Thor, son of Odin (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
mjolnir_retriever) wrote2012-09-20 05:49 pm
mjolnir_retriever) wrote2012-09-20 05:49 pm
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He's sinking gradually, comfortably into blackness. It feels like sleep, like floating in a warm bath; all the pain and noise drifts somewhere above him. Time stretches into irrelevance.
Something tugs at his mind, from far away.
Something tugs, and Thor neither knows nor cares what, until all of a sudden power slams into him. It's crackling power, it's life, it's awareness and himself, and he's awake as if he's been slammed into a wall. He gasps raggedly for air. All his pain and drowsiness has burned away. The whole world is white light and inrushing energy, and something heavy and solid is in his outstretched hand.
Oh.
It's his hammer.
It's Mjölnir. The familiar stiffness latching into place about him is his armor, and his cloak and the scale mail over his arms. He's on his feet, hammer held high. The power crackling about and through him is his own, his strength and his lightning. The world is restoring itself to rights.
Thor had nearly forgotten, in these days and weeks of adjusting to what he had to, just how weak he was. But now he feels his old accustomed strength surging at his command, and it's like waking up after illness.
He turns, still in the midst of a lightning column of healing and restoration. The Destroyer's face is open, halfway down the street, and a beam of fire sweeps across the pavement towards Thor. But that holds no fear for him now. Thor's response as quick and easy as thought, exactly as it should be: he flings Mjölnir, and the hammer shoots into the Destroyer's head and down its throat, punching the building fire back down. He opens his hand, and the hammer responds, just as it always did, by bursting back through the Destroyer's head and towards Thor. Its handle slaps into his palm as the lightning around him dies away into a few last crackles.
Thor will speak to his friends in a moment. He has a score to settle first.
It's short work, now, and a short unequal fight. Thor flings himself up into the stormcloud that has obligingly gathered over town, pulling the winds around himself in a tighter and tighter spiral. The winds hold him aloft; the tornado stretches, gathers itself, and pulls the Destroyer up into itself. Thor is in the heart of his power here, with Mjölnir in his hand, and the Destroyer has no ground to anchor itself. Fire blasts avail it nothing at all.
(Thor will feel a little sheepish about destroying this treasure of his people later, when it's no longer trying to kill his friends. But only a little. It can be repaired, by Wayland's work or the other artisans of Asgard, with the Allfather's skill bent to the task. And it was trying to kill his friends, at Loki's command.)
The Destroyer drops to earth a lifeless metal hulk, its fire quenched and its body battered. Thor releases the storm and drops with it. He strides towards his friends as the storm dissipates overhead. He can feel the winds again, can feel the air smoothing out into its normal patterns, as he hasn't been able to since his exile began.
Cars are clanging to earth too, and dust and all the other detritus that followed the Destroyer into the whirlwind, but they're all safely back from Thor's friends, and no one else stayed to watch this battle. It's only the things the Destroyer had already wrecked. It truly is over now, at least for Puente Antiguo.
Erik and Jane have come forward to meet him, awe and surprise on their faces. Darcy hangs back uncertainly. The Asgardians, too, hang back, for all the delight and relief he can see in them. They know far better than the humans that he's well and whole now, and they know too that the battle isn't finished yet.
"So is this how you normally look?" Jane demands. Thor is amused but gratified to realize that in Jane's face is also clear and very specific interest.
For the question: well, it's his formal armor. "More or less," Thor answers. His abortive coronation feels years distant.
Jane knows nothing of his coronation, or of Asgardian court formalities. She's busy giving him an appreciative once-over. Even now, even with all the pressing matters, Thor can't say he minds; this is Jane Foster, and he has made no secret of his appreciation for her beauty and her mind both. Erik scolded him for it, indeed, though that seems the furthest thing from Erik's mind right now as he stares. "It's a good look," Jane informs him.
Another time, Thor would happily follow up on this. Another time, and had he not given his word to Erik in any case to leave. It will happen, but differently than either of them thought.
"We must go to the Bifrost site," he tells his friends. All his friends, but mostly his old comrades, the ones who will accompany him to Asgard, the ones who know what all this means. The ones who were betrayed too. All amusement has leached out of him now, leaving only grim anger. "I would have words with my brother."
Something tugs at his mind, from far away.
Something tugs, and Thor neither knows nor cares what, until all of a sudden power slams into him. It's crackling power, it's life, it's awareness and himself, and he's awake as if he's been slammed into a wall. He gasps raggedly for air. All his pain and drowsiness has burned away. The whole world is white light and inrushing energy, and something heavy and solid is in his outstretched hand.
Oh.
It's his hammer.
It's Mjölnir. The familiar stiffness latching into place about him is his armor, and his cloak and the scale mail over his arms. He's on his feet, hammer held high. The power crackling about and through him is his own, his strength and his lightning. The world is restoring itself to rights.
Thor had nearly forgotten, in these days and weeks of adjusting to what he had to, just how weak he was. But now he feels his old accustomed strength surging at his command, and it's like waking up after illness.
He turns, still in the midst of a lightning column of healing and restoration. The Destroyer's face is open, halfway down the street, and a beam of fire sweeps across the pavement towards Thor. But that holds no fear for him now. Thor's response as quick and easy as thought, exactly as it should be: he flings Mjölnir, and the hammer shoots into the Destroyer's head and down its throat, punching the building fire back down. He opens his hand, and the hammer responds, just as it always did, by bursting back through the Destroyer's head and towards Thor. Its handle slaps into his palm as the lightning around him dies away into a few last crackles.
Thor will speak to his friends in a moment. He has a score to settle first.
It's short work, now, and a short unequal fight. Thor flings himself up into the stormcloud that has obligingly gathered over town, pulling the winds around himself in a tighter and tighter spiral. The winds hold him aloft; the tornado stretches, gathers itself, and pulls the Destroyer up into itself. Thor is in the heart of his power here, with Mjölnir in his hand, and the Destroyer has no ground to anchor itself. Fire blasts avail it nothing at all.
(Thor will feel a little sheepish about destroying this treasure of his people later, when it's no longer trying to kill his friends. But only a little. It can be repaired, by Wayland's work or the other artisans of Asgard, with the Allfather's skill bent to the task. And it was trying to kill his friends, at Loki's command.)
The Destroyer drops to earth a lifeless metal hulk, its fire quenched and its body battered. Thor releases the storm and drops with it. He strides towards his friends as the storm dissipates overhead. He can feel the winds again, can feel the air smoothing out into its normal patterns, as he hasn't been able to since his exile began.
Cars are clanging to earth too, and dust and all the other detritus that followed the Destroyer into the whirlwind, but they're all safely back from Thor's friends, and no one else stayed to watch this battle. It's only the things the Destroyer had already wrecked. It truly is over now, at least for Puente Antiguo.
Erik and Jane have come forward to meet him, awe and surprise on their faces. Darcy hangs back uncertainly. The Asgardians, too, hang back, for all the delight and relief he can see in them. They know far better than the humans that he's well and whole now, and they know too that the battle isn't finished yet.
"So is this how you normally look?" Jane demands. Thor is amused but gratified to realize that in Jane's face is also clear and very specific interest.
For the question: well, it's his formal armor. "More or less," Thor answers. His abortive coronation feels years distant.
Jane knows nothing of his coronation, or of Asgardian court formalities. She's busy giving him an appreciative once-over. Even now, even with all the pressing matters, Thor can't say he minds; this is Jane Foster, and he has made no secret of his appreciation for her beauty and her mind both. Erik scolded him for it, indeed, though that seems the furthest thing from Erik's mind right now as he stares. "It's a good look," Jane informs him.
Another time, Thor would happily follow up on this. Another time, and had he not given his word to Erik in any case to leave. It will happen, but differently than either of them thought.
"We must go to the Bifrost site," he tells his friends. All his friends, but mostly his old comrades, the ones who will accompany him to Asgard, the ones who know what all this means. The ones who were betrayed too. All amusement has leached out of him now, leaving only grim anger. "I would have words with my brother."