Marvel's Strongest Mage

At night, the military base was a hive of quiet, tense activity. Floodlights swept the perimeter like watchful eyes, and the air hung thick with unspoken urgency. The daytime battle had ended, yes—but no one here believed the war was truly over.

In fact, the real storm was only just beginning.

Within the underground command center, filled with murmuring analysts and blinking screens, the energy was electric with unease. Even among seasoned soldiers and scientists, the atmosphere was brittle—tight, as if stretched thin over something unfathomable.

Only a select few even knew what had happened that afternoon in the desert.

The world above saw silence.

But behind locked doors, in shadowed boardrooms and secured war rooms, high-ranking officials across the globe were losing sleep. Data flowed in like floodwater: seismic tremors, energy spikes beyond anything nuclear, celestial signatures.

The kind of battle Earth was never prepared for.

And worse… the kind that might come again.

Now, all efforts had turned toward analysis—breaking down every moment of that apocalyptic clash in the sands. Could Earth's forces have resisted it? Could any nation, any alliance, withstand that level of power?

The answer was a grim one.

And it was made all the more urgent by the fact that Thor, the very god at the center of it all, had made an announcement.

He would be returning to Asgard.

Tomorrow morning.

With the Destroyer Armor in tow.

That sent shockwaves across every tactical and political line of communication.

The smartest minds in the room frowned. That couldn't be right.

The Rainbow Bridge rune array—originally drawn and empowered by Thor, Daniel, and Stark—had been destroyed during the battle. The spell was complex, and rebuilding it would take days, even with Asgardian guidance.

So… how was he leaving by morning?

Was there some other way?

Some hidden method unknown to mortals?

"Your strength... it's fully recovered?" Tony Stark finally asked, leaning against the tactical table with a deep frown. His voice was quiet, thoughtful—but firm. "What exactly happened out there?"

Thor turned toward him with a calm expression. The divine light in his eyes had returned—no longer just a noble warrior, but a god reborn.

"It was Daniel," Thor said, his voice rich with honesty. "When he returned Mjolnir to me—his version of it—something stirred inside. My divine power… it awakened."

He turned, and his gaze found Daniel, who stood beneath the shadow of a support beam, arms crossed, eyes watchful.

"I owe you, truly," Thor said, smiling. "Thank you, Daniel. I mean it."

His voice carried the weight of centuries—of battles fought and lost, of gods rising and falling. Thor wasn't one to speak such words lightly.

But Daniel's eyes didn't soften.

He stepped forward, into the wash of sterile fluorescent light, his dark coat catching the movement like a flickering shadow.

His voice, when he spoke, was calm but edged with something deeper.

"You don't need to thank me."

His eyes locked with Thor's, unwavering.

"I helped, yes. But the power you reclaimed—that was always yours. You just needed the right moment. The right pressure. It wasn't the hammer, Thor. It was you."

The words hung in the air like truth carved in stone.

Then Daniel glanced toward the far wall, where a digital display still showed grainy satellite footage of the battlefield.

"And besides," he added, "if you're going back to Asgard… are you going alone? Because if Loki's still sitting on that throne, I'd say you could use some backup."

He turned to Stark and added with a smirk, "Tony and I wouldn't mind paying Asgard a visit."

The words were casual. The meaning wasn't. They were offering to go to war.

Thor blinked, slightly caught off guard by the directness, before a wide grin broke across his face.

But it was Tony who spoke first, eyes lighting up like a kid offered the keys to a starship.

"You serious?" Stark stepped forward, already tapping something into his wrist tablet. "Asgard. Magic tech. Interdimensional travel. I'm so in. Do I get to pilot the Bifrost?"

Sif chuckled softly nearby, the ever-dutiful warrior standing with Hogun, Fandral, and Volstagg behind her. The four Asgardians stood relaxed but proud, having borne witness to the rebirth of their prince.

They had fought beside him for centuries. And no matter how far he fell, they had always believed he'd rise again.

Though Thor had once explained to the people of Earth that their world was only one of the Nine Realms, part of an ancient cosmic structure stretching far beyond the stars, most still couldn't quite comprehend what that truly meant.

Was it a system of interconnected planets?

A network of magical planes?

Or something else entirely?

To mortals untouched by divine war or celestial travel, it remained a mystery. Words alone couldn't explain it. Understanding required experience. One had to step across the threshold. To set foot in another kingdom—especially one like Asgard, a divine realm—was not just awe-inspiring…

It was reality-breaking.

And that opportunity might soon become real again.

"There's no need," Thor said calmly, arms crossed as he stared across the room. "With the Destroyer Armor, there'll be no problem. That includes returning to Asgard."

His voice was steady, certain. As if the armor alone made the impossible simple.

Across from him, a dozen researchers buzzed around the motionless Destroyer like bees around a sleeping bear. They prodded, scanned, poked, and theorized. Wires ran to its limbs. Holographic screens hovered nearby, reading nothing but static and confusion.

It didn't respond.

No matter what they did—no matter how many diagnostics they ran or commands they barked—the Destroyer Armor remained dormant, unmoved by human hands.

If it had a soul, it was silent.

If it had purpose, it was hidden.

Thankfully for them, Thor was in a good mood.

He hadn't forgotten what had happened that afternoon. Daniel and Tony Stark had risked everything to fight by his side, to stand between him and annihilation.

That kind of loyalty wasn't common. And Thor, for all his divine might, remembered debts.

He let the researchers continue, even though he knew they wouldn't get anywhere by morning. It was an exercise in futility—but one born of curiosity, not betrayal.

Off to the side, Daniel stood with arms folded, his gaze fixed sharply on the armor.

His thoughts churned with questions.

So that's it, he thought. That's the real reason Thor can return to Asgard so soon.

The Destroyer Armor wasn't just a weapon.

It was a key.

A conduit to the Bifrost.

As Thor stood beside it, Daniel finally pieced it together. The Destroyer wasn't merely a tool of destruction—it held the power to summon the Rainbow Bridge.

That realization pulled threads through his mind, unraveling earlier doubts.

It made sense now. Loki had wielded it with the Eternal Spear from the throne of Asgard, commanding it across realms. So of course, Thor—Asgard's true heir, and now fully restored—could do the same.

Thor didn't need the summoning rune they had drawn before.

He had something better.

Still, one question gnawed at the edge of Daniel's thoughts.

How was Thor controlling it?

Loki had required the Eternal Spear and the full weight of the God-King's throne to bind the armor to his will. But Thor… he simply stood beside it, and it obeyed.

There was no visible tether. No magical link he could see.

And yet, it listened to him.

As if it recognized its master.

Or perhaps… something deeper had shifted.

But what stunned Daniel most wasn't Thor's control.

It was the armor's ability to summon the Bifrost.

Could that really be true?

He frowned, silently reviewing what he knew.

From ancient texts and whispered knowledge passed through secret magical circles, he remembered only a handful of artifacts with that kind of authority:

· Heimdall's Guardian Sword, which could call the Bifrost with a single strike to the observatory pedestal.

· Odin's Eternal Spear, forged from the roots of Yggdrasil itself.

· And the Stormbreaker Axe—crafted by Thor in the distant future, a divine weapon designed to open gates between realms.

Each was more than just a weapon. Each was a gateway.

But the Destroyer?

He had never heard of it being capable of such a feat.

Still, he couldn't deny the evidence.

Even when Asgard itself had been reduced to rubble during the prophecy of Ragnarök, the Rainbow Bridge had endured. It could still be summoned. Still activated.

Through the Guardian Sword. Through the Stormbreaker.

That fact alone proved something vital:

The Bifrost wasn't merely a bridge.

It was a force of its own, ancient and constant—connected to Asgard, yes, but not dependent on it. A thread of cosmic law that ran through the Nine Realms like a divine highway, older than the gods who used it.

So perhaps… just perhaps… the Destroyer, forged from Odin's will and Asgardian essence, had once been imbued with that same authority.

If so, it wasn't Thor's strength that mattered.

It was his birthright.

Daniel stepped forward slightly, his voice low as he murmured mostly to himself, "This world… and its rules… are far older than we think."

Beside him, Stark noticed his expression and tilted his head.

"Something on your mind?" Tony asked.

Daniel gave a slight nod, eyes still locked on the armor.

If the Guardian Sword, Stormbreaker, and Eternal Spear could all summon the Rainbow Bridge… then why not the Destroyer Armor?

That thought pulsed like a quiet echo in Daniel's mind.

It made perfect sense the more he examined it. The Destroyer wasn't some mere automaton or war puppet. It was once Odin's own battle armor—worn in wars that shook the stars, in battles that predated most of Earth's recorded history.

A relic of ancient divinity.

An extension of the All-Father himself.

And if such artifacts carried fragments of Asgard's foundational magic—enough to command the Bifrost itself—then perhaps this armor, too, had been infused with that same eternal tether.

Why wouldn't it be possible?

In fact… Thor's own hammer—the Mjolnir in his hand—should theoretically be capable of the same feat. It was forged in the heart of a dying star, blessed by Odin's will, and steeped in storm and theocratic law.

But Thor himself couldn't use it to summon the Rainbow Bridge.

Not on its own.

Perhaps, Daniel mused, it wasn't a matter of power… but of combination.

What if Thor—wielding both Mjolnir and the Destroyer—could bridge that gap?

A hammer forged in divine authority.

An armor imbued with Odin's legacy.

Together… they might bypass the old summoning circles entirely.

And tomorrow, when Thor stepped back into Asgard's light, that theory would be tested.

Daniel stood in a shadowed corner of the base hangar, arms crossed, gaze distant as researchers still poked uselessly at the Destroyer's form. He could barely hear their arguments over the hum of arcane possibilities swimming through his thoughts.

He had considered going with Thor. Seriously, at that.

Asgard was a treasury of magic knowledge—runes, ancient construct theory, even cosmological blueprints of the Nine Realms. Gaining access to that could accelerate his strength more than years of Earth-bound study ever could.

But there was a problem.

If Thor, in his renewed fervor, chose to destroy the Rainbow Bridge—just as he had in the original thread of fate Daniel remembered—then returning to Earth wouldn't be simple.

The only feasible way back would be to wait… wait until the Chitauri invasion forced the gates open again.

And by then?

It would be too late.

He had preparations to make. Forces to monitor. Weapons to build. And above all, the growing storm of galactic threat to anticipate.

So when Thor declined his offer to accompany him… Daniel felt a strange, unexpected relief.

No more indecision. No more weighing options.

He would stay.

Earth needed him more than Asgard's libraries.

Still… he couldn't help but feel a pang of regret.

If he could have spent even a day in Asgard's Hall of Runes, it would have exponentially enhanced his understanding of divine power. That kind of knowledge wasn't just rare—it was transformative.

Daniel's eyes drifted across the room.

He saw Thor in the distance, now speaking quietly with Agent Coulson. The two stood under a muted light, voices too low to hear. Whatever they were discussing, Daniel didn't care much. Governmental diplomacy with Asgard was always layered with shallow smiles and hidden claws.

Thor wasn't stupid. He knew what kind of world he was dealing with.

And the governments of Earth?

They would never publicly admit Thor's existence, or the fact that gods now walked among them. That kind of truth would shatter their illusion of control.

But in secret, they would prepare.

They always did.

Because in an age where superheroes emerged by the month, no one knew who—or what—would arrive tomorrow. It was better to build bridges now than be burned by surprise.

Daniel turned away from the sight and spotted Thor walking toward Jane Foster, his mortal lover. As he approached, his appearance shifted—reverting once more into the familiar form of Donald Blake, the gentle doctor's identity he had once used to blend in.

Nearby, Sif was still mid-conversation with Daniel, her voice calm and patient as she outlined another rune's inner working.

"…and that's why the vertical strokes must be carved in descending order," she explained, motioning with her finger in the air. "Otherwise the power flows backward and burns out the inscription."

Daniel nodded, absorbing every word.

The three warriors of Asgard—Hogun, Fandral, and Volstagg—stood nearby, laughing softly among themselves, unaware of the tender moment unfolding between Thor and Jane just behind them.

There was something oddly peaceful in that brief contrast—battle-hardened warriors sharing quiet camaraderie while gods played at human affection.

But for Daniel, the night was just beginning.

After the others excused themselves and retired for rest, he stayed behind in the hangar.

The Destroyer Armor loomed in silence, draped in half-shadows and pale floodlight, its chest plate reflecting slivers of starlight.

Daniel stood alone before it.

Then slowly… he began his work.

He circled the armor like a sculptor circling a block of divine marble. His fingers traced the runic etchings carved into its plating—Odin's sigils, marks of protection, channels for magic far older than anything Earth could replicate.

He whispered a few incantations—not to awaken it, but to understand it.

To learn.

Because now, he had a vision.

His own armor.

Not Stark's tech.

Not Thor's thunder.

Not some borrowed relic.

But a suit forged in the union of magic and will, molded to his spirit, powered by runecraft and sorcery that no machine could match.

A magic armor that reflected his identity.

Personal. Deadly. Divine.

Tony Stark had his Iron Man suits.

Captain America had his vibranium shield.

Even Spider-Man, Peter Parker, had more advanced gear than half of Earth's defense forces.

And Daniel?

He would have this.

His own set of enchanted armor—designed by hand, carved with runes from Asgard, empowered by knowledge no mortal mage had ever dared to inscribe into steel.