The void was silent but for the hum of distant stars.
Fragments of a dead world drifted through the black, torn continents and shattered mountains circling a throne of stone and steel. There sat Thanos, the Mad Titan, his chin resting against his hand, his gaze fixed not upon the stars but beyond them — upon what might yet be his.
Before him, kneeling low, was the Other. His voice was thin, rasping, yet heavy with the weight of news.
"My lord. The Space Stone stirs again. Midgard's mortals prod at it in their ignorance, seeking to wrest power from what they cannot comprehend."
Thanos's eyes flickered with faint light, a glimmer of interest. "The Tesseract."
The word left his mouth like a judgement.
"Yes," the Other croaked. "It lies in mortal hands… but Midgard is no free world. It is still counted among the Nine, bound to Asgard by oath and rule. To move against it is to move against Odin."
That name lingered in the air, heavy as the weight of galaxies. For long moments, the throne room was silent but for the crackle of cosmic winds.
At last, Thanos spoke, his voice deep, measured, unhurried.
"Odin."
He let the name hang, savoring the thought. "The All-Father. The Lion of Asgard. Long have I weighed him among my obstacles. To act while his eye is open is folly."
The Other bowed his head still lower, his body almost trembling. "Even now, lord… though he slumbers, his shadow falls across the Nine Realms. To reach for the Stone is to risk rousing him."
From the shadows at the throne's edge, a silken voice cut through. Ebony Maw stepped forward, his slender hands clasped. His lips curled into a smile that was almost reverent.
"And yet, my lord, a shadow without teeth is but an illusion. Odin slumbers. His hammer-son is exiled among mortals, stripped of his strength. His other heir plays the Regent, rattling sabers at Jötunheim. Asgard wears a crown… but it is hollow. They watch one another, not us. Their eyes turn upward, but never outward."
Thanos said nothing. His gaze remained fixed, unreadable, as Maw continued.
"The mortals of Midgard… they toy with a god's relic like children trying to ignite the sun with sticks. Their ignorance is laughable — and useful. In their grasp, the Stone will never awaken its full power. And so, my lord, is this not the moment? When the lion sleeps, when the heirs posture, when the lambs bleat at their toy — is this not when the wolf takes the fold?"
A low sound rolled from Thanos's throat. Not laughter, not yet — but something close.
Another voice, sharp and mocking, joined in. Proxima Midnight stepped from the shadows, her spear gleaming faintly in the light of dying stars. "The Nine Realms… fragile as ever. Thor swinging his hammer among mortals, Loki pretending at wisdom. And Odin?" She spat. "What is a god who sleeps but a corpse waiting to be claimed?"
The Other hissed at her words, but Thanos raised a single hand, silencing them all.
He rose from his throne. The movement alone seemed to shake the fractured asteroid, each step a weight the void could scarcely bear. He moved to the edge, gazing into the endless dark, and when he spoke again, his voice was not loud, but it carried across the hall like the tolling of a great bell.
"The Tesseract calls. Odin sleeps. Thor is cast among mortals. Loki wears a crown he does not yet know how to hold. The Nine Realms stand… distracted."
He turned, his eyes burning brighter than the stars themselves.
"While it might be true that Asgard's threat is diminished, it would still risk setting back our great mission for a long time. Should we fight a war with Asgard, this… this might indeed be a chance, but it still carries a great risk. Tell me, my children, what can we do to mitigate this risk?" He asked, turning his gaze back to them all.
Ebony Maw bowed, his voice flowing smooth as silk.
"Deception, my lord. If Asgard watches outward and the All-Father yet dreams, then let them see nothing. No hand raised against them, no Titan grasping for their relic. Let Midgard believe their suffering comes from themselves — from their own greed, their own reach beyond their grasp."
He spread his long fingers, painting the thought in the air.
"Through the Tesseract, they seek weapons of war. We shall help them succeed. Though the weapons shall be ours. The war, not theirs — but ours."
A low hum of approval rippled through the chamber. Proxima Midnight tilted her head, her spear glinting with cold light.
"Let the mortals forge their chains, then. Iron sharpened not against us, but against themselves. When their weapons fail to obey, when their cities burn by their own hand… they will never think to blame the Titan who waits in the dark."
Corvus Glaive stepped forward, voice sharp as the blade he bore.
"And when the time comes, they will have built the gate for us. Their science hungers to pierce the void, to pull armies from the stars. We will give them what they desire — a door they cannot close, a power they cannot master."
The Other bowed low, trembling. "But the Asgardians—should they see—"
"They will not," Maw whispered, his tone reverent. "For it will be mortals' hands that light the fires. Mortals' pride that builds the pyre. We shall need no banners, no horns of war. Only patience, and the smallest push."
Thanos' gaze lingered, cold and endless. "To guide them unseen, to make their ruin their own… it is elegant. But elegance alone does not open doors. How shall we ensure their steps? Mortals stumble easily."
Ebony Maw's lips curved into a shadow of a smile. "With a hand upon the tiller, my lord. Subtle, unseen, yet firm."
Corvus Glaive inclined his head. "The scepter. A fragment of the Great Mind, focused into a weapon. Through it, we can bend their leaders, their soldiers, their very will. They will open the gate for us themselves, believing it their triumph."
Proxima Midnight tapped the butt of her spear against the stone. "And to Asgard's gaze? Nothing but humans clawing at power beyond their station. Foolish. Predictable. Beneath their notice."
The Other hissed, nervous still. "To place such a relic in mortal hands… it is dangerous. If they learn—"
Thanos raised a hand, silencing him. His voice rumbled like shifting worlds.
"Danger is the crucible of purpose. They will not master the scepter; it will master them. Their pride will hide the chain around their neck. And if Asgard looks upon them, they will see nothing but the folly of Midgard."
A silence followed, heavy, certain. The plan was set.
Ebony Maw lowered his head, his voice reverent. "Then one of us must go, lord. A servant to bear the scepter, to walk among them unseen, to guide their hands until the gate yawns wide."
Thanos' gaze swept across his generals — each deadly, each loyal, each hungering. Then the faintest smile touched his lips, terrible in its calm.
"So be it. The mortals shall build their doom, thinking it their deliverance. The scepter will be their shepherd, and through them, the Tesseract shall be ours."
He turned back to the void, eyes fixed on a blue spark flickering far across the cosmos.
"Midgard will not know me… not yet. But they will know fear. And when they kneel, they will kneel to Thanos."
Thanos stood at the edge of his throne, the void behind him endless and cold. The Black Order had fallen silent, each awaiting his judgment.
It was Proxima Midnight who broke it first, her voice sharp as her spear.
"Send me, my lord. I will tear the mortals from their beds, one by one, until they kneel. Let Asgard see their precious lambs slaughtered by their own weakness."
Corvus Glaive's hand twitched toward his weapon, though his tone was calmer.
"No. The All-Father sleeps, yes, but his ravens watch still. A slaughter is a banner, an invitation for wrath. Better a knife in the dark than a sword in the sun."
Thanos said nothing, his gaze heavy as a world, but his silence turned them all toward Ebony Maw.
The gaunt figure inclined his head with a smile that was all reverence and poison.
"My lord knows the truth. Midgard does not require breaking. It requires… guiding. Their minds are soft clay, shaped by fear and by promise. Give me the instrument, and I shall carve them into the shape you desire."
He spread his hands, fingers long and delicate, as though framing the vision in the air.
"The mortals already reach for the fire. I shall simply tilt the spark, whisper in their ears, and they will open the door for us. To Asgard, it will look no different than mortal arrogance consuming itself. A tragedy, nothing more."
Thanos regarded him for a long moment, then raised his hand. At his gesture, the Other shuffled forward, bearing a case of black metal, its surface traced with alien etchings. With a hiss, the case opened, and within lay the scepter — a blade of gleaming metal crowned with a shard of impossible blue light.
The chamber dimmed in its presence.
Ebony Maw's smile widened as he stepped forward, bowing low. "The Mind Stone… hidden within a weapon, the perfect lie. Mortals will see only steel and light, never knowing the god-fire that guides their hands."
"Take it," Thanos commanded. His voice carried like a verdict. "Go to Midgard. Bend them. Break them. Guide them to the Tesseract and force it open. But do so unseen. If Asgard watches, they must see only mortals playing with fire — not the hand that strikes the match."
Maw's pale fingers curled reverently around the weapon as though it were a relic from the heavens. He bowed deeper still, voice hushed with devotion.
"Your will is my command, my lord. I shall whisper in their dreams, bend their wills, and when they open the gate, it will be for you alone."
Behind him, Proxima Midnight scoffed. "Send a whisperer to do a warrior's work."
But Thanos silenced her with a glance. "A war will come soon enough. For now… let shadows do what armies cannot."
Ebony Maw straightened, the scepter gleaming cold in his grasp. He turned toward the void, where Midgard's faint blue spark burned across the distance of galaxies. His smile lingered, sharp and sure.
"Let the mortals believe their triumph is their own," he murmured. "By the time they realize otherwise… it will be too late."
And with that, the Black Order bowed, the decision sealed.
Thanos lowered himself back onto his throne, the stars reflected in his eyes.
The game was set.
The first move had been made.
(End of chapter)
Alright, so given that this chapter is 213, 13, an unlucky number, I figured, why not go somewhere a little more 'unlucky'
So yes, the events of Avengers 1 are important, but with Loki's fate changed… many things have changed.
This chapter is my attempt at explaining why things are still happening despite the changes.
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