Marvel's Strongest Mage

Donald Blake's words carried a strange weight as he spoke, his voice filled with a mixture of awe and disquiet. Jane Foster, standing beside him, couldn't help but feel a strange blend of incredulity and dread. Her ex-boyfriend, of all people, claiming to be the Norse God of Thunder? It sounded like madness. And yet…

Back in New Mexico, SHIELD was still investigating the hammer they believed to be Mjolnir. But that was the problem. Believed. Jane had seen the surveillance footage—Stark and Daniel facing down a trickster who could vanish in the blink of an eye. Loki. The so-called evil god had walked among them with ease, and even that hammer… it had felt wrong.

But now, Donald Blake—her Donald Blake—stood here with that same haunted look in his eyes, speaking of thunder and divine identity.

Just as Jane was about to dismiss it all as delusion, Donald chuckled softly and shattered the tension.

"That's classic dissociation, Jane," he said with a faint smile. "Classic split-identity psychosis. When the human mind believes it's a god… it becomes one."

Relief swept through Jane's body. She laughed too, though her smile was shaky. "You scared me for a second there."

They walked side by side down the street, slowly returning to the clinic. The tension eased, replaced with something closer to nostalgia. But the feeling didn't last long.

"You've been talking about Norse gods," Jane said, as they reached the doorstep, "but that's not you, Don. You're not some Viking warlord."

"Maybe not…" he murmured, unlocking the door. "But I sometimes dream… strange things. Memories that don't feel like mine. Flying through storms. Speaking to Odin. Feeling… infinite."

He lifted his cane slightly, examining it with a conflicted look. "This stick. It's tied to all of it somehow. I want to study it, maybe run some tests—"

"No!" Jane's voice was sharp and immediate. She gripped his arm tightly, her eyes wide with alarm. "Don, please. Don't touch it. Don't experiment with it. Either get rid of it or hand it over to someone who can keep it secure. You don't know what you're holding."

She wasn't exaggerating. Jane had reviewed the footage SHIELD retrieved from the base. Loki hadn't just fought Stark and Daniel—he'd played with them. Toyed with them. And that was Loki. What kind of power, then, would Thor wield?

She couldn't bear the thought of Donald being consumed by it.

Donald looked at her, surprised by the panic in her voice. "Jane… I promise I won't be reckless. But you can't tell anyone about this. Not yet. Can you imagine some lunatic getting their hands on this thing? Becoming Zeus overnight?"

"I'm not joking," Jane said firmly. "Forget the mythology. Forget the hammer. Let's just… go back to the clinic. Help people. That's what you always wanted."

"Us?" Donald raised an eyebrow, smirking.

"You know what I mean," she said, scowling.

He reached out and gently held her hand. "Nothing is more important to me than the clinic," he said quietly. "And you… you're just as important."

Jane flushed, yanking her hand back—though without much effort. Donald's grip was too warm, too familiar. And despite herself, she didn't really try.

Moments later, they were wrapped in each other's arms again.

When they eventually emerged from the office, the clinic had already begun to wind down for the day. Most of the patients had left. Donald was practically glowing, holding Jane's hand.

"Sorry, everyone," he said cheerfully. "We're closed for the afternoon. We reopen tomorrow morning. Consider this a celebration."

Nurse Linna arched a brow with a smirk. "Back together again, huh? Just don't expect us to clean your office. You made that mess."

Jane flushed as laughter echoed lightly through the small clinic.

But that moment of peace was shattered in an instant.

The clinic's front door burst open with a crash. A tall, broad man with a tangled black beard and a ragged coat stumbled inside. In one arm, he cradled a young blond man, bleeding heavily from a gunshot wound. In his other hand, he clutched a pistol, aimed and ready.

The boy was limp. Blood soaked through his shirt and splattered on the floor as the man barked, "I need a doctor. Now."

The warmth in the clinic turned cold.

"Get the police on the line," Donald whispered to Jane, standing slowly. "I'm the doctor," he said louder, raising one hand and gripping his cane with the other. "Put the boy down on the bed. Lina, take his blood pressure."

Chaos was a heartbeat away, but Donald had seen this before. Manhattan wore its glitz in the front and hid its shadows in alleyways. He knew this game.

As he cut through the boy's shirt, inspecting the wound, the man behind him muttered, "It was just one job. One job. We went in, a guard fired a shot… hit my son. I killed him. But doc… he's all I've got. Fix him. Or I'll kill you too."

Donald didn't flinch, but his hands moved faster.

"He's bleeding internally," he said quickly. "I need an OR. I need equipment I don't have. But I'll try."

He began to work, blocking out the world.

Outside, sirens wailed.

"You are surrounded!" the police shouted over megaphones. "Come out with your hands raised!"

Jane, crouched nearby, knew she hadn't called them. The trail of blood had led them here.

The bearded man snarled. "Damn rats. Always sniffing."

And then, he turned away and noticed Jane.

Jane didn't have time to move. The man lunged and grabbed her, pulling her back with the barrel of the pistol pressed to her temple. Her breath caught. The others froze.

"I'll start with her," the man shouted. "You hear me? You storm in, I shoot one, then the rest."

And with that, something changed.

Thunder rolled—low and ominous.

A voice, commanding and ancient, echoed through the walls of the clinic. "Let her go, coward. I will not warn you again."

Everyone turned toward the voice.

Standing before him was a towering figure in gleaming silver armor. A crimson cape billowed behind him. A silver helm shadowed fierce eyes. In his hand, spinning with deadly promise, was the real Mjolnir.

Thor had returned.

In the same breath, the hammer flew—crashing into the bearded man's chest, slamming him against the wall with such force that cracks split the plaster.

Jane collapsed into Thor's waiting arms.

He held her just long enough to steady her, then gently placed her on a chair, nodding once before turning.

Outside, a wall of armed officers stared, stunned, as the god of thunder strode from the clinic and stepped onto the street.

—

If you want to read 20+ chapters, visit my Pt.t.n.

pt.t.t.n.com/MiniMine352