After finally arriving at the battlefield, Lily tightened her grip on her weapons. From the sound of it, she had thought it would be just another nuisance, but after standing here, she realized the gap between herself and this foe. Every instinct screamed, terror gripping her heart. As her confidence faltered, Mjolnir, once steady in her hand, began to slip.
Luthar, at her side, watched her changing expression. Before she could lose all her confidence, he decided to intervene, placing a hand on her shoulder. He began speaking in his usual tone.
"I think you are overreacting. It's just an empty shell, which can be broken."
Hearing this, she regained her confidence. As she looked at Sif, who had nearly slashed through the Destroyer and opened the hole that stopped it from moving, she felt that Luthar was right. She finally relaxed. Unfortunately for her and everyone else, after a few seconds, the Destroyer started to move once again. The hole behind it disappeared, and then it began to grow to twice its size, shocking everyone.
"Step forward," Luthar said, a faint smirk tugging at his lips beneath the mask. "Don't mind the size. Just treat it as a practice target. Who knows… maybe you can win."
Hearing his words, Lily exhaled, as though resigning herself to fate. Her fingers loosened, and Mjolnir slipped from her grasp, crashing to the ground. She did not try to pick it up again, as it was already growing heavier. Instead, she reached for the chainsword at her side. It was small and lacked any special effects, but it was reliable—and it was not trying to leave her.
Sif caught the movement from the corner of her eye, surprise flickering across her expression at the sight of Thor's hammer. Volstagg muttered under his breath, uncertain whether he should praise the little child or criticize her recklessness.
With her grip tightening on the chainsword, Lily broke into a sprint toward the Destroyer. With each step, she drew closer to the metal giant. The weight of fear clung to her chest, but she forced it down, raising the weapon as the towering machine loomed above her.
Her first strike came in hard, the chainsword roaring as its teeth bit into the Destroyer's gleaming shell. Sparks spat wildly, the grinding shriek stabbing at her ears. When she pulled back, only a shallow gouge scarred the surface—jagged, ugly, but nowhere near enough to matter.
Her jaw tightened as she realized it was not enough.
Understanding this, she activated the teleporter and vanished before the Destroyer could strike her. Moments later, she reappeared high above the armored colossus. Trying to mimic the method Luthar had used to injure the Goliath, she swung down with gravity on her side, the blade screaming as it chewed into the Destroyer's plating. This time, the cut tore deeper, a rough gash spilling fragments of molten steel.
The head twisted in her direction, the burning slit of its visor glowing brighter, as if acknowledging her persistence.
Around them, the battlefield roared to life as everyone jumped back into the fight. Sif drove her blade into the weakened gap, Hogun slammed his in beside it, sparks spraying in every direction. The Destroyer staggered half a step under the combined pressure, its body ringing like struck iron.
The Destroyer swung its arm, forcing the warriors to scatter. Lily landed hard, her chainsword rattling from the impact. She steadied herself and began thinking about what to do next.
At the same time, another presence tore into the chaos. The roar of an engine cut through the clash of steel. A black motorcycle streaked across the battlefield, weaving through the rubble before skidding to a halt in a spray of dirt. Natasha Romanoff swung off the seat in one fluid motion, twin pistols snapping free—not to kill, but to draw its attention. Two sharp bursts rang out, the bullets sparking harmlessly against its faceplate.
The Destroyer turned its head, if only for a second. Unfortunately, the attack was not strong enough to draw it toward her.
She dropped at the edge of the fight, right beside Luthar. The man had not moved an inch since arriving, his frame perfectly still, arms crossed as though the battle were a staged performance for his amusement.
"You've got to be kidding me," Natasha hissed, her voice sharp—more accusation than disbelief. "A little girl is fighting out there, and you're standing here like a spectator?"
Luthar finally shifted his gaze toward her, unbothered, his tone level.
"Spectator? Hardly. I'm calculating how to recycle that construct without destroying its research value."
He let the words linger for a moment before continuing, sharper now.
"Unlike you, who is attracting its attention with no thought for how to deal with the aftermath."
As he spoke, he took out a small device as it flickered to life, Fury's gravelly voice spilling out: "…find a way to pit it against Luthar. Let them deal with each other."
After stopping the recording, Luthar tilted his head toward her.
"Unfortunately for you, even if Odin himself wore this armor, it would not be enough to kill me. Now let me show you what a true weapon looks like."
From beneath his robes, he produced a miniature hilt no larger than a knife handle. With a sharp click, the device expanded, swelling into a full-sized sword, its edge alive with crackling energy.
Within a second, space shifted around him. A heartbeat later, he was above the Destroyer, descending like judgment itself. The sword cleaved downward, its energized edge tearing through the enchanted metal with a screech that split the armor. Runes flared, sputtered, and died as a deep wound opened across the Destroyer's back.
Its massive frame groaned as it struggled to stabilize, fire bleeding from the wound—and within that fracture, the core glowed like a captive sun.
Luthar's gaze locked onto it. Without hesitation, his arm plunged into the opening. The Destroyer convulsed, its howl reverberating across the battlefield, but it was too late. With a brutal wrench, he tore the core free—a pulsing, rune-etched sphere whose glow flickered weakly in his grip, as though it already understood its defeat.
Gasps rippled across the battlefield. Sif froze mid-stride, eyes wide in disbelief. Volstagg's mouth opened, but no words came. Everyone was silenced by the sheer audacity of what they had just witnessed.
"Why do I feel like that sword is better than an Asgardian blade?" Fandral whispered, his usual bravado gone, replaced by a rare note of reverence.
Luthar stood unmoved, the light of the core reflecting off his mask. His grip on the rune-etched sphere was steady, almost casual.
Natasha, watching from the edge, let out a slow breath. "Looks like there won't be an early Christmas after all…" Her tone was quiet, but her eyes flicked between the stunned warriors and the man holding the core—not with awe, but with uneasy calculation. After all, once this was over, she still had to follow him.
Luthar tilted the sphere, studying it like an engineer inspecting a broken tool.
"Now… let's hope this core still follows machine logic," he said at last, his voice calm and detached. "If not, then I can only let Hephaestus use it to make something useful."
Author's Note:
Now I hate the power sword, as it's almost a one-shot weapon. I guess I'll have to figure out how to write a decent fight.
Well, it's over now. Let's move on to the next thing: Red Room plus Asgard stuff.
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