Just as Darren had expected, Jane's reaction to Thor's video was... well, apocalyptic.
Within hours, she sent back a ten-minute reply of her own, an emotional nuclear strike, packed with that distinctive American rhythm of rage and heartbreak.
Darren didn't even dare press play.
He quietly downloaded the video onto a new phone, one far, far removed from his main device, and when he returned to Asgard, he tossed it straight into Thor's hands.
He hadn't even made it ten steps before the sound of Thor's voice echoed behind him, followed by a string of sharp, high-pitched beeps that sounded suspiciously like the Morse code of an emotional breakdown.
Darren didn't turn around. Whatever storm was brewing there... it wasn't his problem.
...
In the following days, Darren tore through Asgard's arena like a hurricane.
He rose through the rankings faster than any Midgardian in history, leaving a trail of stunned warriors behind.
By now, only the most elite fighters stood above him, the legends of Asgard.
Names etched into the golden halls.
The Warriors Three.
Goddess of War, Lady Sif.
Thor, of course, wasn't among the active contenders. He'd retired from the arena centuries ago, already immortalized at the top of the Hall of Champions.
And interestingly, Loki's name stood right beside his brother's.
They said Loki had once fought his way to the top using nothing but a pair of daggers and that cunning mind of his.
One trickster against dozens of warriors, and he'd still climbed the ranks.
Truly, the most dangerous magician Asgard had ever birthed.
...
The higher Darren climbed, the tougher his opponents became.
But with his raw stats and the Gantz suit's monstrous enhancements, he still carved through them like butter.
His next opponent was an old acquaintance, Fandral, one of the Warriors Three.
The blond swordsman greeted him with a formal bow, his expression solemn.
"Darren," he said earnestly, "though we are friends, I will not hold back. I will face you with the best of my skill."
Darren rested Skurge's massive axe on his shoulder and nodded. "Good. I like that."
"Then have at thee!"
Fandral's eyes blazed with determination. He reached behind him... and drew out a staff.
Darren blinked. "A... staff?"
What in Odin's name was this? A sword master bringing a stick to an axe fight?
Fandral noticed his confusion and smiled proudly. "Recently, I've gained deep insight into the way of the staff. Allow me to demonstrate the power of my new technique!"
"Oh," Darren said flatly. "Cool. Go ahead."
He didn't even wait for Fandral to finish posing before charging forward.
Thud!
Ten seconds later, Fandral's world went dark.
The staff master crumpled to the ground, eyes spinning, snoring softly before his weapon even hit the floor.
Darren stood over him, unimpressed.
"Three moves? I've seen Earth security guards last longer. That's your 'staff enlightenment,' huh?"
He sighed and walked off the field. Not even worth looting.
...
His next match came swiftly.
Hogun, the grim, stoic warrior with the face of an eastern monk, waited for him, hammer and shield in hand.
"Darren," Hogun said quietly, "you will find me... less easy to defeat."
He raised his shield with practiced grace.
Darren squinted. "Wait, are you cosplaying Captain America?"
The match began. Thirty seconds later, Hogun joined Fandral in dreamland.
Darren rubbed his forehead. "Yeah, you two are absolutely trolling me."
The truth was, both Fandral and Hogun knew how strong Darren really was.
They'd seen him fight up close. They'd watched him overpower monsters and demigods.
They also knew his... habits.
The man didn't just win fights, he looted them.
And neither of them was about to lose their beloved weapons to that Midgardian thief.
But as proud Asgardian warriors, outright surrendering was too shameful.
So they came up with a compromise, throw the match fast enough to keep their dignity and their equipment.
Darren could only stare in disbelief. "Unbelievable. You guys are literally speedrunning your own defeats."
He moved on.
...
Next up was Volstagg, the last of the trio, dual-wielding daggers and smiling nervously.
That fight ended even faster.
And finally, it was time for the last opponent, the gatekeeper to the champion's throne.
Lady Sif.
Unlike the Warriors Three, she didn't cower or joke.
She stood tall on the sand, her silver armor gleaming, her long braid swaying in the wind.
Her stance was firm, her gaze steady.
"You're strong," she said, raising her round shield and lowering her sword. "But so am I."
The air around her shifted, sharp, focused.
Darren grinned. "Let's see it, then."
Sif moved first.
She burst forward like lightning, sword thrusting straight for his chest.
The precision and power behind it were leagues above anyone he'd fought so far.
Clang!
Darren swung the axe up, catching the blade mid-strike.
The collision rang like a bell, sparks flaring between them.
Sif's arms went numb from the sheer impact. The strength behind that block was inhuman.
She rolled backward to recover, then darted in again, her sword flashing like a streak of cold light.
Her attacks were fast, fluid, relentless.
But Darren was faster.
He sidestepped, his axe sweeping through the air with a deafening roar.
Sif barely had time to raise her shield before the blow landed.
BOOM!
The impact echoed through the entire arena.
She was sent flying across the sand, landing hard near the edge of the ring.
For a few seconds, she couldn't even move.
As Darren strode up to her and pressed the axe's blade lightly against her helm, she sighed and muttered, "I yield."
The rules were clear, this wasn't a deathmatch. To lose was shameful, but to die was foolish.
Darren smiled, casually scooping up her sword and shield. His eyes flicked briefly to her armor, and Sif's jaw clenched.
"If you dare touch this armor," she growled, "I'll fight you to the death, and gladly die in Valhalla for it."
Darren chuckled, tucking the sword away. "Relax. I'm not that kind of guy."
(At least not today, he thought.)
Still, he knew she wasn't bluffing. Killing the Shieldmaiden of Asgard would mean instant infamy, and an immediate five-star bounty on his head, courtesy of Odin himself.
Sif's lips twitched as she muttered under her breath, "Then kindly return my gear before you leave."
Ignoring that, Darren slung the axe over his shoulder.
"Congratulations," Sif said, voice level but eyes grudgingly respectful. "You've reached the top of the rankings. Maintain ten consecutive victories, and Odin himself will reward you. Your name will be carved into the Pillar of Heroes for all eternity."
Darren nodded. "Got it."
Ten wins? Easy.
And it was.
Match after match, no one came close.
By the tenth victory, the arena crowd roared his name.
He had done it, Darren of Midgard had conquered Asgard's greatest battleground.
...
Not long after, an attendant delivered a small, ornate box to Darren's quarters.
It bore the royal seal of Odin.
Inside lay a jagged shard of deep silver metal, faintly glowing with inner light.
He picked it up, feeling the faint hum of ancient energy run through his fingertips.
[Item: Uru Metal]
[Description: One of the hardest substances in existence. Holds immense magical affinity, capable of containing and amplifying enchantments. Used in the forging of Mjolnir, Gungnir, and other divine weapons.]
Darren's grin spread slowly.
"Well, well," he murmured, turning the metal over in his hand. "Now this... this is worth the grind."