[Part 1 of 3] Destiny Still Arrives

The Statesman quakes beneath Thor's boots, metal screeching and groaning like a beast dying from a messy kill, shuddering in its death throes. Another blast rocks the ship and he stumbles, rapidly searching for his footing as he makes his way toward the main hall, heart thundering in his chest. Screams echo through the corridors, panic and terror spreading through the refugees trapped on the vessel that was to be their salvation, and may yet become their pyre.

It's utter chaos, worse than the evacuation of Asgard, a confused mass of Asgardian orphans and widows and widowers all struggling to know what to do, and hundreds - thousands - of eyes turn beseechingly to their king as he appears in their midst, looking desperately to him to save them.

There aren't enough escape pods for them all, and they all know it.

But that's not the only avenue of escape, either. The only question is how long they have.

"Asgard!" Thor shouts over the cacophony, and the crowd quiets enough for his words to carry over the entire nation, even without Gungnir to silence them. "Hear me! All children and their guardians, make for the Nexus portal at once. All other non-combatants to the escape pods!" None of those dismissed wait to hear more, the people quickly streaming out of the main hall, but there are so many. Too many.

Not enough time.

"Valkyrie, take the Commodore and as many people as it can carry," Thor tells her, and she scowls and opens her mouth to protest, but he cuts her off with a raised hand. "I need you to gather the escape pods once the danger is over. Get the people to Earth, and find Steven Rogers or Natasha Romanoff. They'll grant you access to the Nexus for the rest. And find Loki, the other one. Norns willing, that's where they'll be."

"But your Majesty-"

"Go! We don't have time to argue."

Valkyrie curses and punches him in the chest, furious, and stalks away, her blue cape rippling angrily behind her. She doesn't look back, and Thor does not watch her leave, his attention demanded by those who've yet stayed behind. Loki, looking pale as death itself, eyes wide with a fear Thor has never seen on him before. Heimdall, grim-faced and clutching shining Hofund in his fist, the watchman's golden eyes staring right through Thor as he keeps his gaze upon the leviathan of a ship looming over the Statesman like an eagle descending on a mouse. The militia that the Valkyrie has been training, a mere handful compared to the ten thousand Einherjar that once protected Asgard, a ragtag troop of commoners nowhere near ready for real combat.

Their enemy will not wait.

Thanos is coming now.

"Every moment we still fight is another moment our people have to escape," Thor says to those who remain, and though he's fought in a thousand battles and come close to death on many occasions, never have his hands trembled as they do now, knowing that all of Asgard now hangs in the balance. He clenches his fists tightly, lightning skittering over his hands and arms, and squares his jaw to hide the fear. "If Valhalla calls us home today, we're damned sure going to send the Titan and his minions to Hel first. For Asgard!"

"For Asgard!" the militia cry out in reply, raising their weapons in quaking hands, voices trembling with terror, yet standing their ground at the side of their king. Even though it will almost certainly mean their deaths.

Asgard will yet live. They have not come all this way for nothing.

---

In the heart of the Nexus, one of the many portals hums to life, and a flood of people begins to stream forth. Too many children, too few adults, screaming and crying as distant sounds of thunder and explosions chase them through the doorway, and black acrid smoke belches out of the portal with every person that passes through.

There's still more waiting to come through yet when there's an abrupt screeching of buckling metal and shattering glass, and on the other side, there's a brief glimpse of terrified faces and a starfield where the hull should be before the portal blinks out entirely. The archway lies crumpled in on itself, smoking and silent.

---

Thor crumples to the deck, gasping for air through mouthfuls of his own blood, just another body in the sea of the dead and dying. He tries to roll over, to push himself to his feet, but his arm refuses to obey, lying limp several feet away from his body, the stump of what's left only succeeding in painting crimson smears against the floor, his lifeblood steadily draining his strength with every beat of his heart. He tries to summon the storm in his bones, but manages only a feeble spark between his remaining fingers, and nothing more.

He can do little but listen as Thanos' ship carves the Statesman in half, the tortured groan of metal ripping apart and the roar of hull breach in the distance, as his henchmen prowl through the slaughter and brutally end the lives of those who still draw breath, and pray that someone - anyone - has made it to safety.

A withered creature smiles at the massacre as it paces softly through the bodies, voice raised as if in praise. "Hear me, and rejoice. You have had the privilege of being saved by the Great Titan..."

[Part 2 of 3] What More Could I Lose?

Thor wakes with a scream, throwing himself onto his feet and nearly toppling over as his knees threaten to buckle, his body still weak as a newborn foal. He reaches out to brace himself and nearly falls again as he grasps at nothing with an arm that is no longer there, the severed stump treated and bandaged, and he leans heavily against a storage cube as he blankly stares down at it, uncomprehending.

This is not Valhalla.

He sucks in air to feed starved lungs, hears the scrape of boot against metal behind him, and carefully turns his head to see-

A flash of green leather, long black hair, and his heart leaps into his throat-

But no, his eye focuses, and that same heart plummets into his stomach like a stone. A woman with large dark eyes and feathered antennae.

Not Loki. Never again Loki.

The woman is not alone, her companions all aiming weapons at him as if they expect half a warrior-king to be a threat to them, and under normal circumstances they would be right. But Thor's heart cries out far more loudly than his wounds, his world shattered in front of him one by one, and he sees no sign of any other Asgardians on board this vessel. No survivors picked up from the massacre.

Thor's shoulders slump, the storage cube all that's holding him up as he turns a weary, heartsick eye on what must be his rescuers. "Who the hell are you guys?"

---

The Guardians of the Galaxy are not the most considerate hosts, but Thor cannot bring himself to care about their manners, still in the numb grips of shock. They fetch him a blanket, at least, and a bowl of some kind of soup that tastes flavorless but hot, and though his hand trembles as he raises the spoon to his mouth, at least it's something that does not require two hands to eat, feeling unbalanced by the lack of weight to his left every time he moves.

He listens half-heartedly as his rescuers discuss the massacre, until he learns of Gamora's parentage, and nearly upsets the half-eaten bowl of soup as he stalks forward to confront her, numbness giving way to the smoldering ember of rage sparking to life in the pit of his belly.

Gamora is not her father. He has no quarrel with her. But if he cannot save his people, he can still avenge them. And for that, he will need a weapon.

And Thor knows just the place.

---

Off the ship, however, the emptiness grows until it sits hollow in his chest, the rabbit and the tree making far too little noise to fill the silence where there should be people. He'd thought that Asgard had been reduced to so few, a mere two thousand where once were tens of thousands, but two thousand seems a blessing now.

He sits in the corner of the pod alone, slowly rubbing at the tenderness of the ruin of his arm, and wonders if there was more he could have done. More he could have given. He would have lost both arms, would have died to save Asgard, but instead he watched as his people were slaughtered like goats for the feast, elders and children alike, and he feels broken in a way that has nothing to do with his arm.

Even the rabbit seems to notice, and though his words give Thor something to focus on outside of the gnawing grief that tears at his soul, it does so very little to ease the pain.

All he has left is his vengeance, and if that is not enough, then Thor has nothing else to give.

Nothing else to lose.

He turns away, silence falling throughout the pod again as Thor prepares to take the emptiness and the grief and transform it into purpose, into an all-consuming rage that will spill Thanos' blood across the cosmos to match the gruesome trail he's left through the eons, and he's startled from his thoughts when something metal heaves into his lap, moving parts clanking together. Thor blinks, and looks down to see an arm, skeletal and inelegant, but roughly close to match what he's missing. Puzzled, he looks up at the rabbit, who shrugs and says, "If fate does want you to kill that stupid crapsack, you're gonna need more than one arm."

The winds of anger momentarily gone from his sails, Thor frowns. "You just happened to have this lying around?"

Rabbit climbs into the pilot's seat, and looks back over his shoulder with a grim yet mischievous glint in his beady little eyes. "Pal, I got a whole box of arms. If that don't suit, take your pick."

Despite himself, despite everything, Thor manages a smile. If even this small creature can be kind, perhaps there is hope yet left. For him, for everyone. "Thank you, sweet rabbit."

[Part 3 of 3] The Sun Will Shine On Us Again

It's been easily two hundred years since Thor has set foot in Nidavellir, but never has he seen it so dark. So silent. Where once were the clanking of gears and the roaring of forge-fire, and the laughter of dwarves at work, now there is nothing but a vast emptiness that stretches all the way around every ring of the forge, his own footsteps far too loud in a place where they should be drowned out with ease.

Eitri's eyes hold the same anguish that Thor feels in his own heart, failure to protect his people from the Mad Titan's calculated rampage, the horrible fear of being alone at the end of all things. But the dwarf knows the fate of his people for certain, their bodies left where they fell, slaughtered to the last man. Thor still holds desperate hope that somewhere out there, Asgard yet lives, scattered and diminished but alive. But they will not be safe until Thanos is defeated, and once again, Thor does not hesitate to face certain death to do everything he can to stop the Mad Titan, to make the madman suffer until Thor's hands are drenched in his lifeblood, and avenge the fallen who now feast in Valhalla, long before their time.

He stands in the iris mechanism of the forge and braces himself for the agony to come, a pain of the body that will surely pale in comparison to the black hole that now devours him from the inside out, grief and rage and desperation consuming his every waking moment. His hand reaches up to grasp the pendant around his neck, a token given by a mirror of his brother - gods, Loki - and he chokes back a strangled sob as he tucks it carefully beneath his cuirass to protect this fragile thing from the raw destruction to come, something he could not do for Loki, or Heimdall, or any of the others who fell to the blades of Thanos and his Children.

Yet here Thor stands, without them, when he should have died to protect them first.

Perhaps that is his curse. But curse or no, weregild is now owed to Asgard, and Thor will stop at nothing to extract every drop of blood in the Titan's veins as recompense for the slaughter.

"Allfathers, give me strength," he prays, and pulls the handles down, the forge cracking open at his back and unleashing the full force of the neutron star upon the man in its path, blasting over and through him as if he was nothing, an ant in a firestorm, and the only mercy is that his left arm cannot hurt any longer. The fulgurite around his neck sputters to life, but Thor cannot hear the voices that sing forth over the sound of his own screams and the roar of the star's fire as it burns deep into his flesh, searing him down to the bone. At his belt, his PINpoint shrieks unheard as the cosmic fire lashes out and sets it ablaze, a howling scream of energy that joins the stellar beam on its path to the forge, carrying Thor's agony and rage and despair alongside, pouring into the melting uru to be given shape and purpose.

Thor howls his torment as the star-fire flays him alive, screaming until the darkness creeps in and drags him into its depths, drowning him in its silent sanctuary. His grasp slackens, his eye slides closed, and his last thought is to wonder if he will wake to Valhalla.

He lets go, and is plunged into night.

---

He wakes with thunder in his blood and bone, hand clenched around the gnarled handle of a greataxe, drenching him with its power and vitality until he literally glows from it, scouring him of weakness and pain and filling him up with a howl of vengeance so loud that it is a wonder he cannot hear it with his ears.

Death, the axe cries, and Thor's grip tightens around its haft in agreement.

He lifts his head, eye alight with blue-white fire, and raises the axe high, reaching deep for the current of the Bifrost that hums just outside of sight, calling to Yggdrasil to carry them all to Earth. To war. To Thanos.

And to bring justice to his murdered people.