Under the New Mexico night sky, Sif, Hogun, Volstagg, Fandral, and the other Warriors Three stood in the desert, their shadows stretched long in the moonlight.
Thor stood before them—once the Asgardian God of Thunder, now clad in simple Earth clothing. Yet his straight back still bore the unshaken pride of royalty.
"Thor, come back with us!" Sif's voice held a final, earnest plea. "Asgard needs a true king—not a schemer like Loki, who seized the throne through trickery!"
Volstagg pounded his chest and bellowed, "We can storm the Golden Palace just as we did in Jotunheim! Let those cowards who bow to Loki see what we're made of!"
But his words rang hollow against the deep bruises shadowing his eyes and the swelling on his face.
Before he could finish, Thor raised a calm hand. "No more persuasion, my friend. Father still slumbers, and the Frost Giants loom ever closer. Asgard needs stability—and Loki… can at least provide that."
If I were still the God of Thunder, Thor thought, I might restore order with sheer force. But I am mortal now. My return would fracture Asgard anew—sparking civil war, needless bloodshed…
And Loki is my brother. I will not raise my hand against him.
Fandral's knuckles whitened around his sword hilt. "So you'll stay here—as a mortal—for the rest of your life?"
"There's no shame in it," Thor said softly. "I'm learning. Growing beyond the brute I once was."
His gaze swept over each of his friends, warm yet resolute. "Go back. Tell Loki… his brother will not be his enemy."
The last light in Sif's eyes dimmed. She gave a slow nod. As she turned, her armor scraped heavily against the silence.
Volstagg, Fandral, and Hogun followed, their steps heavier than stone.
But just as they prepared to summon Heimdall and call down the Bifröst—
Everything stopped.
Time froze. The desert wind died mid-gust. Then, the world around them shattered like glass, peeling away to reveal a yawning void behind it—purple lightning coiling in its depths.
The earth trembled. Every grain of sand hung suspended, wrapped in arcs of crackling violet energy.
"Alert!" Sif drew her blade instantly, and the Warriors Three formed a protective ring around Thor.
"Heimdall!" Volstagg roared, axe raised—but no rainbow light answered.
BOOM—!
A bolt of purple lightning split the sky, blinding them all.
When sight returned, they stood on an endless training ground—its surface smooth as obsidian, pulsing with liquid lightning. In the distance rose hundreds of vermilion torii gates, each carved with eternally flowing thunder motifs. Above, no sun or stars—only roiling storm clouds, within which massive thunder dragons writhed.
And at the heart of this storm-lit realm, a woman materialized.
Her violet eyes swirled like storm vortexes—glimpsing them sent chills down spines. Long, flowing hair shimmered with billions of electric sparks, each strand humming with star-shattering power.
"Put down your weapons." Thor's voice was calm but firm as he stepped forward, shielding his friends. "This has nothing to do with them. If you have a grievance, take it with me—but let them go."
Sif's sword trembled. "Thor! What are you—? Come back!"
Thor ignored her, addressing the radiant figure before him. "Your Excellency… the gates of Asgard are unstable. If I return now, civil war is inevitable."
He bowed slightly. "I swear by the blood of the Aesir—I will not cause trouble. Allow me to remain on Earth. Just a little longer."
Lightning crackled around Raiden—the Raiden Shogun—as she regarded him with cold, divine scrutiny.
"You think you have the right to bargain?" Her voice was quiet, yet it struck like a thousand thunderclaps in their minds.
Sif, Volstagg, Hogun, and Fandral bristled with fury.
"You dare insult the Prince of Asgard?!" Volstagg bellowed, unleashing a surge of divine might. His golden-tinged axe cleaved the air as he charged.
"For Asgard!" Sif cried, her silver blade flashing.
Fandral and Hogun attacked from the flanks, ready to die if need be.
Raiden didn't flinch.
She simply raised her right hand—fingers spread—and uttered one word:
"Boring."
BOOM—!!
Bolts of pure violet lightning erupted from nothingness—purer, deadlier than any storm of Midgard or Asgard. They struck with annihilating precision.
Volstagg's axe vaporized mid-swing. His armor shattered like glass, and he was hurled hundreds of meters, carving a trench into the mirrored ground.
Sif's sword melted into molten slag before it crossed halfway. She screamed as the lightning seared through her armor, sending her tumbling like a broken kite, body blackened and smoking.
Fandral and Hogun never even reached her. Their weapons disintegrated in bursts of plasma, and they were flung backward like discarded rags—unconscious before they hit the ground.
In less than a heartbeat, Asgard's greatest warriors lay broken—without the Shogun's robes so much as stirring in the wind.
"Stop it—!" Thor roared, rushing to his fallen comrades. "Your Excellency—please! Spare them! It's my fault—punish me, not them!"
Raiden slowly lowered her hand. The storm around her dimmed slightly. She looked down at Thor's desperate form—and for the briefe
st moment, something flickered in those violet eyes: not mercy, perhaps… but recognition.
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