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The Director of S.H.I.E.L.D. and his most trusted agent stared at the grainy image on the tablet, their faces a mask of profound, professional confusion. Then, the small, twelve-year-old girl beside them, the one who had just appeared out of thin air, spoke a single, impossible word.
"Mjolnir."
Fury and Coulson's minds, two of the sharpest and most analytical on the planet, went completely blank.
"Thor…" Coulson finally managed to say, his voice a choked, disbelieving whisper. "As in… Norse mythology, Thor?" He felt a strange, light-headed sensation, the feeling of the solid, predictable ground of his reality turning to quicksand beneath his feet.
Hermione looked at the two grown men, who were staring at the hammer with the same horrified awe a caveman might have for a bolt of lightning, and she had to physically suppress a sigh. "Relax," she said, her tone that of a weary parent explaining a basic concept to a small child. "The so-called 'gods' of your ancient myths were just a technologically advanced, long-lived alien species with a flair for the dramatic. Their 'magic' is just a form of science so far beyond your comprehension that your ancestors mistook it for divinity."
The explanation, while still insane, was just plausible enough for the two spies to latch onto. It brought the problem back from the realm of myth into a category they could, at least in theory, handle: a highly advanced, unknown extraterrestrial threat.
"What I'm more interested in," Hermione continued, her eyes sparkling with a familiar, dangerous, and deeply nerdy excitement, "is why Thor's primary weapon is currently sitting in a hole in the middle of New Mexico."
Coulson listened to a final, terse instruction from Fury on his earpiece. "Consultant," he said, his voice now full of a new, profound, and slightly terrified respect. "The Director has given you full command authority of this operation. My team and I are at your disposal." He paused. "We have an individual in custody. A John Doe who appeared in the town last night, seemingly trying to get to the hammer. He's… large. And uncooperative. We were hoping you might be able to… take a look."
"Oh?" Hermione's lips curled into a playful, predatory smile. "A mystery guest? Lead the way."
They drove a short distance in a black S.H.I.E.L.D. SUV, arriving at a massive, temporary base that had been constructed around the impact crater with breathtaking speed and efficiency. The place was a beehive of activity, a stark, white, technological scar on the red desert landscape. As she stepped out of the car, a familiar, bald-headed, and deeply sycophantic agent rushed to greet her.
"Professor!" Jasper Sitwell gushed, his hands rubbing together nervously. "It is an honor! With you here, I am certain this entire situation will be resolved with the utmost efficiency!"
Hermione just looked at him. "On the road, Agent Yi," she said, and then added with a silent, internal smirk, Your loyalty is noted. And your future, which was once a brief, messy encounter with a highway overpass, is now… under review.
Coulson led her to the edge of the crater. The place was a fortress, surrounded by armed guards and scientific monitoring equipment. And there, at the bottom of the pit, nestled in the scorched earth, was the hammer. It was smaller than she had imagined, but it radiated an aura of immense, ancient, and absolute power that was almost a physical pressure.
"We've tried everything," Coulson said, his voice a low murmur of awe. "Cranes, explosives, a damn tank. It won't budge. It's like it's part of the planet."
Hermione made her way down the makeshift ramp into the crater, her small form a stark contrast to the vast, military operation around her. She knelt beside the hammer. The runes carved into its surface seemed to shift and writhe in her peripheral vision. She reached out and wrapped her hand around the leather-bound handle.
And felt… nothing. It was just a heavy, immovable lump of metal. She pulled, gently at first, then with her full, magically-augmented strength. It didn't move a millimeter. It was, as Odin's enchantment intended, an absolute.
But her grimoire, the cosmic cheat code that lived in her mind, was not so easily deterred. It buzzed, a powerful, intrusive hum as it analyzed the strange, alien magic it was touching. The pages in her mind flipped frantically.
> [Runes]
> Asgardian Runic Magic (Copied/Learned): The art of imbuing objects with conceptual power through language.
>
The knowledge flooded her mind, a torrent of ancient, kingly, and profoundly powerful magic. It was not the subtle, flexible magic of wizards. It was a magic of pronouncements, of absolute decrees. A king's magic.
An idea, a wild, audacious, and deeply disrespectful idea, sparked in her mind. Can I use his own magic against him?
She gripped the hammer again, this time channeling her own formidable magical power into her palm. She focused on the new, alien language in her mind and whispered a single, runic word, a command not of force, but of concept.
"Unworthy."
The effect was instantaneous and apocalyptic. The runes on the hammer flared with a brilliant, blinding white light. A wave of pure, divine power, the fury of an absent, sleeping god, erupted from it. The sky, which had been a clear, endless blue, was instantly blotted out by a swirling vortex of black, angry clouds. A hurricane-force wind tore through the base, sending agents and equipment flying. Thunder, a sound so loud it was a physical blow, cracked directly overhead.
Hermione felt a will, an ancient, majestic, and unbelievably powerful consciousness, crash down upon her. It was Odin. Not his full attention, but a fragment, a magical sentry he had left to guard his son's weapon. And it was furious.
She felt the pressure of a god's rage trying to crush her, to annihilate her for her insolence. For a terrifying second, she almost buckled. But then, her own pride, the unyielding will of a soul that had already died once and refused to be cowed by anyone, roared back. She held on, her own magic flaring to meet the divine assault, a tiny, defiant spark against a cosmic storm.
Then she let go.
The storm vanished. The dark clouds dissipated, the wind died, the thunder ceased. The sky was once again a peaceful, indifferent blue.
The S.H.I.E.L.D. agents, who had been scrambling for cover, slowly picked themselves up, their faces pale with a terror they couldn't begin to comprehend.
"Old man still has a few tricks up his sleeve," Hermione muttered, rubbing her hand, which was tingling with the residual, divine energy.
"Consultant…" Coulson began, his voice a shaky whisper. "What… what was that?"
"The hammer's security system," she explained with a shrug. "I tried to bypass the unworthy-lock. It didn't appreciate that."
Coulson and Sitwell exchanged a look of pure, unadulterated awe. They had just witnessed a small girl get into a fistfight with God, and she had walked away from it.
"Can you… can you lift it?" Coulson finally asked, his voice full of a new, profound, and deeply terrified respect.
"Not yet," she admitted, a hint of frustration in her voice. "Odin's magic is stronger than mine. For now."
The words sent another shockwave through the two agents. Odin. The All-Father. They were no longer dealing with a simple alien artifact. They were standing in the middle of a Norse myth.
Sitwell, meanwhile, was having a life-altering epiphany. He thought back to Pierce's plan to capture this girl, to the disastrous, humiliating failure of that operation. He thought of his boss's obsession with a few glorified gunships, with his pathetic, short-sighted "Project Insight." And then he looked at the small girl who had just gone toe-to-toe with a literal god.
HYDRA is a sinking ship, he thought, a moment of pure, rat-like, self-preserving clarity cutting through years of indoctrination. And she is the tidal wave that's going to sink it. I need to get on a different boat