"The Earth spins eternally, tracing a predetermined path, hurtling through cosmic distances no one comprehends in their fleeting lives," Doom said, arms crossed, his eyes shrouded in the shadow of his hood. He seemed to be lecturing Valeria, but his words were aimed at Deathstroke.
Su Ming's face remained impassive, as always, betraying no emotion.
Since Doom began assembling his devices, the three accompanying Su Ming—Ciri, Magik, and Hamir—wore looks of confusion. Doom felt compelled to explain; how could they revere his genius if they didn't grasp the machine's power?
"Thus, any time machine is inherently a space machine. Without spatial coordinates, time lacks meaning," Doom continued.
Su Ming nodded, picking up the thread. Having ventured beyond the multiverse with Ciri, he understood that time varied across worlds, its flow starkly different when crossing realities. Here, time couldn't exist independently of the Marvel universe. Doom was merely noting that his temporal tech evolved from spatial transport.
But a space machine sparked an idea in Su Ming.
"Sometimes I think you could earn a physics degree," Doom remarked, shifting topics when Su Ming stole his point.
Su Ming drew his greatsword, plunging it into the ground, slicing the stone floor like cake. "Simple mechanics solve most problems. Degrees don't grant authority, and at critical moments like these, diplomas won't keep you alive."
"Well said. Strength is all that matters," Doom agreed, nodding. "But pretending to be a brute before Doom is futile. I know who you are."
Branded a terrorist by the United Nations, hunted by 70% of Earth's nations, with the U.S. constantly plotting to topple his regime and surviving multiple nuclear strikes, Doom and Latveria stood unshaken—by his strength alone.
Yet, at the End of Time, annihilation loomed beyond his power. He needed allies, hence the deal.
The catch? Never fully trust Deathstroke. What you see or hear might not be true.
Ironically, even Su Ming didn't know his future self, rendering the topic moot.
He turned to Valeria, engrossed at her computer. "Valeria, can you call your brother? Your Uncle Doom is off to save the world."
Valeria sighed. The world's supposed villain was now its savior—what were the heroes doing? Still, she tapped her computer. Franklin, in his self-made world, could stay connected if he chose.
"We fight Loki here, avoiding Odin's wrath in the past," Doom revealed, planning to summon Loki via the time machine.
Trap Loki, attack together, and even his cunning would fail.
"But that risks drawing this Loki's attention," Su Ming countered. "Between facing the End of Time Loki or pre-Ragnarok Odin, I choose the latter."
In Su Ming's plan, everyone had a role. His? Confront Odin. Facing a top-tier Allfather wasn't a guaranteed win, but holding him off would give Doom time to handle the past Loki.
Then, a figure materialized from thin air, floating cross-legged like the Joker on a playing card, clutching a flaming skull.
The skull's fire illuminated the dim basement, bright as a wedding hall.
"Thanks, Deathstroke. You're the first to admit I'm stronger than Odin," the figure said.
It was Loki—specifically, the Loki from the final moment before the End of Time, stripped of titles like God of Stories or Asgardian prince. Just Loki.
Abandoning stories and schemes, he reverted to his purest form: a master deceiver, his deadliest state.
Su Ming facepalmed. Loki's narrative was so fragmented—Prince Loki, Kid Loki, Lady Loki, Agent Loki, Old Loki, God of Stories Loki, End of Time Loki, All-New All-Different Loki—that, like Kang the Conqueror, each felt like a distinct entity.
How many Lokis existed? No answer. As the ultimate trickster, his actions were unknowable. Like asking how many Jokers roamed DC's main Earth. Some said one; Justice League members like Hal might say three or four.
But ask Batman, and he'd say: one Joker means infinite Jokers. Not because "everyone has a Joker inside," as the clown claimed, but because his psyche never stopped shifting. In seconds, the same face could house a terrorist, a romantic poet, a bloodthirsty butcher, or an innocent child. Unless you wore black with pointed ears, you'd be dead by the third shift.
Batman fought not the Joker's body—a mere vessel—but his chaotic spirit. Even without the Joker, DC's world would spawn Big Jokers, Medium Jokers, Mini Jokers. The universe's dark essence ensured that chaotic spirit endured. Only Batman persevered, while even Superman, the Justice League's beacon, fell to Injustice Superman in a battle of ideals.
Loki's appearance now had a purpose.
Doom reacted faster than Su Ming, hurling lightning spears without chanting. His armor stored pre-recorded spells, played at superhuman speed, making his casting near-instant. While obscure rituals required preparation, lightning and lasers were second nature.
"Oh, I'm terrified," Loki mocked, grinning as he raised the flaming skull, absorbing the lightning into its eye sockets.
"Yummy," the skull chattered.
"Quiet, little skull," Loki snapped, swatting it like a fly before gently stroking its cranium, as if apologetic. His deep eyes scanned Su Ming's group, then Doom, who launched another spell.
"Easy, Doctor. I'm not your enemy. I hear you're after my past self. How about I join you?" Loki said, deflecting another attack.
"Leave, or die," Doom replied, unfazed. Magic duels were his forte.
Loki stroked his chin, blocking another strike. "Fine, I surrender. How about a game instead?"
With that, he vanished like fading bubbles.
Doom snorted. "Invisibility? Think I haven't seen that? Valeria."
"Uncle Doom, you promised no more killing," Valeria said, propping her chin, legs swinging on her hovering chair.
"I know. Do your part," Doom said, readying a wide-range spell.
"Fine. He's there," Valeria pointed.
Doom's fireball struck, blasting a figure from thin air, tumbling far. The flaming skull, unharmed, chattered mockingly at Loki.
"My invisibility, seen through by a little girl? Time to retire," Loki groaned, sitting up, barely hurt but visibly exasperated.
Valeria gave him a sympathetic look, shrugging. "If you had an invisible mom, you'd know how I trained."
"Your temporal-spatial signature is unique, like a fingerprint, distinct from your past self. Our instruments can track it," Doom explained, tucking his hands beneath his cloak. "That's why Doom showed mercy. Thank your king's grace and flee while you can."