Chapter 36: The Hero of Thunder

There are battles fought with strength… and others fought with memory.
Victory doesn’t always belong to the one who survives; sometimes, the true triumph lies in standing firm when everything seems lost—remaining upright even as the world collapses around you.

In the history of the Nine Realms, many names have been carved in blood and glory.
But only a few earn the kind of reverence that makes even their enemies lower their weapons in respect.
When the thunder roars and the clouds part before his march, it’s not merely power that speaks—
It’s legacy.

Because there are moments when a single step outweighs a thousand armies.
A single word, heavier than any hammer.
A single decision, echoing beyond death.

And when that step is taken with a broken body but an unyielding spirit, what rises is not a warrior…
but a symbol.

This chapter is not about lightning or gods—
It’s about the echo a hero leaves behind when he chooses not to give up.
Not for himself.
But for all those who can no longer keep walking.

——————————————————————————————————————————

Ull stood in silence, his gaze fixed on the void where the shattered Bifröst once stood.
Beside him, Týr clenched his jaw, swallowing his rage.

“Are you out of your mind?” Týr roared, his voice tight with anger. “Why did you destroy the Bifröst!?”

“You don’t need to worry about that, Týr,” replied Thor, arms crossed and wearing a faint, confident smile. “I’m smarter than you think.”

“After what you just did, I seriously doubt it. Now there’s no way for anyone in Asgard to escape!”

“Captain,” said Nikita, approaching with firm steps. “The evacuation of Asgard has been completed successfully.”

“What?” Týr’s brow furrowed in surprise.

“See?” Thor lifted his chin smugly. “Told you. I’m not just a musclehead.”

Týr remained silent for a few seconds, watching him carefully.
“When…?” he thought, suspicion creeping in. “No, that’s not what worries me. My real question is—how did they do it so quickly?”

“Do you have what I asked for?” said Thor.

“Right here.” Nikita handed him a small scroll.

Thor unrolled it swiftly, his eyes scanning the numbers with cold precision.
“So we’re losing…” he muttered. “The only way to balance this is by defeating Jörmungandr.”

“And?” Nikita asked.

“I only have to eliminate a thousand Jötnar. And they’re not undead ones either… not bad. I expected worse odds.”

“As confident as ever, Captain.”

“It’s useless,” Týr insisted. “Without the Bifröst, there’s no safe way to reach the battlefield.”

Thor chuckled softly.
“Have you really forgotten who I am? There are only four beings across the Nine Realms who can travel between worlds without the Bifröst… and I’m one of them.”

“As unique as always,” Nikita murmured with a faint smile.

“Right?”

Týr lowered his gaze for a moment, deep in thought.
“That’s true… I’d completely forgotten. If we use his powers wisely, we might still have a chance.”

“There’s just one problem,” Thor added, his tone suddenly more serious. “Right now, I can only make one trip.”

“What? Why?” Týr asked urgently.

“I have to conserve my strength for the fight against Jörmungandr. If I burn it all now, I’ll lose in an instant.”

“For you to say that…” Nikita said tensely. “Just how strong is Jörmungandr?”

“At first glance… Jörmungandr is the strongest being in all Nine Realms, right after Odin.”

“Stronger than you?” Nikita asked, stunned.

“Without a doubt.”

“Then… what’s your reason for fighting?” Týr asked.

Thor’s voice dropped slightly.
“Pride. I’ll admit it. It may sound blunt, but my pride won’t allow me to run from this battle.”

“Can pride alone really make someone fight a battle with no meaning…?” Nikita thought, a shadow of doubt crossing her face.

“You’re not the kind of fool who fights without a clear plan,” Ull said, breaking his silence.

“And why are you so sure of that?”

“I’ve known you for years,” Ull replied. “And I know you wouldn’t fight for something as empty as pride. There must be a stronger reason behind it… right?”

Thor glanced at him sideways and smiled calmly.
“Stop drawing conclusions on your own.”

“Yeah, yeah, whatever you say,” Ull muttered, resigned.

“So… are you coming with me?” Thor asked aloud.

“Yes,” said Vidar, suddenly emerging from the shadows. “I won’t just stand here doing nothing.”

“When did you wake up…?” Ull asked in surprise.

“Are you sure about this?” Thor asked.

“Yes,” Vidar said firmly. “I’m sure I’ll be more useful there than here.”

“Understood. Anyone else?”

“I’m coming too,” said Týr without hesitation. “I won’t just sit around.”

“Sorry,” Ull interjected, lowering his head. “I’d only get in the way out there.”

“Don’t worry,” Thor replied calmly. “Leave the rest to us.”

“Thank you. Good luck.”

A bolt of lightning descended from the heavens, enveloping Thor, Vidar, Týr, and Nikita.
In an instant, they vanished, leaving Ull alone atop the cliff.

The scene shifted.
Thor and the others reappeared atop a mountain, the horizon before them filled with dread.
Far away, the monstrous, serpentine form of Jörmungandr slithered beneath the storm.

“Thor…” whispered Slangemorder, who had been waiting for them.

“The time has come,” said the god of thunder gravely. “Are you ready for the fight?”

“I think so…”

“Nikita,” Thor ordered without turning around, “take the others to my father. I think he’ll need help with Fenrir.”

“Understood, Captain,” she replied, departing swiftly.

“Good luck,” Thor added. “We’ll see each other after the battle… right?”

“Yeah,” said Týr with a faint smile. “We’ll go for some mead after.”

Thor nodded firmly—and without another word, he descended the slope alongside Slangemorder, heading straight into the heart of war.

Flashback

“What did you say?” Thor asked, confused.

“Exactly what you heard,” Odin answered in a dry tone. “We must put Jörmungandr to sleep.”

“Hey, hey, wait a moment,” Thor protested. “It’s only been a week since it awakened. True, it looks dangerous, but aren’t you going too far?”

“We can’t take risks,” the All-Father pronounced.

“Are you sure about this...? What if this very act triggers what the witches foretold?”

“They gave no further details,” Odin replied without flinching.

The hall’s door burst open. Loki stormed in, furious, his energy overflowing.

“Old bastard! What do you think you’re doing?”

“Loki,” Thor intervened in a firm voice. “Calm down. We’re talking about it. Nothing’s decided yet.”

“There’s nothing to talk about,” Odin declared. “It will be done, no matter what you think.”

“Don’t you ever stop ruining my life?” Loki spat. “First Hela, then Fenrir… and now Jörmungandr!”

“I mean no ill will. I only think of my people’s safety,” Odin said, eyes sharpened. “If you’re against it, you can say so… when you reach hell.”

Rage made Loki glow; his darkness filled the hall.

“I will make you pay for everything, old man. Everything. I will take everything from you.”

“Is that a threat?”

“No… it’s a promise.”

Loki left. Thor followed.

“Loki, wait.”

“What now?”

“You have to understand. My father only thinks of what’s best for his people. And you know the witches hardly ever lie.”

“Don’t give me that nonsense. That old man only thinks about his own ass and his power. He doesn’t care about you, Balder, Frigg… nobody.”

Thor fell silent. He had no answer.

“I thought so,” Loki muttered, and vanished into the shadows.

Days later, Odin cast the spell. Jörmungandr’s body was sealed with runes of eternal sleep. Thor and Odin carried it on a ship to the deepest sea.

“Spar…kles…” the creature whispered as it sank.

In that moment, Thor knew they had not defeated it… only postponed it.

—

End of flashback

Back in the present, Thor kept his gaze steady. His fist clenched.

“I wasn’t wrong,” he thought. “But I should have done more that day. Now I must take responsibility for the monster I helped create.”

“I will not hold back.”

The sky darkened. The air vibrated. A storm began to form.

“A storm…?” Slangemorder asked, looking up. “Why?”

“Berserker,” Thor said with a tight smile.

A colossal black lightning struck the god of thunder. His body was wrapped in dark energy, his armor glowing ebony, and his hammer began to swell as if drinking the power of the cosmos.

From above, Odin watched in silence. Loki smiled with bitter irony.

“You are the true monster, Thor.”

In his new form, the thunder hero stepped forward and the world trembled around him.

“I will destroy you.”

Thor launched himself with all his might at Jörmungander. The hammer shone like a newborn star as it descended with titanic force... but it was stopped. The serpent blocked every blow with its gigantic scaly body, enduring the assault with monstrous calm.

All who watched—ally and enemy alike—fell silent. No one could take their eyes off what unfolded. The sky vibrated, the ground fractured. The Nine Worlds… trembled.

“You’ve gotten strong, bastard,” Thor growled, gasping amid the sparks.

Jörmungander answered by charging with its whole mass, and the impact sent Thor flying through the air like a toy. The god of thunder smashed through an entire mountain, crashing into its base.

“Damned… bastard!” he spat blood as he pushed himself up with difficulty.

He raised his hammer to the sky. The clouds, as if summoned by an old call, gathered in tight circles—storm-black, roiling. An electric dance formed overhead.

“Electric technique… Thunderstorm!” he cried.

Hundreds, thousands of lightning bolts began to rain down on Jörmungander. The ground shook with each strike. The sky seemed to split.

And when the light cleared…

Jörmungander was still there. Presumptuous. Intact.

“Hey…? Is this for real?” Thor muttered, incredulous.

The serpent answered with a deafening roar—an explosion that made the weak kneel and shook the roots of the trees.

“So you want more fun…” Thor whispered, and his energy began to surge uncontrollably.

The god of thunder attacked again, moving at air-rending speed. Each swing of the hammer crackled with electricity, but Jörmungander countered with jets of venom that burned the ground and everything they touched.

One of those drops crossed the air and grazed Slangemorder’s cheek, leaving a black, burning mark.

The young warrior took a step back.

“What’s happening…?” he thought, gasping. “I can’t follow either of them anymore… I only see them when they stop. Now I understand what Thor said. I don’t stand a chance against him.”

A colossal hammer blow struck the serpent’s face. For the first time, Jörmungander bled. Thor raised an eyebrow, confident.

“Now I—…”

But he didn’t finish. In a fraction of a second, Jörmungander’s mouth snapped shut on his right arm. With a brutal motion it dragged him across the battlefield and flung him like a rag.

Thor slammed into a distant mountain and became trapped beneath the rubble.

“What just happened?!” Slangemorder shouted, rushing toward him.

Thor’s body emerged slowly from the dust. His right arm dangled—shredded, barely held by scraps of flesh.

“Thor!” the youth cried, desperate.

“I just got distracted for a second…” the god thought, breathing hard. “And it did enormous damage…”

“I’ll help you!” Slangemorder insisted.

“Don’t you dare!” Thor bellowed with fury.

“Why? Can’t you see how you are? You won’t hold up like this!”

“I told you before… this is my fight. No one else’s.”

Without hesitation, Thor raised his own sword and, in a single cut, amputated the bitten arm.

Blood spurted, but that was not what shook everyone there.

“This is no longer about pride,” he declared in a grave voice as blood sprayed among his energy. “I have to keep fighting, even if I lose an arm… a leg… all my limbs. As long as I’m not dead, I must fight.”

Thor’s eyes shone with determination.

“Why? Because my people trust me. Because I carry the dreams of those who died by Jörmungander’s jaws. Because in my hands are all the futures my people fought for. The lives still standing, waiting for a tomorrow… It’s no longer about me. It’s about them. It’s about the future. And that is why—”

A golden light began to emanate from his body. The earth vibrated with that pure, ruthless energy.

“That is why I will not fall!”

The transformation was immediate. The god of thunder was wrapped in a golden aura that lit everything around him.

“Berserker Mode Two: Kami.”

Thor’s eyes shone like suns, his hair floated in the energy, and golden sparks surrounded him as if the sun itself had chosen him as its messenger.

“Thor, you can do it! Finish him!” Slangemorder shouted, eyes full of awe.

The Vikings around them raised their weapons and began to chant his name.

“Thanks, everyone,” Thor thought as he tightened his grip on his hammer.

A final smile crossed his face.

“Give it everything, Jörmungander…”

Both titans expelled their auras—one brilliant, the other shadowed. Two opposing forces. Two worlds on the brink of collision.

Thor’s hammer began to shine with a brilliance never seen before. The air grew heavy, and the earth stopped trembling... as if the very worlds themselves were holding their breath.

Even if I want to, thought the god as his body shook from within, I can’t keep fighting a battle of endurance. I’m too weak for that. So… I have to give everything in this attack.

Jörmungander didn’t wait. With primal brutality, the serpent hurled its entire body at Thor, sinking its venomous fangs into his torso, arms, and back. Each bite was a death sentence that the god resisted through sheer instinct.

“He can’t go on like this!” thought Slangemorder in despair. “This is unsustainable!”

But Thor didn’t scream. He didn’t yield. His thoughts roared louder than any storm.

You have to endure! he told himself. You can’t give up now. They’re all… counting on you to win. If you fall, they’ll prevail. Tip the balance in your favor! Stand tall!

His knees buckled. He collapsed to his side, unconscious. The poison had seeped too deep.

“No… it can’t be!” Slangemorder shouted as he watched him fall.

But at that very moment—

Thor’s eyes snapped open, glowing with pure light.

A gigantic weapon of lightning began to take shape in his hands. It wasn’t just a hammer. It was the very manifestation of his will. His legacy.

“What… is that?” Vidar muttered, his mouth agape.

From every corner of the battlefield, the hammer of light could be seen rising like a beacon.

“You never stop surprising me… little spark,” Loki whispered under his breath.

“My son…” murmured Odin, unable to blink.

“Monster…” whispered Tyr, caught between awe and reverence.

Thor screamed with everything he had left—a cry that tore through flesh, sky, and soul alike.

“DIE!!!”

And he unleashed his final attack.

The impact was absolute. The hammer of thunder struck Jörmungander’s forehead, piercing through mercilessly. A colossal shockwave rippled across the battlefield. Distant mountains split apart. The sky itself seemed to fracture.

Inside the serpent’s body, its venom sacs began to explode one by one—a chain reaction. The beast screamed in agony, a sound so piercing it made the ears of all who heard it bleed.

From the outside, defeating you was impossible, Thor thought, his vision blurring. But the key… was within. Your venom sacs. Not even you can withstand what you carry inside.

Jörmungander convulsed, consumed by its own poison.

And finally… it fell. Lifeless. Empty.

“You did it, Thor! You did it!” Slangemorder cried, tears of relief streaming down his face.

The Vikings roared in celebration. The enemy forces stood silent—shocked, defeated, disbelieving.

Jörmungander, the colossus, lay dead. Its shadow dissolved beneath the sun.

But Thor did not celebrate. He stood, yes… but swaying. The poison coursed through every vein. His breath was shallow.

No… not yet… he thought, stepping onto his fallen foe’s body.

One step. Two. Three. His legs trembled. His vision blurred.

If you fall… this won’t be a victory. You can’t fall… not now!

“Something’s wrong,” whispered Slangemorder, heart sinking.

Did I do the right thing? Thor wondered, seeing the faces of his fallen friends in his mind. The pain weighed heavier than the poison.

Eight steps. The ninth seemed impossible.

No… they can’t see me fall… he said with his last clear thought.

And he took that ninth step. Steady. Unbroken. He stood tall… with his fist raised high.

“Thor…” whispered Slangemorder, eyes glistening.

All the Vikings fell silent. Then, one by one, they raised their weapons to the sky, crying tears of pride.

“Thank you… Thor,” murmured the young warrior.

Even the enemy soldiers lowered their weapons—and their heads—in reverence to the god of thunder.

Narrator:
To the ignorant, this battle might have seemed a draw. But to those who witnessed it, there was no doubt.

For Thor, though he lost his life, was never defeated.

Because in his dying breath, he sent a message that thundered louder than any storm:

Fight, even when you can no longer stand.
Fight, even on the edge of the abyss.
Fight, even if only a single breath remains… and then, fight with that last breath.

That small, defiant act…
marked the rise of some,
and the inevitable fall of others.

The final roar of the god of thunder…
was what decided the war.