Illusiveone
patreon
8: Marvel's Green Lantern, Unworthy
🕑 Added 2025-06-03 12:34:50 +0000 UTCMax and Odin walked side by side through high, arched corridors toward the throne room. The towering doors groaned open, revealing a hall both regal and austere. Carved pillars stood like ancient sentinels, and banners bearing the crest of King Bór Borrison hung overhead.
At the far end sat King Bór himself: wild red hair and beard, yet unmistakably regal. In his left hand he held Gungnir.
To the king’s right stood a tall figure in a deep hooded cloak, his face lost in shadow.
“Valthrún the Seer,” Odin whispered.
On the king’s left stood a warrior in gleaming golden armour, arms folded over a massive war-hammer. Broad and silent, he radiated brute power.
“That’s Thráin,” Odin murmured, “He leads the Einherjar.”
“Well,” Max muttered as they walked, “this definitely doesn’t look like a celebration.”
Odin didn’t answer. His jaw was set, eyes fixed straight ahead.
The towering doors of the throne room swung shut behind them with a booming finality.
Silence.
Five figures stood in a wide ring of tension: King Bór on his throne; Thráin, arms crossed and glowering; Valthrún the Seer, unreadable; Odin, tall and unbowed; and Max, trying to make sense of it all.
At last Bór spoke, his voice deep—similar to Odin’s. “So… this is the mysterious warrior you call Grænlaðr.”
Max stepped forward. “Yes, Your..umm..eh.. Majesty. I helped your son on his quest. We killed Surtur together.”
His gaze flicked to Thráin’s scowl, then to Valthrún. The seer’s expression was not hostile but fearful—he stared at Max as though he were a demon.
Why is he so scared? Max wondered. Is it the ring?
It must be.
Bór’s gravelly voice rumbled again. “I thank you for aiding my son in slaying Surtur.”
Thráin cut in, his tone iron-hard. “And your brother Mimir as well, my king.The prince killed your brother”
The tension snapped tighter. Valthrún’s eyes widened.
“Silence,” the seer hissed at Thráin, almost reflexively, before turning those haunted eyes back on Max.
Whose side is he even on? Max thought.
Odin broke the hush, stepping forward with a defiant grin. “So, Father, here I stand—with my friend, my battle-brother—returned victorious.” His gaze swept the empty hall. “Though it seems this is no grand ceremony we thought it would be.”
Bór’s eyes narrowed. “You killed your uncle.”
“I killed a thief and a traitor,” Odin replied coolly. “One who stole Gungnir and welcomed Ragnarök upon our people.”
Bór remained silent.
“Did you not hear me when we spoke before?” Odin pressed, voice taut. “We went to Mimir in peace. Grænlaðr and I sought only his wisdom—to reach Muspelheim and stop Surtur. But Mimir refused. He wanted Ragnarök to happen, he wanted Surtur to destroy our home. He turned his back on Asgard.”
Thráin stepped forward. “Lies! Prince Mimir loved Asgard. This is bloodlust disguised as heroism. The prince killed his uncle without remorse.”
Max stepped up. “Odin speaks the truth.”
“Silence, outsider,” Thráin snarled. “You have no place here.”
“Thráin,” Valthrún said—quiet, yet firm. “Control yourself.”
Odin faced his father. “Tell me, Father—will you believe your son, or will you heed only your advisers?”
A heavy silence fell.
Then Bór stood.
The weight of the room shifted as the king descended from his throne, his boots echoing across the stone floor.
“You left Asgard,” Bór said at last, his voice low and terrible, “when I specifically ordered you not to.”
Odin opened his mouth, but Bór raised a hand.
“You abandoned your duties. You set off on your own path—without counsel, without sanction. You travelled through the realms like a storm, leaving ruin in your wake. You trespassed upon Vanaheim and shed the blood of your own kin.”
He stopped before his son. “You dragged war to our door. Your battle with Surtur has scarred the realms—chaos that will take years to mend.”
Odin clenched his fists. “I stopped Ragnarök.”
“So you think,” Bór replied.
Another long, bitter silence followed.
“You act as though you already wear the crown,” Bór said, now face-to-face with him. “But you are not king.”
He turned away, voice rising as he strode to the centre of the chamber. “Yet I cannot punish you before the people. I cannot condemn you publicly—you are hailed as a hero.”
Bór faced Odin once more.
“What are you doing, Father?” Odin asked, his voice cracking with disbelief. “I only ask you to—”
“SILENCE!” Bór’s command thundered through the throne room, shaking the very stone beneath their feet.
Max flinched at the raw force of it; the sound echoed off the towering pillars, reverberating like a war-drum.
“I had an agreement with my brother,” Bór said, his voice quieter now but no less commanding. “He would keep Gungnir, and in time, I hoped we could reconcile.” A quiver of fury crept into his words. “I loved him, Odin. Even after all his defiance, I loved him. And now…”
His eyes blazed as they fixed on his son.
“You killed him—your uncle, your own kin.”
Max, standing beside Odin, saw the young prince’s breath catch. For the first time, Odin looked truly afraid—not of battle, but of the crushing disappointment of the father he had spent his life trying to impress.
“You are unworthy of this realm,” Bór went on, his voice booming once more and shaking the grand hall.
Without another word, he strode forward, seized the golden Asgardian crest on Odin’s cuirass, and tore it free. The sharp snap of metal and metal echoed like thunder.
“Unworthy of your title,” he added coldly, ripping the crimson royal cloak from Odin’s shoulders.
“Unworthy of the kin you have betrayed.”
Odin did not move. Could not. He stood in stunned silence.
Bór raised Gungnir, its point catching the morning light pouring through the high windows.
“In the name of my father, and his father before him, I—Bór Burison—cast you out… until such time as I call you back.”
As he spoke, Odin’s armour unravelled, piece by piece, dissolving into threads of golden light and leaving him bare-skinned.
“If you hold any love for me, son,” Bór said, his tone softening for a single, terrible instant, “accept this judgment and leave peacefully.”
He turned away—but paused once more.
“Confront your flaws in exile, Odin, or be undone by them.”
Odin still did not move. Max glanced at his friend’s face—pale, hollow. Wordlessly, Odin turned and walked slowly toward the grand doors. They swung open without a sound, and he slipped through like a shadow.
Max started after him, but Bór’s voice stopped him.
“You. Stay.”
“Valthrún, Thráin—leave us,” Bór said, calm but final.
“My king,” Thráin protested, concern edging his voice, “let me stay. This stranger—”
“I said leave, Thráin,” Bór repeated, sharper now, his gaze fixed on Max.
A tense pause followed. Thráin’s fists tightened, but he bowed stiffly. “As you command.”
Valthrún glanced at the king, then at Max. For a long moment the seer and Bór seemed to share a silent exchange—some wordless understanding between old friends. Bór gave him a small nod. Valthrún returned it, then steered a reluctant Thráin from the hall.
The great doors shut with a heavy thud, leaving Max alone with the King of Asgard.
Bór strode toward him, each step echoing against the stone. He stopped a pace away, studying Max with the piercing intensity of a man accustomed to unraveling riddles and lies.
“Who are you?” he asked.
Max blinked. “I—uh—what?”
“I asked you a question,” Bór repeated, unchanging in tone. “Who. Are. You?”
Max hesitated, mind racing. What do I even say to that?
“My most trusted adviser has a theory about your nature,” Bór continued. “I wish to hear it from your own lips.”
Panic fluttered in Max’s chest. He remembered telling Odin, making up something on the spot, that he was the Guardian of the Universe. I can’t say that to Bór—the King of Asgard—he’ll never—
“I’m… uh… the… Guardian of the Universe,” Max blurted.
Silence.
Max winced inwardly. Idiot. Idiot.
Bór’s expression did not change, but his eyes narrowed, a flicker of something unreadable passing through them—suspicion? Realisation?
“So,” Bór said slowly, “Valthrún was right. It is you—one of the Elders.”
What? Max blinked. That worked?
A warm rush of relief washed over him. Clearly this was one colossal cosmic misunderstanding, and he had no intention of correcting it.
“Yes,” he said, straightening and trying to sound authoritative. “Yes—the Elders. Of course you’ve heard of us.”
Bór regarded him in a long, weighted silence.
“I know of them,” the king said at last. “But I do not understand why one would take interest in my son.” His voice sharpened, suspicion returning. “So I ask: what do you want, Guardian?”
Max swallowed. “Nothing. I didn’t come for anything. I only helped Odin because I believed Surtur was a threat.”
He forced a chuckle. “Besides, he had the Space Stone.”
Realisation flickered in Bór’s eyes. “Ah. I should have expected that. Your kind are not known for charity.”
Max’s thoughts raced. Say something clever—anything. Before he could, Bór flicked a dismissive hand.
“No matter. I know I will not get a true answer from you—that is your nature.” He leaned closer. “Know this: Asgard will keep the Stone, and there is nothing you can do about it.”
“Sure—keep it,” Max said, shrugging.
Bór seemed almost surprised; the tension in his posture eased.
An awkward silence lingered before the king spoke again, his tone softer.
“I have a request.”
“A request?” Max echoed.
“Yes.” Bór turned, gazing out a high arched window. “If you continue to travel with my son, keep him safe. He is brash—young—but not wicked. One day he will be greater than I.”
Max’s mouth felt dry. He managed a nod.
Bór answered with a single, grave nod, still facing the window. Without another word he strode away, his footsteps echoing until he disappeared into the shadows beyond the throne.
Once again Max stood alone, wondering how in Hell he had just pulled that off.
=====
Max stood quietly on the same lake-bank where he and Odin had talked, watching the sunset while his thoughts wandered.
Odin had asked for a little time alone after the audience with Bór. He’d promised to meet Max here before nightfall—wanted a chance to say goodbye.
Max had briefly wondered how sunrise and sunset worked on a flat realm like Asgard. Jade tried to explain: the solar cycle was regulated by gravitational anchoring to a dimensional core node, offset by temporal-distortion fields. He hadn’t grasped it—his mind was elsewhere.
Ever since he’d woken in the Asgardian infirmary, questions had whirled in his head.
That vision in the void—the field of coloured lights.
Yellow. Red. Blue. Indigo. Violet. Orange.
And green: his green.
He knew enough to recognise the Emotional Spectrum.
Had he brought it into this universe, or had it always been here?
And why had Surtur—and then Bór—called him Elder? The only Elders he knew of were the Elders of the Universe: ancient, primordial beings billions of years old.
He’d been here barely a week.
Yet Bór, Valthrún, even Surtur had looked at him with clear recognition. What exactly were they seeing?
If the Spectrum existed here, could there have been other Lanterns long ago—rage, hope, love, avarice, compassion, fear?
“Does it matter?” Max muttered, arms folded as he stared at the horizon. “It’s not like I’ll actually run into them—if they even exist.”
What he really wanted was to go home to Earth. As an archaeologist, it would be a dream come true to walk through the world’s distant past—wandering ancient cities, witnessing lost civilisations firsthand. After that? Maybe he would drift among the stars and see what the universe had to offer.
Compared with Asgardians, though, he would live only a fraction of their lifespans. The thought nagged at him.
“Hey, Jade?” he asked aloud.
“Yes, Max?”
“I’m not immortal, right? Just checking.”
“No,” Jade replied. “Your body is enhanced—cellular reinforcement and accelerated healing—but you will still age. Under optimal conditions you may live up to two hundred standard Earth years, but you are not immortal.”
Max chuckled. “Great—just long enough to glimpse a fraction of the universe.”
Yes, he decided. That would be the plan: return to Earth, fulfil his dreams, then roam the stars until the clock ran out. He smiled at the thought.
“Grænlaðr.”
The voice cut through his musings. He turned.
Odin stood a few paces away.
The prince looked different. He wore a sleeveless blue tunic that bared his muscular arms, trimmed with simple silver embroidery. A red cloak—torn at the edges but carefully mended—hung from his shoulders. Max blinked; it was the same cloak Bór had ripped from him during the judgment. Odin had stitched it back and wore it proudly.
Mjölnir rested in his hand, tiny arcs of lightning crackling across its surface.
Stripped of titles and grandeur, Odin reminded Max of someone else—Thor, in the days when he was unworthy. It struck Max as strangely poetic.
“Odin,” Max said as the last light of Asgard’s sun slipped below the horizon, “you look ready to leave.”
“Aye,” Odin replied with a small nod. “I’ve said my farewells to everyone. Only you remain.”
“No need for farewells,” Max said, smiling. “I’m coming with you.”
Odin raised an eyebrow. “You are?”
“Yes. I told you I wanted to explore the stars. What better way than with my battle-brother?”
For a heartbeat they stood in silence, then Odin’s grin returned—bright and full of the old light he’d lost in the throne room. He clapped Max on the shoulder. “Aye. I would like that.”
Max’s gaze drifted to the hammer in Odin’s grip. “So your father didn’t take it?”
Odin shook his head. “No. It’s not his to take. It was my mother’s.” He lifted the weapon, runes pulsing along its length. “Mjölnir—forged in the heart of a dying star.”
A flicker of tenderness crossed his face, then he straightened. “So. Where to?”
“Earth,” Max said after a moment’s thought.
Odin blinked. “Earth?”
“Midgard.” Max corrected.
Odin laughed. “There’s nothing in Midgard—primitives, my friend.”
“I still want to visit.”
Odin smirked. “Very well. But first, on my travels I heard of trouble stirring in the Shi’ar Empire. Perhaps we can pay it a visit—find a bit of adventure.”
“As long as it doesn’t take too long,” Max said with a shrug.
Grinning, Odin watched as Max raised his ring. Emerald light blossomed, forming a vast, gleaming ship—larger than the one before.
“You’ve outdone yourself, Grænlaðr,” Odin whistled, stepping aboard.
“Max,” he corrected gently.
“What?”
“My name is Max.”
Odin smirked. “Max, eh? I still like Grænlaðr better.”
Max chuckled. They boarded the ship, and moments later they were sailing among the stars once more—two friends in search of adventure.
Comments
Illusiveone
Mimir wont be in the story again for a while And his head was not scanned
June Soriano
has Jade finished scanning Mimir's head
Tyler Karp
Thank you for the chapter
