Marvel: AS A PRINCE IN ASGARD

Ragna led Valina back to Earth.

There was no rush to erase belief in the original God. Religion still formed the foundation of most civilizations on Earth, but faith itself was malleable. Once the Reincarnation Pool was secured, it could absorb and reshape belief. But divine power, especially one rooted in ancient worship, was not so easily usurped.

The old gods were eternal, and the new gods struggled to rise. The first step was simple—target the weakest link.

Wakanda.

This isolated African nation, outwardly appearing impoverished, was in truth the wealthiest and most technologically advanced country on Earth. Hidden beneath its surface was an unparalleled treasure: Vibranium.

Millennia ago, a meteorite rich in Vibranium crashed into Wakanda, forever altering its landscape. The metal possessed near-mystical properties—it absorbed sound, stored kinetic energy, and formed the backbone of Wakanda's scientific advancements. Their Vibranium reserves were vast, but their exact quantity remained unknown.

Ragna didn't care.

He only knew one thing.

Once he arrived in Wakanda, all Vibranium would be nationalized.

"The Earth belongs to me," Ragna mused. "If something is buried in my land, how could it possibly belong to you?"

To forge a weapon capable of wielding multiple Infinity Gems, rare metals were essential. The Uru and Kobelco alloys Odin had reluctantly provided were insufficient. Wakanda would be the first target.

Ragna deployed his forces.

A squadron of Angels. A detachment of Marauders.

It was an old strategy. One that always yielded results.

The Marauders arrived in state-of-the-art warships, armed with weapons that surpassed anything on Earth. The first salvo—a concentrated orbital bombardment—obliterated Wakanda's Vibranium energy shield. The second wave launched specialized drilling units to extract the metal directly from the mines.

The Dora Milaje and the Hatut Zeraze, Wakanda's elite warriors, resisted fiercely. But no matter how skilled they were with Vibranium spears and blades, they were outmatched against battle-hardened space raiders armed with plasma rifles and graviton cannons.

The mightiest warrior of Wakanda, T'Challa, the Black Panther, was the only one who posed a real challenge.

His Vibranium-weave suit absorbed the kinetic impact of even the most advanced weapons, making him nearly impervious to conventional attacks. He moved with superhuman speed, leaping through the battlefield like a shadow, tearing through Marauder ranks with claws that could cut through steel.

But then, one of the Predator Champions stepped forward.

Standing over eight feet tall, clad in hyper-alloy battle armor, the Predator's sheer physicality dwarfed the Black Panther. With a single crushing grip, it seized him mid-air.

T'Challa struggled, his suit absorbing the energy of the impact, but the Predator anticipated this. Instead of striking him, it turned and leaped—straight into the Rebirth Pool of Wakanda, the sacred waters that housed the power of the Panther God, Bast.

Then, with a thunderous impact—

The Predator sat down.

The Vibranium suit could absorb force. But T'Challa still needed air.

Bubbles rose from beneath the armor.

Black Panther clawed at his own helmet, desperate to remove it, but the Predator's weight held him in place.

Roar. Roar.

The water churned violently.

And then—the gods of Wakanda answered the cries of their people.

Bast. Ghekre. Sobek. Sekhmet. Anansi.

They materialized from the spiritual plane—massive, luminous beings infused with divine energy. Their arrival shook the battlefield, sending tremors through Wakanda.

The Panther God, cloaked in black shadows, lunged at the Marauders. The White Gorilla, towering and bestial, let out a battle cry. The Crocodile God, scaled and monstrous, crashed into the enemy lines, devouring raiders in a single bite.

The tide had shifted.

Until Ragna , from above, made his move.

He did not unleash the golden flames of the sun to incinerate them.

Instead—he raised his hand.

And threw a spear.

The weapon vanished into a blue aperture, warping instantly through space. When it reappeared—

It pierced through Bast's chest.

The Panther God staggered, divine ichor spilling onto the ground.

Another spear. Ghekre fell.

Another. Sobek collapsed.

The battlefield fell silent.

Ragna had no interest in prolonging their suffering. He had fixed them to the earth, impaled yet alive, leaving them to experience the slow decay of death.

Their believers watched in horror as their gods bled out before them.

Some warriors, driven mad with grief, rushed to save them.

The Marauders, ever pragmatic, simply executed them on the spot.

Faith was a fragile thing.

To destroy a god, one did not need to erase them from existence.

One simply had to humiliate them—to make their believers lose hope.

Wakanda burned.

The mines were stripped bare. Tons of Vibranium were loaded onto warships.

And just as the Marauders prepared to wipe Wakanda off the map, the Angels descended—exactly on schedule.

They did not arrive as conquerors.

They came as saviors.

By then, Wakanda's king was dead. Their gods were dead. Their strongest warriors had perished. Their technology had been reduced to ruins.

And in their moment of greatest despair, the Angels performed a miracle.

Ragna did not stay for what followed.

The Angels were well-versed in this routine.

He had what he came for.

Vibranium.

Yet, instead of immediately returning to Asgard, he took a detour.

To visit someone he had almost overlooked.

Hank Pym.

Hank Pym, once a contemporary of Howard Stark, was now a recluse.

His greatest invention, the Pym Particle, had long been dismissed as an impractical scientific curiosity. Its primary use was for size manipulation—shrinking or enlarging objects by altering the distance between atoms.

Ragna initially saw little value in it.

In battle, the Ant-Man suit was laughable. Mass remained constant even when the user shrank. A tiny combatant still weighed the same, making movement awkward. Enlarging oneself only made matters worse—without proportional mass increase, one risked becoming as fragile as a hollow balloon.

But then—Ragna learned something intriguing.

The Pym Particles could shrink more than just humans.

Houses. Vehicles. Machinery.

Vibranium.

What would happen if he shrank Vibranium to its smallest possible form—then forged it into a weapon?

A blade with the density of a neutron star, yet as light as a feather?

A spear that could shift molecular structure mid-strike?

The possibilities were endless.

And then there was the Quantum Realm.

Ragna had no interest in falling into it.

But if he mastered it…

He had severely underestimated Hank Pym.

But that was fine.

Because now—

Hank Pym would work for him.

JOIN MY PATREON TO READ ADVANCE 50+ CHAPTERS

patreon.com/Kora_1