The Rainbow Bridge's arrival was impossible to miss. Even from his position on the outskirts of town, Harry felt the surge of cosmic energy as the Bifrost connected Asgard to Earth. The light show lit up the desert sky for miles in every direction, a brilliant column of rainbow fire that deposited four figures in the middle of nowhere.
Harry had been tracking their approach for a while now, ever since he'd sensed the preliminary energy buildup that preceded any major Bifrost transportation. The Bifrost's energy signature was unmistakable—ancient, powerful, and carrying the distinct harmonic resonance of Odin's magic woven through Yggdrasil itself. Heimdall was being careful, placing Thor's friends far enough from the SHIELD perimeter to avoid immediate detection but close enough to reach the town quickly.
Smart. But not smart enough to account for someone who could sense cosmic energies across dimensional barriers.
The four figures that materialized from the dissipating rainbow energy moved with all the grace of warriors that they were. Even at this distance, Harry could identify them by their energy signatures alone. The fierce, burning determination belonged to Sif, Asgard's most skilled female warrior. The steady, earth-deep resolve had to be Hogun the Grim. The bright, quicksilver confidence could only be Fandral the Dashing. And the warm, protective strength that reminded Harry oddly of Molly Weasley's fierce maternal instincts belonged to Volstagg the Voluminous.
The Warriors Three and Lady Sif. Thor's closest friends, and some of Asgard's most formidable fighters.
Turning himself invisible to the naked eye, Harry stood up and made his way toward their landing site. The four Asgardians were already moving, following tracks and energy signatures that would lead them straight to Puente Antiguo. They moved with all the confidence of experienced warriors, their formation speaking of countless battles fought side by side. But Harry could see the worry in their posture, the way Sif's hand never strayed far from her sword hilt, or how Hogun's usually stoic expression carried an extra edge of tension.
They knew something was wrong in Asgard. The question was how much they knew.
Harry followed them for several miles, staying close enough that he could hear everything they were saying while maintaining a respectful distance that wouldn't trigger their instincts. Their conversation carried easily in the still desert air, and he found himself impressed by their tactical awareness even as they spoke.
The Warriors Three maintained a steady pace while Sif periodically scouted ahead, her movements so fluid and silent that Harry had to admire the centuries of training that went into such skill. When she rejoined the group, her expression was troubled.
"Heimdall's message was clear," Sif was saying calmly. "Thor is alive but powerless. We have little time before Loki sends the Destroyer after us."
"The Destroyer?" Fandral's voice carried disbelief mixed with genuine horror. Even his usual rakish confidence seemed shaken. "Surely Loki would not unleash that monstrosity on Midgard. The devastation would be..."
"Complete," Volstagg finished grimly. "You did not see his eyes when he claimed the throne, my friend. There was madness there. Rage beyond reason. The Loki we knew, the silver-tongued prince who preferred cunning to violence—he is gone. This creature wearing his face would do anything to prevent Thor's return."
"Even if it means burning an entire realm," Hogun added, his usually measured tones filled with deep worry. "The Destroyer does not distinguish between friend and foe once unleashed. It simply destroys until commanded to stop."
"Then we must reach Thor quickly," Sif said, though Harry could hear the doubt creeping into her voice. "If the Destroyer comes to this realm..."
"This realm will burn," Volstagg confirmed what they were all thinking. "Midgardians are brave, but they lack the weapons to stand against Asgardian war magic."
"And we?" Fandral asked quietly. "Can we stand against it? The four of us against the ultimate weapon of Asgard?"
The silence that followed was answer enough.
Harry quickened his pace. They knew about the Destroyer, which meant they had a better understanding of the threat level than he'd expected. But they didn't know about the external influence on Loki, and they didn't realize that the god of lies was dancing to someone else's tune. More importantly, they were walking into a situation where their courage and skill might not be enough, and they knew it.
He had learned enough from their conversation, and he believed it was time to reveal himself. But he needed to do it carefully. Four Asgardian warriors, already on edge about cosmic threats, wouldn't respond well to surprise.
Harry moved ahead of the group and positioned himself on a rocky outcrop that overlooked their path. He let his invisibility fall away but kept himself ready, though he held himself in a non-threatening manner. Four Asgardian warriors represented a significant threat, even in a friendly encounter, and he respected their abilities too much to approach carelessly.
"Warriors of Asgard," he called out, his voice carrying clearly across the desert without shouting. He pitched his tone to be respectful but confident, making it clear he knew exactly who they were. "I would speak with you."
The reaction was instantaneous and impressive. The four stopped immediately, their casual traveling formation shifting into a combat-ready diamond in the space of a heartbeat. Weapons appeared in their hands as if by magic—which, Harry thought, they probably were.
Sif's double-edged sword gleamed in the light like captured starfire, while the Warriors Three readied their preferred weapons. Hogun's mace had its metal surface inscribed with runes that Harry recognized as protective wards. Fandral's rapier was a work of art as much as a weapon, its blade singing a faint harmonic note. Volstagg's battle-axe looked capable of cleaving through solid stone, and Harry didn't doubt it could.
They were experienced warriors, all right. More than that, they were warriors who had fought together for so long that they moved like parts of a single organism.
"Show yourself fully, sorcerer," Sif commanded, and Harry had to admire her tactical instincts. She had identified him as a magic user from his method of concealment alone, and her positioning put her between him and the most likely approaches to her companions. "We sense power about you, but your intentions remain hidden. We have no time for games or riddles."
"No games," Harry agreed, stepping into full view and keeping his movements slow and non-threatening. "Only urgent information about your prince and the danger that follows you."
Hogun stepped forward slightly, and Harry could practically see the calculations running through the grim warrior's mind—distance, terrain, magical signatures, potential ambush points, and anything else. "You are clearly not of Asgard, yet you speak our tongue with native fluency and know our true origins. What manner of being are you?"
The question was more loaded than it might seem to an outsider. Asgardians encountered many different species across the Nine Realms, and their initial approach to any new contact depended heavily on classification. Enemy, ally, neutral party, cosmic threat—each category carried different protocols.
"I am Harry Potter," he replied, choosing directness over mystery. "I am a wizard of considerable power from this realm, though my abilities extend beyond what most Midgardians would consider possible. I have been observing recent events in Asgard and across the realms, and I know why you're here."
"You know why we have come to Midgard?" Fandral's tone was skeptical, but Harry could hear the curiosity underneath. The swashbuckling warrior was clearly intrigued despite himself. "Few mortals even know of Asgard's existence, let alone our current... difficulties."
"You're here," Harry said carefully, "to find Thor and help him return to Asgard before Loki does something catastrophic. You're worried about the Destroyer, and you should be. But your immediate concern is focused on the wrong threat."
The four exchanged glances, and Harry saw Volstagg's grip tighten on his axe. "Speak plainly, Midgardian wizard. If you know of threats greater than Asgard's ultimate weapon, then speak. What could be worse than the Destroyer unleashed upon an innocent realm?"
Harry took a measured step closer, his demeanor ready to react but not aggressive. These four needed to understand the scope of what they were dealing with, but pushing too hard too fast would only trigger their defensive instincts. Warriors of their caliber didn't respond well to feeling manipulated.
"Your prince Loki has recently discovered his true heritage," he began, watching their faces carefully. "The revelation that he is Jotun-born rather than Asgardian has driven him toward madness. But that madness is not entirely of his own making. Something else is influencing him, amplifying his pain and rage, directing it toward destructive ends. Something that operates on a cosmic scale and views the destruction of entire worlds as mere entertainment."
The silence that followed was profound, broken only by the desert winds. Harry saw recognition flicker in Sif's eyes, quickly followed by something that might have been relief. They had suspected something was wrong, but hadn't been able to name it.
"You know something," Harry observed. "You've seen signs of external influence."
Sif was initially reluctant to speak, but she chose to, her voice carefully controlled and filled with deep concern. "Loki has been... different recently. More than different. The change has been gradual but unmistakable."
"How so?" Harry asked, genuinely curious about their perspective.
"Withdrawn," she continued. "Paranoid in ways that go beyond his natural caution. He speaks of visions and prophecies that none of the court seers recognize, prophecies that always seem to center on betrayal and destruction."
"And his magic," Hogun added quietly. "It has grown stronger but also... darker. There are shadows around him now that were not there before."
"Because they're not prophecies born of Asgardian wisdom," Harry said. "They're suggestions whispered by something that feeds on chaos and destruction. Something that wants Asgard weakened and Earth defenseless for reasons that extend far beyond your royal family's internal conflicts."
Volstagg's face darkened as the implications sank in. "You speak of cosmic parasites. Entities that exist between the realms and feed on the suffering of others."
"You know of such things?" Harry was impressed. Most civilizations, even advanced ones, preferred not to acknowledge the existence of entities that viewed entire worlds as playthings.
"Asgard is old," Hogun replied grimly. "We have encountered such creatures before. The question is: what evidence do you offer for these claims? We cannot act on suspicion alone, not when the stakes are this high."
It was a fair question, and Harry respected them for asking it. He could have simply demanded they trust him based on his power, but these were intelligent warriors, not mindless soldiers. They deserved proof.
Instead of simply telling them, Harry decided to show them something that would demonstrate both his capabilities and his knowledge of recent events. He raised his hand and spoke in a voice that was filled with absolute authority.
The spell that manifested was one that used the foundation of a simple summoning charm. Harry reached across dimensional barriers and plucked a specific memory from the echoes of violence that clung to Asgard's palace. The air above his palm shimmered, and suddenly they were all witnessing a translucent scene that played out like a three-dimensional movie.
Loki stood in his chambers, speaking to empty air with desperate intensity. But the empty air answered back in a voice that seemed to come from everywhere and nowhere, a voice that carried undertones of vast, hungry intelligence.
"The throne is yours by right, young prince," the voice whispered. "Why should you serve those who lied to you? Why should you protect those who would never accept your true nature?"
"I am Asgardian," Loki replied, but his voice carried uncertainty. "I am Odin's son."
"You are Jotun," the voice corrected with cruel amusement. "A monster taken as a trophy, raised as a pet, denied your birthright by beings who fear your true power. But I can show you what you really are. I can give you the strength to claim what should have been yours from the beginning."
In the vision, Loki's hands began to glow with cold blue light, and his eyes reflected the same icy radiance. When he spoke again, his voice carried the crystalline tones of Jotun magic.
"What do you want in return?"
"So little, really. A throne here, a world there. The barriers between realms are weakening, young prince. When they fall, I will need allies in each realm to help... maintain order."
The vision faded, but its impact on the four Asgardians was immediate and obvious. Sif's face had gone pale, while Volstagg muttered what Harry was fairly certain were creative Asgardian curses.
"That voice," Fandral whispered. "I've heard tales of such entities from the oldest warriors. Things that exist in the spaces between realms, that whisper madness to those foolish enough to listen."
"The memory is real," Harry said, dispersing the last traces of the spell. "I drew it from the psychic echoes that cling to places of strong emotion. Loki's chambers have been saturated with despair and rage for a while now."
Hogun studied Harry with new respect, his analytical mind clearly working through the implications of what he'd just witnessed. "Such magic is not common, even among Asgard's greatest sorcerers. You reach across dimensional barriers as easily as others might reach across a room."
"My abilities are... unusual," Harry admitted. "But that's not important right now. What matters is that you understand the scope of the threat. The entity influencing Loki is connected to something called the Tesseract, and it has plans that extend far beyond your current family crisis."
"The Tesseract?" Sif's voice sharpened with recognition. "That was lost to Midgard centuries ago after the last war with the Frost Giants."
"Not lost," Harry corrected. "Hidden. And it's been found again, which means the entity that's been whispering to Loki wants access to unlimited energy and the ability to open portals across vast distances. His madness is just the opening move in a much larger game."
Fandral stepped forward, his rapier lowered but still ready. "What evidence do you offer for these claims? The vision shows influence, yes, but how do we know this entity has desires for such power?"
Rather than answer directly, Harry held out his palm. Black mist swirled up from nowhere, coalescing into a solid form that made all four Asgardians take an involuntary step backward. The Resurrection Stone appeared in all its glory, the symbol of the Deathly Hallows glowing with soft, otherworldly light as the mist dissipated. The artifact's presence immediately drew their attention, and all four warriors tensed as they felt its power—not threatening, but so profound that it seemed to bend reality around itself.
"I communed with the spirits of the Asgardian palace guards who died during Loki's... emotional breakdown," Harry said quietly. "They spoke of strange dreams that began weeks before their deaths, of your prince having conversations with empty air, and of an blue-glowing cube that appeared in his private chambers one night and changed his behavior completely."
The Resurrection Stone pulsed gently in his palm, and suddenly the four Asgardians could sense the presence of those departed souls, still bound to the artifact by their violent deaths and unfinished business.
Volstagg's face darkened with grief and rage. "The guards who died in the weapon's vault. We were told they perished defending against Frost Giant infiltrators who somehow breached Asgard's defenses."
"They died," Harry said gently, "because Loki needed to vent his rage on someone after learning the truth about his heritage, and the entity influencing him suggested that violence would ease his pain. But the rage was amplified, directed, shaped by outside influence. Your prince is as much a victim as a perpetrator, though that doesn't excuse the harm he's caused."
The Resurrection Stone faded back into mist, but its brief appearance had accomplished what Harry intended. These four now understood that he wielded power on a level that few beings in any realm could match, and more importantly, that his knowledge of recent events was both accurate and obtained through means they could respect.
Sif sheathed her sword, though her posture remained wary. When she spoke, there was something in her voice that hadn't been there before—and not just respect for his power. "If what you say is true, then this threat extends far beyond what we initially believed. The entity influencing Loki will not allow negotiation or compromise. And in his current state, driven by pain and whispers, Loki himself would not listen to reason even if we could reach him."
"Which brings us to your immediate problem," Harry said, missing the way Sif's gaze lingered on him for just a moment longer than strictly necessary. "The Destroyer is already on its way. Loki dispatched it the moment Heimdall transported you to Earth. You have perhaps fifty minutes before it arrives, and that's assuming it doesn't accelerate beyond normal parameters."
The Warriors Three cursed in unison, their various oaths painting colorful pictures of their opinion on this development. Harry was impressed by their creativity, particularly Volstagg's comparison of the situation to a particularly unpleasant encounter with a bilgesnipe.
"Can you stand against it?" Hogun asked directly, his tactical mind clearly working through possibilities. "Your power is evident, but the Destroyer is not merely a weapon. It is Odin's own magic given form, powered by forces that predate most civilizations."
Harry considered the question honestly, weighing capability against consequence. The Destroyer was indeed Asgardian technology powered by Odin's own magic, channeled through construction techniques that had been perfected over millennia. In a straight fight with all restraints removed, he believed he could defeat it.
But direct intervention would prevent certain events from unfolding as they needed to, events that would shape not just this crisis but the larger conflict to come.
"Not directly," he admitted. "At least, not in a way that would serve the greater good. But I can help Thor become worthy again. That's your only real hope—getting his powers restored before the Destroyer reaches town."
"Thor is still unworthy?" Fandral's voice carried disappointment mixed with genuine concern. "We had hoped his time among mortals might have taught him the humility and wisdom he lacked."
"It's teaching him," Harry replied. "But slowly, and in ways that don't always look like progress from the outside. Your arrival will accelerate the process, especially once he realizes the danger you're all in. Nothing motivates Thor quite like threats to people he cares about."
Sif looked toward the direction of Puente Antiguo, her expression calculating. Without any conscious thought, Harry found himself studying her and had to admit she was striking—not in the conventional sense that fashion magazines might promote, but with the kind of dangerous beauty that came from confidence, skill, and absolute fearlessness.
"If the Destroyer comes here, innocent people will die. This entire settlement could be destroyed, and the mortals have no way to defend themselves."
"Which is why," Harry said carefully, meeting her eyes when she looked back at him, "I need you to deliver a message to your king."
The four warriors stared at him, clearly not expecting that particular request. The idea that a mortal—even a powerful one—would presume to send messages to the All-Father was audacious in the extreme.
"You would have us carry words to Odin himself?" Volstagg asked, his voice carrying disbelief mixed with what might have been admiration for Harry's sheer audacity. "What mortal has the right to address the All-Father directly?"
Harry smiled grimly. "The Master of Death has the right to address anyone he chooses, especially when that person is a fellow guardian of cosmic balance."
The title hit them like a physical blow. All four warriors stepped back, their weapons rising instinctively before training and wisdom reasserted control. Harry noticed that Sif's reaction was different from the others—yes, she was shocked and wary, but there was also something that looked almost like fascination in her eyes.
"The Master of Death is a legend," Hogun said slowly, his voice filled with the kind of careful respect reserved for forces that could end civilizations. "A figure from the oldest stories, mentioned in texts that predate Asgard's golden age."
"Legends," Harry replied, allowing just a hint of his true nature to show through his mortal appearance, "have a way of being true. Just as your prince Thor is discovering with the hammer that judges his worth."
The demonstration was subtle but unmistakable. For just a moment, the four Asgardians could see through the veil of flesh and bone to glimpse something vast and terrible and implacably patient—a being who had looked upon death itself and found it wanting, who had stood at the threshold of existence and chosen to return with power over the final transition itself.
Then the moment passed, and Harry was simply a mortal wizard again. But the impression remained.
Fandral was the first to recover his composure, though his usual easy charm was notably subdued. "What message would you have us deliver to the All-Father?"
Harry looked each of them in the eye, making sure they understood the importance of what he was about to say. When he spoke, his words were full of absolute authority.
"Tell Odin this: The Master of Death recognizes a fellow guardian of cosmic balance. Your son's trial serves a greater purpose in the pattern of what must come, but beware—your other son dances to music played by creatures that feast on the death of worlds. The barriers between realms weaken, and what approaches seeks not conquest but consumption."
The silence that followed his words was profound. Even the desert wind seemed to still as the implications sank in. These were warriors who had faced gods and monsters, who had seen the impossible become routine. But the idea of entities that viewed entire worlds as food was sobering even to them.
"You speak of world-eaters," Sif whispered, and Harry noticed how her voice carried a slight tremor that had nothing to do with fear and everything to do with the magnitude of what they were discussing. "Entities that exist in the spaces between realms, that treat the destruction of entire civilizations as mere sustenance."
"I speak of something that has been manipulating events across multiple realms, setting up conflicts that will weaken the barriers between dimensions," Harry confirmed. "Thor's banishment, Loki's corruption, the Tesseract's presence on Earth, even this confrontation—all of it serves a larger agenda that extends far beyond Asgard's family troubles."
Hogun nodded slowly. "And you want the All-Father to know that what he intended as a simple lesson in humility for one son has become a carefully orchestrated assault on the stability of reality itself."
"I want him to understand," Harry said, "that the entities behind this view the destruction of entire worlds as entertainment, and they've been patient enough to spend eons setting up the pieces for maximum chaos and suffering."
Volstagg hefted his axe with renewed determination, the weapon's runes glowing faintly in response to his emotional state. "The message will be delivered. But first, we must deal with the immediate threat."
"The Destroyer," Fandral agreed, his hand moving to rest on his rapier's hilt. "Master of Death, can you truly help Thor regain his worthiness?"
"I can create the circumstances where he might choose to become worthy again," Harry replied honestly. "But the choice itself has to come from him. No external power can force worthiness—that's rather the point of the trial."
Sif stepped forward, and Harry found himself the focus of her full attention. There was something in her gaze that went beyond respect for his power or gratitude for his information—an interest that was entirely personal and had nothing to do with cosmic threats or magical artifacts.
"Master of Death," she said formally, but her voice carried an undertone that suggested she was very much aware of him as a person rather than just a title, "if you can truly help Thor, then you will have the gratitude of Asgard's finest warriors."
"Save your gratitude," Harry replied, though he found himself responding to her interest despite the circumstances. "You're going to need it. What's coming will test all of you in ways you can't imagine, and gratitude won't be enough to see you through."
He began to turn around, preparing to disappear again, but Hogun's voice stopped him, and he noticed that Sif looked almost disappointed that he was leaving.
"Wait. If you are truly the Master of Death, then you have power over the final threshold that awaits all living beings. Can you tell us—will we survive what's coming?"
Harry paused. The question of survival was always complicated when dealing with cosmic threats, especially when asked by warriors who defined themselves by their willingness to face death for others. Death wasn't always permanent for those who knew the right secrets, and survival didn't always mean staying in the same form or realm.
But these four deserved an honest answer, even if it had to be cryptic.
"You'll survive," he said finally, his gaze lingering on Sif for just a moment longer than the others. "But you'll be changed by it. All of you. The question isn't whether you'll live through this, but who you'll be when it's over. Growth always requires sacrifice, and power always carries a price."
"And you?" Sif asked suddenly, the question seeming to surprise even her. "Will you survive what's coming?"
Harry smiled. "I stopped worrying about survival a long time ago, Lady Sif. Death and I have an understanding."
And with that cryptic assurance, he vanished completely, leaving four Asgardian warriors standing alone in the desert.
From his hidden position nearby, Harry watched them resume their journey toward town with new urgency in their steps. But he also noticed how Sif glanced back toward where he had been standing, her expression thoughtful.
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