Marvel's Strongest Mage

Daniel had been right all along.

Agent Coulson received confirmation faster than expected. A priority report streamed in from SHIELD's New York division: Thor had reappeared.

The intelligence was precise. Thor—the real one—had manifested in a modest clinic, not far from Manhattan's edge. A botched robbery had escalated into violence. The armed intruder took hostages. Chaos ignited. And at that critical moment, Thor descended.

Hammer in hand. Lightning in his wake.

The god of thunder didn't hesitate. He neutralized the robbers in seconds—no casualties, no mercy—and vanished into the sky just as quickly.

But buried in the data were two key revelations that caught Coulson's eye. First: Thor was now in possession of his hammer. The real Mjolnir.

And that meant the hammer sitting in New Mexico, the one Daniel had studied so closely, was indeed a forgery—just as Daniel had warned.

Second: Thor's temper wasn't what it used to be. Confronted by NYPD units on the ground, Thor had refused to disarm or surrender. Instead, he'd destroyed a police vehicle with a single throw of his hammer, then disappeared into the clouds. Gone before the officers could respond. Gone before SHIELD could trace him.

Thor was loose, armed, and missing.

In response, Nick Fury wasted no time. Black Widow—Natasha Romanoff—was already on-site in New York, overseeing containment. But Fury's next directive was unexpected: send Coulson to New York quietly. Alone.

Why?

Because they didn't want to provoke Daniel.

Bringing him into this mess could unbalance the entire situation. A second "Thor" wielding a forged hammer, appearing in the same city as the original? No one knew how Daniel might react—or how Thor or Loki might respond to him. And SHIELD had no intention of rolling those dice.

Especially not now, when the real war was only just beginning.

Because Loki… was coming too.

The trickster's previous assault on SHIELD had made one thing clear—he was after Mjolnir. And not the fake one. If he found the real Thor, the consequences could be catastrophic. A divine conflict erupting in the heart of New York City.

But SHIELD wasn't without its resources. Tony Stark had returned. The Fantastic Four were still embedded within the city. Professor Charles Xavier, deep in the mutant underground, was on standby. And if all else failed… Fury had his final cards to play.

Still, Coulson had hoped to speak with Daniel before leaving. But as usual, the man was nowhere to be found—still lingering above the clouds, meditating, training, chasing secrets inside lightning.

So Coulson left alone.

Back in the desert, Daniel didn't even notice. He had no need to. His focus was singular: master the power of thunder—before it was taken from him.

He knew what was coming. Once Thor reclaimed his position, once Asgard called him back, once balance was restored, this fake hammer would be reclaimed or rendered inert. The bridge between Daniel and the storms would vanish.

So he pushed harder. Dived deeper.

The replica Mjolnir might have been forged, but its power was undeniable—an echo of godhood. It was, in every measurable way, a relic. An artifact of immense energy. Daniel had never encountered anything like it. Its craftsmanship, its resonance with lightning, its ability to focus spells and manipulate magic—flawless.

Yet even this perfect tool was still inferior to the original.

Thor's real hammer… that was on another level entirely.

Which meant Loki didn't stand a chance in a direct confrontation. And that was the endgame Daniel saw coming: Loki would lose. Thor would ascend. And Daniel's hammer would be taken. Just like that.

So he had to hurry. Every second counted.

Elsewhere, across New York, no one knew where Thor had gone—except Jane Foster.

Thor hadn't returned to Asgard. He hadn't flown into battle or vanished into divine mists.

He went home.

To the small, shared apartment that Jane Foster and her ex-boyfriend, Donald Blake, had once called theirs. Ironically, Jane had returned with plans to officially move out and end things once and for all.

But that was before the robberies. Before the hammer. Before the lightning.

Now everything had changed.

Jane had witnessed it all. She knew why Thor lashed out at the police: they fired first. A rookie panicked, pulled the trigger. It was only after being shot that Thor retaliated. The smashed patrol car wasn't an act of violence—it was a warning.

Still, it scared her.

Thor was not Donald Blake. Where Donald was kind, thoughtful, and restrained… Thor was brash. Aggressive. Unapologetically powerful. Like a different man altogether.

Which begged the question—was Donald Blake telling the truth all along? Did he really house a second personality? Was there a god sleeping inside him?

Jane had tried to rationalize it. She told herself it was stress, delusion, buried trauma. But after what she had seen, after what was happening in New Mexico with Daniel and the fake hammer…

She wasn't so sure anymore.

And then came the voice—low and regal—calling from the open window.

"Jane Foster, I need to speak with you."

She turned, startled. Thor hovered outside the second-story window, one hand gripping the sill. Lightning shimmered faintly around his silhouette.

"What are you—Oh." She blinked. "Right. You're Thor."

She stepped aside.

Thor climbed inside, ducking awkwardly to fit through the frame. He set Mjolnir gently on the floor and looked at her with solemn eyes.

"My memories have returned," he said. "It was Loki. My brother. He betrayed me. Father… he cast me out."

Jane listened, heart pounding. Despite everything, despite the danger, she still found herself drawn in.

Thor continued, "I was foolish. Reckless. I let anger blind me. I provoked Father… and he banished me to Midgard. I see that now."

His voice wavered slightly. Not with fear—but with guilt.

"I have to return," he said suddenly. "I must warn Odin before it's too late. But Heimdall no longer answers. I can't summon the Bifröst. I need help. A wizard. A priest. Someone who can show me the path back."

Jane stared, wide-eyed.

She had no answers. No wizards. No ancient rites.

All she had was her apartment—and a desperate, confused man claiming to be both Thor and Donald Blake.

"Look," she said, trying to sound firm. "You need to change. Go back to Donald. Like you did before. You're scaring me."

"I've cleared my mind. I'm not confused anymore."

"You're still not listening. This is my home. I'm not ready to host a Norse god. Change. Now."

Thor hesitated. Her words cut deeper than she realized.

But then, with a deep breath, he nodded. "If that will help you trust me… so be it."

He raised Mjolnir—and brought it down, hard.

A pulse of light erupted. Thunder roared.

And where the god once stood… now knelt Donald Blake, cane in hand, dressed in his usual scrubs.

Jane dropped beside him instantly. "Don—we need to go. Now. I'll take you to New Mexico. To Tony. To Daniel. To Professor Selvig. We'll fix this. Before Loki finds you."

But Blake stayed kneeling.

"No, Jane. I'm not in danger."

"What?" she snapped.

"He means me no harm," Blake said quietly. "I can feel it."

Jane's face darkened. "Are you even listening to yourself? Ten seconds ago he was here, talking about war, about Asgard. He's not you. He's stronger. Wilder. You're just… you. Donald Blake. The surgeon. The man I—"

Her voice cracked.

"I know," Donald whispered. "But something's happening to me. I don't remember my parents. My childhood. School. My first scar. But I remember Asgard. I remember riding into battle. It's like… like that life is swallowing this one."

Jane backed away slowly.

"You're not making sense."

"That's why we need help," she insisted. "Real help. You're slipping, Don."

But help might already be too late.

The next morning, the city woke to headlines screaming THOR RETURNS. News outlets buzzed with footage. The Daily Bugle plastered Thor's face across every corner of Manhattan.

And Loki—dressed in mortal garb, reading the paper on a crowded street corner—smiled thinly behind his sunglasses.

"Ah," he murmured. "There you are, brother."

And with a rustle of wind… he disappeared.

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