Germany.
Königstrasse 28, Stuttgart.
An opulent party, a gathering of wealth and influence, was in full swing.
Loki materialized in the venue, a sinister smile playing on his lips. The man giving a speech, oblivious to the god of mischief in his midst, droned on. The guests, mingling and oblivious, had no idea that disaster was about to strike.
Loki needed bait, and he himself was that bait.
He had ordered Clint Barton to seize the components for the portal machine; one crucial key remained to open the door. It was a classic misdirection, a feint to the east while attacking in the west—the hallmark of the cunning trickster god.
He wore a suit that reflected the nobility and elegance of an Asgardian prince, the top of the Mind Scepter in his hand emitting a faint blue light.
Walking down the spiral staircase, he whispered, "Let this place liven up."
The scepter in his hand struck down a security guard with a single blow.
As chaos erupted among the crowd, he rushed over, grabbed the party's host, and pinned him to a stone platform. He took out a device and pressed it directly against the man's eyeball. The machine scanned the retinal information, transmitting it simultaneously.
Barton, already en route to another location, led his team to the man's laboratory. Facing a formidable door lock, he activated an instrument, projecting a holographic image of an eyeball. With this information, the final door was breached.
Loki's mission was a success.
But he wanted more than just that.
He reveled in the frightened screams, walking out slowly, his form shifting into the luxurious attire he had worn when he ascended the throne of Asgard.
Among the panicked crowd, an illusionary barrier sprang up, blocking everyone's escape. The power of a god was displayed before mortals. His scepter struck the ground, emitting a dazzling blue light.
"Kneel before me!"
Death loomed over everyone as the insignificant humans confronted the prince of Asgard.
Loki roared, "I said, kneel!"
The panic subsided. Everyone stared at the alien god with unadulterated horror. Powerful officials and wealthy socialites, all of them, knelt.
"Isn't this simple?"
Loki savored this moment of absolute authority, of being high above them all.
"Aren't you born for this?" he said, slowly walking among the kneeling crowd, the scepter in his hand radiating light. "This is a truth that humans cannot bring themselves to speak."
"You desire to be enslaved."
The legends left by the Asgardian gods on this planet had solidified into myth.
"The lure of freedom robs you of the joy of life."
In Asgard, he was a prince, but he always had an older brother. Growing up, people only used words like 'cunning' for him, while his brother was praised with beautiful words such as 'bravery,' 'justice,' and 'courage.' Although both were Odin's sons, they were treated very differently. Even after he sat on the throne, those subjects still yearned for Thor.
"You are obsessed with pursuing power and status."
Why?
Why could he not be king?
He, too, had dedicated himself to Asgard. To become a true Asgardian, he had not hesitated to kill his own father, his biological father, Laufey, from the enemy Frost Giants. He had even wanted to destroy Jotunheim, the realm he could have inherited, to completely become an Asgardian.
Why, after working so hard to bring a better monarch to Asgard, was he still not as good as Thor?
Why were the people who loved that land so humble?
"You are full of servility in your bones. Sooner or later, you will succumb to your rulers."
Loki accepted the admiration and worship of mortals. His heart swelled, and a hint of blue flashed in his eyes.
"It's not enough. I do not have enough territory."
This was just the beginning. This planet, and even the Nine Realms.
Loki had been in contact with the Casket of Ancient Winters these past few days, and he could understand why the renowned Odin would personally snatch this artifact. He would use this power, starting with this world, to make the entire Nine Realms surrender at his feet.
But first…
He wanted to destroy something.
His eyes found an old man in the crowd—someone who dared to stand.
Yes, no matter where, there are always brave souls who resist the powerful.
The old man was a veteran. He stared Loki down. "There are always men like you."
Loki's smile vanished. The words cut like a knife.
Not to people like me? he thought.
"There are no men like me," Loki declared to the kneeling crowd.
"There are always men like you," the old man repeated, standing firm.
Loki's smile returned—cold and dangerous. Maybe the old man's defiance felt familiar.
He raised the Mind Scepter. A blue light blazed from its tip, aimed at the old man.
Before the blast hit—before it could end that life—Captain America slammed down from the sky. His shield deflected the energy in a shower of sparks. He rose, shield ready. The show had begun.
Loki's calculations remained hidden behind his calm eyes.
Steve Rogers walked towards Loki, proud and determined. "You know," he said, "the last time I was in Germany and saw a man trying to stand above everyone else, we ended up disagreeing."
Loki sneered. "The soldier. The man out of time."
"He's not the one who's out of time," Natasha Romanoff's voice boomed from a Quinjet. It roared into view, weapons locking onto Loki. "Loki, drop the weapon and stand down!"
Loki fired a blast at the jet. Natasha expertly dodged. Steve seized the moment, hurling his shield. It struck Loki hard.
The war—small for now—had begun.
The crowd scattered. Loki ignored them.
The battle between super-soldier and god was on.
Loki wasn't a warrior like Thor, but his Frost Giant nature gave him strength. Steve punched him. Loki barely tilted his head. But Steve felt like he'd hit ancient ice. A biting chill shot up his arm, even through his gloves. The Casket of Ancient Winters—its power now inside Loki—didn't just freeze. It brought other changes.
With this new power, Loki easily swatted Steve away.
Just then, a red and gold streak—Iron Man—blazed from the sky.
Natasha smiled from the Quinjet's cockpit.
Loki was hit by a repulsor ray. A blue film instantly covered his eyes. He raised his scepter to fight back, then paused—as if remembering something. The blue film faded.
Loki was caught. Heavy shackles clicked onto his wrists.
On the Quinjet, he seemed calm—even amused. A small smile played on his lips.
Nearby, Steve and Tony Stark exchanged tense words.
Loki listened, smirking. Humans. So predictable.
He glanced out the window. The sky was darkening. "I'm not overly fond of what follows," he murmured.
Lightning flashed. Thunder boomed. The Quinjet shook violently. A heavy thud came from the roof.
Someone—or something—had landed on their plane, thousands of feet in the air.
Tony Stark's helmet snapped shut. "What's the matter?" he quipped. "Scared of a little lightning?"
Loki just looked at him, his amusement gone. "I'm not overly fond of what follows."
The rear hatch ripped open. Thor stood there—God of Thunder—Mjolnir crackling, his face furious.
The Avengers' Big Three were together. And they weren't friendly.
Thor's blazing eyes fixed on Loki. When Tony tried to step in—"Hey! You're not authorized..."—Thor knocked him aside with Mjolnir.
Loki looked at his brother.
Thor grabbed Loki's arm with an iron grip and roared. Then he leaped from the Quinjet, dragging Loki with him into the storm.
"Now there's that guy," Tony grumbled, getting up. He flew after them.
Steve grabbed a parachute. "Stark, we need a plan of attack!"
"I have a plan," Tony yelled back. "Attack."
Natasha watched them go—two gods and a flying metal man. "I'd sit this one out, Cap," she said.
"I don't see how I can," Steve replied, securing his parachute.
"These guys come from legend, Captain. They're basically gods."
"There's only one God, ma'am," Steve said firmly, then jumped. "And I'm pretty sure He doesn't dress like that."
Natasha turned to the S.H.I.E.L.D. pilot. He looked terrified.
"Another Asgardian?" Natasha sighed. She hadn't met an obedient superhero since John. "Just find a place to land. We're out of this… celestial brawl."
"Yes, ma'am!" the pilot squeaked.
Natasha needed to land—and report this mess to Fury.
"See?" a new voice said from behind her. "Disobedient people—they're the same everywhere."
Natasha spun around. John leaned casually against the wall, tutting.
"John?" she gasped. "How did you—"
They were thousands of feet in the sky. John had appeared from nowhere.
"Magic," John said with a lazy smirk. "Isn't this why you wanted me, Agent Romanoff?"
He gestured vaguely. "The team's getting a bit… crowded, don't you think? Let's see how this plays out."
He was making fun of the situation. Natasha felt a blush creep up her neck. "Have you just been… watching?"
"Please!" John gestured dramatically out the window. "A super-soldier, a super-rich genius, and a literal god—all fighting aliens, sort of. Isn't this interesting enough for anyone?"
Yes, he was definitely enjoying the show.
"Right, there is a wizard here!" Natasha unbuckled her seat belt. She stood and pulled out handcuffs.
She walked to John, grabbed his wrist, and cuffed her hand to his.
John blinked. "What—what are you doing?"
"Take me down," Natasha ordered. "Or you won't be leaving either!"
She knew this wizard was powerful. It was time to be a little reckless.
"Ma'am?!" The pilot sounded even more panicked.
John just looked at the handcuff, then at Natasha. He chuckled.
He snapped his fingers.
A soft pop. The pilot's ears buzzed. When he looked back, Natasha and the wizard were gone.
***********
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