Su Ming was in his office, trimming his beard and hair, getting ready for school.
Suddenly, the Ancient One appeared, clearly with something urgent to discuss.
"Morning, Master Ancient One. Had breakfast?" Su Ming grinned, unbothered by the fact he was only wrapped in a towel, his muscular frame radiating explosive power.
Winter sunlight bathed him, gilding his form like a Greek statue, exuding raw masculinity.
But before she could reply, a blinding beam struck nearby. Gin, holding a suit and shirt, vanished instantly.
Only a charred, twisted pattern remained on the floor, like intricate scorch marks.
Su Ming's face darkened.
"Stranglehold."
The symbiote grabbed his belt from the desk, pulling the Icon Armor from the spatial pouch and assembling it onto him.
Su Ming strapped on the Godslayer and Nightfall swords, Promethium rifle, and explosives across his chest.
A scarf from the rack flew over, morphing into a black cloak that draped behind him.
"Guess mimicking a comedic role can't change my core…"
Su Ming sighed inwardly.
The experiment was done. Even copying Marvel's comedic archetype didn't sway the universe's stance toward him.
In DC, he'd tried a lighthearted approach, outdoing even Barry's antics, yet Barry still got turned into a fish.
In other worlds—Witcher, Faerûn, Transformers—his outward behavior didn't matter. Those worlds remained cold, indifferent.
In Marvel, where comedic personas should thrive, things still went wrong. The universe saw Deathstroke as grim and ruthless, sticking to his "core setting."
The experiment succeeded, but the results were grim:
Mimicking comedic roles to boost luck didn't work. Trouble still found him. Different worlds had distinct consciousnesses, operating on fixed rules, neither targeting nor favoring outsiders. DC and Marvel, with their multiverses, tolerated timeline changes better. Other worlds had rigid scripts, with a "corrective force."
Traveling worlds and testing theories took time, but Su Ming had plenty. It was worth it.
He checked his gear while thinking.
"Slade, I came about this. Gin isn't yours—he's Asgardian," the Ancient One said, urging calm.
Su Ming lifted his mask, chugging from a bottle on the desk.
"I know."
"Oh?"
"No SSS serum, yet he doesn't age. The Cloak of Levitation senses magic; his ring—my gift—triggered instantly. And his drinking? Anyone who can match me without passing out isn't human," Su Ming said coolly, eyeing her.
He'd always known Gin wasn't human. Decades of loyalty made it irrelevant.
Years ago, on a sweltering summer day, Su Ming found him on scorching asphalt.
Since then, Gin had been by his side, dependable, always there.
Did his origins matter?
Gin tried to confess several times, but Su Ming deflected, sparing him guilt.
Now Asgard had snatched him without a word, breaking their silent understanding. This wasn't how it should go.
So, Su Ming planned to visit Asgard and reason with those lofty gods.
The Ancient One nodded. She'd expected this. Slade's carefree act masked meticulous calculation.
Everything he did had purpose. If you fell for his facade, he'd trip you up. Asgard—likely Heimdall—had been fooled by his jovial mask.
Deathstroke heading to the Nine Realms? Good or bad, Asgard's overreach needed a lesson.
Per her pact with Odin, Asgardians weren't allowed on Earth.
Mistakes happened; some Asgardians, like Gin, got stranded. He landed on Midgard, picked up by Su Ming.
Odin, covering up a past incident, didn't recall them. But now, Heimdall had urgently summoned everyone back.
Technically, Odin was just honoring the pact—decades late.
To Deathstroke, though, they'd stolen his right-hand man.
"Odin's strong. In his Rune King state, he's my equal. You sure you can win?" the Ancient One asked, sitting cross-legged on a sofa, smiling.
"He's old. I've got plans," Su Ming replied calmly. "Their enemies span the stars. One ally, and Asgard's done."
She guessed his strategy. Asgard's long life had bred countless foes—a weak point.
"They recalled everyone to face an ancient prophecy," she said.
"Ragnarök?"
Marvel's Ragnarök had variants: the Serpent, Fire, Wolf, or Dead.
In myth, it was a chain of events. In Marvel, any single one could end Asgard.
"Exactly. Signs of Twilight are showing. I can handle Earth's crises, but Asgard…" She trailed off. The World Tree was tilting.
"I'm just grabbing Gin. Asgard's not my problem," Su Ming said, waving it off. He didn't care about strangers.
"Asgard's useful. It can't fall," she countered, shaking her head. His plan was solid, but she couldn't let Asgard burn.
If she could act, she'd have dealt with Odin long ago.
"Because Asgard's our roof and umbrella?" Su Ming grinned, catching on.
"Yes. Millennia ago, I used the Time Stone, went back, and nudged Odin to believe he's the Nine Realms' protector, guarding Earth willingly. Over time, all Asgardians bought it. They can't wake up," she said, unfazed, like it was trivial.
Su Ming clicked his tongue. "So Odin tanks every invasion? Nice move, Master."
"I told you, protecting Earth takes every trick. Mine are gentle," she said, summoning a soda from a cabinet and sipping.
Dark Elves, Frost Giants, alien Titans—Odin blocked them. She only dealt with mystic threats, easing her load.
She let Odin think his Rune King state matched hers, but he'd fallen into her trap.
She played equal, gifting him the hollow title of Nine Realms' Guardian.
Odin thought he ruled Midgard, but who outside Scandinavia knew Asgard's legends?
He'd been Earth's free bodyguard. Kinda sad, really.
Still, snatching Gin was unacceptable.
"Got it. You're saying play it smart. I'll scout first," Su Ming said.
"Good choice," she said, pleased. A worthy successor. "By the way, you knew Gin's a woman, right?"
"…Huh?"
Frigga, Mother of the Gods, jolted awake, screaming, soaked in sweat, her thin sheets like a noose around her.
She wiped her brow, cradling her face, curling up with elbows on her knees.
In her dream, everything burned. Asgard's flowers withered in flames, its grand castle crumbling under a crimson sky.
Fire, from her youth, was always a bad omen.
Her golden hair dripped wet. A balcony breeze calmed her.
Dismissing a concerned Valkyrie, she lay back down. Odin was absent, in a long slumber to extend his life.
Asgard was now ruled by the Mothers of the Gods—Odin's harem.
Compared to DC's Zeus, Odin was restrained, with only three wives.
Frigga of Vanaheim, per an Asgard-Vanaheim pact, held the primary wife's seat for unity.
Then there was Gaea, Earth Goddess, and Idunn, Goddess of Youth—concubines.
When ruling together, only Frigga sat on the central throne with Odin's ravens. The others took lower seats beside her.
Thor, Gaea's son, was adopted by Frigga. As Asgard's heir, he had to come from the primary wife.
Today, the three goddesses ordered Heimdall to recall surviving Valkyries. Not all were eager—Odin had abandoned them.
Sent to secretly fight Hela, they were nearly wiped out, only a few surviving.
Hela's existence was a secret Odin kept, so he never recalled the survivors.
Some ended up on Sakaar, working for the Grandmaster, like Brunnhilde, always charging first.
Others, like Mist, landed on Earth, disguised as mortal, skilled in magic and illusion.
Mist returned but glared at the goddesses like they were doomed, saying her boss would come for her.
Her arrogance enraged the gods. Valkyries swore loyalty to Odin; serving another was betrayal.
So, they locked Mist in a cell.
By day, Frigga saw no issue. But her nightmare—a vengeful figure torching Asgard—changed that.
Recalling Mist's words, if a Valkyrie switched masters, was her new boss stronger than Odin?
She thought of her son, Thor. What was the Thunder God doing?
Thor was in a Nordic village, helping farmers douse a fire.
In winter, fires here were impossible, yet flames burned on snow.
Stone houses softened in the blaze, turning to putty, reeking.
Thor tried wind and rain, but the eternal flames wouldn't die.