary concern.
"No spatial distortions detected," he muttered, his enhanced senses probing every corner of the chamber. "How did he simply vanish?"
The question troubled him more than any enemy's escape should. Psyphon possessed no known teleportation abilities, and the chamber showed no signs of dimensional manipulation or technological interference. It was as if the alien had simply ceased to exist within this reality.
Before Bill could investigate further, the vault's reinforced entrance exploded inward as King Eitri burst through like an avalanche given desperate purpose. The Dwarf King's normally composed features were twisted with panic as his massive form stumbled among the scattered weapons, his brown eyes searching frantically through displays that had been arranged with generations of care.
Finally, his shoulders sagged in defeat, and the mountain of a dwarf collapsed to his knees among the countless artifacts, his entire frame trembling with an emotion that went far beyond simple loss.
Seeing such despair from the stalwart king, Bill felt his irritation at Psyphon's escape transform into concern. The Mana enhancement was already fading from his systems, leaving behind the familiar weight of exhaustion, but Eitri's reaction demanded immediate attention.
"The enemy's escape was... unfortunate," Bill offered carefully, "but we successfully repelled the invasion force. Your people are safe, King Eitri. That represents victory by any reasonable measure."
"I'm not mourning that creature's escape!" Eitri's voice cracked like breaking stone. "It's the hammer—the hammer is gone!"
Bill's eyebrows rose as tactical implications began cascading through his mind. "A divine artifact? If so, that could significantly impact the strategic balance."
The concern was valid but manageable in his assessment. Powerful weapons could indeed provide substantial advantages to enemies like Malekith or Vilgax, but artifacts could be replaced given sufficient time and resources. Both the Plumbers and Asgard possessed extensive armories, so the loss of a single weapon—however legendary—wouldn't fundamentally alter the space conflict's trajectory.
But Eitri's reaction suggested something far more serious than the theft of even the most powerful weapon.
"You have no comprehension of what that thing represents!" The Dwarf King's voice carried the weight of ancient dread. "That was the Hammer of Terror—Cul Borson's personal weapon!"
Recognition struck Bill like a physical blow. "Borson... that's the same surname as—"
"Yes," Eitri confirmed with grim finality. "Cul is Odin's elder brother. Before the All-Father claimed Asgard's throne, Cul ruled as the true God-King."
The implications crashed through Bill's consciousness like a cascade of colliding asteroids. A single divine weapon represented a tactical inconvenience. A being of Odin-level power awakening to reclaim lost dominion represented an existential threat to space stability.
Malekith's realm-spanning war was already straining the universe's peacekeeping forces beyond their limits. Vilgax's rampage had destabilized multiple sectors as the enhanced warlord pursued his obsession with universal conquest. Hela's occupation of Asgard had eliminated the Nine Realms' primary military authority. Adding another god-tier threat to this volatile mixture...
Bill could envision the Nine Realms dissolving into complete chaos, with ripple effects spreading throughout the known galaxies.
"The situation continues deteriorating," he observed with characteristic understatement. "I can only hope other cosmic powers choose to remain neutral during this crisis."
Eitri's expression grew even more haunted as he continued the terrible explanation. "Cul brought nothing but disaster during his reign. His very presence breeds fear and despair, which only feeds his power further. Eventually, Odin was forced to seal his own brother away—but before the binding could be completed, Cul scattered his divine weapons throughout the universe."
The Dwarf King's voice dropped to a whisper heavy with ancient knowledge. "Anyone chosen by those hammers is compelled to seek out their master, to aid in breaking the seals that bind him. The artifacts don't merely grant power—they impose absolute loyalty to their creator."
"Of course it's another seal," Bill muttered, covering his face with one cybernetic hand. "When will these space entities learn that evil should be destroyed completely, not imprisoned for future generations to deal with?"
He understood the philosophical arguments for redemption and second chances, but beings capable of threatening universal stability belonged in a completely different category than common criminals driven by desperation or circumstance. Some threats were simply too dangerous to preserve.
"Destruction wasn't a viable option," Eitri explained with resignation. "According to the ancient prophecies, only Thor possesses the power to kill Cul permanently—but the same visions foretell that their battle will trigger Ragnarok itself. Thor would die alongside his uncle, taking Asgard and possibly the entire universe with them."
The prophecy's constraints explained Odin's reluctant choice to imprison rather than eliminate his brother. With such space stakes attached to Cul's death, even the All-Father's legendary decisiveness had been paralyzed by impossible alternatives.
"With Odin dead and Thor..." Eitri's voice trailed off as he contemplated the broken prince they'd encountered in Asgard. "That boy is a shadow of his former self. I fear he lacks the strength to fulfill his prophetic role, even if the circumstances arose."
The Dwarf King's shoulders slumped further as despair completed its conquest of his spirit. "Who remains to save the Nine Realms? Even the mighty Plumbers cannot stand against so many cosmic threats simultaneously. Perhaps... perhaps it's time to abandon Nidavellir and seek refuge in the outer galaxies."
But Bill was already analyzing the tactical situation with the methodical precision that had made him a legendary guardian. "Psyphon serves Vilgax directly. Even if the hammer transported him to Cul's location, his loyalty remains unchanged. He may not choose to aid in breaking any seals."
"That's irrelevant," Eitri countered with weary certainty. "The Hammer of Terror doesn't request service—it compels absolute obedience. Anyone who touches the artifact becomes Cul's puppet, regardless of their previous allegiances or intentions."
"I see..." Bill nodded thoughtfully, then retrieved the Universal Weapon and turned toward the vault's exit. "Your tactical assessment is noted, King Eitri."
"Where are you going?" Eitri called out in confusion. "I just explained that resistance is futile. I'm prepared to evacuate Nidavellir immediately!"
"That decision remains yours to make," Bill replied without breaking stride. "But my mission parameters haven't changed—I'm here to ensure Nidavellir's security."
The Korbinite warrior's voice carried absolute conviction despite the overwhelming odds they faced. He wasn't certain what the ultimate outcome would be, but he understood his duty with crystal clarity—complete the objectives assigned by his commanding officer, regardless of personal cost or probability of success.
That understanding was sufficient foundation for any action.
Whether they faced Cul, Vilgax, Malekith, or any combination of space threats, Bill's faith in his ultimate commander remained unshakeable. Ben Parker—the King of Sakaar, founder of the Plumbers, wielder of the Omnitrix—had yet to encounter an enemy he couldn't eventually overcome.
"You..." Eitri stared at Bill's retreating form, his despair slowly giving way to something approaching wonder.
If even a Sheriff possessed such unwavering determination in the face of impossible odds, perhaps the King of Sakaar truly could reverse the current catastrophe and save the Nine Realms from the combined threats of Dark Elves, awakened gods, and space warlords.
Maybe, just maybe, it was worth believing one more time—just as the Dwarf King had once placed his faith in Asgard's protection.
The Plumbers might not necessarily become the new Asgard, but they represented hope when all other options had been exhausted.
Eitri abandoned his evacuation plans, retrieved his forging hammer, and followed Bill back toward the battlefield. Behind them, the treasured weapons of millennia began rising from their displays like a metallic constellation, streaming through the vault's corridors in response to their creator's will.
The enhanced armaments fell into the conflict like a meteor shower of legendary power, each weapon seeking worthy hands among the Plumber forces. Enhanced swords found skilled warriors, mystical spears bonded with tactical specialists, enchanted hammers flew toward those who understood the weight of space responsibility.
"Holy—!" Korg ducked as a massive war-mace nearly parted his rocky hair, but the weapon halted just before impact and settled gently into his grasp.
The Kronan's eyes widened with delight as he examined the artifact's perfect balance and humming power. "Look at this beauty! I've got a divine weapon now! With this I should get promoted to Senior Agent status!"
"That's not a true divine artifact, you granite-brained fool!" Eitri shouted as he rejoined the battle. "Your power level couldn't control genuine god-tier weaponry! But it should provide significant enhancement to your power!"
Earth's Oceanic Depths
Psyphon materialized in unfamiliar surroundings, his enhanced senses struggling to process the displacement. One moment he'd been engaged in space battle within Nidavellir's stellar-lit caverns—the next, he found himself in what appeared to be an elaborate underwater amphitheater.
"I was just at the dwarven realm..." he muttered, studying the ornate architecture surrounding him. The circular chamber featured carved columns and decorative elements that spoke of ancient craftsmanship, but the style was unlike anything in his comprehensive xenoarchaeological databases.
Where exactly had the hammer transported him?
The oppressive silence of the deep ocean pressed against the chamber's walls, but sophisticated environmental systems maintained breathable atmosphere and comfortable temperature despite the crushing external pressure. Whoever had constructed this prison possessed technology that rivaled even Vilgax's most advanced installations.
Light footsteps echoed through the stillness—hesitant and unsteady, as if the walker's strength had been severely compromised by time and confinement.
Psyphon turned toward the sound, his alien features shifting with genuine surprise. "Father?"
The figure that emerged from the shadows bore no resemblance to the shark-like beings of Psyphon's home dimension, but the compulsion radiating from the hammer filled his mind with artificial recognition and filial devotion. An elderly human male approached with careful steps, his body bent with age and supported by a simple walking staff.
Pale hair crowned a face lined with centuries of isolation and frustrated ambition. Wrinkled skin sagged around eyes that had remained closed for so long they seemed fused shut. Five millennia of imprisonment had taken their toll—where once had stood a god-king capable of challenging Odin himself, now shuffled a broken old man whose divine power had leaked away like water through cracked stone.
But Cul Borson's spirit burned as fiercely as ever.
Finally! After endless eons of lightless solitude, hope had returned to his reach. The hammer had brought him a servant—a strong, capable warrior who would help him escape this accursed prison and reclaim his birthright as ruler of the Nine Realms.
As soon as he regained access to the mortal realm above, fear would flow into him like wine into a cup. Terror would restore his strength, despair would rebuild his armies, and the space powers that had dared to challenge his authority would face the consequences of their presumption.
It was time for the Serpent to emerge and devour the World Tree itself.
"Welcome, my child," Cul spoke with the warmth of a loving patriarch greeting his prodigal son. "You have traveled far to reach me."
"Yes, Father..." Psyphon's eyes flickered with an emotion that wasn't quite the slavish devotion the hammer sought to impose. A barely perceptible smile curved his lips as he stepped forward with the weapon in hand. "Let's go burn the Nine Realms to ashes together!"
"Patience," Cul cautioned, though he was pleased by his servant's enthusiasm. "I must first reclaim my scattered power before we can begin the great work of conquest."
Psyphon's smile widened as he spoke with the soft precision of a serpent preparing to strike. "Reclaim your power? Or perhaps... become the power source for a far greater being?"
Recognition dawned in Cul's ancient eyes as the true nature of his situation became clear. But realization came far too late.
Psyphon's form suddenly erupted with the enhanced strength Vilgax had gifted him, his grip closing around Cul's throat with crushing force as he lifted the god-king from the chamber floor. The Hammer of Terror clattered to the ground, its compulsion broken by Psyphon's absolute loyalty to his true master.
"This is impossible..." Cul gasped through his compressed windpipe. "The hammer chose you... you cannot betray me..."
Psyphon didn't bother explaining that Vilgax's mental conditioning transcended any artifact's influence, or that his enhanced physiology allowed him to resist even divine compulsions. Instead, he simply tightened his grip and watched with satisfaction as millennia of accumulated divine essence began flowing from his victim.
"Lord Vilgax will be most pleased with this unexpected gift," he purred as Cul's struggles grew weaker. "The power of a Borson god-king should provide excellent enhancement to his already formidable abilities."
Genesis Dimension
Deep within his personal pocket reality, Odin's meditation was shattered by space alarm signals that set every divine sense screaming warnings. His eyes snapped open with the force of stellar ignition as he felt his brother's seal rupturing across the dimensional barriers.
"How is this possible?" The All-Father's voice carried genuine panic for the first time in millennia. "Cul's imprisonment was designed to last until Ragnarok itself!"
This development exceeded his worst-case projections by orders of magnitude. Odin understood his brother's capabilities intimately—had witnessed the disasters Cul could unleash when his power reached its peak. The ancient prophecies surrounding their eventual confrontation had haunted his nightmares for thousands of years, and Thor's current broken state made the foretold outcome even more catastrophic.
Fear represented the source of Cul's strength, and the mortal realm of Midgard bred that emotion in quantities that could restore a god-king to his full terrible glory. Odin's first instinct was to gather his remaining power and sterilize the entire planet before Cul could feed upon its inhabitants' terror.
But rationality reasserted itself as he remembered who currently held authority over Earth's affairs. Attacking Ben Parker's protectorate would instantly transform the Plumbers from valuable allies into implacable enemies—a strategic disaster that would doom any chance of space stability.
"Why worry about prophecies and ancient fears, Odin?" The Ancient One materialized beside him with her characteristic serenity intact, settling onto a meditation cushion with fluid grace. "The future has already been rewritten beyond recognition."
Her voice carried the wisdom of someone who had witnessed countless space upheavals and learned to adapt rather than resist the flow of changing destiny. "I once believed I had identified the perfect successor to guard reality's mystic defenses. Time proved that assumption false—but it also revealed that 'perfect' was never the actual requirement."
The Sorcerer Supreme's eyes held depths of knowledge that made even Odin's centuries seem brief. "Stephen Strange remains my chosen heir not because he represents ideal qualifications, but because his specific nature suits the role's demands. Similarly, since Ben Parker declined the mantle of Sorcerer Supreme, it matters little whether Wong or Mordo eventually inherits the position."
Odin allowed her words to settle his racing thoughts, gradually releasing the space tensions that had seized his consciousness. "Perhaps you speak wisdom, Supreme Sorcerer. When Ben's Mana merged with the World Tree's roots, the fundamental nature of fate itself shifted beyond recognition. The prophetic sight I once purchased with my eye can no longer penetrate the veils of possibility."
"But Cul remains a formidable threat regardless of—" His words cut off abruptly as another sensation struck his divine awareness like a physical blow. "Wait... he's already dead?"
The sudden termination of his brother's life force left Odin reeling with confusion. One moment he'd been preparing for space war against an awakened god-king—the next, that same threat had simply ceased to exist without explanation or fanfare.
No climactic battle, no prophetic fulfillment, no dramatic confrontation between divine siblings. Just... nothing.
The anticlimax was so complete it bordered on the absurd.
"Already deceased?" The Ancient One's eyebrows rose with genuine surprise. "That represents an unusually rapid resolution."
Her mystical senses had detected Cul's awakening across the dimensional barriers, but his immediate termination suggested complications far beyond simple escape and recapture. Gods of Cul's caliber didn't simply die from natural causes or minor conflicts—their elimination required either overwhelming force or catastrophic circumstances.
"Indeed," Odin confirmed, his divine perception probing the space echoes of his brother's final moments. "Cul exists no longer... but his location fell outside the Nine Realms when death claimed him. Mystical interference prevents my ravens from investigating the specifics."
The Ancient One pursed her lips thoughtfully. "Where might Ben Parker be at this moment?"
Odin redirected his surveillance abilities, space ravens flying through space and dimensions until they located their target. After several minutes of searching, his features relaxed into something approaching relief.
"Pursuing the final two Infinity Stones," he reported. "His current mission remains unchanged."
Both space guardians settled back into their meditation positions simultaneously, their alarm transforms into confident calm.
If Ben Parker would soon control all six Infinity Stones, what possible threat could justify concern? With such power at the Plumbers' disposal, any space catastrophe became manageable through sheer force application.
Problem solved before it truly began.
"Come, Master Ancient One," Odin offered with renewed hospitality. "Allow me to share Asgard's finest vintage—immortal mead aged seven thousand years in the heart of Yggdrasil itself."
"Tea would be preferable," she replied with the faintest smile. "But your sentiment is appreciated."
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