Loki's eyes fluttered open to reveal rough stone walls and the acrid smell of sulfur.
He was still trapped on this garbage-strewn planet, still far from home, still bearing the physical and emotional scars of his time as the Red King's entertainment.
The memory of his supposed death in the arena came flooding back—the carefully orchestrated illusion that had allowed him to escape while everyone believed him to be another casualty of the Red King's bloodthirsty spectacles. Ben had made it possible, removing the neural inhibitor and him using illusion to make other still saw he still had it.
After fleeing the arena, Loki had pushed himself to the breaking point, desperate to put as much distance as possible between himself and the arena. He'd finally collapsed somewhere in the wasteland, his body overwhelmed by exhaustion and untreated injuries. The chains were gone, but the wounds that had pierced flesh and bone would take much longer to heal.
A silver-skinned humanoid entered the cave carrying what appeared to be water, though the liquid's murky appearance suggested it barely qualified for the name. When the alien noticed Loki was awake, he set down his burden and carefully stepped back.
Loki immediately tensed, his hand moving instinctively toward where a dagger would normally rest. Old habits from a lifetime of palace intrigue died hard.
Seeing his reaction, the alien raised both hands in a gesture of peace. "Easy there, Your Highness. If we meant you harm, we would have dragged you back to the arena while you were unconscious. The great Red King doesn't even know his prize prisoner escaped death." The words dripped with sarcasm, making it clear that this stranger held no love for Sakaar's self-appointed ruler.
The comment triggered a memory of Ben's words.
"That red King is so arrogant he can't see past his own nose," Ben had said. "Do you really think the people of this planet are content to live under his boot? Loki, you're the only one who can leave the arena now. You're also the only one who can unite the resistance forces."
"And why would you trust me to do that?" Loki had asked, genuinely curious about the young man's motivations.
"Because you could run away like a beaten dog if you wanted to. But that would mean the Red King never pays for enslaving a prince of Asgard. Or maybe you'd prefer to crawl home to your mother? Let Odin and Thor see exactly how thoroughly you've been broken?"
The words had stung because they carried a grain of truth. But then Ben's tone had shifted, becoming almost conspiratorial.
"This is your chance to prove yourself, Loki. If you can become the true king of Sakaar, who could ever question your right to rule Asgard?"
The memory faded as the alien placed the murky water within reach. Loki looked down at the offering with undisguised disgust—it resembled muddy soup more than anything fit for consumption. Compared to this, even the arena's slop had been palatable.
"This is all we have," the alien explained, noting Loki's expression. "The Red King hoards every resource on this planet. Everything flows to the capital while the rest of us fight over scraps. Some of the scavenger tribes have been reduced to eating alien corpses just to survive."
Loki remained silent for a long moment, his cracked lips a testament to his desperate thirst. Then, unexpectedly, he began to laugh—a sound that held more genuine amusement than anything he'd felt in months.
"It seems you're in desperate need of a truly wise ruler," he said, his natural charisma reasserting itself even in these dire circumstances.
"If you're willing to help us, we'd be honored by your assistance," the alien replied carefully. "I know you're a prince of Asgard and have every reason to hate the Red King. I can take you to meet the leader of our resistance movement."
He paused, and something almost religious flickered across his features. "But you should know—we're not looking for a new king from offworld. We're waiting for someone else. The true Son of Sakaar."
Meanwhile, in the gladiator holding cells beneath the arena, Beta Ray Bill worked the stiffness from his muscles. Several days of rest had done wonders for his recovery, though he knew the respite was temporary. Soon enough, he'd be thrown back into the fighting pit to bleed for the crowd's entertainment.
As he moved through his exercises, he couldn't help but overhear the other prisoners discussing the events of the previous week.
"He almost had her," one fighter was saying, his voice filled with a mixture of awe and frustration. "If the Red King hadn't interfered, he would have been the first person to defeat the Red Wind Queen in single combat."
"What's the point of talking about it?" another replied bitterly. "We all know how this game works. The Red King doesn't allow anyone to upset his carefully arranged theater."
"Damn implant," a third voice muttered. "If it weren't for it..."
The conversation died abruptly as guards approached, but Bill had heard enough. He opened his palm to reveal a small device no larger than a communicator—an elegant piece of technology that Ben had somehow acquired and modified for their purposes.
According to the plan Ben had outlined in careful whispers, this device could jam the control signals, but only if placed at the highest possible point. The summit of the totem tower would provide coverage for the entire capital, effectively freeing every enslaved fighter and worker simultaneously.
Bill's mission was to infiltrate the tower during Ben's second match, when attention would be focused elsewhere. Originally, the task should have fallen to Looma—she had the necessary strength and agility—but everyone agreed that the Red King would be watching her closely during the fight, suspicious of any attempt to interfere with his plans.
That left Bill, whose power was well-established but whose loyalty was still considered questionable by the Red King's forces. Meanwhile, Brunhilde would be rallying the scavenger tribes scattered throughout the wasteland, adding their numbers to the growing rebellion.
If everything went according to plan, they would have two elite warriors in Ben and Looma, the freed gladiators led by Bill, the resistance forces Loki was gathering, and countless desperate scavengers ready to fight for a chance at a better life.
Combined, these groups could wage war on a planetary scale.
The week had passed quietly, with each faction making their preparations in secret. Now the moment of truth had arrived.
The second match was unlike anything the arena had previously hosted. Instead of the familiar confines of the gladiatorial pit, the Red King had chosen a location that struck fear into even the most hardened warriors: the Great Maw.
From the rim, the massive crater resembled a colossal mine, its spiral pathways winding down into what appeared to be the very depths of hell. At the bottom, visible even from this height, molten rock bubbled and churned like a lake of liquid fire. The heat rising from the depths was so intense that Ben could feel it against his skin even through his protective gear.
Above him, camera-equipped aircraft hovered like mechanical vultures, broadcasting the trial to every screen across Sakaar. Since the battlefield was located far from the capital, live coverage was the only way for the population to witness what the Red King undoubtedly expected to be a spectacular execution.
Back in thecapital, the Red King sat upon his throne in full battle array. Golden exoskeleton armor covered his body from head to toe.The power source alone could have supplied a small city, while the weapons systems were capable of leveling city blocks.
The Red King was many things, but careless wasn't one of them. With Caiera and the Death's Head Warguards deployed to eliminate Ben, he had recalled every available soldier to protect himself. The entire royal guard now surrounded the totem tower, while exotic weapons remained on standby for any conceivable threat.
He had fortified himself like a turtle in its shell, which explained why warriors like Looma held him in such contempt. But the Red King no longer cared about maintaining the pretense of honor or fair play.
Originally, he'd attempted to court Looma's favor through displays of wealth and power, knowing that taking her by force would be costly and dangerous. But her public defiance during the last match had shattered any remaining patience he possessed.
Once Ben was dead, he would immediately recall his forces and move against Looma. No more games, no more attempts at diplomacy. She would become his slave, whether she wanted to or not.
"Any unusual activity from our 'guest'?" he asked, his tone making it clear that Looma's status had changed dramatically.
A guard stepped forward, maintaining the respectful posture that the Red King demanded. "Princess Looma has remained in the training facilities, apparently preparing for what she believes will her rematch."
"How unfortunate," the Red King replied with cold satisfaction. "There will never be a rematch. I want everyone on this planet to see what happens to slaves who dare to defy me."
At the Great Maw, Caiera stood with the assembled Death's Head Warguards, her expression unreadable behind her ceremonial mask. Each of the elite soldiers wore exoskeleton armor similar to the Red King's, though their models were older and less sophisticated. Still, any one of them could have conquered a small settlement single-handedly.
Caiera's feelings about the mission were complicated. On one hand, she found the Red King's methods distasteful—deploying an entire army to eliminate a single fighter seemed like massive overkill. On the other hand, the implant embedded in her spine made disobedience literally impossible.
For now, she would wait. The creature dwelling in this place was legendary for good reason—even someone with Ben's demonstrated power might not survive the encounter. If the monster did the job for them, the whole exercise would be basic.
But if Ben somehow managed to defeat it, that would be the moment to strike, when exhaustion and injury had left him vulnerable.
She approached Ben's position at the crater's edge, her movement fluid and predatory despite the heavy armor she wore. Even accounting for her alien heritage, Caiera possessed an undeniably impressive physique, though Ben found himself unmoved by the display.
"This is the Great Maw," she said, gesturing toward the fiery depths. "Your trial is simple: defeat the creature that dwells within, and you advance to the final challenge."
Ben peered into the lava, and immediately sensed that something massive was stirring in response to his presence. The molten rock began to churn more violently, and a sound like distant thunder echoed from the depths.
"ROAAAAAR!"
The creature emerged like a living mountain, its body composed of molten rock and superheated metal. The Great Maw itself began to erupt in response to the beast's awakening, sending fountains of lava hundreds of feet into the air. The ambient temperature spiked instantly, rising past human tolerance levels and continuing to climb.
Even with his enhanced physiology, Ben could feel the heat searing his lungs with every breath. Yet Caiera, standing just meters away, appeared completely unaffected by the infernal conditions.
"Good luck, challanger," she said, her tone suggesting she didn't expect him to need it for long.
As she glided away to a safe observation distance, the volcanic eruption reached its full fury. Ash and superheated gas shot skyward like a missile launch, while rivers of molten rock began flowing down the crater's walls. Burning debris rained from above like a vision of apocalypse.
BOOM!
The eruption struck with the force of a civilization-ending catastrophe, a wall of fire and molten stone that seemed capable of reducing anything in its path to component atoms.
From her vantage point, Caiera watched the inferno swallow Ben completely and shook her head with something that might have been regret. Even she hadn't expected the Red King to go to such extremes—this wasn't an execution, it was the complete annihilation of everything within a mile radius.
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