Ben held no particular animosity toward Asgardians as a people, but their casual arrogance grated against his sense of justice. Hogun's dismissive comments about Midgardian capabilities were a perfect example of the entitled mindset that made space politics so unnecessarily complicated.
Without ceremony, Ben reached down and grasped Thor's unconscious form by the shoulders, lifting the fallen prince with casual ease. The sight of their prince being handled like a sack of grain sent the four Asgardians into immediate action.
"Thor!" Sif's voice carried genuine anguish as she quickly but gently took her friend from Ben's grip, cradling the prince against her armored chest. Her fingers traced the cuts and bruises that marked his face.
After several tense moments, Thor's eyelids fluttered open, revealing blue eyes clouded with confusion and pain. His gaze moved slowly across the familiar faces surrounding him, as if trying to determine whether this was reality or merely another cruel dream.
"Sif... my friends..." His voice emerged as little more than a whisper. "Why have you come to this place?"
"We're here to bring you home," Sif replied softly, her composure cracking to reveal the depth of her concern. "To end this madness before it goes any further."
But Thor shook his head with evident pain, both physical and emotional. The movement seemed to cost him tremendous effort, as if the weight of his failures had become a physical burden pressing down upon his shoulders.
"I cannot return," he said, each word carefully measured to prevent his voice from breaking entirely. "Father is dead because of my actions. I am a kinslayer, a failure who brought doom upon his own family. How could I face Mother knowing what I've done?"
The four warriors exchanged glances, recognition dawning in their eyes. They'd seen this before—Loki's silver tongue weaving webs of deception so skillfully that even those who should know better fell prey to his lies.
Before they could correct his misconceptions, Thor continued with growing resolve. "But even if I cannot go home, I must still try to stop Loki. Whatever he's planning for Midgard, it's wrong."
His face had hardened with newfound determination, as if the conversation was forcing him to confront truths he'd been avoiding. In the space of minutes, centuries of development seemed to accelerate, harsh reality accomplishing what fifteen hundred years of privileged existence had failed to achieve.
"I understand now," Thor said, his voice gaining strength. "My actions in Jotunheim... my pride, my need to prove myself through violence... it cost Father his life. Now Loki seeks to repeat that same pattern with this realm. I won't allow it."
Tears gathered in his eyes, but his jaw was set with determination that hadn't been there before.
"What are you talking about?" Volstagg interjected, his demeanor replaced by urgent concern. "The All-Father lives, Thor! He sleeps deeply, but he breathes still!"
Thor's head snapped up, hope and disbelief warring across his features. "What?"
The revelation prompted a flood of explanations. The four warriors quickly outlined recent events in Asgard—Odin's slumber, Loki's assumption of temporary authority, his suspicious behavior and frequent visits to the vault. Most concerning of all were his secretive journeys to Jotunheim, trips that suggested alliances no true son of Asgard would ever consider.
"Heimdall suspects he conspires with the Frost Giants," Hogun concluded grimly. "We must return immediately and stop whatever treachery he's planned."
"Impossible," Thor protested, though his voice carried less conviction than before. "Loki would never... he may be ambitious, but he wouldn't betray Asgard itself."
Ben had listened to this exchange with growing impatience. Time was a luxury they couldn't afford, not with the Destroyer still active.
"You still don't understand, do you?" Ben interjected, his Diamondhead form refracting light in sharp, attention-grabbing patterns. "Loki's goal isn't to rule Asgard alongside Odin—it's to eliminate both of you permanently. Only then can he claim the throne without fear of challenge."
Thor's expression showed the first cracks in his faith, but Ben pressed his advantage. Having seen how these events played out, he knew exactly which fears to exploit.
"Even now," Ben continued relentlessly, "Frost Giant armies may be pouring through Asgard's gates. While you waste time here, your people could be dying by the thousands."
The effect was immediate and dramatic. Thor's face went pale while his friend erupted in angry exclamations.
"That treacherous snake!" Volstagg roared, his usual good humor completely absent. "I knew there was something wrong with his recent behavior!"
"We have to go back," Fandral declared, already calculating travel times and tactical options. "Every moment we delay gives him more time to consolidate power."
But their planning ground to a halt when Thor spoke again, his voice heavy with self-recrimination. "What use would I be? Without my powers, I'm worse than useless—I'd only endanger you all."
His gaze drifted toward the distant battlefield where flashes of light marked Captain America's ongoing duel with the Destroyer. The sight seemed to reinforce his sense of inadequacy, reminding him of everything he'd lost through his own foolish pride.
That was when the sky split open with rainbow fire.
The Bifrost's arrival was impossible to miss—a pillar of multicolored energy that carved through dimensions to touch down mere hundreds of meters from the ongoing battle.
When the energy discharge struck the battlefield, both combatants were sent tumbling across the desert sand. Captain America rolled with practiced grace, coming up in a defensive crouch with Mjolnir crackling in his grip. The Destroyer, being essentially a suit of enchanted armor, simply bounced several times before righting itself with mechanical precision.
From the heart of the rainbow light, a familiar figure emerged with theatrical flair. Loki stepped onto Midgardian soil as if he owned it, his regal bearing intact despite the increasingly desperate nature of his situation.
"The Rainbow Bridge," Thor breathed, his voice mixing wonder with growing dread. "But only the king can command Heimdall to..."
"Or someone wearing the king's authority," Sif finished grimly. "Loki must have seized full control."
Ben studied the new arrival with sharp interest. In the movie he remembered, Loki had remained in Asgard throughout this crisis, content to operate through remote manipulation. His personal arrival suggested that events were diverging—possibly due to his own interference.
"This is unexpected," Ben mused aloud. "He should be busy managing his Frost Giant alliance, not playing war games on Earth."
But as he watched Loki's confident stride, Ben began to understand. The God of Mischief had adapted his plans in response to the Destroyer's poor performance. Rather than risk further humiliation at the hands of a mortal wielder of Mjolnir, he'd decided to handle matters personally.
Loki paused in his approach, hands weaving through complex gestures that made the air itself shimmer with arcane energy. When his movements ceased, a cube of distinctive blue-white light materialized between his palms—the Casket of Ancient Winters, a artifact of terrible power that had once threatened to plunge the Nine Realms into eternal ice.
"So," Ben said quietly, "he's decided to stop playing games."
The Casket represented Frost Giant technology at its most refined, a weapon capable of flash-freezing entire continents. In the hands of someone with frost giant blood flowing through his veins, its potential was nearly limitless. More importantly for Loki's purposes, it was a tool specifically designed to complement his natural abilities rather than fighting against them.
Loki's gaze swept the battlefield until it found Captain America, who was struggling to his feet after the Rainbow Bridge's violent arrival. A cold smile played across the God of Mischief's lips as he contemplated the approaching confrontation.
"Midgardian," Loki called out, his voice carrying clearly across the desert wind. "You fight well for a primitive. But where is your four-armed companion? Has the beast already fled when faced with true power?"
The taunt was barely complete when Ben's response arrived in the form of a diamond projectile that struck Loki's face with the force of a cannon shell. The God of Mischief staggered backward, dark fluid leaking from cuts along his cheek and temple.
Ben landed hard from his high-speed approach, crouching as the impact sent a shockwave through the ground. His alien form loomed over the fallen prince, towering and radiant—emerald crystal facets catching the desert sunlight and scattering it in sharp, shifting patterns that were almost painful to look at.
"You talk too much," Ben observed with casual disdain, "bastard of Jotunheim."
Captain America looked between the two threats, his breathing labored but his grip on Mjolnir steady. The hammer's power sustained him, but even godly endurance had limits when pushed beyond reasonable boundaries.