Marvel's Strongest Mage

There was a reason Thor's hammer fell in New Mexico.

It might have looked random—a god's weapon crashing into some quiet patch of American desert. But nothing tied to divine fate ever happens by accident.

New Mexico wasn't the country's highest point, but it practically brushed the sky all the same. Santa Fe, not far from where they'd set up shop, stood more than 2,100 meters above sea level—even higher than Denver. The place felt closer to the heavens, waiting quietly for something to happen.

Coincidence? Daniel didn't believe in those anymore. Not after all he'd seen. Not after gods walked the earth.

Despite the old-fashioned way he spoke and the swagger of a born fighter, Thor wasn't stupid. Behind all that bravado was fifteen hundred years of knowledge: philosophy, science, ancient runes, magic only the oldest scholars could touch. He might not recite complex physics equations, but he understood things most earthbound geniuses could only dream about.

Now, Thor was teaching Daniel.

Daniel had spent years perfecting his own body; when it came to biology and biotech, Stark used to joke Daniel knew more than the lab techs who built the machines. But with Thor around, that knowledge was evolving again—moving toward something else.

This was about godhood.

About becoming something more.

"Becoming a god," Thor said one day on a sun-bleached mesa, his silhouette tall against the burning sky, "isn't about raw power. It's about changing who you are—leaving your old self behind and forging something new."

Daniel just listened.

On Earth, only two others had ever gotten close to what Thor described: the Ancient One, who ruled magic from Kamar-Taj, and Merlin, whose spirit was bound to the old mists of Britain. The Ancient One had survived Dormammu and wore the Eye of Agamotto, standing at the threshold of true divinity. Merlin's power was enormous within Britain—but outside, it faded to a whisper. Both were powerful, but neither had fully crossed the line. Not gods, not really—something in-between. Eternal, but still bound.

They called such people "demigods" once. Now, it felt almost like a curse: stuck between mortality and the eternity they could glimpse but not quite reach. People tried to ascend, but most failed, or ended up worse—like the Ancient One, aging out of existence, or Merlin, trapped where he started.

That made Daniel rare—one of only two living humans since Merlin to step up to the threshold and see what lay beyond.

The other one was Victor von Doom.

Daniel's own journey had brought him here by mastering magic, bearing thunder's touch, even wielding the unfinished Mjolnir. But he wasn't there yet. Not quite.

Now, everything depended on reaching a little higher.

Out on this scorching stretch of desert, destiny itself was being carved into the ground.

They'd marked out a huge circle—fifty meters across—etched with runes that shimmered with energy. It looked like art from a distance; up close it was more like a living, ancient machine.

There were only three men on that site: Thor, bringing knowledge of the cosmos; Stark, managing equipment and laser-precise holograms courtesy of Jarvis; and Daniel, hands digging symbols into the soil, one rune at a time.

Every stroke had to be perfect. One mistake, and the whole design might unravel in a flash of burning light.

As Daniel carved, Thor quietly shared truths he rarely spoke.

"The first rule," Thor said, kneeling with him in the wind, "is to leave Earth behind."

Daniel didn't need to be told why. He already knew.

"All the magic here is stale," Thor explained. "It snuffs out gods before they ever awaken. Even the best wizard here can't break through, unless they borrow power from darker realms."

"Dormammu," Daniel replied.

Thor nodded. "And that way always comes with a cost."

Daniel called a little whirlwind into his palm; it barely spun, slow and weak. "It's like trying to breathe through a straw here," he said.

"In Asgard, that power would roar," Thor agreed.

Daniel asked, "What's the second rule?"

"You have to master a domain. One truth. A law of the universe. It becomes yours."

To show what he meant, Thor simply lifted his hand to the sky. No hammer or incantation—just will and thunder scattered the clouds.

Daniel just watched, steady.

"You're not the god of the hammer. You're the god of thunder," Daniel said.

Thor's smile was pure approval.

"And the last step?" Daniel asked.

"Divine power," Thor said, serious now. "Without it, you're just a candle pretending to be a star."

From across the circle, Stark looked up from his projections. "So—where does that come from? Do you sign up at the altar?"

Thor glanced at him and replied, "It has to be given—blessed. Only a true priest or god can pass it on."

Daniel understood—even Amora's spells failed because she didn't have the right. Hela disappeared until Odin, her father, died. When Odin stripped her of power, she was nothing—until he was gone.

"All the power passes at death," Daniel said quietly. "That moment between eras."

"Exactly. That's when the mantle's up for grabs," Thor said, watching the edge of the sunset. "When the old god dies and before the new one is chosen."

Daniel didn't answer. But in his mind, he saw his path.

He wouldn't ask Thor for a shortcut. Wouldn't be anybody's pawn. When Odin finally passed and Asgard teetered, Daniel would be ready as a contender.

"One day," he murmured, "I'll walk through Asgard's gates and face Odin myself."

Thor set a steady hand on his shoulder. "That day will come, brother."

The rune circle grew, every mark guided by Daniel's will, his thunder-filled essence, all supported by Stark's flawless outlines and Thor's ancient wisdom.

It was slow, painstaking work—each symbol mattering, every detail vital. Daniel could feel his own Mjolnir pulsing with energy in his grip, channeling enough magic to bring even these runes to life.

They worked relentlessly. Because if Loki locked in his grip on Asgard before Thor could make it home, it would all be lost.

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