One persistent annoyance was finally resolved too—the armor came with some kind of enchantment that handled wardrobe changes. When she didn't want to wear it, the armor vanished. When combat called, a single thought brought it back on.
She didn't understand the magic, but her senses told her the armor retreated into a pocket dimension of its own—a personal subspace woven into the metal itself.
"Incredible," she murmured. These Asgardians really knew how to outfit a warrior.
"I'm glad you like it." Frigga beamed, and her smile widened further when she caught the glow of Daisy's fiery chi.
Daisy drew the longsword Frigga had given her—and froze.
The blade flashed like a bolt of lightning the instant it cleared the scabbard. Total length: 1.1 meters (3.6 feet). The blade alone was nearly 90 centimeters (35 inches), its dark luster carrying an impossible depth, as if staring into it meant staring into a field of stars. Even Daisy, who was about as magically sensitive as a brick wall, could tell this sword was extraordinary.
Just unsheathing it was enough. The sun and moon seemed to lose their light, the sky itself warping with color—a cosmic phenomenon triggered by the blade's mere presence. She shoved it back into the scabbard in a hurry.
"My lady, this sword is far too precious. I can't accept it." Daisy strongly suspected this had come straight out of Odin's Vault. If she took it now and the old man came to collect later, not even K'un-Lun could shield her from that reckoning.
Frigga gently pushed Daisy's hand back, smiling with warmth and affection. "This sword isn't what you imagine. The reason it shines so dazzlingly is because its destiny has arrived."
Daisy's instincts fired at cryptic talk like that. Her eyes darted back and forth. "You mean... this sword was forged specifically to kill the World Serpent?"
Frigga sighed. She loved Loki dearly—this adopted son she cherished as her own, showering him with even more affection than Thor. Hearing the World Serpent's name seemed to pull her thoughts back to her biological son.
"Earth has the prophecy of Jörmungandr too, doesn't it? The prophecy says Thor and the World Serpent will destroy each other. As parents, we refuse to let that come to pass. Odin forged this sword himself. Its killing power against the World Serpent is unmatched." Frigga explained with patient grace.
Now Daisy understood. She drew the sword again. Knowing the truth, the blade's radiance did seem a touch theatrical—dazzling, sure, but outside of fighting one specific giant serpent, dazzling was about all it had going for it.
She ransacked her memory twice and found the entry. Odin forging this sword checked out. In the original timeline, it had been meant for Thor, who'd used a sword exactly once in his life—against the World Serpent—after which the weapon never appeared again.
Odin had given the sword a parade of names: the Odinsword, the Godslayer, and a whole heap of others. The cheesiest of the lot was Ragnarok.
By Daisy's reckoning, the sword's technical classification was basically the Marvel edition of "The World Serpent Must Die."
She eyed Frigga with a peculiar expression, resisting the urge to ask: Do you happen to know Hippolyta of Themyscira? You old ladies sure love forging swords specifically designed to kill one enemy, don't you?
She recalled that Diana had marched out of Paradise Island wielding a so-called God Killer to fight Ares, only to get absolutely pummeled.
In the comics, Thor had tossed aside his hammer and charged at the World Serpent with a sword, and both of them ended up dead.
Swords with "Somebody Must Die" stamped on the label didn't exactly have a stellar track record.
But she wanted to fight Jörmungandr regardless. Having a blade purpose-built to counter the thing was better than nothing. After a brief hesitation, she accepted.
Back outside, wearing Frigga's armor, Daisy drew every Asgardian eye in the field.
Thor and Loki were still bickering—the brothers' argument had shifted entirely to Loki faking Odin's death.
"After this is over, we need to have a serious talk!" Thor remained warm toward his brother, merely convinced that the fake-death prank had crossed a line.
Loki smiled and said nothing. Behind those eyes, his only thought was: Let's see if you survive today first.
Daisy stood at their flank, thoroughly disinterested in the brothers' love-hate saga. She just wanted to put a sword through the World Serpent.
She stood apart, circulating her chi, letting her stamina and mental energy trickle back.
As Asgard's sunlight faded and darkness crept across the realm, she'd recovered more than half her strength—and Jörmungandr finally broke through.
Jörmungandr had torn through the dimension from Earth and forced his way into Asgard. For a creature of such colossal energy and mass, the crossing was difficult. He had no Bifrost to guide him, and Odin's standing interdiction placed him among those most strictly forbidden from entering—the dimensional barriers fought his passage at every inch.
Even so, Jörmungandr forced his way in.
His towering form looked down. Below him, countless Asgardian soldiers, small as ants. He studied them, and a smile crept across his serpentine face. Odin wasn't here.
With the absurdly powerful Odin absent, there was nothing to fear.
His gaze pierced space itself. In a single glance, the World Serpent found Odin—lying in deep slumber in his private chambers.
Too powerful for his own good, so he's fallen into the Odinsleep? Jörmungandr calculated silently. If I devour Odin, my strength returns to its peak—maybe even beyond. Tens of millions of years of hatred coalesced in his chest. Released at last, Jörmungandr had left that wretched place called Earth behind. He could feel his fear-absorption returning to full potency. Asgard held not just soldiers but civilians—not merely ants, but a feast for his psyche.
Absorb their fear, weaponize it, broadcast it back tenfold, harvest the amplified terror, repeat. An endless cycle, growing stronger with every iteration. This was how the World Serpent was meant to fight. What had happened on Earth defied all comprehension. Now, at last, things were back to normal.
Warriors saw their deepest terrors made manifest. Families torn apart, lives descending into depravity, or worse—devoured by nameless horrors, not even bones left behind.
Every conceivable nightmare bloomed in every mind. This was Jörmungandr's innate power: passive, costless, and inescapable for any sentient being.
Thor and Loki were affected too, though far less than the rank and file.
"If I die... look after Mother." Thor's voice was heavy.
Loki was genuinely moved. But their touching exchange was cut short by a certain someone.
The fear aura reached everyone to some degree—everyone except Daisy. Jörmungandr could annihilate a planet at most. The Phoenix could snuff out a galaxy with a breath. They simply weren't on the same level. His little fear trick didn't touch her.
The sword sang free of its sheath. The blade's spectral blue glow was now wreathed in flame—a sight that promised violence of the highest order.
To announce her righteous cause, Daisy projected her voice through seismic vibration, letting it roll across every corner of Asgard like thunder:
"A thousand years of blood debt—I'm settling it today! Monster! Die for what you did to Auntie Skadi!"