"I need you to draw their attention."
Barton took out his bow and tested the tension.
---
On the Helicarrier, most of the team had gone to rest. Only Coulson and Steve remained on duty.
Suddenly, a sharp alert sounded from one of the agents' computers.
"Sir, facial recognition has a match. The target has been identified at a museum in Germany."
Coulson immediately gestured, and the image was projected onto the main screen.
"It looks like he has no intention of hiding,"
Steve said, watching Loki on the screen, dressed in a tailored suit.
At that moment, Nick Fury entered the room and walked straight to the command platform.
"Captain, it's your turn to take the field."
Fury activated the communicator and briefed the situation.
Hearing the alert, everyone in the lounge quickly gathered in the command room. The final frozen frame on the screen showed Loki standing at the entrance of the museum.
"Tsk, tsk… this guy really has guts,"
Lucas said, still holding half a bag of snacks, paper slips stuck all over his face—clearly the aftermath of a game.
"You go ahead. I'm not going."
He tore the paper slips off his face and dropped into a chair.
"Why?"
Steve asked, puzzled.
"With you there, our odds are much better."
"I'm worried that if I show up, he'll just run,"
Lucas replied calmly.
"And I'm not wrong. He's seen what I can do—he watched me smash the Destroyer armor to pieces with a single blow. If he sees me again, he won't hesitate to flee."
Then Lucas looked at Fury.
"Besides, I'm worried Loki is pulling a feint. Barton is still under his mind control. But the footage only shows Loki alone. Where's Barton?"
Lucas's reminder hit the mark. The possibility of a diversion couldn't be ignored.
In the end, Fury decided that Steve would lead the mission, accompanied only by Natasha. Skye volunteered to go as well.
Lucas agreed. With her vibranium arm bracers, Skye could fully protect herself. It would also be a good chance for her to gain real combat experience.
---
Meanwhile, at a museum in Stuttgart, Germany…
A private gala was underway, attended by influential figures from various circles. The host was a bald man—and Loki's true target.
Dressed in a sharp suit, Loki descended the staircase slowly, scepter in hand. Soft violin music filled the hall as the elite mingled in small groups, completely unaware of his presence.
Soon, Loki spotted his target. The bald man was laughing and chatting animatedly with others.
Loki stepped forward, grabbed the man by the collar, and lifted him into the air with barely any effort before slamming him hard onto a nearby stone platform.
"Ah—!!"
The bald man screamed. Before anyone could react, Loki produced a device designed specifically to extract eyeballs and drove it mercilessly into the man's eye.
The intense burning sensation instantly shut down his brain. Under the laser's effect, the eyeball was destroyed in seconds.
At the same time, in a remote warehouse elsewhere, Barton was holding an identical device against a security scanner by a massive door. Bodies were scattered all around the warehouse.
The scanner registered the eyeball, and Barton used it to unlock the door. Inside lay the most critical material required to open the portal—iridium metal.
Back at the museum, Loki discarded the bald man's lifeless body and walked out calmly, ignoring the screams erupting behind him as the guests fled in panic.
Outside the museum, Loki had already changed into his iconic green robes and horned helmet.
Just as the crowd attempted to escape, Loki's projections appeared, blocking every possible exit.
"Kneel."
His shout carried overwhelming pressure. At the same time, multiple images of Loki appeared around the crowd, sealing off all escape routes.
With nowhere to run, the panicked crowd gathered together.
"I said—kneel."
The scepter flared with blinding light. An invisible force pressed down on everyone present, forcing their knees to buckle. One by one, they collapsed to the ground.
Loki spread his arms and laughed.
"Pathetic, spineless creatures. See how easy that was? Humanity's nature is submission. You long to be conquered, to kneel before power."
He looked down at the crowd.
"The darkness in your hearts drives you to chase authority and dominance, until you lose all trace of goodness. You want to be ruled. You were born to be ruled. You will always bow your heads—eager to be enslaved."
He swept his gaze across the kneeling figures. Not a single person dared to meet his eyes.
"Look at yourselves. You don't even have the courage to raise your heads. You've accepted slavery as your fate. You've forgotten how to resist. Look at how pitiful you are."
Loki walked slowly among them, continuing coldly:
"Among humanity, you consider yourselves the elite—the exploiters who rule over the masses. And now? Look around you. Look at your fellow 'elites.' Every last one of you is kneeling. Not a single soul dares to stand."
"You cherish your lives. You fear death. You've forgotten how to resist, indulging yourselves in decadence and excess. You only know how to oppress the weak, yet you're too cowardly to oppose those stronger than you."
"You deserve to be enslaved. You deserve to be the servants of the strong."
Loki's eyes were filled with contempt, as though he were looking at insects.
And he wasn't wrong.
These people—so finely dressed, so proud of their status—didn't dare to lift their heads, let alone resist. They feared death. If they died, their luxurious lives would end. Worst of all, they'd die before spending all their money.
Better to let the "foolish masses" rush forward and die first. Then they could reap the rewards.
It was precisely this mindset that made them kneel so willingly.
Loki despised them.
In Asgard, only those who dared to resist were worthy of respect.
In his eyes, these so-called elites were the true parasites.
Then—
An elderly man with white hair slowly stood up.
His body trembled like a leaf in the wind, as though he might collapse at any moment. Yet the resolve in his eyes surpassed everyone else present.
He wore plain, unremarkable clothing—nothing like the luxurious attire of the so-called upper class.
But he possessed something they lacked entirely:
Courage.
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