Borgir's footsteps suddenly stopped.
The loud crack of thunder striking the earth echoed through the forest, so powerful it made the very air vibrate and set the leaves trembling on every tree. The frost giant paused mid-stride, his advance on Eira halting as his head turned slowly back toward where he'd left the broken, bleeding form of Thor Odinson.
Where the half-dead god had been lying just moments ago, there was now only a smoking crater—roughly half a meter deep, the earth blackened and fused into glass by the intense heat of the lightning strike. Steam rose from the molten edges, which still glowed faintly orange in the gathering darkness of the storm clouds.
Borgir's eyes narrowed, scanning the immediate area with practiced wariness. He was searching for Thor's body, or what should have remained of it—perhaps ash and charred bone, maybe nothing at all if the lightning had been hot enough.
He found nothing.
No evidence that anyone had been there at all except for scorched earth and the lingering smell hanging heavy in the air.
The frost giant's expression shifted from satisfaction to wariness. Where—
Suddenly, before the thought could fully form, a massive force slammed into Borgir from behind with the impact of a falling meteor. The blow crashed into his back with devastating power, catching him completely off guard.
The impact sent the fifteen-foot frost giant tumbling forward, his massive body rolling across the ground like a boulder kicked down a mountain, crushing bushes and small trees in his path.
Before Borgir could push himself up from the ground, before he could even process what had happened or identify his attacker, a huge lightning bolt struck him from the dark clouds above with pinpoint accuracy.
CRACK!
The sound was deafening, the light blinding. The electricity coursed through Borgir's body, making his muscles spasm involuntarily.
Then another bolt struck.
CRACK!
And another.
CRACK!
Thor didn't stop the assault. Bolt after bolt of divine lightning hammered down from the heavens like the judgment of the gods themselves, each one striking Borgir with perfect accuracy. The thunder was continuous, overlapping, like the drums of war played by the gods themselves echoing across the realms.
The forest floor exploded with each impact—dirt, stone, and shattered ice thrown high into the air. Trees near the impact zone caught fire, their branches igniting from the sheer heat. The ground itself began to melt and reform with each strike.
Thor only stopped when a huge crater had formed where Borgir lay—easily ten meters across and several meters deep, the bottom still crackling with residual electricity that danced across the melted stone like living serpents.
Standing at the crater's edge, Thor was breathing heavily, his chest heaving with exertion.
Haff... haff...
His chest rose and fell rapidly, steam rising from his body as divine energy. The power felt glorious, intoxicating, overwhelming—like being whole again after years of being crippled and broken. Every cell in his body sang with raw strength. And the storm above responded to his every emotion like an extension of his will.
This was what it meant to be the God of Thunder.
This was who he truly was.
Eira finally managed to tear her eyes away from the smoking crater and noticed the transformed figure standing in front of her, positioned protectively between her and the battlefield.
He was magnificent—and completely different from the man she'd known.
Silver armor covered his body from neck to toe, each piece gleaming even in the dim light beneath the storm clouds. The metal looked ancient yet pristine, expertly crafted by master smiths whose skills had been lost to time. Each piece fit together perfectly, designed to protect while allowing complete freedom of movement. Intricate engravings covered every surface. The designs seemed to shift and flow when she looked at them directly, as if the metal itself was alive.
A red cape flowed behind him, billowing dramatically in the wind that the storm had created. It was battle-worn, torn in places from countless fights, stained with blood and dirt from his earlier beating. Yet somehow it still moved with an almost regal quality, like a banner that had seen war but refused to fall.
And in his right hand, he gripped a hammer.
Square-headed and powerful, surprisingly compact for a weapon that radiated such immense power. The head was made of some metal that seemed to drink in light, covered completely in glowing runes that pulsed with faint blue energy. The short handle was wrapped in worn leather, marked by centuries of use. The weapon hummed with barely contained power, like a living thing eager to be unleashed, electricity occasionally arcing between the runes.
It was exactly the same hammer her grandmother had described countless times during those long winter nights when Eira was a child, sitting by the fire listening to stories of the gods and their legendary weapons. She'd thought they were just fairy tales, myths told to entertain children and preserve old traditions.
But here it was. Real. Tangible. Terrifying in its power.
"Thor?" Eira couldn't help but ask, her voice nervous and uncertain. "Is that you?"
The figure didn't turn to look at her. His eyes remained fixed on the crater, his body tense and ready. When he spoke, his voice was deeper than before.
"There's no time to explain now." Thor's words were urgent. "This place will be very dangerous. You need to run. Get as far away as you can."
"What do you mean?" Eira asked, her voice rising with confusion and fear. She looked past Thor toward the smoking crater, at the massive destruction he'd just unleashed with such casual power. Surely nothing could survive that. "Didn't you already kill him?"
But before she could finish her question, a hand stretched out from within the crater.
It didn't take much time for that hand to find purchase on the crater's edge and pull. Borgir hauled his whole body out of the earth with casual, terrifying ease, as if he'd merely tripped and fallen rather than being struck by dozens of god-powered lightning bolts.
To Eira's complete and utter astonishment—her mind refusing to process what her eyes were clearly seeing—there was not a single scratch on that ice-blue body.
No burns. No cracks in the skin. No signs of injury whatsoever.
The frost giant stood at his full fifteen-foot height, casually brushing dirt and debris from his arms and chest like someone cleaning off after a light workout. His skin was pristine, unmarked, as perfect and smooth as polished stone. The divine lightning that should have reduced him to ash had left absolutely no lasting damage.
He was only a little dirty now—dust and small rocks clinging to his form—but otherwise completely unharmed.
It was as if Thor's devastating assault had been nothing more than a minor inconvenience.
"Thor Odinson," Borgir said, his voice carrying across the battlefield with perfect clarity. "So in the end, you have regained your power."
The frost giant's expression shifted to something almost resembling respect, though his eyes remained cold and merciless.
"But alas, it will not change a thing." Borgir rolled his massive shoulders, joints cracking like breaking ice. "No one can change the fact that you will die by my hand today. Even if Bor himself came down from Valhalla to fight beside you, he would encounter the same fate."
Thor could feel that Borgir might not be lying to him. It was hard to sense the giant's true power when Thor had been mortal—his perception had been limited, his senses dulled. But after regaining his divine strength, Thor could clearly feel the power difference between them.
This guy was definitely on his father's level. Maybe even beyond it.
And to Thor's growing astonishment, he could feel that Borgir's power was growing little by little in real time. It might be wrong to say it was growing—more accurate to say he was regaining his old power, the strength that had been lost or suppressed while he was trapped inside the seal.
The dimensional prison had weakened him. Now, free in the physical world, breathing real air and standing on solid ground, that ancient might was returning with every passing second.
But Thor found that he wasn't afraid.
It didn't matter how strong this guy was. Thor would just have to beat him harder, hit him more, strike until something finally broke.
If Elric were present here, to observed thor, he might really kick Thor's brain twice.
The strategy had been working fine until now—caution, tactical thinking. But the moment Thor regained his power, all of that went down the drain, washed away by the intoxicating rush of divine might and the familiar comfort of overwhelming force.
And as his combat-obsessed brain instructed him, Thor directly charged his hammer.
Mjolnir began to glow, arcs of electricity dancing along its surface. The runes blazed with blue-white light. Thunder rumbled overhead in response, the storm recognizing its master's call.
Thor pulled his arm back and threw Mjolnir with all his divine strength.
The hammer flew through the air like a meteor, leaving a trail of lightning in its wake. It spun as it flew, building up kinetic and electrical energy with each rotation, becoming a projectile of devastating power.
Thor didn't know what he expected to happen, but the next thing was definitely beyond his wildest imagination.
Borgir watched the flying hammer coming toward him with an expression of mild interest. He could sense the huge amount of divine energy infused within the weapon.
Under normal circumstances, it would be troublesome. If this had been right when Borgir had first emerged from the seal, when he was still weakened and disoriented, such a weapon might have actually posed a threat.
But now? Now that he'd already recovered most of his power?
It was just a child's toy, wielded by someone who was still, in Borgir's ancient eyes, basically a child.
Without hesitation, Borgir reached out and directly grabbed Mjolnir from the air.
His massive hand closed around the hammer's head, stopping its momentum completely. The weapon struggled in his grip, enchantments trying to assert themselves, trying to enforce Odin's decree that only the worthy could wield it.
But before those runes could take full effect.
Without wasting any time, he directly suppressed the previous runes that were acting upon the hammer. With casual expertise that spoke of millennia of runecraft experience, he inscribed one of his own control runes over the weapon's surface.
The process took perhaps three seconds.
Thor watched with incredulous eyes as Borgir simply grabbed Mjolnir out of the air. That wasn't particularly surprising, considering their power gap—plenty of beings strong enough could physically catch the hammer, even if they couldn't truly wield it.
But then Thor tried to summon it back, to call Mjolnir to his hand as he'd done thousands of times before.
Nothing happened.
He reached out through his connection to the weapon.
The connection was gone.
He felt the absence like a missing limb, a phantom pain where something essential should be.
"Impossible," Thor breathed, his voice hollow with shock. "My Mjolnir..."
Borgir just let out a cold laugh, examining the hammer with professional interest. "How old are you?" he asked with genuine curiosity. "You didn't even inscribe a Thiof-Fur rune on your own weapon?"
Thor almost thought he'd heard it wrong. Since when did he need to lock his weapon?
Looking at their utterly confused expressions—both Thor and Eira staring at him like he'd grown a second head—Borgir felt a little pity well up in his ancient heart.
He'd also learned this lesson the hard way, centuries ago in his youth. He still remembered that humiliating battle when an enemy had seized his favorite weapon and beaten him with it. The shame of it had burned for decades.
As a responsible elder, how could he not teach his junior this crucial lesson?
So Borgir patiently explained, his voice taking on an almost professorial quality:
"You have to inscribe the Thiof-Fur rune—the Theft-Guard—so that no foreign energy can interfere with your weapon. It creates a lock that only you can open, a signature that can't be copied or suppressed." He hefted Mjolnir experimentally, testing its weight and balance. "Without it, any runemaster with sufficient power can simply override your connection and claim the weapon for themselves."
He paused, a distant look entering his eyes.
And as a responsible elder, how could he not pass on that same education to this arrogant cub?
He would have to beat Thor with his own weapon until the lesson was thoroughly learned. Even if after he finished there would be no future left for Thor to use that knowledge, it was still his duty to teach.
The old ways had to be preserved, after all.
Borgir started to walk toward Thor slowly, deliberately, Mjolnir held loosely in one hand. Each step made the ground tremble slightly. Lightning from Thor's storm crackled overhead, but it seemed impotent now, theatrical rather than threatening.
"What... what do you want?" For the first time in his very long life, Thor suddenly felt an indescribable horror creeping up his spine.
This wasn't the fear of death. Thor had faced death countless times, had walked into battles knowing he might not return. That kind of fear was familiar, almost comfortable.
This was different.
"What are you going to do with my hammer?" Thor asked, his voice rising slightly with genuine alarm.
Borgir didn't answer with words.
Instead, he swung Mjolnir in a casual arc, testing its balance and weight distribution. The hammer moved through the air with a whistle, perfectly weighted, perfectly balanced.
Then he charged it with his own power. Ice-blue energy flowed along the runes, corrupting Odin's enchantments, making Thor's hammer sing with frost magic instead of thunder.
"Let me show you," Borgir said simply.
He closed the distance between them in three quick strides, faster than Thor could react, and swung Mjolnir in a vicious uppercut aimed directly at Thor's chin.
BOOM.
The impact lifted Thor off his feet and sent him flying backward through the air, his body ragdolling from the sheer force of the blow. He crashed into a tree with enough force to split the trunk in half, then continued tumbling across the forest floor for another twenty meters before finally coming to a stop.
Stars exploded across Thor's vision. His jaw felt like it had been shattered. The taste of blood filled his mouth.
And through the pain, one thought echoed in Thor's dazed mind:
That's... that's my hammer...
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