The Bifrost didn't just open. It screamed.
A vortex of color and sound ripped the sky apart like wet paper, dragging Victor Drake's atoms through a blender of divine turbulence. Every molecule in his body vibrated between existence and regret, a high-pitched whine echoing in his skull. The world dissolved into prismatic shards—gold, crimson, electric blue—spinning so fast he couldn't tell if he was falling or flying.
He clung to consciousness with fingernails and sheer spite.
"AETHER—are we dying or—"
"Depends," the AI shot back, voice glitching with static. "If you consider molecular disassembly 'dying,' then yes. Hold tight. Or don't. Physics is optional here."
Thor's laughter boomed through the chaos like a war drum. "Relax, mortal! The Bifrost merely shakes you apart before rebuilding you elsewhere! 'Tis the finest travel in the Nine Realms!"
"Comforting!" Victor yelled, voice warping into a Doppler echo. "Real spa treatment! Five stars on Yelp!"
Light shattered. Sound imploded. Then—silence.
They stood on Asgard.
Golden towers stabbed into clouds that swirled with auroras. Waterfalls plunged into infinity, their mist catching the light like liquid diamonds. The air glittered—thick with ozone and something older, something that tasted like thunder distilled into breath. For one heartbeat, Victor forgot how to breathe.
"Holy…" He stared, jaw slack. "Heaven with better architects. And zero HOA fees."
Thor grinned, teeth flashing like lightning. "Welcome to Asgard, Realm Eternal! Try not to faint. The healers charge extra for swooning mortals."
"Overwhelmed by oxygen density, maybe," AETHER muttered. "Your biology isn't optimized for divine realms. Heart rate: 180 bpm. Try not to pop a vessel."
Victor exhaled shakily. "Didn't exactly book a flight here. More like kidnapped by a rainbow."
Thor's arm crashed around him like a bear-trap hug, nearly crumpling Victor's spine. "You volunteered when you saved Wakanda's rift! Asgard honors courage—and chaos! Come, mortal. The All-Father awaits."
"Reassuring," Victor wheezed, ribs protesting. "Lead the way, Thunder Buddy."
They strode across the Rainbow Bridge—yes, the Rainbow Bridge—its surface shimmering like liquid opal. Guards lined the path, armor etched with runes that hummed softly, crackling with restrained lightning. Victor's sneakers squeaked on the pristine stone.
"No wonder these guys think they're gods," he murmured. "Their buildings literally flex. Look at that spire—it just winked at me."
"Technically, they are gods," AETHER replied. "And they know it. Ego density: off the charts. Proceed with caution."
Inside the Palace: Gods and Glances
The palace was a cathedral of gold and starlight. Pillars rose like ancient trees, carved with scenes of battles that made Victor's fragment fights look like playground scuffles. Odin waited on a throne that seemed grown from the roots of Yggdrasil itself—eyes ancient enough to remember the silence before creation. Beside him lounged Loki, smile sharp as a dagger dipped in moonlight, green cape pooling like liquid envy.
"So this is the mortal who tampered with reality," Odin rumbled, voice rolling like distant thunder.
Victor bowed—awkwardly, nearly toppling. "Tampered's harsh. I prefer creative physics adjustment. With a side of not dying."
Loki's smirk widened, eyes glinting with mischief. "Bold tongue for fragile bones. How delightfully breakable."
Victor shot back without thinking. "Lot of talk for a guy who keeps losing teeth. How's the jaw, Reindeer Games?"
Thor's laughter cracked the hall, echoing off the vaulted ceilings. Loki's grin froze mid-curve, a flicker of genuine surprise crossing his face before settling into amused menace.
"Efficient," AETHER noted dryly. "Making enemies on day one. New personal record."
Odin raised a hand, and the room hushed like a storm held in check. "The fragments you close—what do you know of their birth?"
Victor hesitated, the weight of divine scrutiny pressing on his shoulders. "Only that they appear, hate being closed, and come with a side of existential dread. That's the brochure version."
Odin's gaze darkened, the single eye piercing like a spear. "They are scars from the Fracture War—older than Asgard itself. Each wound bleeds into Yggdrasil, the World Tree that binds the Nine Realms."
Victor blinked. "Wait. The World Tree? That Yggdrasil? The one with the squirrel that delivers hate mail?"
Loki's voice slithered in, silk over steel. "Indeed. And every scar you seal wakes something sleeping beneath its roots."
Thor stiffened, grip tightening on Stormbreaker. "The World Serpent? Jörmungandr?"
"Not yet," Odin warned, voice grave. "But it dreams. And dreams have teeth."
"Confirmed," AETHER whispered, urgency threading the words. "The fragments are evolving. Something vast directs them. And it's watching."
Victor swallowed. "So I'm patching cosmic arteries with duct tape. And every patch weakens the chains binding a world-eating snake. Cool. No pressure."
Odin nodded solemnly. "The chains fray. The beast stirs. You, Victor Drake, stand at the fulcrum."
Thor clapped him on the back—again—nearly launching him forward. "Then we reforged the chains! A quest worthy of heroes! Mead and glory await!"
Loki rolled his eyes so hard Victor heard it. "Or idiots. Depends who's alive at the end. My money's on the snake."
Night on the Balcony: Thunder and Truth
Night draped Asgard in auroras—greens and purples dancing like living fire. Thor sat on a balcony overlooking the realm, tankard the size of Victor's head in one massive hand. Victor joined him, the two silhouettes framed by starlight that felt close enough to touch.
"Still can't believe this place," Victor whispered, leaning on the railing. "Like living inside a myth. The air tastes like… victory and bad decisions."
Thor smiled, eyes on the horizon where lightning flickered without clouds. "Even myths must face change, my friend. Asgard endures, but it remembers loss."
"You're starting to sound philosophical," Victor teased, nudging the god with his shoulder. "Next you'll quote poetry."
Thor chuckled, the sound warm as summer rain. "I've learned. Mortals burn bright and brief. Gods burn slow until they fade. You remind me to live—not just endure."
Victor laughed softly. "Deep talk from a man who headbutts frost giants. What's next, a TED Talk on emotional vulnerability?"
"And you, Victor Drake?" Thor asked, turning to face him. "Why toy with forces beyond men? Why court chaos when peace could be yours?"
Victor's smile faded. He stared at the stars—brighter here, sharper, like they held secrets. "Because if I don't, no one will. And because someone has to stop what's coming. The fragments aren't random. They're hungry. And I'm the only one who can close the door before it swallows everything."
"You forgot self-preservation," AETHER chimed in, voice dry. "He's also stupidly stubborn. And mildly suicidal."
"Shut up, AETHER," Victor muttered, but there was no heat in it.
Thor raised his tankard. "To stubborn mortals and the chaos they tame."
Victor clinked an imaginary glass. "To gods who remember they're human."
Loki's Warning: Shadows and Signals
Thunder split the night without warning. Loki appeared upside-down in midair, grinning like a cat with a secret. Green cape fluttered as he righted himself, landing lightly on the railing.
"You mortals never sleep," he drawled. "Always plotting destiny. Boring."
Victor groaned, rubbing his temples. "What now? Another illusion? Because I'm fresh out of patience."
"Entertainment," Loki said, eyes gleaming. "And a warning. Two for the price of one."
"That's new," Victor said warily. "Warnings aren't usually your brand."
Loki's smirk dimmed, something colder settling in his gaze. "The rifts you seal—they're opened on purpose. Someone feeds from the chaos. Every closure starves him. Every breach feeds him."
"Confirmed," AETHER hissed, urgency spiking. "External interference. Signal pattern matches… something ancient."
Thor bristled, Stormbreaker humming. "You lie, brother!"
"I rarely waste lies on mortals," Loki snapped, then turned to Victor. "Your system's signal—he's tracking it. Like a beacon in the void."
Victor froze, the night air suddenly colder. "Tracked? By who?"
"Nullus," Loki whispered, the name slithering like smoke. "A god even Odin fears. He dwells between timelines, feeding on collapse. The Fracture War? His appetizer."
Victor's blood ran cold. "So I'm… what? Cosmic bait?"
"Impossible," AETHER breathed. "Unless—"
"Unless?" Victor snapped, voice rising.
"Unless another system is awake. And it's talking to him."
Ravens shrieked overhead—Huginn and Muninn, Odin's eyes in the sky. Magic thickened the air like storm-pressure before a hurricane. Loki vanished in a swirl of green smoke, his laughter echoing.
Thor gripped Stormbreaker, knuckles white. "Then we hunt tomorrow. At dawn."
Victor met his gaze, the weight of realms settling on his shoulders. "Then I'd better learn to swing back. Hard."
"Tutorial complete," AETHER said, voice grim. "Welcome to survival mode. Population: you."
Moonlight and Merging: The Shard's Secret
Hours later, moonlight washed the marble halls in silver. Victor sat alone in a chamber that smelled of ancient stone and starlight, the Wakandan shard hovering above his palm. It pulsed—soft, then stronger—like a second heartbeat syncing with his own.
"It's merging," AETHER whispered, almost reverent. "Your DNA's adapting. You're not just wielding the fragment. You are one. Cellular integration: 47% and climbing."
Blue cracks crawled across Victor's skin—glowing veins that faded with each breath, leaving faint scars like lightning frozen in flesh.
"So that's it," he murmured, staring at his hand. "Fix the universe long enough, and you become its disease. Great retirement plan."
"No," AETHER said gently—gently, which was terrifying. "You become its cure. Cures have side effects. Painful ones."
Victor laughed under his breath, eyes fierce in the moonlight. "Then let's see how bad they get. I didn't come this far to be a symptom."
The shard pulsed brighter, as if in agreement.
Lightning ripped the sky open beyond the balcony. Thunder rolled through Asgard's bones, shaking the golden foundations. And far beneath the mountains—deeper than roots, older than stars—something ancient stirred.
For the first time, it stirred back.
And it knew his name.