Loki prided himself on his composure. Calm was his weapon, his shield, and the sharpest edge of his schemes. Only when his mind was still could his cunning work at its best. But now, in front of Kurogai, that calm was cracking.
For as long as he could remember, Loki had accepted the truth: Thor's strength was unrivaled, while his own gifts lay in trickery and intelligence. It was his advantage, the only way he could stand beside his golden brother. Strength alone had never been his weapon. That truth was painfully clear—Thor could wrestle the Hulk, while Loki had been humiliated by the beast.
But today, Kurogai had cut through his lies as if they were parchment, stripping Loki's illusions bare. Fury burned within the Trickster God. Perhaps that anger drove him to act recklessly—or perhaps he simply wanted to see if the man truly had the power to wound Thor. Either way, a dagger materialized in Loki's grip as he lunged forward.
Kurogai didn't even flinch. He ignored the phantom stabbing at him and instead conjured a blazing magic circle along his arm, unleashing it behind him in an instant.
Boom!
The spell detonated in empty space, but the illusion before him shattered like glass. A shadowy figure crashed to the ground several paces away, coughing blood. Loki's true body.
"How… how did you pierce my spell?" Loki rasped, struggling to rise. His illusions were his pride, the fruit of years of craft. Even Odin had been deceived by them at times. Yet this mortal had seen through it effortlessly.
Kurogai's lips curved faintly. "An excellent illusion. But in the end, it is still magic. And before me, no magic can hide."
His eyes gleamed unnaturally, shifting into intricate star-shaped patterns—magic arrays etched into living flesh. Loki's breath caught.
"What… what kind of eyes are those?" he demanded. They were not mortal eyes. They radiated a brilliance like runes themselves, as though each iris was a spell woven into being. Loki rifled through every art and enchantment he knew, yet he could not name them.
But Kurogai offered no explanation. Instead, another circle flared to life at his palm. A razor-sharp wind blade tore from it, screaming through the air toward Loki.
Loki's face drained of color. He rolled and twisted frantically, yet even his reflexes couldn't keep pace with the spell. The edge caught his shoulder, slicing flesh and spilling blood.
And it didn't stop there. One after another, more arrays spiraled into existence. Wind howled. Magic surged. Blades flew like a storm.
For the first time in a long while, Loki was cornered. His treasures, his hidden wards and charms, shattered one after another as they intercepted the barrage. Each talisman was precious, painstakingly acquired, but each was stripped away by Kurogai's relentless assault. Loki's chest heaved as panic set in. His illusions, his cleverness—none of it mattered against this raw, overwhelming power.
He had come only to probe Kurogai, to test him, but now he realized he might not leave Asgard alive. Regret pricked at his heart—a sensation alien to him.
"Stop!"
The command boomed like thunder, shaking the battlefield. A force of pure might slammed into Kurogai's oncoming blade, detonating it midair. The explosion rippled outward, the shockwave forcing both men apart.
The weapon that had intervened spun back into its master's hand. A hammer, short-handled and etched with runes.
Mjolnir.
Kurogai's gaze lifted, and he saw a familiar figure striding toward them, eyes blazing with fury. Thor.
Moments earlier, the God of Thunder had come at Odin's command to greet the Midgardian emissary. Instead, he arrived to see his brother beaten and bleeding, Kurogai's magic threatening to finish him. Rage thundered through Thor's veins. He had loosed Mjolnir without hesitation, shattering the fatal strike.
"Loki! Are you hurt?" Thor demanded, rushing to his brother's side.
Loki, pale but alive, nodded quickly. "I'll live."
Satisfied that his brother still drew breath, Thor turned his storm-filled eyes upon Kurogai.
"Kurogai Alexander Blackwood," he said, voice like distant thunder, "you are Midgard's emissary, and Asgard does not turn away its allies. But after what I have seen here, I demand an explanation."
The air was thick with tension—between the trickster, the mortal mage, and the god of thunder himself.