The ground in Mexico trembled from the Destroyer's arrival as the shock of its descent echoed like a drumbeat through the streets.
At the centre of all stood the gleaming figure of Odin's living weapon, its armour lit by a furnace glow that pulsed with every breath it took.
From a distance, Thor's breath caught, not from fear alone, but from recognition. "The Destroyer," he whispered, voice tight with memory and dread. The word itself seemed to chill the air.
Sif's hand tightened on the hilt of her blade. Volstagg, usually the boisterous one, stood silent, eyes narrowed. Even Fandral's usual humour was absent, replaced with the stern readiness of a warrior who understood he might not live through what came next.
"It has come for you, Thor," Sif said softly, not as an accusation, but as a grim truth.
Thor clenched his fists, stripped of his strength, feeling helpless as the Destroyer's gaze cut toward him. He wanted to join the fight alongside his friends but decided against it, knowing he might become a burden
On the other side, far from the action, Lily wrestled with the segmented plates of her armour. Each joint refused to work together; each clasp snapped back with stubborn weight. Alone in Luthar's forge, she might have managed, but here it was a challenge.
Of course, Luthar stood at her side, guiding her movements, his mechanical precision compensating for her inexperience.
"Hold still," Luthar muttered, fastening a gauntlet with practised ease. "The forge has assistants for a reason. This armour was never meant to be donned in a hotel room."
Sweat streaked Lily's brow. The weight of the armour pressed down on her frame, as though testing her resolve before she even took a step into battle. "If I can't even wear it, how am I supposed to fight in it?" she gasped.
"The fight is not that important," Luthar said flatly, though there was the faintest glimmer of reassurance in his tone. "Instead, you need to learn how to wear your armour in any situation."
Freya's silver eyes lingered on them for a moment, then she sighed with a hint of mock impatience. A smile—sharp and hungry—curved her lips.
"So slow," she murmured, brushing a strand of pale hair from her face. "If I stay here, I'll miss all the fun."
Without waiting for a reply, she turned gracefully, her presence already receding like a fading perfume. Each step she took carried a casual, playful air, as though this were a game staged for her amusement.
"I'll leave the dressing-up to you two. Try not to arrive after it's over," she called lightly, her voice dripping with teasing mockery before vanishing into the night.
Lily froze for a heartbeat, fingers tightening on the armour's clasp as her brow furrowed. Did she just hint at the teleporter…? The thought hovered, nagging.
"Don't think about her," Luthar said flatly, not even glancing up as he adjusted another piece into place. "Focus on the armour." His tone left no room for argument, and Lily swallowed her question, bending back to the task with renewed urgency.
Back at the Destroyer's location, the giant armour advanced. Each step landed with the weight of an avalanche, shattering pavement and rattling windows. It moved with terrible patience, surveying its prey, the helm-like head turning as if tasting the air. Then, with a hiss like a furnace door thrown wide, a glow ignited in the slit of its visor.
Night vanished in an instant. A line of searing brilliance tore across the street, so bright it blinded those who dared look. Shadows leapt and twisted across walls before those same walls collapsed. People screamed, scattering in every direction. Some stumbled blindly over rubble; others dragged neighbours toward any flicker of safety.
Sif darted forward, her sword clashing against the Destroyer's hide. Volstagg and Fandral pressed their attacks, attempting to delay the machine while avoiding its deadly blows.
Freya arrived in time to see the fight, standing gracefully on a rooftop, the night fire painting her features gold and crimson. She rested her chin on her hand, watching the chaos with the ease of someone at the theatre rather than on the battlefield.
"So many blessings woven into a single weapon," she mused, her voice lilting with amusement. "A vanity project, perhaps? No wonder it burns so fiercely."
"Mmm, quick and disciplined," Freya noted as she observed Sif. "With the little blessing and training, she could easily become a level 8."
Hogun struck from the side while Fandral circled, his blade glinting in the firelight. Volstagg bellowed and swung his axe with raw strength.
"Three warriors with a decent soul," Freya chuckled softly, eyes narrowing in delight. "Maybe can reach level 5."
While all four fought, Freya kept watching as though it were an interesting show. After all, for her, ending this fight would be simple: she could use her divine power to destroy the armour—or simply reveal herself and control the one commanding the army.
By now, Lily had managed the final clasp of her armour. Her breath came ragged beneath the helm, her body screaming under the weight, but a strange clarity filled her veins. She rose, taller now, her silhouette outlined in steel and light.
Luthar regarded her with the briefest nod. "Good. You're ready."
But even as he spoke, the distant roar of battle reached them—the sound of collapsing stone, the echo of a war cry, and the unearthly hum of the Destroyer's energy.
Lily tightened her grip on her weapon. "Finally, I can stretch a little bit."
Luthar opened his mouth, intending to remind her that her weapon would hardly faze the Destroyer, but seeing the spark of determination and high spirits in her eyes, he hesitated. Instead, he said nothing—it wasn't as if there was any real danger with him watching from the sideline.
As the battle escalated to its next stage, inside the SHIELD command room, Natasha Romanoff stood tense, eyes scanning the monitors with sharp focus. Frustration edged her features as she took in the chaos tearing through the city.
"Why do I always get the worst of it? "First a space priest, now a god," she muttered under her breath. Her gaze lingered on the screens, the metallic gleam of the Destroyer reflecting sharply in her eyes.
Natasha tapped her comm unit sharply. "Nick, do we have any contingency weapons here? If not, I'm pulling all agents out before this city turns into a graveyard."
A low, measured voice replied. "Natasha… there's nothing here capable of stopping that thing. You can pull your agents if you want—safest course of action. As for that walking armour…" Fury's tone sharpened, deliberate. "Best move might be to find a way to pit it against Luthar. Let them deal with each other."
Natasha's eyes narrowed, catching the edge of his meaning. "So, you want a clean fight without risking anyone else."
Fury's pause was brief, almost amused. "Exactly. Find a way to make them kill each other. If this thing can kill Luthar, I can celebrate Christmas in advance."
Author's Note: A special shout-out to ASSASSINvoid, who recently became a member.
I would also like to acknowledge The_Fake_Bee. I remain grateful, even if the membership was for a short time.
special recognition to Quentin for his continued support over the past three months, especially during a difficult period for the story.
While my goal is to eventually reach $200 per month, please do not feel any pressure to support financially if you are not in a position to do so. Your Comments and advice can also help me .