The Weight of Immortality - CH - 60

Harry stepped out of the cab, his sharp eyes scanning the streets of New York City. Bruce followed closely behind, his appearance altered by Harry’s magic. His face was broader, his nose slightly crooked, and his hair now a deep brown instead of its usual dark shade. No one would connect this man to Bruce Banner—the fugitive scientist hunted by the government.

Bruce adjusted the collar of his jacket nervously. “Are you sure this disguise will hold up? I feel like everyone’s staring at me.”

Harry smirked. “You’re fine, Bruce. Trust me, no one’s looking at you. They’re more worried about catching the latest gossip than spotting fugitives.”

Bruce didn’t look convinced but nodded. “I still can’t believe you can do this…magic.”

Harry shrugged. “You’ll get used to it.”

They walked into Black’s Hearth, Harry’s restaurant, and Bruce’s eyes widened at the warm atmosphere. The rustic design, mismatched chairs, and welcoming scent of freshly baked bread instantly put him at ease.

“This is…cozy,” Bruce said, looking around.

“Don’t let the décor fool you,” Harry replied with a grin. “This place has hosted more drama than you’d believe.”

Before Bruce could respond, Hela appeared from behind the counter. Her sharp eyes immediately landed on Harry, and her lips curled into a relieved smile.

“About time you showed up,” she said, stepping around the counter to embrace him.

“Missed you too,” Harry said, holding her tightly. He stepped back and gestured toward Bruce. “This is Bruce—well, sort of. I made a few adjustments.”

Hela’s gaze flickered over Bruce, and her sharp intellect immediately pieced things together.

“So this is the infamous Bruce Banner,” she said, crossing her arms. “And I assume the green rage monster is still part of the package?”

Bruce shifted uncomfortably. “I…uh, yeah. That’s me.”

Hela raised an eyebrow. “Relax. I don’t bite. At least, not unless I have to.”

Harry shot her a look. “Don’t scare him, Hela. He’s been through enough.”

“Fine,” Hela said, but her eyes softened as she addressed Bruce. “Welcome to New York. Try not to destroy it.”

Bruce managed a weak smile. “I’ll do my best.”

After settling Bruce into one of the private rooms upstairs, Harry and Hela retreated to their office. The air was thick with tension as Hela filled him in on the situation.

“So you’re saying it could be Thor?” Harry asked, leaning back in his chair.

“Or it could be me,” Hela replied, her voice tight. “Another version of me. You know how many variations we’ve seen while traveling through dimensions.”

Harry nodded. “But we won’t know until we investigate. What’s the latest update?”

Hela leaned forward. “S.H.I.E.L.D. has locked down the area. No one gets in or out without clearance. Tony’s been trying to get more intel, but even he’s struggling.”

Harry’s brow furrowed. “And you haven’t sensed anything…familiar?”

“No,” Hela admitted. “But that doesn’t mean it’s not dangerous.”

Harry sighed. “Then we’ll need to go there ourselves.”

Hela nodded. “I already told Tony we’d meet him at the site tomorrow. He thinks it’s just Thor, but I can’t shake the feeling that something’s off.”

Meanwhile, Bruce paced his room, still grappling with the events of the past few weeks. He couldn’t believe how much his life had changed since meeting Harry.

Magic. Real magic.

The rational part of his brain screamed for him to find a scientific explanation, but deep down, he knew there wasn’t one. Harry had shown him things that defied the laws of physics, and Bruce was both fascinated and terrified.

And then there was Hela. She was intense—sharp-tongued and quick-witted—but there was something about her that felt…safe.

Bruce flopped down on the bed and stared at the ceiling. He’d always been running, hiding from the world and from himself. But now, for the first time in years, he felt like he wasn’t completely alone.

“So what’s the plan?” Hela asked, breaking the silence.

Harry tapped his fingers against the desk. “We go in, we assess the situation, and we figure out what—or who—we’re dealing with.”

“And if it’s Thor?”

“Then we talk to him. Thor’s not an enemy.”

“And if it’s me?”

Harry’s eyes hardened. “Then we stop her.”

Hela nodded, her jaw set. “Good. Because I’m not letting another version of me ruin what we’ve built.”

Harry reached across the desk and took her hand. “We’ll face this together—like we always do.”

Hela squeezed his hand. “Together.”

The next day, they prepared for their trip to the excavation site. Harry reinforced Bruce’s disguise and gave him explicit instructions to stay out of trouble.

As they left the restaurant and stepped into the busy streets of New York, the weight of what lay ahead pressed down on them.

For Harry and Hela, this wasn’t just about facing an unknown threat. It was about confronting their pasts, their fears, and the legacy they had worked so hard to leave behind.

The private jet landed smoothly at a secluded airstrip near the excavation site. Tony Stark, ever the showman, stepped out first, adjusting his sunglasses and stretching his arms wide as though he owned the place—which, knowing Tony, he probably did.

“Welcome to New Mexico!” Tony declared loudly, flashing his signature grin. “Land of sand, rocks, and... mysterious space hammers.”

Helena Black stepped down next, her sharp eyes scanning the area. She was dressed in a sleek black pantsuit, practical yet commanding, exuding the air of someone who was always in control. She turned to look at Harry and Bruce, who were following behind her.

“Stay close,” she said in a tone that left no room for argument. “S.H.I.E.L.D. is crawling all over this site. One wrong move, and they’ll start asking questions we don’t want to answer.”

Bruce adjusted the glasses Harry had enchanted for him, his disguise still intact, though he felt nervous about the number of agents he saw roaming around. “I still think this is a bad idea,” he muttered under his breath.

Harry clapped Bruce on the back. “Relax. You’re with us. They’ll be too busy trying to impress Tony to pay attention to us.”

Bruce wasn’t convinced but followed anyway as they approached the S.H.I.E.L.D. perimeter.

The site was buzzing with activity. Floodlights illuminated the area, casting long shadows over the desert sands. Armed guards patrolled the perimeter, while scientists in white lab coats examined every inch of the crater where the hammer lay embedded in the rock.

Tony led the group toward the command tent, waving at the guards as if he owned the place. “SHIELD,” he said, flashing his ID badge. “I believe you’ve been expecting us.”

The guards stepped aside, letting them through.

Inside the tent, Agent Phil Coulson greeted them with his usual calm demeanor.

“Mr. Stark,” Coulson said, nodding politely. “Miss Black.”

“Agent,” Helena replied curtly, not missing the flicker of recognition in his eyes when he looked at Harry and Bruce.

“Who are they?” Coulson asked, glancing at the two men.

“Outside help,” Helena said smoothly. “Haraldin, consultant. Bruce…well, let’s just call him a scientist.”

Coulson raised an eyebrow but didn’t press the matter. “Follow me,” he said, leading them toward the crater.

When they arrived at the edge of the crater, all eyes were drawn to the hammer. It was massive, far larger than any ordinary weapon, and it glowed faintly as if charged with power. Strange symbols etched along its surface seemed to hum with energy.

Harry stopped in his tracks, his eyes narrowing as he examined the weapon. “It’s definitely have some new enchantments,” he said quietly, speaking to Helena.

She nodded. “It’s Mjölnir.”

Bruce blinked. “Wait—the Mjölnir? Thor’s hammer? As in Norse mythology?”

“It’s not mythology,” Helena said. “Not here.”

Tony whistled, stepping closer. “Well, it’s a hell of a paperweight. Can I touch it?”

“No!” Helena snapped, startling him.

“Geez, relax,” Tony muttered, stepping back. “What’s the big deal?”

Helena crossed her arms. “That hammer isn’t just a weapon. It’s enchanted. Only someone deemed worthy can lift it.”

Tony raised an eyebrow. “Worthy? So, what, you have to be a saint?”

“Not a saint,” Helena said, her gaze never leaving the hammer. “But someone with a pure heart…and a purpose.”

Harry’s eyes flickered toward Helena. He knew she was worried. If this really was Mjölnir, then Thor couldn’t be far behind. Or worse—someone else entirely.

“Can you sense anything?” he asked her quietly.

Helena shook her head. “No, but that doesn’t mean we’re in the clear. We need to keep digging.”

Bruce leaned closer, his scientific curiosity taking over. “It looks like it’s emitting some kind of energy field. Electromagnetic?”

Harry extended his hand, letting his magic sense the aura surrounding the weapon. “No, it’s more than that. It’s divine energy—raw and ancient.”

Bruce stepped back. “Divine? You mean like gods?”

“Exactly,” Helena replied.

Tony, who had been unusually quiet, finally spoke. “So let me get this straight—we’re dealing with gods now?”

“Technically, yes,” Harry said. “But think of them as extremely powerful beings rather than deities.”

Tony crossed his arms. “And you’re both okay with this? Magic, gods, and ancient weapons of doom?”

Helena smirked. “Welcome to our world, Stark.”

The air around the crater crackled with ancient energy. Hela stood at the edge, her eyes locked on the hammer buried in the earth as if it were calling out to her. Her fingers twitched, her breath quickened, and her heart pounded with a rhythm that matched the faint hum resonating from the weapon.

Mjölnir.

It wasn’t Thor’s hammer—it was hers.

Before her banishment, before her rebellion, it was Hela who wielded the mighty hammer, bending storms to her will and crushing enemies under its enchanted weight. She could still feel the echoes of her past bond with it, as if the hammer had never truly stopped being hers.

“Hela,” Harry’s voice called softly, but she didn’t turn. She couldn’t tear her eyes away.

The hammer seemed to pulse, the runes carved into its surface glowing faintly, as though it sensed her presence. It wanted her. She could feel it in her bones.

She stepped closer.

“Hela.”

Harry’s voice was firmer this time, and she finally turned to face him. He stood just a few feet behind her, his sharp green eyes narrowed in warning.

“You know what happens if you pick that up,” he said, his voice low but urgent.

Hela clenched her fists, struggling to resist the pull. “It’s mine, Harry,” she said, her voice trembling with longing. “It always has been. Before Thor, before Odin turned me into a villain in their stories—this was mine.”

Harry took another step closer, his tone softening. “I know, Hela. But that’s not who you are anymore. You left that life behind. We both did.”

She shook her head. “You don’t understand. The hammer is calling me. It knows me—it remembers me.”

“And so will Heimdall,” Harry countered quickly. “And Odin. And every other god and being that watches the Nine Realms. The moment you pick that up, we lose everything. Our privacy, our freedom. Do you really want to go back to that?”

Hela froze, her outstretched hand hovering mere inches from the handle of the hammer. Harry was right, and she hated that he was right.

He stepped closer, placing a hand gently on her shoulder. “I know it’s hard, Hela. I know what it means to leave behind something that feels like it’s a part of you. But we didn’t come here for this. We came to find answers, not to throw ourselves back into Odin’s radar.”

Hela closed her eyes, taking a deep breath. The intoxicating pull of Mjölnir was almost too much to resist, but Harry’s words grounded her.

“What if it doesn’t stop calling me?” she whispered, opening her eyes to meet his.

Harry smiled gently. “Then we’ll deal with it. Together.”

She hesitated for a moment longer before stepping back, breaking the hammer’s invisible hold on her. The humming faded, and the glowing runes dimmed, as if Mjölnir had sensed her decision and accepted it—at least for now.

Hela turned away from the hammer and walked back toward Harry, who reached out and took her hand.

“You’re stronger than you think,” he said.

She gave him a small, sad smile. “I hope you’re right.”

Unbeknownst to them, far across the Bifrost, Heimdall stood at his post, gazing through the cosmos. His golden eyes flickered as he focused on the crater in New Mexico, his sight piercing through dimensions and magical veils.

He had felt the stirrings of Mjölnir the moment it had pulsed, sensing the presence of someone it deemed worthy. But what troubled Heimdall most was not the hammer’s awakening—it was the presence of a figure long thought lost to time.

Hela.