If He be Worthy [MCU/Thor]

The rain pelted against the translucent barriers of the hastily constructed facility, creating a symphony that reminded Thor of the countless storms he had once commanded. Water cascaded freely through the open roof, soaking him to the bone, but he barely noticed. His boots had left muddy prints on the floor as he made his way through the maze-like corridor, dispatched Midgardian warriors groaning in his wake. After fighting through what felt like an army of these mortals, he finally saw it Mjölnir, his faithful hammer, standing upright in the mud, covered in artificial light.

The sight of his weapon, surrounded by these mortal barriers yet open to the sky above, struck him as both comical and tragic. These humans thought to contain the power of Thor with mere walls? And yet... his father had seen fit to cast both him and Mjölnir to this realm. There had to be purpose in that choice, though the thought brought only bitterness to his heart.

A slight smile crossed his face as he approached, rain streaming down his features. These mortals had built quite the fortress around his weapon, but none of their defenses had proved sufficient. Now, finally, he would reclaim what was rightfully his and return to Asgard to make things right. To prove to his father that he was worthy of the throne, that his actions in Jotunheim had been justified.

Thor wrapped his fingers around Mjölnir's handle, the familiar leather grip awakening memories that spanned over a millennium. He remembered the day Father first presented him with the hammer, remembered how its weight had felt perfect in his grip, as Eitri himself had forged it for Thor's hand alone. Fifteen hundred years they had been companions longer than any mortal's lifetime, longer than empires had stood.

Every ridge of the handle was known to him, every subtle mark etched into its surface held a story. The slight mark near the pommel from their battle against the stone giants of Nornheim. The weathered section of leather where his thumb always rested, worn smooth by centuries of lightning-calling. Mjölnir wasn't just a weapon, it was an extension of himself, a constant companion through glory and hardship alike.

He pulled, expecting the familiar weight to lift as naturally as his own arm.

The hammer didn't budge.

Thor's heart skipped a beat. Surely this was some mistake. He tightened his grip, his knuckles turning white with effort. The leather creaked under his fingers, the same sound he'd heard countless times before, but now it seemed to mock him. He pulled again, harder, his boots sliding in the mud that had formed around the hammer's base. The muscles in his arms, shoulders, and back strained with effort, muscles that had hurled this very hammer through mountainsides, that had called down storms to shake the nine realms.

Still, Mjölnir remained unmoved, as immutable as Yggdrasil itself.

"No," he whispered, his mind reeling. This couldn't be. How many times had he casually stretched out his hand, knowing his faithful hammer would fly to his grip? How many foes had he vanquished, how many realms had he defended, with Mjölnir as his steadfast ally? The weight of fifteen centuries of memories crashed down upon him, each one now tainted by this moment of rejection.

His voice rose, raw with desperation and loss: "NOOOOO!"

He fell down to his knees before the hammer, the rain now mixing with the sweat on his face. The water pooled around him, soaking through his mortal garments, but he barely felt it. All he could feel was the crushing weight of his father's judgment and the bitter taste of his own unworthiness.

The thunder crashed overhead, but it was no longer his to command. He was truly powerless now, stripped not just of his title and his strength, but of Mjölnir itself the very symbol of his worthiness. In this moment of absolute vulnerability, his mind was assaulted not by the Norns, but by something far stranger visions that seemed to come from the perspective of a Midgardian mortal who had followed his journey through their realm's peculiar magic. He saw himself through their eyes, watching his life unfold on what they called a "movie screen." More bizarrely, he witnessed this mortal engaged in some form of combat simulation they called a "game," where they faced a twisted version of himself as someone redhaired and fat. The mortal had also pored over countless illustrated tomes they named "comic books," each page capturing moments of his life in frozen images, some true to his nature, others wildly divergent from reality.

Through these mortal eyes, he witnessed a tapestry of sorrow, a relentless cascade of loss that threatened to break him where he knelt. Thor saw the heart-wrenching demise of those he held dearest: the betrayal and fall of his brother, the tragic death of his mother, the passing of his father, the revelation that he had a sister who he later indirectly killed. He watched as his friends, his closest allies, and his beloved were taken from him one by one. He saw the destruction of his home, the gouging of his eye, and the decimation of his people. Each vision was a blow, stealing pieces of his very essence. His mighty hammer shattered, and ultimately, he witnessed his own defeat at the hands of a being called Thanos as he failed to kill him before he caused mass genocide.

Thor clutched his head, overwhelmed by this assault of impossible knowledge. Was this the kind of foresight his father had gained at the Well of Mimir? Had Odin seen such terrible visions when he sacrificed his eye for wisdom? The rain continued to pour around him, and he saw his own reflection fragmented in the puddles forming around Mjölnir not the reflection of a prince or a god, but of a man. The weight of these prophecies threatened to crush what remained of his spirit, yet somehow he knew them to be true, as true as the thunder that no longer answered his call.

The sound of boots on metal caught his attention too late. As Thor turned, still reeling from the weight of his realizations, he caught a glimpse of a black-clad figure. Then came the sharp impact of a weapon against his temple, and darkness claimed him.