Lightning split the sky, each crackle bursting with golden light so intense it forced eyes shut. When the blinding glare finally faded, the four warriors of Asgard could see the truth—Fenrir, the great wolf of prophecy, lay motionless on the ground.
His once-proud blue fur was now charred black, blood oozing from deep burns. A faint, sickening scent of roasted meat hung in the air.
Fenrir was dead—well and truly, beyond all doubt.
The four Asgardians exchanged glances—then looked at the lone figure hovering in the air. Gene Mason.
The Midgardian was… far too powerful. Fenrir, herald of Ragnarök itself, the beast destined to begin the twilight of the gods—slain, just like that?
Gene ignored their shocked expressions. His thrusters flared, carrying him straight toward the Asgardian palace.
The halls were eerily empty. No guards. No resistance. With a single blast, Gene blew the palace gates off their hinges and stepped inside the great hall.
Thor was there. Loki was there. But what made Gene pause was the sight of Tony Stark—alive, though clearly worse for wear.
From the moment Gene entered, Loki's eyes locked on him. When the AI-clad man approached, Loki's lips curled in faint surprise.
"You forged your armor from Uru metal?"
Thor's gaze sharpened with shock at the words.
"The dwarves of Nidavellir have grown bold indeed," Loki said coldly. "That is my property." Then he shook his head with a dismissive smirk. "No matter. You and that Uru will soon return to where you truly belong."
Gene didn't respond to the god's smug musing. Instead, he raised his arm—his repulsor palm glowing with a deadly azure light. The beam fired in a heartbeat, aimed straight for Loki's face.
Loki twisted aside, the blast searing past him as his spear—Gungnir—spun in his hands and lunged toward Gene.
But Gene didn't dodge. He caught the spear's shaft in his right hand, his left palm pressing directly to Loki's faceplate. His voice was cold as machine steel:
"I told you… I'm your nightmare. And that hasn't changed since the last time we met."
Loki felt the heat first—energy gathering in the repulsor at point-blank range, searing through the air and across his skin. A memory slammed into him: Earth, lying crushed under Gene's boot, with a glowing palm cannon aimed at his head. Death breathing down his neck.
Panic surged before thought. Loki jerked back, Gungnir retreating as he bent away from the blast. The repulsor beam roared past, grazing his hair, and slammed into a palace column—reducing it to rubble in an instant.
Too close. His heart pounded.
But then indignation rose. Wait. I wield the Odinforce now. Why am I flinching from a mortal's blast?
No. It wasn't just the blast. It was him. Their last encounter had carved a deep shadow into Loki's mind.
The God of Mischief's expression hardened. Rage surged. The memory of humiliation on Earth burned hot.
"Mortal!" he snarled. "I'll make you understand the price of defying a god!"
Gungnir spun in his grip, aimed directly at Gene. The weapon pulsed with a turbulent, ice-blue vortex of power—energy crackling so violently it shook the hall.
With a sharp thrust, Loki unleashed it. The swirling energy exploded forward, sealing off every possible path of escape.
Gene's V-shaped visor glowed faintly. He didn't dodge. Instead, he charged forward, golden sword flashing into his hand. His blade lunged for Loki's chest in the same instant the vortex closed in.
Loki cursed and twisted aside, abandoning his attack. The blast tore past Gene and slammed into the palace wall, punching a massive hole through its ancient stone.
Snarling, Loki charged. The shame of that moment—hesitating before a mortal—festered like poison. I should have met him blow for blow. Why didn't I?
But power doesn't change nature. Loki was still the Trickster God—unpredictable, sly, every strike a trap.
Gungnir darted in his hands like a serpent, striking from impossible angles. Each lunge was the flicker of a venomous tongue, deadly and precise.
Gene's golden blade whirled, intercepting thrust after thrust, sparks bursting in the air with every clash.
The clang of metal rang again and again, echoing through the hall as their duel's raw energy rippled outward.
Thor stood before Stark, shielding him from the shockwaves. Without the protection, the battered genius would have been reduced to little more than a smear on the palace floor.
The battle was just beginning.
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