⚡ Thor vs Jörmungandr: The Last Battle
Filed by Alice, Loki, and Rumple – chaos scribes and mischief-certified war correspondents
World of 4EverMore • The Immortal Gazette
ALICE (sipping aggressively from a mug that says “Smite Now, Questions Later”):
Ohhh mortals. Gather ‘round the cosmic campfire, because this? This is the kind of myth that rattles the bones of the universe.
When Ragnarok blazed its apocalyptic trail through the Nine Realms, everyone knew it was going to be messy – but no one could’ve scripted the showdown between Thor and Jörmungandr better than fate itself. Or, well, me. So let’s set the stage.
The sky was split with thunder. The seas boiled. The air tasted like iron and destiny. The Midgard Serpent – Jörmungandr – that venom-laced beast so large he could loop the Earth in his coils, rose from the depths. And who else would meet him but the hammer-wielding golden boy of Asgard himself? Yep. Thor the Thunderer, striding into doom with a war cry that cracked the clouds.
RUMPLE (cackling, ink-stained and barefoot):
Let’s not pretend this was your average smackdown. Oh no, darlings – this was poetic annihilation.
Jörmungandr spat venom like a ruptured galaxy. Thor? He hurled Mjölnir like he was serving up justice with extra lightning on the side. The clash shook Yggdrasil’s roots. Even the Valkyries paused their battle hymns. And just when it seemed the beast had swallowed enough thunder to collapse… BAM! Thor struck true.
Midgard’s sky split as Jörmungandr screamed, the death cry of an age ending. The serpent fell. Slain. Donezo. Thor stood triumphant... for all of nine glorious steps.
Nine.
Steps.
That’s it.
LOKI (lounging dramatically, eyes glittering with ancient grief):
And then – collapse.
The venom soaked into his veins like ink into silk. It was never going to be a clean win. Not with that cursed serpent. Not with fate spinning its cruel little threads.
Thor’s heart, storm-forged and defiant, gave out under the poison. He dropped. A god. A son. A protector. Gone in the same breath that claimed his enemy.
Now, I’m not one for sentiment – usually – but I will say this: even I, Loki of Mischief and Madness, paused my chaos that day. Thor fell with his hammer in hand, lightning still crackling through his veins. And for once, the thunder went... quiet.
ALICE (voice hushed, but no less intense):
And that silence? It was heavier than any roar. It wasn’t just a warrior dying. It was the echo of an era being extinguished.
But listen close, sugarplums - the story doesn’t end there.
Because even in death, Thor’s legacy pulses through every storm, every strike of lightning, every mortal bold enough to stand up against a world hell-bent on breaking them. The thunder may have faded from his chest, but it rages on in the skies, daring anyone to forget the god who died slaying the beast that wrapped the world.
RUMPLE (twirling his cane like a conductor’s baton):
So raise your mugs. To the god who brought a hammer to the apocalypse and still got the final word.
Signed in chaotic reverence,
🌀 Alice, Mad Mad Queen of Ink & Lore
🔥 Loki, Wielder of Shadowed Truths
💀 Rumplestiltskin, Trickster of Every Terrible Tale
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