As the woman took him aboard a vehicle of some kind, he heard a voice come over the communications system. The voice called the woman Scrapper 142.

  So that was who the Hulk was angry at.

  Seething, the Hulk grunted as he felt the goggles being removed from his face. He could see once again. He reached a hand up to his eyes.

  He could also move again.

  The Hulk looked around. He was no longer standing in the wasteland with space junk all around and wormholes swirling in the sky. Scrapper 142, the angry woman who had somehow, against all odds, subdued him, was nowhere to be seen. No longer was he outside. The Hulk now stood inside what could only be described as a ring.

  A fighting ring.

  The Hulk rubbed his eyes, clearing them. Standing in the ring along with him were five others.

  They weren’t human.

  Then again, was the Hulk really human? Somewhere inside him, Banner wondered.

  “Welcome to Sakaar, my friend,” came a voice from out of nowhere. It was loud and friendly, and the Hulk hated it. “Let’s see if you’ll make a worthy addition to my Contest of Champions.”

  The Hulk grunted. Inside, Banner had questions. What’s Sakaar? Is that the name of this place? This planet?

  The five other beings in the ring were just as large and imposing as the Hulk. Some had multiple arms, some multiple legs, and they all looked ready for a fight.

  “Not Hulk’s friend,” the green behemoth muttered.

  “Oh, come now,” said the disembodied voice. “I’m everyone’s friend. Just ask them! Well, not everyone’s. But let’s not dwell on that. How about a battle? I’m willing to bet that you’re quite good when it comes to fighting. You seem tailor-made for it.”

  So that’s what’s going on here, Banner thought from inside the Hulk’s mind. I’m supposed to fight with these… beings. It’s a game of some kind.

  The Hulk sneered again, his lip curling in what appeared to be a smile. A fighting game was one he knew how to win.

  “What manner of creature is this?!” screamed a four-armed alien as it landed face-first on the ground. A second later, a heavy, wide green foot stepped on its back, causing the four-armed alien to yelp in pain. “Where did you find this thing?!”

  From the moment the six-way battle had begun, the Hulk was squarely in his element. To say that he was evenly matched or that this competition was remotely close would have been one big gamma-irradiated lie. The Hulk was absolutely mopping the floor with his competitors. Though each one was roughly his size (or larger), and each one possessed incredible strength, the Hulk was better. He was stronger.

  Strongest one there is, thought the Hulk.

  The Hulk was like a kid in a candy store—he hardly knew which opponent to fight next. They all looked so easy to defeat! An eight-foot-tall beast of an alien snarled at the Hulk, thick drool dripping from its fangs. That was all the invitation the Hulk needed.

  The green-skinned Goliath rammed a clenched fist into the beast’s belly, knocking it flat on its behind. The beast yowled in pain and spat out words in a language the Hulk had never heard before. It sounded like cursing to the Hulk. He didn’t like it. So he lifted the beast over his head and threw it right into one of his other opponents.

  The beast collided with a six-legged insect-like creature, and both went down for the count.

  “Fight,” commanded the Hulk as he stared at his remaining opponents. In the heat of battle, a thought occurred to Banner: The Hulk is enjoying this. He’s actually enjoying this.

  “Fight!” snarled the Hulk once more. As if in answer, an amorphous orange blob oozed from behind the Hulk, covering him in an instant. For a moment, the Hulk was surprised—he found himself enveloped in a viscous goo, unable to breathe. He tried to punch his way out. But the orange blob stretched with the Hulk’s fist as he punched, and snapped back. It clung tightly to the Hulk and wouldn’t let go.

  This really made the Hulk angry.

  And so he pounded the floor with both fists. The resulting shock wave caused the ring to shake. Still, the orange blob held fast. So the Hulk hit the floor again. And again. And again. The whole room was shaking, and slowly, too, was the orange blob. The vibrations from the Hulk’s thunderous blows started to cause breaks in the goo. The Hulk was now able to breathe. He thrust both arms back as fast as he could and threw the orange blob off his body. The creature landed with a loud THWUCK.

  The Hulk punched it, and the blob splattered into a hundred smaller, inert blobs.

  The scaly-skinned creature was the only one left. For its part, the creature seemed almost reluctant to fight—it had seen what it was up against, and maybe decided getting smashed wasn’t exactly worth the effort. But there was nothing the creature could do as the Hulk ran directly toward it, his fists knocking the lizard-like being off its feet. Scales sprayed into the air as the Hulk knocked the creature back. The alien collapsed, landing in a heap on the floor.

  Elapsed time from the start of the Hulk’s battle to his victory over five alien competitors: two minutes, ten seconds.

  The Hulk turned his head from left to right, looking at his fallen competitors. They were all still alive, and all shaking their heads, wondering what—or more precisely, who—had happened to them.

  The Hulk found himself wishing he had someone else to punch.

  Then came a sound. Something unexpected that got the Hulk’s attention.

  It was… applause. Applause could be heard inside the ring. The Hulk jerked his head up, looking around. From out of the darkness, a tall being wearing garish robes stepped forward. He smiled at the Hulk as he continued to clap his elegant, slim hands.

  “That was masterful, absolutely masterful,” he burbled enthusiastically. “Really. You are going to make quite the addition to my Contest of Champions. In fact, I think you might even be the Champion one of these days. Perhaps my most precious Champion.”

  The Hulk snorted. “Who?” the Hulk said curtly. Did the question come from him or Banner? He didn’t know.

  “Ah, yes, where are my manners?” the being said, as if in response. He had a blue streak that ran over his bottom lip down his chin. Placing his left hand on his chest, he said, “I’m the Grandmaster. And you are . . .”

  “Leaving,” said the Hulk, and he started to walk away from the Grandmaster. He didn’t see a door right away, but there had to be one around somewhere.

  “I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” the Grand-master said. His tone wasn’t at all threatening. In fact, it sounded full of concern.

  The Hulk took one more step before his world filled with a white-hot pain he had felt once before, in the wasteland. It was as if the pain of every single transformation he had experienced, every time he’d gone from Banner to the Hulk and back, had been compacted and distilled into this one moment. The Hulk crumpled to the ground, writhing.

  “See, I told you not to do that, and then that happened,” the Grandmaster said. “You’re wearing an Obedience Disk now, my friend. I wish it wasn’t necessary, but, well, you can see how it is.”

  As the pain began to subside, the Hulk put one big green hand on the side of his neck. That must be what Scrapper 142 had used to subdue the Hulk in the first place. In all the chaos that ensued after, he hadn’t noticed anything attached to his body. Well, he certainly noticed the small, circular mechanical device attached to his neck now. This is how they’ll control us, Banner thought from within. The Hulk didn’t want to think.

  The Hulk wanted to smash.

  He grabbed the Obedience Disk, and received another terrible jolt of pain for his trouble.

  “Oh, now, now, don’t grab it,” said the Grandmaster. “Don’t ever grab it. That’s going to be quite painful as well.” He wasn’t gloating at all. Rather, he actually seemed concerned for the Hulk’s welfare. “Best to leave it alone and listen. I think we have a great deal to offer you, and you certainly have a great deal to offer us. Me, I mean. You seem to like smashing things, yes?”

  That got the Hulk’s attention. He looked up at the Grandmaster and cocked his head slightly.

  “Ah, yes, I assumed so. Then you’ll definitely like it here. I can offer you almost unlimited opportunity to smash. In return, you fight before adoring crowds. I mean, they’ll love you. What’s not to love about you? You’re big, you’re green, you smash things. What do you say? Stay here and fight for me on the planet Sakaar, and be hailed as a true Champion.”

  Wait. What? What is going on here? Banner thought.

  But the Hulk didn’t want to think. He liked what he heard.

  “Hulk stay… for now.”

  CHAPTER 6

  The fight continued for hours. Thor, encountering what had to be armies upon armies of fire demons, made his way across a scorched, perpetual battlefield. The clashes were serving their purpose, for Thor was certainly distracted from his disturbing visions.

  The visions. Something he had glimpsed in those unsettling visions had brought Thor to this infernal place.

  “Have at thee!” Thor shouted, his lungs burning as he drew in the scalding air of Muspelheim. Another wave of fire demons threw themselves upon the son of Odin. It seemed like he could keep at this all day, a thought that reminded Thor of his fellow Avenger, Captain America. That was something the Super-Soldier liked to say when things were at their bleakest and it seemed like he might lose the fight—I could do this all day. Thor smiled as he continued to hurl fire demons away from him.

  “Are you mad, Asgardian?” a fire demon screeched at Thor. “Even if you defeat us all, you have earned the wrath eternal of Surtur! He will pull the flesh from your bones while you writhe in agony!”

  It hit Thor like a bolt of lightning from mighty Mjolnir itself.

  Not the fire demon’s threat. That did not concern the son of Odin. No, it was the name that the fire demon had mentioned that had awoken the memory within Thor.

  Surtur.

  The absolute ruler of Muspelheim.

  In the midst of battle, Thor now remembered why he had come to Muspelheim. He remembered a figure he had glimpsed in his visions, someone… something that sat at the center of them.

  Surtur.

  Thor smiled once more, standing up straight, like a king.

  “I would have a word with your master!” Thor called. “Tell Surtur I have come for him! Will he not face me? Or is your lord and master afraid of one Asgardian?” He wasn’t sure if his boastful taunt could be heard above the din of fire demons and roaring flames of Muspelheim.

  So he decided to get Surtur’s attention.

  Raising Mjolnir toward the heavens, Thor once more channeled the power of the storm itself and called for nature to do his bidding. The sky rumbled with thunder, and lightning cascaded from the roiling clouds above. It struck the ground everywhere, or so it seemed. Fire demons far and wide were racked with electricity. They flailed, unable to stop it, unable to do anything but succumb to the Asgardian’s relentless assault.

  Then the impossible happened. Something that had never before occurred in Muspelheim. Something Surtur himself could never have predicted.

  It began to rain.

  In the Realm of Fire.

  A torrential downpour, summoned by Thor.

  The driving rain hit the ground so hard that it stung even Thor’s body. It pummeled the harsh terrain of Muspelheim unforgivingly. Great clouds of steam formed, making it almost impossible for Thor to see his foes, or anything else, for that matter.

  And then—the screams.

  The screams of the fire demons, experiencing an agony they had never felt before. The agony of endless rain eating away at their fiery bodies.

  Once more, Thor cried out, “Tell Surtur I have come for him!”

  CHAPTER 7

  You’re next for processing. Follow me.”

  The Hulk heard the voice and walked through the dimly lit hallway into a large room. On every wall, as far as he could see, were weapons. Armor. All kinds, all shapes, all sizes. There were axes and spears and hammers and scythes and bludgeons and truncheons and helmets and shields and on and on. Some looked familiar to the Hulk, very much like Earth armaments. Others were completely alien to him—in fact, they probably were alien. He thought he recognized some weapons that the Chitauri had used in their attempted invasion of New York.

  What was this place?

  As if in answer, a hefty alien wearing a leather apron greeted the jade giant. He looked up at the Hulk. He looked down at the Hulk. He did it again.

  Wash, rinse, repeat.

  “I am here to arm you for your upcoming match,” said the alien in the leather apron.

  The Hulk grunted.

  “Something tells me that you don’t need a weapon.”

  The Hulk shook his head in agreement. “Hulk is weapon.”

  “I’m sure. Still, take this,” the alien in the leather apron said, holding out a huge battle-axe. The axe had two blades: On one side, a small one ended in a sharp point; on the other was a much larger blade with jagged teeth. The alien tried to shove it into the Hulk’s hands.

  The green Goliath made no effort to raise his hands and take the axe.

  “Hulk is weapon,” he repeated.

  The alien all but rolled his eyes and pressed a button on the device he was carrying.

  For the third time that day, the Hulk learned what it meant to wear an Obedience Disk. If he was the strongest one there was, then this was the worst pain there was.

  The Obedience Disk crackled as the Hulk roared in agony. As soon as it started, it stopped.

  “Take this,” the alien said, motioning to the battle-axe in his hands.

  The Hulk drew in a deep breath and picked up the axe. He sneered at the alien, grunting.

  Stay calm, Banner thought from inside the Hulk.

  Don’t want to stay calm, the Hulk thought. Want to smash.

  “I’ve seen that look before a hundred times,” said a voice as the Hulk heard someone enter the room. “A thousand times. Probably more than that. You want to hit him. Save it. Use it in the battle to come.”

  The Hulk grunted as he saw a woman walking toward him. A woman with a marked face, wearing armor.

  The angry woman. The one they called Scrapper 142.

  “The Grandmaster has a lot of faith in you,” she said. “He’s betting that you might become the new Champion.”

  The Hulk stared at Scrapper 142. “Why Angry Girl here?” he said, turning his attention back to the battle-axe he didn’t want but was being forced to take.

  Scrapper 142 smiled at the moniker. “I also think you have the makings of a Champion,” she said. “I thought you should know that before you entered the arena.”

  With that, the woman turned around and left.

  CHAPTER 8

  As swiftly as Thor had brought the driving, punishing rains to Muspelheim, he banished them. By his command, and through Mjolnir’s will, the rains ceased. The screams of the fire demons subsided.

  For a brief moment, no fire demon dared attack the son of Odin. Not when they realized what power he wielded, and could wield again, if he so chose.

  So he said, for the last time, quite calmly, “Surtur. Take me to him.”

  The fire demons grew silent, wary of the Asgardian, and stared at him suspiciously. They must have realized that the game they were playing with Thor was a zero-sum one.

  And now they must be communicating with their master, he thought, satisfied.

  Suddenly, Thor was struck with yet another terrible vision. He closed his eyes against the intruding images, not wanting to show weakness in front of the fire demons. Thor knew in the core of his being that the visions were an omen, a herald of things to come. He would know more of this vision. And Surtur’s role in it.

  But why? What was the lord of this fiery realm doing in these awful visions that plagued him so?

  Thor breathed out in relief as, slowly, the vision subsided, leaving him shaken but upright. He didn’t know what these visions meant. But he would have answers. And only Surtur could provide them.

  What happened next was completely predictable and yet wholly unexpected.

  The predictable: The fire demons had, in fact, communed with Surtur—or rather, Surtur had communed with the fire demons—and Surtur had demanded that the son of Odin be brought before his presence.

  Of course, Thor knew that he would not be received as a “special envoy” from Asgard, afforded all the comforts of a diplomat. Not after the way he had entered Muspelheim. Not after the battles and vanquished fire demons. Not after the driving rain. No, the only way he would see Surtur would be as a prisoner.

  The wholly unexpected: This was exactly what Thor wished.

  “You belong to Surtur now,” crackled a fire demon, who beckoned Thor forward. “He will grant you audience. In turn, you shall be his prisoner until you die.”

  Thor nodded. “I shall come along quietly, then. Do you have handcuffs or… ?” He extended both arms, offering up his wrists to the fire demons as if the demons were the police and he a common thief. They looked at Thor, then at one another, not understanding. Handcuffs were likely not exactly standard issue in Muspelheim, Thor thought, enjoying his joke.

  “The hammer,” said a fire demon, gesturing at Mjolnir. “Surrender the hammer.”

  “Yes, can’t have an armed man going to see Surtur.” Thor knelt down and placed Mjolnir on the ground. “I’ll see you soon,” he said to the enchanted mallet, giving it a tender pat as one would a treasured pet.

  As Thor began to trail after the fire demons toward Surtur—and his fate—he heard a commotion behind him that caused him to look over his shoulder. A number of fire demons had raced over to Mjolnir and were each trying in turn to lift the mallet. They struggled and pulled and tugged and failed in their efforts.

 

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