Eternal Kingdom, Palace of Light.
In the resplendent halls of the palace, Karsa rested his chin on his fist, lounging indolently on his throne.
His right hand tapped a rhythmic, impatient cadence against the armrest, a subtle tell of the restlessness bubbling beneath his calm exterior.
“How long has Loki been down in the mortal realm?” His crimson eyes opened slightly, reflecting the figure of Saga, who stood motionless with his hands behind his back.
“Today marks the full six-month mark,” the Gemini Gold Saint replied instantly.
“Tomorrow is the day Thor is scheduled to depart for Midgard.” “My brother is no simple fool.
I wonder what kind of mess he’s made of Earth in these six months.” “My Lord, do you view him as a threat?” Saga asked, his voice tinged with genuine concern.
Loki was not merely the ‘Trickster God’; his schemes were legendary, and his cunning was rarely straightforward.
“A threat?” Karsa let out a cold laugh, his expression dripping with unadulterated contempt.
“Conspiracy, trickery, whatever he calls it—my only concern is whether he will be able to provide me with any genuine amusement.” Saga fell silent.
As expected, Karsa’s pride remained as unshakable as ever.
For the common folk, this was hardly the disposition of a benevolent king.
Even though Karsa showed little interest in the crown, he was, without a doubt, the inevitable victor of this ‘King’s Trial.’ Odin holding this contest was, for all intents and purposes, a formal gesture of gifting the throne to Karsa.
But is that really possible?
Saga shook his head internally.
As a bystander, he saw the chessboard clearly: Karsa was not the candidate the All-Father desired.
Yet, he could not fathom how Odin intended to let Thor scale such a mountain to reach the throne.
It was a paradox he was destined to leave unsolved.
The next day, under the watchful eyes of the gods, Thor joined the trial.
As the skies over New York turned black and a funnel-shaped storm cloud began to swirl, S.H.I.E.L.D.
picked up the signature instantly.
Agent Maria Hill rushed into the office to report: “High-energy reaction detected again.
Location: Central Park, Manhattan!” Nick Fury rose from his chair, his singular eye clouded with gravity.
“Notify nearby agents and strike teams.
Evacuate the area.
And for the love of all that is holy, lock down the media.
I don’t want a repeat of the headaches we had last time.” Hill stood motionless.
She knew the director wasn’t finished.
Sure enough, after a brief silence, Fury added: “Tell Coulson to stop tailing that two-bit hoodlum Kingpin.
Have him hold off those idiots at the FBI; I don’t want them interfering with my cleanup.” Hill turned to leave, but before she reached the door, Fury’s voice echoed behind her: “And next time you report in, remember to knock.” The beautiful agent rolled her eyes as she walked out.
Simultaneously, forces across New York noted the atmospheric anomaly.
Stark’s coastal mansion, underground workshop.
A pale blue holographic model of the Iron Man suit hung in the air.
Tony Stark flicked his fingers, dismantling the structure into its individual components.
“The resonator’s performance is lacking.
The line load exceeds capacity at full output.
JARVIS, put a pin in that.” “Acknowledged, sir.” The warm, sophisticated voice of the AI replied.
“The damping system and the joint synchronization need adjustment.
Also—” “Apologies, sir,” JARVIS interrupted.
“I’ve just intercepted a major event in S.H.I.E.L.D.’s internal network.
Shall I display the feed?” “Oh?
Looks like our eyepatch-wearing spy chief has a ‘surprise’ for me.” Stark shrugged, his trademark cynicism on display.
“Let’s see what this surprise is.” The hologram shifted to a live satellite feed.
The green lawn of Central Park was submerged in darkness, the sky swirled into a funnel, and iridescent, rainbow-hued light danced amidst the thunder.
“Am I drunk?
Why does this look familiar?” “Sir, this phenomenon matches the event at Pier 7 six months ago.
Eighty-four gang members died that night.
The cause was never determined.
It is currently locked in a S.H.I.E.L.D.
black-budget file.” “Causing localized weather manipulation—the tech level is extremely high.” Stark walked toward the armor deployment rig.
The machinery hummed to life, and mechanical arms swiveled to encase him.
“JARVIS, you should have warned me last time.
I wouldn’t have had to wait six months for a sequel.” “Sir, you were on a date with Ms.
Potts and had disabled all communication channels.” “Fine, fine.
Point taken.” Stark grumbled as the faceplate snapped shut, hiding his look of defeat.
The skylights opened to the bright day.
The repulsors flared, and the gold-and-red armor shot into the sky, aimed straight for Central Park.
Fisk Tower, top floor.
Wilson Fisk puffed on a cigar, his massive bulk straining the seams of his black suit.
He was riding high; with Loki’s help, he had consolidated power, recruiting elite super-criminals and world-class assassins.
His power was expanding at a rate that allowed him to rival the Hand.
Soon, he would be the undisputed Emperor of the Underworld.
The only thorn in his side was S.H.I.E.L.D.
They were everywhere, like ghosts—tapping his phones, his faxes, his entire network.
He hadn’t dared to contact his lieutenants directly, forced to watch as Loki courted his men from the shadows.
If I let this continue, he’ll hollow out my organization.
The six-month mark had arrived, and the ‘God of Thunder’ was nowhere to be seen.
Perhaps it was time to eliminate the Trickster and stop the rot before it turned into a coup.
Just as he was calculating how to dispose of the con artist, Loki’s voice rang out in his office.
“The Bifrost has opened.
My brother, Thor, is arriving on Earth.
Come with me to meet him.
If we are to deal with Karsa, we need his power.” The sudden voice made Fisk jump.
Realizing the god was invisible, he snapped: “Can you knock first next time?” “It is my domain, why would I knock?” Loki chuckled.
The remark made Fisk’s expression stiffen.
Nominally, he had submitted, but until he saw proof of the Aesir’s existence, he still considered himself the true boss.
No matter how strong you are, Fisk thought, you’re still just a stray dog feeding off my table.
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