William woke up the next day absolutely bursting with energy, something about the air of Asgard seemed to fill one with energy and stamina, he equipped his attire and proceeded to the feasting hall where a group of warriors was conversing with three heroic looking individuals, "Oh come on Fandral, how was it, how many ice giants did you kill?" one of the warriors surrounding the three asked with stars in their eyes as the armies of Asgard haven't mobilized in several centuries and they were mostly just peacekeeping which bored them greatly, hearing how the warriors three, Lady Sif, and the princes stormed into Jotunheim for battle lit a fire under every common Asgardian!
Fandral was twirling his trademark mustache with a smarmy smirk when he let out a boisterous laughter, "HAHAHAHAHA!" the crowd went silent in anticipation.
"And there we were," he began, his voice smooth and confident, "on the frozen battlegrounds of Jotunheim. Thor's hammer roared like a tempest, lightning flashing across the darkened skies. It was a sight to behold, my friends, our prince standing firm against an army of Frost Giants, his very presence enough to make the earth shake beneath us."
Volstagg, seated nearby with a leg of roast in hand, raised an eyebrow. "Ah yes, Thor. But what of you, Fandral? What were you doing amidst this chaos?"
Fandral gave an exaggerated sigh, feigning offense. "Volstagg, my good friend, must you always doubt my contributions? While our dear Thor made a spectacle of himself, I was the blade in the shadows, dispatching the Frost Giants with unmatched precision."
Hogun, ever the quiet observer, leaned forward slightly, his expression skeptical. "How many?"
Fandral's grin widened, the question feeding his flair for drama. "How many, you ask? Ah, well, I lost count after the first hundred, naturally. But if I had to estimate…" He gestured grandly, "At least two hundred. Perhaps three. They fell before my blade like winter leaves in a storm."
Selene, seated at the edge of the group, smirked and crossed her arms. "Three hundred Frost Giants? You must have been very busy, Fandral. And yet I heard a different version of this tale."
"Oh?" Fandral said, tilting his head in mock curiosity. "Pray tell, what version is that?"
Selene leaned forward, her voice laced with playful sarcasm. "The one where you spent half the battle stuck in a snowbank because you 'misjudged' the footing."
The room erupted in laughter, Volstagg nearly choking on his ale as Hogun's rare smirk appeared. Fandral, ever quick to recover, held up a finger. "Ah, yes, the snowbank incident—a minor setback, I assure you. But do you know why I ended up there? I was luring the Frost Giants into a trap, of course! Tactical brilliance, some might say."
"Tactical brilliance?" Volstagg guffawed. "I'd call it slipping on your backside!"
Even Thor, seated further down the table, chuckled. "Don't let him fool you," the God of Thunder chimed in. "Fandral did strike down many Frost Giants that day. Though I believe the final count was closer to… twenty?"
"Twenty!?" Fandral exclaimed, clutching his chest as if wounded. "Thor, I'll forgive your memory this time. Surely it was at least fifty. Or perhaps a modest sixty."
"Seventeen," Hogun deadpanned, taking a sip of his drink.
The room burst into laughter once more, even Fandral joining in despite himself. He raised his tankard in mock surrender. "Fine, fine. Let it be known that I, Fandral the Dashing, am not above humility. Seventeen Frost Giants or three hundred, it matters not. What matters is the valor with which we fought, and the glory of our victory!"
Thor raised his own tankard, a warm smile on his face. "To that, I'll drink. To Jotunheim and the warriors who stood together."
The hall echoed with cheers as the warriors toasted, their laughter and camaraderie carrying through the halls.
William sat at the end of the table near Thor as the god was chugging a large mug of mead and the two began to eat their fill in good spirit, "So this is the warrior that Lady Sif seems interested in hehehe." Volstagg was munching on what appeared to be a large turkey leg as he slid closer from his side of the table. "BURP." he lets out a loud burp that seemed to shake the air around him and caught the attention of the rest of the room.
Thor finally finished chugging his abnormally large mug with a satisfied smile on his face, "I made a bet with her, she lost hehehe although I don't think she minds as much now!" he looks over to see William turning red with a mixture of embarrassment and anger and begins to poke fun, "I think he likes her hehehehehe."
A vein was beginning to form on William's forehead and the air around him took on a slight green hue, he is about to say something when Volstagg lets out a boisterous laughter, "HAHAHAHAHA such a scrawny guy? I'm not sure he can cut it, maybe Fandral if he wasn't such a ladies' man!"
"BANG"
a large hand slammed into the table causing the group to collectively jump, William with anger written on his features raised his arm by his elbow and smirked, "Big talk, how about this scrawny guy teach you a lesson?" Volstagg was taken aback by the sudden outburst but mere seconds later his trademark happy smile returned, he raised his arm on the table to meet the challenge and their hands met in the middle, Thor took up the position of referee and raised his flat hand and after a second of looking into the eyes of both sides to confirm if they are read Thor drops his hand in a chopping motion, "GO!" Thor energetically says.
The hall erupted in cheers as their hands collided with an audible clap, their muscles straining instantly. Volstagg leaned in hard, using his size and brute strength to press the advantage. The table groaned under the weight of their combined power.
"Come on, Volstagg!" Fandral cheered, leaning on his sword. "Don't let the boy embarrass you!"
Hogun crossed his arms. "He's stronger than he looks."
Volstagg roared, his face flushed as he pushed William's arm closer to the table. "You're tough, but you're no match for the Lion of Asgard!"
William's arm trembled under the pressure, his jaw tight. Sweat formed on his brow, but his smirk remained. "Let's see how long you can keep this up."
Green ki flared to life around William, causing the crowd to gasp. The emerald flames danced along his arm, and with a sharp exhale, he began pushing Volstagg's hand back to the center.
"What is this sorcery?" Volstagg growled, his grip tightening. He dug deep, letting out a thunderous shout as he held William at bay.
The match became a battle of endurance, their arms locked in a stalemate. The table cracked beneath them, and the onlookers roared with excitement. Thor grinned, clearly enjoying the spectacle.
"Come on, William!" one of the warriors shouted.
"Don't let Volstagg crush you!" another added.
Volstagg's face was red with effort, veins bulging as he poured everything into the match. "You've got heart, lad, but this ends now!"
William's green flames intensified, swirling around his arm like a storm. With a roar that echoed through the hall, he pushed forward, inch by inch. Volstagg's strength began to falter, his arm shaking under the unrelenting pressure.
"No!" Volstagg bellowed, but it was too late. With one final surge of energy, William slammed his opponent's hand down, splintering the table beneath them.
The hall fell silent for a moment before erupting into cheers. Warriors clapped and shouted, and even Thor laughed heartily.
Volstagg leaned back, gasping for breath before breaking into a grin. "You're a fierce one, William! I've not been pushed like that in centuries!"
William smirked, his ki fading as he relaxed. "You gave me a good fight. Let me know when you want a rematch."
"BOOOM!" one of the massive doors was pushed open in a hurry and an Asgardian in ornate and ancient armor with a helmet that was unique in its design from normal Asgardians, Sword named Hofund shimmering majestically in the light of Asgards sun and his eyes which glowed a burning gold seemed to be filled with doubt and concern, "Heimdall what brings you here, do you bring news of earth?" Thor energetically asked but seemed to calm down when he noticed the look in Heimdall's eyes.
"Prince Thor, as per your request I have been keeping an eye on both earth and Jane Foster in particular and I come bearing bad news for the latter!" Heimdall announced dutifully
Thor grabbed Heimdall by his shoulders in shock, "What news, what happened? a bad feeling was welling in his gut!
"It is Lady Jane Foster," Heimdall said, his voice steady but filled with concern. "She is missing."
The words hit the room like a thunderclap. Thor's expression darkened, the easy smile he had worn moments before replaced by a fierce determination. "Missing? How? You see all, Heimdall. Surely you would have noticed if something happened to her."
Heimdall's gaze never wavered. "She was under my watch, as always. But a shadow fell over Midgard, an anomaly I could not penetrate. When it passed, she was gone."
The room erupted into murmurs, the gravity of the situation cutting through the jovial atmosphere like a blade.
"A shadow?" Fandral asked, his earlier bravado tempered by genuine concern. "Could it be some sorcery?"
Hogun leaned forward, his brow furrowed. "Or an enemy seeking to draw Thor away from Asgard?"
Thor clenched his fists, the tension in his frame palpable. "Where was she last seen?"
Heimdall's golden eyes glimmered as he recounted, "In London..."
Thor didn't let him finish. "Then I will find her," he said, his voice resolute. He turned to Heimdall. "Can you open the Bifrost to where she disappeared?"
Heimdall nodded slowly. "I can take you close, but the exact location is shrouded. We will need to act quickly before the trail fades."
"I'm going with you," William interjected, stepping forward. His tone was calm, but his eyes carried a fierce determination to help his friend.
Thor thinks about it before agreeing and the two set off toward the Bifrost with a fierce determination leaving the warriors at the table to stare in shock from the news.
The two approach the Bifrost in haste but at the other end a tall golden silhouette was standing at the gate with his spear Gungnir in hand, "Father..? what are you doing here?" Thor was stunned as he observed his father's stoic figure, "the king of the dwarves Eitri waits for no one son, your friend has to go to Nidavellir!"
Odin tapped his spear into the pedestal and activates the Bifrost before gesturing for the William to step in, as William stepped forth slowly Odin seems to have exhausted his patience and tapped his spear once more causing the Bifrost to begin pulling him in like a black hole and suddenly he was flying through the universe in a shaft of light.
"TAP TAP!"
the Bifrost reset its coordinates to earth and Thor stepped in with determination leaving Odin alone with Heimdall, "You seem to have taken a liking to the boy, normally you would have given him the blunt end of your spear!" Heimdall sighs as he says this.
Odin was still looking into the void with his singular eye as if seeing something yet to come, "The boy has destiny and potential he will make a fine ally for my sons and Asgard!"
William finally opened his eyes, blinding flashes of light, swirling streams of fire, and icy shards of space and time cut across his vision in endless, chaotic patterns. His body seemed to stretch in ways that defied logic, each moment feeling like both an eternity and the briefest flicker of time. He could feel the power of the Bifrost itself coursing through him, threading its way into the core of his being, tugging him forward at an impossible speed.
He felt weightless, as if suspended in the very center of the universe. Stars stretched across the dark expanse, their brilliance a dizzying web of light weaving between realms. Time felt irrelevant here—every pulse of energy through his form seemed to bend time itself, distorting it into something abstract and distant.
Yet despite the disorienting sensations, there was a rhythm to the passage. A beat. It was as if the Bifrost was a living, breathing entity, carrying him with purpose, drawing him toward Nidavellir!
There was an unearthly hum in the air, a low, resonating thrum, as if the very Bifrost was alive, guiding him to his end point. And then, in a heartbeat, the violent storm of colors gave way to a more defined reality.
The world slowed.
A final pulse of light, the Bifrost's power at its peak, William was set down with a soft thud on the ground.
The sheer scale of the place was staggering, impossible to fully comprehend. The forge was nestled at the heart of a star-filled nebula, surrounded by the remnants of cosmic dust and the embers of ancient fires. It radiated a cold, unforgiving light that came not from the stars above, but from the molten rivers flowing within it, great veins of heat and molten rock that snaked across the realm like living arteries.
As the Bifrost energy released its grip on him, William stood at the threshold of the Star Forge. A colossal structure of blackened stone, steel, and iron stretched before him.
Everywhere he looked, there were dwarves, their hands quick and sure as they hammered, shaped, and welded, creating weapons, armor, and artifacts with a precision that could only come from millennia of mastery. The dwarves were industrious, their voices loud with commands and encouragements as they worked in unison. The clanging of hammers against steel echoed through the air like a symphony of creation, punctuated by the hiss of steam and the roar of flames.
Gigantic, fiery furnaces lined the interior of the forge, where molten metal was poured from massive crucibles into great molds. Some of these were weapon molds, huge and elaborate, designed for the forging of blades, axes, and hammers that could reshape the very fabric of the realms. Others were used to create intricate tools, runic engravings, and even devices capable of harnessing cosmic energy. The dwarves moved with a practiced ease, their bodies hunched and scarred from years of laboring at the fires of creation.
Above him, the sky shimmered with the light of distant stars, their glow reflected in the molten rivers flowing from the furnaces. Massive mechanical gears and pulleys spun overhead, part of an intricate system that controlled the flow of molten metal and the forging process itself. The very atmosphere thrummed with energy, an immense power that hummed in William's bones.
Despite the industrial chaos, there was a sense of order to the forge, a discipline in the way the dwarves worked, as if the creation of these powerful artifacts was as sacred as it was necessary. Each hammer strike, each pour of molten metal, was an offering to the gods of old, to the very forces that shaped the Nine Realms.
William's boots crunched against the blackened ground as he moved deeper into the heart of the forge. He could see the towering workshops, where the greatest of the dwarven smiths labored over their masterpieces. The air was thick with the heat of the forges and the clanging of metal.
At the center of the forge stood Eitri, the massive dwarven king whose very presence seemed to command the room. His thick beard brushed against his chest, and his eyes gleamed with the wisdom of eons. He had watched over the Star Forge for countless years, crafting some of the most legendary weapons in all the Nine Realms.
William approached the king of the dwarves with respect and handed him his power pole.
"A fine weapon, indeed. But it is not yet what it is meant to be," Eitri muttered to himself, more to the forge than to William.
A deep rumbling sound filled the air as the great furnace flared, sending waves of heat rippling through the cavernous hall. The air shimmered with cosmic energy. Eitri placed the Power Pole into the heart of the forge, watching as the molten heat turned a shade of gold, and with a slow, deliberate motion, he began the process of reforging.
The Uru, the mystical metal known for its ability to channel the might of the gods themselves, was heated to an impossibly high temperature, glowing brighter than the sun itself. Eitri took molten Uru and poured it over the Power Pole with a steady hand. It hissed, steaming and crackling as it made contact with the enchanted wood.
With each strike of Eitri's hammer, the pole seemed to change. The wood hardened and became seamless, the once simple structure taking on the dark, gleaming qualities of Uru. It was no longer just a staff, it was becoming a weapon of immense power.
Eitri worked with precision, his face lit by the glow of the forge. He molded and shaped the pole, weaving strands of cosmic lightning into the very metal itself, channeling the energy that flowed through the realms, infusing it with Uru's unique properties.
William watched in silence, sensing the transformation taking place. His eyes flicked to the large, runic symbols now beginning to emerge along the length of the pole. Ancient inscriptions, written in a language older than the realms themselves, began to glow faintly—marks of power, runes meant to channel the fury of the cosmos.
Finally, with a heavy thud, Eitri struck the final blow. The weapon before them pulsed with energy—both ancient and new—its length now adorned with intricate patterns, runes, and a core of cosmic force. Eitri stepped back, eyes narrowing in satisfaction.
"I call it… Thunderspire," he said, his voice rumbling like the deep tremor of the earth. "It retains the ability to extend endlessly, but now, it is a conduit for cosmic lightning. Wield it, and you shall command the storm itself."
William's hands tingled with the power emanating from the Thunderspire. The pole felt weightless yet infinitely powerful, as if it had been forged not just from metal but from the very essence of the cosmos. Its length shimmered with ethereal blue energy, and he could feel the crackling lightning that lay dormant within it, ready to be unleashed.
Eitri handed him the weapon, his eyes gleaming with quiet pride. "It is a weapon worthy of a god, or one who walks among them."
William's fingers closed around the staff. He could feel the energy of the forge still coursing through it, the heat of the Uru settling into the weapon's core. It was beautiful in its simplicity yet humbling in its raw power.
He extended it instinctively, and as he did, the pole seemed to stretch endlessly, its length stretching into the vast expanse of the forge. But now, it was more than just a simple tool of combat. A jolt of cosmic energy pulsed through the staff, sending arcs of lightning cascading through the air, crackling and flickering like the fury of a thousand storms.
William could feel it now, the storm, the power of the universe, contained within this staff. With a thought, he felt the Thunderspire surge with energy, the crackling lightning encircling him like a storm contained within the confines of the weapon. It was as though he held the very fury of the storm at his fingertips.
"It is done," Eitri said with a proud nod, stepping back to admire his work. "It will serve you well." He dismissively waves William off as he is quite busy with his work.
"Well at least it was quick." he says before he speaks loudly "Heimdall open the Bifrost please im finished here!"
Mere seconds after he finished speaking a cascade of rainbow light fell in front of him and he stepped forward ready to show off his new weapon when Thor returns, it wasn't long before he was suddenly in Asgard again with Heimdall standing guard over the entrance.
"Hey Heimdall, is Thor back yet?" the dutiful Asgardian shakes his head no, but suddenly his eyes light up and he approached the pedestal once again and thrusts his sword into its position turning the Bifrost on again.
Suddenly Thor came out of the Bifrost holding a human woman who appears to be weak and dying in his arms, he said nothing as he rushed to the palace leaving William confused, "Who was the lady thor was holding?" he asked Heimdall.
Heimdall sighed in exhaustion, "Jane Foster!"