Thor glanced sideways at Tony, his expression carrying a mixture of vindication and mild irritation. "I think you can modify that voice system now!" His tone made it clear this wasn't a suggestion so much as a demand. The whole "most powerful Avenger" debacle still stung his pride.
Tony decisively admitted his mistake without hesitation, holding up both hands in surrender: "Yeah! I think so too!" His voice carried genuine contrition. There was no point in defending his previous programming choices when they'd so clearly backfired in terms of team morale. "I'll reprogram it as soon as we get back. Equal recognition for everyone, or maybe just remove the whole ranking system entirely."
"Hahaha!" Natasha laughed openly, her shoulders shaking with genuine amusement at the exchange between the two of them. It was perfectly okay if Tony gave in immediately—in fact, it was refreshing! The great Tony Stark admitting fault without a lengthy debate was practically a miracle. Her green eyes sparkled with mirth.
Captain America sighed slightly, his expression sympathetic as he considered Banner's situation. "It wasn't easy for Banner! He stayed in Hulk form for two whole years before finally changing back! Two entire years of his life, just gone. Can you imagine what that must feel like?"
Barton nodded in agreement, adding his own observation. "Yeah! His last memory was still immersed in the Sokovia incident—the battle, Ultron, all of that chaos and destruction. When he woke up again, he didn't even realize that two years had passed! To him, it probably felt like he'd just closed his eyes for a moment."
[On screen, the scene shifted back to Sakaar. Loki and Valkyrie, now surrounded by several of the Grandmaster's armored soldiers, were being escorted toward the Supreme Lord's presence. The guards kept their weapons ready but not quite aimed—a subtle threat. The two prisoners walked with varying degrees of concern visible in their body language.]
[The Grandmaster stood elevated on his distinctive hovering disk, the anti-gravity technology keeping him positioned above everyone else both literally and symbolically. He looked down at the two of them with an expression of theatrical disappointment. His elaborate blue and gold robes draped artistically around him, and his face bore the distinctive blue and red markings that seemed to be his personal aesthetic choice. When he spoke, his voice carried that particular quality of affected cheerfulness masking genuine displeasure.]
["I'm really unhappy! Deeply, profoundly unhappy!" He emphasized each word with hand gestures. "Do you know what I like to do when I'm unhappy? Punishment!" He smiled brightly as he said it, as if discussing something delightful rather than threatening.]
[He paused for dramatic effect, letting the word hang in the air. His eyes moved between Loki and Valkyrie, assessing, calculating.]
["Right now! This is my current way of thinking! My mood, my prerogative!" Another pause, another theatrical gesture. "Do you know who I'm going to punish? Can you guess? Would you like to guess?"]
[As the Grandmaster continued his performance, Topaz—his bodyguard and enforcer—walked up behind him with deliberate steps. She held his distinctive melting stick scepter, the weapon that could reduce people to quivering puddles. Her expression was professionally neutral, but there was perhaps a hint of eagerness in her eyes as she offered the weapon forward.]
["Grandmaster! I can—" Loki opened his mouth, attempting to interject with an explanation, to talk his way out of this situation as he'd done countless times before. His silver tongue was his greatest weapon, after all.]
[But The Grandmaster's head snapped toward him, his cheerful expression suddenly replaced with genuine irritation. His eyes narrowed dangerously.]
["Hey! Don't interrupt me!" The words were sharp despite maintaining a superficially pleasant tone. "I was in the middle of a moment! A dramatic moment! Very rude to interrupt!"]
[Topaz stepped closer, extending the scepter with both hands in a formal presentation. "Here you go!" Her voice was professionally crisp.]
[The Grandmaster slowly, almost glacially, turned his head to glance at her. His expression shifted to one of confused annoyance, as if he couldn't fathom why she'd done this. "What are you doing with my stick?" His tone suggested she'd made a serious social faux pas. "He just interrupted me, that's all! Interrupted! This is not a crime worthy of the melting stick! That would be disproportionate! I'm not a monster!"]
[Topaz's face fell, disappointment clearly visible in her features. She pulled the scepter back, returning it to its holder with obvious reluctance. Her eyes flickered briefly toward Valkyrie with barely concealed hostility.]
[Watching this exchange, Valkyrie in the viewing room turned her head away with an expression of speechless exasperation. Topaz had been annoyed with her for a long time—resentful of her position, jealous of her access to the champion, irritated by her independence. The woman would pick on her and create problems whenever she got the slightest chance. It was petty and tiresome.]
[The Grandmaster seemed to collect his thoughts, returning to his original train of discussion. "Where were we? Ah yes! My beloved, my treasured, my absolutely magnificent champion! He's gone! Vanished! Disappeared!" His voice rose with each word, genuine distress breaking through the theatrical facade. "It's all because of that monstrous Thor! That devilish, scheming, admittedly attractive Thor! It's all because of him! Your brother!" He pointed dramatically at Loki.]
["I don't particularly care about your complicated past, whether you're related by blood or through some more convoluted family arrangement! I know your history is messy—everyone's history here is messy! It's practically a requirement for residency! And your opponents..." He waved his hand vaguely, as if the details were tiresome.]
[Loki saw an opening and seized it. He opened his arms in a gesture of magnanimous confidence, his voice smooth and persuasive. "My friend! Great Grandmaster! Give me twelve hours, and I will bring them both back alive to you! Thor and the Hulk, delivered right to your doorstep! You have my word!"]
[Before The Grandmaster could respond, Valkyrie interjected sharply from beside him: "Just give me two hours!" Her voice was competitive, challenging. She wasn't about to let Loki take all the glory or the potential reward.]
[Loki's head whipped toward her, his mouth falling open in speechless indignation. Then he quickly recovered, his competitive nature flaring. He turned back to the Grandmaster, his voice rising slightly: "Then I'll take just one hour! Sixty minutes! That's all I need!"]
[The Grandmaster watched this back-and-forth with an expression of growing boredom. He had no interest whatsoever in watching them quarrel and compete here in his throne room. It was tedious. His fingers drummed against his knee impatiently.]
[Finally, he raised one hand to silence them both. "That's it! Enough! When I woke up this morning, I was in such a mood! I wanted to stage a public execution! Very dramatic, lots of spectacle, really make a statement!" His voice carried a hint of genuine disappointment that this plan had been derailed. "But now I have to get this little thing resolved first! So here's what we're doing—competition! Who can catch him first gets... well, we'll figure out the prize later! So! You don't have much time! Clock's ticking! Tick-tock!"]
[After The Grandmaster finished speaking, he waved his hand in a dismissive gesture, indicating that they could leave his presence. The audience was over. His hovering disk began rotating away, already moving on to his next entertainment.]
[After being escorted out of the palace and back into the chaotic streets of Sakaar, Loki quickly caught up with Valkyrie. His long strides closed the distance between them rapidly. He fell into step beside her, his expression calculating.]
["What did you do?" His voice carried accusation mixed with genuine curiosity. "You helped them somehow. I know you did. What was your angle?"]
[Valkyrie didn't even glance at Loki. She kept walking with steady, purposeful strides, her face forward, her jaw set. She had no intention of engaging with him.]
["I won't listen to your orders, weakling!" Her voice was dismissive, contemptuous. She'd seen a thousand princes and gods and self-important men in her long life. Loki was just another one.]
[Loki's expression flickered with irritation at the insult. He reached out and grabbed her arm, his fingers closing around her wrist. He pulled her to a stop and corrected her with forced patience. "It's Loki! My name is Loki! And you also obey the Grandmaster, right? So we're in the same position here! We should work together!"]
[Valkyrie jerked her arm free from his grasp with a sharp, practiced motion. Her muscles moved with the efficiency of a trained warrior. Loki immediately tried to grab her again, his hand reaching out, unwilling to let this go.]
[What followed was a blur of motion. In a split second, the two sides exchanged several lightning-fast blows. Valkyrie blocked Loki's grab, he redirected with his other hand, she swept it aside, he attempted a strike, she deflected it. The exchange lasted perhaps two seconds and ended decisively with Valkyrie delivering a solid punch directly to Loki's head. The impact made an audible sound. Loki's head snapped to the side.]
["Hmph!" Valkyrie raised her eyebrows and looked at Loki with barely concealed disdain. Her expression clearly communicated: Is that all you've got?]
[Loki's hand went to his face for a moment, then his expression darkened. His pride was wounded. In one smooth motion, he drew his distinctive curved dagger from its concealment, the blade appearing in his hand as if by magic. He pointed it at Valkyrie threateningly and demanded: "Why did you help my brother and that green fool escape? What's your game?"]
[Valkyrie responded by pulling out her own weapon—a nasty-looking spike, serrated and designed for close combat brutality. "I didn't help anyone!" Her voice was flat, unyielding. "I don't help anyone. I look out for myself. That's it."]
[Seeing that she refused to tell the truth, that she was going to maintain this fiction, Loki attacked decisively. His dagger flashed forward in a precise strike aimed at her midsection. Valkyrie was not to be outdone. She immediately fought back, her spike meeting his blade. Both her hands gripped her weapon as she engaged him directly.]
[Another flurry of blows followed. Metal rang against metal. Loki moved with the practiced grace of Asgardian combat training, each strike calculated. Valkyrie fought with the brutal efficiency of someone who'd survived countless real battles. After several more exchanges, Loki managed to grab Valkyrie's arm during one of her strikes, his fingers closing around her wrist in an attempt to control her weapon.]
[In that moment, his grip accidentally caught the edge of her leather bracer and pulled it upward, revealing her forearm. There, partially hidden beneath the leather, was a distinctive rune symbol etched or tattooed into her skin. The mark was unmistakable—the ancient symbol of the Valkyrie, Odin's elite warriors.]
[Seeing this sign, this revelation, Loki's entire demeanor changed. His head turned sharply, and he looked at her with genuine surprise. His eyes widened. His voice carried actual shock rather than his usual calculated emotion.]
["Are you a Valkyrie?" The question came out almost reverently. The Valkyries were legend, myth, tragedy—not something you expected to encounter drunk in a Sakaar alley.]
[He twisted his arm in a swift, practiced motion and successfully removed the spike from Valkyrie's hand, disarming her with a combat technique. Then, still processing this revelation, he swung her own blade at her in a testing strike.]
[Valkyrie's combat instincts were sharp despite centuries of trying to drown them in alcohol. She quickly ducked low, her body moving with muscle memory. She twisted her torso to avoid the blow, the blade passing inches from her. Then she exploded upward, delivering a vicious left hook directly to Loki's face. The punch connected solidly with his jaw. Before he could recover, she grounded herself with a wider stance and delivered a powerful kick to his chest that sent him flying backward.]
[Loki hit the wall behind him hard, the impact driving the air from his lungs. He slid down and ended up sitting on the ground in an undignified heap. The two daggers in his hands—both his original and her spike—clattered to the ground beside him.]
[But Loki, ever the one to probe at wounds, couldn't leave it alone. He looked up at her from his position on the ground, his voice taking on that needling quality he was famous for.]
["I thought all the Valkyries had died tragically in a foreign land! Slaughtered! Cut down in their prime!" Each word was calculated to provoke. "Heroic deaths, very sad, everyone mourned! But I guess I was wrong! One survived!"]
[Hearing him mention the old story, hearing him speak so casually about the worst day of her life, something in Valkyrie snapped. Rage flooded through her, hot and immediate. She rushed over with frightening speed, her knee coming up to slam into his chest with tremendous force. Then she pinned him against the wall with her body weight and strength, her forearm across his throat. He couldn't move, couldn't escape. Her face was inches from his, her expression murderous.]
["Be careful what you say!" The words came out low, dangerous, each syllable a threat. Her eyes blazed with barely controlled fury.]
[But Loki, either incredibly brave or incredibly stupid, remained fearless. He met her gaze without flinching. His voice was soft but deliberately cruel, probing at the wound he'd discovered.]
["I'm so, so sorry! It must have been a horrible experience! Watching all your sisters die! Surviving when they didn't! Carrying that guilt for centuries!" Each word was designed to cut deeper. "Is that why you drink?"]
[After delivering this psychological attack, Loki suddenly reached up with one hand. Before Valkyrie could react, he placed his palm against her forehead. His fingers spread across her temple. Instantly, his Asgardian magic activated—the ability to access and manipulate memories. The unbearable memory that she'd spent centuries trying to suppress, trying to drown, trying to forget, came flooding back into her mind with the force of a tsunami.]
[The present faded away. Valkyrie's vision went white, then reformed into a scene from the distant past. The memory was vivid, sharp, more real than the present moment. Colors were brighter. Sounds were clearer. Everything had the hyperreal quality of trauma preserved perfectly in the mind.]
[The sky above Asgard was dark, roiling with unnatural storm clouds. A large formation of Valkyries—dozens of them, perhaps a hundred—rode their magnificent Pegasus mounts. The winged horses moved in perfect formation, their white and grey coats gleaming even in the dim light. Each Valkyrie wore the distinctive armor of their order—ornate, beautiful, functional. They carried swords and shields bearing Odin's mark. These were Asgard's most elite warriors, the finest soldiers in the Nine Realms.]
[They charged directly toward their target: Hela, the Goddess of Death. Odin's firstborn. The rightful heir to Asgard who had been imprisoned for millennia and had now broken free. She stood before them like a nightmare made flesh, clad in her distinctive dark armor with its crown of blade-like protrusions. Her expression was one of absolute confidence, bordering on boredom. To her, this wasn't a battle—it was an execution.]
[Hela raised her hands, and from thin air, she unleashed a massive barrage—hundreds upon hundreds of Night Sky Swords materializing and launching toward the approaching Valkyries. The blades moved with impossible speed, each one deadly, each one aimed with supernatural precision. They filled the air like a swarm of black insects, blotting out what little light remained.]
[Younger Valkyrie—the woman she had been before centuries of guilt and alcohol—rode at the front of the formation. She held her sword high, her face set with grim determination and absolute certainty in her purpose. She was magnificent, fearless, everything a hero should be. She rushed forward to meet Hela's attack head-on, her sword raised, ready to deflect or strike or die trying.]
[The contrast between the two forces was stark and terrible. Hela's expression was ferocious, almost gleeful—the look of a predator finally unleashed after long captivity. Her lips were pulled back in something between a smile and a snarl. Valkyrie's expression was deadly serious, focused, filled with righteous purpose. Light and dark. Order and chaos. Duty and destruction.]
[Under Hela's overwhelmingly powerful attack, the formation broke. The Valkyries began suffering heavy casualties immediately. The Night Sky Swords found their marks. Pegasus and rider alike were struck down, falling from the sky. Bodies tumbled. Screams echoed. The beautiful white wings of the Pegasus became streaked with crimson. The elite army that had never known defeat was being systematically destroyed.]
[Younger Valkyrie herself was struck—not fatally, but hard enough to unseat her. She fell from her Pegasus mount, tumbling through the air before hitting the ground hard. The impact should have broken bones, but Asgardian physiology kept her alive, kept her conscious. She rolled to her feet, dazed but determined.]
[Around her, the battle had devolved into chaos. Asgard's most elite army was being destroyed, cut to pieces by a single opponent. But the Valkyries—brave, loyal, trained never to surrender—still did not give up. They could have retreated. They could have fled. Instead, Valkyrie and her remaining sisters rallied. They rushed toward Hela on foot, their Pegasus mounts dead or scattered. They held their swords in determined hands. If they were going to die, they would die as warriors.]
[Hela seemed almost bored by their persistence. She conjured another Night Sky Sword—this one larger, more ornate, clearly meant for a killing blow. She drew her arm back and threw it with devastating force. The blade flew like a javelin, spinning slightly as it cut through the air.]
[Younger Valkyrie saw it coming. Her eyes widened in horror—not for herself, but because she knew she couldn't dodge it in time. Time seemed to slow. She could see every detail of the approaching blade. Death was coming, and there was nothing she could do.]
[Then her sister—one of her shield-sisters, whose name she'd never forget, whose face haunted every dream—rushed in from the side. Without hesitation, without a word, she threw herself bodily at Valkyrie. Her hands connected with Valkyrie's shoulders and shoved her down, pushed her out of the blade's path. The younger Valkyrie fell hard, her back hitting the blood-soaked ground. She looked up just in time to see the Night Sky Sword meant for her pierce through her sister's chest instead. The blade emerged from her back, dripping. Her sister's eyes went wide with shock and pain.]
[Younger Valkyrie stared at the sword of the night sky that had pierced through her sister's chest, at the life draining from her eyes, at the sacrifice that had been made. Her heart broke. Shattered. Something fundamental inside her died in that moment. The guilt was immediate, overwhelming, crushing. She should have died. Her sister should have lived. The wrongness of it was unbearable.]
[The scene shifted, time jumping forward. Bodies littered the ground—so many bodies, all her sisters, all the women she'd trained with and fought beside and loved. Younger Valkyrie lay among them, her armor dented and blood-stained. Her eyes were open but unfocused, dazed. She was the only one still breathing among so many dead. The survivor. The failure.]
[Then the memory released her, snapping back to the present like a rubber band.]
[Valkyrie stood in the Sakaar alley once more, but she was changed. Her eyes were haunted, filled with the fresh pain of reliving her greatest trauma. Her breathing was ragged. For a moment, she just stood there, paralyzed by the weight of what she'd just re-experienced.]
[But then her warrior instincts kicked in. Her training reasserted itself. Her body moved before her conscious mind caught up. She recovered her stance and delivered a vicious kick to Loki, who was approaching with a dagger still in hand, thinking she was still incapacitated by the memory. Her boot connected with his chest and sent him sprawling to the ground again. Then she was on him, riding on his torso, and her fists began raining down—punching him repeatedly with all the fury and pain and guilt of centuries finally finding an outlet.]
Back in the real world, Wanda shook her head with an expression of bewilderment and exasperation. "Loki, a wizard and master of magic, insists on using a dagger to compete in close combat with a Valkyrie! Sigh!" Her tone suggested this was the height of tactical stupidity. "Wouldn't it be better to just keep his distance and attack the enemy directly with magic like I do? Use your strengths! Stay at range! Why would you ever get into a fistfight with someone who's been training in hand-to-hand combat for thousands of years?"
Bucky glanced sideways at Captain America with barely suppressed amusement. "But he's got the upper hand in his fight with someone!" His voice carried just enough emphasis to make it clear exactly who he was referring to.
Captain America shrugged his shoulders with good-natured acceptance, acknowledging the hit. "Yeah, yeah. I know." He was indeed inferior to Loki in close combat skills based on what they'd seen on the screen. The footage had shown him being systematically beaten by the God of Mischief. It wasn't his finest showing, and he could admit that. "In my defense, he's had about a thousand years more practice than me. And magic. The magic is cheating."
"Whoa! There are so many beautiful young ladies! What a pity!" Pietro's voice carried genuine regret as he watched the tragic scene of the Valkyries' deaths play out on screen. He shook his head, his expression somber. "All that skill, all that courage, all that beauty—just gone. Wasted."
"Hela's power is not something they could ever deal with! This was just a waste of sacrifice!" Tony's voice was uncharacteristically serious, lacking his usual sarcasm. He remembered clearly the scene they'd witnessed earlier where Hela had slaughtered Asgard soldiers with contemptuous ease. "That same pattern, over and over! No matter how hard the Valkyries tried, no matter how skilled they were, they couldn't hurt Hela at all! Not even close! On the contrary, Hela could easily destroy a large number of soldiers with just a single move! It was a massacre, not a battle."
Fury spoke up from his position, his single eye focused on the screen. His voice carried the weight of a man who'd commanded soldiers and sent people into battles they might not return from. "This is exactly the reason for your existence! Why teams like yours matter!" He gestured around the room at the assembled heroes. "Ordinary soldiers, no matter how well-trained, no matter how brave, can't do any harm to enemies like her! They just die. You can't throw conventional forces at unconventional threats. You need enhanced individuals, powered people, heroes who can actually stand toe-to-toe with these monsters. That's the whole point."
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