The origins of the Destroyer Armor are known to very few.
Even Odin's sons, Loki and Thor, likely thought of it only as a weapon forged for his conquests across the Nine Realms.
But the truth is otherwise.
When Odin created the Destroyer Armor, he had already embraced the path of a benevolent ruler. He would never have gone out of his way to craft a weapon purely for war. The God-King of Asgard forged the armor for one reason alone: to wear it in defense against terrifying foes—beings he had once encountered on Earth, beings who had utterly crushed him.
"The Celestials."
Herman had only discovered this hidden chapter of Odin's history back before his transmigration. While watching movies, his curiosity drove him to research it, and he uncovered this lesser-known past.
In truth, the scale of the Destroyer Armor itself revealed its original intent: to fight against colossal enemies. The Celestials were among the first lifeforms born in the universe, each of them incomprehensibly vast in size.
They were abstract entities—pure incarnations of concepts. Any one of them wielded power surpassing that of a Sky Father.
Early humanity on Earth originated from the Celestials.
They visited Earth three different times, and each visit completely reshaped its history.
The first host of Celestials came about one million years ago. They carried out genetic testing and experimentation on the planet's highest lifeforms.
Thus, early humans were born. After experimenting with countless mutations in human genetics, the Celestials created two distinct offshoots of humanity. Their only lasting gift to their primary test subjects was the implantation of a dormant DNA construct.
One day, that construct underwent a benign mutation. Many believe that Earth's mutants originated from these early experiments of the Celestials.
The second host arrived roughly 25,000 years ago to examine the results of their first visit. When they discovered that certain anomalous beings had developed in the opposite direction of what they intended, they destroyed some of the creations they had left behind.
The sinking of Atlantis came as a direct result.
Recalling what he had learned before, Herman knew the third host of Celestials had come not so long ago—only a few thousand years back. It was then that Odin suffered a devastating defeat at their hands.
That experience left Odin with an unshakable psychological scar. To cope, he created the Destroyer Armor—much like Tony Stark and his panic disorder, both driven by a desperate need to build something capable of resisting overwhelming threats.
Yet Odin's own power was limited to the level of a Sky Father. After testing the Destroyer Armor, he quickly realized it stood no chance against the Celestials. In the end, he sealed it away in storage.
Still—though a failure, it was forged to confront Odin's greatest nightmare. Naturally, he poured everything into its creation.
In terms of sheer combat strength, the Destroyer Armor rivaled an ordinary Sky Father–level being, its might enough to wipe out a galaxy.
Of course, under Loki's control, it was nowhere near that powerful.
Just as unauthorized people couldn't operate Tony Stark's suits, the Destroyer Armor, too, was locked by a "password" system. To call Asgard an advanced civilization was no exaggeration—their magic and power were simply another form of science.
Herman watched the battle below the clouds, now clad in a black war cloak. With thunder and stormy skies framing him, he looked solemn and forbidding.
Boom! Boom! Boom!
With every step the Destroyer Armor took, the ground shook violently.
Its inner core flickered, responding to the command from the throne of Asgard, locking onto Thor's life signals. That was its mission: to find the God of Thunder on Earth and ensure he could never return to Asgard. Loki hadn't intended to kill his brother outright.
But he did hope Thor would end up crippled, stuck on Earth for life, so there would be no one left to challenge him for Asgard's throne.
Boom!
The Destroyer Armor's massive frame crushed armored vehicles beneath its feet as if they were made of plastic.
Fuel tanks exploded.
Black smoke billowed upward, but nothing could harm it. Buildings in its path collapsed like fragile blocks of tofu.
"Locked on!"
The Destroyer Armor advanced toward Thor's temporary camp. Along the way, houses crumbled in succession, as if a monster had descended upon a neon-lit city.
"I'm the target!"
While helping the elderly and children evacuate, Thor kept his eyes on the Destroyer Armor. He immediately sensed its intent.
"It must be that dark god! He wants to wipe me out completely!"
In his heart, Thor was convinced the Destroyer Armor was being controlled by Herman. Grief and fury welled up inside him as he thought of his "dead father, mother, and brother." Hatred and anger blazed in his eyes, arcs of lightning flashing within them.
Poor Thor.
He still didn't realize this Destroyer Armor was sent by the very brother he mourned. He believed Loki and Asgard had been destroyed by Herman. It had to be said—Herman's earlier performance had completely convinced Thor of Asgard's annihilation.
"Sam! Sheldon! Penny! Get underground with the others!"
Thor knew full well the Destroyer Armor was a weapon that would never stop until its mission was complete. After giving orders to the S.H.I.E.L.D. agents disguised as rescue workers, he strode resolutely toward the advancing armor.
"Thor! What about you? What are you going to do? Aren't you coming underground with us?"
Uncle Sam shouted at him, his face full of concern. He had already secretly contacted S.H.I.E.L.D. headquarters, which, based on Herman's information, suspected a coup in Asgard.
As crown prince, Thor was very likely one of its targets…
Uncle Sam wasn't overly attached to Thor, though a small part of him did worry. After all, Thor had proven himself a decent man during their time together, someone who would be a reliable ally in battle.
But agents rarely let personal feelings weigh heavily. What truly worried Sam and the others was the mission Homelander had assigned them.
If Thor died in the chaos, how could they possibly explain it to their superior? Who knew if Homelander wouldn't just dump them into Lake George?
That was, after all, one of Homelander's favorite threats in The Boys. Herman had slipped plenty of these references into the show's filming, and the audience believed them wholeheartedly. Iconic lines like "You're all trash" had become unforgettable.
"It came for me. I can't let you all get dragged into this. This began because of me. I have to face my destiny."
Thor knew that in his mortal body, he was no match for the Destroyer Armor. Still, his resolve to confront it never wavered.
"But you're just a normal human now!"
Uncle Sam's voice rang out again, joined by the other S.H.I.E.L.D. agents, all trying to dissuade him from running to his death.
"Our world has plenty of superheroes! And the Invincible Homelander! He'll come to deal with this alien machine!"
"Yeah! Leave it to the Invincible Homelander!"
The agents had just received confirmation from their superiors that contact with Homelander would be established soon. Staring at the colossal, suffocating figure of the Destroyer Armor in the distance, they knew in their hearts that perhaps only Homelander could stop it.
Seeing Thor refuse to enter the shelter, none of them dared abandon him. They could only pray desperately that Homelander would arrive in time.
Otherwise…
They would die alongside Thor beneath that divine machine.
…
Nick Fury had indeed called Herman.
But floating high above the clouds, Herman simply hung up on him. When Fury redialed again and again, Herman tossed the phone into another dimension without hesitation.
"The number you have dialed is not in service."
Hearing the automated response, Nick Fury slammed the desk.
"Motherfucker!"
At S.H.I.E.L.D. headquarters, he was so anxious he practically turned into a one-man "Motherfucker Hero." Experts had already warned him Asgard might be undergoing drastic changes.
"What the hell is he doing?! Can't he at least show a little basic customer service?" Fury was seething, convinced Herman's attitude couldn't be worse.
It was infuriating.
S.H.I.E.L.D. had been bending over backward to fulfill their end of the bargain. In return, Herman should be making sure Asgard didn't become a threat to Earth.
"An agent at Stark Tower went up disguised as a delivery guy. Homelander wasn't in his office. He may have already headed to the anomaly site in Ukraine," Agent Hill reported as she removed her earpiece.
"Hm?"
Fury turned sharply toward her. He let out a heavy sigh.
"Let's hope so… None of us can control that so-called ancestor." His eyes, full of worry, lingered on the satellite feed. The armor was massive—so massive even missile strikes had no effect.
Truly, alien civilizations were dangerous.
"Waiting on science to catch up is too slow. With the world growing more dangerous every day… maybe we need magic to fight magic," Fury muttered under his breath, his gaze flickering with thought.
His mind turned to the experiments with Deadpool's organs and the demonic scroll. In his eyes, such research promised far more practical self-defense than wasting time on the Tesseract.
And news from the lab was already promising.
...
Belarus.
"Homelander?"
Thor had no idea what a superhero was. In a place consumed by war, there were no televisions, no internet, nothing that could tell him.
"Yes! He's one of Earth's strongest heroes! He's in New York right now… but he'll be here soon. He's always seen Earth as his domain!"
What kind of image did Herman truly hold in the minds of these S.H.I.E.L.D. agents, Thor wondered.
"There's no time! Look—it's coming straight for us! Only I can stop it from killing you!" Thor shook his head and strode toward the Destroyer Armor.
"You idiot! Do you really think you—" Uncle Sam's voice cracked. Seeing Thor rush toward certain death broke something inside him, and he nearly shouted in anger.
But then—
He froze.
Thor's body, charging toward the Destroyer Armor, began to spark with arcs of electricity. Several agents realized at once—this must be what Homelander had hinted at. The Norse God of Thunder was awakening.
"Retreat!"
Uncle Sam and the agents reacted instantly. The moment they saw Thor's power return, they spun around and bolted for the air-raid shelter.
When gods fight, mortals… best stay out of the way.
"If you want to crown me king, then I must shoulder the duty of protecting my people!" Thor's voice rang out with calm conviction as he walked forward, unaware that those behind him had already fled. His declaration hung in the air, filled with solemn weight.
Even if I've lost my power, so what? I am still a warrior of Asgard! And warriors of Asgard never fear battle!
Perhaps Thor was dense to notice, but faint arcs of lightning were already dancing across his body again.
With a roar, he broke into a run. His eyes burned with determination as he charged head-on at the Destroyer Armor, a giant countless times his size.
When he was less than ten meters away, Thor leapt onto the roof of a wrecked car. His legs coiled, then launched him high into the air with explosive force.
"A warrior never fears death in battle! I fight to protect… my new people!"
Thor's divine power was breaking free. No ordinary human could leap dozens of meters into the sky. Some weaker men couldn't even jump past another's knee.
"Come on, you bastard!" Thor roared as he soared more than ten meters up, slamming his fist down at the Destroyer Armor's head. Lightning coiled around his body, the God of Thunder's power steadily returning.
That punch carried the force to split mountains, shatter stone, and bring peaks crashing down.
If this were a movie, this would be the climax—Thor unleashing his might, smashing the Destroyer Armor to pieces, and saving the world.
It would be glorious.
It would be epic.
But this was reality.
And reality is cruel. No amount of passion could guarantee a triumphant ending.
Clang!
Thor's aura was overwhelming, his divine power returning bit by bit. Yet the armor he faced had been forged with Odin's endless devotion.
The Thunder God's blow landed with a heavy thud—one that echoed with futility.
The Destroyer Armor remained unscathed.
Clang! Clang! Clang!
Thor clung to the Destroyer Armor's face, hammering his fists against it again and again.
Crash!
The Destroyer Armor simply lifted its iron hand, grabbed Thor off its cheek like swatting away filth, and hurled him down to the ground.
Thor's body smashed into a car below, crumpling it beneath the impact. Even with his divine form awakened, pain wracked every inch of him.
"Pfft—"
He felt it then—a surge of energy had shot from the Destroyer Armor's grip directly into his body, tearing through him from the inside.
The force was destructive, crushing the divine power that had just begun to awaken within him. Blood burst from his lips. He tried to rise, only to be struck again by searing pain.
"Pfft—"
Another spray of blood followed. Thor's strength gave out, and he collapsed to his knees. His arms hung uselessly at his sides, his eyes already growing unfocused.
"Is this the end?"
From high above the clouds, Herman watched the entire battle unfold, witnessing the desperate struggle and Thor's incomplete awakening with a trace of pity.
But the truth was clear.
Even under Loki's control, the Destroyer Armor outclassed Thor completely.
"The Destroyer Armor seems built to suppress divine power…"
As he observed, Herman sensed the strange energy disrupting Thor's body—not exactly destroying him, but pressing down on his godly strength, sealing it away.
Any god who fought against it would find their divine power stifled. Perhaps Odin had designed it this way because the Celestials also wielded power akin to the divine?
"This ability probably won't work on the Celestials."
After weighing its traits against the background of the Celestials, Herman made up his mind to descend and rescue Thor.
But then—
A flash of blue light streaked across the sky before he could move.
Mjolnir, wrapped in lightning, raced over from the deserts of Mexico, desperate to return to its master's hand. The journey, however, had taken far too long.
Thor had already been beaten to the point of coughing up blood three times before his weapon finally arrived.