(Siegfried's P.O.V)
It had been four months since the war began.
Four months of blood and steel, lightning and fire, marching across ruined towns and glowing forests. Now, the battle raged at the gates of Alfheim's Royal Palace, where Malekith's forces—Dark Elves, beasts, trolls, and mountain giants—had launched a full siege.
Explosions rocked the forest walls as spells collided with Baldur's sun-forged barriers.
Above it all, I stood back to back with Baldur.
The ground shook beneath our boots.
"Mountain giants," Baldur muttered. "Controlled by Malekith's spellwork."
Ahead of us, two of the brutes towered over the palace walls, black veins glowing with corrupted magic. Their eyes were glazed, mindless. They moved like puppets on strings dragging clubs behind.
Only we, the sons of Odin, could face them.
I spun and released Mjolnir.
The hammer howled as it tore through the air and blasted clean through the heads of both giants, the first before it could crush the wall, the second mid-swing.
Skulls cracked. Giants fell.
A bloody Mjolnir returned, thudding into my hand.
A third giant lunged with a tree-sized axe. I deflected it with the hammer, the impact sending shockwaves through the earth. The force staggered the giant—just enough.
"Now!" I shouted.
From above, Baldur's sun spears rained down like holy judgment, piercing the giant's chest and neck in perfect symmetry. The creature collapsed in a heap of stone and blood.
Beside me, Baldur panted. "Could use a storm right about now."
I glanced at him. "You sure you'll be fine without someone watching your back?"
His golden eyes sparked. "Haven't you learned anything in four months?"
I paused.
Then smiled. "Fair enough."
I spun Mjolnir and took to the sky, rising above the chaos.
I still hadn't heard the hammer speak to me. No whispers. No guidance.
But I'd grown—stronger, faster, more in tune with my storm-divinity.
The clouds obeyed now.
They gathered above like a war god's crown, swirling and boiling with electric tension.
Then I released it.
Thousands of lightning bolts rained down across the battlefield—each bolt precise, each one guided by will.
They struck only enemies, avoiding all allies. Giant beasts exploded in mid-charge, siege engines shattered, and Malekith's front lines began to crumble.
-0-
In a tent at the rear of the battlefield, cloaked in shadows and wards, Malekith the Accursed watched through a scrying mirror as half his army fell to the storm.
Across from him, Loki, chained and bloodied, let out a dry, broken chuckle.
"I told you," Loki rasped. "By the climax… you'd have lost half your army."
Malekith didn't look at him.
"They were weak," he said calmly.
He turned to the figure looming in the shadows behind him.
"Your turn," Malekith said.
The figure stepped forward.
Urik the Troll—a beast of muscle and rune-marked hide, tall as a warhorse and twice as dense. His breath stank of blood and bone.
He crouched beside Loki.
"Thunderer, huh?" Urik rumbled. "Let's see how he likes it when I shatter the hammer too."
Loki, still smiling faintly, didn't flinch as Urik's massive hand closed around his skull.
With a grunt, Urik squeezed—
And crushed Loki's head.
Blood hit the floor.
Malekith didn't blink.
"Go," he ordered. "Break the Thunderer."
-0-
I soared through the storm I summoned, calling down another wave of lightning to break Malekith's assault—when I heard Baldur scream my name.
A blur cut through the clouds.
Something smashed into me—heavy, limp.
I caught it instinctively… and froze.
Loki.
Headless. Broken. His blood still warm.
"What—" was all I managed before the world shattered around me.
A fist, massive and brutal, slammed into my chest, hurling me backward like a comet. I crashed through the outer wall of the Alfheim Royal Palace, stone and magic bursting outward in a cloud of dust and flame.
As I groaned, trying to stand, the giant who struck me landed before Baldur, laughing.
No. Not a giant despite hitting like one but a troll. One my body instinctively remembered.
"Is this the Thunderer?" Urik the Troll bellowed, grinning through fanged teeth. "This? What a disappointment."
From the rubble behind him, Mjolnir roared through the air toward Urik's back—
—but just before impact, a black portal tore open.
The hammer vanished through it.
And I felt it.
Disconnection.
A silence inside me where the storm usually lived.
I knew instantly—it had been sent far away, somewhere near the roots of Yggdrasil itself.
Malekith descended next, floating down on wings of shadow. In his grip were Sif, Volstagg, Fandral, and Hogun, bound in writhing black tendrils of cursed binding. Including Loki, they'd been at the frontlines. Malekith must have captured them.
He smiled like a man who thought he'd already won.
"Well met, little Odinson," he purred, turning to Baldur. "Or rather, Underachiever prince of Asgard. Kneel before me now, and I'll spare your life. I'll even let you take your brother's corpse home—after I'm done with him."
I couldn't help it. My voice cracked from the hole in the wall. Rough. Steady.
"Take your offer and shove it."
Malekith turned, amused.
Urik sneered. "Without your little toy, what do you think you're going to do, Thunderer?"
I stepped forward, lightning crackling faintly from my skin. "Beat the life out of you."
Urik's laugh boomed. "Finally found your fire. You're starting to sound like the Thor I wanted to kill."
Baldur yelled from behind, "Thor, wait! Urik was once your equal. Maybe stronger—in pure strength. We should face him together!"
But before he could join me, Malekith fired dark beams, slamming them between us—creating an impassable wall of swirling black flame.
"Two on one is cheating," Malekith sang. "Let the monster and the reborn godling play alone."
Urik came at me fast.
Faster than a creature his size should move.
His first punch collided with my forearms, blasting me backwards, feet carving trenches through the earth. Steam hissed from the clash—my arms smoking, his fist burning.
The shockwave rippled outward, halting the battle around us. Both armies stared.
Urik charged again, fists like falling stars.
"Is blocking punches with your face your new fighting style?" he taunted, fists flying.
I absorbed each hit, backing away, each blow shoving me further.
One kick nearly took me off my feet. I staggered. Dodged a punch—the air from it alone obliterated the eastern wing of the Alfheim palace.
Rubble rained down.
The battlefield went still.
Everyone watched.
Urik growled. "You stalling for that little hammer to come flying back?"
I breathed deep. Let lightning sizzle across my fists.
"No," I said. "I was studying your moveset."
Urik blinked.
I walked forward.
"Now I'm ready to fight."
He roared. "Fine! If I can't crush the hammer, I'll settle for your skull!"
He lunged—but this time, I caught his arm mid-swing.
Then, using every ounce of storm-forged muscle, I slammed him into the ground.
The dirt cratered. His body bounced.
Before he could recover, I reared back—lightning swirling into my fist—and brought it down on his skull.
CRACK.
His head exploded, gore and bone flying in all directions.
His body slammed back into the ground, still twitching.
Silence.
Then Malekith screamed, voice high and ragged, stumbling backward.
But before he could run—
His body froze.
His eyes turned a glowing green.
Then—
A swarm of green insects erupted from within, tearing his flesh apart in a bloody explosion.
Out of the mist, Loki reformed, hands slick with shadow, cape billowing.
He hovered down toward Baldur, cradling the freed Sif and the Warriors Three in strands of green magic.
He landed beside me and looked down at Urik's headless corpse.
He snorted.
"Fitting," Loki said. "The beast got to experience the pressure of having your skull popped like a fruit."
I smiled, though it didn't reach my eyes.
Because now, it was clear—
Chaos had come to all realms. And we were just getting started.
-0-
We stood before the Fairy King and Queen of Alfheim, their thrones sculpted from ivory and living vines. Sunlight filtered through crystal leaves above us, casting the royal palace in hues of gold and soft blue.
The king bowed his head. "You have saved our realm from desecration. Name your desire, sons of Odin—and it shall be granted after tonight's feast."
Volstagg, of course, whispered immediately as we took our seats within the great banquet hall, "I wouldn't mind barrels of that honeydew mead and a table piled high with roasted unicorn."
Hogun gave him a quiet glance.
Fandral snorted. "Volstagg only thinks of food and drink. Me? I wouldn't mind a night in the company of these radiant Elven maidens."
He winked at the Fairy Queen, who offered a small, amused smile—unnoticed by her husband, still deep in conversation with Baldur.
Loki, as usual, was nowhere to be seen.
Spying? Plotting? Both? I'd gotten used to it. After months at his side, I knew Loki never sat still in peacetime.
I sipped from my mug.
Honeydew mead. Sweet and sharp, just enough to take the edge off.
From where I sat, my senses picked up Baldur's voice, soft but sharp, negotiating with the Fairy King.
"In exchange for Asgard's armies sweeping out the remaining Dark Elf cells," Baldur said, "Alfheim will reaffirm its oath of sovereignty under Asgard's protection."
A fair deal. A strategic one.
"Strong and shrewd," I muttered.
Sif, seated beside me, leaned in. "He'll make a good king."
I nodded. "Better than me."
She blinked. "You said that fast."
I looked her in the eye. "Because it's true."
She studied me, then let her fingers trail across my arm. "Well… there are things you're better at than anyone I know."
I downed the rest of my drink.
Then stood.
In one motion, I turned and swept her up, lifting her in a bridal carry.
Her eyes widened. "Thor!"
I didn't answer. I just carried her out of the hall, boots echoing on crystal floors.
Behind us, Fandral and Volstagg cheered, mugs raised high.
Even Hogun gave a rare smile.
And Baldur, mid-negotiation, just smirked and shook his head.
The battle for Alfheim was over.
But the night was only just beginning for the Thunderer.
Morning mist curled across the ruined courtyard of the Royal Palace, the light soft and quiet as birds chirped amid fallen marble and scorched roots.
The battle's scars were still fresh—shattered towers, blackened walls—but amid the wreckage stood a gleaming statue, untouched and radiant.
It was me, Thor immortalized mid-strike, punching down Urik the Troll, stone fist locked in that final, earth-splitting blow. At the base, engraved in golden runes:
"The Thunderer – Slayer of Urik the Troll."
We stood there in silence.
Fandral, still half-asleep and rubbing his eyes, squinted up. "How in Hel did they carve that overnight and not have time to fix the walls?"
Hogun, arms crossed, spoke low. "Alfheim magic. Versatile in control. Lacks force in battle."
Volstagg huffed my way. "Statue or no, you wasted your boon, Thunderer. Could've asked for something with taste. Unicorn feast. Bottomless mead barrel. A hammock made from sun-spider silk!"
I raised an eyebrow. "I didn't ask for the statue."
A voice drifted in from behind. "I did."
Loki strode into the courtyard, cloak fluttering slightly behind him, eyes bright with mischief and purpose.
"I thought it only fitting," he said, gesturing up upon my questioning look. "The protector of the World Tree deserves more than whispered stories and half-remembered songs."
He smirked. "A statue lasts. A statue spreads. And for what's to come, your legend must be undeniable."
I stared up at the carved version of myself. I didn't know if I saw Thor or Siegfried.
But I said nothing.
Sometimes it was easier to let the legend speak.
With Loki finally among us again and the palace secured, Baldur stepped forward into the courtyard's center.
He looked up to the sky and called out, clear and commanding, "Heimdall! We're ready!"
Far above, the clouds shifted.
A beam of prismatic light began to gather—the Bifrost, preparing to descend.
But I raised a hand.
"Wait."
Fandral turned, one brow arched. "Wait for what, exactly?"
It wasn't me who answered.
Loki, grinning, eyes on the far horizon, said, "The storm."
And then we all felt it.
A rumble, low and ancient, vibrated through the courtyard stones. From the edge of the horizon, a star-like shape streaked across the sky—a burning comet, wreathed in flames, trailing lightning and shattered cloud behind it.
Mjolnir.
It roared like a falling god, tearing through air and space.
I lifted my hand.
And it slammed perfectly into my palm, thunder cracking on contact.
The courtyard echoed with the sound.
I looked at the hammer, its surface faintly glowing, heat and storm still simmering across its rune-etched surface.
"Took your sweet time," I muttered.
Mjolnir trembled once in my grip, but stayed silent.
No voice. No message.
Just the weight.
I smiled—half amused, half resigned—and looked back up.
"Alright, Heimdall," I said. "Now."
The Bifrost's light slammed down around us.
And in a breath, we were gone.