Thor's eyes swept over Adam's battered form with the dismissive confidence of a god who had never known defeat. Lightning scars traced jagged paths across Adam's pale skin, and blood—some his own, some divine ichor from fallen Olympians—painted his face in crimson streaks. The Draconian Emperor's breathing was still labored from his battle atop Mount Olympus, his dual blades flickering with unstable energy.
"Another pretender to a divine throne you weren't born to sit on," Thor sneered, his grip tightening on Mjolnir's leather-wrapped handle. The hammer thrummed with barely contained power, lightning dancing between its runic engravings. "You reek of Zeus's death, little dragon. Did you think slaying one thunder god would prepare you for the true master of storms?"
