Marvel's Strongest Mage

Thor hurtled across the desert, dragged by the momentum of Mjolnir as he gripped its leather-bound haft with both hands. Grit stung his face. Wind howled around him. But even as he tore through the golden dunes at breakneck speed, Thor's thoughts were grim. He wasn't ready.

Not yet.

He needed space—time—to rally what little divine power he could summon. His body had returned to its Asgardian form, yes, but without the full extent of his restored godhood, Mjolnir was still half a burden. The hammer surged with untapped might, but he lacked the strength to fully wield it. It could carry him. It could shield him. But it could not win this battle alone.

Behind him, the Destroyer Armor surged forward, metal feet carving deep, molten prints in the sand. Its furnace roared like a dragon. Then—a shriek of heat. The beam.

Thor barely turned his head before the white-red blaze smashed into Mjolnir's back, catching him mid-flight. His body went tumbling. The world turned into sand, sky, sand again. He crashed hard and skidded, coughing as dust filled his throat.

The ground rumbled. Another beam.

Thor reached out instinctively, and Mjolnir snapped back into his palm. The moment it touched him, he thrust it forward just in time to intercept the searing energy. It crashed against the hammer like a tidal wave against stone.

He gritted his teeth, every muscle trembling, boots digging into the earth as the blast carved a trench beneath him. The beam didn't relent. It hammered at him, pushing him back, burying him deeper.

A second later, a flash of red and gold streaked past. Stark.

Iron Man joined the fray, repulsors flaring. Both palms fired simultaneously, twin beams of energy slicing through the air and slamming into the Destroyer's head. The impact made the automaton reel slightly to the side.

The death beam finally faltered. Thor slumped to one knee, gasping.

And then, Daniel moved.

While others fought brute force with brute force, Daniel saw through the chaos. He watched. He studied. He waited.

Because magic wasn't just power. It was precision.

The Destroyer Armor, for all its overwhelming might, was not flawless. Not under Loki's control.

Daniel closed his eyes and let magic flood his senses. His vision shifted—reality peeled away like mist. Now he saw the runes. Layers upon layers of shimmering glyphs inscribed across the armor's surface. Most were too complex, too ancient even for him to decipher, but Loki's inexperience left gaps—flickers of vulnerability.

He reached into the Well of his thunderpower and began etching runes with his fingers, golden lines glowing in the air around him.

Mjolnir floated beside him, thrumming softly like a loyal sentinel. Daniel poured thunder magic into the runes, lightning flickering along his arms, eyes glowing faintly white. Then he snapped his fingers.

Hundreds of hair-thin lightning bolts darted toward the Destroyer's left leg. Barely visible. Barely audible. Each one tipped with a speck of spatial energy—just enough to distort the rune structure underneath the armor plating.

The result was instant.

The Destroyer, mid-charge, staggered. Its left leg buckled. Then, with a guttural creak of strained metal, it collapsed face-first into the sand.

Stark blinked. Even Coulson, watching from afar, straightened.

"His leg's gone dead," Stark muttered. "That—what the hell did he just do?"

Thor, regaining his strength, stood. Daniel's Mjolnir arced toward him and tapped his shoulder lightly before returning to Daniel's side. The hand-off was seamless, almost invisible.

But Daniel didn't wait for applause.

The Destroyer groaned and rose again—but it limped. One leg dragged. The movement was slower now, less efficient. The others saw it too.

Vostagg was the first to react.

The burly warrior bounded forward, hammer in both hands. With a roar, he swung at the Destroyer's remaining leg.

But the armor had adapted.

With a hiss of displaced air, the Destroyer lifted off the ground.

It hovered.

Vostagg's hammer met empty air. A moment later, a metal boot slammed into his chest, sending him flying across the battlefield with a grunt.

The Destroyer could fly.

"Of course it can fly," Daniel muttered to himself, watching the scene from a slight distance. His mind was already calculating. The runes he'd glimpsed beneath the armor were meant for far more than heat and destruction. Mobility enhancements. Stability fields. It was a walking fortress.

But it wasn't invincible.

He had proved that.

Even if he could not fully harness space magic the way the ancients once did, he could still weaponize it. With thunder. With precision.

Daniel inhaled deeply. His fingers sparked again. He etched more runes into the air, the symbols more complex this time, guided not just by magic, but memory—of the Rainbow Bridge, of what it felt like to tear open the veil of space itself.

Mjolnir hovered again. Lightning wrapped around the head of the hammer, then pulsed outward in jagged arcs that danced across the sky.

A single rune formed on the ground in front of Daniel, glowing bright blue.

The space beneath the Destroyer shimmered.

This wasn't just a trick. It was a blade.

A ripple of condensed space energy burst upward in a vertical arc, slicing toward the Destroyer from beneath. It didn't cut like a sword—it distorted, twisted, folded the metal inward.

The Destroyer flinched again, mid-air.

Its flight path wavered.

Daniel grinned.

He hadn't mastered space. Not yet. But he'd found its edge.

And it was sharp enough to bleed gods.