Marvel's Strongest Mage

The moment the spell was completed, Daniel ceased all movement. Silence fell like a curtain. At that precise instant, the hammer he had wielded—Thor's Hammer—glowed faintly and then flew through the air.

It didn't crash or tumble.

It soared gracefully, as if guided by some invisible force, and landed softly into Thor's waiting arms.

But it wasn't just a return. It was a gift… or rather, a blessing. A delicate yet powerful force lifted Thor from where he had fallen, easing him to his feet with unexpected gentleness. As he straightened himself, breathing heavily but filled with purpose, the original Mjolnir suddenly jolted forward, leaping into Thor's hand with thunder crackling in its wake.

A surge of raw, ancient thunder exploded outward the moment Thor gripped both hammers.

The energy was staggering.

Twin vortexes of storm lightning spiraled from the two hammers, racing up his arms and into his body. The ground beneath him cracked. The sand sizzled. The sky growled in recognition.

And then Thor changed.

His aura, once depleted and flickering, now flared with divine magnificence.

He stood taller. Firmer. Each breath he took sent pulses of godly energy into the earth beneath. Holding both hammers—one his by birthright, the other gifted through battle and trust—Thor looked like something out of prophecy.

A true heir of Asgard.

His eyes widened in awe as he glanced across the battlefield, locking gazes with Daniel.

"…You—" Thor began, thunder rumbling in his voice. "You're giving it back?"

Daniel simply inclined his head, offering a faint smile. "No. I'm lending it to the one who needs it most right now."

Thor stared at him, stunned. He knew what that meant.

This wasn't just a weapon anymore. That hammer had attuned itself to Daniel's power. No ordinary mortal—or even god—could simply pass it along. To offer it up, even temporarily, was to show a level of mastery and spiritual generosity few could ever hope to achieve.

Before Thor could speak again, everything shifted.

A deafening roar tore through the battlefield—pure destruction condensed into a beam of fiery, burning light. The Destroyer Armor had reengaged.

Daniel didn't flinch.

The beam struck him dead on. His form shattered—not with blood or gore, but with silence. His body disintegrated into thousands of shards of light, each one flickering out like starlight being snuffed.

"Daniel!" Thor cried out, stepping forward.

But it was too late. He was gone.

Loki, watching from the shadows behind the spatial barrier, clenched his fists.

He knew.

Even if the others didn't fully understand how Daniel had manipulated the battlefield, Loki could see the fingerprints of a master. This wasn't brute strength. This was subtlety, misdirection… brilliance.

Daniel had always played the long game.

A whisper left Loki's lips. "You knew this would happen... didn't you?"

But as a fellow legendary mage—no, as a legendary wizard— Daniel's mind was a labyrinth of traps and truths. Loki might've been older, more experienced, more ruthless, but in terms of cunning?

They were equals.

Had the tables been turned and they stood on even ground, Loki wasn't entirely sure he would be the one still breathing.

Just as Daniel's illusion faded completely, the heavens groaned.

Thunder cracked like a war drum. The clouds, heavy and dark, began to weep. Thick, cold raindrops hammered the desert floor, hissing against the hot sand as they fell.

The battlefield shifted.

From scorched earth to storm-soaked battleground.

Sif's eyes widened, the goddess of war recognizing the signs immediately. Beside her, the Warriors Three straightened their backs. Hogun grinned faintly. Fandral spun his blade. Volstagg laughed aloud.

"This… this is his domain!" Sif whispered.

The soldiers of Asgard, battered and weary, lifted their heads as the skies darkened. They had fought countless battles beneath such storms.

This… was home.

For others, Thor was simply the God of Thunder, wielder of lightning. But those who truly knew him understood the truth: his dominion stretched far beyond mere thunderbolts.

As Thor himself once declared in the Hall of the All-Father:

"The noise of the rain, the will of the wind... the world calls me Thunderer, but I am more. I am the messenger of the storm, the singer of lightning, the breath of the tempest. I am Thor Odinson—next King of Asgard, son of Odin, breaker of giants, and herald of judgment!"

Now, the desert bent to that will.

The wind howled in reverence.

Moisture pulled from the very air as vapor condensed into cloud. The skies above churned violently, forming a colossal dome of dark, swirling thunderheads. Bolts of lightning, thick as trees, crashed down across the battlefield, illuminating the dark like a hundred vengeful gods had descended.

The storm poured across the desert like divine wrath made manifest, and far away—on the other side of the Bifrost's severed echo—deep within the frozen throne room nestled in the heart of Alaskan territory now acting as a surrogate Asgard, Loki sat on the icy Throne of the God-King.

From there, he watched the unfolding chaos through the Destroyer Armor's senses.

His fingers curled around the Spear of Eternity, tapping against the obsidian armrest with simmering impatience.

"Daniel…"

He muttered the name like it left a bitter taste on his tongue.

A month ago, the man was barely a speck in his schemes. An ant. A mistake. A background character in the saga of gods.

But now?

Now he was a wedge between him and total dominion. A crack in his perfect plan.

A threat.

Loki narrowed his eyes, trying once again to search for Daniel's presence through the Destroyer's sight. But something strange happened.

The world blurred.

Not a mechanical glitch. Not a magical ward. Something… else.

He instantly pushed a pulse of destructive energy through the Destroyer Armor's core—forcefully resetting its sensory field. Clarity returned in a flash. Terrain, heat, enemies—data flowed again.

But there was still that lingering feeling…

An unease.

As if somewhere—just out of reach, just beyond sight—something unnatural was tugging against him. Pulling his awareness. His will.

His power.

"What… is this?" Loki murmured, brows furrowing. "Why can't I see it?"

He didn't have long to wonder.

Because the heavens screamed.

A massive hammer, cloaked in blue-white lightning, came crashing down like a comet from the sky. It wasn't stealthy. It didn't hide. It announced itself with thunder that shattered the clouds and trembled the very bones of the earth.

"BOOM!"

The Destroyer Armor barely managed to lift its arm in time. The first impact smashed against its forearm, sending the limb flying up like it weighed nothing.

Cracks split across its shoulder joint as sparks and molten fragments sprayed into the air.

Loki's eyes widened. "What—?!"

Another hammer followed—this one flying from directly ahead. Thor had closed the gap without hesitation.

"RAAAGHHH!"

With a primal cry, Thor drove the second hammer straight into the chest plate of the Destroyer. The impact was monstrous. A pulse of thunder erupted outward in all directions, kicking up walls of sand and lightning.

The Destroyer Armor, unbalanced and unable to anchor itself, was launched through the air like a ragdoll—soaring back over forty meters before crashing into a distant dune in a spray of molten metal and fractured divine circuits.

In the throne room, Loki stood up in shock, the cold air swirling around him as his breath hitched.

"Impossible… has he—has he regained his full power?!"

He knew Thor better than anyone.

The moment Thor held even a single Mjolnir, Loki didn't dare fight him head-on. But if he'd truly regained his divine birthright, if he'd reclaimed his theocracy, then even the Destroyer Armor wouldn't be enough. Not even close.

A bead of sweat ran down Loki's temple.

Thor with one hammer was dangerous.

Thor with two?

Thor with the storm?

Unstoppable.

But just as panic began to rise within him, something in his right hand pulsed—a chill, sharp and grounding, bled from the shaft of the Eternal Spear.

That chill soothed him instantly, like the whisper of control returning.

He inhaled.

Then exhaled.

And smirked.

"…No. He hasn't." Loki whispered to himself.

Because only he—Loki, son of Laufey, bearer of Odin's throne, wielder of the Eternal Spear—had the authority now. Asgard's throne was his. Its divine laws, his to command. The theocracy, the divine rights of gods, could not be returned to Thor unless he permitted it.

What Thor wielded now… it was a false power. An echo. An imitation.

And imitations could be broken.

"Let him rage," Loki murmured, tightening his grip on the spear. "Let him storm and howl and strike. It changes nothing."

A flicker of mischief sparked in his emerald eyes as he turned his attention back to the battlefield.

"All I need to do…" he said coldly, "is shatter this illusion of godhood."

A blazing beam of destruction tore through the cascading curtain of rain like a lance of molten light. It howled through the storm with divine fury, racing toward Thor, who advanced undaunted through the tempest—each step cracking the earth beneath him.

But just as the beam was about to strike, something unexpected happened.

From the ground, a radiant flash exploded upward.

A sword—long, gleaming with celestial light—erupted from beneath the battlefield, piercing cleanly through the earth like it was silk. It struck true, driving its blade into the very center of the Destroyer Armor's chest—just between the metal plating of its chest and abdomen.

The impact twisted the massive construct's stance, knocking its aim askew. The beam of destruction, meant for Thor's heart, pierced harmlessly into the stormy sky.

It wasn't divine intervention.

It was Sif.

Clad in the full regalia of a Valkyrie, Sif stood tall beneath the downpour, her eyes cold and burning with fury. In her hand, she extended her arm as if throwing the blade from miles away.

And yet… the sword had launched itself.

Few knew the truth about Sif's weapon. Though shaped like a sword, it was no mere Asgardian steel—it had been forged from a shard of Odin's own sword, imbued with the power of the All-Father himself. A true divine artifact.

It could fight on its own. Return to her hand at will. Attack from miles away like a phantom. And it had just given Thor the opening he needed.

Thor seized it without hesitation.

In an instant, he was in front of the reeling Destroyer Armor, closing the distance with the power of the storm swirling around his legs. Both Mjolnirs returned to his hands—one in each fist—and with a roar that echoed across the desert, he struck.

"RAAAHH!!"

CRACK!

The first hammer crashed into the Destroyer's chest like a meteor. The second followed, striking with equal force.

Thor didn't strike wildly. This wasn't rage. It was precision.

He was aiming for the heart.

Many believed the Destroyer's power came from its mask, from the eye slot where it emitted its terrifying destruction beam. But that was only the outlet.

The true core—the Destruction Furnace—burned within its chest. A massive, volatile power source fed by ancient magic and divine intent.

And that was what Thor hammered.

Again.

And again.

And again.

Each strike drove crackling arcs of thunder into the chest cavity of the war machine. Tiny bolts of lightning wormed through its armor, dancing like living serpents, slithering deep inside—seeking the furnace.

To the untrained eye, it was just brute force.

But those who understood—like Daniel, who stood nearby, cloaked in a veil of clouds—could feel the truth.

The precision. The divine will behind each blow.

The Destroyer Armor had once seemed invincible. Even the combined might of Sif and the Warriors Three had barely dented it. Its armor, forged to resist even godfire, had made it nearly untouchable.

But in the end, it wasn't indestructible.

It was just that no one had been strong enough.

If Thanos himself had been here, Daniel mused, he could have ripped the thing apart with brute strength in three punches. And now, that strength resided in Thor—not just strength, but the right kind of power.

Divine power.

Thor wasn't the half-crippled shadow of a god anymore. At this moment, with two Mjolnirs in hand, he was more than he had ever been.

He wasn't just striking the Destroyer.

He was reclaiming something that had always been his.

With every hammer blow, the Destroyer's head jerked upward, unable to lock its aim, unable to retaliate. The mouth of its mask—its terrifying beam weapon—couldn't lower itself to strike.

And even if it could, it was too late.

The lightning was inside now.

Crackling arcs crawled deeper with every strike, overloading the inner runes, unraveling the spell matrix that made the armor function.

In the Throne Hall of the God-King, Loki gritted his teeth.

He felt it all.

Each vibration in the Furnace. Each disruption in the flow of control. The Eternal Spear he held—his link to the armor—was starting to tremble in his grip.

"Damn it," he hissed. "He's breaking it... from the inside."

This wasn't how it was supposed to go.

Loki had control. He held the Eternal Spear. The throne of Asgard. The rites of the God-King. Through the spear, the Destroyer was his.

He should have been untouchable.

But Thor's hammer blows were rewriting the laws of power, chipping away at his authority with every strike. The armor wasn't just breaking—it was defecting. Turning. Resisting Loki's grip.

"Why now?!" Loki shouted. "Why didn't this happen when he first held both hammers?!"

He slammed his fist against the throne, furious.

The answer eluded him.

Not just him.

Even Daniel, standing hidden within the dark clouds above the battlefield, couldn't fully comprehend what had changed.

He watched Thor, watched the fury and grace with which he struck, and could feel it—like a spiritual storm flooding outward. Thor's power was no longer just his own.

It had been suppressed. Held back. Waiting.

And now it had returned.

Like a divine ocean bursting its dam, Thor's thunder surged outward in all directions, electrifying the air, making Daniel's skin tingle through the storm.

This wasn't the same god who had fallen to Earth broken and exiled.

No…

This was Thor the Thunderer. Thor the God of Storms. The son of Odin.

Returned.

Even Daniel, master of mystic arts, wielder of arcane truth, had no words to describe the magnitude of what was happening.

It was like myth reawakening.

And still, the hammers fell.

BOOM!

BOOM!

BOOOOOOM!!

Each impact loosened another bolt, unmade another rune, cracked another weld of divine alloy. The Destroyer Armor, once hovering like a metal titan, now jerked in place like a marionette with tangled strings.

Then—suddenly—it froze.

And then…

BOOM!

Something inside the Destroyer exploded. Not outwardly. Internally.

An invisible rupture.

A death knell.

The next moment, the great metal construct crashed into the desert below, like a collapsing star.

Mud and shattered rock flew everywhere, burying its motionless form beneath a blanket of sand and flame-scoured earth.

And then…

Descending slowly from the storm-choked skies, like a living thunderbolt, came Thor.

He landed gently, not with rage but with purpose. The two hammers hummed in his hands, arcs of lightning dancing across his skin.

He stood over the fallen Destroyer, thunder swirling around him like loyal spirits.

From a distance, he looked like a true god of judgment.

Because he was.

Thor had reclaimed the full breadth of his theocracy—wind, rain, storm, and thunder. It all bowed to his will now.

He raised his gaze, tilting his head toward the swirling clouds above… toward the one hiding there.

And he smiled.

"Daniel," he said softly.

Hidden within the clouds, Daniel's lips curved upward.

"You always did know how to make an entrance," he whispered back.