"We have all the data. I'll send you a copy," said Banner as he adjusted the shirt they had lent him. He still looked a bit uncomfortable in the borrowed clothes, but at least he wasn't wearing rags anymore.
Tony, on the other hand, was bored. Sitting on a toolbox, he stared at the hamr embedded in the crater with his arms crossed.
"There's nothing I can do with this," he muttered. "It doesn't even spark my curiosity, and that's saying sothing."
The hamr was undoubtedly made of a material unknown to Earth science. His scanners confird it: impossible density, absolute resistance… but beyond that, nothing else.
His sensors weren't calibrated to detect divine energy, and Tony hadn't brought any specialized equipnt.
Had he known he would find sothing like this, he would've brought a different team, different reports, a different mindset.
"Maybe a space builder just dropped his tool while fixing his ship's roof," he joked sarcastically, standing up.
"And since it's getting dark and starting to rain, I'd say it's ti to head back."
That's when Owen lifted his head, his gaze locking toward the outside as if he had heard sothing… or soone.
"Maybe leaving isn't such a great idea just yet," he said, frowning slightly.
An alarm began to sound, cutting through the tense silence. Ergency lights flashed red, bathing the room in an eerie glow. At the sa ti, Coulson's phone vibrated violently.
Coulson answered imdiately.
"Sir, soone's breached the periter. They've neutralized two guards… no, now three," reported a nervous voice on the other end of the line.
"What the hell?" Coulson muttered, surprised.
Tony, for the first ti in hours, showed a spark of genuine interest.
Banner instinctively took a step back. Now was not the ti for Hulk to make another appearance… and he didn't have any more clothes to borrow.
Clint Barton already had his bow in hand, his eyes fixed on the entrance. Footsteps could be heard. And bodies dropping.
The hallway guards were being taken down with ease.
"Hold up, Robin Hood," said Owen with an excited grin as he shrugged off his jacket and tossed it aside, revealing his tight shirt. His body tensed, ready for combat.
"Since I'm here anyway… I could use a bit of a warm-up."
Then, the attacker appeared.
A man with golden hair down to his shoulders, a powerful build, and a gaze filled with pride and superiority. His clothes were strange, like sothing out of forgotten mythology, and he didn't have a single scratch despite having taken down several ard guards.
He stopped in front of Owen, his eyes analyzing his opponent. He spoke firmly, with an accent that carried centuries of history and power.
"Step aside, mortal. Or you'll end up like the others," he said, not raising his voice—as if the threat were an inevitable fact.
Owen smiled, walking toward him without fear.
"They're not my friends," he replied casually. "But tell … what kind of man turns down the chance to trade punches with another?"
The stranger raised an eyebrow, surprised by the audacity.
"I can respect your courage… but not your stupidity," he declared, and in an instant, threw a punch straight at Owen's face.
But Owen deflected it with a single hand, pushing the blow upward, and countered with a hook aid at the ribs.
The stranger blocked it with his other hand and stepped back, now assessing his opponent with greater interest.
Without giving him ti to think, Owen spun and launched a high kick toward the stranger's head, which he narrowly dodged.
The attacker struck back with a powerful blow to Owen's torso.
The punch landed squarely.
But Owen didn't even flinch.
It was the other man who recoiled slightly, grimacing in pain and shaking his hand like he'd just hit solid steel.
Owen smiled and followed up with a downward elbow strike.
The man dodged with near-perfect precision, his expression now free of mockery.
"You don't seem like an ordinary Midgardian," he said seriously, his eyes lit with a warrior's respect. "Tell your na, warrior."
"Owen," he answered calmly.
"Well then, Owen," replied the stranger, straightening with pride. "You are facing the god of thunder, son of Odin… Thor. I hope you're ready."
And with a roar, Thor lunged at Owen, a fist wrapped in ancient power aiming directly for his opponent's chest.
Owen took Thor's punch with his elbow, but the Asgardian, displaying brutal skill, changed the trajectory at the last second and struck him right in the shoulder joint, between muscle and bone. This ti, Owen did feel it. The pain was a clear reminder: Thor was no ordinary warrior. Even without his divine powers, with only a human body, he was a combat machine forged in a thousand battles.
But Owen didn't stop. He used the montum of the blow to spin his body like an upward-swinging hamr, brushing Thor's face with an outstretched hand. The god stepped back—but was imdiately t with a kick to the chest that sent him flying several ters, smashing through the nylon containnt do and crashing heavily into the torrential rain.
Thor landed, rolled through the mud, then pushed himself upright in a single fluid motion, hands pressing into the ground. He brought one hand to his chest, still feeling the impact, and smiled. It was a smile of excitent, not anger. At last, a worthy opponent.
Owen stepped across the threshold and walked slowly toward him—now both under the rain. The downpour soaked them as their eyes locked, the gaze of two predators who knew the real fight was just beginning.
Thor charged without hesitation, slamming into Owen and lifting him slightly off the ground, forcing him back. Owen reacted swiftly, driving a knee into the Asgardian's chest to halt the charge, but both n fell to the ground, rolling in the mud like two titans with no fear of chaos.
With a twist of his body, Owen used one leg as a lever and hurled Thor through the air, as if he weighed far less than he appeared. The god of thunder landed on his feet, slipped slightly, but was already rising again. Owen got up as well. There was no disdain in their expressions now—only respect. And an insatiable thirst for battle.
From the observation room, Tony Stark peeked in, one eyebrow raised.
"That blond guy's going toe-to-toe with a super soldier? Is he one too?"
"No," Barton replied, eyes locked on the duel. "He's not as strong. But his experience is real. He moves flawlessly. When he gets hit, he reacts instantly, minimizing the damage."
"More experience than Owen? Isn't he supposed to be an agent with dozens of impossible missions under his belt?" asked Banner, incredulous.
"Yes. But that man... moves like soone who's lived his entire life in hand-to-hand combat," explained Coulson calmly, eyes fixed on a cara feed recording the scene. "Very few agents reach that level. Most rely on weapons. He doesn't."
anwhile, Owen and Thor clashed again. Punches, blocks, dodges—so fast that at tis their arms vanished in a blur, like shadows of energy at full impact.
Thor kept the fight balanced with technique and experience, but Owen was starting to gain ground. Every second in battle made him faster, more precise. He was learning. Evolving.
Owen dodged a direct strike, ducked, and landed a right hook to Thor's gut. He flowed with the motion and added two more hits—one to the chest and one to the chin. Thor staggered back, disoriented by the rapid combo. It was enough.
Owen swept his legs with surgical precision and slamd him to the ground.
The rain didn't let up. Steam rose from Owen's breath as he smiled.
"Looks like I won," he said with a cold calm, panting from the effort but showing no weakness.
Thor, still on the ground, blinked… and then let out a booming laugh.
"HAHAHAHA! You are an extraordinary Midgardian. You've bested in hand-to-hand combat!" he exclaid, his eyes glowing with admiration.
"He broke him…" muttered Tony, smirking.
Just then, the guards arrived, surrounding Thor with weapons raised. But Owen lifted his hand, his voice firm.
"Stand down! This fight was mine. He's not a threat anymore."
The agents hesitated, glancing at Coulson, who gave a nod. The n withdrew in disciplined silence.
Owen extended a hand to the Asgardian.
"Co on. Get up."
Thor looked at him with renewed pride, accepted the gesture, and rose. Both n, covered in mud, walked back into the complex under the watchful eyes of the team.
"So why did you break in here?" asked Owen, though he already had a suspicion.
"I ca for what's mine," said Thor, pointing calmly at Mjolnir—the calm of a warrior who had just found an equal.
"That yours?" Coulson asked, never taking his eyes off Thor.
"Of course. Mjolnir is mine," he replied with unshakable conviction.
Tony tilted his head, curious.
"Mjolnir? The Norse hamr? Wait… did you say your na is Thor?"
At the sa ti, he noticed Thor's oddly styled clothing.
"That's right," Thor confird proudly. "And now I will reclaim my power."
With determined steps, Thor approached the hamr, all eyes on him. Barton seed ready to speak, but Coulson stopped him with a gesture.
Thor reached out, placed his hand on the handle of the hamr… and muttered words heavy with pomp and pride.
Then he pulled.
The hamr didn't move an inch.
Tony snorted and rolled his eyes.
"Called it."
"GAAAAAAAH!" roared Thor, throwing his head back toward the stormy sky before collapsing to his knees, defeated… by himself.
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