I threw the glass.

  It arced through the air — slow enough to see every sparkle of light, fast enough that no one expected it to actually land.

  It hit Thor in the face.

  Beer sprayed. Glass shattered.

  The entire bar went silent.

  Thor turned. Lightning gathered in his eyes — not metaphor, literally. His pupils became storms. The air crackled. Gods and mortals alike held their breath.

  Then his attack hit me.

  Not Mjolnir. Not a punch. Just the force of his rage — a shockwave that lifted me off my feet and sent me flying backward.

  I crashed between two goddesses.

  Egyptian, by the look of them. Gold-lined eyes. Skin that shimmered like desert sand. One caught me, steadied me with a hand on my shoulder.

  "Hello," she said, like I'd just sat down for tea.

  I barely had time to breathe. Thor leaped across the bar — thirty feet in a single bound, lightning trailing behind him.

  The goddesses screamed. Real fear. They scattered, leaving me alone in the space where a god was about to land.

  I scrambled up.

  Thor landed where I'd been. The floor cracked beneath him. Mjolnir flew from his hand — straight at me.

  It crossed the space between us in less than a heartbeat.

  I didn't dodge.

  I grabbed it.

  The hammer screamed. Not sound — power. Ancient. Unstoppable. It tried to pull me away, tried to fly back to its master. My feet dragged across the floor. My arm felt like it was being torn from its socket.

  I held on.

  Dark lightning erupted from my fingers — not at Thor, not at anything — just into the hammer. Black tendrils wrapped around Mjolnir's head, sinking into the metal like roots into soil.

  Mjolnir shuddered.

  For one impossible second, it hesitated.

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  Thor's eyes widened.

  He called it back.

  The hammer wrenched free from my grip and flew to his hand. But it was different now. Confused. Uncertain. It hummed in his grip like a dog that had just seen a ghost.

  Thor didn't wait. He ran at me.

  The Copy-Blade chose that moment to release.

  Hercules spilled out — stumbling, furious, disoriented — right into Thor's path. The demigod roared, still half-blind from whatever prison the blade had kept him in.

  Thor's momentum carried him forward. Mjolnir, still confused, swung wild —

  And smashed into Hercules's face.

  The sound was sickening. Bone and flesh and divine blood. Hercules's head snapped back. He staggered, dropped to one knee, blood streaming from his nose. His eyes rolled. Then he collapsed. Unconscious. Out cold.

  Thor froze.

  "That's not—" he started.

  I was already moving. Back toward the goddesses.

  They watched me approach, eyes wide — still afraid, but curious now. They huddled together behind an upturned table, gold dust falling from their hair like sand.

  "Shouldn't you be fighting?" one whispered.

  "Yes," I said. "But you're more important."

  They blinked. Exchanged a glance. Then, slowly, they used the edge of my clothes to wipe their faces — wine, spit, whatever had landed on them during the chaos. They didn't ask. They just took. I let them.

  Jesus appeared at my elbow, calm as still water.

  "How is the drink?" he asked.

  I looked at the glass in my hand — still there somehow, glowing faintly, warm against my palm.

  "Different," I said. "Good different."

  He smiled. Said nothing else. Just watched.

  Then I felt it.

  A presence. Heavy. Slow. Coming.

  Thor.

  Not running now. Walking. Slow, deliberate, like every step cost him something. His leg dragged slightly — injured. From what? The hammer hitting Hercules? The shock of seeing his weapon hesitate? Something else?

  Behind him, Hercules lay still. A pool of divine blood spread beneath his head.

  Thor stopped ten feet away. Looked at me — not with rage anymore. Something quieter. Something worse.

  Recognition.

  He charged.

  I stepped forward. Away from the goddesses. Away from Jesus. Into the space where a god was about to end me.

  Black aura radiated from my skin. Not lightning. Not fire. Something older. Something that had been waiting. My sword appeared in my hand — not summoned, just there, like it had never left.

  Thor swung.

  I didn't block. I slashed.

  The aura left my blade — arced through the air — and hit Mjolnir mid-swing.

  Not a block. A cut.

  A dent appeared on the hammer's surface. Small, but unmistakable. A scar on the weapon of a god.

  Thor stared at it. One breath. Two.

  Then he threw Mjolnir.

  Full speed. Full power. It flew past me — too fast, too strong —

  And stopped.

  Behind me. Inches from the goddesses. Hovering.

  I raised my hand.

  The hammer stayed frozen.

  And then — on my wrist — a sign appeared. Not lightning. Earth.

  A symbol older than Thor. Older than Asgard. Older than the bar itself. It burned into my skin like it had been waiting for this moment.

  Thor's eyes went wide.

  I smiled.

  Not bright. Not kind. Light, but evil. The smile of someone who'd just realized they weren't the prey anymore.

  I ran.

  Not away — toward the hammer. I grabbed it mid-air, spun, and flew.

  Out of the bar. Past the stunned faces. Past Jesus's quiet smile. Past the goddesses gasping. Past Thor, frozen, watching his weapon disappear into the night with me.

  The last thing I saw was his face — shock, confusion, and something else.

  Fear.

  The wind screamed past me. Mjolnir pulsed in my hand, confused, uncertain, caught between its master and whatever the hell I was.

  I looked at my wrist. The earth symbol glowed faintly.

  I had no idea what it meant.

  But I had a god's hammer, a bar full of stunned immortals, and a smile that wouldn't fade.

  The night was just beginning.