“Interesting.” Karsa wore a look of faint satisfaction.
It was no wonder their father, Odin, felt Thor was better suited to be a King.
The capacity to stand tall in the face of crisis—that was indeed the seed of a ruler.
But that alone is not enough.
Let me see just how far my foolish brother can go!
Golden ripples shimmered, and Karsa drew a weapon from the void: the Ea, the Sword of Rupture.
Dark-hued runes upon the blade ignited with a blinding crimson light.
A sudden, violent pressure of wind whirled around the sword, coiled and waiting to be unleashed.
The air itself seemed to buckle, as if the dawn of creation—the chaotic origin of heaven and earth—was being summoned.
The sheer presence of the weapon was suffocating, towering like a dragon above the clouds and plunging deep like a primal beast beneath the crust; it felt like a god-slaying demon waking from a long slumber, crushing the breath from everyone present.
Captain America’s expression turned grim.
Without thinking, he tightened his grip on his vibranium shield, the oppressive atmosphere bearing down on him.
“What is that thing?
Why does it put so much pressure on me?” Thor stood stunned, his expression sickly.
“That is Karsa’s divine artifact.
The Sword of Rupture—Ea, the Star of Creation.
It possesses the terrifying power to slice the very world asunder!” “How does it compare to your hammer?” Stark’s voice crackled through the comms, causing everyone to lean in.
They were all deeply invested in that comparison.
Thor shook his head.
“There is no comparison.” The team exhaled in relief.
If it’s not as strong as the hammer, we have a chance.
They all knew the Mjolnir well: it could fly, control the elements, and conjure devastating lightning.
Plus, Earth already had a counter—the Cap’s shield could withstand Mjolnir’s blows.
“Sounds like a bluff,” Stark said, trying to maintain a light tone despite the pain in his leg.
Thor looked at him with an odd, pitying expression.
“Did I not make myself clear?
My Mjolnir is absolutely nothing compared to Ea!” “What?” The team was stunned into silence.
Natasha supported Barton, her voice trembling.
“Thor, you’re joking, right?” “No, he is not joking!” Karsa’s voice cut through the air, haughty and condescending.
He looked down at his brother.
“Thor, you know the gap in our strength better than anyone.
These ants and weeds are no match for me.” He pointed his sword at the Avengers, a playful, cruel light in his eyes.
“Now, I give you a choice.
Their lives, or the throne of Asgard?” “If you want them to live, announce your withdrawal from the Trial of the King—immediately!” The team froze.
They had all come to help Thor win the throne.
Now, faced with the ultimatum of their own lives versus Thor’s objective, what would the God of Thunder choose?
Friends?
Or the crown?
Suddenly, Nick Fury’s panicked voice cut through the comms.
“Do not withdraw!
Thor, you must not pull out of the trial!” “Fury, I was just about to look for you!” Stark barked, ignoring his injuries.
“You black-hearted one-eyed snake, where did you find this alien duplicate?
Are you even the real Nick Fury?
Has S.H.I.E.L.D.
been invaded by aliens?” “This is not the time for this!” Fury replied, calm despite the stakes.
“Thor, do not withdraw.
If Karsa becomes the All-Father, his personality will ensure the Nine Realms are plunged into fire and blood.” “You are our only hope.
If you yield now, Earth—and every other planet—will fall under Karsa’s tyrannical rule!” “But…
do you expect me to sit back and watch him slaughter every Avenger?” Thor’s voice was torn.
He had always focused on winning wars and gaining glory; he had never faced such a gut-wrenching dilemma.
Now, pushed into a corner by Karsa, he struggled with the very essence of his humanity.
Fury didn’t answer the question directly.
Instead, he turned to the team.
“Agent Barton, are you afraid to die?” Clint fell silent.
He had a wife and children; by all accounts, he should be the one most afraid of death.
Yet, at this moment, there was no doubt in his heart.
“No.
I have made my peace with it.” “Agent Romanoff, are you afraid to die?” Natasha’s lips curled into an alluring smile.
“You shouldn’t ask me such questions.” Spies didn’t fear death—they danced on the edge of the blade for a living.
Fury then turned to Iron Man.
His tone was heavier than ever.
“Stark, are you afraid to die?” Tony’s eyelids twitched.
How could he not be afraid?
He had just gotten together with Pepper, they hadn’t even married, and he had an empire to run…
“I think…
we could negotiate,” he stammered, hesitant.
Finally, he let out a long, weary sigh.
“Fine.
I don’t want to leave the nuclear codes in the hands of a maniac either.” When Fury asked Captain America, the answer was, as expected, unshakeable.
Thor was deeply moved.
These companions, though not of his blood, were recognized as his kin in battle.
“Friends,” Thor said, his voice thick with emotion, “I will not betray your trust!” He steeled his resolve and looked up at his brother.
“Karsa, I will take the throne, but I will never climb over the corpses of my friends to do it!” “Oh?” Karsa stared at his brother, as if discovering a new continent.
Was this really the muscle-headed Thor he had known?
Once, to seek revenge against Laufey, Thor had led them into Jotunheim without a second thought for their safety, practically marching them into their graves.
What changed?
Has he truly awakened?
Karsa found it hard to believe, but a mischievous spark ignited in his eyes.
He had found something worth playing with.
“You want the throne and you don’t want to abandon your friends?
Hmph.
As your elder brother, I suppose I must teach you a lesson!” “A ‘King’ is always a solitary figure!” “If you want to save them, then fight me with everything you have!” Karsa’s arrogant command rang like a divine judgment in Thor’s ears.
The words Karsa left unsaid hung heavily in the air: If you cannot satisfy me, I will use their blood to force your awakening!
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