Thor had awakened.
Jane Foster, who'd been transferred up from Primus Tower's medical wing to treat the injured Plumbers on the orbital station, was tending to him with professional care. The sterile white walls of the medical bay felt oppressive compared to the warm atmosphere of Earth below.
Also crowding the recovery ward were the three Asgardian warriors who'd arrived via the Rainbow Bridge's final light. Volstagg, Fandral, and Hogun all bore wounds of varying severity, though given their Asgardian physiology, the injuries would heal naturally within days. Ironically, the Plumbers' advanced medical equipment proved largely ineffective on their alien biology.
The same regeneration serum that could regrow severed limbs on humans barely accelerated their natural healing processes. Only the specialized medicinal baths from Sakaar seemed capable of treating divine injuries effectively.
"Thor, the situation is critical!" Volstagg's voice boomed across the medical bay, his massive frame taking up an entire hospital bed. His thick brown beard and imposing presence made him look like some mythical woodsman. "The Dark Elves attacked without warning. Asgard has fallen, and we must fight back!"
Thor remained silent, his head bowed as he stared at his hands. The weight of failure pressed down on his shoulders like a physical burden. He hadn't completed the Plumbers' mission, and now his homeland lay in enemy hands while he sat powerless to help.
What Prince of Asgard? he thought bitterly. What Thor? It's all a cosmic joke.
"Come on, Thor," Fandral urged, his usually perfect hair disheveled from battle. "We need you now more than ever!"
Hogun nodded grimly, his dark eyes reflecting the same desperate hope. The three warriors had fought alongside Thor since childhood, witnessing his greatest triumphs when he'd worn divine armor and commanded lightning itself. They'd seen him wade through armies of enemies, each strike of Mjolnir clearing entire battlefields.
That had been the invincible Thor—their friend, their prince, their symbol of Asgardian might. Now, as always in their darkest hour, they hoped he would rise again, take up arms beside them, and lead them to victory against impossible odds.
But Thor felt overwhelmed by their expectations. What could he accomplish now? He was nothing but dead weight, unable to even lift his own hammer. The glorious destiny of leading Asgard to greatness belonged to someone worthy—someone like Loki, who could actually wield Mjolnir's power.
"How are my father and mother?" Thor asked quietly, deflecting their pleas. "What about Sif?"
The three warriors exchanged troubled glances before Volstagg answered heavily. "The Dark Elves appeared without warning—even Heimdall couldn't detect their approach until their fleet was already attacking the palace. We were separated from Sif when we rushed to support Heimdall at the Observatory, but..."
Their expressions told the story better than words. Heimdall had fallen, using his remaining strength to send them to Earth as a final desperate gambit. The gatekeeper had probably believed only Thor could turn the tide of battle.
If only he knew how wrong he was, Thor thought with bitter self-mockery.
"Maybe you should find Loki instead," Thor suggested, his voice carrying a note of genuine pride despite his depression. "He's the one who can lift the hammer now. He's the one who should be King of Asgard."
After the initial shock and complicated emotions surrounding Loki's worthiness, Thor had gradually come to feel proud of his brother's achievement. Whatever else had happened between them, they were still family.
However, Norman Osborn chose that moment to enter the medical bay, flanked by several members of the Thunderbolts team. His expression was professionally sympathetic but held no false comfort.
"I've contacted Plumbers headquarters on Sakaar," Norman reported with obvious regret. "The Asgardian Valkyrie stated clearly that she doesn't know Loki's whereabouts. He left the base some time ago, and his current location is unknown."
"How is that possible?" Thor's voice cracked with worry. If something had happened to Loki...
"What about the Valkyrie herself?" Fandral asked hopefully. "Could she provide support?"
Though the current generation of Asgardian warriors had never seen a Valkyrie in action, they'd grown up on legends of their prowess. Having Brunnhilde fight alongside them, backed by the Plumbers' resources, would be both strategically valuable and morale-boosting.
Norman shook his head again. "She explicitly stated she won't fight for Asgard. However, Sheriff Bill will lead a support team with the full resources of the Plumbers' flagship and a substantial army. The Earth branch Thunderbolts will also provide assistance."
A Valkyrie of Asgard who refuses to fight for Asgard? The warriors felt their spirits sink further.
They had no knowledge of the darker chapters in Asgard's history—the parts Odin had carefully obscured from official records. They couldn't understand that Brunnhilde's reluctance stemmed from centuries-old betrayals and the massacre of her sisters in service to Odin's conquest.
Meanwhile, Odin was hoping to use the Dark Elf crisis as cover for releasing and rehabilitating Hela. Given Brunnhilde's complex feelings about Asgard's past, Ben had wisely sent Beta Ray Bill to provide military support instead.
But according to intelligence from Odin's ravens, the situation was deteriorating rapidly. Muspelheim had fallen to Dark Elf forces, and Surtur, the realm's ancient king, was confirmed dead.
Worse still, after evacuating Asgard, Malekith had launched simultaneous campaigns against multiple realms. The three War Witches who'd stolen the Rainbow Bridge's power allowed Dark Elf armies to move freely throughout the Nine Realms. In mere days, Malekith had conquered Alfheim, enslaved the Light Elves, and somehow recruited the banished angels from the void—beings who'd nursed grudges against Odin for millennia.
The cascade of victories would only accelerate, each fallen realm providing resources for the next conquest.
Ben suspected Odin's motivations went beyond simply training his children. The All-Father seemed to understand that entropy was inevitable—even with Mana reinforcing the cosmic order, all things eventually ended. Perhaps Odin had decided to control Ragnarok himself, deliberately dismantling the old Nine Realms to rebuild them according to his vision.
"Earth remains the only realm Malekith hasn't invaded," Norman continued gravely. "But I believe he's simply wary of the Plumbers' power. Once he's consolidated control over the other kingdoms, Earth will become his primary target."
The Dark Elf king was clearly building strength for a decisive assault rather than risking premature confrontation.
"Whether for universal security or Earth's protection, we can't wait passively for his attack," Norman declared. "You'll coordinate with the Thunderbolts team for the counteroffensive."
Captain America emerged from the corridor with the assembled strike force—the core members of Earth's Plumbers branch. The team included Steve Rogers, Spider-Man, Sandman, Black Panther, Pietro, and Wanda. It was a formidable group, but they'd need to leave substantial defensive forces behind to protect Earth.
Hearing about the Plumbers' support, the three warriors naturally volunteered to join the mission. However, they felt the force was still insufficient for the scale of opposition they'd face.
"Thor," Hogun said earnestly, "we need you with us."
The situation had reached a critical point. Thor recognized he might not be the warrior he once was, but Asgard needed him, and he couldn't abandon his people—again.
"Very well," Thor agreed quietly. "We move in two days."
Norman nodded approvingly before preparing to leave with his team. They'd need to arrange spacecraft capable of reaching multiple realms quickly, along with detailed tactical planning for simultaneous operations.
As the group began to disperse, Thor called out to Captain America. Steve turned back, noting the conflict written across the fallen prince's features.
"Is something wrong?"
Captain America wasn't particularly close to Thor—none of the current Avengers were, really. They'd never fought together as true comrades.
Thor's internal struggle was visible as he wrestled with pride and necessity. He knew Steve had lifted Mjolnir before, could wield it with devastating effectiveness. The logical choice would be to ask Steve to carry the hammer into battle.
But asking someone else to use his beloved Mjolnir felt like begging a stranger to use his most treasured possession. The humiliation burned, yet what alternative did he have?
"Please," Thor said finally, the words scraping his throat raw. "Use Mjolnir in the coming battle."
Svartalfheim
Malekith surveyed his domain with satisfaction, though anger still simmered beneath his composed exterior. The failure to acquire the Aether rankled, but recent victories had provided substantial compensation.
"Excellent work, Psyphon," he praised his lieutenant, who knelt before the Dark Elf throne alongside the chained figure of Sindr, the Ash Queen of Muspelheim.
Malekith felt no grief for the Cursed Warrior who'd died in the assault—such creatures were expendable tools, nothing more.
"We successfully captured Muspelheim and retrieved Surtur's head, along with his daughter," Psyphon reported with professional pride.
Sindr shuddered at the casual mention of her father's execution, but remained silent under the weight of her chains.
"Name your reward," Malekith commanded magnanimously.
"Lord Malekith," Psyphon replied with calculated humility, "I require no personal reward. Your growing power is reward enough. I only ask that you remember to help me deal with the Plumbers and avenge Lord Thanos once the Nine Realms are under your control."
Interesting, Malekith mused. The loyalty seemed genuine, but he'd detected subtle inconsistencies in Psyphon's story about serving Thanos. No matter—useful tools didn't need to be trustworthy, only effective.
"Naturally," Malekith agreed smoothly. "Midgard is currently under Plumbers control, and they seem intent on unifying the Nine Realms under their authority. We'll inevitably clash with them, though we're not yet strong enough for direct confrontation."
His primary concern remained the Infinity Stones in the Plumbers' possession. That was precisely why he'd left Earth for last in his conquest plans.
"Unfortunately, we failed to acquire the Aether," Malekith continued with carefully controlled disappointment. "This puts us at a significant disadvantage."
Psyphon seized the opportunity to undermine Loki's position. "Perhaps our Asgardian ally's intelligence was... incomplete?"
Loki shot him a venomous glare before dropping to one knee before Malekith. "My lord, I accept full responsibility for the oversight—"
"Peace, Loki," Malekith interrupted with a dismissive wave. "Who could have predicted that Odin had a murderous daughter locked away? Despite the setback, we gained valuable assets. The Rainbow Bridge is nearly as useful as the Aether, though our timeline has extended somewhat."
He approached Sindr with predatory confidence. "Submit, or die."
"I... I surrender," Sindr whispered, unable to meet his gaze.
Her submission wasn't driven by fear of Malekith himself, but by the terrifying presence of Psyphon—or rather, the monster Psyphon served. She'd witnessed Vilgax kill her father instantly and absorb his power. Compared to that cosmic horror, Malekith seemed almost reasonable.
"Excellent," Malekith purred with satisfaction. "I want you to lead your Fire Demons in an assault on Niflheim. I believe the Underworld Lords there will be eager to cause chaos."
Among the Nine Realms, three served as kingdoms of the dead. Valhalla housed the honored fallen in its great halls. Helheim contained Odin's prison for Hela and other dangerous entities. But Niflheim served as the underworld for the dishonored dead—every soul trapped there bore the weight of terrible sins.
Malekith felt confident the Underworld Lords of Niflheim would join his cause, bringing with them an army of vengeful undead that would prove invaluable in the coming conflicts.
Unknown to both Loki and Psyphon, Malekith had already dispatched secret emissaries to other realms. The banished angels who'd suffered under Odin's curse for generations had proven eager to strike back at Asgard. They'd already conquered the Light Elf realm on his behalf, adding their celestial power to his growing coalition.
"Lord Malekith," Sindr asked as she prepared to return to Muspelheim via the corrupted Rainbow Bridge, "what is our next target?"
"Psyphon," Malekith commanded, ignoring the Ash Queen's question, "I want you to capture Nidavellir and bring me a weapon capable of killing gods."
The immortal Hela remained a persistent threat in his calculations. The Dwarven forge-masters of Nidavellir had created legendary weapons throughout cosmic history—surely they could craft something capable of permanently ending a death goddess.
"A god-killing weapon?" Psyphon's eyes gleamed with anticipation.
If such a weapon exists, he thought hungrily, only Lord Vilgax is worthy to wield it. Plans were already forming for how to redirect such a prize to his true master.
"Leave it to me, Lord Malekith," Psyphon said with a respectful bow before vanishing in a flash of rainbow light toward the Dwarf kingdom.
Finally, Malekith turned his attention to Loki, his expression becoming calculating.
"Loki, you're still officially affiliated with the Plumbers, correct?"
"You haven't publicly broken ties with either the Plumbers or the so-called Council, have you?"
Loki felt his stomach drop as he recognized the direction of Malekith's thoughts. Oh no. Not again. Does this psychopath want me to be a double agent? The irony was almost too much to bear, considering that's exactly what he actually was.
"No... but I haven't returned or contacted the Plumbers in some time," Loki said carefully. "They might be suspicious of my sudden reappearance."
"Don't worry," Malekith smiled with cold amusement. "Your task will be quite simple..."
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