Chapter 192: Streetlights and Gods (Part 2)

"Oh, heaven, you finally arrived." When Natasha stepped out of the room, her face was grim—you rarely saw such a mix of fury and helplessness on this female agent's face.

"Oh, Captain Steve, what are you doing here? I only asked for a psychiatrist." Natasha had just shut the door when she turned and saw the towering Steve, who replied awkwardly, "Actually, the psychiatrist didn't come—only I did."

"Only you? Then what exactly do you plan to do with this lunatic? Don't say I didn't warn you—he's seriously ill." Natasha was clearly angry. "A fool consumed by machismo—he actually said I'm not strong enough?? He wants me to find a strong warrior to talk to him???"

"Didn't you give him a taste of the Black Widow's wrath?"

"You'll see when you go in." Natasha glanced back at the door. "But I still have to say—try not to provoke him. Nick just called me—he said this man is important. He wants the agent to communicate with him rationally."

"Don't worry." Steve opened the door, turning to smile at Natasha. "I'm not that violent."

As he stepped inside, he saw a towering blond man vomiting against the wall—clearly, the furious Black Widow had sprayed him with pepper spray.

Steve clicked his tongue. S. . . . . .'s pepper spray wasn't some weak market product; anyone with a nose hit by it would be thoroughly nauseated.

He tapped his earpiece, then addressed the tall man: "Hello."

Hearing the noise, the man stopped vomiting and turned. He brushed his golden hair aside, sizing Steve up with his eyes, then rumbled, "This one's decent. Worth a fight."

"Human! State your name! I am Thor Odinson of Asgard!"

His voice was so loud it gave Steve a headache, but Steve still smiled warmly and replied, "I'm Steve. Steve Rogers."

Thor stepped forward, gripping the central bar in the room. "That woman back there is pathetically weak—and she dared call me a patient!"

He shook the bar. "Let me out, human! You're showing disrespect to the future ruler of the Nine Realms!"

"Let's set that aside." Steve studied Thor briefly. "Would you like to change clothes?"

Thor wore medieval armor, helmet on his head—but apparently he'd landed face-first, because the helmet was badly dented, the armor shattered into pieces, the lining torn into ragged strips caked with mud. Even a lowly soldier returning from a medieval battlefield wouldn't look this battered.

Thor snorted. "Heroes on the battlefield don't care about appearances—they speak with the heads of their enemies!"

Steve didn't understand. Thor's English was laced with archaic inflections and strange invented words, sounding like a translation from another tongue. Steve had only slept for decades, not millennia—this obsolete linguistic style made his head ache.

"Alright, then—can you explain how you got here?" Steve spread his hands. "You suddenly fell from the sky, smashed several houses. Your weapon still occupies someone's yard. Worse, thirteen people are now in the hospital because of your crash."

Thor waved his hand impatiently. "It's because humans are so weak—you're not warriors at all! You have no will to die for your cause. In Asgard, you either die or rise and fight again…"

Even though Steve only half-understood, his expression darkened. Captain America was usually calm; few things angered him. But clearly, Thor had stepped on every one of his triggers.

Steve opened the gate separating the room and stepped inside. He wasn't as tall or as broad as Thor, but there was a similarity in their bearing. Thor clearly noticed. "You're a warrior too. One of the braver humans."

Steve's expression had just softened when Thor added, "But it's meaningless. Long ago, when I first came here, I saw it—you only turn your blades on your own kind. That's shameful in Asgard. Your record isn't worth boasting about."

Steve took a deep breath and tapped his earpiece. "Doctor Schiller, can we start the session yet? I'm afraid if I wait any longer, I'll punch him."

Schiller's voice came through the earpiece: "You'll have to wait a bit longer—his information is useful."

Thor, arms crossed, stared at Steve. "What are you muttering about? Don't play those tricks! They're useless against an Asgardian warrior!"

Thor's voice was so loud it made Steve's ears ring, but he pressed on with his prepared question: "The hammer seven kilometers away—is that your weapon?"

"Yes! Mjölnir! Forged in the heart of a dead sun and the dwarves' fire! Renewed by the branches of Yggdrasil! Blessed by the Allfather's power!"

Steve skipped past the incomprehensible ode. "Fine, that's irrelevant. I already told you—your hammer is still occupying someone's yard. If it's yours, take it away immediately."

Thor opened his mouth, hesitated, then sighed. "Alright. A great god does not lie—I can't lift it anymore."

"But isn't that your weapon?"

"It's complicated!" Thor sounded irritated. "I had a fight with the Allfather…"

"So you and your hammer ended up here?"

Steve paused. "I'll assume for now that what you're saying is true—not the ramblings of a lunatic."

"The Allfather you mention is your biological father. After you argued with him, he cast you out…"

"But the question is—what does this have to do with Earth? With humanity? If he wanted to banish you, the Nine Realms are vast—why send you here?"

To his surprise, this opened the floodgates. Thor began venting: "I am the Allfather's own son, Prince of Asgard, future ruler of the Nine Realms—but at my coronation…"

"... ever mind. You humans wouldn't understand anyway. Suffice it to say, I stormed Jotunheim and caused trouble. So what?"

"... still don't get it. Even if he'd thrown me into an ancient battlefield, it'd be better than this—this remote, desolate corner."

Thor was furious. He pounded the wall with his fist. "There isn't a single warrior here! I'll go mad from boredom—this is exactly what he wants, isn't it?!"

Steve finally understood why Natasha had looked so exasperated. This giant's mind revolved entirely around war, valor, warriors, and the greatness of Asgard—no matter the topic, it always circled back to those words.

Watching Thor rage, Steve tapped his earpiece. "You told me this was a mentally impaired alien. I didn't believe you—how could a species capable of space travel be this stupid?"

"But now I see—maybe upgrading nothing but muscle is a kind of evolution."

Schiller replied through the earpiece: "Indeed. If you lack the intelligence to build a spaceship, jumping straight to Mars works too."

Both laughed.

But Thor mistook it for mockery. He slammed his arm down angrily. "Mortal! Even if Asgard's gods lose their power, they are not to be mocked!"

Steve stepped back. He knew—right now, fighting this giant was a bad idea. He spoke into his earpiece: "What now? He seems completely incommunicable."

"Let's try some psychological therapy first. If that fails, we'll think of something else. For now, do this…"

Steve asked Thor: "It seems you don't understand your father's decision. I agree—it seems excessive to exile you so far over a single argument."

Thor looked at him like he'd found a kindred soul. "I never thought a human would understand me! Everyone around me says I'm wrong—they all side with Odin! But I didn't do anything wrong!"

He exhaled sharply through his nose, bitter. "I've won countless battles! I've made countless contributions to Asgard! Yet they all pretended not to see—just because of one impulsive act, they cast me out, even took away my weapon! This is an insult to a warrior!"

"Could it be… this incident isn't the real reason? Maybe your resentment with your father runs deeper?"

Thor clenched his lips, reluctant to admit it—but finally said: "I've thought the same. I noticed Odin had been displeased with me… but I thought if I earned greater glory, he'd stop being angry…"

"I fought bravely on the battlefield, won honors again and again. Yet he still did this to me." His voice softened, tinged with sorrow. "He cast me out of my home—the place I protected, the place I was born: beautiful, sacred Asgard…"

"Alright. But crying now won't help. It's done. What will you do?"

"I must reclaim my weapon!" Thor groaned. "A warrior without his weapon? That's disgrace!"

"But Odin stripped me of all my divine power. Without it, I can't lift the hammer."

Thor sighed. "He told me to learn on Earth—but I don't know what to learn. Even without my power, I'm stronger than every human here. Am I supposed to learn how to fight from these fragile mortals?"

"Do you think your father is a foolish ruler?"

"Of course not!" Thor shouted. "The Allfather is a wise sovereign! He has ruled the Nine Realms for centuries, beloved by all! How could he be foolish?"

"Then if he's not foolish, yet made this decision—have you ever considered he might have deeper reasons?"

Thor's face twisted in pain. "Why does everyone say that? People kept whispering in my ear—'Think about Odin's deeper meaning,' 'He must have a plan,' 'He's plotting something'…"

"But that's not my job! That kind of scheming? Let Loki handle it—he's the one who's good at that!"

"Me? I'm a brave warrior! A pioneer who brings glory to Asgard! I hate waiting around, guessing, and achieving nothing..."

"Again—this is how things are now."

"As you said—you've lost your power, can't lift your weapon. Earth has no rivals, no allies. You don't need to fight here. Even if you don't guess, there's nothing else to do."

Thor exhaled slowly through his nose. "Fine. If that's his meaning, then so be it. Take off the armor, leave the weapon behind, become a dull mortal, living a boring life with no purpose, no honor."

"If that's what he wants, then fine. What's the word again? Vacation… I'll give myself a vacation. Far from the thriving Nine Realms, I'll sprout weeds in this forgotten corner."