_fryordie:

From the first tentative moments in which he had shown his worthiness by picking up Mjolnir and claiming his title as Lord of Thunder, the Odinson saw in the mystic mallet a contrivance, a tool as fine as any labourer’s was that would in turn grant him the power of flight, allow him to chase the tails of comets at his leisure. And of course hear thunder’s roar, let it crash and roll and bellow in all of its unbridled fury as he felt its manifested might, lightnining tens of thousands of amps in strength left to flow through his veins as though he was its conduit. 

A medium through which its power could be directed. 

With his thoughts glued to the past, on what was and would come to be should he still retain any sway over his own destiny, he desperately sought to have this same power be at his disposal once again. Command the skies to grow thick with clouds, ladened with rain and raw might. He’d one day listen to the noise of the storm, regardless of what path would need to be taken to achieve this end.

A clenched fist strikes at Ky’s arms, knuckles digging against the brittle defence that blocked his attack. Deciding against backing off, create distance to try for a new attack, the fallen god piles on the pressure, burrowing his fist into those raised forearms as he pushed down with bone snapping force. Teeth are bared in a fashion that compliments the wildness he has need to show, letting slip further his mind and rational in the process.

If this mere pup had gained Mjolnir’s seal of approval, why couldn’t he? What meaning did worthiness carry if it could be extended to the spawn of devils? He couldn’t fathom the reasons for being true and so in his struggle to understand, find did he a more Enticing alternative than believing Ky’s worthiness; he chose not to care. 

With no conscious to speak of, the Odinson sees no reason to hold back, and starts to pummel Ky with the same fist from earlier, establishing a rhythm defined by pain. Perched exactly where he wanted to be, the source of his anger pinned beneath his weight, the blond deals punch after punch, yelling nonsense all throughout his brutal beatdown. Perhaps that way Ky’s laughter would finally stop.

_{he never could decide. demon or human. worthy or unworthy. he was something stuck in the middle. right now, he was something in-between demon and human… plus he was worthy. hell, he would have gave anything to be worthy all the time, but it wasn’t who he was.} 

_{no, ky’lar richardson still hadn’t figured out what he was. even while being on the precipice of a change that could define him… he was terrified of what he would lose.} 

_{he didn’t want the hammer, he didn’t want to be just like his father, and yet… he wouldn’t trade what he was in for something better. he could, but even as he laughed he couldn’t decide on the choice of action he wished to take.}

_{worthy or unworthy should have been more on his mind than his demonic powers. they had become… dulled since lifting the hammer – something that he enjoyed. the rage was gone, he didn’t need it, and so was that itch under his skin.}

_{ky was actually enjoying himself; he didn’t have to worry about killing. he didn’t have to worry about losing his temper. it was under control. he was worthy… he had saved himself from his fate.}

_{yet, as the punches came, the reality started to darken; he couldn’t last forever like this. a split decision was made and he hoped to whatever was out there… that he had made the right choice.}

_{his eyes closed as moved to kick the unworthy god off of him as he used his right hand to call the hammer towards him. it was a split second reaction, one that he hoped was ultimately the right decision as his own laughter came to a stop. no words – he didn’t need to say anything. no, if thor wanted the hammer back so badly… ky would give it to him, but only after he beat the crap out of the unworthy god. only after… ky’lar proved a point.}