Marvel's Strongest Mage

Above the scorched desert plains of New Mexico, lightning coiled like silver serpents through the sky, silent and wild. In the center of it all—within a circular crater where the earth had cracked from ancient impact—Daniel sat motionless, the fake Mjolnir nestled between his chest and abdomen.

Though thunderbolts danced restlessly across his body, wreathing him in electric fury, Daniel remained still, eyes closed, legs folded beneath him. His presence, like the eye of a storm, radiated silence.

Then, all at once, the counterfeit hammer trembled.

Daniel's eyes snapped open—sharp, alert. He clutched the weapon in both hands as his gaze turned instinctively northeastward.

New York.

Far away, across state lines and distance, a god had awakened.

He could feel it. Not just the pull of power, but the resonance—the echo of divinity. The real Thor had returned, and the moment his true hammer had tasted his hand, the counterfeit in Daniel's grasp had responded like a tuning fork struck by fate. Through some invisible tether, the appearance of Thor had flashed through Daniel's mind as clearly as if he'd been standing before him.

So it was true. Thor was still alive. And he had chosen to walk the earth as… Donald Blake.

Daniel's expression darkened slightly, but he didn't move. Not yet.

Of all the places the God of Thunder could reappear, New York was perhaps the most predictable—and the most dangerous. That city, chaotic and alive, devoured even the strongest among men. It was a crucible of crime and consequence. And in a city like that, even a god couldn't stay hidden for long.

Which meant that SHIELD, Loki, and any number of eyes would turn toward New York now. And that was precisely what Daniel wanted.

Let the chaos unfold over there. That meant this place—his place—would remain undisturbed.

But even as relief settled in his chest, his gaze returned to the artifact in his hands. The fake Mjolnir. Even now, from thousands of kilometers away, the hammer trembled under Thor's latent call. That alone told him everything: if Thor wanted it back, the real hammer's will could override the counterfeit.

This was never meant to last.

Still… the confirmation stung.

Daniel exhaled slowly. He had prepared for this, but preparation didn't make it easier to lose something you'd grown to rely on. Especially when it had brought him so far.

His return to Earth had come at a price—his power forcibly compressed, sealed beneath the threshold of the legendary realm. The counterfeit hammer had offered a temporary path upward, flaring open the gates to that power. But it wasn't sustainable. Without a true, compatible artifact to anchor his strength, he would always be shackled, unable to cast the spells he once wielded with ease.

He needed a new focus. A new channel. And the window was closing.

Still… all was not lost.

In the brief time he'd wielded the imitation hammer, Daniel had delved deep into the energies of storm. From that, he'd begun to decipher a new elemental matrix—natural forces translated into refined magical elements. If he could decode the last few variables, he could fuse these raw forces into an entirely new system of magic.

His mind drifted back to the arcing energies, the vibrating runes, the patterns he had traced in the air with fingertips crackling with stolen thunder.

Yes. A few more pieces, and he would no longer need to borrow Thor's strength.

He closed his eyes again, searching for calm—but it wouldn't come. Not with the hammer in his lap. Even now, though it had stopped trembling, Daniel's soul felt off-balance.

Time to move.

A crack of lightning shattered the sky, and in the next moment, Daniel vanished.

He reappeared in the blink of an eye, a flicker of sparks announcing his arrival within a small, steel-paneled building on the edge of the desert. It had been rebuilt with composite materials—hastily, but sturdily. Now twice the size of the original, with reinforced rooms and hidden mechanisms laced throughout its interior.

Not that it would matter if Loki came.

If the trickster god learned that Thor was alive and in New York, there'd be no reason for him to return here. This outpost, for all its preparations, would become little more than a footnote.

Good. That was the point.

Inside, the base was quiet. Stark and Jane Foster had already left. Only Professor Selvig remained, buried in theories and calculations.

Daniel didn't disturb him. The man was eccentric to the bone—he'd once stripped naked and danced around Stonehenge in search of "gravitational ley lines." But mad or not, he was useful.

Stonehenge… Daniel's mind paused on the thought. In the Marvel universe, the ancient site wasn't just ceremonial—it was arcane. Something told him it would warrant a visit in time.

For now, he moved quietly into the kitchenette, filled a paper cup from the dispenser, and turned—only to spot Daisy Louise slumped in a chair nearby, dozing.

She looked utterly exhausted, head tilted, drool collecting at the corner of her mouth. Despite her lack of technical training, Daisy had thrown herself into studying these last few days. She was determined to keep up, absorbing data like a sponge.

Daniel chuckled under his breath. For all her snark and bravado, she really was brilliant.

He leaned forward and poked her gently. "Hey. Wake up."

No response.

"Wake up, Daisy."

Still nothing.

Smiling faintly, he reached forward—and wiped the drool from the corner of her mouth.

Her eyes blinked open groggily. "Huh…? What…?"

"You were snoring," Daniel teased gently. "Go back and sleep properly. No need to kill yourself over this."

He gestured casually, and she wiped at her mouth, mortified, then harder, cheeks turning crimson as realization dawned.

Daniel burst into laughter.

"Go on, go get some rest," he said, already walking toward the exit. "You've earned it."

With a flick of his wrist, Thor's Hammer spun into his grip and lifted him skyward.

From the ground, Daisy's scream of mortified outrage echoed into the desert air.

Daniel soared higher, laughing still.

But his smile faded as he reached the clouds.

His path was clear now. Stay out of the mess in New York. Use the remaining time to push the counterfeit Mjolnir to its limit—extract every sliver of understanding from it before the real Thor reclaimed it.

He couldn't rely on borrowed power forever.

Even if the hammer vanished, the thunder within him wouldn't. The insights he had gleaned—the intimate understanding of the storm—were now a part of him.

He didn't need to master the Thunder Rune. He had something better.

He had comprehension.

And that comprehension… would soon give birth to a magic all his own.

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