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Chapter 322: Thor's Shock—Is This Earthling Really This Strong?
🕑 Added 2025-09-13 16:55:14 +0000 UTC
Boom!
Thor had never expected a mortal—much less a human from Midgard—to shoot searing beams of energy straight from his eyes.
The optic blasts struck him head-on. Thor staggered, boots gouging the ground as the force knocked him down in a spray of dirt and debris. For an instant, the crowd of mutants watching from the perimeter thought the mighty intruder had been felled.
But who was Thor? He was not some common warrior. He was the God of Thunder, son of Odin, a being who had braved the crushing fires of neutron stars and survived the void of space with nothing but his bare flesh. His body was a fortress forged by divinity.
So when the dust cleared, Thor rose to his feet without a single mark upon him. He brushed his hand across his chest almost absently, like one might wipe away a speck of dust, and narrowed his piercing blue eyes at the man who had struck him down.
“What sorcery is this?” he demanded, his voice echoing with storm-laden power. “What’s with your eyes? Since when can the mortals of Midgard wield such fire?”
Cyclops, his own chest heaving, stared back in grim silence. The way the blond stranger had shrugged off his full-force blast left him shaken. That attack could carve tanks in half, could shatter walls of steel. Yet this man treated it like nothing more than a shove.
Even more baffling—he clearly didn’t recognize him.
Cyclops was no nameless soldier. In this era, the X-Men were household legends. Professor X, Magneto, and Cyclops himself were celebrated in news reports and even romanticized in comic books passed around like urban myths.
Yet the man before him looked upon him with puzzled disdain, as though he were an unknown upstart.
Cyclops’s mind raced, and then the truth struck him like lightning. Asgard.
Of course! The golden hair, the otherworldly strength, the casual mention of a “brother.” This could only be Thor, the God of Thunder himself.
His heart skipped a beat. He had known Loki was imprisoned in Krakoa’s cells. They had all wondered if Asgard would retaliate—but no one had expected their vengeance to descend so quickly, piercing through Krakoa’s very defenses like they were nothing more than paper.
This was Thor. The Asgardian prince, the living storm. The opponent standing across from him wasn’t just formidable—he was a legend.
No wonder. No wonder he was so terrifyingly powerful.
Cyclops drew a steadying breath, forcing the tremor from his voice. He met Thor’s fierce glare with cold composure, shoulders squaring as he called back:
“You’re right. Your brother is here. But he brought this upon himself. If you want to see him, then you’ll have to speak with His Majesty.”
Thor’s lip curled into a thunderous sneer. “His Majesty? What a jest! Bring out this so-called ruler of yours. I will show him what it means to provoke the son of Odin!”
“Sorry,” Cyclops replied, his tone as flinty as his gaze. “His Majesty is not someone you can demand an audience with.”
Thor’s patience was already stretched thin. His grip on Mjolnir tightened, veins of lightning crawling across his arm. “Is that so? Then let us see if your Majesty can shield you from this!”
With a grunt, Thor hurled his hammer forward. Crack!
A blinding column of lightning ripped through the air, lancing toward Cyclops with unstoppable speed.
Cyclops braced himself, jaw clenched. He could dodge a hammer—barely—but lightning? There was no escaping that.
And then—
An invisible barrier shimmered into existence before him, a translucent wall of raw force that cut the thunderbolt short. Lightning crackled and hissed against it before dissipating into harmless sparks.
Relief flooded Cyclops’s chest. He turned sharply, eyes wide, and—sure enough—there he was.
A familiar figure stood just behind him, calm as ever, one hand raised with his palm outstretched.
Alex.
“Your Majesty!” Cyclops breathed, respect plain in his voice.
“Scott,” Alex said evenly, lowering his hand. “I’ll take it from here.”
He strode forward, his every step radiating quiet authority, until he stood directly before the furious god.
Thor’s storm-bright eyes studied him with wary fascination. This man had blocked his lightning—an act no ordinary mortal could hope to achieve.
“So you are the one who dares hold my brother captive?” Thor demanded, electricity dancing across his shoulders.
“That’s me,” Alex answered without flinching. His tone was cool, deliberate. “Your brother broke into my home to steal from me. Isn’t it natural to capture a thief?”
Thor’s jaw tightened. “Perhaps he does go too far at times, yes. He is cunning, sly, troublesome beyond measure.” His grip on the hammer tightened until the knuckles whitened. “But he is still my brother. He is Asgardian royalty. To lay a hand on him is to provoke Asgard itself! If you dare imprison him, then you will taste my wrath!”
With a roar, Thor swung Mjolnir in a vicious arc toward Alex’s head.
Boom!
Alex did not retreat. He did not sidestep. He met the divine hammer with nothing more than his own fist.
The impact rang out like thunder—and Mjolnir was blasted away, spinning through the air before embedding itself in the distant ground with a shuddering crash.
Thor froze, eyes bulging as if he had just witnessed the impossible.
“You—what?”
He had expected resistance, yes, but never in his wildest imagination had he thought anyone could swat Mjolnir aside with bare flesh. His hammer was forged in the heart of a dying star. It had slain giants, shattered mountains, leveled armies. Yet this man had punched it away like a child’s toy.
“Impossible…” Thor whispered, disbelief warring with dawning dread.
Alex’s eyes gleamed. “Is it?”
Before Thor could recover, Alex blurred forward. A crushing force slammed into Thor’s chest, detonating against him like a meteor strike.
The God of Thunder was launched backward, body tumbling through the air for hundreds of meters before he crashed into the earth. Stone and soil erupted, leaving a crater the size of a small building.
Thor groaned as he struggled to rise, pain lancing through his ribs. Even his Asgardian physique—tough enough to shrug off artillery fire—felt rattled, organs roiling, bones protesting.
“This has to be a jest,” he muttered, spitting dust, his face a mask of incredulity. “No mortal could possess such strength…”
But deep down, he already knew this was no jest. This was reality.
Snapping his hand out, Thor summoned Mjolnir back into his grip. The hammer flew across the battlefield and slapped into his palm, humming with divine energy.
The moment he touched it, lightning engulfed him. Sparks arced across his armor, and his eyes lit up with blinding electricity. He looked every inch the god he was, a storm made flesh.
The onlookers gasped, many shrinking back under the weight of his presence. The sheer aura he exuded pressed upon their chests like a mountain, stifling breath, making their knees weak. Some even felt the urge to kneel before him.
“This… this is the God of Thunder,” someone whispered, half in awe, half in fear.
Even Cyclops swallowed hard, his earlier confidence dissolving into humility. For one heartbeat, when he’d knocked Thor down, he had thought perhaps the Asgardian was overrated, just another arrogant powerhouse.
But now—watching the storm incarnate standing before them—he knew the truth.
Thor was on a level far beyond anything he could face.
Only Alex could stand against him.
