Thor—the prince destined to eventually surpass Odin himself—stood as the absolute peak specimen of the Aesir race.
Logically speaking, even with the Omnitrix analyzing and providing him with the absolute pinnacle of Asgardian DNA, Peter should only have been able to fight Thor to a perfectly even, fifty-fifty stalemate.
But there was a catastrophic flaw in that equation!
Thor had absolutely nothing in his arsenal outside of the raw, primal physical gifts bestowed upon him by his Aesir biology.
Peter, on the other hand... as an absolute, unadulterated cheat code of a human being, possessed a weapons matrix that could best be described as an endless, chaotic variety show.
Anything Thor could do, Peter could execute flawlessly. Anything Thor couldn't do... Peter could still execute with terrifying precision!
Byakugan!
The exact millisecond Peter conceptualized the command within his mind, a flawless, three-hundred-and-sixty-degree ocular matrix blanketed his vision.
Thor's impending trajectory was instantly laid completely bare down to the absolute microscopic level. Every single contracting muscle fiber in the Thunder God's body, every subtle, internal redirection of his divine lightning reserves—everything was completely unmasked before Peter's eyes.
"Too slow."
Peter let out a soft, amused chuckle. With a subtle, casual tilt of his torso, he effortlessly slipped beneath the crushing, multi-ton kinetic path of Thor's descending hammer.
Simultaneously, he snapped the fingers of his left hand together. Within his open palm, a violent, high-velocity vortex of pure, compressed energy quietly materialized, screaming with localized atmospheric friction.
Rasengan!
Drawing upon the monumental physical durability and vast spiritual reserves inherent to his prime Asgardian vessel, Peter's raw micro-manipulation of chakra had naturally ascended to an entirely unprecedented, terrifying peak!
BOOM—!!!
The spiraling vortex impacted Thor's exposed chest with absolute, flush precision.
The exact millisecond the compressed kinetic payload detonated, even the divine, Uru-forged armor shielding the Prince of Asgard hit its physical breaking point.
The reinforced metallic scales fractured and disintegrated into shrapnel as Thor's multi-ton frame was violently launched backward like a literal railgun projectile, heavily plowing a massive, deep trench across the shattered concrete plaza.
"Pfft...!"
A heavy spray of red erupted from Thor's lips. He was hit with a wave of blinding, raw physical agony that he hadn't experienced since the dark days prior to reclaiming his worthiness.
But this was merely the opening act.
Before the God of Thunder could draw even a single, ragged breath to reorient his senses, Peter's silhouette dissolved, reappearing like an ominous, hovering phantom directly above his airspace.
"We aren't anywhere near finished yet!"
Peter cast a cold, mocking gaze down at the grounded deity. His legs blurred into a rapid, rhythmic cascade of kicks, traveling at velocities so absurd they left a synchronized curtain of residual afterimages hanging in the air.
Rankyaku: Shigure! (Tempest Kick: Autumn Rain)
A torrential, sweeping storm of massive, azure kinetic crescent slashes was kicked directly out of thin air, hurtling down like a literal localized monsoon.
The dense blades of vacuum pressure rained relentlessly across Thor's frame, slicing through his reinforced, dense muscular tissue and leaving deep, jagged lacerations that carved straight down toward the bone.
Thor had absolutely no metric to calculate how many consecutive impacts he absorbed. By the time Peter finally halted his leg movements and drifted backward, the Prince's brilliant, iconic golden hair had been completely dyed a saturated, visceral crimson, his entire body transformed into a literal blood-soaked ragdoll.
Yet, despite the catastrophic trauma, a desperate, unyielding roar of pure defiance managed to tear its way out from the deep craters of the debris.
"Mortal...! You lack the capacity to slay a God!"
BOOM!
The shattered stone boulders exploded outward in a radial cloud of dust as Thor, his entire battered frame violently erupting with a blinding, frantic shroud of arc-lightning, launched himself skyward once more.
Strangely enough, after being systematically thrashed like a stray dog for nearly an uninterrupted minute, the sheer physical trauma had actually forced a cold spark of primitive tactical clarity back into his rage-induced mind.
It was an undeniable reality that this accursed Midgardian had successfully siphoned his divine baseline. But his primary engine of power—that accursed, green-rimmed wrist-watch—is fundamentally not invincible!
He previously stole Richards' elasticity, and that transformation collapsed after exactly ten minutes! If the power of a mutated, mortal piece of small fry can only be sustained for a hard ten-minute window, exactly how immense must the systemic energy drain be to channel the divine lineage of an Asgardian Prince actively?!
Ten minutes. I merely need to endure for another seven minutes, and he will be entirely out of cards to play!
"I am the sovereign deity of the storm! You are nothing more than a pathetic, parasitic thief!"
Clinging to that hyper-fixated deduction, Thor gritted his teeth through the blinding agony, completely disregarding his structural lacerations as he hurled his weight straight toward Peter once more.
He refused to believe—absolutely refused to accept—the mathematical possibility that Peter possessed the output to permanently end his immortal life within a mere seven-minute window.
"Oh~ Is that so?"
Peter effortlessly deduced the exact track of Thor's frantic internal monologue, but he harbored absolutely zero desire to engage in a tedious, seven-minute slugfest with this stubborn oaf.
He possessed a vastly superior, infinitely more devastating methodology to completely shatter the Thunder God's psychological composure once and for all.
"Then let us observe whether a common thief can orchestrate something vastly more spectacular than your entire divinity!"
While the syllables cleared his lips, Peter casually slapped the sleek interface of the Omnitrix, seamlessly hot-swapping his internal genetic blueprint from the physical vanguard of the Aesir to the mystical apex of the Vanir.
The exact millisecond the cellular transition stabilized, he fluidly swept his hand across his waistline. The ornate, metallic chassis of the Wizard Driver instantly materialized over his core.
"Henshin!"
As Peter's open palm swept across the central, reflective hand-authorizer, the mystical driver erupted with a luminescence that had never been documented in the history of the crossover universe.
It wasn't the traditional, multi-colored elemental arrays representing Flame, Water, Hurricane, Land, or Infinity. It was a singular, terrifyingly dense, and absolutely blinding shroud of brilliant, flawless gold.
[INFINITY GOLDEN! SAIKO—!!!]
Accompanied by a sweeping, orchestral, and highly stylized electronic announcement, a monumental wave of golden magical pressure violently detonated from the driver's core, completely swallowing Peter's entire three-meter frame in a dense pillar of solar light.
When the blinding aura finally dispersed, a pristine, exquisitely ornate set of heavy golden plate-armor manifested before the audience, glowing with a serene, terrifying majesty.
Infinity Golden Style!
Reinforced by the absolute, pinnacle-tier mystical affinity and reality-attuned mana channels inherent to the Vanir divine genome, the Wizard Driver had been forcefully evolved past its standard parameters, unlocking a definitive, hypothetical ultimate state!
An ascending form that completely shattered the baseline constraints of standard Infinity and All Dragon Styles.
Within this celestial matrix, Peter didn't merely retain the nigh-impregnable, absolute defensive metrics of the Infinity Style—he gained the absolute liberty to simultaneously manifest and manipulate all five base elemental domains, each amplified exponentially by his divine spell-casting engine.
Sensing the vast, torrential ocean of pristine mana coursing through his channels—a reservoir easily tens of times more potent than his baseline mortal spellcasting—Peter's lips naturally curled into an amused, hidden smirk behind his golden, gem-cut visor.
He lifted his armored hand, tilting his fingers toward the ascending Thor in a lazy, mocking beckon.
In that exact heartbeat, five massive, intricately detailed, multi-layered magical circles materialized in a spinning orbital ring around Peter's levitating form:
"Hurricane, Flame, Liquid, Land, Thunder..." Peter's voice echoed, carrying a deep, layered, and multi-vocal resonance that sounded like an entire choir of ancient sorcerers. "Which specific flavor would you prefer to sample first?"
Faced with a display of high-tier, highly structured mystical artistry that completely defied his primitive comprehension of magic, Thor remained entirely silent.
His mind was so thoroughly overwhelmed by cognitive dissonance that he couldn't even formulate a defensive, stubborn boast to save his pride.
Consequently, he merely channeled every remaining drop of his willpower into swinging Mjolnir, desperately calling down his solitary, base elemental lightning magic.
A torrential cascade of blinding blue forks arcs split the sky, hurtling down toward the golden knight.
Peter merely offered a flick of his wrist.
A massive, earthen-brown magical crest instantly snapped into existence directly before his path, acting as a geometric absolute shield.
The torrential column of divine lightning crashed violently against the runic surface, only to be completely absorbed, grounded, and diffused into nonexistence without shifting Peter's positioning by a single millimeter.
Having neutralized Thor's offensive payload, Peter casually waved his left hand. The earthen shield seamlessly dissolved, replaced instantly by a towering, blood-red, dual-layered runic array.
In the next fraction of a second, a colossal torrent of pure, liquid-gold solar dragon breath—carrying a thermal signature that easily vaporized the atmospheric moisture across the city block—erupted violently from the core of the magical circle.
Flame collided head-on with Thor's residual lightning.
The opposing forces engaged in a brief, volatile tug-of-war across the open sky, but the structural stalemate lasted for only a fraction of a heartbeat before the golden flames completely, unconditionally overwhelmed the electrical currents.
The blinding lightning arcs were systematically consumed by the solar fire, and along with them, Thor's entire airborne physique was thoroughly swallowed by the inferno.
"AAARRRGHHH!!!"
A piercing, agonizing scream of unadulterated suffering echoed across the heavens.
The thermal output of fire amplified by a peak Vanir sorcerer's mana engine was an absolute catastrophe, easily rivaling the primordial, apocalyptic flames generated by Surtur the Fire Giant at the absolute apex of his power.
By the time Thor finally managed to clumsily wrench his weight out of the path of the inferno, his body lost all flight stability, crashing into the cracked pavement like a broken stone.
His entire muscular frame was charred pitch-black, and even his legendary, divinely forged armor had been entirely reduced to a melting, useless heap of metallic scrap metal.
Staring at the completely neutralized, smoking form of the God of Thunder resting in the crater, the Spiders on the perimeter looked at one another in absolute, stunned silence, their features painting a picture of total disbelief.
The legendary, invincible Thor of Asgard... was just systematically beaten into a scorched piece of charcoal by our Boss. Who on earth would ever believe this if we told them?!
The remaining active members of the Avengers experienced a collective, total loss of vocal capacity.
Every single one of them stared up at the hovering, golden-armored silhouette of Peter Parker as if they were looking at a literal, walking cosmic nightmare.
"Thor!"
Captain America—who had finally managed to systematically sever the high-tensile webbing binding his limbs using the sharp edge of his vibranium shield—was the very first to break out of the collective stupo
r. He sprinted frantically toward the smoking crater, his lips visibly trembling as he yelled down:
"That is enough! Stand down, Thor! There is absolutely no logical parameter requiring this conflict to advance to a lethal conclusion!"
Having observed that their team hadn't sustained a single permanent casualty, and having witnessed Peter casually spare both Johnny Storm and Reed Richards after thoroughly dismantling them, Steve Rogers' tactical intellect had long since arrived at a definitive conclusion.
The entity before them wasn't a hostile Kree vanguard or a rogue Skrull bio-experiment deployed to conquer Earth.
The probability was astronomically high that this entire apocalyptic engagement was born out of a massive, catastrophic operational misunderstanding.
Consequently, Cap was desperately attempting to intercede, aiming to halt a conflict that was rapidly spiraling toward an absolute point of no return.
But Thor was fundamentally incapable of accepting such leverage in his current mental state. He aggressively shoved Cap's extending hand away, the residual, high-tier thermal heat radiating from his charred skin causing the reinforced fabric of Cap's uniform to sharply hiss and singe upon contact.
"I have... not sustained a definitive defeat..." Thor wheezed through cracked, bleeding lips, his eyes burning with a desperate, terminal defiance. "There are still... exactly seven minutes remaining on his engine."
Observing the Thunder God's unyielding, death-before-dishonor posture through his golden visor, Peter actually found himself harboring a mild shred of genuine appreciation for the stubborn oaf.
Though the prince was arrogant and thick-headed to a fault, he indisputably prioritized a warrior's foundational honor above the preservation of his own immortal life.
Therefore, Peter decided he would no longer drag out the performance or toy with his composure.
He smoothly cycled his active magical array, transitioning the golden circles into a deep, crackling violet Thunder element, before calmly raising a single, armored index finger toward the heavens.
"Thor, let us bring this sequence to a definitive close."
At this exact moment, standing cloaked beneath the supreme, silent majesty of the Infinity Golden armor, Peter looked vastly more like a cold, absolute, and unfeeling deity than the Asgardian ever had:
"It is time for you to gracefully... accept your destiny as the defeated party."
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