The Deviant leader merely raised an arm and swatted Thor away, sending him flying more than ten meters. Its eyes, shimmering with an eerie glow, appeared to be "thinking," as if contemplating why this god was so weak.
So weak, in fact, that absorbing him might not provide much benefit.
The Deviant leader strode forward, stopping before Thor.
Thor staggered to his feet, gasping as he looked down at his nearly split-open chest. He sucked in a sharp breath. "Good! You dare attack the son of Odin? You've successfully enraged me!!"
He swung his fist at the Deviant leader, but it was effortlessly caught by a single clawed hand. With a squeeze, Thor's hand was crushed.
Crushed for real.
Thor's eyes instantly turned bloodshot. As his emotions surged, the once clear sky became shrouded in dark clouds, and thunder rumbled ominously. Yet, the lightning never struck.
Even Mjölnir remained unresponsive.
Thor refused to retreat. Even knowing the odds were grim, he roared in defiance, his remaining hand lashing out in fury.
Smack!
The Deviant leader tossed Thor aside like a ragdoll. Once it confirmed that this was all Thor had to offer, it finally relaxed. Strands of flesh sprouted from its body, preparing to absorb him.
What kind of evolution would it undergo after consuming a god?
The fleshy tendrils neared Thor. The son of Odin, who had barely set foot on Earth, had yet to even touch his hammer—and now, he was about to die a pitiful death, reduced to mere sustenance.
The storm clouds above grew even denser, dark as an abyss.
"Come on! Odin's son never surrenders!!" Thor bellowed in rage.
Even as a voice inside him screamed that he was about to die—that he would perish here, in Midgard.
'Father… Mother… Brother… I might already be…'
Time seemed to slow. He watched helplessly as the Deviant's tendrils crept closer.
His life force was slipping away, beyond his control.
"Tch, I was curious to see what the God of Thunder would do without his powers, but it turns out you're just going to brute force your way through. Not bad—I like it."
A voice rang out.
At the same moment, a massive figure launched itself from hundreds of meters away, descending from the sky like a meteor. With a thunderous impact, it slammed the Deviant leader into the ground.
And that was just the beginning.
A monstrous, muscular hand clamped around the Deviant's throat, yanked it from the crater, and hurled it into the distance. Then, in a burst of movement, the figure leaped after it and drove a powerful punch into its face.
In mere moments, the assault was as relentless as a violent storm.
Thor, clutching his ruined hand, gritted his teeth through the pain and gawked at the being battling the Deviant leader—a creature eerily similar to the Deviants themselves.
"Don't worry," a voice spoke. "The enemy may be strong, but for now, the warrior I sent won't lose. Let him enjoy himself—he never gets to stretch his muscles when he's stuck with me all the time."
Duncan approached, carrying an absurdly large travel bag on his back. His demeanor was anything but battle-ready—he looked more like a tourist.
"It's unbearably hot here. So annoying. What do you think, son of Odin? You're sweating."
Thor was dumbfounded.
This was the first time he had encountered someone who barged in at the brink of death—only to make small talk about the weather.
Was this some kind of Midgardian social ritual?
Thor steadied himself, feeling the weakness in his body. He fell silent for a moment before shifting his gaze stubbornly toward his hammer.
No matter who tried to kill him, no matter who tried to save him—if he could reclaim Mjölnir, he would still be the God of Thunder!
But just as he was about to stagger forward, Duncan moved first.
Standing before Mjölnir, he casually reached out and placed his hand on the hammer.
No dramatic reaction. No resistance. It was as if it was the most natural thing in the world.
Thor froze.
Watching through surveillance cameras, Coulson and Hawkeye—who had been 0.1 seconds away from loosing an arrow—also fell silent.
"Sir?"
"Don't interfere. Keep watching. Let's see if Duncan can lift it," Coulson ordered after a brief hesitation.
"My hammer…"
Thor's face turned red. "That's my hammer!"
"What's the big deal? I just want to touch it. It's not like I'm touching your woman," Duncan grumbled.
"I saved your life. Even if Odin and the others might've bailed you out at the last second, I still acted first. So what if I touch your hammer?"
SCREEECH!
The Deviant leader, seizing the opportunity, grabbed the Abomination-like creature's legs and flipped it over. Landing on all fours, it charged toward Thor once more—its true prize.
It moved with crushing force.
Yet just before it could reach Thor and Duncan, only two meters away, the Abomination struck back—grabbing the Deviant leader by the shoulders and smashing its skull with relentless blows.
Each impact was more devastating than a missile explosion, sending shockwaves rippling through the air.
A normal human wouldn't have survived in such an environment—the best outcome would be ruptured eardrums and internal injuries.
The two monstrous beings clashed again, trading blows with bone-crushing force, shaking the ground and kicking up clouds of dust.
The Deviant leader, clearly shocked by the Abomination's appearance, repeatedly extended its tendrils, trying to absorb its life force and genes.
Yet every attempt was instantly countered by a brutal punch.
Even as the battle raged, Thor's anxiety was entirely fixated on one thing—Duncan, and the hammer in his grasp.
BOOM!
A bolt of lightning split the darkened sky, followed by a deafening crash of thunder—as if a god were enraged, or sensing what was about to happen.
Thor held his breath.
This man—who had saved his life, who seemed strangely familiar with both him and Mjölnir—was he really about to…?
Duncan's gaze sharpened. He gripped the hammer tightly and pulled upward with all his strength.
Thor's heart skipped a beat.
Then, to his horror, he saw…
Nothing.
The hammer didn't budge. Not even a fraction.
It was as if it were rooted to the earth itself.
Duncan gave it another tug, then, realizing he truly had no "right" to lift it, released his grip and straightened up.
Clicking his tongue, he muttered, "Am I not righteous enough? Just now, I was literally thinking about capturing all the world's vampires and feeding them to the xenomorphs. Isn't that a noble dream?"
So this stupid hammer wouldn't acknowledge him?
Tch. Trash hammer. He didn't want it anyway.
Although… perhaps he could let his xenomorphs try—though even Duncan wasn't sure if they could earn the hammer's approval.
Not that it mattered.
For a moment, he had wondered if he might accidentally create some absurd "Xeno-Thor" abomination that would leave Odin and Thor utterly speechless.
But now, that concern was gone.