Marvel's Strongest Mage

The Rainbow Bridge was a miracle of space itself.

To call it down from Earth, to re-create the portal that once reached from Asgard across light-years in a single breath, you needed more than thunder or even raw willpower.

You needed to master the runes of space.

And Daniel was at the heart of that challenge.

He crouched over the half-finished rune circle, dusk and starlight dusting his shoulders, every muscle taut with focus. Sweat gathered at his brow from pure mental strain. Even with Jarvis projecting the design in perfect holographic layers, with Thor providing otherworldly wisdom, it came down to Daniel's own hands.

He had to cut it, charge it, and above all, own it.

And that meant facing the most complicated rune in all magic: the rune of space.

The Rainbow Bridge's true secret wasn't thunder—not really. Its roiling aurora and thunderous descent were just show. The reality was dimensional tornados: ripping the fabric of existence, crossing time, scale, even causality.

It bent the universe.

Daniel had to slice open the skin of reality, and do it with the precision of a master surgeon.

But fate was funny: Daniel had started down this road before Thor ever arrived. Back at the Stark Expo, he'd gotten obsessed with the "new element" Tony Stark had engineered—a material with impossible geometry and strange echoes in its magical resonance. Daniel had spent months poking at it, trying to see if a magical structure was hidden inside.

He'd been right. That man-made element hummed with the rhythms of true space—like a message from a deeper order. Daniel had started crafting spellforms to match that resonance, but was always missing the final key.

Thor gave him that key, without even realizing it. He'd sketched out the Rainbow Bridge's complete spell array and included the space rune—just another part of the matrix. To Daniel, it was a revelation. An actual expression of space itself—a core building block of the universe.

It wasn't derived from Asgardian runes or Earth's old charms. It was the alphabet of galaxies—a language the cosmos used to shape all things.

And it was Daniel's to understand.

Most mages would spend decades just deciphering it. Even Thor admitted, "It's easy to trace, hard to truly wield."

But Daniel had already glimpsed the underlying structure. Now, with Thor's rune wrapping the circuit, he could see every connection—every failed experiment lined up like stepping stones, leading him straight to the solution.

He figured out an entirely new, pure space-magic element. Not a Tesseract-style brute force, not a teleport spell that bleeds magic. This was controlled, harmonious, refined.

Only two runes remained to complete the array: the charging rune, born from thunder, and the space rune, now burning in Daniel's mind like a star.

But first—they needed to anchor the whole thing.

No rune circle this big would survive its own activation without reinforcement. The moment it turned on, cosmic energy would try to shatter every symbol in the ground—unless the circle was stabilized with special materials.

Thor didn't wait to be asked; he called S.H.I.E.L.D. Within days, rare materials started showing up from across the globe—Sokovian alloy dust, Icelandic volcanic glass, Wakandan crystalline metals.

Stark just gave a grudging nod. Even he couldn't work that fast without S.H.I.E.L.D.'s reach.

That night, the desert felt electric.

Above, the stars flickered between fast-moving clouds, and the New Mexico wind howled like something alive. On the horizon, storm clouds gathered—summoned, by Daniel's will.

High in the sky, hidden in borrowed thunderclouds, Daniel meditated without Mjolnir. He quietly bent the atmosphere, pulling together invisible water and charge with nearly surgical finesse. The cloud above him blackened, thick with stored electricity.

He'd learned the deadliest magic wasn't about big displays, but restraint. The power to hold back, to shape even a cosmic ritual without blinking.

Within the cloud, Daniel hovered still, both hands lifted, golden light forming and twisting between his fingers.

Two runes were materializing. Twin shapes—mirror twins, opposites.

The left: tense and swirling. Too much force and the rune would shatter.

His hand stung with a jolt of pain however, he kept going.

The right rune: smooth, unwavering.

When it was done, he brought his hands together—merging their light, forcing the finished rune into himself, feeling it dissolve into his blood, his power. He had mastered space—not just in theory, but as living magic.

Far below, Thor snapped his head up, sensing the ripple—a single, silent shift in the very world around him. A pressure wave, here and gone.

"Was that...?"

He narrowed his eyes, then let it pass. He still had runes to finish. Time was short.

Now there were just two sigils left.

And Daniel, now wrapped in shimmering thunder and threaded through with the secret of space, was finally ready. He dropped from the storm, landing silent and charged, prepared to finish the impossible.

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