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The Einherjar had been assembled before dawn. They stood in formation outside the palace—hundreds of elite warriors in ornate gilded armor, capes fluttering in the morning wind. Each one held a spear and a golden shield. As simple as they looked, every weapon here was special, imbued with Asgardian technology. Even the shields themselves could absorb great impact and deflect any energy attack.
They were the finest of Asgard.
They had never lost.
The atmosphere here was tense, akin to a mine of explosives that would ignite with a single spark.
But Thor wasn't afraid or nervous. No, he felt a sense of… anticipation as he stood by the side of his four friends—Warriors Three and Lady Sif.
What kind of adversary had his father—who sat upon a throne behind them with the Destroyer by his side—encountered that made him assemble the Einherjar, the Destroyer, and devised an ambush tactic?
He waited with bated breath.
The warriors waited.
The skies above Asgard were clear and pale, and then a dot appeared in the distance. A small, dark figure grew close as it descended slowly, as if the assembled might of Asgard below was a sight worth taking one's time approaching.
The man in black clothes hovered above them with a skull for a face. The pale golden object in his chest glowed like a miniature star. His appearance reminded Thor of the woman they had fought yesterday, who had red flames around her skull rather than blue.
'How are they connected and why are they going against Asgard?'
Odin's face, when Thor glanced back, had changed. It became cold yet filled with wrath. "Death's Apostle, Skullfire."
Thor remembered that title—he had been sent to hunt Death's Apostle in the deep mountains.
"Just call me Dante," he said and calmly swept his gaze over the hundreds of spears, briefly stopping on Lady Sif, who carried a sword and shield in this battle. He moved his eyes to the Destroyer and finally to Odin. "King of Asgard, it's between you and me. Why involve innocents? Is your life that precious to you?"
The arrogance and utter disrespect in the face of such a force—it impressed Thor despite being on the opposing side.
"Death and her apostles are a calamity upon the nine realms." Odin's voice rose to fill the place, igniting the valor in the Einherjar as if it was a battle cry. "They must be destroyed, lest peace be disturbed for all ages to come!"
Thor realized that they were against the Enemy of all realms—a calamity. Yet the Ghost Rider yesterday had come seeking for her friend. She was desperate for answers, but Odin had greeted her with weapons.
The young prince's head throbbed with the contradiction of it. He shook every thought away and chose a simple stance as the future king of Asgard.
'No matter how sentimental they appear, these are Asgard's enemies. They deserve no sympathy.'
The warriors readied their shields in unison and raised their spears. If their weapons could have reached him at this altitude, the man would already have been stabbed like a porcupine. Such a murderous aura flowed through these elite warriors.
Dante crossed his arms. He looked, somehow, mildly inconvenienced. "You tried to imprison me in Hel with your daughter, then you attempted to apprehend my wife. And I'm the calamity? In what world?"
"There is no reasoning with servants of Death." Odin raised Gungnir and slammed it down, the crack of the stone shaking the floor like an earthquake. "Today you face Asgard's wrath."
From the building around them, hatches fell open. A series of low, resonant thrums filled the air as Asgardian skiffs poured out. Over a hundred Asgardian battleships stopped above the battlefield and surrounded Dante.
One single order and Dante would be obliterated by the rapid-firing rotary plasma cannons.
It wasn't all Odin had prepared.
A shell of orange energy rose from the boundary stones and surrounded Asgard, cutting off any escape route.
Dante burst into laughter. "Do you think it's enough?"
Thor raised his Mjolnir, pointing directly at Dante. "I find myself glad to meet this man."
His voice cut through the skiffs' hovering hums and reached everyone.
"There is no fear in him. That's real courage." He raised his voice even more. "This is a worthy enemy for Asgard."
Loki, who stood a few steps behind Thor, whispered, "If only you knew the true scope of his terror, dear brother."
"Oh, I would love to." Thor turned to the throne and dropped to one knee, Mjolnir resting against the stone. He looked up at his father. "Father, I want to be worthy of inheriting the throne. Let me prove it here."
Odin looked down at him with the single eye that had seen countless battles.
Thor continued, "Grant me the honor. Let me meet this man in single combat and bring glory to Asgard's name."
The tales of Odin had inspired him. He had to be a mighty king to touch Odin's glorious reign as the Protector of the Nine Realms.
The lines around Odin's eye tightened. "He is not merely a man. He carries the power of an ancient being."
"Then I will discover that for myself." Thor rose up and looked to the warriors—they all cheered for their prince. "I will not be reckless, Father. I will be worthy. That is what you raised me to be. Grant me this, Father."
Odin let out a sigh. "Fight him. But hear me clearly. Do not get yourself killed."
Thor turned back to the courtyard with a wide grin and spun Mjolnir until it was a blur. Using Mjolnir's momentum, he launched himself into the sky. The soldiers below braced themselves against the wind.
He brought Mjolnir forward at full velocity, aimed at Dante's chest. The blow that had caved mountains and redirected rivers—
Mjolnir stopped like it had never charged.
Thor felt the impact travel back up the handle and move through him. It felt as if Mjolnir had collided with an immovable object, not the hand of a man.
"You are a powerful foe," Thor admitted. "One I will—"
Dante pulled his right hand back. The attack arrived before Thor could release Mjolnir or raise any meaningful defense—it was too fast, and it connected with a sound akin to a thunderclap.
"Good to know."
Thor realized he was growing distant from Dante—he was crashing down. Three soldiers dove. He landed on, or rather into, the space they had occupied. The ground beneath him cracked.
Two soldiers groaned somewhere beneath him.
Thor lay in the crater and stared at the sky. The silence was loud enough that he felt blood rush to his cheeks. He hurriedly got back to his feet.
"I always wanted to punch that handsome face," Dante said, and there was something affectionate in his voice, which was perhaps the most offensive part. He tossed Mjolnir back, and Thor caught it in his right hand. "This isn't your fight, Thor. Let me kill your father. That's all I want."
He made the request as if he asked someone to pass a drink in a tavern.
Thor spun the hammer until the wind screamed around it.
"Then best me!" Thor roared. "If you are worthy of facing the Allfather, prove it! No more words!"
"Very well."
Surprisingly, Dante descended to the ground level. The Einherjar clutched their shields, but Thor raised his hand and waved them away. It was his battle, not theirs.
Thor dashed forward and smashed Mjolnir into Dante's face. His face moved with the impact, but not a single drop of blood fell.
He looked back at Thor, triggering his battle instincts. Thor moved back this time, barely dodging a punch that ripped the wind itself. Thor knew, from experience, that punch could've ended this battle. He might be more durable than other Asgardians, but he wasn't untouchable.
Just when he thought he had dodged the worst, Dante's figure flickered. He arrived before Thor and kicked him right in the sternum. Thor moved backward through the air at a speed that far surpassed his own. He blew through the broadside of a skiff, tearing through it as he exited the other side in a shower of burning metal, and smashed into the golden walls of Asgard's palace.
He slid down the wall and sat at the base of it. Something moved in his throat, something warm and tasted like copper. He raised a hand to his mouth.
Blood.
He stared at his own hand, completely bewildered. He had bled before, but he couldn't remember when was the last time it happened. Not only had he suffered internal injuries, his back was screaming in agony. He chose to ignore the pain and forced himself to stand, driven by adrenaline and burning shame.
Dante was already there. The man moved like a ghost, unable to be detected even when Thor focused.
The Prince of Asgard raised Mjolnir to the sky and roared like a wounded animal—the voice came from the part of him that had been shaped by every story he had ever been told about Asgard, the glorious tales of its king, the duty to protect the nine realms, and what was required of the man who would one day sit on that throne.
He had grown up in the long shadow of a reign that seemed to have no ceiling. What must it take to stand where Odin stood? What must a man be?
Failure here wasn't personal—failure means he was not who he believed himself to be. Failure would become a story told in taverns for ages. The failure of the son of Odin, defeated by a single man, in full view of the Einherjar, in front of the palace.
He refused to be a part of that story.
Mjolnir answered his rage and desire for power. The hammer channeled lightning and drove it through him. His eyes were filled with thunder.
Rumbling dark clouds covered the sky and turned the pale Asgard into might. Lightning threaded between the clouds in branching white lines.
Thor roared and lightning cascaded in multiple simultaneous strikes—everything converged on a single point.
On Dante.
The soldiers nearest the impact radius shielded their eyes as the bolts struck Dante, each one carrying the charge to stop an Asgardian's heart several times over. The lightning left a scorched smell in the air.
When the light cleared, Dante stood with arms still loosely crossed. Not even his coat had not moved. He shook his head once, as if clearing water from his ears.
"It was soothing," he whispered. "I feel a bit numb, though."
Thor lowered Mjolnir slowly. Born with exceptional strength and gifted the mighty Mjolnir, he had never struggled in a battle his entire life. He never considered himself the strongest, but he never thought someone other than Odin would be able to defeat him.
The man before him felt undefeatable. He seemed inevitable, someone that couldn't be stopped.
"Thor, admit defeat," Dante said, his voice lacking any feeling of triumph. Defeating Thor wasn't even an accomplishment in his eyes. "I don't want to kill you."
"Wait!" A feminine voice reached them.
Lady Sif came through the formation of warriors and arrived at Thor's side. She put both hands on his arm. Thor turned to look at her face and the sight of her stopped him completely.
Sif had, in the years he had known her, been cut, burned, thrown from horses, knocked unconscious, and dragged across multiple battlefields. She had proven everyone wrong by becoming perhaps the strongest female warrior in Asgard.
He had never—not once—seen her shed a tear, much less bawl her eyes out like she was currently doing. But today, watching Thor face despair against a calamity, she completely broke down.
"Sif, what are you doing?"
"You've done enough," she said in a trembling voice. "Please, Thor. You've given everything you have. There is no shame in admitting defeat."
Thor clenched his jaw. Just as he was about to declare his intent, Lady Sif put a hand on his face.
"If you won't stop then I won't either."
"What do you mean?"
She looked at him directly with still wet eyes. "We will fight together and walk into the halls of Valhalla side by side. If that is what this becomes, then that is what it becomes."
Thor raised his eyebrows at her sudden words that felt like the words someone would declare to their loved one.
"I swear it, Thor. I will not sit on the side and watch you—"
There was a gust of wind, and Thor keeled over. The punch knocked every bit of wind out of him. He felt his eyes drooping close.
"THOR!" Sif roared, holding him in her arms. "YOU COWARD—"
"Relax. He'll wake up in half an hour at most."
Those were the last words Thor heard before everything turned dark.
***
Dante watched Sif carry Thor away in her arms and smiled warmly behind his mask. Maybe in this world Thor would end up with someone sensible rather than the trainwreck of a relationship he had with Jane Foster.
His gaze flicked to Loki, who stood far behind Odin. Loki returned a smile befitting his 'God of Mischief' title and disappeared without a trace. Nobody noticed their second prince's disappearance; they were too preoccupied with the threat of Dante to pay any attention to Loki.
He approached Odin with slow steps. This was the time for a stellar performance. A performance necessary to make Asgard his own.
***
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