Thor knelt on one knee, his knuckles digging deep into the cracks of the flagstones, his fingertips turning white from the strain. He raised his head, eyes blazing with fury as he locked onto Raiden, who stood towering over him.
"You're using divine power to humiliate me! Even if you had Mjolnir, you might not be able to defeat me!"
Thor gritted his teeth, his voice thick with resentment—as if the word "unconvinced" were carved into his expression.
Raiden's expression remained indifferent, her violet pupils reflecting Thor's disheveled form. She tilted her head slightly, her purple hair fluttering in the wind, and spoke in a calm, almost bored tone:
"You think I care about winning or losing?"
She drifted forward, her toes barely clearing the ground, until she hovered directly before him, gazing down with cold condescension. Then, with deliberate cruelty, she added:
"Your anger stems from your incompetence—not from my humiliation."
Thor's chest heaved violently; his fists clenched so tightly his knuckles cracked. Yet he had no reply.
Raiden studied him for a long moment, then sighed softly.
"Fine. Since you believe my victory was unfair… I'll give you a chance."
She raised her hand and flicked her wrist. A bolt of lightning arced through the air, drawing a glowing map in the void—clearly marking a set of coordinates.
"Your hammer is right here."
Thor's pupils contracted. He snapped his head up, eyes wide with disbelief.
"Mjolnir?!"
"Go retrieve it," Raiden said evenly. "Prove you deserve the name 'Thor.'
Then we'll fight again."
Before she could finish, she raised her foot—the toe of her boot lightly brushed Thor's chest—
Bang!!
An explosive force erupted instantly. Thor's vision blurred as his body hurtled backward uncontrollably.
"Thor?!"
Jane Foster's scream tore through the air.
She watched, stunned, as Thor—just moments ago standing at the restaurant entrance—shot through the air like a cannonball and crashed heavily into the middle of the road, ten meters away.
"Oh my god!"
Pale with fear, Jane didn't hesitate. She sprinted toward him without a second thought.
Thor lay sprawled on the asphalt, a burning ache flaring in his chest. But compared to the beating he'd just taken from Raiden Ying in the Pure Land of the Heart, this kick felt like a kitten's playful nudge.
Groaning, he pushed himself upright and shook the dizziness from his head.
"Thor! Are you alright?" Jane dropped to her knees beside him, hands trembling as she gripped his shoulders, her voice laced with terror. "What happened? How did you suddenly fly out here?"
Thor opened his mouth—but hesitated.
He couldn't tell her the truth. The mysterious figure who'd just humiliated him was another Thor, impossibly real yet utterly inexplicable. Revealing that would only worry Jane needlessly.
And… it was embarrassing. The mighty Asgardian, God of Thunder, thrashed by someone who shared his own name?
So—
He coughed lightly, forced a weak smile, and said hoarsely, "I'm fine. I just… uh… tripped."
"Tripped?! You flew ten meters! How is that just tripping?!"
Jane stared at him, wide-eyed and incredulous.
Thor guiltily looked away, brushed the dust from his coat, and stood, adopting a suddenly serious tone.
"Well… you see, Asgardian physiology differs from that of Earthlings!"
"For example," he added with forced enthusiasm, "an adult Celestial Warrior trainee, when extremely angry, can trip and soar thousands of meters!"
He paused, then added with misplaced confidence: "And sometimes, that same stumble can knock over a fully grown dragon!"
Jane narrowed her eyes, clearly unconvinced.
But Thor swiftly changed the subject, brightening as if struck by divine revelation:
"Oh! Right—I just remembered something important!"
"What is it?" she asked, still suspicious.
"My hammer!"
His face lit up, grasping at the excuse like a lifeline. "I know where it is!"
"What? How could you possibly—"
"No time to explain!" Thor seized Jane's wrist. "Take me there—now!"
He pointed toward the distant horizon.
— — — — — — — — — —
Meanwhile, in Asgard…
The Golden Palace shimmered eternally in golden light, its towering dome inlaid with flowing constellations. The radiance of the Eternal Flame bathed every carved relief in sacred solemnity.
Yet inside Odin's bedchamber, silence reigned—thick and heavy.
The Allfather lay upon a vast golden bed, his silver-white hair fanned across the pillow, his single eye closed. His chest rose and fell so faintly it seemed he barely breathed.
The ruler of the Nine Realms slumbered deeply, replenishing his waning divine power.
Loki stood beside the bed, his long fingers idly tracing the hilt of Gungnir. His gaze lingered on Odin's aged face, his green eyes churning with guilt, resentment, anger—and a flicker of vulnerability he'd never admit to.
"Why do you never tell me the truth?" he murmured, so softly it was almost a whisper to himself.
Frigga, seated on the opposite side of the bed, lifted her head at the sound. Her golden hair cascaded like a waterfall, and her eyes held a quiet blend of tenderness and exhaustion.
"Loki…"
"I am Laufey's son!" he snapped, turning sharply toward her. "The monster parents use to frighten their children at bedtime!"
He clenched his fists, voice trembling with bitter irony. "And for thousands of years, I actually believed I was an Asgardian…"
His lips twisted into a mocking smile.
Frigga rose slowly and stepped to his side. She took his hand—warm, though tense—and gently traced the lines of his clenched knuckles.
"You are our child," she whispered. "That has never changed."
Loki's fingers trembled. For a heartbeat, his icy composure cracked. He lowered his lashes, shadows shielding the uncertainty in his eyes as he stared at his sleeping father.
"He will wake," Frigga said softly, following his gaze. "And when he does, Thor will return. Our family can—"
"Thor?!"
Loki yanked his hand away, his expression hardening instantly.
"That brute whose mind is filled with nothing but war? You truly believe exile can change his nature?"
Frigga's brow furrowed almost imperceptibly. "Trust in your father's wisdom."
Loki took a step back, then another, his voice dropping to a cold, determined growl.
"Father's wisdom… Heh. Then by all means—keep waiting for your perfect crown prince."
"As for me," he declared, eyes blazing, "I will prove—through my actions—who is truly worthy of the throne."
His form shimmered, growing translucent—then vanished entirely.
Frigga's outstretched hand hung empty in the air. After a long, heavy sigh, she let it fall.
She returned to Odin's side an
d gently clasped his hand.
Beyond the window, the Asgardian stars shone brilliantly—but above the Golden Palace, dark clouds gathered in silence.
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