The Warriors Three closed in around Thor, their voices firm but not unkind.
"Brother, it's not the time to get depressed," Fandral urged, his usual levity gone. "You must come with us. As for Loki, you can beat him up as much as you want after we go back."
Thor's eyes dropped, his shoulders sagging. "I cannot return. My strength is broken, I am no longer the man you would follow."
"Enough of that," Volstagg rumbled, laying a heavy hand on his shoulder. "You still breathe, don't you? It's enough for us."
Sif's gaze was harder, unwavering. "Your exile ends now. Heimdall wants you back. Now pick up your hammer and let's go." She looked about the room, and after not finding a trace of the hammer, she questioned, "Where is Mjolnir?"
At the mention of the hammer, Thor flinched as though struck. His jaw locked, shoulders curling inward, but his silence spoke louder than words. Jane slid closer, her hand settling on his arm, thumb brushing gently as if trying to comfort him.
Darcy, lounging with a mug of cold coffee in her hand, piped up before the tension could suffocate the room. "Oh, that hammer with sparks? You're in bad luck, as a little girl grabbed it. Let me tell you, she was the cutest kid I've ever seen. Honestly, her getup looked way better than yours." She gestured at Volstagg's dented breastplate. "No offense."
Volstagg blinked, his mustache bristling. "A child? Took Mjolnir?" He chuckled incredulously. "Then let us go and reclaim it! As Mjolnir only belongs to Thor Odinson."
But Sif cut him off sharply, her irritation plain, though her eyes flickered once toward Jane, who hovered too close to Thor for her liking. "No. Heimdall warned us that Thor's life is endangered. If that girl is related to that danger, we should just take back Thor. It's not like Asgard is lacking weapons."
At this time, Sif was clearly irritated by the interaction between Thor and Jane. For her, the best thing was to leave as quickly as possible.
The Warriors Three also didn't want to waste much time, so they guided Thor toward the door, their armor scraping softly against the frame as they filed out into the night. The cool air bit sharply against the quiet street, stars overhead blinking like distant watchmen.
Once he found a perfect location, Fandral raised his blade in salute. "Heimdall, open the way! Bring us home!"
They waited. Seconds stretched into long, uneasy moments. The air did not shimmer; no rainbow light split the skies. Only silence.
Confusion passed between them. Hogun's hand drifted to his weapon. "Why does he not answer?"
Darcy, standing at a distance with her coffee, rolled her eyes. "Uh, maybe your space-gate operator is on strike?"
But the truth was far grimmer.
Far above, Heimdall's golden gaze was not upon Midgard but on the Destroyer armor, which was preparing to end his life.
Inside the Bifröst Observatory, the sound of steel clashing could be heard as Heimdall met the Destroyer in a brutal fight. Each sweep of his great blade struck sparks against the armor, but it couldn't leave any mark. On the other hand, each blow from the Destroyer was pushing him toward his death.
Within a minute, his breath grew heavy, his arms numb from the strain—as though even his golden eyes sought escape. Of course, in reality, he was not searching for a way out. Heimdall knew the only end to this battle was to find Loki.
Heimdall feigned, rolling beneath a hammering strike. Then, with sudden force, he spun—not toward the Destroyer, but into the empty air beside it. His sword cleaved through the void—through Loki's veil.
The Trickster's illusion shattered, his form snapping into sight. Loki's eyes widened, but his surprise turned swiftly to cold fury. He raised the Casket of Ancient Winters.
Blue frost exploded outward, rushing over Heimdall's armor. Ice spidered across his blade, seized his limbs, and spread with ruthless speed. The guardian roared, his final act of defiance twisting his wrist just enough to drag steel across Loki's chest.
Cloth ripped. A shallow cut burned into the prince's robes, drawing a thin line of blood. Loki staggered back, gasping at the indignity, his fingers brushing crimson against his pale skin. Rage flared, raw and untempered—his pride, marred for the first time. For a heartbeat, he lifted Gungnir, intent on shattering Heimdall's frozen form where he stood.
Yet the ice-locked warrior's golden eyes still moved, defiant even through the frost. They glared, unyielding, watching him. Loki hesitated. Smashing Heimdall would grant satisfaction, but leaving him alive would grant torment. A cruel smile curved his lips.
"I hope those eyes do not fail you when I kill Thor. When he lies broken at my feet, you will see it. Only then shall I send you to the afterlife—and I will make sure you can never go to Valhalla," Loki whispered, his voice a venomous promise.
After saying this, he arrived at the Bifröst device .He lowered Gungnir, driving its golden tip into the Bifröst mechanism. Power surged, light racing along the observatory's runes. Though the spear was no true key, it bore the authority of the throne. With Gungnir's power, Loki bent the bridge to his will.
The Destroyer, still ablaze with energy, dissolved into radiant strands and hurtled down the rainbow torrent.
Far below, on the quiet streets of Mexico, the sky split open in a blinding beam of energy, and the Destroyer descended with a thunderous crash. The ground shook, windows burst, and a rolling shockwave swept through the town. Thor and his companions felt it instantly—the blast pulling their eyes and bodies toward the threat, instincts sharpening with dread.
Yet they were not the only ones stirred by the tremor. In another corner of the town, three figures jolted awake—Luther first, then the two who had collapsed beside him. Their eyes burned with lingering frustration at being shaken from sleep again. Especially Lily's gaze hardened as she pushed herself upright, resolve sharpening: whoever was behind this disturbance would come to regret it.
Author's Note : From the looks of it, I can write two chapters a week. To write at my original pace, however, I would need to return to my previous mindset, without depressive thoughts, which has proven troublesome.
I have not run out of ideas. I already have a basic plan for Chapters 209 to 230. The issue is that I am stumbling on every chapter because there are too many ways each one could be written.
I am also considering which novel to pick up to write fanfiction, to relieve some stress with an easier-to-follow storyline.
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