(TL: This Chapter is highly confusing so you need to read till the end to know what all of this really means.)
Loki's voice, already strained, cracked with pure, unadulterated fury.
"By what right do you decide the fate of gods?"
"I am a god!"
Loki pointed angrily at John, his voice roaring. "I am the son of Odin, the most powerful mage in the Nine Realms, the god of trickery! Who are you?"
John relaxed, letting his magic fade. His hand holding the wand dropped slightly as he suppressed a smile and spoke calmly, "Ever since I arrived in this city, you've kept asking that question."
"Who am I?"
Yes.
Who are you?
Are you John Wick?
The eldest son of the Wick family?
Or Peter Parker's godfather?
No. You are none of those.
"Who am I?" John whispered, raising his silver right hand and clenching it tightly, as if tearing open the space before him. "I'll tell you, arrogant Asgardian."
Since you all want to know…
I'll tell you who I am.
"I am called the King—the one who rules magic."
Dark clouds gathered overhead, shifting like a child's changing expression.
The Chitauri army surged through the sky, but their aircraft faltered and crashed.
"I am an Alchemist, the symbol of truth and fairness."
A sapling of glowing lines and circles sprouted in John's palm.
"I am Thunder and Lightning, the Eternal Flame, burning the earth and hanging in the sky!"
Thunder struck the Chitauri soldiers heading toward Barton's position.
Barton stared, stunned. "Thor, is that you?"
Thor looked up, sensing something was wrong. "It's not me."
Even the God of Thunder was amazed by that lightning.
"I am the star that never sets, the master of dreams watching over heaven and earth forever."
Stars tore through the center of the sky, forming rivers that flowed across the heavens.
Summoned from somewhere unknown, they manifested in brilliant light.
"I command my familiars, Basil and Riddle. Bring dawn and dusk, and blast the universe with lightning!"
Tony looked up as a massive battleship over Manhattan was ripped apart by countless bolts of thunder and lightning.
An eerie owl's cry echoed through New York.
Two owls, one black and one white, streaked across the sky.
They carried thunder; their wings flashed like sharp blades slicing through the battlefield.
"This is Tom, my hound—the Storm-Chaser, the God-Speed Ripper who tears through everything!"
On the ground, a small hound transformed, its eyes flashing white light. It appeared on the battlefield, instantly tearing apart anything nearby.
"My eyes see the world—deadly and frozen!"
Lightning and owls moved together, crossing heaven and earth.
In the dark clouds, huge godlike eyes appeared, staring down.
Fear gripped New York City; the Chitauri soldiers froze in place.
"I bring destruction and rebirth."
John stepped toward Loki, wand trembling but firmly in hand.
"I destroy cities and create new beings, independent of this world."
"I tore my destiny apart; once, this world exiled me."
"I walk among worlds, leaving magical footprints."
"I am the giant beast that binds heaven and earth."
"I hold the power of the Cold Wolf's Era of Blizzard."
A strange chill spread over the broken city.
Though winter was still far away, snowflakes began to fall.
Among them, a cry before death echoed.
Lightning tore through the darkness, reflecting the figure of a white wolf on the earth.
A silence of death briefly fell over the city.
No one knew what it was, but they could feel death and annihilation approaching.
"I transform into a Dragon, the King of all Dragons."
"The golden wings protect my subjects, while the black wings take lives."
John's clothes bulged as a pair of strange wings burst free.
The golden wing radiated sacred light; the black wing pulsed with death.
He was a contradiction—a being of light and darkness.
"Nine bloodlines flow through me. I am the lord of indelible fear."
Loki looked down, trembling.
Why?
This was impossible.
Afraid?
Afraid of a mortal?
The god of Asgard, son of Odin, royal blood of the Frost Giants.
Why should he be afraid?
But…
He was afraid.
John's unfinished sentence carried something beyond godhood.
"I know the future and the past. I am an omniscient prophet."
John's eyes were pale and empty, like mirrors, standing above all living things with open hands.
Loki's eyes reflected the tragedy ahead.
"I am the sun, the bearer of light."
"I am the devourer of infinite darkness, the lord of shadow."
John's hair turned white, and darkness wrapped his wand.
"I am called Infinite—light or dark, hope or fear, life or death."
"I am both reborn and destroyed."
Loki watched helplessly as blood flowed from wounds tearing his body apart.
The blood reversed, flowing back into the wounds, healing them completely.
"I hold the sword of power in my hand. I light the throne with eternal flame. I throw the wand into the tower, and the silver hand fades."
In the gloom of infinite terror, thunder tore through the darkness.
A shadow resembling an eternal throne sat above the earth, like a king watching his people.
John raised his empty right hand and shook it lightly.
A sword—more a shadow of a sword—ignited by golden flames, radiating the heat of the sun and the threat of destruction.
"When I sit upon the throne, I am everywhere—wherever dreams exist, wherever magic lives."
John's expression was sacred, gold and black wings spread wide on his back, the sword in his hand slowly rising.
With the brilliance and darkness of godslaying, the golden flame transformed into a giant dragon.
John only murmured, "I'm..."
The sword in his hand slowly solidified, a faint, ethereal light tracing its edges.
Far away, atop a towering skyscraper, a gray-haired man sat, his own sword clenched tightly, trembling almost imperceptibly in his grip.
In the alien sky-city above, amidst the swarm of lesser dragons, a colossal black dragon tilted its head to the heavens and unleashed a deafening roar.
Deep within the dark places, those imprisoned there shook violently, as if sensing a shift in the very fabric of reality.
And in the hidden kingdom of magic, the rays of a second, alien sun finally pierced through the perpetual fog.
John whispered, almost to himself, "Wizard King."
Or perhaps... "Witch King."
The name felt right, resonating with a power both ancient and utterly his own.
With a fluid, almost casual motion, he waved the sword in his right hand. The eternal flame that wreathed it erupted, coalescing into a titanic dragon of pure energy that devoured the entire Stark Tower in a single, silent inferno.
The ice that had gripped parts of the city melted instantly, the warmth spreading across the ravaged landscape as if boundaries themselves had ceased to exist.
Hulk, mid-leap towards a Chitauri Leviathan, suddenly found himself landing on empty air. The behemoth had simply ceased to be, crumbling into dust before his very eyes.
Then came the second, and the third.
The golden flames spread with terrifying speed and precision, vaporizing the alien fleets that had seemed utterly indestructible only moments before.
In the sky above, the errant lightning bolts—the raw, untamed power Thor commanded—twisted and writhed, forming a cage of crackling energy that began to close over Manhattan, sealing off the invasion.
Natasha, piloting a Quinjet, found herself surrounded by newly arrived Chitauri reinforcements. She braced for a desperate fight, but then watched in stunned disbelief as her pursuers dissolved into scorched earth in the wake of a passing heat wave.
The golden flames washed over her craft, but instead of consuming her, they parted, sparing her life while utterly annihilating the alien soldiers around her.
Steve, witnessing the impossible, gasped, "Thor… did you do this?"
Thor descended from the sky, his brow furrowed in thought, his expression a mix of awe and unease. "No," he said, his voice low and grave, "This… was not my doing."
"Such power… such fire magic… Could it be the Fire Giant of Muspelheim?"
But as the Avengers watched, the Chitauri soldiers vanished completely, leaving behind only swirling ash and the oppressive scent of ozone.
Thor pointed towards the ruined Stark Tower, his voice tinged with urgency. "There."
All eyes turned upward, focusing on the figure slumped on the partially destroyed platform. Loki.
Then, a white light flashed across the heavens, illuminating the figure standing over him.
The white-haired man, holding the sword aloft.
Natasha murmured, almost reverently, "John?"
With just one sword, he could slay the architect of New York's near-destruction.
His sword had the power to kill gods.
Loki broke out in a cold sweat, his face paling beneath its usual green pallor.
He knew that precursor of death. He knew, with a chilling certainty, that this sword, like the mythical Sword of Twilight prophesied to bring about Ragnarok, could end an Asgardian.
"You… you want to kill me?" Loki hissed, his lips twisting into a sneer that barely masked his terror. "Then do it! Come and kill me, you coward!"
He sounded like a cornered animal, a defeated dog.
John's voice, in contrast, remained impossibly calm, almost clinical. "You have failed to maintain your dignity as a god, Loki. It makes you look… ugly."
Loki gave a hollow, mirthless laugh. His dignity?
What little he possessed had been shattered the day Odin told him he'd been left to die as an infant. He was the God of Mischief, the Prince of Lies, the despicable trickster.
But he was also Odin's second son, a Frost Giant child stolen from his birthright.
"I… I have no dignity left, Wizard King," Loki said, his voice barely a whisper.
To his surprise, John lowered his sword.
Loki looked up, his pale eyes widening in stunned disbelief.
"Why?"
"I will not kill you, Loki Laufeyson. Nor will I slay the son of a witch," John said, his gaze unwavering. "Your mother… Frigga, prays for you even now."
Was he… spared? Was he truly to be shown mercy?
Not at all.
"But there is a price you must pay," John said, his voice dropping, becoming almost a caress. He lowered his right hand, the sword vanishing as if it had never been, and raised his left, his expression unreadable.
A nightmarish cadence, a soul-rending whisper, filled the air – a sound that would haunt Loki for the rest of his unnaturally long life.
"Return of the soul."
Loki's body contorted in agony, his back arching as he screamed – a raw, primal sound that spoke of torment beyond mortal comprehension.
A plume of spectral white smoke erupted from his form as something vast and unseen seemed to rip his very soul from his body.
It was a pain far worse than death, a violation more profound than any physical wound.
The ethereal, translucent blue form of Loki's soul was wrenched free, floating helplessly before John.
And then, thousands of razor-sharp blades, formed from pure arcane energy, descended, carving indelible runes, twisting symbols of power and servitude, onto the defenseless spirit.
"And I find that name… far more fitting," John murmured, a hint of dark amusement in his voice.
The white of John's hair receded, replaced by the familiar tousled brown. The impossible wings vanished, folding back into his body as if they had never been.
His eyes shifted, the stark white fading to reveal the familiar reddish-brown, though now, fleeting glimpses of gold and abyssal darkness flickered within their depths. The ghostly purple fireflies that had danced around him winked out of existence.
An unsettling calm settled over the scene.
"John Wick," he breathed, the words resonating with an almost casual authority.
As the mortal name echoed across the ravaged landscape, the power of that name – the weight of John's human existence – pressed down upon the soul that had once belonged to a god.
John released his right hand, the fiery sword disappearing as if it had never existed.
The silver that had coated his right hand receded, flowing back to coalesce into a simple, unassuming ring that now adorned his finger. He lifted that hand, cupping it gently around Loki's exposed soul.
The gesture was… tender. Almost loving. Like a father cradling a beloved child.
"Child of a witch," John murmured, his voice laced with an unexpected sorrow, "I will shine my light upon you… once."
And with infinite gentleness, he pressed Loki's ravaged soul back into its broken vessel.
Loki crumpled to the ground, his eyes vacant and unfocused, his body trembling uncontrollably.
A moment later, something large and heavy crashed down beside him.
Thor stared at the man in front of him. "What… what did you do to Loki?"
He had heard the unearthly scream, a sound of such raw agony that the proud and arrogant Loki would never have uttered it willingly.
What kind of torture could strip an Asgardian of his very dignity?
John merely shrugged, his expression unreadable. "Thor, in the grand calculus of the universe, all things must be paid for. Loki has made a choice, and in exchange for equal value, he will pay for what he has done."
He gestured towards the portal above, from which more and more Chitauri warriors continued to pour.
"Now, if you'll excuse me, you should perhaps focus your considerable energies on closing that… rather pressing issue."
At the same moment, a new voice crackled over the comms, tight with contained fury. It was the Director of S.H.I.E.L.D., and his orders were very clear.
And those orders, coming at this particular moment, made Nick Fury's expression darken even further.
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