As the enemy retreated, Gin landed on horseback, while the mage scurried to the portal's former location, casting spells to track their destination.
"Caught one?" Gin eyed the motionless Iron Cross, his armor resembling medieval plate with a bold black cross on the chest. His visor glowed with a red horizontal line, and sparks sputtered from the dented helmet, flickering like intermittent fireworks in the dark.
"Scientist. Strip the shell. The man's useless," Su Ming replied curtly, restoring his Godslayer spear to its original form. He nudged Iron Cross over with his foot, searching for a way to remove the armor.
Finding none, he lost patience and sliced the armor down the middle with Godslayer, prying it open and dragging out the unconscious man inside.
A bespectacled, middle-aged man, he looked like a university professor—unassuming if met on the street. Now, with eyes rolled back and a frozen expression of fear, he wore only a white robe, billowing like a ghost as Su Ming held him up.
The armor was the valuable part, though its tech was basic—no AI, no flight, ballistic weapons, and made of standard tungsten steel.
Still, it had potential. Su Ming would pass it to his adjutant for study, hoping to unlock related tech. The man could be discarded—sent back to Germany to sire his future daughter.
In the Marvel universe, physicists and biologists were a dime a dozen. Without elite credentials, you'd be embarrassed to call yourself a villain.
Thinking of his company's physicists designing lingerie with tape measures and scissors, or chemists perfecting instant noodle flavors, Su Ming stayed silent.
"Who'd you see?" Gin asked why he'd kept them out of the fight, casually squeezing Iron Cross's scrawny arm. Without the armor, he was no threat.
"Lotus Lady, the petite Asian woman. Mind controllers are always tricky."
Not only that, she was slippery, using controlled crowds as shields, rendering ranged attacks ineffective.
Su Ming tossed the scientist into the muddy wetland, where roots tangled like a fish trap.
"Can't Heimdall help?" Gin asked. The Bifrost could snatch targets with near-certainty, provided they weren't too agile.
Su Ming shook his head, stowing the armor in his pack. "Heimdall's seen this group from the Bifrost, but only noticed Zemo and the giants."
"So he was hypnotized, seeing only what they wanted," Gin sighed. In Heimdall's eyes, Odin must've looked like he was fighting thin air.
At the Bifrost, Heimdall's ears twitched. So that's what happened. He'd thought Odin was hallucinating, but the fault was his own?
The god-king's wisdom was unfathomable, his might unmatched, even knowing the invaders' abilities from Midgard.
Guilt gnawed at Heimdall for failing his king. He redoubled his efforts, cutting down stray frost giants.
The Bifrost didn't distinguish friend from foe, so saving civilians sometimes brought giants to Asgard. With the guards' help, the bridge was now slick with blood, dripping into the void.
"Heimdall! Send this guy back to Midgard!" Odin's voice rang out again.
Wiping sweat, Heimdall returned to the observatory, sending the armorless Iron Cross back to Germany—though he didn't know the difference between East and West Germany.
"Now what?" Gin asked quietly, eyeing the Bifrost's residual marks. "Zemo stole a star. Do we chase it?"
Su Ming shook his head. He'd gathered enough intel. Zemo's flight at the sight of Odin revealed his strategy: delay and diversion.
Fleeing meant Zemo lacked confidence, ruling out the Serpent's backing. Su Ming's pursuit, creating an atmosphere of terror, was to confirm this. His earlier suspicions were validated, narrowing the list of possibilities.
He'd systematically vetted every suspect for ties to the Serpent. Even Gin hadn't noticed his probing. To others, he seemed to chase clues aimlessly, but everything was under his control.
Gulveig and Frigga were cleared first.
Ronan, seeking Odin's favor, was out.
Malekith fled—cleared.
Hela, celebrating with drinks post-battle and stunned by the Serpent's name, was cleared.
Odin himself wept at Ragnarök's mention—cleared.
Surtur, tested personally, relied on Selatoc, not the Serpent—cleared.
Zemo and his frost giant allies, including the Super Axis team, were now cleared. If they had the Serpent's power, they'd have transformed into Skyhammer wielders and attacked.
Only Mephisto remained untested. Though unlikely, Su Ming wouldn't rely on deduction alone. Earth's safety demanded he confront each suspect personally.
In the DC universe, Batman wasn't the only detective. Detective Chimp was sharp, and Deathstroke could crack cases too.
That's why Su Ming chose Monarch, a dark mage, over Hamir. If he just needed a mage, wouldn't Hamir—loyal and sent to learn cooking—be the better pick?
Monarch, connected through Ancient One, was an acquaintance at best. Despite fighting together, Su Ming didn't fully trust him.
Emotional magic carried risks of backlash. Having worn all ten Lantern rings, Su Ming knew the feeling—emotions surging like surfing in a typhoon, the board ready to flip.
Hamir, of the guardian clan, sworn to Vishanti and raised in Kamar-Taj, was reliable, versatile in combat, and equipped with magical artifacts. But he wasn't skilled in dark magic.
Tracking or contacting Mephisto required dark magic, so Monarch was the choice.
Su Ming's plan was nearing its end, all executed covertly—true stealth.
As for Zemo, whatever power he gained, he'd use on Earth. Using Asgardian magic tied to Odin's power there, did he think Ancient One was blind?
Maintaining balance between light and dark was her creed.
Su Ming's efforts here were a performance for Frigga and Gulveig. Why else save Heimdall? To have a constant watcher? No—Heimdall's "eternal audience" trait ensured he'd report everything to the All-Mother, who trusted her loyal guardian implicitly.
"We could chase, but it's unnecessary," Su Ming said, walking to his horse, Little Eight, adjusting its saddle and brushing its fur while answering Gin.
Zemo would return Vanaheim's star, Su Ming was certain.
He'd infiltrated Asgard, stolen treasures, and fled after taking the star, hoping to go unnoticed—especially by Odin.
But "Odin" had confronted him. Given Zemo's nature, after using the Heart of the Sun, he'd return the star to avoid pursuit.
Zemo didn't favor reckless, no-way-out tactics. Even in villainy, he left room to maneuver.
The star wasn't a trivial matter, but Zemo would risk it once. Carrying it and the Heart indefinitely was too dangerous for a strategist.
Unless he planned to stay bound to Lotus Lady forever, he couldn't evade Heimdall's gaze.
If Su Ming's guess was right, Zemo, after gaining power and leverage, might even apologize to Odin, pinning the blame on the frost giants and Nazis.
His lackeys, like Iron Cross, were expendable scapegoats, their fates irrelevant.
Hearing Deathstroke's reply, Monarch, fresh from tracking Zemo, opened his mouth, mimicking an "Erkang hand" gesture, as if to protest.
But his arm fell limply. He knew Deathstroke would ignore him.
Silently, he pulled two rabbits from his pocket, squeezing until they stilled, blood seeping from their orifices as he wept quietly.
Couldn't he have spoken before the tracking spell? Wouldn't anyone assume they'd pursue?
Su Ming glanced at him sympathetically but couldn't explain. As "Odin," his true strategy had to stay secret.