Marvel's Strongest Mage

"Blood trials. Fated bonds. Power awakened by sacrifice."

Daniel had read those stories. They belonged to fiction. Dramatic nonsense is spun in novels and dramas, never in the real world.

So when his blood, warm and vivid, splashed across the carved runes of Thor's Hammer, he didn't think twice. Didn't pause. Didn't expect anything.

If that was really all it took, then Loki would've tried it long ago.

And anyway, how many had Thor himself killed with that weapon? How many hearts had spilled their last beneath its weight? If blood could bind Mjolnir, then someone—anyone—would have claimed it centuries ago.

That's why Daniel didn't flinch. That's why he never saw Loki coming.

A flash of green shimmered through the flickering emergency lights, and an enraged roar echoed through the building like a crack of doom.

"You've stained it—with your filth!"

Loki moved like a shadow wrapped in lightning. In the blink of an eye, he was there—dagger drawn—plunging straight for Daniel's chest.

Too fast and it was too late to dodge.

Daniel barely registered the blade before it pierced his skin.

And it would have ended there—if not for the sky answering first.

A thunderclap shattered the air.

A single bolt of lightning tore down from the heavens, searing the sky open, and slammed into Daniel's body like judgment itself.

The electric force arched—leaping from Daniel's frame into Loki's dagger, and from there into Loki himself.

Pain surged through the trickster god, wrenching a growl from his throat. For a moment, he faltered—retreated. Not from the pain… but from what it implied.

Because this wasn't just random lightning.

This was Mjolnir's will.

And it had chosen someone else.

High above, the storm screamed.

More bolts followed.

Not one. Not ten. But dozens, maybe hundreds, crackling down with godly wrath—each one dancing around Daniel's body, but never harming him. Instead, they burned through the space Loki had occupied just moments before, driving him back through the shattered ruins of the building.

The illusion shattered.

Daniel remained standing—bloodied, dazed, but alive.

His hand twitched.

His fingers wrapped around the leather-bound hilt of Thor's Hammer.

Mjolnir did not resist.

There was no violent glow. No explosion of magic. Only a deep, cosmic hum—as if the sky itself held its breath.

Then—

The thunder bowed.

Stark could hardly believe what he was seeing.

A moment ago, they were scrambling—barely surviving Loki's onslaught.

And now…

"He lifted it," Stark whispered, stunned. "He actually lifted it…"

The lightning twisted around Daniel's silhouette like a crown. His coat flared in the stormwind. Runes across Mjolnir's head glowed faintly, pulsing in rhythm with his heartbeat.

Thunder crashed again—but this time, it obeyed.

Bolts rained through the open ceiling like spears, exploding in radiant arcs that slammed into every corner of the building. Yet not a single bolt touched the agents lying unconscious. Not one spark scorched Stark.

The lightning only hunted one man. Loki. However, he was gone.

Disappeared again into the shadows, dodging both repulsor blasts and divine thunder. But Stark knew—he'd seen that flicker of recognition on Loki's face.

He'd seen this power before. And once upon a time… it belonged to his brother.

Daniel stood at the center of the vortex.

Hammer in hand. Thunder in his blood.

But his expression wasn't triumph.

It was… dread.

This wasn't a victory.

It was a mistake.

And worse, it was a trap.

Daniel felt the weight settle into his arm—not physical, but spiritual. An inheritance that wasn't his. A throne he never wanted.

He wasn't Thor. He wasn't Asgardian. He didn't even want the hammer.

But fate didn't ask.

Inside him, lightning collided with mana. His spiritual sea churned.

The divine power of thunder poured into every cell, flooding his magical pathways. It shredded the frozen structure of his previous ice-based power—the legacy he'd fought for in Jotunheim—breaking it apart like fragile glass.

That connection, that legendary frost inheritance, was gone.

In its place: a new, volatile storm of divine might.

Daniel staggered slightly, gripping the hammer tightly. He felt his magical foundation twist, reshape, and rebuild in real-time. Power surged—legendary-level, no question—but not the way he wanted.

Not the path he chose.

This wasn't freedom. This was Odin's will.

Daniel's eyes burned with sudden clarity.

It had all been guided. Pushed. Engineered.

His journey through Jotunheim. The manipulation of the Rubik's Cube. The sudden arrival of Mjolnir, untouched by Thor himself.

Why hadn't Thor reclaimed it?

Why hadn't Odin let his own son be the one to rise?

Why choose Daniel?

And more importantly—what came next?

Because now, Daniel had power. Real power.

And that meant he was no longer invisible.

He was marked and claimed.

Thunder rolled across the horizon once more, softer this time.

And Daniel—once just a drifting sorcerer—stood beneath it, weighed down not by glory, but by the unbearable realization that he had become a pawn in a divine game.

The hammer in his hand crackled quietly.

Stark watched from a distance, silent, unreadable.

Then finally, he stepped forward.

"So…" he said, voice dry. "Do I call you Thor now?"

Daniel didn't answer.

Not because he didn't want to.

But because he didn't know who he was anymore.

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