Loki's face flushed red under the mockery, though the crimson haze of Muspelheim masked it. His lips pressed tight, and he turned his head away.
"You'll see I'm right when some enemy lops off your heads. Then remember Loki's words," he snapped.
But his retort only fueled the Warriors Three's laughter. They thought his scheme exposed, his anger a sign of shame.
Volstagg slapped his belly, the fat rippling like waves. "No one's born who can kill us. When Thor claims his glory, you'll be shoveling goat dung, haha!"
Thor's goats seemed to smirk at Loki, one flicking its tail and dropping pellets mid-gallop.
Loki's expression flickered, settling into a smile, as if dismissing it all as fleeting clouds. He fell silent.
This cemented the Warriors Three's belief: Loki's tricks were petty compared to Thor.
They didn't know that Balder, Asgard's heir and Freya's true son, wise and brave, had been undone by Loki, his soul sent to the underworld as fertilizer.
The journey passed with relentless taunts aimed at Loki.
Thor raised Mjolnir, halting the army. After an endless march, they reached Surtur's throne at the base of a towering, black volcano spewing lava and smoke, piercing the sky.
An entrance yawned below, leading to Surtur's great hall.
But the fire giants were ready. From volcanic fissures and lava rivers, monstrous, dog-like creatures emerged, their bodies blazing, formed of molten rock, their roars revealing furnace-like throats.
"They block our path, Thor. What now?" Hogan asked, drawing his weapon.
"Crush them! Warriors of the Golden Palace, follow your prince! For Asgard!" Thor bellowed.
Tactics, formations, strategy—none concerned Thor.
Just some lava beasts, fewer than a hundred thousand. Smash them with a hammer each, and be done.
Leaping from his goat, Mjolnir held him aloft. He summoned its power, and lightning cracked from the sky.
The heavens blazed white.
The electric glow made Thor majestic, drawing awed gazes.
"Hah!" he roared, pointing his hammer at the volcano. Lightning plowed through the beast horde like a scythe.
The creatures spat fire, but Thor swatted their attacks aside, countering with thunderbolts.
He sneered. These lava dogs thought to stop Asgard's army? Futile. The Golden Palace was unmatched.
Soaring, he targeted the densest cluster, diving with Mjolnir raised, hammering beasts in close combat.
His hammer unleashed torrents of lightning, bolts as thick as barrels flung recklessly.
Asgardian warriors knew to steer clear of their prince, lest they be struck and left to curse their luck.
Only the Warriors Three, Loki, and Sif dared stay near the frenzied Thor.
While the others fought fiercely beside him, Loki slunk about, wielding a small dagger to finish wounded beasts.
Fandral's arrow felled a lava dog, its legs twitching as it struggled to rise. A green mist swirled, and Loki appeared, pinning the beast with his foot and stabbing downward.
Splurch.
Hot blood sprayed his boots. He wiped his dagger on the corpse, smirking at Fandral.
Fandral turned away, ignoring him, seeking another target.
Stealing a wounded foe was dishonorable, downright vile.
But Loki was a prince, so they endured it.
Loki saw it differently. Finishing a wounded enemy was teamwork. Why fuss over whose kill it was? Honor with a lava dog? Where was their brain?
Did they expect Surtur to honor a bravely fallen dog with a funeral ship, treasures, mead, a horse, a mate, and a fiery arrow to set it ablaze?
Honor didn't keep anyone alive on a battlefield.
Loki thought them brainless; they thought him despicable. They'd never been allies.
Regardless of tactics, the beasts couldn't stop Thor. With him as the spearhead, Asgard's army broke their line.
Beasts were surrounded by warriors, speared to death, their fetid blood evaporating on the searing ground.
Thor shook blood from Mjolnir, some black gunk—beast parts, perhaps—clinging to it.
He surveyed the battlefield, the tide firmly in their favor.
A glorious victory. Now, to press on, take Surtur's head, and prove to Father he was better than Loki.
"Surtur's hiding in his burrow?" Thor asked the Warriors Three.
Sif, her armor scorched and bloodied, answered: "Yes, his palace lies beneath the volcano, above the lava river."
"No matter where he hides, I'll figure out how to crack his skull without damaging his crown," Thor mused.
"Smash him dead, then I'll chop his head off with my axe," Volstagg said, slapping blood from his weapon.
Thor nodded, touched. Volstagg, willing to do the dishonorable act of beheading a corpse to help him, was a true friend.
"Thank you, my loyal friend."
"No, Thor, serving you is my honor," Volstagg replied solemnly.
"Volstagg…"
"Thor…"
They clasped shoulders, laughing and back-slapping, embracing warmly.
Fandral and Hogan joined the hug, grinning. Sif watched, heart warmed by their bond.
Loki stood alone in a shadowed corner, unmoved, his gaze cold as he eyed them like fools.
They hadn't even seen Surtur, a foe neither Bor nor Odin could destroy, yet they discussed decapitating him? Far too soon.
Odin's order was for the crown, but Thor's ambition for the head was sheer stupidity.
Fine by Loki. Thor's failure would disappoint Odin.
Compared to Loki, who'd complete the mission smoothly, wouldn't he shine brighter?
Rubbing his chin, Loki raised an eyebrow, plotting.
He'd save Thor and his idiot friends, let them see their error, and repay their insults a thousandfold.
They'd suffer worse than death, saved by the despised Loki, forced to endure his mockery—a deliciously dramatic scene.
The celebrating group drank from flasks until a warrior reported the battlefield cleared, fallen comrades loaded onto skiffs for funerals back at the Golden Palace.
"Good. Let's race to see who reaches Surtur first," Thor said, waving the army to stay back. The glory was theirs; a small group moved fastest.
He grinned at the Warriors Three, Sif, and Loki, treating Surtur like a jest, his words brimming with courage.
Sif blushed. This Thor—so dashing, the epitome of a true warrior.
Thor smirked, leading the charge, hammer raised, flying into the volcano's cavernous maw. The others followed.
But before they got far, a massive fireball roared down the passage toward them.
"Shields!" Sif cried, raising hers.
Volstagg, surprisingly agile for his bulk, stepped beside her, shield up.
The fireball slammed into them, sparks flying as the impact drove them back, their feet carving furrows in the floor.
Fandral and Hogan braced their backs, the four holding against the fireball.
Loki pressed against the wall, ready to watch them get blasted. The passage wasn't that narrow—plenty of room to dodge. Why block it head-on? Brainless.
Asgardian shields held, and their combined strength was enough. Though pushed back, they didn't collapse.
The fireball's core held something, like a medieval trebuchet's flaming boulder.
As it landed, Sif and Volstagg's limbs screamed in agony, muscles howling.
The flames cleared, revealing the object rolling on the ground.
It was Thor, his face charred black, though Surtur's peculiar fire left his hair and beard intact.
His eyes were wide, as if his soul had fled.
He'd charged in, meeting Surtur, a mountain-like fire giant.
Before he could speak, Surtur swatted him like a fly with a flaming hand, sending him hurtling back to crash into the four.