Chapter 144
Arc 9 - Ch 11: The Void
Location: The Void at the End of Time
Tyson hovered above the ruined version of New York City, wind whipping around them as he held Sylvie securely.
"How are we going to find Loki?" she asked. Her short blonde hair whipped across her face as she squinted at the desolation below.
Tyson adjusted his grip into a princess carry, one arm beneath her knees and the other supporting her back. "I can sense metals." He closed his eyes, expression shifting to intense concentration.
Sylvie watched, waiting several moments before her patience wore thin. "Okay?"
"Loki had a dagger," Tyson explained, eyes still closed. "I claimed it when we fought on Asgard. It was made of Uru." His brow furrowed deeper as he extended his senses outward. "My Loki lost his dagger to me, you were taken from Asgard before you got yours. But I'm betting there are lots of Lokis here that do have their dagger, or whatever their universe's equivalent is. And I'm betting that it's Uru. Uru has a distinct scent, taste, whatever. It's hard to describe, but it's somewhere in between those sensations."
Tyson stopped talking, face a mask of concentration. The muscles in his jaw tightened as he extended his awareness beyond the ruined cityscape. His consciousness spread like ripples on water, searching for that unique metallic signature among the countless tons of twisted steel and concrete.
Sylvie remained silent, letting him focus.
After a minute, Tyson's expression faltered. A flicker of doubt crossed his face.
"Nothing?" she asked quietly.
Tyson didn't respond immediately. Then his expression changed, eyes still closed but eyebrows rising. "Wait. I feel something." His brow furrowed deeper. "It's strange, though. The signature is familiar, but..." He paused, consciousness probing the anomaly. "There's something else there, something wrapped around the metal itself."
The sensation defied easy description. The Uru called to his magnetic senses clearly enough, but threaded through it was something vast and wild. Like standing near a thunderstorm, feeling the charge build in the air before lightning struck. His awareness brushed against it, recognizing the power on a fundamental level without understanding its nature.
"What is it?" Sylvie asked.
"I'm not sure." Tyson's eyes opened, gaze fixing on a point in the distance beyond the ruins of what once was the Empire State Building. "The metal signature is Uru, definitely." He tilted his head toward the horizon. "That way."
Sylvie followed his gesture. Nothing but more of the unnatural clouds that hung over this realm.
"What are you going to say to him?" Sylvie asked quietly. "When we find Loki?"
"I don't know," he admitted. "I thought I did. But now that we're here..." He trailed off, looking down at the ruins below. "I guess I'll know when I see him."
Sylvie's grip on his shoulder tightened slightly, whether in support or shared uncertainty, he couldn't tell. Tyson tightened his grip around her waist. "Hold on."
The air crackled with electromagnetic energy as Tyson summoned his power. With a surge that sent ripples through the air around them, he launched forward. The wind screamed past as they accelerated, the ruined city blurring beneath them before leaving it behind entirely.
They flew until a new structure became visible, quickly growing on the horizon. As they neared, Tyson saw it was a great pyramid and a sphinx.
"Monuments?" Sylvie asked.
Tyson slowed their approach, circling the massive structures once before hovering directly above the sphinx. His eyes narrowed as his senses detected something unexpected.
"There's metal inside that sphinx," he mumbled. "Lots of it, like technology." His consciousness brushed against the signatures of circuits, wiring, and power sources that had no business being inside an ancient monument. The metal was complex and intricate, far beyond what should exist in a stone statue.
Sylvie tightened her grip on his shoulder. "Focus."
Tyson nodded, turning his attention back to his destination. He accelerated again, leaving the monuments behind as they flew toward a barren stretch of land.
Eventually, they slowed, coming to a stop above a hatch in the ground. "This is it," he said, lowering them both beside the entrance.
Sylvie stepped away from his embrace, approaching the hatch. She crouched to lift the hatch when Tyson's hand shot out, gripping her arm.
"Wait a second," he said, voice low.
"What is it?"
"Uru," he murmured. "What I sensed from so far away. But not down there. It's..." His senses traced the signature, pinpointing its location. "This way."
The ground sloped gently beneath their feet as they descended the side of the elevation. Tyson moved carefully, following the pull of the metal, until finally, he stopped.
"Here."
What he found was not what he expected. A clear canister partially buried in the dirt. The label "T365" was stamped across its side in bold letters. Inside, a frog wearing what appeared to be a miniature version of Thor's armor, complete with a tiny winged helmet. But beside the canister, half-buried in the earth, lay an unmistakable object.
A war hammer with a short handle, its head inscribed with ancient Nordic patterns.
Sylvie's breath caught. "Is that what I think it is?"
"I didn't have Frog-Thor on my bingo card," Tyson said, gesturing to the amphibian in the canister.
"Not that," Sylvie said impatiently, pointing at the hammer. "That." She paused, brow furrowing. "What's a bingo card?"
Tyson ignored her question, eyes fixed on the hammer.
Mjolnir.
Or at least, a version of it. The weapon that belonged to Thor, the symbol of worthiness that few could wield. He reached out, fingers hovering just above its surface, feeling the power emanating from it. This was undoubtedly what he'd sensed.
He glanced at Sylvie. "Odin enchanted it so that only the worthy could lift it. Want to give it a shot?"
Sylvie stared at the hammer. "Why not?" she said, the casual tone not quite masking the challenge in her voice. "I've been judged by worse."
She reached for the weapon and wrapped her fingers around the hilt, knuckles whitening. With a sharp intake of breath, she pulled upward.
The hammer wavered.
Just a fraction.
Barely perceptible.
But it moved.
Tyson had seen it. The hammer had wiggled. He remembered when Captain America had tried to lift Mjolnir at that party in Age of Ultron, how Thor's expression had shifted from amusement to something else when the hammer budged. It had happened to Tyson the first time he'd tried, back in the desert when Mjolnir fell to Earth.
The wiggle was a sign, an encouragement. A whisper from the enchantment itself saying, You might be worthy. You're close. Keep going.
Tyson studied Sylvie as she turned away from the hammer, shoulders tight with disappointment. She'd spent her entire life being told she was wrong, a mistake, a variant that needed to be erased. The TVA had pruned her childhood, stolen her identity, and forced her to survive alone in apocalypses. Yet here she stood, having just tried to lift an object that would judge her, knowing it might confirm every cruel thing she'd been told about herself.
Perhaps he'd been wrong in that elevator back in the TVA.
Maybe Sylvie wasn't meant to be a Valkyrie.
Maybe she was meant for more.
Sylvie's face flushed as she strained. After several seconds, she released it with a frustrated exhale, stepping back.
"Worth a try," she muttered.
She wouldn't meet his eyes. Tyson knew that look, had seen it in mirrors after every time he'd failed to control Rogue's power, his power. It wasn't just frustration. It was the confirmation of a fear she'd probably carried for years. That maybe the TVA was right about her, that maybe she really was lesser, broken, wrong.
Tyson walked up to Sylvie and kissed her passionately. She was surprised, but returned his kiss. As he pulled away, she slowly opened her eyes. "What was that for?"
"You are more amazing than you know," he said quietly, holding her gaze. He meant it. Sylvie had tried to lift Mjolnir, knowing it might reject her. She'd risked the validation of her deepest fears, but had done it anyway, without hesitation. That was worthiness of a different kind, one that he thought the hammer might have measured.
Tyson bent down and picked up Mjolnir. The effect was instantaneous, unexpected, and overwhelming. Power surged through him like a lightning strike, crackling along his nerves and setting every cell alight. He gasped as the sensation intensified. His magnetic sense exploded outward, suddenly aware of every metal object within miles, not just aware, but connected, as if each piece of iron and steel had become an extension of his nervous system. The hammer's power merged with his electromagnetism in ways that it never had before. His muscles locked rigid as electricity and magnetism twined together, creating feedback loops that sang through his adamantium bones. He felt the iron within his own blood, sensed the minute magnetic fields generated by neural activity in the Lokis' brains below.
It was intoxicating and terrifying, and wholly unexpected. Was this Mjolnir different? It couldn't just be Magneto's power; he'd held the weapon on Asgard when retrieving Thor, and again in Stark Tower, just before the Battle of New York. But this was so much… more.
For a heartbeat, he wondered if letting go would even be possible. Then the overwhelming sensation resolved into controlled strength.
The sky above darkened as clouds formed from nothing, swirling in response to his touch. Thunder rumbled overhead as electricity danced across Tyson's skin, his eyes glowing with the raw power of a cosmic storm. The hammer felt like an extension of himself rather than a separate object. His clothing rippled as an unseen wind whipped around him.
But then Tyson looked down at the container with Frog-Thor, who pressed tiny webbed hands against the glass. The amphibian's bulging eyes seemed to hold a distinctly melancholic expression as it watched Tyson wield the hammer that had been tauntingly out of its reach for who knew how long.
Tyson shoved Mjolnir, handle down, into a belt he formed within his adamantium weave. He bent down and picked up the canister with Frog-Thor inside, examining the amphibian through the clear walls of its prison. The frog wore a tiny winged helmet, and its eyes seemed to hold an intelligence that no ordinary amphibian should possess.
"Let's get you out of there," Tyson muttered. He squeezed the top of the canister and twisted it open with a soft pop. Turning the container sideways, he held out his palm beneath the opening. "Come on out, little guy."
Frog-Thor hesitated only a moment before leaping onto Tyson's outstretched hand. The tiny creature landed. Then, in a gesture that made Tyson blink in disbelief, the frog wrapped its diminutive arms around his thumb in what could only be described as a hug.
"You're welcome, little buddy," Tyson said softly.
The frog released his thumb and hopped back slightly. Its bulging eyes shifted from Tyson's face to the hammer tucked into his belt. The longing in that gaze was unmistakable, even on an amphibious face.
"I don't think this one is your size," he said with a chuckle. Mjolnir's head was easily many times the size of the frog. The weapon dwarfed the tiny creature completely.
To Tyson's astonishment, the frog held up one hand and spread its webbed fingers, making a "little bit" gesture that was so human-like it was unsettling.
Tyson tilted his head. He looked at the frog, then back at Mjolnir in his belt, then at the frog again. He blinked a few times, trying to process the surreal exchange.
"Eh, what the hell, we'll give it a shot," he finally said with a shrug.
"What are you doing?" Sylvie asked skeptically.
"I'm about to break off a piece of a hammer containing a God Tempest. Pretty dumb, honestly. Top 10, maybe top 5 dumbest things I've done, maybe? The fact that it's not at the top is somewhat disturbing."
Using his ferrokinesis, Tyson reached out with his mind to the molecular structure of Mjolnir. He felt resistance. The enchanted metal wasn't meant to be altered, not like this. But he felt that he could will the weapon to take a different form. He thought of Nexus and all the weapons he'd used at Chikara Dojo. The thought crossed his mind of having Mjolnir shift into a nunchaku, but then he remembered how well that worked out when he was jumped by the Hand.
Still, what he was about to do wasn't shifting the weapon's form, he was… breaking it. Even if just a little, it could prove catastrophic. But he persisted anyway, applying his will and power. Slowly, carefully, he broke off a sliver from Mjolnir's head, no bigger than a dime.
"Is that even possible?" Sylvie whispered.
As the sliver neared, Frog-Thor reached out its tiny hand expectantly. What happened next made even Tyson's jaw drop. The sliver was pulled to the frog's hand, not under Tyson's power, but of its own accord. Tyson released his magnetic control of the fragment as it responded to a different call. When it reached the frog, the metal shimmered, twisted, and reshaped itself, growing slightly in size while maintaining perfect proportions. Within seconds, Frog-Thor held a miniature version of Mjolnir, perfectly sized for its amphibious grip.
Tyson looked between his full-sized weapon and the tiny one now clutched in the frog's webbed hand. The small hammer crackled with the same energy as its larger counterpart, a tiny storm contained in its diminutive form.
"I'll be damned," he said in genuine wonder.
The frog lifted its hammer skyward, and a tiny spark of lightning danced around it. Frog-Thor hopped around Tyson's palm, swinging its miniature weapon with surprising dexterity. The tiny god seemed rejuvenated.
Sylvie groaned beside him. "Even the frog is more worthy than I am."
"You're still missing something. But the hammer moved for you. I saw it. That means you're close. My Loki wasn't worthy. The first time I tried, I wasn't either. Worthiness isn't something you just have; it's something you grow into. And you're growing."
Tyson set Frog-Thor down gently on a nearby rock, where the amphibian began practicing tiny hammer swings. "When I was in the TVA, I read the files on the Avengers. All of them. There was one, Steve Rogers. Captain America." He held Mjolnir between them. "Basically, the paragon of humanity. Morally outstanding, genetically perfect, everything. The golden boy of Earth."
Sylvie's expression shifted from disappointment to skepticism. "And?"
"The first time he tried to lift this hammer, it wiggled. Just like it did for you. But he failed. Couldn't budge it past that initial movement."
"So I'm as good as some human?"
"Let me finish… Later, after strife and fighting against the very government he nearly died serving, after making impossible choices and standing by his principles even when it forced him into years of exile, he was deemed worthy. In the end, he lifted it in battle when it mattered most."
Sylvie's arms crossed defensively. "What's your point?"
"I see you on the same road he was. You've been fighting the TVA your whole life. Standing against an organization that claims absolute authority, that says you have no right to exist. You've made impossible choices just to survive." He paused. "The hammer recognized something in you. It's not a rejection. It's a promise."
He returned Mjolnir to his belt. "I'll hold onto this for now, but I think you're closer than you realize."
"Maybe," she said quietly. "Or maybe worthiness is overrated. I've survived this long without needing some magic hammer to validate me." But her gaze drifted back to Mjolnir. Tyson saw she didn't quite believe her own words. She wanted this. Wanted proof that she wasn't the mistake the TVA claimed her to be. And that desire, that hope despite everything, might be the most worthy thing about her. Or might be the thing holding her back. Hell if he knew.
Tyson couldn't help but wonder at the little Frog-Thor's origins, so he held down his hand, and the little guy jumped into his palm. Opening his powers, he absorbed the small creature's memories.
He was born a simple frog in an ordinary pond near the roots of Yggdrasil, where the barriers between realms occasionally thinned. While other tadpoles competed for the juiciest flies, he was larger, stronger, and more intelligent than his brethren. Even as a tadpole, he would position himself beneath the spots where dimensional energies leaked through, absorbing the magical essence like others absorbed sunlight. As he grew, he developed extraordinary abilities. He could leap across impossible distances, survive conditions that would kill ordinary frogs, and somehow understand the languages of beings from across the Nine Realms. The other pond dwellers began to treat him with reverence, coming to him to settle disputes and lead them against predators.
His life changed forever during the great storm, a tempest that shook the very branches of Yggdrasil. A fragment of mystical metal, no bigger than a water lily pad, crashed into his pond with a brilliant flash of light. While the other frogs fled in terror, he approached the object. It was a splinter of metal. When he touched the fragment with his webbed foot, lightning coursed through his body. The metal reshaped itself into a tiny hammer, perfectly sized for his grip. Thunder boomed across the pond as the enchantment took hold.
Thus was born Throg, Frog of Thunder.
With his new powers, he protected his pond and the surrounding forest from threats both mundane and magical. His fame spread among the smaller creatures of the realms. He battled frost-serpents that threatened to freeze his home and led his fellow frogs against invading toads. He might have continued his noble existence indefinitely had he not encountered Alligator Loki, who wanted to eliminate a potential rival. The trickster trapped him in a container from which he couldn't escape. The Alligator must have succeeded in his plots, because men came through an orange door, then he was discarded, still trapped in his container, landing next to a giant version of Frogjolnir, tauntingly just out of reach.
For what felt like an eternity, Throg struggled in his confinement until a man came, worthy of wielding the giant Frogjolnir. The honorable man freed him from the glass prison, proving he was truly worthy, and reunited him with his precious hammer.
Tyson opened his eyes slowly, pulling back from Throg's memories, but unable to ignore the parallels. Throg had been trapped, isolated, cut off from his power and purpose by a Loki's manipulation; not so different from how Tyson felt when he'd nearly drowned after Loki launched off the Rainbow Bridge with Gungnir. But Throg's story didn't end with the betrayal. The frog had survived, endured, and now stood ready to face his tormentor again. Not for revenge, Tyson sensed from the memory's emotional resonance, but because it was right. Because someone had freed him, and that changed things.
He looked down at the tiny amphibian warrior on his palm, then at Sylvie. "You know what? I think we're going to like this little guy."
As they neared the hatch, Tyson's mind churned through what he'd learned from Throg's memories. Alligator Loki had betrayed the frog not in combat but through deception, trapped him not with power but with cunning. And it wasn't a unique case. The alligator's memories, filtered through Throg's perspective, showed a being that had spent years manipulating and plotting.
Tyson's hand tightened on Mjolnir. That's what Lokis' did. If every one of them had lived a life of elaborate betrayals, what would a bunker full of them be like? His metaknowledge supplied the answer. Mischief, betrayal, and chaos. But how would his presence change it? He glanced at Sylvie, then down at the hatch. The smart move would be reconnaissance, careful observation. But just like he did during the Battle of New York, sometimes the only way to deal with Loki's schemes was to break the game board entirely. He didn't have the benefit of months of preparation here. Hence, his plan was to scout briefly, then, or failing that, make a dramatic entrance. Sometimes, an overwhelming force wasn't just about power; it was about denying your enemies time to think, to plot, to betray.
"You ready for this?" he asked Sylvie quietly. "We're about to enter a room full of Lokis. I'm not sure how things are about to go down, but I'll be surprised if there isn't a fight and more than a bit of mischief."
"I've been ready my entire life," Sylvie replied, but her hand found his arm and squeezed once, briefly.
Not in reassurance.
Acknowledgment.
They both knew this was going to be complicated, likely in ways that had nothing to do with fighting.
— Rogue Redemption —
At the base of the downhill bowling alley, Loki, Old Loki, Boastful Loki, Alligator Loki, and Kid Loki stood facing a group of variants led by President Loki. Each side measured the other with narrowed eyes and twitching fingers.
Old Loki's face contorted with anger as he looked at Loki. "You bastard! You led the wolves to our door."
President Loki smirked, turning the 'Vote Loki' pin on his lapel proudly. "We prefer snakes to wolves."
Kid Loki threatened, "I've eaten both. They die just the same."
As he stepped forward, Boastful Loki grabbed him roughly by the shoulder and placed his fake Mjolnir against the boy's chest threateningly.
"Apologies, my liege," Boastful Loki announced. "I betrayed you, and now, I'm king."
President Loki spread his hands wide with a cold smile. "About that..."
At his words, the entire group of Lokis behind him drew their weapons; daggers, swords, a few improvised clubs, pitchforks, and the list of makeshift weapons went on.
Boastful Loki's face fell, confidence evaporating. "You can't be serious."
"Come on." President Loki said mockingly. "What did you expect?"
"That was not the bargain!" Boastful Loki sputtered, indignation replacing his earlier smugness. "I gave you our location. In exchange for shelter and supplies, you give me your army, and I take the throne."
President Loki tilted his head, considering. "Ah, yes. Not so good a bargain. How about this one? My army, my throne?"
The Loki standing directly behind President Loki cleared his throat. "About that..."
Every weapon in the group suddenly turned toward President Loki himself, the betrayal coming full circle. President Loki spun around, face contorting with rage. "Why, you beef-witted, half-faced scrubs. We had a deal!"
"For God's sake," Boastful Loki muttered, rolling his eyes at the predictable turncoats.
Tyson had snuck to the top of the bowling alley, using his illusions to cover their approach. His Loki might expect the psionic-based illusions, but none of the others would. He watched the cascade of betrayals with a strange sense of recognition. This wasn't chaos; it was a predictable pattern. Every Loki in this room was playing out variations of the same script, following the same defensive instinct to betray before being betrayed. It was almost sad, in a way. They were all so busy protecting themselves that they'd created exactly the thing they feared.
A world where trust was impossible, where isolation was guaranteed.
He'd felt that impulse in Sylvie's memories, the desperate certainty that everyone would leave or betray eventually, so better to control when and how it happened. Looking at it from the outside, seeing it replicated across dozens of variants, made it clear just how self-fulfilling that prophecy was.
And the worst part?
A small voice in his head that sounded disturbingly like Loki whispered that they weren't entirely wrong. But Tyson knew that voice. Hours of being in contact with Sylvie, opening himself to her.
He wasn't inside her anymore, but she was still within him. The thought made him smile, but he pushed it aside. It was almost showtime.
Alligator Loki slithered toward the group of Lokis. His jaws opened slightly, revealing rows of small, sharp teeth.
President Loki took a step back. "Why the hell is there an alligator in here?"
The group that originally stayed in the shelter all spoke, their voices blending into one. "He's a Loki!" The alligator snapped its jaws in agreement, a golden horned headpiece perched behind its eyes.
Before things could devolve any further, the booming sound of thunder reverberated through the shelter. The walls vibrated with the force of it, dust raining down from the ceiling. Every Loki froze at the sound, their faces transforming to dread.
They knew what that sound meant. Where there was thunder, shortly it would be followed by...
As one, they turned toward the entrance, weapons still drawn but now trembling slightly in their hands. At the top of the bowling alley hovered a figure. Only one of the Lokis knew who it was for certain.
They all saw a Thor, but Loki knew the truth.
It wasn't Thor Odinson. It was Tyson.
He descended slowly. In one arm, he held Sylvie, in his other hand, he gripped Mjolnir. Standing atop Mjolnir, balanced on the flat hammerhead, was a small green frog clad in miniature Asgardian armor. A cape no larger than a handkerchief billowed behind him. Tyson's eyes glowed with electric blue light, sparks dancing across his irises as he surveyed the room full of Lokis. His gaze found Loki, his Loki, among the crowd. And looking at these Lokis, all of them plotting, scheming, surviving through deception, he had to decide whether he wanted to understand them or punish them. Whether the person holding this hammer was someone who'd learned from his Loki, and learned from Sylvie, or someone determined to never be vulnerable to a Loki again.
His descent was slow, deliberate, a show of power rather than necessity.
The Lokis backed away, creating a circle of empty space as Tyson's feet finally touched the ground. Sylvie slipped from his grasp, landing lightly beside him, her darting eyes taking in the multiple versions of her variant self.
Dozens of faces, different ages, different styles, but all Loki. A room full of people who all carried the capacity for manipulation and betrayal. The part of Tyson that carried Sylvie's memories whispered it was more complicated than that, that there were reasons, justifications, pain beneath the schemes. A specific memory surfaced unbidden.
Sylvie, as a child, hiding in an apocalypse, watching families huddle together while she crouched alone in the shadows. The desperate ache of wanting to join them, knowing she couldn't, that connection meant vulnerability, and vulnerability meant death. That was where the schemes started. Bone-deep certainty that no one would choose you unless you made yourself indispensable, unless you had leverage, unless you controlled the situation so thoroughly that betrayal was impossible.
These Lokis weren't just manipulative, they were terrified. And fear made people dangerous in ways that simple malice never could. Tyson caught the subtle shift in Sylvie's posture as she took in the assembled Lokis. She was seeing what he saw, thinking what he thought, and it confirmed rather than surprised her. Every Loki in this room was a mirror showing her potential. Paths she could have taken, versions of herself that had leaned fully into deception or self-preservation. He'd expected her to look at them with contempt or distance, but instead, he saw recognition. She knew she wasn't so different from them. The only thing separating her from these variants was choice, and choice was a fragile thing. Green Enchantment magic flickered at her fingertips, as if reminding herself of her own power, her own path.
Frog-Thor caught sight of Alligator-Loki and raised his miniature Mjolnir toward the ceiling. Lightning arced from the tiny hammer, illuminating the shelter with white light. The amphibian opened his mouth and croaked loudly.
"THROG!"
Absurd didn't begin to describe it. Tyson stood in a bunker full of scheming gods while a frog in armor declared war on an alligator.
But the ridiculous and the profound weren't opposites. Throg's tiny defiant croak carried the same weight as any warrior's battle cry, because courage didn't scale with size, and worth wasn't measured in physical power. The tiny Mjolnir was proof. Alligator Loki had trapped Throg and dismissed him as an afterthought. That was a mistake Tyson understood intimately; he'd underestimated his enemies and been underestimated many times in turn. Now he wielded a god's hammer while a frog prepared to avenge its own betrayal. If that wasn't a statement about the nature of worthiness, he didn't know what was.
Tyson lowered his weapon and took in the room full of Lokis. The electricity crackling around him slowly dissipated.
"I'm here for Loki."
Old Loki's green cape swished as he gestured expansively at the gathered variants. "Well, that narrows it down to... everyone in this room," he replied dryly.
Alligator Loki took a step toward the Frog Thor.
President Loki swirled his hands. A dagger materialized between his fingers. Tyson recognized the weapon was identical to the one he had claimed from the Loki he knew, looking exactly like Muse. The resemblance between President Loki and his Loki was uncanny, from the slicked-back hair to the facial features and expressions. Meanwhile, his Loki began inching toward them; his green eyes darted between Tyson, the antagonistic variants, and the exits.
President Loki noticed and pointed one dagger at the growling Alligator, the other directly at the moving Loki.
"Not another step," President Loki warned.
Loki froze, raising his hands defensively. "I believe he means me," he said smugly despite the blade pointed at his chest.
"You know this Thor?" Kid Loki asked.
"Thor?" Loki laughed. Despite the warning, he continued his slow shuffle toward Tyson and Sylvie. "No. This man is not Thor, he's far more dangerous."
"Actually," Tyson said, "I am Thor."
The assembled Lokis turned their attention fully to him. Skepticism painted their faces in varying degrees, his Loki's most of all.
Tyson lifted the hammer higher, letting lightning dance across its surface. The inscription along the head shown in the electric light.
"Whosoever holds this hammer, if he be worthy, shall possess the power of Thor."
President Loki's smirk faltered.
"The hammer doesn't care about bloodlines."
Boastful Loki scoffed, though his grip on his fake Mjolnir tightened. "Anyone can lift a hammer. That doesn't make you Thor."
A distant rumble interrupted the standoff, powerful enough to shake dust from the ceiling.
The deep roar was unmistakable.
Every Loki in the room tensed, faces reflecting the same primal fear of the one thing worse than Thor.
Alioth.
Loki seized the moment, seeing it as an opportunity to capitalize on. "We all know the biggest threat is from Alioth," he proclaimed, addressing the entire room. "It doesn't matter who's king of this trash heap if we're wiped from existence." He continued, finally reaching Tyson's side. "I want to kill that beast, but I need strength to do it. And look, now we have a Thor." He gestured toward Tyson with Mjolnir. "That's strength."
Old Loki evaluated them thoughtfully, while Kid Loki also studied the newly formed group. The boy's eyes narrowed, trying to measure their collective power.
President Loki, however, didn't retract his daggers. His suspicion was clearly written on his face as he looked between his fellow variants and the newcomers, seeking some angle, some advantage to salvage his failed coup. The crown he had imagined placing upon his head seemed further away than ever, but his expression suggested he was far from admitting defeat.
"And why," President Loki finally asked, lowering his daggers slightly, "should we trust any plan from you? You're me, after all." His lips curled into a knowing smile. "And I never tell the whole truth."
Boastful Loki interrupted, holding high his fake Mjolnir. "You want strength? I killed Thor myself, crushed his skull with his own weapon." His voice boomed with exaggerated confidence as he brandished the golden replica.
Tyson looked skeptically at the fake. The weapon seemed a poor imitation of the real thing. He extended his magnetic senses, feeling the molecular structure of the metal. Gold plating covered the surface, but beneath that veneer lay something more substantial. Asgardian steel. He recognized the signature from Odin's throne room. A fine weapon, certainly. But not Uru. His senses swept the room, cataloging the various weapons the Lokis carried. Several bore that same Asgardian steel signature. A few possessed Uru or stranger metals, alloys he couldn't immediately identify.
None of them approached Mjolnir's power.
"Impressive," Tyson said, keeping his tone neutral. "Asgardian steel. Quality craftsmanship."
Boastful Loki's chest puffed with pride.
"But it's not Mjolnir." He felt the true Mjolnir pulse with lightning in his hand, almost as if the weapon itself was offended by the counterfeit.
"If you killed Thor, then you must be truly worthy," Tyson said in challenge.
He casually tossed Mjolnir to Boastful Loki.
The large Black man caught the weapon reflexively...
Or he tried to.
His fingers wrapped around the hilt, and the weapon crashed to the floor, crushing his foot.
"ARGHHH!" Boastful Loki howled. The golden replica fell from his grasp, clattering uselessly to the ground as he clutched at his injured foot. His face contorted in pain as he hopped backward on one foot.
The variants erupted in laughter. President Loki doubled over, slapping his knee. Kid Loki pointed and giggled with childish delight. Even Sylvie couldn't suppress a smile at the spectacle.
Old Loki's words could be heard through the laughter. "Not so worthy after all."
They all laughed some more as Boastful Loki continued to hop in agony, his dignity as shattered as the bones in his foot surely were. All except Alligator Loki, who growled and continued prowling closer to the small amphibian perched atop Tyson's shoulder. Throg's tiny, muscled legs tensed as he watched his nemesis. Tyson caught the tension between the two animals.
This was unfinished business.
And now, with his hammer, Throg had a chance. Their rivalry was more complicated than simple vengeance. It was about reclaiming agency. Tyson understood that feeling intimately. Honestly, for the longest time, he'd felt the same thing toward Loki. If the frog wanted this fight, Tyson wasn't going to deny him. Just as the mirth was beginning to fade, Alligator Loki lunged at Tyson, at Throg in truth. The reptile's powerful hind legs propelled him forward with jaws opening wide to reveal rows of needle-sharp teeth. The alligator sailed through the air, still wearing his golden horned headpiece.
Throg responded with a small bolt of lightning from Frogjolnir that caught the alligator mid-air. The miniature weapon, no larger than a pencil in human terms, discharged a concentrated blast of electricity. The bolt struck Alligator Loki directly in the chest, halting and reversing his momentum. The reptile was sent flying, his arc reversed by the force of the lightning. He crashed into the back wall with enough impact to send the golden headpiece tumbling from his head, landing several feet away. Throg leapt after him, powerful frog legs launching him across the room in a single bound. Frogjolnir held high above his head, the tiny amphibian warrior sailed through the air, miniature cape billowing behind him.
All the Lokis stared at the unusual battle between the animal variants. Their faces displayed identical expressions of bewilderment. Even Boastful Loki momentarily forgot his pain, balancing precariously on his good foot, watching the battle.
President Loki shouted, "Whoever can capture that Thor and bring him to me will be crowned King!" His voice brought everyone back to the present.
Loki, who was at Tyson's side now, stage whispered, "Still the same old tricks from the same small minds." His voice was loud enough for President Loki to hear.
"Traitor! Conspiring with or against each other is one thing, but aligning with Thor is a true betrayal!" President Loki pointed an accusatory finger at Loki. He snarled and lunged forward with his dagger.
But Tyson held his hand out. Mjolnir flew back toward him, the trajectory intercepted President Loki's dagger with a clang that rang through the bunker like a bell. The force of the deflection sent the blade spinning away and knocked President Loki off-balance, stumbling sideways, directly toward Tyson.
"Finally, time for our rematch," Tyson said. He looked briefly back at Loki, and something cold settled in his chest. The fight on the Rainbow Bridge replayed in his mind. Back in the TVA, he'd told Loki that he'd moved past their feud. But standing here now, power humming through his body, that felt like a lie; like what he really wanted was to go back to that bridge. To show he was strong enough that Loki couldn't best him. He refocused on President Loki, who looked identical to his Loki, the Loki that defeated him.
"Close enough."
President Loki regained his balance and charged at Tyson again, this time with daggers materializing in both hands. But Tyson was ready. He swung Mjolnir in a wide arc. The weight of it pulled at his shoulder, his core engaging to control the momentum, his feet planted firmly against the concrete floor.
For a split second, he saw President Loki's eyes widen as the variant realized he couldn't dodge in time, couldn't withdraw fast enough, couldn't do anything except take the hit.
The hammer connected with President Loki's chest with a sound like a thunderclap. President Loki didn't just fly backward; he was launched, his body ragdolling through the air before crashing into the far wall with enough force to crack the concrete.
All hell broke loose.
The bunker erupted as dozens of Lokis attacked, most turning on each other. Daggers flashed, and makeshift weapons swung, illusions shimmered and vanished, and the air filled with the sounds of combat and betrayal. The variants attacked whoever looked like a good target. One Loki with a mohawk created three duplicates of himself, each wielding a different weapon. They surrounded a Loki wearing a tattered business suit, who responded by transforming the floor beneath them into quicksand. The duplicates sank to their waists before vanishing in puffs of green smoke, revealing the trick.
Near the bowling lane, two identical Lokis wrestled over a golden scepter, each trying to wrench it from the other's grasp. "I found it first!" one shouted.
"Liar!" the other responded, before headbutting his twin.
Both staggered back, clutching their foreheads in identical gestures of pain.
Boastful Loki, still limping from his encounter with Mjolnir, swung his fake hammer at a passing variant, who ducked under the attack and responded with a swift kick to his injured foot. The large man howled, dropping to one knee.
Across the room, Alligator Loki had recovered from Throg's lightning attack and was now snapping his jaws at any variant who came too close, his golden horned headpiece retrieved and slightly askew on his scaly head. Throg bounded nearby, occasionally zapping variants with small bolts from Frogjolnir when they threatened his allies.
Through this maelstrom of betrayal and violence, Old Loki, Kid Loki, Loki, and Sylvie formed a defensive circle, backs to each other as they faced the swirling chaos around them.
"Typical," Old Loki muttered, hands weaving to create barriers and illusions around their group. "Give a Loki an opportunity for power, and watch the knives come out."
Kid Loki crouched low, a golden sword clutched in his hand. "This is why I stay away from the other mes," he said, voice carrying the weariness of someone far older than his appearance suggested.
Sylvie stood shoulder to shoulder with Loki. "Your variants are even more charming than you," she remarked sarcastically.
"I'm the best version," Loki replied with a smirk, though his eyes remained alert, tracking the movements of the variants that came too close to their circle.
Tyson heard this exchange while assessing the battlefield. Every Loki here believed they were the best version, the one who'd figured it out, the exception to the rule. Each was convinced of their own uniqueness while following identical patterns, with the Old Loki being the only exception. They all thought they were playing a different game than their variants, but from the outside, it was obvious they were just moving the same pieces around the same board with minor variations. The tragedy was that their intelligence, or maybe their narcissism, made them blind to it. They were each too clever to recognize that their cleverness was itself predictable. And the most disturbing part? Tyson felt himself falling into the same trap, thinking he was different because he understood Loki from the inside, when maybe that understanding was just another form of the same delusion.
A Loki wearing Viking-style armor charged toward them, axe raised high. Old Loki created a concussive wave that sent the attacker tumbling backward into a group of fighting Lokis.
"We need to get out of here," Kid Loki pointed toward the ladder leading out from the bunker.
Old Loki agreed. "We move as one. My illusions will cover our retreat."
President Loki had recovered from his encounter with the wall and was now rallying a group of variants to his side. "Get me that Thor!" he shouted.
"He really doesn't give up, does he?" Sylvie observed.
"Would you?" Loki asked.
The four allies began to edge toward the passage Kid Loki had indicated, moving as a coordinated unit through the battlefield of variants. Old Loki's illusions shimmered around them, creating duplicate images that confused their attackers. Kid Loki darted forward occasionally, his small size allowing him to slip between combatants and use his sword to clear a path.
Around them, the battle continued unabated. Lokis fought Lokis, each seeking to establish dominance in the hierarchy of variants.
Tyson faced President Loki and a trio of other Lokis. He recognized these from the debriefing back at the TVA. One was a frost giant variant, with blue skin and Loki's appearance, but not the height or size familiar to frost giants. This one wielded daggers just like President Loki. The second was a Loki in cyclist garb, wielding a trophy as a weapon; the last was a terribly muscular Loki that looked almost like a troll or the Hulk, but still had Loki's face.
The four variants had broken away from the main chaos, forming a semicircle around Tyson. Their identical faces wore different expressions. President Loki's calculating smirk, Frost Giant Loki's cold disdain, Cyclist Loki's manic grin, and Hulk-Loki's vacant aggression.
President Loki twirled his dagger between his fingers. "What will you do now, Thor?" he taunted. "You could beat one of us, but can you beat us all?"
Tyson felt Mjolnir, the storm building inside it, and sensed the lightning waiting to be unleashed. Every nerve ending in his body was hyperaware; he could feel the electromagnetic fields of everyone in the room mapping themselves in his consciousness. It felt like, for the first time, he was truly wielding Mjolnir. Not just power, but awareness, connection, the ability to sense and affect the world in ways that transcended his normal limitations.
And right now, every bit of that awareness was focused on the Lokis surrounding him.
"Now, I'll finish what we started on the Rainbow Bridge." These weren't the same Loki, but they were close enough.
President Loki's eyes widened slightly with a flicker of recognition, or fear, crossing his features before his confident mask returned. Perhaps all these Lokis had fought Thor on the Rainbow Bridge.
President Loki spread his arms wide, and suddenly there were dozens of him, identical copies spreading outward in a circle around Tyson. "Which one of us will you strike first?" the Lokis asked, voices overlapping in an eerie chorus.
Tyson's fingers tightened on Mjolnir as he faced the circle of identical faces. Each one wore that same knowing smirk, that same calculating gleam in green eyes. They thought they understood him, thought they could predict his moves because they knew Thor.
But they didn't know him.
Didn't know that he felt the echoes of their planning, their schemes, their desperate need to control every situation. Part of him wanted to smash through all the illusions, to prove that brute force could break their carefully laid plans. But another part, the part that carried Sylvie's understanding of fear masquerading as arrogance, that part hesitated.
Then Tyson's eyes began to glow brighter, electric blue intensifying to white-hot incandescence. Not because he'd chosen violence. Though he had.
Because he'd chosen clarity.
He raised Mjolnir slowly, deliberately, and the lightning that erupted from it wasn't wild or chaotic. It was controlled, purposeful, seeking.
His lips curved upward.
"All of you," he answered. "I'll strike all of you."