It should’ve felt like the bottom of his face detached, fortunately the blow was adjusted enough for his vision to flash white.
A manifestation of the hunt incarnate was before him, as the distance between them dwindled with agonizing surety.
#𝗔𝗛𝗝𝗜𝗡 / #𝗗𝗥𝗘𝗔𝗗𝗛𝗔𝗥𝗥𝗢𝗪.
His throne was a cairn of cracked helms, his court, the hush before impact. He strode the Nine like a war-chant, bridging Midgard to Asgard with the heel of his wrath.
Thor, breaker of staves,
splitter of sky, 𝗳𝗶𝗿𝘀𝘁𝗯𝗼𝗿𝗻 of the storm’s
spine. He did not reign.
He resounded.
The day we stepped back, the world turned feral. Not all at once. It rotted slowly under masks that had forgotten what the ‘𝐒’ meant. Now they wear justice like armor, so I returned not to lead. To remind them, power without restraint is 𝐓𝐘𝐑𝐀𝐍𝐍𝐘* in disguise.
The rapture of 𝗰𝗼𝗻𝗾𝘂𝗲𝘀𝘁, not the triumph of kings, but the birth cry of the storm. Thor, a god swaddled in fury, had no crown of jewels, he wore the tempest itself as his cloak, a mantle woven of shattered skies and screaming winds.
A time untouched by subtlety, where the
He who cannot be hunted cannot
be 𝐡𝐨𝐧𝐨𝐫𝐞𝐝. He who is hunted …
will be 𝖗𝖊𝖒𝖊𝖒𝖇𝖊𝖗𝖊𝖉.