Marvel's Strongest Mage

"Wait… are you telling me that's not the real Mjolnir?"

Professor Erik Selvig stared, stunned. The worn leather-bound volume he had been thumbing through slipped from his fingers, landing with a muted thud. Across the table, Daniel stood beside Stark, calm and unmoved, with the hammer—Thor's Hammer—resting heavily on the metal tabletop between them.

Every pair of eyes in the room locked onto it. No one spoke.

Because none of them—not even Selvig—could believe what Daniel had just said.

If this wasn't the real hammer… then what was it?

Why had it responded to him?

Why had Loki fought for it?

Why had thunder fallen, and agents died?

But Daniel simply smiled.

"If it were the true Mjolnir, would it be in my hands? Would I be the only one who could wield it?"

That question landed like a thunderclap of its own.

The surveillance feeds had captured it—Daniel wielding the hammer like it belonged to him, Loki summoning storms and illusions around it. Even though many in the room had been unconscious during Loki's attack, the footage didn't lie.

Daniel had held Mjolnir.

Loki had recognized it.

And yet… Daniel insisted it wasn't real.

The room went quiet again.

Until Coulson finally asked the question on everyone's mind:

"Then… who was that man?"

Loki—god of mischief, chaos incarnate. A myth. A lie made flesh. And yet he had walked into their base and turned it into a graveyard.

Coulson's jaw tightened. He had reports to file. Agents to bury.

Daniel met his gaze, voice even.

"Whoever he was… he wasn't human. And no Earth-born sorcerer, no matter how strong, is on that level."

He wasn't wrong. Even the greatest mages—the Ancient One, Merlin, Agamotto—relied on ancient relics, borrowed powers. Loki, on the other hand, was a relic. An Asgardian god. Magic incarnate.

Daniel ran his fingers gently along Mjolnir's handle.

"Maybe… he and this came from the same place."

There was silence again.

Selvig and Stark had already come to the same conclusion earlier, when studying the object before the attack. The metal. The craftsmanship. The runes etched into its side.

This hammer didn't belong to Earth.

Coulson, to his credit, didn't argue. He'd seen too much. He'd been there for Carol Danvers, for the crash, for the Kree. Aliens didn't rattle him.

But uncertainty did.

"If that's Thor's Hammer," Selvig said slowly, "then the man who attacked us must be his brother, Loki."

"And if this isn't Thor's Hammer," he continued, eyes narrowing at Daniel, "then who… or what… was he?"

Daniel gave no reaction.

Because he didn't know.

According to the timeline Daniel remembered—the one that had guided him for decades—this was Mjolnir. Loki was Thor's brother. Thor should have been here. Odin's great exile should have already begun. The path was clear.

Except now…

Thor was missing.

Loki had struck early.

And Mjolnir had come to him.

If Thor still held a hammer elsewhere, then this one was a forgery. But then why had Loki, who had spent over a thousand years beside his brother, accepted it without hesitation?

Daniel's thoughts were interrupted by Stark, who stepped forward with his usual dry wit.

"Doesn't matter if it's the hammer or just a damn good knockoff. If it walks like a duck, blasts like a duck, and summons lightning like a duck… you call it Thor's Hammer and move on."

Selvig blinked. Daniel let out a low chuckle.

Because—annoyingly—Stark was right.

Loki's strength remained unchanged. Mjolnir had moved. Thunder had answered.

If Daniel hadn't stepped in when he did, everyone here would have been dead.

Coulson's voice cut through the moment.

"Mr. Daniel… what do you plan to do next?"

Daniel raised a brow.

"Why? Does S.H.I.E.L.D. have plans?"

Coulson didn't flinch.

"Yes. We'd like to take the hammer. Store it somewhere secure—before Loki returns."

Daniel's smile was thin.

"Be my guest."

He stepped back, hands raised.

"If you can lift it, it's yours."

The room went still.

Coulson glanced at the hammer, then at Daniel. He could tell—this wasn't a bluff. If they wanted Mjolnir, they'd have to take it the old-fashioned way.

By earning it.

But that hadn't worked last time. And it wouldn't work now.

Still, he turned to Stark.

"Mr. Stark…?"

Tony raised a brow, then turned toward the hammer, cracking his neck.

Daniel gave a theatrical bow, gesturing to the table.

"By all means."

Everyone watched as Iron Man stepped forward, gripped the handle—

And strained.

Even with the full might of the arc reactor surging through his limbs, even as the table itself creaked under the pressure, the hammer didn't budge.

It remained exactly where Daniel had left it. Not a millimeter of movement.

Coulson sighed.

Daniel just smiled.

So much for "taking it."

Then another voice rang out—light, unexpected.

"Can I try?"

Everyone turned. Daisy Louise—fierce, stubborn, slightly ridiculous—stepped forward, raising her hand.

Daniel blinked. Then laughed.

"Go ahead."

He turned to Coulson, who still looked unconvinced.

"Let everyone try. Hell, bring in your top brass. Your black ops. Your pet telekinetics. I won't stop you."

He paused, then added:

"But you're almost out of time."

Coulson's eyes narrowed.

"What do you mean?"

Daniel leaned against the wall, arms crossed.

"You've got half an hour. Then the military arrives."

That made the room go quiet again.

"You… contacted the military?" Coulson asked, stunned.

Daniel shrugged.

"The ID I gave you might've been fake. But the name? Major Daniel Whitehow Stein—that one's real. Pentagon verified."

Stark looked over in mild amusement.

"You called in the suits?"

"I don't trust S.H.I.E.L.D.," Daniel replied bluntly. "You want to lock up everything, but you can't protect it. The military? They have deterrence. Artillery. Nukes, if needed."

Because if Loki came back, and Mjolnir was still unclaimed…

There had to be a fallback.

Coulson began making calls. Stark kept watching Daniel.

"Where are you planning to go with it?" he asked.

Daniel turned to him.

"Nowhere. I'm staying here."

Stark blinked.

"You really think Loki's done?"

Daniel's face turned grim.

"He's not. And if he gets another chance at this hammer, he'll take it."

Because Loki's retreat wasn't surrender. It was strategy.

Thor's exile had been a test—a stage in Odin's long game, meant to humble him. Loki was supposed to fail, the Frost Giants were supposed to fall, and the Nine Realms would remain Odin's chessboard.

But something had changed.

Thor was missing.

Loki had moved early.

And Odin… was silent.

Daniel didn't know what the All-Father was plotting—but the uncertainty gnawed at him. Odin had always kept a tight grip over fate, even from a deathbed. He'd destroyed dark elves, bent timelines, exiled gods. Earth was nothing to him.

So why did it feel like Odin was letting this happen?

Daniel didn't have enough answers. But he did know one thing:

"As long as I hold this hammer," he whispered, "Thor will come."

Meanwhile…

New York City – Roosevelt Island Medical Center

The rain hadn't touched here. The skies were gray, the traffic loud, the pulse of the city indifferent to storms and gods.

Dr. Donald Blake, just returned from a conference in Norway, unlocked the door to his clinic and stepped inside.

He paused, feeling a strange pull in his chest. A heartbeat that wasn't his.

Something had changed.

And soon, he would remember everything.

—

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