Loki stood atop the highest structure like a conquering emperor, gazing down at Captain America and Coulson with the detached superiority of someone viewing insects beneath his boot.
Steve pressed his hand against his wounded side, feeling warm blood seep through his fingers. The blade had cut deep, but he'd endured far worse. Physical pain was something he could compartmentalize—it was the implications of this attack that concerned him more.
The moment Loki had materialized, Coulson had drawn his sidearm with practiced efficiency, keeping the weapon trained on the newcomer despite the obvious futility of the gesture.
"I am Loki..." the god began, then paused, a complex expression flickering across his sharp features.
He hesitated over his surname, wrestling with an identity crisis that cut to the very core of his being. The truth was still fresh and raw—the knowledge that he wasn't Odin's biological son at all, but rather the offspring of Laufey, King of the Frost Giants. By rights, his name should be Loki Laufeyson.
But admitting that would mean acknowledging his true heritage, and despite everything—the ostracism, the constant comparisons to Thor, the feeling of never quite belonging—Asgard had raised him. Asgard had shaped him. The glory and honor of the golden realm still resonated in his heart, even if it had never fully embraced him in return.
Thor and his warrior friends might be crude muscle-bound brutes who solved every problem with violence, but at least they were civilized brutes. The Frost Giants, by contrast, were little more than savage beasts. And these Midgardians? They were insects—barely worthy of notice.
"Mortals," Loki declared with regal authority, "when you stand before your monarch, why do you not kneel?"
The words hit Thor like a physical blow. His face, which had been bright with hope at seeing his brother, suddenly went slack. The joy in his eyes died as comprehension dawned.
"Wait... Loki, what do you mean by that?" Thor's voice carried a note of desperate confusion.
"I am now the King of Asgard, brother." Loki's gaze finally settled on Thor, his eyelids half-lowered in an expression of contemptuous pity. Despite the cruelty of his words, his voice remained soft—almost gentle, as if he were delivering tragic news with infinite compassion.
"That's impossible... you must be joking." Thor shook his head violently, then actually laughed—a sound filled with nostalgic affection.
He remembered their childhood, how Loki would spin elaborate deceptions just to see if he could fool his older brother. Then, when Thor had fallen for the trick completely, Loki would reveal the truth with that mischievous grin that meant 'gotcha!' It had been a game between them, harmless and playful.
This had to be another one of those moments.
"You're the God of Lies," Thor said, pointing at his brother with an almost fond expression, "but you can't fool me this time."
How could the All-Father possibly pass the throne to Loki? The very idea was absurd—the most shameless lie his brother had told in over a millennium.
But Thor's dismissal only fueled Loki's rage. His expression grew colder, twisted with a fury that had been building for centuries, though his voice remained deceptively calm.
"Why do you assume I'm deceiving you?" Loki asked with quiet intensity. "Do you believe you're Odin's only child? Do you think no one else could possibly inherit the throne?"
The questions left Thor speechless. Embarrassment crept across his features as he realized that yes, he had thought exactly that. Even in exile, even stripped of his power, he had never truly believed he would lose his birthright. The idea that Odin might choose Loki as his successor had simply never occurred to him.
That unconscious assumption—that casual certainty of his own superiority—was exactly what drove Loki to the edge of madness. The jealousy burned in his throat like acid.
"You think you're more qualified than me?" Loki stepped closer, ignoring Coulson and Steve entirely.
"Father died because of you." Each word was precisely delivered, designed for maximum impact. "Exiling you, the threat of war... he couldn't bear the strain. You caused all of this."
Originally, Loki had planned to maintain a facade of magnanimous tolerance in front of his brother. He'd wanted to appear gracious in victory, benevolent in his new authority. But he couldn't help himself—the satisfaction of watching Thor's face crumble was too delicious to resist.
"But Asgard cannot be without a king for even a day," Loki continued, savoring every moment. "Who else could it be but me?"
The devastation that washed over Thor's features was complete and absolute. Steve and Coulson exchanged glances, both recognizing the obvious signs of a conspiracy. Anyone with half a brain could see through Loki's claims—this reeked of a palace coup.
Coulson had already constructed a mental narrative: the ambitious younger prince had orchestrated his brother's downfall and possibly murdered his own father to claim the throne. It was a story as old as civilization itself.
Frankly, Coulson had no desire to get involved in Asgardian politics. He just wanted this unstable royal to leave Earth as quickly as possible.
But it was clear that Loki had other plans.
Having delivered his emotional devastation to Thor, Loki seemed to relax slightly, a vague smile playing at the corners of his mouth. Then his attention shifted to the real threat—the mortal who had dared to lift Mjolnir.
"Mortals of Midgard," Loki declared with imperial authority, "how dare you remain standing in the presence of your king?"
"Your posturing doesn't scare anyone," Steve replied firmly, his voice carrying the unwavering conviction that had inspired armies. "This country has never had a king, and we sure as hell won't kneel to someone like you."
"Ignorant fool!"
Loki's lips curled into a cruel smile. Without warning, he raised Gungnir, the Eternal Spear, and unleashed a devastating beam of pure energy.
Captain America quickly raised his shield, and Loki immediately sneered with anticipated satisfaction. As Odin's personal weapon, Gungnir possessed power beyond mortal comprehension. Even if Loki couldn't access its full potential, it should easily be enough to reduce this insignificant mortal and his primitive shield to atoms.
But instead of the expected disintegration, the energy beam struck the shield and simply... stopped. The vibranium absorbed and dispersed the godly energy harmlessly.
"How is this possible?" Loki stared in disbelief.
Steve didn't waste time on explanations. Fighting through the pain in his side, he twisted his torso and hurled his shield like a massive discus. Years of practice had made the motion as natural as breathing.
The counterattack caught Loki completely off guard. Seeing the shield racing toward him with lethal speed, he barely managed to swing Gungnir in a clumsy parry, knocking the projectile aside.
But the shield had been a feint—Steve's real attack was already in motion.
As someone who had mastered dozens of fighting styles and survived countless battles, Steve vastly outclassed Loki in pure combat skill. The Asgardian might be a powerful sorcerer and master manipulator, but in a straight fight, he was essentially an assassin pretending to be a warrior.
Steve's boot caught Loki square in the chest, sending the god stumbling backward. Before Loki could recover, Steve followed up with a combination of punches that left the Asgardian reeling.
In terms of raw physical damage, the assault barely scratched Loki's godly constitution. But the humiliation of being manhandled by a mortal was unbearable.
Loki's roar of fury shook the very air around them. Godly power erupted from his body like a supernatural hurricane, instantly collapsing the makeshift SHIELD facility. Support beams twisted, walls crumbled, and debris flew in every direction.
Thor, powerless and mortal, was caught in the maelstrom and sent tumbling across the ground. He ended up with a mouthful of sand and dust, completely unable to help.
With casual ease, Loki grabbed Steve by his uniform and hurled him through the air like a rag doll. The super-soldier flew hundreds of meters before crashing into the desert floor.
"Captain!" Coulson shouted, gripping a twisted piece of railing as he struggled against the supernatural windstorm.
He drew his sidearm and fired rapidly, but the bullets struck Loki's face harmlessly—they might as well have been thrown pebbles.
Still, the futile attack was enough to draw the god's attention.
"You truly irritate me, mortal," Loki snarled, murderous intent blazing in his eyes.
He raised his hand, and his magic lifted a nearby vehicle into the air. With a casual gesture, he sent the multi-ton projectile hurtling toward Coulson.
Coulson's training kicked in immediately—he curled into a protective position, trying to shield his vital organs. But he knew it was hopeless. No human could survive being crushed by a car moving at that speed.
The impact came with a thunderous crash directly above him.
But there was no pain. No crushing weight.
Coulson opened his eyes to find the mangled remains of the vehicle suspended above his head, held in place by massive red arms that looked like they could crush steel beams. Following those arms back, he saw a towering crimson figure looming protectively over him.
What made this newcomer truly unusual was the fact that he possessed four arms instead of the normal two.
Coulson's breath caught in his throat. His pulse hammered as he stared up at this unexpected savior.
Four Arm crumpled the car like waste paper and tossed it aside with casual ease. Coulson immediately recognized the symbol on his shoulder—the same mark worn by the fire-man hero who had fought monsters at Stark Tower just days earlier.
"Are you with the Plumbers?" Coulson asked breathlessly.
Ben nodded without hesitation. To avoid the awkwardness of being called "the guy with the four hands," he opted for a brief introduction.
"I'm one of the Plumbers," he said in a voice that rumbled like distant thunder. "Designation: Four Arms."
After speaking, he used his lower arms to gently push Coulson to safety, then turned his full attention to Loki.
Ben had successfully obtained some of Thor's gene during his ghostly reconnaissance, but Loki's power made such stealth approaches far riskier. So, he approaches using the Hulk strategy.
The moment his transformation completed, Ben knew exactly what needed to be done.
Loki, meanwhile, had no idea what was coming.
He studied this new arrival with the arrogance of someone who believed himself innately superior to all other life forms. After mentally cataloging every dangerous species he knew of in the universe and finding no match, he maintained his condescending expression.
"Another pest," Loki shook his head with mock disappointment, as if Ben's very existence was an insult to his intelligence.
He took a step forward, moving to within arm's reach—a decision he would immediately regret.
"I am a god, you foolish creature. Do you really think an animal like you could—"
Before Loki could finish his contemptuous speech, Ben's lower right arm shot out with lightning speed, grabbing the god's ankle in an unbreakable grip.
What followed could only be described as a demolition project.
Ben proceeded to slam Loki into the ground repeatedly, using Loki like a human-shaped sledgehammer. Left side, right side, overhead smash, repeat. Sand and debris exploded with each impact as Loki was introduced to the fundamental laws of physics in the most educational way possible.
After several seconds of this geological excavation project, Loki lay peacefully in a small crater, his eyes wide and glassy, with what might charitably be described as tears of enlightenment glistening at the corners.
Ben dusted off his hands with satisfaction, four arms making the gesture twice as emphatic as usual.
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