The desert night in New Mexico was biting cold, but the heat inside the research complex was unnervingly intense.
While S.H.I.E.L.D. agents maintained a strict perimeter, none of them realized what a 'true predator' was doing inside.
Using his signature stealth magic to blind S.H.I.E.L.D.'s surveillance, Níðhöggr had 'kidnapped' the detained Thor—entire room and all—moving him to his private VIP research wing.
There, he staged the world's most cruel theater.
"Now, little Prince. You've got the best seat in the house. Pay close attention."
Níðhöggr sat a shackled Thor in a chair that provided a clear, unobstructed view of the bed.
Then, he approached Jane Foster, who was sitting on the edge of the mattress with glazed eyes.
With her mind already melted by the full weight of Níðhöggr’s Charm, Jane didn't even register that her lover, Thor, was standing right in front of her. She reached out and grasped the hem of Níðhöggr's shirt.
"Níd... why did you take so long... hurry..."
"No! Jane! Snap out of it!"
Thor let out a gut-wrenching scream, rattling his chains.
But Níðhöggr only sneered at him as he began to undo the buttons of Jane's shirt one by one.
As Níðhöggr, his decadent black hair cascading down, buried his face in the crook of Jane's neck, a raw, sweet moan escaped her lips—a sound Thor had never heard from her before.
"Hear that, Prince? While you were swinging your hammer and acting high and mighty in Asgard, this woman was burning with this kind of thirst. You were just a chump who couldn't satisfy her heart or her body."
Níðhöggr stared directly into Thor's eyes as he pulled Jane's slender waist firmly against him.
The passionate display that followed, staged for maximum impact, was a living hell for Thor.
To see the woman he loved reduced to tears of ecstasy in the arms of another man—a villain who openly mocked him—right before his very eyes.
Níðhöggr intentionally turned Jane’s head to face Thor and whispered.
"Jane, do you see that homeless-looking guy over there? You like me better than him, don't you?"
"Ah... yes... he doesn't even compare... Ahh!"
Jane's answer tore Thor's soul into jagged pieces.
Watching Thor tremble with rage and weep, Níðhöggr indulged in Jane even more roughly, his expression clearly asking, 'Should I make you even angrier?'
Thor's screams lasted all night. Níðhöggr savored the victor's pleasure, emotionally torturing the Prince of Asgard until the break of dawn.
The next morning, four streaks of rainbow light descended onto the battered courtyard of the research facility.
It was the Warriors Three and the lady warrior, Sif. They had finally found Thor, who had barely managed to crawl out of the confinement area, evading S.H.I.E.L.D. pursuit.
"Thor! What on earth has happened to you? Why do you look so gaunt!"
Volstagg asked in horror, but Thor only stared at the sky with hollow eyes. He gave no answer.
His self-esteem, his love, and his pride as a hero had already been completely systematically stripped away by Níðhöggr.
As Sif reached out to support Thor, Níðhöggr strolled out from the distance, a jacket draped over his shoulder, looking utterly lethargic.
"Oh, new prey? Asgardian women definitely have better frames than Midgardians."
Níðhöggr's gaze locked onto Sif's toned thighs and the curved silhouette of her body encased in armor.
In an instant, he closed the distance, standing right in front of Sif and toying with a strand of her hair.
"Hey there, warrior lady. It must be exhausting looking after that empty shell of a prince. Why don't we go take a look at the royal bedrooms in Asgard instead? I'll give you a night you'll never forget..."
Just as Níðhöggr was about to unleash his Authority of a Dragon to seduce Sif, a massive sandstorm erupted on the horizon, dyeing the sky a golden hue.
BOOM—!!
With a roar that shook the earth and tore through the air, the Destroyer landed on the ground.
An Asgardian weapon sent by Loki to finish Thor off for good.
Ominous orange energy gathered in the cracks of the Destroyer's face, beginning to vaporize everything in its vicinity.
"The D-Destroyer! That coward Loki actually sent it...!"
The Warriors Three charged with their weapons raised, but a single beam from the Destroyer sent them crashing into the distant desert sands.
As if he had given up on everything, Thor stepped forward in front of the Destroyer.
"Kill me... Dying would be better than this."
However, a shadow blocked that moment of tragic sacrifice.
"Man, seriously... You really don't know how to read the room, do you, you piece of tin?"
Níðhöggr stood in front of Thor.
He seemed genuinely pissed that his perfect timing for seducing Sif had been interrupted.
"Hey, scrap metal. Can't you see I'm in the middle of an important conversation with this pretty lady? Why are you showing up and barking like a stray dog?"
The Destroyer, devoid of emotion, locked onto Níðhöggr as its target and fired its disintegration beam at maximum output.
The beam, designed to deconstruct all matter at an atomic level, hit Níðhöggr squarely in the chest.
CHHHHH—!!
Intense heat and explosive pressure enveloped the desert, but Níðhöggr didn't even blink.
Instead, a mean smirk played across his lips, as if he were enjoying the warmth.
Where the beam stopped, Níðhöggr's designer jacket was slightly scorched, but not a single smudge of soot remained on his smooth skin.
"Tickles. Is this the level of toys Asgardians make?"
Níðhöggr let out a lazy yawn and stepped back slightly with his right foot. A swirling crimson draconic energy gathered around his leg, triggering minor seismic shifts in the earth.
"Scrap metal should learn some manners in front of a villain. Goodbye, trash can."
CRACK—!!
Níðhöggr's kick slammed into the Destroyer's chest. At that moment, a shockwave that made the Earth itself scream shook the entirety of New Mexico.
The Destroyer, forged from tons of divine metal, crumpled like an empty tin can kicked by a child and soared into the sky.
As they watched the Destroyer fly for several kilometers before vanishing into the desert horizon, the Warriors Three and Sif felt their very understanding of reality crumble.
Níðhöggr brushed the dust off his shoe as if nothing had happened and turned back to Sif.
"Now that the nuisance is out of the way... shall we continue our chat, lady? What was the layout of those Asgardian bedrooms again?"
Watching the scene unfold, Ratatoskr clutched the back of his neck in frustration and sent a text to Tony Stark.
[Hey, Tony. Our lizard just used Asgard's ultimate weapon for long-kick practice. No idea about the repair costs, but just have the drinks ready. I think I'm going to kill someone if I don't get drunk today.]
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