Sif was the first to recognize Thor, though his armor and cloak were charred black, as if he'd been mining coal.
But his features and the hammer in his hand made it clear what—or who—had been in the fireball.
"Thor!" Fandral dropped to his knees, tossing aside his rapier, frantically patting out the lingering flames on Thor's body. "You can't die! What would we do without you?!"
Hogan doffed his hat, as if in mourning. "Take him back. Bury him. He's burnt," he said, his voice carrying the odd rhythm of his mace swings.
"You carry Thor out. I'll cover the rear," Volstagg said, slapping his shield. His massive frame spread wide, blocking much of the firelight.
Loki, exasperated, pushed through the group. Couldn't they see Thor was just dazed, his wide eyes stark against his blackened face?
Seeing Thor stunned stirred mixed feelings in Loki. Part of him worried—Thor was his brother, raised together, and some bond remained. But another part relished it. Thor, always so arrogant, stealing his spotlight, had finally taken a hit.
"He's fine, just out of it," Loki said, keeping his thoughts hidden. He pulled a bottle of liquor from his coat, unscrewed the cap, and poured it over Thor's face.
The alcohol seeped into Thor's cracked skin, the sting jolting him upright like a corpse reanimated.
"Hiss! Loki! What are you doing?!" Thor leapt up, glaring fiercely.
Loki poured the remaining liquor into his mouth. "Saving you. Wasted a good bottle. You owe me."
"Look at you! Fine, I'll pay you back!" Thor growled.
"Great, Thor's okay!" The Warriors Three laughed, slapping his shoulders and head in excitement.
"Thank The Presence," Fandral said, retrieving his weapon with a relieved sigh. "Loki's so stingy. It's just a bottle."
"Exactly," Volstagg agreed, eyeing Loki with disdain.
Sif glanced at Loki, seeming to want to say something but holding back, offering only an apologetic look.
Loki sneered, leaning against the rock wall, sipping his drink. He ignored the fools, their brains corroded by liquor and battle.
Without him, Thor might've been cremated already.
Thor grimaced, standing as their slaps drove alcohol deeper into his wounds. The pain confirmed he was alive.
Surtur's strength was unexpected. Thor barely saw the blow before he was sent flying.
But this wasn't over. He'd keep charging until he landed a hit.
Instinct kicking in, he flew back into the volcano's depths.
While Su Ming led Asgard's warriors against the Vanir and Thor's group faced Surtur's thrashing, Heimdall at the Bifrost faced enemies of his own.
A horde of frost giants.
Heimdall's face hardened. Frost giants were Asgard's ancient foes—no words needed, only slaughter.
But their numbers were vast, and they looked different.
Frost giants lacked weaving skills, typically wrapping beast pelts around their waists. Jotunheim's eternal snow meant they went bare-chested.
Not now. They wore oversized gray uniforms, turtle-shell helmets, and wielded fine, massive blades.
Small stones floated above their heads, glowing faintly orange.
Among them were Midgardians, also with floating stones, armed with energy weapons.
"Someone's guarding," a human soldier reported to the rear.
"Expected. Kill him," came a voice. Heimdall's sharp eyes spotted a scrawny human in a purple hood.
The frost giants charged first, roaring and swinging their new weapons.
Heimdall had fought them for centuries. New gear or not, their tactics were the same—wild, headlong slashes until someone died.
He sidestepped a giant's swing, his golden greatsword slicing the foe in half, guts spilling across the Bifrost.
Spinning, he dodged another chop, impaling the second giant and kicking it off the bridge into the cosmic void.
His movements were bold yet rhythmic, felling giants with ease despite being surrounded.
"Tch, wasting time. Hydra, advance!" the hooded voice called.
Blue energy beams sprayed like water at Heimdall. He raised his sword, shielding his head and heart.
Forged by dwarves for Odin, the Uru blade was unbreakable.
His armor wasn't. The beams riddled it like a honeycomb.
Heimdall crumpled, falling from the Bifrost.
"Well? Giant, isn't human tech delightful?" the purple-hooded figure asked the frost giant leader, his tone smug.
The giants saw humans as weak. Without the rune stones and their secrets, these blue-skinned fools wouldn't have allied.
But the display of force impressed them.
Without the Cosmic Cube, Hydra's energy cells were nearly depleted. Zemo had brought his entire stock, betting everything.
A gun without ammo was just a club, but the giants didn't need to know that.
The frost giant leader, called Titan, was Laufey's son. Aligning with humans drew heavy criticism.
Only his loyal followers, fewer than ten thousand, joined Zemo's force.
In Norway, Zemo used rune stones and ancient spells to open a portal from the Age of Gods, linking Earth to Jotunheim.
Blue giants poured through, panicking the SS, but Hydra's soldiers stood fearless.
Zemo knew his target and had planned well. With silver-tongued promises, he lured the giants, connecting with Titan.
These frost giants joined Hydra.
Titan tweaked the Earth portal to link directly to the Bifrost.
Hydra sought treasures in the Golden Palace.
The giants wanted every Asgardian dead.
A promising partnership, no?
Titan strode to the Bifrost's edge, his new boots kicking aside his kin's corpse. He peered down.
The starry abyss below showed no trace of Heimdall's body. Surely dead.
"Heimdall's gone. We can move unseen. But when will my people get those weapons?" Titan pointed at Hydra's soldiers.
Zemo smiled, grasping the giant's massive finger to calm him.
He drew his Luger, placing it in Titan's hand. "See? Wrong size. Give us time—we're adapting them. Soon, everyone will have them. Our partnership will endure, always."