Chapter 17. Devilish audacity against divine fury

Thor was welcomed at the casino like a VIP—an administrator personally came out, bypassing the chip exchange line for him.

[No surprise everyone practically bows to his balls.]

John watched as the Prince of Asgard tossed the administrator an emerald.

[That’s worth at least five grand.]

Thor sat down at the roulette table like a king. He didn’t bother looking for a corkscrew—he simply smashed the bottle’s neck against the table, spilling some wine. The administrator standing behind him didn’t even flinch, just noted it on the account.

"Everything on black!" Thor pushed forward a mountain of chips. "To match my new friend!"

The dealer spun the wheel and dropped the ball.

"Eight, black," he announced. "Congratulations."

"Ha! Friend, you bring me luck!" Thor guzzled the wine straight from the broken bottle.

[Drinking my gift alone. Asshole.]

"Who are you, friend?" Thor tossed the empty bottle over his shoulder. "That white mask of yours… looks familiar, but I can’t remember why…"

[Not the best place to talk, but I don’t have time to wait until this drunk is alone. At least he’s in a good mood right now.]

"I’ll be honest. I’m the Ghost Rider, and I’m dying. I need your help."

"I remember now! You’re Satan’s servant!"

A split second later, a lightning bolt struck John like a battering ram, blasting him through several casino walls.

People screamed, someone called the police, but John didn’t care. He lay on the asphalt, watching as the blue sky darkened with storm clouds.

[The hit was nothing. The real pain will come when Jane says, ‘I told you so.’]

"Foul demon!" Thor stepped through the hole in the wall. "You tried to lull me into complacency with honeyed words! You are no better than Loki!"

"I don’t give a shit about your family drama!" the Rider growled. "I just came to talk, you dumb brute!"

"Your tongue needs trimming," Thor raised his axe.

"What have you done?!"

The furious casino administrator marched outside—one arm of his glasses broken, his suit covered in dust. "You will pay for the damage!"

"Begone, worm!" Thor sent him flying a hundred meters with a flick of his wrist. "You have no right to demand anything from the Prince of Asgard!"

The man slammed into a wall and groaned weakly. Zarathos burned in John’s bones—but only lightly, meaning the guy was still alive.

The people on the street screamed and scattered, fleeing from the rampaging god.

[Jane was right. There’s no reasoning with this barbarian.]

"Penance Stare!"

[I’ll just extract the answers.]

A fiery spiral lashed into Thor’s sins—only to shatter into a thousand pieces.

"More sorcery?!" the warrior roared. "DIE, DEMON!"

Thor lunged, slashing and hammering with reckless fury.

[You want a fight? Fine. Negotiations are already over!]

John ripped the chain from his belt, set it ablaze, spun it, and hurled it at that smug, godly face.

"Did you learn to fight in a tavern?"

Thor dodged with ease… then caught the chain with his hammer, letting it wrap tightly around the handle.

With a sharp yank, he pulled John toward him—straight into a divine fist.

The mask held, but it hurt. John skidded back ten meters, plowing through the dirt.

"Wretch!"

Thor swung his foot into John’s ribs with brutal force. "I was trained by Asgard’s finest instructors! I have fought in ten wars! And what have you done?"

"I learned to survive!"

John threw sand straight into his face.

"Bastard!" Thor roared, eyes blazing red. "I’ll kill y— khe!"

"Not so cocky now, huh?!"

The Rider wrapped his chain around the god’s neck and pressed his knee into his spine.

"You will answer my questions, you arrogant prick! Like it or not!"

[God, it’s so satisfying to watch a bastard’s face twist in pain! That lolling tongue, those bulging eyes—exactly what I needed after a rough day!]

Thor grabbed his hammer-axe. A lightning bolt from the sky struck John. His fingers spasmed uncontrollably, forcing him to release his grip.

[Magic bullshit! I can feel the electricity in my soul! This could fry even the Sorcerer Supreme.]

Thor threw off the chain and ran his fingers over the bruise on his neck.

Find this and other great novels on the author's preferred platform. Support original creators!

"Persistent little shit!" The Prince of Asgard raised his hammer overhead. "For battle against a servant of Satan, I’ll remove my restraints. All-Seeing Heimdall, unlock my power!"

A blinding white bolt struck Thor. The flash was so bright John had to shield his eyes.

"Heh, now we’re talking!" The warrior looked the same, but his stance radiated confidence.

WHAM!

A punch slammed into John’s ear. His skull held, but his soul ached.

[He’s infused his fists with magic lightning… and he’s faster. I can barely track him with my eyes.]

"You got stronger," the Rider muttered, pushing himself to his feet. "That white lightning—what is it? Some kind of Asgardian steroid?"

"It’s my natural power," Thor flexed his crackling fists, smirking. "Midgard is a pathetic realm with a weak magical field. Just my aura alone could wipe out an entire city. That’s why all Asgardians have their strength sealed when they arrive here—down to a mere twenty percent."

John glanced at the idiots still filming the superhuman fight. Their faces were flushed, drenched in sweat—but they weren’t dead. A shiver ran down his spine.

"And how much power do you have now?" John asked.

"Forty percent," Thor grinned. "More than enough to kill you!"

The hammer strike sent Ghost Rider hurtling past the city limits into the desert.

As he soared through the air, he caught a glimpse of Jane—coordinating evacuations, holding crumbling buildings together with mini-tornadoes.

"Die!"

Thor swung his axe, now wreathed in lightning.

The blow was so powerful that—for a fraction of a second—the fire in John’s eyes went out.

His mask cracked but held.

"Almost!" the berserker grinned, raising his weapon for another strike. "One more hit—huh?"

To his shock, he couldn’t move.

A black chain was coiled tightly around his body—its end gripped firmly by the Ghost Rider.

"We humans don’t live as long as Asgardians," John smirked. "We don’t have time for ten wars. We learn everything in our first one."

He took a deep breath and clutched Zarathos’ Cross.

He drew power—not from hellfire, not from flames, but something new.

A breath of infernal lava, consuming all sin.

The Son of God screamed so loud that the air itself vibrated. His wails echoed all the way to the heavens.

White lightning rained down, splashing against the molten torrent.

When the smoke cleared, only charred bones and scorched muscle remained of Thor—even his soul was burned.

A single crimson eye glared at John with pure hatred.

"Heimdall’s a good dog," John muttered, watching magic lightning rapidly reconstruct his opponent. "Knows when to save his master’s ass without being told."

"That was your last joke," Thor’s body fully restored, now wrapped in a thin armor of living lightning. "You barely survived when I was at forty percent."

"Now I’m at sixty."

[…Well. I’m screwed.]

Flash!

A hammer strike launched John skyward, straight into the black storm clouds—only to be struck by a bolt of lightning so powerful that his soul crumpled like paper.

Thor struck from the left, from the right, from below—never letting him land.

Absolute helplessness in midair.

His movements matched the speed of lightning, each blow punctuated by another electric surge.

John’s regeneration couldn’t keep up.

After three hits, he stopped feeling pain.

After five, he stopped counting.

After ten, he started thinking he was dead.

But he wasn’t.

And Thor kept hitting.

[God… why doesn’t he just use the axe? Why won’t he end this?]

A hammer blow to the skull sent John plummeting toward the ground like a missile.

Then—the chain at his waist snapped tight, nearly tearing his insides apart.

Thor, hovering above, had caught the other end with one hand. In his other, he held Stormbreaker—charged and crackling with lightning.

This was the final blow.

"Why…?" John whispered. "What did I do to you?"

"You wield power granted by Satan." Lightning crackled as Thor gathered even more energy into his hammer. "You must be destroyed."

"And what about good?!" John’s fury flared, even as his body failed him. "What about all the goddamn good I’ve done?!"

"What does it matter?" the Son of God replied indifferently. "I am a God. You are the Devil. It’s simple."

The hammer fell.

John’s mask shattered.

Everything turned white. The world dissolved into absolute silence.

For a moment, it felt like his soul had left his body—floating somewhere peaceful, a place without pain, without violence.

[Is this… heaven?]

And then—thunder roared.

Colors and sound slammed back into existence, along with unbearable agony.

John found himself on the ground, unable to move his fingers, his vision blurred with red.

Shards of his mask lay beside him.

"You’re still alive?!" Thor’s voice bellowed from the sky. "Heimdall, grant me power!"

"Enough!" A powerful voice boomed nearby.

[That voice… I know it… Strange? I can’t see anything.]

"By the authority of the Sorcerer Supreme, I forbid this destruction!" Strange’s voice rang with command. "Leave now, or face my wrath."

"Sorcerer Supreme? Ha!" Thor let out a thunderous laugh. "You may be Midgard’s greatest magician, but to Asgard, you’re a fool with a handful of tricks! I could wipe you out with my aura alone!"

"Then fight me first!" Jane’s voice, fierce and unyielding. "Maybe you’re immune to my lightning—but not to the strikes of Mjolnir!"

"The thief is here too," Thor sneered. "Not surprised to see you with Satan’s spawn."

"Thor, you will leave. Immediately," Strange’s voice was cold, final. "Or, in the name of Agamotto, I will place a ban on your presence on Earth."

"I don’t give a damn, sorcerer," Thor spat. "If you want to defend the Devil, so be it. I’ll wait a few months, take my Mjolnir back, and leave this hole of a realm. Jane—no goodbyes."

Thunder crashed. The crushing presence vanished.

"John, you're causing trouble again."

Stephen leaned over him, reciting medical spells. "Because you provoked Thor, half the city is in ruins."

"Fuck off, Doc! You should’ve kicked that alien shithead off our planet a long time ago!" John hissed. "And why the hell can’t I see you?!"

"Lady with the hammer," Strange said dryly. "Be useful. Clean up the patient."

Jane swung Mjolnir. A small raincloud formed above John, washing the blood from his eyes.

He blinked. Jane and Steve's faces swam into focus—both deeply concerned.

"Get this crap off my right eye!" he grumbled. "My hands aren’t working."

"There’s nothing to take off," Strange said with a grimace. "Thor knocked your eye out."

"Damn. Haven’t been hit that hard before," John muttered through bloody lips. "If I didn’t have regeneration, I’d never pick fights with guys twice my size. But since I do, I’ll be fine in a couple of minutes."

"You won’t," Strange stated. "Magical injuries don’t heal that easily. Only an idiot goes into a fight without magical shields."

"This wouldn’t have happened if you weren’t such a selfish prick and actually taught me magic!"

"Calm down, both of you," Jane said, trying to defuse the tension. "No point arguing. We're alive, no civilians died, and the city will be rebuilt quickly."

John turned away from Strange’s bright green healing magic and looked at Las Vegas in the distance. The fires were out, the rubble cleared, the looters stopped by non-lethal lightning. The work of the Thunderheart.

"I used to just want to keep you alive, Jane," John said quietly. "Now I want more."

"Okay…" There was a flicker of unease in Jane’s voice. "And what do you want?"

"For Thor to never touch Mjolnir again."

Jane looked surprised. Strange looked disapproving.

"As a doctor, I forbid you from fighting Thor again," Strange said with a frown. "Magical injuries are serious. I’ll patch up the primary damage to your soul and give you a healing salve, but you’ll need to use a wheelchair for a while."

"Doc, you don’t like that oversized man-child throwing his weight around on our planet either," John pointed out. He saw Strange's eye twitch. "So help me, damn it!"

"What exactly do you want from me?" Strange asked, exhausted. "I can’t attack the Prince of Asgard—that would start a war. I have to think about all of humanity."

"Forget it, Doc. I wouldn’t trust you to cover my back anyway," John scoffed. "I just need information. If you stop being stingy, this could solve all our problems."

Strange’s interest sparked. "What information?"

"During the fight, I realized I almost kicked the Son of God’s ass. If Jane’s lightning had worked on him, we would’ve crushed him. But now I have a better idea—what if there were more people like me or Jane?"

Strange froze for a second. His gaze shifted.

"You want to…"

"Give me the locations of the other Infinity Avatars," John grinned. "It’s time to build a crew."