Marvel's Hogwarts Professor

In the heart of the cosmos, amidst the endless expanse of stars, a continent floated with an aura of permanence. It exuded an ancient energy, an eternal testament to its dominion over time and space. This was Asgard, the shining realm of gods and warriors.

At the center of the golden continent stood its majestic palaces, their grandeur a symbol of Asgard's prosperity and heritage. Towering structures of gleaming gold reflected the brilliance of the cosmos, each spire a tribute to the glory of the gods.

Within the Golden Palace, the heart of Asgard's splendor, a grand banquet was underway.

The reason for the feast had long been forgotten. Some whispered it was a celebration of the recent tournament, others speculated it was in honor of a general's birthday, while a few simply believed that Asgardians needed no reason to revel. Regardless of its origin, the banquet hall was alive with revelry, overflowing with the characteristic energy of Asgardian warriors.

Servants moved briskly, carrying platters of roasted meats, golden pitchers of mead, and delicacies from across the realms. The boisterous clamor of soldiers echoed through the grand hall as they ate, drank, and exchanged tales of valor.

The scene was chaotic yet filled with life. Warriors jostled with one another, some engaging in impromptu wrestling matches while others cheered them on with uproarious laughter. Plates clattered, goblets shattered, and voices roared in joyous unison.

This was Asgard—a realm that thrived on passion for both war and celebration.

Yet, amidst the revelry, one figure sat apart from the chaos.

Thor, the God of Thunder, usually the life of any Asgardian gathering, was an unusual sight that night. Seated in a shadowed corner, he frowned into his goblet of mead, his golden hair disheveled and his shoulders hunched.

Thor drank with a grim determination, each cup consumed not in celebration but as an escape. He poured himself another cup, downed it in one gulp, and then reached for an entire pitcher, drinking deeply.

The warriors around him noticed Thor's unusual demeanor but refrained from approaching. Even in their drunken stupor, they understood that their prince was grappling with a heavy burden.

Thor's sorrow stemmed from a wound deeper than any blade could inflict—his brother Loki's fall from the Rainbow Bridge. The memory replayed in his mind relentlessly, filling him with guilt and regret.

Sif, seated nearby, observed Thor's quiet turmoil. Clad in a shimmering golden dress, she had spent the evening watching her closest friend retreat further into his grief. Finally, unable to bear it any longer, she rose.

Carrying a bottle of mead and two goblets, she made her way toward him. Her steps were purposeful, her resolve unshaken.

"Thor," she called softly, her voice cutting through the din of the hall.

Thor looked up, his stormy blue eyes meeting hers. Recognizing the familiar figure, he forced a small smile and reached for the bottle in her hand.

"Thank you, Sif," he murmured, his voice heavy with unspoken pain.

Sif placed a gentle hand on his arm, her expression a mix of sympathy and determination. "Thor, you must stop tormenting yourself over Loki. There's more to this than you know."

Thor's gaze darkened at the mention of Loki, but he remained silent, waiting for her to continue.

Lowering her voice, Sif leaned closer and whispered, "Today, the All-Father convened the court sorcerers for a prophecy. Queen Frigga led the ritual, and my mother was among those present. They glimpsed something—something about Loki."

Thor's eyes widened, his heart pounding. He leaned forward eagerly.

"What did they see?" he asked, his voice trembling with hope.

Sif hesitated for a moment before smiling gently. "It is said... Loki may still be alive."

Thor's reaction was immediate. The shadow of grief lifted from his face, replaced by a spark of determination. Grasping the bottle of mead, he poured a generous amount into both goblets.

"To Loki," Thor declared, raising his glass in a toast before draining it in a single gulp.

With a resounding crash, he smashed the empty goblet onto the floor, shards scattering across the polished marble. This time, the gesture was not born of frustration but of renewed purpose.

The Asgardian warriors around them noticed the shift in Thor's demeanor. Though they did not know the reason, they cheered in unison, raising their own goblets in celebration.

As the banquet continued, Thor's spirits rose, his laughter echoing through the hall once more. He drank and feasted with abandon, smashing one goblet after another in the exuberant Asgardian tradition.

Sif watched from a distance, a soft smile gracing her lips. For the first time in days, she saw the Thor she knew—the fearless warrior, the devoted brother, the heart of Asgard.

After the banquet, Thor wandered the corridors of the Golden Palace, his footsteps heavy and uneven. The smell of mead clung to him, and Mjolnir dangled loosely from his hand. Yet his path was clear—to the throne room of his father, Odin All-Father.

Thor had questions, and he would demand answers.

Elsewhere, in the shadowy depths of New York's Hell's Kitchen, a different meeting was taking place.

Mephisto, leaning on his cane, stood at the entrance of a narrow alley. The dim streetlights cast eerie shadows across his face, highlighting his sardonic smile. Before him stood a man cloaked in darkness, his black robes concealing all but the faint glint of his eyes.

"Sir," Mephisto began, his voice calm yet laced with irritation. "You summoned me. What is it you require?"

The cloaked figure, known to some as Master David, did not respond immediately. Instead, he regarded Mephisto with a calculating gaze.

"Mephisto," David said finally, his voice low and deliberate. "What do you think of Lockhart?"

The demon lord's expression shifted slightly, a flicker of amusement crossing his features.

"He is powerful," Mephisto replied smoothly. "His potential rivals that of any sorcerer Kamar-Taj has produced, save perhaps the Ancient One herself."

David's lips tightened at the mention of the Sorcerer Supreme, confirming Mephisto's suspicions.

"He has touched the origin," Mephisto continued. "If nurtured—or controlled—properly, he could become a formidable force. Are you interested?"

David hesitated, torn between his ambitions and his wariness of the demon's machinations. Finally, he spoke.

"I have no need of your assistance with Lockhart," he said curtly. "But I do seek information on the defensive magic array protecting Earth."

The conversation continued, each man testing the other's resolve, neither fully trusting the other. For now, an uneasy alliance was formed, each side agreeing to pursue Lockhart for their own reasons.

Meanwhile, in a quiet room at a Hotel, Johnny Blaze lay awake, staring at the ceiling. The events of the past day replayed in his mind—the fire of hell, the confrontation with Lockhart, and the humiliating bargain that had cost him a portion of his power.

As he clenched the black card in his hand, Johnny felt a surge of defiance.

"Revenge," Zathanos growled within him, the spirit of vengeance seething with rage.

Johnny sighed, shaking his head. "Not now. We need to bide our time... and our strength."

A knock at the door interrupted his thoughts.

"Mr. Blaze," his assistant called from outside. "There's someone here to see you. She says it's urgent."

Johnny opened the door to find a familiar blonde woman waiting for him. Her dark green eyes glinted with an unsettling intensity.

"Miss Irena," Johnny greeted cautiously, though his instincts screamed at him to be wary.

The woman smiled politely and stepped inside.

"Miss Irena, I don't believe this is about yesterday's interview," Johnny said as he gestured for her to sit.

Natasha Romanoff, a.k.a. Black Widow, pulled out a laptop and opened it, revealing footage of Ghost Rider's fiery passage into the Vientiane World.

"Who are you really?" Johnny demanded, his voice sharp.

Natasha's smile didn't waver. "I'm Natasha Romanoff, from S.H.I.E.L.D. We need to talk."

With that said, Natasha took out a black card, placed it in front of Johnny, and said at the same time: "Johnny, since you came to New York, you have caused quite a stir every night. If we hadn't taken action, I'm afraid the Internet would have been in an uproar."

Johnny ignored what Natasha said. He was now focusing on the familiar black card in front of him. "What is your SHIELD's relationship with Vientiane World?"

==============================================

Support me at [email protected]/goldengaruda and check out more chapter of this FANFIC or more early access chapter of my other fanfic translation.

==============================================