Ben's consciousness snapped back into his own body, the familiar weight and warmth of the Primus lab a stark contrast to the infinite, silent expanse he had just left. He closed his eyes, his brow furrowed in concentration, and stood perfectly still, like a statue carved from wood.
Although the delegate—the formless, watchless version of himself—was the one who remained in Alien X's domain, the consciousness of clones created by Ditto's power remained linked. This meant that, at this very moment, Ben could still hear the incessant chatter of his other self debating cosmic law with Enara and Ouyana. It was a faint but persistent murmur at the back of his mind.
Am I going to develop schizophrenia if this goes on for too long? he wondered with a flicker of genuine concern.
He needed to create a mental barrier. Superman had to learn to tune out the cacophony of an entire planet; Ben's problem was just a more exclusive, high-stakes version of the same thing. He envisioned his mind as a solitary island, sealed off from the storm of cosmic debate. He pushed the arguing voices of Enara, Ouyana, and his own delegate-self away, picturing them receding across an impossible distance.
Instantly, the effect was tangible. The three voices, which had been a clear argument in his head, were now a faint, hazy hum, as if broadcast from billions of light-years away through a thick veil.
Ben let out a slow, steadying breath. One problem solved.
From its corner, Venom watched the human stand motionless, whispering to himself before suddenly relaxing. It huddled deeper into its containment unit, concluding that this strange being was, without a doubt, significantly more unhinged than even Deadpool. At least Deadpool's particular brand of insanity was consistent.
Ignoring the captive symbiote, Ben strode purposefully out of the laboratory. Locating the other Klyntar was important, but it was a distant second priority to the cataclysm hurtling toward Earth.
Ten minutes later, he was seated in the primary briefing room aboard the H.A.M.M.E.R. Helicarrier. Norman Osborn, looking as though he hadn't slept in days, sat at the head of the conference table. After listening to Ben's grim report, he pinched the bridge of his nose, his face a mask of exhaustion.
"Why so soon?" Norman's voice was strained.
Maria Hill, standing beside him with her arms crossed, echoed his sentiment with a sharp frown. "Our intel gave us a year. We were supposed to have a year."
They had all been operating under that assumption. But in the whirlwind of the past few months—Hydra's fall, the creation of H.A.M.M.E.R., the gang wars in the city—time had slipped away. Their preparations were nowhere near complete.
"Wakanda's initial vibranium shipment only just arrived," Agent Coulson added, his expression equally troubled. "The primary construction on the planetary defense array hasn't even broken ground."
"What's the status of the satellites?" Ben asked, cutting to the core of the issue.
The planetary defense network required four newly constructed satellites to function as anchor points for the energy shield. Since the satellites themselves didn't need vibranium plating, Ben had instructed H.A.M.M.E.R. to begin their construction months ago.
Norman sighed heavily. "Only two are complete."
Ben let out a soft curse, his fingers drumming an agitated rhythm on the polished tabletop. Two satellites couldn't even generate a single stable segment of the shield, let alone a planetary one.
"We have less than a week," Hill stated, her voice grimly pragmatic. "We can't just pull two state-of-the-art satellites out of thin air."
As she spoke, Ben looked up, a familiar glint of creative problem-solving in his eyes. "It's not entirely impossible."
Every head in the room swiveled to face him.
"H.A.M.M.E.R. inherited all of S.H.I.E.L.D.'s assets, correct?" Ben asked. "That includes their orbital satellite network?"
"Yes, we have access to the old S.H.I.E.L.D. grid," Hill confirmed. "What are you thinking?"
"If there's no time to build new ones, we'll have to modify the old ones," Ben declared. "Get Tony on the line. With his help, we can move faster."
In reality, Ben could use Upgrade to instantly merge with and reconfigure the satellites himself. However, a Galvanic Mechamorph could only alter a machine's fundamental structure; it couldn't transmute its materials. He couldn't turn the satellites' conventional alloys into something capable of channeling the Tesseract's immense energy. For that, he needed a rapid, high-tech refit—a job for a small, elite team. He was fast, but he couldn't do it alone.
Natasha Romanoff, who had been leaning against the wall, pushed herself upright with a weary sigh. "Looks like it's time for another Avengers reunion." She stretched, her voice laced with fatigue. "I've barely had a month to rest."
"Don't worry, Natasha. In a few years, you'll be pushing ninety," Ben quipped without looking at her. "You'll get a nice, long retirement then."
"I have no idea what you're talking about," she said flatly, ignoring the jab as she tapped her comm link, sending out the assembly signal to every active Avenger.
At this precise moment, however, "rest" was a foreign concept to the team. Peter, Matt Murdock, and a disguised Captain America were bogged down in Hell's Kitchen, fighting a seemingly endless war against the city's emboldened gangs. They were a formidable trio, but the criminal element was like a hydra; for every gang they dismantled, two more sprang up to take its place.
Matt and Steve were too deep in the fray to even notice the call. Only Peter, with the practiced multitasking of a seasoned hero, managed to answer his communicator mid-swing.
"Hey, what's up? Thwip! Rat-a-tat-tat!" The sound of machine-gun fire crackled through the speaker. "What? The Chitauri are coming? Like, now now? Okay, got it, I'll tell the others—Hold on, Cap, look out! GRENADE—!"
A deafening explosion was followed by a burst of static, and the line went dead.
Hill ended the call with a frustrated sigh. The last person on the list was Tony, who was, predictably, pulling an all-nighter in his workshop. When the call connected, a holographic projection of his head flickered to life above the table. He looked haggard, his hair a mess.
"What is it? I'm busy," he said impatiently, then his eyes caught sight of Ben. "For your information, I've already upgraded the armor schematics to the Mark 45. Got some real heavy-hitters planned, so don't think you can—"
He was still smarting from Ben's previous jibe about his lack of progress.
"And that idea you gave me, about the overarching command protocol? I've been thinking about it. A fully autonomous global defense AI. If you have some time, we could—"
"There is no time, Tony," Ben interrupted, his voice cutting through Tony's rambling. "Our trouble is here."
He quickly explained the situation. Tony's holographic face paled. "A week? You said we had a year! Where did Bambi get such garbage intel?" He glanced around the projection. "Speaking of which, where is he?"
"He's not here."
"Fine. Just get over here, all of you. I can't refit two orbital platforms by myself."
Ben ended the communication. The truth was, he had no idea where Loki was. After their brief encounter in the park, Ben hadn't spared him another thought.
In the windswept chill of Northern Europe, Loki stood alone on the edge of a towering cliff, staring out at the turbulent, grey sea. His mind was an even greater storm.
He was confused.
Ever since his last communication with the Chitauri Warlord, Loki had felt a profound wrongness settle over him. Something was fundamentally broken within his own memory. He could recall the hatred with perfect clarity—his hatred for Odin's favoritism, for Thor's effortless strength, for the Asgardian throne that would never be his. He remembered the sharp, bitter envy he felt when Ben Parker was crowned King of Sakaar.
The memories were his. The emotions felt like his. And yet… when he actually came to Earth and faced Ben and Thor, the remembered feelings didn't align with reality. He felt no true animosity toward Ben. On a level deeper than thought, his very soul seemed to accept the boy's authority. He hadn't worked for him on Sakaar out of a desire for revenge, but out of a genuine, baffling sense of recognition.
But why? The question tormented him. I am a god. How could I recognize a mortal as my king? Is there truly something different about him? He recalled Ben's words: When you no longer care about the qualifications, perhaps that is when you are truly qualified.
Was that it? The one who shunned the throne was granted it, while the one who craved it was denied.
"Your suspicion is not wrong."
A new voice slithered through his mind, not his own. At the same moment, a mass of slimy, green ooze seeped from beneath the skin of his forearm, coalescing into a distinct shape. A symbiote.
Last night, while fleeing the Chitauri fleet, the scattered Klyntar had separated, but none had forgotten their mission to find the Son of Odin.
Loki, sensing the alien presence, had investigated, assuming the invasion had begun early. Instead, he'd found the symbiotes crawling from their escape pod.
And then, he had been possessed. This one, a vibrant green, couldn't believe its luck—an Asgardian, right off the ship.
"My last host possessed a powerful psychic affinity," the symbiote's voice echoed in his thoughts. "I copied his abilities. I can feel it… your memories, your very mind, have been tampered with."
Loki remained silent, his gaze fixed on the churning waves.
"The power that did this is immense," the symbiote continued. "Perhaps I can help you break free. But I would need your permission to delve into the depths of your soul."
"Do not even think of it," Loki replied coldly.
The mind, the soul—these were the most sacred parts of a being. He would never grant an unknown parasite unrestricted access to his innermost self.
"I am allowing you to remain as a contingency, nothing more," Loki said, his voice hard as ice. Ordinarily, he would have vaporized the slimy creature for daring to latch onto his divine form. But he still didn't know who, or what, was controlling him. What being possessed the power to influence the mind of the greatest sorcerer in the Nine Realms? If that entity tried to assert its control again, this parasite might be the only weapon he had to fight back.
"No one will make Loki Odinson their puppet," he snarled. "No one will ever make me surrender!"
The symbiote's form seemed to tilt its head. "But your soul doesn't think so."
Loki fell silent.
Because he knew the creature was right. His soul had already acknowledged Ben Parker, the King of Sakaar.
Sensing his turmoil, the symbiote changed its approach. "Whatever the case, our goals align. As an Agent of the Cosmos, I must prevent the Chitauri from slaughtering the inhabitants of this planet. And you… you wish to break your chains and take revenge on those who would control you. We should cooperate."
It shifted on his arm. "The Chitauri are almost upon this world. We must find your brother, Thor, with all haste. Only he possesses the raw power to stand against their armies."
A bitter, sarcastic laugh escaped Loki's lips. "He cannot. The oaf can't even lift his own hammer anymore." He turned his back on the sea. "Besides, before I find him… I must first find myself."