In the movie, when Loki finally saw the Infinity Stones he had long coveted, they were reduced to mere trinkets—junk used as paperweights in the Time Variance Authority (TVA).
At that moment, Loki was shaken to his core. Disillusioned, he returned to the archives using a time repeater device.
Inside the archives, light and shadow danced across the room. Each beam seemed to carry the weight of countless histories. Loki inhaled deeply and activated the projector. The images flickering across the screen turned like a wheel of fate, drawing him into scene after scene—each more familiar and painful than the last.
Then the image froze on the moment Queen Frigga, his mother, was murdered by the Dark Elves—an indirect consequence of his own actions. Loki's expression crumbled.
Tears welled up, tracing silent paths down his cheeks and landing with a soft plink on the cold metal floor. The sound echoed, like grief whispering from the depths of his soul.
Even though he hadn't made that mistake in his own timeline, the pain was real. Watching her die—because of him—pierced deeper than any blade.
Thor, seated in the private theater, leapt to his feet. "Impossible! This can't be true. This is bullshit—it's fake!" he shouted.
In his world, this version of the future had never occurred. He refused to believe his brother caused their mother's death.
Thor turned to Fat Thor, hoping for some contradiction, some reassurance.
But the Thor from Hell's Kitchen—the one who had lived through it—was already weeping. Regret clung to him like a shadow. He'd never realized the butterfly effect of his decisions: bringing Jane to Asgard, failing to keep Loki in check, not being there when he promised.
Every "what if" stabbed at his conscience. If he'd acted differently, if he'd protected his mother instead—
Both of them were responsible.
But Loki was dead.
And Thor—this Thor—was left to carry the guilt alone.
Strong Thor looked at his counterpart—his tear-streaked face a mirror of loss. Even someone like him, brash and simple, could see the undeniable truth.
And somewhere deep inside, he began to understand: the Loki in that projection might very well be his Loki.
"What the hell is this Time Authority?" he growled. "What is the so-called sacred timeline? What do they mean by 'events that must happen'? My mother must die?!"
He turned toward Alex Ray. "You know where this Time Variance Authority is, don't you?"
Thor's voice was full of disbelief. The idea that his mother's death was necessary—written into reality by some cosmic bureaucracy—was intolerable.
And he wasn't alone.
Tony Stark, Stephen Strange—none of them could accept the idea that their lives had been predetermined.
But none of them said it out loud.
Old Tony stared at the screen, a chill running down his spine. "If Queen Frigga's death was part of the 'correct' timeline," he murmured, "then what about my parents? Were they fated to die too? Is everything I've suffered... inevitable?"
He clenched his fists. "Why is the Tony in another universe so different from me? What's going on here?"
The questions gnawed at him. Gone was the sarcastic genius—left behind was a man unraveling his own existence.
"Both of you, sit down and shut up."
Alex Ray's voice cut through the rising tension like a knife. "If you keep yelling, I'll stop the movie. Learn some damn manners. Don't interrupt other people while they're watching."
He wasn't bluffing.
Alex had been fully engrossed in the screening. Back in his original life, he never had the chance to finish the Loki series—region locks and paywalls always got in the way. All he'd seen were bits and pieces from short clips online.
Now that he was finally watching it in full, he didn't want to miss a second.
The two Thors, chastised, sank back into their seats.
Finally.
Back on-screen, Loki continued reviewing his file.
"I love you, my sons."
"Remember this place."
"Home."
Odin's final words cut through Loki like a blade—only this one brought warmth, not pain. He had never imagined that his father, who always seemed cold and harsh, would express such love.
The word "home" broke him.
It was a light in the darkness, a sunbeam slicing through a storm. In that instant, Loki realized: no matter how far he ran, how twisted his path became, his longing for home had never left him.
Tears rolled freely now.
He watched Thor—his brother, his rival, his friend—stand for him in a moment of pure loyalty.
And then came the final blow.
Loki saw himself trying to kill Thanos to protect Thor—his final act of defiance, his last flicker of redemption. And then... death.
Thanos' fingers closing around his neck, crushing the breath from him.
The fear, the helplessness—it was too real. Loki could feel it.
Then, everything went still.
And Loki laughed.
It was not a laugh of amusement, but a bitter echo—a mocking symphony of irony and fate.
He laughed at the absurdity of his life, the futility of his schemes, the tragic comedy of his fate.
But there was pride too.
Pride that he had tried.
Pride that he had stood beside Thor at the end.
Pride that he was more than a pawn.
More than a villain.
Just Loki.
In the real-world theater, both Thors wept silently. Strong Thor—despite never living through this version—felt a deep, aching respect for the Loki on-screen.
He hadn't been so bad after all.
And the film wasn't over yet.
Illuminati.
"It feels like we haven't seen the Lord of Hell since the war ended," Susan Storm said thoughtfully.
"They're planning something. I'm sure of it," Mr. Fantastic said grimly. "This last battle exposed too many of our weaknesses."
"Can we even handle the Lord of Hell?" Black Bolt asked. His voice was low, but the weight behind it was undeniable.
"We need strength. We need serious power," added Black Panther, who had recently joined the Illuminati.
Suddenly, a figure in a black hooded cloak appeared at the center of their meeting table.
A dwarf—mysterious and silent.
Instantly, every member of the Illuminati went on high alert.
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