POV: Thor
Summary: Thor challenges Garou to combat. Expecting a glorious duel, Thor instead finds himself bewildered by Garou's stillness, precision, and ability to read him before he moves. When Garou defeats him with a single tap, Thor isn't humiliated—he's thrilled. He's finally found someone worth hitting.
Thor Odinson was not a man unused to challenge.
He had traded hammer-blows with the Hulk in the ruins of a helicarrier, hurled fire into the mouths of frost giants, battled gods on moons that no longer had names. He had bested beasts. Broken titans. Outdrunk half the galaxy.
So when he stepped onto the mat, his grin wasn't just confidence.
It was joy.
Garou turned to face him without a word. No stance. No tension in his limbs. Just that same damnable stillness.
Thor paced in a lazy circle, bare feet heavy against the reinforced floor. "I've heard tale of you, little wolf," he said, stretching one arm with a series of bone-crunching cracks. "The silent one. The ice-born. The breaker of guards and mocker of training protocols."
Garou's eyes followed him. That was all.
"No weapon?" Thor asked. "No blade? No fists even?"
Nothing.
Thor leaned in slightly, cocking his head. "Do you understand me, creature?"
Garou blinked once.
Thor's grin widened. "Ah. So you do. Good. I would hate to pummel an unconscious man."
He crouched slightly.
Then lunged.
To anyone else, it might've looked like a blur. A seven-hundred-year-old Asgardian demigod crossing ten meters with the force of an avalanche. His fist drew back mid-charge, ready to slam downward like judgment itself.
But Garou moved before he moved.
Not in reaction—in prediction.
He sidestepped, not with a flourish, not even with speed. Just with efficiency. Like he had already seen Thor's trajectory a moment before Thor made the decision.
Thor's strike slammed into the mat, cracking it.
Garou was behind him.
The god turned, laughing. "Fast! Excellent!"
He charged again. Faked left. Twisted into a full-bodied spin.
Garou weaved around the motion like water dodging rock.
Then—Thor stopped.
He stood tall. Breathing a little harder now.
Garou was still just watching. Hands at his sides. That same eerie calm.
Thor raised an eyebrow. "You will not strike?"
Silence.
He stepped forward.
Garou raised a hand.
One finger extended.
And then—tap.
Right on the center of Thor's chest.
It didn't hurt.
Didn't even push.
But for reasons Thor couldn't comprehend, his knees buckled. His whole equilibrium shifted. A pulse of pressure reverberated through his ribcage like someone had pressed the off switch on his momentum.
He hit the mat—flat.
Stared at the ceiling.
Then laughed.
Deep, booming laughter that echoed off every steel panel of the room.
Bruce winced from the booth. "He okay?"
Emma sipped her tea. "Oh yes. He's thrilled."
Thor sat up, still laughing, wiping sweat from his brow. "By the Norns! What a strange, wonderful beast you are!"
Garou said nothing. He just tilted his head again.
Thor grinned. "I like you."