Unknownfate
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Chapter 122
🕑 Added 2025-05-09 00:08:44 +0000 UTCThe knights mostly followed me back to the castle, their armored footsteps echoing off the polished stone streets of Camelot. They remained silent, their discipline unshaken despite the strange encounter at the statue.
They had heard my command, and I trusted them to obey it. Even Mordred, with all her rebellious fire, had chosen to stay by my side, her red armor clinking softly as she walked just a step behind me.
I knew they would not touch the hammer. My knights were not fools, nor did they seek power for its own sake. They had been chosen for their strength, loyalty, and hearts unclouded by greed.
Yet, even I felt the ripple of temptation that had passed through them, the subtle, unspoken curiosity at the thought of testing themselves against a divine relic.
A few knights, however, stayed behind, their duty clear. Agravain, ever the hard worker, quickly began arranging for the Enforcement Knights to secure the plaza, his sharp eyes scanning the growing crowd.
Tristan, his hood drawn low over his face, remained on the outskirts, his keen eyes ever watchful, while Percival, his massive frame cutting an imposing figure, quietly directed the confused tourists away from the statue.
I’m sure they would get tired of it soon enough. I doubted anyone would prove themselves worthy; they likely knew that too. After all, I had explained it to them, even if it wasn’t spoken plainly.
This was but a test for Thor, and nothing more than that.
But the people… they were not so easily calmed.
They had heard my words. Words that would echo through their thoughts, their hopes, their dreams.
Whoever holds this hammer, should they be worthy, shall wield the power of Thor.
It didn’t take long for the shock to give way to whispers, then murmurs, and finally a rising tide of excited voices. The square, which had briefly fallen silent at my presence, now exploded back into chaotic life, the weight of my declaration settling into the hearts of the gathered crowd like a spark to dry tinder.
“A god’s power,” someone muttered, their eyes fixed on the hammer. “She said a god’s power!”
“Thor… as in the Thor?” another echoed, their voice tinged with disbelief. “Odin? Those are just myths, aren’t they?”
But Camelot itself had once been a myth, nothing more than a romantic legend of knights and kings, of holy blades and ancient oaths. And yet, here they stood, in the shadow of the very castle itself, a monument to living legend.
If Camelot could be real, then why not the gods of old?
A ripple of realization passed through the crowd, their eyes drawn back to the hammer. It seemed to gleam a little brighter now, the runes etched into its dark metal seemed magical. It was no longer just a strange object to be gawked at, no mere curiosity for tourists to snap pictures of.
It was a promise.
Power. Immortality. Godhood.
Someone pushed forward, their hand reaching for the handle. Then another, and another. The small, nervous cluster of tourists became a press of bodies, each struggling to reach the pedestal, their hands clawing over one another in their desperate bid to grasp the leather-wrapped handle. The air filled with the sound of clinking metal, shuffling feet, and the rising clamor of voices.
“Let me try!”
“Move! I was here first!”
“Out of my way, you cowards!”
It was like a fever had spread through them, a madness fueled by the promise of power, the tantalizing whisper of divinity. People who had never so much as thrown a punch in their lives now shoved and elbowed one another aside, their eyes wild with the thought of what might be within their reach.
“Enough!” a powerful voice shouted, causing everyone to freeze in place.
They had gotten so worked up that they forgot themselves, where they were, and who else was watching them.
Sir Lamoriak, a gallant and powerful knight with a tragic tale, had stayed behind, and he wasn’t happy with what he saw at all. To think his king’s people would act like wild beasts.
The square fell silent at Lamorak’s shout, his deep voice cutting through the clamor like the crack of a war drum. His armored form loomed over the crowd, tall and imposing, his eyes narrowed in disapproval. The sunlight gleamed off his polished plate, the deep blue cloak at his back rippling in the sudden, uneasy quiet.
Slowly, he stepped forward, each of his heavy steps ringing against the stone as he made his way to the base of the statue. The tourists and locals, who had moments before been clawing at the pedestal like animals, shrank back at his approach, the madness that had gripped them retreating under his iron gaze.
“What is this madness?” he demanded, his tone sharp and uncompromising. “Have you all forgotten where you stand? This is Camelot, the city of honor and chivalry, not some lawless backwater! Compose yourselves!”
A few of the more stubborn members of the crowd bristled at his words, their pride stung, but none dared to challenge him. This was Sir Lamorak, one of the mightiest knights of the Round Table, a warrior whose strength and courage were matched only by his unwavering sense of justice. To stand against him was to invite ruin.
Lamorak reached the foot of the pedestal, his eyes locking onto the hammer that had caused such chaos. He knew better than to reach for it. He had heard his king’s command, and he wasn’t a traitor.
“Listen well,” he said, his voice ringing out over the heads of the assembled masses. “You have heard your king’s words. This hammer is no mere trinket, no simple prize to be claimed by the strongest or the boldest. It is a divine artifact, bound by the will of the gods themselves.”
He let his words hang in the air, watching as the crowd shifted, some of their eyes falling to the ground in shame, others still drawn to the hammer like moths to a flame.
“If you seek to test yourselves, then do so,” he continued, his tone softening only slightly. “But remember where you are. Remember who you serve. Camelot is a city of honor, of dignity. Do not disgrace yourselves with this foolishness.”
He paused, his gaze sweeping over the crowd, his eyes lingering on the tourists with their cameras and bright clothing, the locals with their wide eyes and nervous expressions.
“Those who truly seek worthiness will not find it through madness or desperation,” he said, his voice dropping to a rumble that seemed to shake the very stones beneath his feet. “Honor, courage, humility—these are the virtues that define a knight. These are the virtues that might, perhaps, make one worthy.”
For a moment, the square was silent, the only sound the soft trickle of the fountain beside the statue, the quiet rustle of banners in the wind.
Then came the sound of heavy armored boots; the enforcement knights had arrived. And in short order, they enforced the order of Camelot. And rather than a wild free-for-all. Those wishing to try their luck were allowed to line up one by one.
“I heard the king say it,” a young man near the front whispered to the woman beside him, his hands flexing nervously. “He said it himself. The power of a god. You hear that? A god!”
The woman, her hair tied back in a loose braid, glanced at the hammer and then back to the line forming behind her. “I heard it,” she replied, her voice tinged with both disbelief and hope. “You really think it’s true? That thing could actually give someone the power of a god?”
The man shrugged, his jaw tightening. “Why not? We’ve seen stranger things. This is Camelot, after all. If magic and knights can be real, why not gods?”
A few people behind them, an older man in a worn leather jacket huffed, crossing his arms over his chest. “God’s power, huh?” he muttered, more to himself than anyone else.
“Alright, guys,” one of them, a young woman with bright pink hair and a camera in hand, whispered excitedly. “We’re about to see if I’m worthy! Make sure to hit that like button, because if I lift this thing, I’m taking over the world!”
Her friends cheered, though their voices held a nervous edge. The kind of cheer that masked real fear, the kind that clung to the edges of their excitement like cold mist.
Closer to the front, a pair of brothers in matching football jerseys took turns psyching each other up, slapping each other on the back and flexing their muscles as if preparing for a championship game.
“C’mon, bro, you’ve got this!” the younger of the two said, clenching his fists and bouncing on his toes. “You’re the strongest guy I know. That hammer’s as good as yours!”
His brother grinned, rolling his shoulders to loosen them. “Damn right. I’ll be the fucking best god, turn all the water into wine!”
From somewhere near the middle of the line, a slender, bespectacled man in a neatly pressed suit muttered to himself, his fingers drumming nervously against his leg. “If this works… if this actually works… the things I could do… the power… the influence…”
All types of people gathered, all trying their luck, all of them failing without a doubt. None could move the hammer, as if it had fused with the entire city itself.
Yet, as hours slowly passed, the afternoon started to drag on. Someone once more started a commotion, someone foolish enough to try and push past the queue, and skip the line entirely.”
The line at the statue had grown longer as the afternoon wore on, the air buzzing with nervous energy. Some people whispered excitedly about the possibility of gaining godlike power, while others exchanged nervous glances, wondering if it was all some elaborate prank.
Then, without warning, the crowd parted, and a tall, broad-shouldered figure strode into the plaza, drawing curious stares. He was still rough-looking but no longer caked in mud, his long blond hair now brushed back, his face washed, and his chest bare but cleaner. The only thing that remained unchanged was his fierce blue eyes, locked firmly on the hammer resting on the pedestal.
Thor.
He moved with purpose, his bare feet slapping against the cool stone as he approached the statue, ignoring the muttering and protests of those still waiting in line. Someone tried to grab his arm, but he shook them off, his focus singular.
The air grew heavy, the temperature dropping as dark clouds began to gather overhead. The crowd shifted uneasily, some instinctively stepping back as the first rumble of thunder echoed through the square.
A few more people tried to block his path, their hands reaching out to stop him, but Thor brushed them aside without a second thought, his eyes never leaving the hammer.
But just as his hand stretched out to grasp Mjolnir, a figure in shining armor stepped in front of him, blocking his way. It was Sir Lamorak, his eyes hard, his stance firm.
“Back in line,” Lamorak said, his voice like iron. “You will wait your turn, or you will be removed.”
Thor’s eyes flashed with anger, his jaw clenching as another roll of thunder cracked overhead. For a moment, it seemed he might try to push past the knight, to strike down this mortal who dared stand in his way.
But Lamorak didn’t flinch, his armored frame blocking the path with unyielding resolve.
But it seemed that Thor realized that he couldn’t defeat this man, heavy armor against his bare mortal fist wouldn’t go well… he looked at the long line, people all laying their hands on his hammer…
Slowly, Thor’s shoulders sagged, and the storm overhead began to dissipate, the dark clouds breaking apart to reveal the afternoon sun.
Without another word, Thor turned on his heel and made his way to the back of the line, the crowd parting nervously as he passed. The storm that had threatened to break seemed to ease with each of his steps, the air slowly returning to the tense, expectant atmosphere it had held before his arrival.
Behind him, Sir Lamorak cast a few glances between him and the hammer, already having figured out his identity. But the king’s word was law, everyone would get a chance, so even though Thor was the rightful owner, he would have to wait for his turn.
(End of chapter)
So, the hammer is up for grabs. Here, we have some normal people try their luck, and will likely have a future chapter where some known faces try this and that. We all want to see it, so we will.
But yes, a chaotic scene, here, everyone going crazy and then just make content out of it, because why the fuck not.
The next few chapters are already written; I just need to edit them. will be another upload soon, if a bit of a special thing.
As for the next few, we will have Thor try, then a reaction to everything, then Loki, then likely everyone else. I have a few names for who will try, Magneto, I mean, he seems perfect, no? metal powers, metal hammer?
Doom as well, because he would want the power.
The Eternals as well, and then we will have some of these people interact with Arthuria, and she will become more active. She will soon show herself to the world, and start to really get going, after all, with Camelot growing, gods showing, people won’t be able to sit still anymore.
However, we will likely have a few chapters with Loki stuff before all that, given we need to finish up the whole Thor 1 storyline, but after that? We start moving with the next phase before moving into Avengers: 1 territory.
Comments
Biazar Lockhart
Thor you really need to learn kingship
Xgodlikestevenx 531
I want to see the church reaction to the fact Norse gods are real
