Looking at the colossal ice-blue runeblade hovering before him, Loki's expression became trance-like.
The answer was actually correct.
He had answered correctly. He had won the reward. Yet, strangely, there was no joy on Loki's face. Instead, his expression darkened.
I really did sacrifice my life for that idiot brother of mine.
Who would want such a future?
A nameless anger surged in his chest.
In that moment, he made a decision.
I will change this accursed future. No matter the cost.
With that resolve, he didn't hesitate. He reached out and grasped the hilt of Frostmourne.
WHOOSH!
The instant his fingers touched the hilt, a blast of biting cold erupted. The temperature in the White Void plummeted by dozens of degrees in a split second.
"Whoa! Too cold!"
Peter Parker's face turned pale instantly. He hugged himself, shivering violently.
Tony and Strange also recoiled, their faces changing color. Even from this distance, the chill bit into their bones.
Is he okay? Just grabbing that thing with his bare hands?
Loki felt the bone-chilling cold surge from his palm through his entire body. It was a cold that could freeze a mortal into an ice sculpture instantly.
But strangely... he didn't feel pain.
Instead, he felt... comfort.
It was like returning home.
As he gripped the sword, the true nature of its power flooded his mind.
[ARCHIVE: Frostmourne]
[ORIGIN: The World of Azeroth.]
[HISTORY: This blade has slaughtered countless enemies—Knights, Mages, even Dragons.]
[EFFECT: The souls of these victims are trapped within the blade. If the wielder possesses sufficient strength, they can release these souls and reanimate them as terrors of the undead.]
[THIS IS THE SCOURGE.]
"What a terrifying weapon..."
Recovering from the shock, Loki gasped, his heart pounding.
To summon undead dragons out of thin air? This sword is a nightmare made manifest.
In any of the Nine Realms, necromancy was considered an extremely evil and taboo art. It was a power that instilled fear.
But surprisingly, Loki felt no revulsion.
After seeing his own pathetic, broken death on that screen, something inside him had broken. Or perhaps, something had awoken.
I have never craved power as much as I do right now.
Grip tightening on the greatsword, Loki looked down. A thick layer of frost had spread from his feet, covering the floor for dozens of meters in every direction.
Tony and the others had retreated far back, watching him with wary eyes.
"Uh... Mr. Loki? You okay there?"
Peter Parker gulped, his voice trembling. Even from fifty feet away, the aura of Frostmourne made his spider-sense scream.
Loki nodded casually. He examined the blade, feeling a sudden urge to summon a few undead minions just to test it out.
But he remembered that Odin and Thor were watching him through the screen back in Asgard.
Best not to push my luck just yet.
He pushed the thought aside. But another question lingered in his mind.
Why did the System call this the "Filial Piety Sword"?
What does that mean?
Asgard.
Watching Loki surrounded by swirling frost, Odin's brow furrowed slightly.
Loki was not his biological son. He was the son of Laufey, King of the Frost Giants of Jotunheim.
Years ago, after driving Laufey from Earth, Odin had pushed into Jotunheim. In the temple, he found an abandoned infant—small for a giant, left to die. He took the child.
Aside from Queen Frigga, no one in Asgard knew the truth.
Odin had a purpose for raising Loki. He hoped that one day, Loki would take the throne of Jotunheim, while Thor ruled Asgard. The two kingdoms would be united by brotherhood, ensuring eternal peace.
But remembering the image of Thanos snapping Loki's neck... Odin felt a deep, twisting pain in his chest.
Yes, he had selfish political motives for adopting the boy.
But he had raised him. He loved him. He did not want to see his son sacrificed like a pawn.
Just as Odin was lost in melancholy, his white eyebrows suddenly shot up. A flicker of surprise passed through his eye, instantly replaced by sharp vigilance.
The wards had been breached.
"Frost Giants," Odin whispered, his voice turning to steel. "They have invaded the Royal Vault."