Marvel's Strongest Mage

Tony Stark had seen enough.

He wasn't just a genius—he was a combat strategist. And in this moment, with every failed strike etched in his memory, he saw the flaw.

Loki's hand.

The trickster might be powerful. Might be fast. Might even be a god.

But he was tethered right now.

One hand still clutched Mjolnir's handle. He wouldn't let go. Not after lifting it—even briefly. That one sliver of validation meant more to Loki than any illusion, any victory.

And that… was Stark's opening.

From his repulsor core, two narrow cross-beams of high-density energy lanced outward, slicing through the air like blazing scissors. Their trajectories were calculated to perfection: just half a centimeter above the surface of the fallen hammer.

A trap.

If Loki ducked, he'd lose the hammer.

If he jumped… same result.

If he stood still, he'd be sliced clean in two.

Even the God of Mischief couldn't ignore this one.

Unless...

Unless he chose to be publicly humiliated.

And that, Tony knew, Loki would never allow.

Loki's eyes narrowed.

The beam danced toward him—searing, crackling, merciless.

And for one breathless moment… he hesitated.

Then, he let go.

Mjolnir crashed to the ground with a heavy clang, thunder dissipating into the heavens above. The moment the hammer left his grip, the skies fell eerily silent.

Inside his armor, Tony's breath shuddered.

He hadn't expected that to work.

But it had.

Not only had he forced Loki to release the hammer, but the collapse of the prefab roof had opened the clouds above. And now, rain poured through the gaping skylight, drenching the ruined chamber.

The thunder had been divine.

Yet Loki still refused to be touched by it.

As the water came down in thick sheets, Loki raised a hand. A translucent magical dome flared to life around him—a barrier woven of invisible threads, keeping every drop at bay.

He refused to be soaked. Refused to be stained by Earth's sky.

Stark watched, calculating.

And then—the real move came.

Daniel struck.

From nowhere, a needle of water, sharp as glass, erupted from the falling rain. It drilled through Loki's invisible shield with explosive precision, shattering the barrier in an instant.

Loki's eyes flared—caught off guard.

A wave of liquid crashed down, drenching the floor around Mjolnir, flooding a three-meter radius. And then—

Daniel appeared.

Not an illusion or a shadow.

Soaked, eyes focused and with a wand in hand.

"Now," Tony whispered.

His repulsor flared again.

The laser cannon fired.

A column of light so dense it bent the air as it ripped forward—its glow turning the world white. The force behind it could punch through steel. Could shatter reinforced bunkers.

And Loki knew it.

Two daggers formed in his hands—gleaming, curved Asgardian steel, no longer illusions. He crossed them in front of him and braced.

Impact.

The blast hit the blades, and Loki was launched backward, skidding across the wet floor, boots sparking as he slid out of the rain's radius.

Smoke rose from his shoulders. His cloak hissed from the steam.

But he'd survived and vanished.

The next beam from Tony passed through nothing.

Another illusion.

"Dammit—he's gone again."

Daniel stood still, breathing hard. Raindrops streamed down his face, but his eyes were cold, sharp, relentless.

He knew.

That moment had been their only window. And it had closed.

His previous attack had forced Loki into visibility—but only for a heartbeat. A trick of environment, pressure, and timing. The rain had disrupted the air just enough to throw Loki off-balance.

But it wouldn't work again.

Because now Loki understood.

The god of lies would adapt. And next time, no amount of water would pull him from hiding. He could cloak himself beneath oceans if he had to.

Daniel's fingers clenched tightly around his wand.

It was time.

A brilliant white-oak staff snapped into his grip, and with a deep breath, he slammed it to the ground.

A golden circle of arcane symbols bloomed beneath his feet, expanding in a pulse of light with Mjolnir at its heart.

The hammer glowed faintly, drawn into the spellwork like a sun in orbit.

Rain twisted inward.

Faster. Harder.

It spun around the hammer in a tight vortex, creating a whirlpool of suspended droplets. Within the current, blades of water sharpened into lethal edges, turning the air itself into a spinning deathtrap.

Tony, still airborne, saw it all.

"Smart kid," he muttered.

Daniel had created a trap.

If Loki went for the hammer now, he'd have to enter the storm. And in doing so—open himself to a counterstrike.

They might not get another chance.

But Stark knew the problem.

Even together, he and Daniel couldn't defeat Loki. Not really. Not permanently.

They could wound him and corner him.

But kill him? No.

Not yet.

And Loki knew that.

Which was why, at that exact moment…

"I've caught you."

The voice was like ice, cutting through the storm.

Daniel barely had time to turn before a crushing force slammed into his chest, sending him flying.

He smashed against the stone column beneath Mjolnir, his back arching from the impact. Pain exploded in his ribs, and blood burst from his mouth, spraying the stone like paint.

Some of it landed on the hammer.

And for one moment, the faintest shimmer passed through Mjolnir's runes.

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