The name Odin lingered on Daniel's mind, its presence heavy as he sat in his dim, quiet apartment. One hand wrapped around a porcelain teacup, the other unconsciously clenched tight. The deep red wallpaper and shadows pressing in on the room only made it feel like fate itself was closing in.
A brittle crack sounded from the cup; fine lines spread beneath his fingers.
Even with all his survival instincts—having outlasted the frost and dangers of Jotunheim, having matched wits with Heimdall—Daniel wasn't immune to the unease clawing at his nerves. If his instincts were right, and Odin was the hand behind recent events, then every move Daniel made could already be part of the All-Father's design. He was just another piece in a cosmic game.
To free himself, patience alone wouldn't do. Waiting for Ragnarök, for Odin's death, for fate to shift, wasn't enough. Odin's influence was vast, lingering in fate and prophecy, and even his downfall would leave echoes that rippled across the universe.
Daniel needed more than time—he needed real power. Enough to cut himself free from any strings leading back to Asgard.
He exhaled. The cracks on his teacup widened, reflecting his splintered reflection back at him in broken pieces.
He'd always pushed back against anyone trying to control him. But lately, it felt like the harder he fought, the more tangled he became in someone else's plans. He wouldn't panic—he wouldn't show his hand. Not now. Power through brute force wouldn't work; he'd have to move quietly, in the shadows, letting Odin underestimate him, waiting for the right moment to break free.
If Odin really had put him in this timeline, it was probably to either help Thor grow on his journey—or act as the challenge that would temper Thor into a true king. Either way, Daniel snorted. His own identity meant he'd never be fully accepted by the Avengers. They'd never trust him, no matter what he did. Odin had left him with no real options, except one: play the role of the enemy, or get out entirely.
A whetstone is thrown away once the blade is sharp. Unless Daniel could match Thor's level—or leave Earth—his fate was sealed.
He stared at the spiderwebbed cracks in his cup, his thoughts sharp and cold: I will not die a pawn.
But there were still paths out. The Infinity Stones. If he wanted real freedom, he'd need to get his hands on one of them. With the power of a Stone, the rules would change.
And time was short. Thor would soon be sent to Earth, stripped of his power. Loki would soon be moving in shadows. The Chitauri would invade. The war for the Stones would begin.
Daniel needed to be ready—he needed allies, resources, a foothold in the world. And the best way in wasn't through the Avengers, but through the U.S. government—and General Thaddeus "Thunderbolt" Ross.
Ross didn't care for morals or causes—he cared about results. Daniel, with his murky past and ambiguous loyalties, could be useful to someone like Ross. If Daniel played it right, he could embed himself in the government's secret super-soldier programs, or at least play the role.
The next morning, Daniel blended in with the surge of students returning to Empire State University. At first, he moved easily with the crowd—until he sensed something subtle, a psychic push. Emergency drills, closed hallways, security herding people away.
They were trying to quietly, but firmly, remove him from campus.
That confirmed it: Betty Ross and Bruce Banner were back.
Daniel went along, slipping out with the crowd—until he reached the fence and disappeared into true invisibility, using magic well beyond mere illusions, the kind few on Earth could sense.
He slipped onto the empty campus, invisible among the chaos.
Real tanks rumbled over green lawns that once hosted biology students and nanotech projects. Troops in gas masks, sonic weapons, gas deployers—all here for one person: Bruce Banner.
At the heart of it all, Betty and Bruce appeared, clutching research files—maybe their last hope for saving Bruce. But too late. Soldiers closed in. Tanks surrounded them. The trap was set.
And finally, stepping through the ranks, was General Ross with cold eyes.
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