Loki's psychological defenses finally shattered completely.
The accumulated humiliations—first being brutally beaten by an unknown monster, then having his most prized artifact casually stolen by another monster—had pushed the God of Mischief beyond his breaking point. In his entire existence, spanning centuries of subtle slights and perceived injustices within Asgard's golden halls, nothing had compared to the raw degradation he'd suffered in this backwater realm over the course of mere hours.
If he'd known that both encounters involved the same opponent, his rage might have burned hot enough to ignite stars.
"Enough!" Loki's voice cracked with fury as his mind reached out across the battlefield toward the Destroyer's dormant form. "I will not suffer another moment of this indignity!"
The weapon responded to his call with mechanical precision, its armored plates sliding open like the petals of some metallic flower. But instead of simply reactivating the construct for remote operation, Loki made a decision born of desperation and wounded pride.
He would pilot the Destroyer personally.
The armor flowed around him like liquid metal, adapting its massive frame to accommodate his more modest stature. As the transformation progressed, the featureless helmet reshaped itself into a form more suited to its new occupant—sharp horns rising like a crown, angular features that spoke of godly authority mixed with barely contained malice.
When the process completed, Loki's face remained visible through the armor's faceplate, his expression a mixture of righteous fury and bitter vindication. For the first time since this nightmare began, he felt truly powerful again.
The Destroyer's energy core blazed to life, fed directly by Loki's godly essence rather than distant projections of power. Temperatures that had plummeted to arctic extremes thanks to the Casket's influence now soared in the opposite direction, climbing hundreds of degrees in seconds as the armor's internal furnace reached full combustion.
From his position, Thor recognized the terrible significance of what his brother was attempting. Direct control of the Destroyer required enormous expenditures of life force—more than most beings could sustain for extended periods.
"Loki, stop!" Thor called out desperately, his voice hoarse from the superheated air. "The Destroyer will consume you! No one can maintain that connection for long!"
But his concern only served to inflame Loki's resentment further. Even now, after everything that had transpired, Thor continued to view him as someone who needed protection rather than an equal worthy of respect.
"You think I'm weak?" Loki's voice resonated from the armor's speakers with metallic undertones. "You believe I can only succeed by hiding in your shadow, applauding while others sing your praises?"
The accusation carried decades of suppressed jealousy and resentment. Every tournament where Thor had claimed victory, every feast where warriors had raised their cups to the golden prince's health, every moment when Loki had been treated as the spare rather than an heir in his own right—all of it poured out in a torrent of bitter emotion.
"No, brother, that's not—" Thor tried to interject, but his words were lost as he struggled against the Destroyer's oppressive heat aura.
He pushed forward anyway, his mortal flesh burning with each step. Without his godly protection, the temperatures being generated by the armor were lethal to his human physiology. His golden hair began to singe and curl, filling the air with the acrid scent of charred protein, but still he pressed onward.
That misguided display of brotherly concern proved to be the final insult Loki could tolerate.
"I don't need your pity," Loki snarled, raising one armored hand to cast a spell that sent Thor tumbling away from the worst of the heat. The gesture appeared violent but was carefully calculated to remove his brother from immediate danger—a contradiction that spoke to the complexity of his feelings.
As the Destroyer's faceplate sealed shut, cutting off Loki's expression from view, his voice took on a tone of absolute authority. "I am the King of Asgard now. Kings require no sympathy from fallen princes."
Without further warning, the Destroyer's chest cavity blazed with contained starfire before erupting in a beam of pure destruction aimed directly at Ben's crystalline form.
Ben barely had time to cross his arms and generate a crude crystal barrier before the attack struck. The impact was like being hit by a collapsing mountain—raw force that sent shockwaves rippling through the ground and knocked every other combatant flat.
"Diamondhead!" Steve shouted from where he'd been thrown, genuine concern evident in his voice. Despite SHIELD's uncertain relationship with the Plumbers, it had repeatedly proven himself an ally when it mattered most.
As the energy discharge faded, leaving only smoking craters and scattered debris, Loki's satisfaction was palpable. "No mortal can withstand the Destroyer's full power," he declared with cold certainty.
But his triumph was short-lived.
"Premature celebration is a bad habit," Ben's voice emerged from the pile of shattered crystal fragments, completely unperturbed by his apparent destruction.
Before Loki's disbelieving eyes, the scattered pieces began to move with purposeful intent. Individual fragments flowed together like liquid mercury, rebuilding Ben's form from the molecular level upward. Within moments, he stood whole and unmarked, not even a scratch marring his emerald surface.
"Molecular reconstruction," Fandral murmured to his companions, recognition dawning in his voice. "He's similar to the Kronan, but far more sophisticated."
"And significantly more attractive," Sif added with dry humor, though her grip on her sword remained firm.
Ben flexed his newly reformed limbs experimentally, testing each joint and articulation point. The Destroyer's attack had been devastating by most standards, but his silicon-based physiology operated according to different rules than organic life. Unless someone possessed enough power to annihilate every molecule simultaneously—planetary-level destruction—he could always rebuild.
"Alright, everyone," Ben called out, his golden eyes gleaming with anticipation. "Talking time is over. Let's take this overconfident tin can apart!"
His arms transformed as he spoke, crystalline flesh reshaping itself into razor-sharp blades that caught and refracted the desert sunlight. Without hesitation, he launched himself at the Destroyer, his weapons striking the armor with enough force to stagger even its massive frame.
The blow failed to penetrate the Destroyer's defenses, but it served its intended purpose—drawing Loki's attention and providing an opening for the others to join the assault.
The Asgardian warriors moved with practiced coordination honed through centuries of combat. Volstagg, Fandral, and Hogun attacked from multiple angles, their enchanted weapons ringing against the Destroyer's armor in a complex rhythm. Meanwhile, Sif used her superior agility to circle behind their opponent, seeking weak points in the construct's defenses.
Steve added his own contribution to the coordinated assault, Mjolnir crackling with godly lightning as he brought the hammer down upon the Destroyer's head. Each strike sent thunderous echoes across the desert, accompanied by brilliant flashes that temporarily turned the landscape into a photographer's negative.
Together, their combined assault created an overwhelming tactical situation that prevented Loki from mounting an effective counterattack. The Destroyer's massive frame, designed for siege warfare rather than close combat, proved unwieldy when surrounded by swift, coordinated opponents.
But while their attacks kept Loki suppressed, they failed to inflict meaningful damage. The Destroyer's armor had been forged to withstand the weapons of gods, and even their enhanced abilities couldn't breach its defenses. Worse, Loki's direct control meant that when he did manage to launch a counterattack, the destruction beam possessed enough raw power to vaporize anyone it struck directly.
Only Ben's unique physiology allowed him to tank such attacks without permanent harm, making him the lynchpin of their entire strategy.
Yet despite his apparent focus on the battle, Ben's mind was already working on longer-term objectives. Defeating Loki and claiming the Destroyer was only the first phase of a much more ambitious plan.
His true target lay far beyond Earth's solar system, in a realm known throughout the cosmos as the universe's ultimate junkyard. Sakaar—a planet where dimensional barriers wore thin, creating natural portals that deposited refugees and debris from across known space. The planet's unique properties made it a treasure trove of genetic samples and technological artifacts, exactly what he needed to expand his transformation catalog and advance the Omnitrix capabilities.
The challenge lay in reaching Sakaar without owing favors to potential allies. While the Asgardians could theoretically provide transportation via the Rainbow Bridge, such assistance would come with political strings attached. They might demand the return of artifacts Ben had legitimately salvaged, or expect preferential treatment in future negotiations.
Far better to create circumstances that justified emergency intervention—a crisis severe enough that using the Rainbow Bridge became the only viable solution. Loki's current rampage provided the perfect pretext, assuming Ben played his cards correctly.
All he needed was to escalate the situation just enough to trigger Asgard's emergency protocols, then position himself to catch a ride when Heimdall opened the dimensional pathways.
With this goal in mind, Ben adjusted his strategy slightly. Instead of seeking quick victory, he began working to prolong the conflict, ensuring that the battle would grow spectacular enough to demand cosmic attention.
Loki, unwittingly, was about to become the key to unlocking Ben's next major adventure.
Sometimes the best plans were the ones where your opponents helped you succeed without ever realizing they were being manipulated.
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