The mead's flavor was elegant and layered. Even without any expertise in such things, Daisy knew this was something exceptional.
The hall erupted.
This mead was inaccessible to most people, and most people couldn't drink it even if they had it. For someone who could do both, they gave genuine, wholehearted respect.
"Are you all right?" Sif looked her up and down, checking for any signs of fire coming from her nose or mouth. Finding none, she relaxed.
"I'm fine, fine—hic… this wine has quite a kick!"
Quite a kick was an understatement. The energy it carried was staggering; her cells were practically jumping for joy. Her Eternal gene evolution had accelerated by a full ten percent—just from a single cup.
This one drink alone was worth making the whole trip to Asgard.
She barely had time to register the thought before something started to sting at the back of her eyes.
She quickly closed them. Patience. The slower the evolution, the deeper the foundation. She held down the Eternal gene straining for release, let it settle, and went back to the banquet.
Thor-style, she drove the golden goblet down against the floor: "Another round!"
Then, belatedly: "Was that rude?"
Sif found herself somewhere between amused and exasperated, glanced sideways at Frigga and Thor—both still submerged in grief, neither paying attention. Rude? Under any other roof, certainly. Standing in a hall full of warriors who smashed things to show approval, Sif couldn't honestly condemn her for it.
She nodded to the nearest warrior: fetch another cup.
While Daisy drank, Sif flashed two quick signals. Two warriors quietly lifted the cask and carried it out of the hall without a sound.
Daisy noticed. She said nothing, and drank a second full goblet.
The banquet's energy surged. Two rounds of the legendary mead, standing tall—that was an Asgardian friend by any measure. They took turns toasting her. She accepted every one without refusal.
The magical mead was gone, of course. Everything they brought after was a fraction of its potency—but what it lacked in quality it made up for in volume. That was fine with her. Her stomach was apparently bottomless; no matter what she consumed, it converted to cellular energy almost immediately.
Daisy's eyes went a little unfocused. She had eaten and drunk through the entire night, outlasting more than a few renowned Asgardian drinkers. Her body had hit saturation. To make room for more, she proposed arm wrestling.
The Asgardians had absolutely no reason to refuse.
She watched her smooth wrist beat several strong men in a row. Eventually Thor had to step in before her winning streak was finally ended.
Between the arm wrestling and the eating, she burned through the overflow and kept at it for another two hours. The celebration didn't wind down until well past midday.
She slept, and came back for the evening feast. This time she didn't need Sif to guide her. Sif stayed with Thor, the two of them grieving for Loki.
Daisy marked Loki's passing in the only Asgardian way she knew: she ate and drank. By the end of three days, she knew more than half the Asgardian warriors—friendships forged at the bottom of a wine cup.
Good days pass quickly.
Three days later, the memorial feast formally concluded. Asgard returned to the life it had lived for thousands of years unchanged.
It was time for Daisy to go home.
She went to find Heimdall first.
Golden helm, golden armor, face dark as charcoal—an impressive-looking figure, though in truth even ordinary troops would probably give him a hard time. She laid out her problem: the Bifrost was broken, and she needed to get home.
He was himself in a holding pattern. Without Odin, no one else had the ability to repair the bridge. All he could offer her was reassurance not to panic.
Why exactly hasn't Odin woken up? She couldn't work it out. She had to solve this herself.
She went and sat at the Bifrost's shattered edge, extended her senses, and tried to feel out the coordinates of the Nine Realms.
Earth was too far. But after a full day of searching, she found K'un-Lun.
The relief hit her like a wave.
It's just a relay point. This is simple.
Before leaving, she made the rounds.
"Your Highness, please allow me to return these." She stripped off the armor, put her own tac suit back on, and moved to return Fensalir and the Godslayer to Frigga.
Frigga smiled and touched her hair gently. "You're a good child, and all of Asgard is fond of you. This armor is my gift—no one will object. The sword was forged by Odin, but as Queen, I have the authority to give it. There's nothing remarkable about that."
Daisy privately calculated: a divine realm's vaults accumulated treasure for thousands of years. Letting this equipment eventually burn in Surtur's fires seemed like a waste.
She made a show of declining, allowed herself to be persuaded, and accepted both.
She said her farewells to Frigga, Thor, and the crowd of Asgardian warriors who had come to see her off. She packed up a substantial bundle of food—pressed on her by various people—and teleported to K'un-Lun.
In the spirit of passing along borrowed flowers, she laid out a proper Asgardian spread for Lei Kung as a courtesy. Then she teleported back to Earth.
Earth was busy.
Some intelligence agencies were still investigating the adult film incident. More operatives had poured into the West Coast, where large numbers of Jörmungandr's forces had landed in the sea. Those tough enough to survive the water had swum ashore and were following their standing orders: destroy everything in sight.
S.H.I.E.L.D. agents had been fighting continuously for three days. The Helicarrier held a constant patrol loop overhead; Quinjets launched and landed without pause, fighting an endless stream of undead.
The Asgardians and ancient Earth-humans weren't too bad—they at least looked roughly human, and they were armed with melee weapons. Modern people had a psychological edge with cold steel; standard firearms were enough to put them down.
Frost Giants and Dark Elves were another matter entirely. One look at either and you knew they weren't from Earth. Civilians panicked—and the problem was that both species came with innate abilities. Giants with their immense strength, Elves with their blinding speed: even operating on animal instinct rather than intelligence, they were routing ordinary people without effort.
Two or three Frost Giants were enough to put the police to flight. Four or five Dark Elves could take a small town.
S.H.I.E.L.D. operatives, the various intelligence agencies, the NSA, the military, Iron Man, Cyclops—the entire coalition had spent three days fighting fires.
When Daisy appeared before them—rosy-cheeked, unhurried, suppressing a very contented belch—the lot of them were practically sticking out their tongues.
She got a quick situation report, and her head immediately started to hurt. She'd worried about this from the start: Jörmungandr's forces playing guerrilla across a coastline too long to defend. And that was exactly what was happening.
But the good news was that Jörmungandr himself was finished. Even when he eventually resurfaced, nobody knew whether that would be in a hundred years or a thousand. In the meantime, these stragglers would be picked off one by one until none remained.