Unknownfate
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Chapter 123
🕑 Added 2025-05-09 20:52:52 +0000 UTCThor, son of Odin, Prince of Asgard and future master of the nine realms, couldn’t help but feel strange as he stood in a queue with other mortals, all to get his chance to claim Mjolnir, his very own hammer.
For hours now, he had stood here, slowly moving forward one step at a time as mortal after mortal tried to claim his power, to become the new god of thunder. It was as irritating as it was humbling.
It really hammered into him the fact that he was now just another mortal.
But there wasn’t anything he could do. He turned his gaze to the sides, and there stood those large armored knights. They didn’t feel like living beings; in some ways, they reminded him of the Destroyer.
Only far less powerful.
Not to mention that one knight standing by the statue and Mjolnir, even Thor had to admit that, as he was now, he would have no chance against him. He clearly wasn’t a normal mortal.
Standing here, listening to the people talk, he did learn a lot about this strange city he was in.
He had thought that Midgard remained as it had been since he had been here last time, a primitive world. It still was compared to greater civilizations, but clearly, they weren’t in an age when people fought with swords anymore.
But in this city, those people still lived, and those warriors, those knights, weren’t normal mortals. They seemed to be some kind of legendary warriors back from the dead, which reminded him of the Einherjar.
Part of him wanted to fight these warriors, in particular their legendary king, whom he had heard plenty of as he stood there, slowly moving towards what was his.
He figured that once he got his hammer back, he would teach that knight a lesson about disrespecting Thor, son of Odin!
And that king as well, for allowing others to touch his Mjolnir!
Though since they were apparently warriors of honor, bravery, and loyalty, he wouldn’t be too hard on them.
As the sun started to disappear, people also started to leave the queue, which meant that he moved towards the front rapidly.
Finally, he could see his hammer, the people trying and failing; the fools would never be able to move his mighty hammer.
As he got closer, the clouds started to churn in the sky once more, like a storm about to break loose, which just made more people leave and hurry home.
Finally, under the watch of a few dozen people, it was his turn. “You can go home, there won’t be anyone trying after I claim Mjolnir!” he proclaimed to the people behind him.
A few laughed, clearly thinking he was just another fool with delusions of grandeur, but he didn’t care. He took a deep breath, feeling the cool, damp air of the approaching storm fill his lungs. He felt alive, more alive than he had since being cast down to this mortal realm.
As he stepped up onto the platform, the air grew heavier, the distant rumble of thunder rolling through the sky. His eyes locked onto Mjolnir, the sacred hammer, the symbol of his power, his right as the Prince of Asgard.
He reached out, his fingers curling around the leather-wrapped handle, the rough, familiar texture sparking a surge of memory—of battles fought and won, of enemies shattered beneath its mighty blows.
“Come, Mjolnir,” he whispered, his voice low but full of conviction. “Return to me. Let us show these mortals the power of the gods.”
He tightened his grip and pulled.
Nothing.
The hammer didn’t so much as tremble.
He frowned, his muscles tensing as he dug his heels into the stone, his powerful arms straining. He pulled harder, his face twisting with effort.
Still nothing.
His heart pounded in his chest, each beat a dull, thunderous drum in his ears. The wind whipped around him, the storm above growing wilder, dark clouds swirling like a vortex, lightning flashing within their depths.
He gritted his teeth, every muscle in his body burning as he pulled again, veins standing out on his neck, his knuckles white against the leather grip.
“Come on!” he snarled, his voice echoing through the square. “I am Thor! Son of Odin! The rightful master of Mjolnir! Come to me!”
The hammer remained still, as immovable as a mountain, as if it had become one with the very stone beneath it.
Thor’s breath came in ragged gasps, his chest heaving, sweat beading on his brow despite the chill in the air. His heart raced, confusion and frustration mingling with a rising sense of desperation.
This was his hammer. His birthright. His power. It should obey him, respond to him, fly to his hand at the merest whisper of his will.
But it didn’t.
It refused him.
And then, slowly, the storm above began to fade. The winds died down, the lightning ceased its flickering, and the rumble of thunder grew distant, receding like a tide drawn back into the depths of the sea.
Thor staggered back, hands falling to his sides, eyes wide with disbelief, his breath coming in short, sharp bursts.
“No...” he whispered, his voice breaking. “No... this can’t be...”
He stumbled back another step, his gaze locked on the hammer, the symbol of his power, now a silent, unyielding stone at the foot of a mortal statue.
The onlookers, who had been silent in the face of his fury, began to murmur again, their voices a soft, uncertain murmur, like the rustling of leaves in a dying wind.
And for the first time in his life, Thor felt small. Powerless. Mortal.
The shame of it cut deeper than any blade, colder than the bitterest winter, and as he turned and stumbled away from the hammer, his broad shoulders slumped, his once-proud stride reduced to a broken, defeated stagger, he felt the full weight of his exile crash down upon him.
For the first time, he truly understood the punishment his father had placed upon him. And it was more terrible than he had ever imagined.
“Sure seems like Odin didn’t find you worthy,” A voice and a firm, heavy hand on his shoulder broke him out of his despairing thoughts for a moment.
He looked up and saw it was the same knight as the one who forced him into the back of the line… Sir Lamorak he was called.
Thor’s jaw clenched, his first instinct to shove the hand away, to roar his defiance, to strike down the man who dared mock him in his lowest moment. But the words died in his throat, strangled by the bitter realization that Lamorak was right.
He wasn’t worthy.
The storm clouds above, which had once swirled and crackled at his approach, now drifted apart, the evening sky slowly reclaiming its clear, pale blue. The power he once commanded so effortlessly, the force that bent to his will like a loyal hound, had abandoned him.
Sir Lamorak, his blue cloak billowing in the fading wind, leaned down to meet Thor’s defeated gaze. His eyes, sharp and unyielding as the edge of his blade, held no pity, only a stern, judgmental weight.
“You have a choice now, two paths before you, one, prove him wrong, prove that you are worthy, or leave this place, leave Camelot and wallow in your shame; this city is no place for those without the strength to fight.” Lomarak said, and threw a small pouch of coins at Thor’s feet before he walked back next to the statue as others continued to test themselves.
Thor could only watch from the sidelines as others stepped up one by one to try themselves. Was there a worthy one among them? Now that he wasn’t one himself?
He was feeling lost. He looked at the small pouch on the ground before him, a sign of pity… for a crazy fool who had lost everything.
And it hurt.
What should he do? Where could he go?
He had lost everything…
Yet that man, that Lamorak guy had pissed him off. Giving him pity? Telling him to leave? He was Thor Odinson! He wasn’t a coward, someone who couldn’t fight.
Prove himself worthy? Damn right he would, he would have father come down and beg him to return, he would prove him wrong, that his actions had been right!
Once more he stood, his back straight and life returned to his eyes. and as much as he wished he could just throw the coins at the knight’s face… he had no money, so he would accept it, and prove him wrong to!
That he, Thor, God of thunder, didn’t need pity!
Casting one last look at Mjolnir as yet another person stepped up and tried their luck, he decided to return to the tavern he had been to with Bram earlier in the day. The keep there had promised him a room for the night.
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From the window of my throne room, I saw everything. I saw Thor’s attempt, I mean, the clouds were a clear sign that he was close to Mjolnir. But once he tried and failed, they stopped entirely.
Another of Odin’s tricks and enchantments. The damned hammer was layered with them. Honestly, it might look like a dumb hammer, but it was enormously complicated.
It was pretty much a high-tech weapon. Just magic rather than tech.
Almost every single atom making up that hammer had runes inscribed onto them. How that happened, I could only try to imagine, but those dwarfs weren’t playing around.
Yet, as impressive as it was… it was also rather… weak.
The main thing was the weight; the hammer was heavy, yet it could be thrown around with ease, fly, and even drag a person behind it while flying at high speeds. And all that was while it weighed an impossible amount.
I didn’t want to imagine what would happen if anyone tried to really lift the full weight of that hammer.
But the way it worked was truly ingenious, with countless failsafes to stop it from suddenly going all haywire.
Other than the whole weight thing, which was clearly the main point of the hammer, was the power of Thor.
That was clearly a newer addition, no surprise there, giving that the hammer had once been used by Hela.
Yes, the hammer was good for smashing things across the face, and it could hit them damn hard, but that was pretty much that.
The power of Thor seemed to be layered in two layers.
One older one, clearly meant to help Thor learn to master his powers, an aid of a king… though one he never really grew out of.
The newer level was the true power of Thor.
A ball of pure energy, immensely powerful energy. Which would allow someone to tap into them, wielding powers that mimicked Thor’s natural powers.
Because, of course, Thor hadn’t lost his powers, they were just sealed… to take the powers away from someone? Now that was difficult, be it mutant or God. Taking away natural inborn powers was so difficult no person would ever try to do it.
Simply because it was easier to just kill them, countless times easier.
And taking away power and then giving it back? Yeah, good luck, not even God can do something like that.
So, Thor still had his powers, just sealed, so even Mjolnir could only grant someone the power of Thor while the energy inside lasted.
The stronger the person using that power, the faster they could burn through it. For a normal human, that power might last a lifetime, but should my Knights tap into it? Wouldn’t last long at all.
The whole thing was little more than a game played by Odin, and the actors didn’t even know the rules. Thor and Loki truly had no idea of who their father really was.
“Then maybe… I should teach them that?” I couldn’t help but contemplate… After all, Odin wouldn’t last forever, and having a strong Asgard around for once he was gone would benefit me greatly.
But who would rule? Thor? Loki? Both of them, or Hela?
(End of chapter)
I wanted to lightly explain a bit about how I think Mjolnir should work, which is how the ending of this chapter came to be.
Other than that, we had Thor try, and yeah, big surprise, he wasn’t worthy.
Now, what I plan for Thor is naturally for him to learn from the knights and become worthy. Hardly much of a spoiler there.
Comments
Fire_Fox2590
I think Hela, as Odin's first born, deserves it most. But she would need to be rehabilitated first, and to have most of her trauma and mental issues sorted out before anything else.
Niva
I would just love to see Hela entering the stage of this story. She had so much potential, but sadly got sidelined by the main Avengers plot.
