News about the Hammer in Camelot quickly spread out of the White City and beyond Albion itself. And among the first to learn about it was SHIELD, and none other than its one-eyed director, Nick Fury.
He had had a really busy week. Honestly, he hadn't had more than a few hours of sleep all week, and with the newest bit of news trickling in, he wasn't expecting to get any either.
The past few days had been a whirlwind of chaos. First, the incident in Harlem. The rampage of a massive green monster, later confirmed to be Dr. Bruce Banner, had turned the city into a warzone.
SHIELD had spent the better part of a week sweeping up the aftermath, patching up their own agents, and covering up the mess as best they could. That particular headache still wasn't over.
Honestly, such a thing shouldn't have happened. Banner was a known element, unstable but controlled, a man who stayed away from trouble and rarely caused much damage if left alone.
Yet once more, the military had gone and poked the bear, attacking him inside the damned city. Civilians had been caught in the crossfire, buildings flattened, lives shattered.
"Morons," Fury muttered to himself, tossing another thick file onto the growing pile on his desk. Had they never considered leading him into a trap outside their own city?
Somewhere isolated, controlled, not smack in the middle of a major population center? It was a basic tactical consideration, but one that seemed to have completely eluded the brass.
Sometimes he struggled to understand how some people had gotten their ranks while lacking even the most basic ability one in their position should have.
But then he remembered just how they got their rank — by stealing the achievements of those who actually deserved it, then ensuring those people would never rise high enough to challenge them.
It was a brutal truth, and it was giving him a headache right now.
Banner had gone wild, and in a world as volatile as this, everyone was once again crying for a new weapon, stronger weapons, and that damned Stark was once more in the spotlight.
Fury's jaw tightened at the thought of the billionaire playboy. Tony Stark. A genius, sure. The man had practically reinvented modern warfare overnight, turning clunky, unreliable suits of power armor into sleek, cutting-edge machines.
But he was also reckless, unpredictable, and prone to self-destructive behavior. The kind of man who would burn down his own house just to prove he didn't need it.
He was also working together with unknown enhanced people, hiding them, aiding them, and offering not a damn explanation at all!
He was unbelievably reckless. He made a senate hearing into a joke, humiliated Justin Hammer, and made many more enemies in politics. All without a care in the world!
He was working on secret projects, ignoring every call to help with the changing world and the Albion situation, wasting money on his new reactors.
Oh, Fury knew well how amazing they were, such a huge amount of power generated by such a small thing, it could change the world forever… but the element of palladium was rare and expensive.
It just wouldn't do for a large-scale replacement of conventional energy production.
It was fine that the man wanted to change his legacy or whatever, but couldn't he do that after giving him those damn suits?
Still, he believed he knew the reason for his increasingly erratic behavior.
He suspected the palladium core keeping Stark's heart beating was poisoning him, and he had a feeling Stark knew it too, but the arrogant genius was too proud to admit it.
So why care about the Senate, why care about Hammer? A dying man cared for nothing!
Yet maybe things weren't lost; he would have to keep an eye on him, wait for him to get close enough to death to taste it, to be desperate, and then he could offer him some help. Some of Howard's old things.
If Stark could use that desperation to break through the bottleneck, he would solve his issue and owe Fury big time.
It was risky, but the payoff potential was huge. Well worth it.
Still, Tony Stark wasn't the only source of stress on Fury's mind. The world was changing faster than ever, with superhumans, gods, and living legends stepping out of myth and into the harsh light of the modern age.
And with all that chaos came a sense of creeping dread, the feeling that something bigger was on the horizon, something even his best agents might not be able to handle.
But it wasn't all bad. Amid the chaos, there had been one small, flickering spark of hope.
He glanced at the thick, sealed file on the corner of his desk, the one marked with a simple, but deeply significant name: Project Rebirth.
The man they had pulled out of the ice. The soldier who had been frozen for over seventy years, a relic of a bygone age, a symbol of courage and strength.
Steve Rogers.
Fury leaned back in his chair, one gloved hand coming up to rub the bridge of his nose. That, at least, had gone right. Against all odds, against the freezing depths of the Arctic and the passage of decades, they had found him.
And not just his body, but the man himself.
Captain America.
A living legend. The man who had once stood against the worst the world had to offer, who had rallied men to his side with nothing more than a shield and a fierce, unbreakable spirit.
A symbol of hope, of heroism, of everything Fury was trying to build.
The doctors said he was alive, in perfect condition, his body preserved by the same serum that had made him a super soldier in the first place.
They'd run every test imaginable, poked and prodded him with every piece of medical tech they had, and the results were unanimous — he was alive, healthy, and just as strong as he had been in 1945.
More importantly, there was a high chance he could wake up and make a full recovery. And he was just the kind of man the world currently lacked.
It is a living legend not from Camelot, something to remind the rest of the world about our legends, what they had done, and the wars they had fought.
Not to mention that the steady supply of his blood they had been able to harvest once more gave hope for a new super soldier program.
After all, normal soldiers were no match for the knights of Camelot, or other threats such as the mutants, or mages, or whatever else was out there.
To fight those threats, they needed something more, and if his best agents could become enhanced, then that would be just the edge he needed.
Fury felt a small, grim smile tug at the corner of his mouth.
For all the chaos, for all the disasters, for all the madness of a world teetering on the edge of something truly unprecedented, he had one solid, unshakable piece of good news.
But then, as if the universe couldn't allow him even a moment of genuine optimism, he was given more bad news, and again, Albion was the cause, or at least at the center of it.
There had been a freak storm, which naturally caught their attention. So they watched for anything, and at first, nothing seemed to have happened — until later the next day, when a mysterious hammer appeared at the feet of the statue of King Arthur.
Camelot was an open city, so getting information from it was easy. Within minutes, a dozen people were live-streaming the situation with the hammer. The entire world watched along with SHIELD, thousands of eyes glued to their screens, witnessing the birth of what could only be described as a legend in real time.
It hadn't taken long for the Knights of the Round Table to arrive, their towering forms and polished armor cutting imposing figures as they strode into the plaza, parting the crowd like the bow of a ship cutting through waves.
Then, the king herself appeared, striding through the parted crowd with a presence that was impossible to ignore. The aura of authority, of command, that clung to her every movement, was unmistakable.
Arthuria Pendragon. King of Camelot. The returned king.
SHIELD had managed to capture every word she spoke, her voice carrying with a clarity that defied the distance, the crowd, the chaos. She had spoken of worthiness, of power, of a weapon forged in the heart of a dying star and bound by the will of a god.
And she had declared, in no uncertain terms, that whoever could lift the hammer would gain the power of Thor.
Fury pinched the bridge of his nose, suppressing a groan. Godhood. She had just dangled godhood in front of a world already teetering on the edge of chaos. It was like handing a match to a room full of gasoline.
And the worst part? It wasn't just any god's power. It was the power of Thor, a being from another realm, the kind of thing that should have been confined to myths and legends. But if Arthuria was real, if Camelot was real, if the knights were real... then why not Thor? Why not Odin? Why not the entire pantheon of Norse gods, striding back into the modern world with fire and thunder at their heels?
That was a terrifying thought.
The hammer had been there for hours now, and in that time, hundreds of people had tried to claim it, all failing, all walking away empty-handed and humiliated. But it only took one. One person. One lucky, worthy, or perhaps just mad enough soul to grasp that handle and pull it free, and the world would have a new god to contend with.
And gods... gods were dangerous. Gods were unpredictable. Gods didn't play by human rules.
He took a deep breath, his mind racing through the possibilities, the potential threats, the unseen dangers.
Godhood. The power to shake the heavens, to break the world, to shatter entire armies with a single blow. And it was just sitting there, in the heart of Albion, in the shadow of the returned king's throne.
For a moment, he considered his options. Could he send someone in to try for it? One of his own agents, perhaps? Someone loyal, disciplined, capable of handling that kind of power?
Well, he doubted he would be the only one, and better him than others, but he still had to prepare for the worst, someone evil getting their hands on it.
Though… perhaps, he looked at the picture of Captain America… could he be worthy?
He didn't know what it meant to be worthy, but if anyone could do it, he believed it would be him.
-----
The cold halls of Asgard had always felt like home to Loki. The golden spires, the endless sky, the vast halls echoing with the clash of steel and the laughter of warriors. It was a kingdom of power, of glory, a realm where even the shadows cast by the throne shone with divine light.
But now? These once familiar halls felt strange. As he moved through the corridors, he couldn't help but notice the guards' gaze as he passed them.
Having learned the truth of what he was… he couldn't help but wonder if anyone else knew?
He couldn't help but question everything.
Were the kind of looks he got because he was now the ruling regent of Asgard? Or because of his birth?
He couldn't help but hate it, hate the truth that he was a Jötunn. He might be the ruler of Asgard… but the blood in his veins kept him from ever becoming king.
He paused at the edge of the Bifrost, the great, shining bridge stretching out before him, its surface shimmering with the light of a million stars.
He had figured out what he had to do. He had to ensure that Thor wouldn't come back, and then prove himself to have the heart of an Asgardian. He had to cut any possible connection with Jotunheim, prove himself to Odin and to all of Asgard, and he knew just how to do it.
Finally, Loki forced a smile, a thin, sharp curve of his lips that felt more like a blade than an expression.
"Heimdall," he said, his voice smooth and controlled, masking the turmoil beneath. "I will be leaving Asgard for a time. I trust you will not stand in my way?"
The gatekeeper's golden eyes narrowed, his grip tightening on the hilt of his massive sword. "It is my duty to watch over all the realms," he said, his voice a low, rumbling growl. "To see what others cannot, to know what others would keep hidden. You cannot hide your intentions from me, Loki."
Loki's smile widened, his fingers curling into fists at his sides. "Then you already know why I must go."
Heimdall remained silent, his gaze never wavering, his golden eyes unblinking.
Loki took a slow step forward, the echoes of his boots ringing out against the crystalline bridge. "I am acting king, so open the way to Midgard."
For a moment, the two stood there, locked in a silent battle of wills, the air between them crackling with tension.
Finally, Heimdall's grip loosened, his eyes flicking away from Loki, his shoulders relaxing a fraction.
"Very well," he said, his deep voice carrying a note of resigned acceptance. "As you command." He then placed his sword into the slot, and the bridge instantly opened up, connecting to Midgard, to where Thor was.
(End of chapter)
Alright, so we have a look at Fury, getting a recap of what is happening without everyone else.
Then we have Loki, gotta be on him for a few chapters, finished writing the last of him today, so expect a few days of Loki and then seeing some more familiar faces.
We are still a bit off from Arthuria's adventure days, mostly because there aren't many things worthy of her attention right now. She is strong after all.
But with Asgard coming online, and other powers having had the time to plan and gather, it won't be long before people rise to challenge her.