The battle against The Other had cost the Avengers nearly everything they had left. Bucky's metal arm was a mangled wreck, and Tony's Mark VI armor was little more than scrap metal, its systems dark and unresponsive. He still had the Mark V stowed away, but its performance was only suited for cleaning up the remaining Chitauri foot soldiers, not for turning the tide of a war.
Peter, too, was running on fumes, his body a canvas of deep bruises and fractured bones held together by the symbiote's desperate efforts. T'Challa had absorbed an impossible amount of punishment, acting as a shield and a lure, constantly weathering the Warlord's devastating attacks head-on, including the raw energy blasts from his axe. The kinetic absorption capacity of his vibranium suit had been pushed beyond its limits. A network of glowing purple lines pulsed across the Black Panther's habit, the stored energy threatening to overload.
But no matter the cost, The Other was dead.
Peter finally let go, his muscles screaming in protest. All he wanted was to collapse onto the pavement and sleep for a week. But his relief was short-lived. Tony and Steve, battered but resolute, shook their heads and looked toward the same point several blocks away, where a swirling white blizzard was shot through with an ethereal blue energy.
"It's not over yet," they said in weary unison.
But their fighting force was depleted. Steve's gaze fell upon the one being who seemed untouched by fatigue. He looked at the Hulk, who had so recently beaten them all to a pulp, and swallowed his pride. "Hulk," he said, his voice strained. "We need you. Only you can help us now."
Hearing his name, the Hulk's instinct was to scowl, but then his simple, rage-fueled mind processed the request. Captain America had said Hulk, not Banner. A slow, savage grin spread across the behemoth's face, and his frown relaxed. He beat his chest with a fist the size of a boulder.
"HULK WILL CRUSH EVERYONE!"
With a single, earth-shattering leap, he was gone, bounding across the ruined cityscape toward the heart of the storm. The heroes who could still stand joined the operation to eliminate the last of the Chitauri forces. The scattered soldiers were no longer a strategic threat. The true outcome of this war rested on Loki's shoulders.
And at that moment, Loki was broken.
From the second he took possession of the Casket of Ancient Winters and the Tesseract, he had been doomed. Facing the three members of the Black Order, he knew Supergiant, wielder of the Mind Stone, was the most dangerous. He couldn't be sure of a victory against her. Cull Obsidian was the weakest link, barely a threat. So, he had chosen Ebony Maw.
It was a fatal miscalculation. His power was insufficient to fully unleash the Casket's might, and his sneak attack had failed to kill the telekinetic. In the ensuing chaos, he had lost the Tesseract. Now, both Infinity Stones were in the enemy's hands. Against their combined power, even a treasure like the Casket was useless.
The conflict devolved into a cruel game of cat and mouse, with Loki as the mouse. The blizzard he conjured could not stop Supergiant or Ebony Maw; it only delayed his own execution. The sole sliver of good news was that Supergiant, having secured the Tesseract, seemed to have lost interest in the fight. The white-cloaked woman was taciturn and mysterious. She was loyal to Thanos, but she was also pragmatic. Thanos wanted the stones; the life of a disgraced Asgardian prince was irrelevant.
Ebony Maw, however, had taken the attack personally. He relentlessly hunted Loki, his rage a palpable force. This was a mixed blessing. While it kept Supergiant at bay, Loki knew if Maw ever truly found himself at a disadvantage, she would not remain idle.
The situation was hopeless. He was a rat, scurrying through the ruins of his own failure, tormented by a crippling self-blame.
I'm sorry I disappointed you…
The thought was a dagger in his heart. He had betrayed Ben's trust. He had failed to protect the stone. Or perhaps, Ben trusting him in the first place had been the true mistake. He was Loki. All he did was fail.
He huddled in a collapsed building, his back pressed against the frigid wall as Maw and Cull Obsidian swept the street outside. He slid down to the floor, resting his head back with a sigh of utter defeat. Who could save the world now? It was pathetic. He was pathetic.
Weak. Powerless. A cosmic joke. From the moment of his birth, he was a pitiful, abandoned thing. His own father, Laufey, King of the Frost Giants, had cast him out for his congenital weakness. Picked up by Odin, he found no respect in Asgard, only tolerance. The court bowed to his station, but they never saw him as noble. How could they? Standing beside him was Thor, a brilliant, shining beacon of lightning and valor.
Thor was too dazzling. Powerful. Majestic. And next to him, Loki was just an insignificant shadow, a trivial pendant hanging from his brother's glorious neck.
He had refused to accept it. He told himself Odin was biased, that he could do better than his muscle-bound brother. He thought Thor was hopelessly stupid.
Only now did he see the truth. The real fool was him. Loki, the weak and incompetent, with an ego that far outstripped his abilities. He called himself a god, but he was nothing more than a ridiculous clown. His coup had failed. He was exiled, enslaved. If not for Ben, he would have died on Sakaar. His intelligence had led Looma and all of Sakaar into danger. Now, his failure would lead to Earth's destruction.
And he could do nothing.
No, that wasn't true. He could still run. With his magic, escaping would be simple. Supergiant might sense him, but why would she bother hunting down such a pathetic little character? Yes. He should just run. There was no need to sacrifice his life for this backwater realm and its mortals.
The thought spun in his mind, a tempting escape. But he couldn't move. His feet felt as if they had grown roots into the very soil of this planet. The idea was absurd. He held no deep affection for this world.
The truth was simpler, and far more painful.
He just didn't want to disappoint Ben again.
In a life that spanned a thousand years of failure, Ben was the only person who had ever looked at him and believed he could be something more. Who else but Ben would have deemed him worthy of being a king?
Odin? He had considered it, but only as a tool to control the Frost Giants. He saw Loki as a weak younger brother who needed protection, not a sovereign. Frigga? He didn't deny his mother's love, but it was the love for a child, not the belief that he could be a greater king than any other.
Loki stood, his breath misting in the frigid air. He didn't even believe in himself. His throne, his power—it was all built on lies and hoaxes. Insignificant tricks, presented to play a ridiculous role in someone else's glorious story, providing a laugh for the audience.
What else could he do? He almost hoped that was his fate. At least that way, the story might have a happy ending. After the clown made his exit, a real hero would stand up and turn the tide. Maybe that wasn't so bad.
Loki chuckled without humor. He took a step, walking out of the shadows and into the storm.
Ebony Maw sensed him immediately. The evil-looking sorcerer stood with one hand behind his back, the Tesseract floating beside the other. He looked down at Loki as a god would an ant.
"Giving up the chase?" Maw sneered. "Are you attempting another pathetic trick? It's useless. The cube's energy envelops this city. You cannot escape, Loki."
"I'm not planning to run."
Loki looked at him, and for the first time in a long while, his eyes were clear. He was ready to die. It no longer mattered if a hero would appear. It no longer mattered what fate befell the Earth. His thoughts were very simple.
He could not let Ben down again.
He wanted to prove that Ben had not misjudged him. He might have misjudged his own strength, but Ben's faith in his character had not been misplaced. He would show Odin, show all of Asgard, that while he might not be a qualified king, or even an Asgardian, he still possessed the glory of Asgard.
He would not run.
"Or do you intend to pledge your allegiance to the great Thanos?" Maw asked. He would prefer to kill Loki, but the prince's fealty would be a significant propaganda victory.
"I have told you," Loki said, raising the Casket of Ancient Winters. "There is only one king worthy of my loyalty."
"A pity. I thought you a smart man," Ebony Maw said with false sadness. The Tesseract in his hand began to shine with terrifying power.
Loki smiled faintly. "You are wrong," he said. "I am hopelessly stupid."
The next moment, the winds of the Casket howled, coalescing into giant beasts of ice and snow that charged at Ebony Maw. But the sorcerer had learned Loki's tricks. He waved a hand dismissively, and his telekinesis tore the beasts apart like they were made of paper. With another gesture, an invisible hand seized Loki by the throat, lifting him high into the air.
Loki choked, his face flushing red as he clawed uselessly at his neck. The greatest sorcerer in the Nine Realms, helpless.
"Honestly, your weakness is unbelievable," Ebony Maw said slowly. "Killing you is as easy as crushing an ant." He tilted his head, his flat nose pointing at Loki in utter contempt.
"Then… why don't you do it?" Loki rasped, his vision blurring at the edges.
Maw didn't answer. He simply waved an arm. The snow and ice around them swirled, reforming into a million glittering shards, each one as sharp as a razor. They hung in the air, a dense cloud of death aimed at Loki.
"I will give you one last chance, Loki, son of Odin," Maw declared. "Surrender to the great Thanos!"
At the same time, on the edge of the blizzard, a tall figure staggered through the snow. He wore only thin clothes, no match for the biting cold that had turned his skin blue and his lips purple. A thick layer of frost coated his eyelashes, and every breath was like inhaling knives. He could barely move, but he never stopped.
It was Thor.
He had left the shelter, compelled by a need for answers. He had to know what part Loki played in this. If his brother was behind it, he had to be stopped. If he had changed, then Thor needed to stand with him, just as they had for a thousand years. So he had walked into the storm and now bore witness to his brother's execution. He saw Loki, held aloft like a dead dog, and his heart broke.
"LOKI!"
The roar was pure anguish, a crack of thunder that momentarily shattered the howling wind.
Loki, nearly unconscious, heard it. He couldn't see through the blizzard, but he knew. Thor was here. Thor… my brother. A weak, complacent smile touched his lips. He knew Thor's powerlessness was temporary. Odin would not let his favored son languish forever. Sooner or later, his brother would reclaim his worthiness, lift Mjolnir, and ascend to the throne.
Why not let it be today? Loki thought. Why not let my death be the lightning that illuminates his path?
Thinking this, he summoned the last of his strength and called out his brother's name. "Brother!" Then, his strength failing, he mouthed his final words. "Avenge me…"
Ebony Maw glanced contemptuously at the approaching mortal and swung his arm down. The storm of ice shards shot forward.
Thor's eyes went wide.
Loki closed his eyes peacefully, waiting for death, for his soul to find its way to Valhalla.
But death did not come.
Confused, Loki opened his eyes. The sight that met them stole his ability to think. Thor, his arms outstretched, stood before him, shielding him. His body was pierced by hundreds of icy blades, like a bloody hedgehog.
Loki was stunned into silence.
Thor collapsed. He fell backward, and his warm blood spattered across Loki's cheek, the heat searing his frozen skin.
"Brother!" Loki screamed, catching Thor's body. He was panicked, terrified, a child again.
"Run… Loki… run…" Thor whispered, his voice a hoarse rattle, and then his eyes glazed over.
In that moment, Loki's world collapsed.
A real clap of thunder boomed in the sky, shaking the heavens. Ebony Maw looked up, startled. Supergiant appeared beside him in an instant, her eyes fixed on Loki, her posture suddenly wary.
"What did you do?" she demanded.
Maw shook his head, his gaze locked on the grieving prince. An immense, crackling energy was bursting from Loki's body, arcing around him like untamed lightning.
Then, under the astonished gaze of the Black Order, the sky tore open. A massive bolt of lightning descended, and riding it down was a short, silver hammer.
Loki, cradling his brother's lifeless body, stretched out a trembling hand.
And caught it.
He held Mjolnir high. Silver, scale-like armor shimmered into existence over his body, and a bright red cloak materialized behind him, fluttering like a living flame. A silver, horned helmet covered his face.
He was Loki Odinson. He was the God of Lies.
And now, standing before his enemies, he was the God of Thunder.