Baldur Odinson:The light of Asgard

Chapter 20: The Forgotten Battleground

The universe stretched before him, an endless sea of light and shadow.

Baldur had left Xandar with more questions than answers.

The Nova Corps had knowledge—strategic minds, calculated warfare, political precision—but they weren't warriors in the way he needed to be.

They were soldiers.

Baldur? He was something else.

His instincts told him that brute force wouldn't be enough against what was coming. The MCU had always played into the idea that Asgardians were naturally superior, that warriors like Thor could stand against titans like Thanos simply because of their strength.

But Baldur knew better.

Strength alone wouldn't win the war. The Mad Titan was coming.

And if Baldur wanted to be ready, he needed to seek out the warriors who had fought before gods ever claimed dominion over the stars.

That's why he was here.

The ruins of a forgotten war zone floated in the abyss, hidden within the gravitational anomaly of a dying star.

A place so ancient that even the Nova Corps had no records of what had happened here.

But Baldur felt it.

The energy of long-dead warriors still clung to this place, woven into the very fabric of the ruined battlefield.

And something was waiting for him.

The wreckage was vast.

Baldur descended onto the remains of what must have once been a planet, now reduced to a skeletal husk of blackened stone and twisted metal. The remains of structures rose from the ground like broken ribs, and among them lay massive weapons—blades larger than buildings, shattered armor the size of warships.

This hadn't been a battle.

This had been an extinction event.

He moved carefully, feeling the lingering echoes of power in the air. Every step sent shivers through his bones.

And then, he saw them.

The bodies.

Or rather, what was left of them.

Colossal remains scattered across the battlefield, figures frozen in their final moments of combat. Not Asgardians. Not Kree. Not Skrulls.

Something older.

Something that had been erased from history.

And yet, as he approached the nearest set of remains, Baldur felt a strange sense of familiarity.

His golden eyes flickered with energy as he reached out—

And suddenly, the world shifted.

Pain.

A roar that shook the fabric of reality itself.

Baldur stumbled backward, his mind assaulted by images that weren't his.

Warriors of pure energy, their bodies sculpted from starlight and cosmic fire, clashing against an enemy that devoured light itself.

A battlefield torn apart by forces beyond mortal understanding.

A final stand. A desperate last attack.

And then—

Darkness.

An erasure so absolute that it left no records, no survivors. Only whispers in the void.

Baldur gasped, energy crackling around his fingers as he was ripped back into the present.

His chest heaved. His skin tingled with residual power.

That hadn't been a vision.

It had been a memory.

Not his.

But this place… it remembered.

A shift in the air.

Baldur's golden energy flared as something moved in the wreckage.

At first, he thought it was the wind—until the ground shook beneath him.

And then, from the ruins of the battlefield, they rose.

Figures clad in shattered armor, their bodies broken but still standing, still fighting. Their forms were not solid, not fully alive—flickering between what remained of their physical bodies and the glowing remnants of their past selves.

They were warriors who had never stopped fighting.

Baldur exhaled slowly.

"Of course," he muttered. "Why wouldn't this place have undead warriors?"

The nearest one turned to him, its voice a low, crackling growl.

"YOU ARE NOT OF THE FALLEN."

Baldur tilted his head. "No. But I'm here to learn."

The warrior's hollow eyes glowed.

"THEN PROVE YOURSELF."

And then they attacked.

They moved like lightning, flashes of energy and steel cutting through the ruins.

Baldur barely had time to react before the first warrior was on him, swinging a massive blade wreathed in cosmic fire.

He blinked away, a golden afterimage flickering in his place.

But the warrior anticipated it.

It twisted mid-strike, adjusting its attack in ways a normal opponent wouldn't have.

Baldur raised his arm, manifesting a golden shield just in time—

CLANG!

The impact sent shockwaves through the air, blasting apart nearby ruins.

Baldur's feet skidded across the broken ground, his arms burning from the force of the strike.

These weren't mindless specters.

They were warriors.

Even in death, they remembered how to fight.

"Alright," Baldur muttered, rolling his shoulders. "Let's see how much I've learned."

The second warrior attacked.

Baldur moved first.

He shot forward, golden energy streaking behind him like a comet, his body blurring as he weaved through the battlefield.

The warrior struck out, swinging an energy lance that crackled with cosmic flame.

Baldur twisted midair, phasing into pure light for a fraction of a second—just enough to pass through the attack.

Then he rematerialized behind his opponent, his hand forming a spear of golden energy.

One precise strike—

Direct to the chest.

The warrior staggered, its form flickering—but it did not fall.

Instead, it turned its head toward him, grinning.

Baldur frowned.

And then he felt it.

A presence behind him.

The third warrior.

It had teleported.

A blade of pure energy slashed across his back, cutting through his armor like it wasn't even there.

Baldur grunted, stumbling forward as searing pain shot through him.

And then he laughed.

"Alright," he exhaled. "You're better than I expected."

The first warrior raised its sword again.

"DO NOT MOCK US."

Baldur grinned, wiping a streak of blood from his chin.

"Oh, trust me. I'm not."

He flexed his fingers, golden light crackling at his fingertips.

"Just means I can finally stop holding back."

The battle shifted.

Baldur adapted.

He learned.

He realized they fought like a unit, moving in ways that anticipated their opponent's reactions.

They didn't waste motion, attacking with purpose and precision.

They knew how to counter raw power.

So Baldur stopped relying on brute force.

He started thinking like them.

He adjusted his speed—moving not as a brawler, but as a duelist.

His strikes became sharper, faster, more precise.

His constructs shifted mid-battle, changing form in an instant.

He wasn't just fighting.

He was evolving.

And finally—

The last warrior fell.

Silence.

Then, the battlefield began to glow.

The fallen warriors dissolved into light, their weapons and armor vanishing.

And before Baldur, a single figure remained.

A warrior, untouched by time.

A teacher.

"You have passed," it said.

Baldur, breathing hard, grinned.

"Good."

Because now, he was ready for the next step.