Marvel: Silver Hand

Alexander had never felt fear like this before.

Eldhringr's armored form stood before him, an unholy fusion of blackened metal and hellfire, towering like a god of destruction. Its eyes—if they could even be called that—were pits of swirling darkness, burning with the remnants of corruption and power.

And he was losing.

He threw a punch, wreathed in divine fire.

Eldhringr sidestepped effortlessly, grabbed his arm, and with one fluid motion—

CRACK.

Alexander screamed as his bone shattered like glass.

Celebrimbor lunged, attempting to strike Eldhringr from behind with a wraith-infused blast.

Eldhringr didn't even look—it simply backhanded him.

The wraith was sent flying, slamming into the molten rock like a broken doll.

Alexander gasped for air, struggling to stand. His vision blurred from the pain. His body was breaking. His Uru armor, once an unbreakable armour, was destroyed under Eldhringr's relentless assault.

"Weak," Eldhringr's voice boomed, distorted and inhuman.

Alexander coughed blood, but then… he laughed.

A low, bitter chuckle.

"Yeah… yeah, I know. But guess what?"

With the last of his strength, he swung Turann—his wraith hammer—straight at Eldhringr's neck.

BOOM.

The hammer shattered on impact.

Alexander's smirk faded instantly.

"...Shit."

Eldhringr turned its head slowly, almost as if it were surprised he even tried. Then, its rage ignited.

"INSOLENCE."

Alexander had never been hit so hard in his life.

Eldhringr's fist caved into his chest, sending him crashing through the volcanic stone. Bones snapped, his spine cracked, and his vision blacked out for a moment.

When he regained focus, he saw Celebrimbor being lifted off the ground, choked in Eldhringr's massive gauntleted grip.

The wraith struggled, his spectral body flaring in resistance.

Eldhringr tilted its head.

"...What are you?"

Celebrimbor gasped, his form flickering, his wraith-energy being siphoned away.

"Alexander… RUN."

Alexander tried to move.

His legs didn't respond.

His arms were broken.

He was powerless.

He had ruined everything.

This was his fault.

Eldhringr was supposed to be reforged. Instead, he had awakened something that should have remained buried.

And now, he was going to watch Celebrimbor die.

No.

NO.

NO.

---

Pain fueled him.

Adrenaline ignited his body.

His vision tunneled as he forced himself to stand.

"I'M NOT LETTING YOU TAKE HIM!"

With his last bit of strength, he unleashed every remaining ounce of power in his body—

Wraith energy.

Divine fire.

The ring of power.

Everything poured into one final strike.

A golden inferno exploded from his body, and he lunged at Eldhringr's exposed back, aiming for the neck.

For a moment, just a single second, it felt like it was going to work.

Then—

SHATTER.

His Ring of Power exploded.

A surge of shock and horror flooded his system as he felt the connection between him and Celebrimbor snap.

The wraith let out a cry, his form dimming as Eldhringr crushed down harder.

Alexander barely had time to process what had happened before—

BOOM.

Eldhringr's punch landed.

The world faded.

---

Alexander didn't know how much time had passed.

He couldn't see.

He couldn't move.

Everything was burning.

He was going to die here.

Eldhringr had broken his body, shattered his ring, torn Celebrimbor from him, and stripped him of his wraith power.

But even now… something inside him refused to give up.

He wasn't just some mortal.

He wasn't just some failure.

He was Alexander Athos.

And if he was going to die… he was taking this bastard with him.

A plan formed in his mind.

A plan that was suicidal, reckless, and completely insane.

But it was the only option left.

---

The volcanic heat around him intensified.

Alexander called upon his divine fire, not to fight—

But to detonate.

His body ignited, flames exploding from every pore, growing hotter than a star, hotter than Asgard's greatest forges, hotter than anything this world had ever seen.

Even the magma itself started to burn.

Eldhringr sensed the danger—but it was too late.

Alexander let out a final roar—

BOOOOOOOOOM!

Everything turned to white.

And then…

Darkness.

---

There was no pain.

No heat.

No sound.

Just floating.

For what felt like an eternity, Alexander drifted in an endless void.

Was this the afterlife?

Was this what death felt like?

His mother, his sister, his aunt…

Where were they?

Why was he alone?

---

Then—

A force pulled him.

A violent, unnatural yank, as if reality itself was dragging him across existence.

Flashes of visions bombarded him.

A man in a bat-like costume, standing atop a skyscraper.

A warrior in red and white, a massive 'O' on his chest.

A evil hero, his cape an American flag, his shoulders carrying golden eagles.

What the hell was he seeing?

Then—

Impact.

---

Alexander gasped.

He wasn't dead.

He felt whole.

His arm was back.

His fire still burned inside him.

But his wraith power was gone.

And…

He wasn't alone.

A few feet away, the armored figure of Eldhringr lay broken, motionless.

For the first time, its helmet was missing.

And beneath it—

A woman.

Beautiful. Raven-black hair.

Even in defeat, she radiated power.

Alexander stood over Eldhringr's unconscious body, his molten eyes burning with rage.

She had to die.

He summoned a fire glave before he could bring the glave down, an arrow whistled through the air, aimed directly at his head. Alexander's reflexes kicked in. He caught it just inches from his face and burned it to ash with his fire. His head snapped in the direction it came from.

An orc.

Alexander narrowed his eyes in disbelief. That was impossible. Orcs didn't exist in his world. They were creatures of Arda, of Middle-earth. And yet, there it was—an ugly, snarling thing, its yellow eyes filled with fear and hatred.

"What the fuck?" Alexander muttered.

The orc seemed just as stunned. It hesitated, gripping its crude bow with shaking hands. Alexander didn't give it a chance to fire again. With a flick of his wrist, he hurled his glaive. The flaming weapon tore through the orc's chest, pinning it to a tree. The creature let out a shriek as it was burned alive.

Then, more came.

A dozen. Two dozen. They emerged from the shadows of the trees, weapons drawn. Some carried bows, others wielded jagged swords and axes. Alexander cracked his neck. If they wanted a fight, he'd give them one.

The first orc charged, swinging a rusted blade. Alexander dodged and crushed its skull with a single punch, the impact sending a shockwave through the ground. Another lunged at him with a spear. He grabbed it mid-thrust, snapped it in half, and used the splintered shaft to impale the attacker through the throat.

A group of archers loosed their arrows. Alexander summoned a wall of divine fire, melting the projectiles midair. He dashed forward, faster than their eyes could track, and tore through them with brutal efficiency. He grabbed one by the head and squeezed until its skull caved in. Another tried to flee, but he incinerated it with a blast of fire.

One particularly large orc swung a massive club at him. Alexander ducked under the attack and drove his fist into the creature's gut, sending it flying through several trees. He turned, his body drenched in black blood, his hands covered in gore.

The remaining orcs hesitated. They saw what he had done. They knew they stood no chance. One by one, they turned and ran.

Alexander let them go. He wasn't in the mood to chase cowards.

He turned back to Eldhringr. Her chest was rising and falling slowly. She was still alive. The urge to kill her remained, but now something held him back. He remembered what had happened with his explosion—the way he had been pulled into this world. If he was here, then…

"Celebrimbor," he whispered.

A rustling in the trees made him spin around, glaive in hand.

Instead of another orc, he saw a man. No, not a man—something else entirely. He was old, but his presence was… strange. Ancient. Timeless. His face was red like a ripe apple, his eyes bright blue, his thick brown beard reaching down to his chest. He wore a tall blue hat, a blue coat, and yellow boots that seemed oddly cheerful.

Alexander had seen many strange things in his life, but this was something new.

"Who the hell are you?" Alexander demanded.

The man smiled. "Tom Bombadil, at your service!"

Alexander's grip on his glaive tightened. "I don't have time for riddles, old man. Walk away, and I won't kill you."

Tom laughed—a deep, hearty sound that made the wind around them shift. "Now, now, no need for threats, Silver-Handed One. If you wish to leave this world and find your lost friend, you will need my help."

Alexander's eyes narrowed. "How do you know that?"

Tom only chuckled. "I know many things. You are far from home, young warrior. And your friend, the Elf-wraith, he is here as well. Trapped. Shackled by darkness."

Alexander's blood ran cold. "Where?"

"Mordor."

Of course.

"And why do I need her?" He gestured at Eldhringr with his glaive.

Tom's expression grew more serious. "Because she, like you, does not belong here. If she dies in this world, the balance of Arda will be disrupted. And you… well, you wish to return home, do you not?"

Alexander scowled. He hated this. Hated being forced to keep her alive. But if what this weirdo was saying was true, then… he had no choice.

He exhaled sharply and lifted Eldhringr onto his shoulder. He did it roughly, not caring if she felt pain.

"Lead the way, Bombadil."

Tom grinned and began walking. Alexander followed, glaring at the unconscious Eldhringr.

"I should have killed you when I had the chance," he muttered.

They traveled for some time until they reached a small, cozy house nestled among the hills. It looked out of place, as if untouched by the rest of the world. Tom called it "Underhill."

Inside, they were greeted by a beautiful woman with golden hair. Her presence was as strange as Tom's—otherworldly, serene.

"Goldberry, my dear, we have guests!" Tom announced.

Alexander dumped Eldhringr onto the floor, harder than necessary. He sat down at the table, still seething with anger, while Tom and Goldberry moved around as if this were just another normal day.

He didn't belong here. He needed to find Celebrimbor. He needed to get home.

As he ate, he looked up at Tom. "Tell me everything you know."

Tom smiled. "Ah, but that is a long story, my friend. And one best told with a full belly and a rested mind."

Alexander clenched his jaw. He had a feeling he wouldn't like what he was about to hear.

But for now he would listen.