The night stretched endlessly outside the hotel, pressing down with a silence that seemed too deliberate. Inside, the remnants of plaster and splintered wood still lay scattered across the floor. Lily stood amidst the wreckage, her wide eyes shifting from one broken corner to the next, as if searching for some safe place to rest. Her breathing was shallow, still unsteady, as though the very air refused to let her settle.
Freya walked beside her, her expression calm, almost unnervingly so. "Well, we can get a new room," she murmured, her tone suggesting simple practicality, though her gaze remained faintly alert.
Leaning against the fractured wall, Luther rested his power axe beside him. His eyes narrowed, scanning the broken doorway and the quiet streets beyond as though the shadows themselves might stir to life. "Let's get a single room this time," he said quietly, his voice measured and steady. "It's better if we stay together—at least until I figure out what that thing was."
He spoke while watching both Freya and Lily, that same detached calculation behind his eyes—the cold clarity that had kept them alive this long, even in lands not their own.
Far above, upon the shimmering span of the rainbow bridge, Heimdall stood unmoving. His golden eyes burned faintly as they swept across the Nine Realms, reaching deep into Midgard. There—among the fragile city lights—he saw her. The goddess standing at Luther's side, the girl clutching Mjolnir as if it belonged to her. The sight twisted unease even in him, for where such forces gathered, peril followed.
Heimdall did not hesitate. His golden eyes focused on Midgard, and with a steady breath, he spoke, his voice carrying across the realms as easily as thought itself.
"Sif. Volstagg. Fandral. Hogun. Thor is in danger. You must bring him home."
Sif froze mid-step, her hand tightening on her sword. The voice rang clear in her mind, undeniable. "Heimdall," she whispered.
Volstagg's eyes widened as the same message reached him. "If he is speaking directly with magic, then the situation must be serious."
Fandral twirled his blade, his grin fading into something sharper. "Then there's no time to waste."
Sif nodded once, determination hardening her expression. "Heimdall sees what we cannot. If he calls us, then we go."
Fandral tugged his cloak tighter about his shoulders. "At last—good news. Now we need not waste our breath begging Loki to show compassion."
The four Asgardians faded into the shadows, guided by Heimdall's signal, moving swiftly as whispers toward Midgard's fragile world.
Back in the hotel, Freya's sharp senses caught the faintest shiver in the night air. She tilted her head slightly, her voice low and distinctly irritated.
"That guy is watching us again."
Luther's gaze hardened as he swept the street. His voice dropped, flat and practical. "Then we'll need to figure out a way to blind that Peeping Tom." Already his mind ticked through measures, spells, and wards—solutions that would keep unseen eyes at bay.
From the newly claimed room, Lily's head popped out, hair mussed from tossing and turning. "Why are you standing outside?" she demanded, her voice pitched between suspicion and sleepy annoyance. "Don't tell me you're planning to sneak off on a date without me."
Luther turned, catching her narrowed gaze. "If I wanted to go out, I'd take you with me. At least then it would be like a family outing."
Freya's lips twitched, her amusement soft but dangerous. "I disagree. Better we leave her here. If we take her, we can't… do the adult things."
Lily's eyes widened, a flush creeping across her cheeks. She grumbled under her breath and stomped back inside. Moments later, she returned clutching Mjolnir, brandishing it with mock ferocity. "If you dare try going out alone with Luther, I'll crack your head with this hammer!"
Luther arched a brow, unimpressed. "You're forgetting something. The only reason you can even lift Mjolnir is that Freya allows it. If she withdrew her magic, you couldn't budge it an inch." He said while he stepped past her into the room, Freya silently followed at his side.
After confirming nothing strange lingered in the corners, all three of them finally settled and prepared to sleep.
Elsewhere, however, another restless soul fought against the night.
Thor sat in the dimly lit guest chamber, the walls bare save for a single cot pushed against one side. He sat hunched, shoulders heavy with the weight of exile. His pride burned, yet beneath it, grief coiled deep, refusing to ease.
Loki stood beside him, his illusion of sorrow masterfully woven. His voice was honeyed, words falling with calculated softness. "You cannot return, brother. Father is gone… and Mother cannot bear to face you. This is your exile. Accept it, for it is mercy."
Thor bowed his head, pain tightening in his chest, words stolen by the ache of loss.
Loki's eyes, unseen by Thor, gleamed sharp as knives. He turned, moving to the narrow window with the grace of a serpent. His mask slipped for only a heartbeat—grief twisting into calculation—when suddenly the world trembled.
A sound echoed faintly, distant yet unmistakable. The horizon split with radiant color as the Bifröst tore across the heavens. A column of prismatic light surged down toward Midgard, the bridge's song echoing through stone and sky alike.
Loki froze, his jaw tightening. Someone had crossed the line. The bridge had opened without his permission.
The flare dimmed, its brilliance vanishing into the night. Yet the aftershocks lingered, a rainbow echo across the horizon. Loki's heart chilled. He could already guess Thor's friends had come. His lies would unravel, and his fragile throne would slip like sand through his fingers.
With one last glance at Thor, whose eyes were already closed in silence, Loki vanished in a whisper of magic. Moments later, he reappeared in Asgard's empty halls, his arrival seamless and unseen.
His steps echoed faintly as he paced the silent corridors. Odin lay trapped in deep sleep. Asgard itself teetered between unease and blind loyalty. If Thor returned with his allies, Loki's grasp on the throne would collapse. Unless… he ended them first.
He passed guards who could not see him, their gazes sliding past as his magic cloaked him. The weapon vault loomed ahead, its runes pulsing faintly.
Within, the Destroyer lay dormant, its armored frame sprawled across the chamber floor like a titan at rest. Slowly, molten light stirred in its chest. Its faceless head lifted, runes glowing with eerie fire.
Loki's lips curled as he watched the ancient guardian awaken. "It's time for war," he whispered, voice sharp with both dread and hunger. "Let them feel the might of Asgard—and remember who holds its throne."
The shadows bent around him as he retreated, his words lingering like venom. Behind him, the Destroyer's eyes ignited, cold flames burning in silence. Awaiting orders. Awaiting slaughter.
The night outside lay still, ignorant of what approached. Thor's friends, already racing toward Midgard, and Luther's companions, resting, remained blind to the terror now set in motion. Soon, their paths would cross in fire.
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