The green flames flickered, casting ghastly, pale shadows on both Lokis' faces. The younger one wanted to ask questions, but the older one already knew what they were.
He even knew what choice his younger self would make, for it was those choices that shaped him into who he is today.
Becoming the God of Stories.
It was a long tale, a mystic journey, weaving between life and death. It was all just a story.
Being a hero or a villain no longer mattered. He was Loki, and he'd set a trap for his past self.
"The universe's destruction is imminent. Perhaps someone tipped Mephisto off about the Crown of Fear. He'll have it tonight."
Old Loki gazed at his younger self, seeing the confusion on that youthful face, reminiscing.
The Crown of Fear, forged by Nightmare from Loki's thoughts and emotions, was brought to this era by him. He'd leaked its existence to the Hell Lord.
A deal.
Now, only Loki could resolve this. He'd calculated the time Mephisto needed to claim the crown—his story, after all.
Though the pages ahead held only doodles and jests.
"A crown? What's it do?"
"It does many things, but chiefly, it turns fear into power. The throne of Satan has long been vacant. If Mephisto wears it and takes the seat, all realms become an inferno."
"Fear? The constant invasions, the World Tree's burning—it was to harvest Asgard's fear? Ragnarök was a ruse?"
"I don't know. Perhaps the first fear from the fearless tastes sweeter."
Young Loki took a deep breath. Old Loki's smile was enigmatic.
As he'd said, he was the least trustworthy. Maybe one-tenth of his words were true, but young Loki couldn't tell which.
The only certainty: Mephisto must not claim the Satan throne.
Hell Lords were evenly matched, their realms in a delicate balance. Any extra power could tip the scales—a mountain on a straw.
"There's got to be another way. You know one, don't you?"
Old Loki spread his translucent hands. "I'm just a story now. I'm powerless. But you can stop him. Only you."
"How?"
"The crown's made of your thoughts and dreams. If they cease to exist, so does the crown."
The story-figure floated lightly, his solution leaving young Loki torn.
How do you erase someone's thoughts?
Killing them doesn't destroy their essence. You'd need to erase their existence from history and story.
Loki considered fleeing to another universe. He wasn't a hero; he didn't want to trade his life for the cosmos.
"He'll take the throne tonight, become Satan," Old Loki said calmly.
"Let me think. It's not too late. I'll find another way." Young Loki clutched his forehead, eyes bulging with tension.
"Maybe there's time for victory, but not for Mother or Thor. You might escape alone, but you can't take them."
Old Loki's gaze dropped, his robe swaying with the flames, blending into them.
"Let me think…"
"Your mind holds a piece of me. Let it overwrite your soul, change you. Your thoughts vanish, and so does the crown."
"Why not my thoughts overwriting yours?"
"Because you can't. A stone can crush an ant, but a leaf can't cover the sea." Their eyes locked, young Loki restless, old Loki serene.
"There's another way."
"Maybe, but you're out of time. So are Mother and Thor. Death is fated. Asgardians never had a choice."
"The dead me is still me."
"Hm, at least it's not dying in Ragnarök. It's a new story."
"So you want to change things? Came from the future to alter Asgard's fate?"
"Of course. But first, we stop this crisis, or no one reaches Ragnarök."
In the underground chamber, their identical voices blended, indistinguishable.
A black magpie appeared from nowhere, landing on the stone platform, perching on a golden horn of the helmet.
Its sideways eyes saw both Lokis—old and young—as one.
Young Loki fell silent, weighing his options. He didn't care about others' lives, but Mother and Thor…
Old Loki pressed calmly, "Every moment you delay, the harder it gets to fix. But watching the universe burn, Mother and Thor reduced to ashes in Hell's flames—maybe that's fun for a scoundrel like you?"
"Shut up! You know it's not!"
Old Loki smiled. "Change is my entire purpose. And I wager Loki would only sacrifice himself to save Loki."
Sacrifice—a foreign word, never in Loki's vocabulary.
But as the only option, young Loki faced it squarely. He was Asgard's prince; sacrifice wasn't so distant after all.
He figured something out, a sly smile spreading, as cunning as ever.
"By Odin, I see how annoying I am with word games. You want to replace me for my clean reputation. You need a pristine prince to do your deeds."
"Hm, hadn't thought of that."
"Don't lie. We're both Loki."
"Heh, fine. I know what you want—a true farewell. My final gift: talk to three people privately, but keep this place and the future secret." Old Loki smiled. History or story, it was meant to be.
He'd agreed to his future self's terms back then, even recalling the three he chose.
He sought change, but nothing changed—a bitter irony, leaving only laughter.
"I agree."
Young Loki nodded, resolute, urgency driving him.
A gap opened in the fire circle. Young Loki turned to leave. The once-illusory green flames revealed their true nature—genuine Hellfire, deep green.
Had he not trusted his future self, no deal would've freed him.
Old Loki let him go, proving his words true. Young Loki could verify them—if he didn't mind risking Mother and Thor's lives.
The flames were icy, but Loki ignored Old Loki's prank. He had to find his brother.
"Don't chase me, you oaf!"
"Keep running, I'm teaching you a lesson today!"
In a war-torn Asgardian garden, reduced to rubble by Cursed Warriors, only sturdy trees and shattered flowerbeds remained.
Loki had used a double to lure Thor, leading him through mud pits, haystacks, beehives, and a women's restroom.
Thor was a mess—covered in mud, straw-strewn like a porcupine, face red and swollen from bees and angry women.
Furious and humiliated, he just wanted to thrash Loki.
Suddenly, the Loki before him vanished. A new Loki stepped from behind a tree.
Thor hesitated, wary of another trick. Millennia of illusions taught him caution. He scanned the grass for traps—manure pits or spikes.
But Loki ran to him, embracing him. The solid touch confused Thor.
"Loki? What's wrong?"
He lowered Mjolnir. Loki seemed to be crying, his body trembling.
Loki was crying. Shorter than Thor, he looked up, tears streaking his face.
He didn't want to die, to be erased, but it was the only way.
"Thor, promise me, if I ever turn evil, you'll kill me."
"…"
Thor frowned, tossing Mjolnir aside. Why was Loki saying this? They were just playing moments ago.
"Loki, I… never."
"Thor, you don't understand—"
"I don't need to. You're my brother. I'll protect you."
Thor cut him off, clapping a heavy hand on Loki's shoulder, squeezing with conviction.
"We know how the story ends. In Ragnarök, I'll destroy you all."
Thor patted Loki's head firmly. "I won't let that happen. You won't either. I'll never give up on you."
Loki rubbed his eyes. His plan failed, but somehow, he was glad.
"Thor, you're the Nine Realms' biggest fool."
Tears streaming, Loki hugged him, pounding Thor's armor, memorizing his face and beard.
Then he yanked Thor's cape over his head, slipped free, and doused him with a water spell, leaving Thor drenched.
Cape and hair tangled, Thor struggled free, seeing Loki make a face and bolt.
"Hah! Gotcha! Chase me!"
"I'm gonna kill you today!"
Thor roared, snorting water or snot, grabbing Mjolnir and charging after him.
As their figures faded, the real Loki emerged from behind the tree, leaning on a broken branch, tears falling.
"Goodbye, brother…"