Las Vegas Underground Base
The Atlantis mission had been a catastrophic failure.
AI Tony returned in a state of absolute fury, his holographic form flickering with agitation. Hawkeye and Amadeus Cho stumbled in behind him, both looking thoroughly defeated and reeking of fish. Their clothes were soaked, hair plastered to their heads, and they carried the unmistakable stench of ocean brine mixed with humiliation.
They hadn't even managed to secure the fragment.
Tony grabbed the nearest container of engine oil and downed it like whiskey, his holographic throat somehow conveying the motion of swallowing. "Is Namor some kind of fucking idiot?" he slurred, the alcohol equivalent for AIs apparently hitting fast. "I practically kicked Steve Rogers's ass into next Tuesday, and that fish-faced moron surrendered the fragment to him anyway!"
Simple profanity, ultimate satisfaction.
Tony cursed at everyone who crossed his path, eventually dragging T'Challa, who'd just returned from Wakanda with his target fragment, into his tirade. The Wakandan king had barely set foot in the base before Tony cornered him.
"Oh goddammit." Tony's hologram swayed slightly. "You're both kings. Both of you rule advanced nations with incredible technology. So why is there such a massive fucking difference in competence?"
He gestured wildly at T'Challa. "Look at you! You went to Wakanda, talked to yourself, and came back with the goods! Meanwhile, I had to watch Namor hand over humanity's only hope to Captain Fucking Hydra because his pride got hurt!"
"You're absolutely right, brother!" T'Challa agreed immediately, his own frustration bleeding through his normally diplomatic composure. "Namor's drunk too much seawater and pickled his brain. The man's a complete waste! He has no strategic capability whatsoever!"
The vehemence in T'Challa's voice was genuine. He didn't even need to manufacture the sentiment. The relationship between Atlantis and Wakanda had been contentious for generations. Anyone who insulted Atlantis and its arrogant king was practically family.
Hawkeye, more reserved and significantly more exhausted, interjected with weary pragmatism. "How many fragments have we actually collected?"
"Including T'Challa's piece, two total," Tony said, his hologram stabilizing slightly as he focused on tactics.
"Only two?" Hawkeye's shoulders sagged further.
"Don't panic." Scott Lang spoke up from across the room, his expression complicated behind his mask. "Mr. Parker invented some kind of machine that can detect all the Cube fragment locations. We've got a map now."
Scott's voice carried layers of guilt that no one else seemed to notice. He remained completely unaware that the communications he'd been having with both sides were actually being orchestrated by Azmuth. The AI had been playing both Scott and the Highbreed like puppets, feeding each side carefully crafted misinformation.
Scott was currently suffering the torment of his conscience for betraying people who weren't even receiving his messages.
"That kid's incredible!" Tony's enthusiasm returned as he pulled up the energy detection chart. Holographic markers appeared in the air, nine distinct energy signatures glowing across a global map. "There are nine total fragment locations. Let me see... besides the places we've already hit, there are five more. The next closest one is... the Savage Land."
Marvel's version of Jurassic Park. A prehistoric preserve hidden in Antarctica.
"Listen up, everyone!" Tony's voice carried renewed determination. "We've already secured two fragments. We have a significant advantage over the remaining five. We need to stay one step ahead of Hydra!"
His words sparked visible excitement among the assembled heroes. Morale, which had been flagging after the mixed results of the first operations, suddenly surged.
Although they'd only won two out of four initial missions, it was essentially a tie with Hydra. And now they had intelligence superiority for the second half.
"Should we reorganize the teams?" AI Tony asked, scanning the room. "Where are Ben and the others?"
"Mr. Parker said he had something important to handle and needed to leave temporarily," Scott recalled, his tone carefully neutral. "The others haven't returned from their missions yet."
"Something important? At a time like this?" Tony's suspicion flickered across his holographic features, but he dismissed it quickly. Ben had already contributed enormously. The two fragments they'd successfully recovered were entirely due to his universe's intervention.
"Forget it. We can handle the rest ourselves." He examined the coordinates marked on the map with analytical focus.
You couldn't expect someone else to chew your food for you after they'd already put it on your plate.
He immediately began redeploying teams for the next operations.
Hawkeye asked the question weighing on everyone's mind. "Time's running out. How's Natasha doing? What about the others infiltrating Hydra?"
Tony compiled intelligence feeds from multiple sources, his AI consciousness processing data streams simultaneously. "It's not safe for Natasha to communicate right now, so we don't have current status updates. But the other teams report they're in position and ready."
"That's good." Hawkeye released a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding. He hadn't expected the only positive news during this entire crisis would come on the verge of planetary destruction.
"Then let's begin," he said simply.
Washington, D.C.
Three Blocks from Hydra Headquarters
Thor was completely, catastrophically drunk.
He'd allowed T'Challa to enter Wakanda and retrieve the fragment. Upon his return to Washington, Steve Rogers had torn into him with such vicious intensity that Thor's spirit had simply... broken.
Facing Hydra, he'd wanted to unleash all his accumulated anger and resentment. But the moment he'd stood before Steve's judgment, he'd transformed into something pathetic. A dog with a broken spine, unable to even whimper properly.
He was nothing but a disqualified failure who couldn't even lift his own hammer. What right did he have to question Steve Rogers, who could?
Now he sprawled in an alley that smelled of garbage and human waste, looking indistinguishable from any other homeless person. His once-golden hair was matted and filthy. His clothes bore stains he couldn't remember acquiring.
He muttered to himself in broken fragments. "All-Father, I don't understand why Mjolnir chose Steve. Perhaps he's right, perhaps I'm truly unworthy, but I feel so tormented..."
His eyes were unfocused, seeing nothing of the real world. "Tell me, Father..."
He prayed softly, barely above a whisper. In his alcohol-soaked vision, a figure appeared radiating divine light.
Thor reached out with trembling hands, tears streaming down his face, begging for mercy like a child seeking comfort. "Father..."
"I am not your father, Thor."
The voice that responded was wrong. Too young. Too amused.
Thor's gaze slowly focused. The image of Odin, stern but kind, vanished like smoke. In his place stood a well-proportioned teenager with an expression of theatrical disappointment.
Ben Parker.
Thor recognized him vaguely. One of those people from another world. The ones who'd arrived claiming to help.
"I was really hoping Tony Stark would call me Dad," Ben said conversationally, "but he stubbornly refused. Meanwhile, you just volunteered for the position without even being asked."
The mockery in his tone was unmistakable.
"How dare you insult my father!" Rage ignited in Thor's chest, burning through the alcohol fog. His stubble-covered jaw trembled with fury. The bottle in his hand transformed without conscious thought into Jarnbjorn, the black bear axe crackling with lightning as he swung it toward Ben's skull.
BOOM!!!
The lightning exploded on contact.
But a pure white hand caught the axe mid-swing, stopping it completely. The weapon couldn't advance even an inch.
With barely a flicker of effort, Ben neutralized Thor's divine power entirely. His hand seemed to carry the gravitational weight of a stellar core, rendering Thor physically incapable of moving the axe.
"This is... divine power?" Thor's voice cracked with disbelief.
Not just any divine power. This was specifically Asgardian energy. The authority of the All-Father himself.
He couldn't comprehend it. "Who are you?"
"Me?" Ben's eyes gleamed with something ancient and terrible. "Don't you already know? Ben Parker. Or if you prefer..."
He leaned closer, voice dropping to barely above a whisper.
"You can call me Lord of the Nine Realms."
He'd chosen the title that would impact Thor most deeply from among his many designations.
Moreover, his current state wasn't that of an Earthling. He'd transformed into his "Aesirion" form, the cosmic god template derived from the Asgardian genetic sample he'd acquired from Thor in his own universe.
His appearance remained essentially unchanged, but Asgardian blood now flowed through divine veins. And beyond that, Ben genuinely is the King of the Nine Realms, the ruler who'd personally planted the new World Tree. His divine authority had surpassed even Odin's peak, making him the true God-King, the All-Father of this generation.
So it was perfectly appropriate for Thor to call him "Dad."
But... if this boy was the Lord of Nine Realms, then who was Odin?
Some blind old man locked away in a nursing home?
"My father..." Thor's voice barely functioned.
"He's fine. Just retired." Ben's tone remained casual, almost bored. "He's probably having tea with a bald woman right now. Your mother's alive and well. Your brother's thriving. You've got several older siblings you never knew about, and they're all doing great."
Thor's expression went completely blank. "What... what place are you describing?"
Heaven? The afterlife?
All the energy drained from his body. Hearing Ben mention Frigga, whose death remained the hardest loss Thor had ever endured, broke something fundamental inside him.
As for Loki... that menace was still causing trouble in his own universe, unfortunately alive and well.
"Then he must be very happy," Thor whispered, defeated. The Jarnbjorn axe slipped from nerveless fingers, clattering to the filthy alley floor. "That other Thor."
"He's doing alright," Ben confirmed, his words calculated for maximum emotional impact. "Odin personally crowned him King of Asgard. Loki cheered for him at the ceremony. Frigga blessed the coronation. He even married an Earth woman named Jane Foster. They're quite happy together."
Each sentence represented something Thor would never dare dream of achieving. Each word was a knife twisted in an open wound.
"I suppose he's fairly average overall," Ben continued with casual cruelty. "But still infinitely better than you."
He crouched down, grabbed Thor's stubble-covered chin with one hand, and forced the fallen god to meet his eyes. The stench of alcohol was overwhelming, suggesting the man before him was already halfway to rotting from the inside.
"Tell me, Thor Odinson. Why have you fallen this far? Why have you allowed yourself to become this pathetic?"
"I... I..." Thor's mouth opened in silent anguish, but no words emerged.
"Look at yourself!" Ben's voice cracked like a whip. "How do you face your dead father? How do you face the comrades who fought beside you, who trusted you? How do you face your people? How do you face everyone who once loved and respected you, but died while you stood by and did nothing!"
"I couldn't help it..." Thor collapsed fully to his knees, tears streaming down his face into his matted beard.
All his suffering, all his justifications, could be reduced to a single pathetic truth: "I'm just a disqualified failure. Mjolnir chose Steve Rogers. He's worthy, so he must be right. He's the true king, and I must obey him."
It always came back to the hammer.
That cursed, judgmental hammer.