Marvel : Reborn With Dragon Ball Chapter 286: The Destroyer Reborn

Heimdall's footsteps echoed through Asgard's golden halls with uncharacteristic urgency.

The all-seeing guardian of the Bifrost—or what remained of it—moved with purpose through the palace corridors, his cosmic awareness still processing what he'd observed across the vast distances between worlds.

The throne room doors opened at his approach, recognizing his authority. Inside, Odin sat upon the high seat, Gungnir resting against the armrest, single eye focused on reports from the Nine Realms.

"Heimdall." Odin's voice carried curiosity rather than concern. The guardian rarely left his post without reason. "What brings you from your watch?"

Heimdall dropped to one knee, fist pressed against his chest in formal salute. "All-Father, you tasked with monitoring the Dragon Balls on Midgard. I have news."

Odin's posture shifted infinitesimally—the only sign of his increased attention. "Speak."

"The Dragon Balls have reactivated. I detected the energy signature change approximately thirty minutes ago. Seven stones across Midgard transford simultaneously from inert matter to active artifacts."

For the first ti in weeks, Odin smiled. The expression transford his weathered features, making him look centuries younger. "So soon. The Ancient One suggested the recharge period would be lengthy."

"One year, as the guardian predicted," Heimdall confird. "The cycle is complete."

Odin stood, Gungnir's base striking the floor with a resonant thump. "Have you located them?"

"One confird one location, but the others..." Heimdall's expression showed rare frustration.

"One is sufficient," Odin said. "Heimdall, summon Thor."

The guardian rose and departed, leaving Odin alone with his thoughts.

Loki. His son. Lost to the void between worlds, fallen into darkness both literal and taphorical. The Dragon Balls offered a chance to undo that tragedy—to bring Loki ho, to give Thor back his brother, to restore what Odin's failures had destroyed.

The cost would be significant. Using dark energy to transport Thor to Midgard would drain resources Asgard could ill afford. The Bifrost remained shattered, its repair consuming the realm's finest craftsn and most powerful sorcerers.

But for his son? The price was acceptable.

Minutes later, Thor arrived with characteristic impatience. The God of Thunder carried Mjolnir in one hand, his expression eager in the way only youth could manage.

"Father, you called?"

"The Dragon Balls have reactivated," Odin said without preamble. "You will travel to Midgard, collect them, and use the wish to bring back your brother."

Thor's face lit up like sunrise over Asgard. "Truly? I can bring Loki ho"

"If you succeed in gathering the Dragon Ball, yes." Odin descended from the throne, approaching his son with Gungnir serving as both staff and symbol of authority. "But the journey will not be easy. The Bifrost remains broken. I will send you using dark cosmic energy—a thod with... complications."

"What kind of complications?"

"Imprecise targeting. Temporal distortion. Potential exposure to void radiation." Odin's tone suggested these were minor concerns. "Nothing you cannot handle. But the return journey may be equally difficult. You could be stranded on Midgard until the Bifrost is repaired."

Thor's enthusiasm didn't waver. "I don't care about the risk. Loki is worth it. And besides..." A hint of mischief touched his expression. "Jane is on Midgard. If I'm stranded, I can visit her."

Odin chose not to comnt on his son's romantic entanglent with a mortal astrophysicist. Larger concerns demanded attention.

Odin raised Gungnir. The spear's tip began to glow with energy that was distinctly not Asgardian—darker, older, pulled from the spaces between worlds where light had never touched.

The throne room filled with shadows that moved against the light. Reality bent. The air pressure dropped until Thor's ears popped.

"Go," Odin commanded. "Bring our family ho."

The dark energy surged. Thor vanished in a flash of black and purple light that left afterimages burned into the throne room's golden walls.

Odin stood alone in the silence that followed, Gungnir's power fading back to dormancy.

"Forgive , my son," he whispered to the empty throne room. "For sending you into dangers I cannot protect you from. For failures that forced this desperate gambit."

But there was no one to hear. And even if there had been, Odin's regrets would change nothing.

Thor was committed now. The tournant would proceed. And Loki's fate hung in the balance.

Three thousand miles from where Thor materialized on Earth, in the Fraternity's underground research laboratory, Smith Doyle examined what might have been Bulma's greatest achievent to date.

"Brother Smith!" The teenage scientist practically bounced with excitent, grabbing his arm and dragging him toward a mannequin at the far end of the lab. "You have to see this!"

The mannequin wore armor that Smith recognized imdiately—or rather, he recognized what it had been. The Destroyer fragnts he'd collected after the New xico incident, now reassembled into sothing new.

But where the original Destroyer had stood nearly twelve feet tall—a massive construct of enchanted Asgardian tal designed to channel Odin's power—this version was human-sized. Maybe six feet. Sleek rather than bulky. The proportions suggested it was ant to be worn rather than piloted.

"How did it shrink?" Smith asked, circling the mannequin to examine the armor from all angles.

Bulma bead. "That's the fascinating part! During the repair process, I discovered the tal has incredible adaptive properties. It's not just self-healing—it can adjust its size and mass within certain paraters. The original configuration was optimized for maximum intimidation and power projection. But I've reconfigured it for flexibility and integration with a human-sized wearer."

Smith reached out and touched the armor. The tal was cool under his fingers despite the energy patterns running through it. "The original Destroyer could fight autonomously. Loki and Odin controlled it remotely. Did that survive the reconstruction?"

Bulma's enthusiasm dimd slightly. "No. The autonomous combat protocols degraded too much during the fragntary state. I tried integrating Friday's AI as a replacent, but Asgardian enchantnts and Earth-based artificial intelligence don't play well together."

"So it's manual control only?"

"Exactly. But the good news is that it bonds directly to the wearer's nervous system. Once you put it on, it responds like a second skin. No learning curve. No lag between thought and action."

Smith lifted the chestplate from the mannequin. The mont his fingers made full contact, the armor reacted.

tal flowed like liquid, spreading across his torso in waves. The chestplate expanded, contracted, adjusted itself to his exact proportions. More pieces followed—gauntlets materializing around his hands, greaves forming around his legs, pauldrons settling onto his shoulders.

Ten seconds. Full coverage from neck to feet.

The helt was optional—Smith could feel the armor offering to complete the seal, but he left his head exposed for now. No point in limiting his vision during testing.

He flexed his fingers. The gauntlets moved without resistance, responding instantly to his intentions. He took a step. The greaves supported his weight while adding mass that should have made movent awkward but sohow didn't.

Smith threw a punch at empty air. The movent was faster than it should have been—enhanced by the armor's strength augntation. He could feel his own ki flowing through the tal, amplified by the Asgardian enchantnts.

"Power increase?" he asked.

Bulma consulted her tablet. "Based on preliminary readings? Approximately thirty percent enhancent to base strength and durability. The armor won't make you invincible, but it'll definitely improve your combat capabilities. And the defensive properties are extraordinary—I tested fragnts against plasma cutters, armor-piercing rounds, and concentrated acids. Nothing penetrated."

Smith dismissed the armor with a thought. The tal flowed back into compact form—a single bracer that locked around his left forearm, ready to deploy at a mont's notice.

"This is incredible work, Bulma."

"Thanks! I was hoping to have it ready before the Dragon Ball tournant starts. Figured you might need the edge if things get intense."

Smith's expression shifted from appreciation to concern so quickly that Bulma noticed imdiately.

"What's wrong?"

"The Dragon Balls have reactivated," Smith said. "Three holders confird so far. Xu Wenwu collected one through his stone-gathering operation. Tony Stark found another. And Thor just arrived on Earth carrying a third."

Bulma's eyes widened. "Thor? As in the Asgardian? Isn't the Bifrost destroyed?"

"Odin sent him using dark energy. Probably burned through significant resources to make it happen, which ans they're desperate." Smith moved to the laboratory's main terminal and pulled up surveillance feeds. "Thor wants to resurrect Loki. Xu Wenwu wants his wife back. Tony..." He paused. "I'm honestly not sure what Tony wants anymore."

Bulma moved beside him, adding her own search paraters to the system. "At least you've got the armor now."

Smith looked at the bracer on his arm—compact, unassuming, containing enough power to level buildings. "Yeah. That's what worries . If I need this level of force to maintain control..."

He didn't finish the sentence. Didn't need to.

The first Dragon Ball tournant had been intense but manageable. Selene had won through skill and strategy. The fights had been contained. No casualties beyond those who'd entered knowing the risks.

But this ti? With Thor's divine power, Xu Wenwu's thousand years of combat experience, Tony Stark's cutting-edge technology, and whoever else managed to collect Dragon Balls?

This ti might require the kind of intervention Smith had been hoping to avoid.

Halfway around the world, in a monastery tucked into the Himalayas, Bruce Banner sat in ditation as the sun set over distant peaks.

His phone sat beside him on the stone floor. The screen displayed a news alert about unusual energy readings detected globally.

The Dragon Balls had reactivated.

Bruce felt the information settle into his consciousness with a weight that had nothing to do with the phone's mass. A year ago, he'd tried to participate. Had even found a Dragon Ball. But the Hulk had sabotaged him, thrown the artifact away, refused to cooperate with the wish to erase the green monster from existence.

Now, after months of ditation and therapy and slow, painful reconciliation with the rage he'd been suppressing for years, Bruce understood why.

The Hulk wasn't a parasite. Wasn't a disease to be cured. He was part of Bruce—the part that had kept him alive through gamma radiation that should have been instantly lethal, that had saved him from military weapons designed to kill, that had prevented suicide attempts motivated by self-hatred.

Curing the Hulk would be killing half of himself.

Bruce picked up the phone and deleted the news alert. Then he powered down the device completely and set it aside.

"Not this ti," he said to the empty ditation hall. "This year, soone else can fight for miracles. I'm done trying to erase you."

Deep in his mind, the Hulk's presence pulsed with sothing that might have been approval.

Bruce Banner closed his eyes and returned to his breathing exercises, letting the Dragon Balls fade into irrelevance.

So wishes were better left ungranted.

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