Chapter 251. Mjölnir
The air in the gala hall was thick with the scent of expensive bourbon and the low, sophisticated hum of conversation. When Noah drifted toward the circle of scientists, he found Tony, Bruce, and Dr. Selvig deep in a spirited debate. At the center of their attention, resting innocuously on a mahogany table, was Thor's hammer—Mjölnir.
Earlier, as the guests had begun to filter in, the God of Thunder had placed the weapon there with a thunderous thud and a grin that bordered on the predatory. He had declared, with a booming laugh that rattled the crystal chandeliers, that none among them possessed the strength or spirit to lift it.
Naturally, the room was full of skeptics. Despite the hammer's legendary reputation, the table beneath it hadn't so much as creaked; surely, if it were truly heavy, the wood would have splintered.
Thor, sensing their doubt, leaned back and threw out a challenge. «I shall make it simple,» he declared, his voice carrying over the music. «Whosoever holds this hammer, if he be worthy, shall possess the power of Thor. Think of it—the heavens themselves at your command.»
This was the spark that lit the fire. Ambition and curiosity flared in the eyes of the gathered elite.
Tony was the first to step forward. With a cocky smirk and a flourish, he rolled up the sleeves of his crisp white dress shirt, exposing his forearms. «Don't blink, folks,» he joked, gripping the leather-wrapped handle. He gave it a casual tug with one hand. Nothing. His smile faltered, just for a second, before he gripped it with both hands, planting his feet and straining until his face turned a light shade of crimson. The hammer remained as stationary as a mountain.
Flushed and clearing his throat to mask his embarrassment, Tony held up a finger. «Physics... it's all about the leverage. Give me a minute to prep.»
He disappeared, returning moments later encased in the sleek, gunmetal-grey plating of his Destroyer armor. The guests erupted into laughter at the sight of him in full battle gear at a cocktail party, but Tony ignored them, his mechanical gauntlets whining as he applied maximum hydraulic pressure to the handle. Even with the suit's artificial muscles screaming at full capacity, Mjölnir did not budge a single millimeter.
Breathless and frustrated, Tony released the handle and looked toward Noah, who was watching with an amused glint in his eyes.
«Noah, buddy, do me a favor? Unlock the suit's auxiliary power cores,» Tony requested, his voice echoing slightly through the helmet's speakers.
Noah understood immediately. During the initial testing phases of the armor, he had personally tweaked the suit's internal limits, adding «magical» shortcuts that Tony couldn't access on his own. Now, the billionaire was desperate to save face.
«It's no use, Tony,» Noah replied, his voice calm and steady. «Thor didn't give you the full story. Lifting that isn't a matter of horsepower. It's a matter of meeting the criteria.»
Mjölnir was more than just a dense piece of star-matter; it was a vessel for Odin's ancient runes. To move it, one didn't just need physical strength—one had to bypass the All-Father's divine security protocols. Even with the Destroyer armor's limits pushed to the breaking point, Tony simply didn't fit the «user profile.»
As Noah hinted at Thor's omission, every head in the room turned toward the Prince of Asgard.
«Fine, fine,» Thor chuckled, waving a hand dismissively. «I was getting to that part, but Stark here was in such a hurry to fail that I didn't have the heart to stop him.»
He stood tall, his expression turning momentarily solemn. «Only one who is truly worthy—one whose heart is pure and whose spirit is righteous—may lift Mjölnir and claim the mantle of the Thunderer.»
«Righteous?» Tony scoffed.
«Worthy?» Bruce echoed, a skeptical brow arched.
The word «worthy» hung in the air, abstract and daunting. Yet, the challenge only became more enticing. One by one, the guests tried their luck, eager to see if they were the secret paragons of virtue the hammer demanded. Tony, officially labeled «unworthy,» retreated to a corner, shedding his armor and nursing a drink with a look of feigned indifference. He didn't think himself a saint, but he knew his heart was in the right place, and he wasn't about to let a piece of sentient scrap metal tell him otherwise.
The parade of failure continued. Agent Coulson and Clint Barton—Hawkeye—both gave it their best, but the hammer remained indifferent. Black Widow, ever the pragmatist, declined to even try. Noah watched her closely; she possessed a dark history, and as an active agent of S.H.I.E.L.D., her definition of «justice» was often murky. She knew better than to play a game she wasn't certain to win.
Then came Bruce and Dr. Selvig. Bruce, usually so composed, strained until the veins in his neck pulsed with a faint, sickly green hue. The S.H.I.E.L.D. agents in the room instinctively tensed, hands hovering near hidden holsters. Fortunately, Bruce's legendary self-control held firm, and he stepped back before the Other Guy could make an appearance. To those like Selvig, Jane, and Daisy, who were unaware of the Hulk, it just looked like a trick of the light.
Noah himself abstained. He had encountered the hammer once before when it first fell to Earth, and his own raw power had clashed violently with Odin's enchantments. He knew he could force the issue now, given how much stronger he had become, but he saw no point in it.
The highlight, however, was Steve Rogers. As the Captain gripped the handle, a sudden, sharp creak echoed through the room. The hammer trembled. For a split second, the smug grin vanished from Thor's face, replaced by a mask of genuine alarm. Noah noticed Steve's eyes flicker—a moment of realization—before the Captain let go, offering a humble shrug. He could have lifted it, Noah thought, but he's too much of a gentleman to upstage a god.
Finally, the women took their turn. Pepper and Daisy laughed their way through the attempt, but then Gwen stepped forward, her eyes dancing with excitement.
«My turn!» she chirped, her voice bright and full of youthful energy. She reached out and wrapped her fingers around the cold metal of the grip.
«Wait, Gwen—» Noah started, but he was cut off by a collective gasp.
With the effortless grace of someone picking up a glass of water, Gwen lifted Mjölnir.
BOOM!
A crack of thunder rolled through the hall, though no lightning followed. In a flash of blinding light, Gwen's casual party attire vanished, replaced instantly by her blue-and-white gothic battle dress—her signature combat suit.
Silence fell like a heavy shroud. Even Loki, who had been watching the proceedings with bored contempt, looked as though someone had struck him across the face. The hammer that had spurned him, the son of a king, had just been hoisted by a slip of a girl. His expression curdled into irritation before he smoothed it over with a serpentine smile, glancing at his brother to see the fallout.
Thor looked stunned, his jaw hanging open, but the shock quickly gave way to a deep, booming laugh.
«It seems Miss Gwen is truly a soul of light,» Thor said, his voice warm with genuine respect. He had carried that hammer through a thousand battles; he knew it never lied. If Mjölnir accepted her, then her heart was as pure as any hero's in the halls of Valhalla.
«Oh! Hehe~ really?» Gwen blushed, a sheepish smile spreading across her face. «Thanks for the compliment!»
She placed the hammer back on the table with a gentle click and skipped back over to Lissandra's side, seemingly unfazed by the fact that she had just defied the laws of gods and men.
Noah watched her, his mind racing. Gwen had lifted the hammer, yes, but she hadn't been imbued with the power of Thor—only her outfit had changed. It seemed the magic of the System was a sovereign force, one that even Odin's runes couldn't fully override.
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