The streets of Mumbai had finally gone quiet. Ravi slept in his uncle's tiny apartment, his chest rising and falling beneath patched blankets. His dreams were restless, his body still sore from the battle that had nearly taken his life. Bandages wrapped his hands, reminders of fists thrown in desperation. His heart still ached from his father's death, from the grip of the mafia that had stolen more than family. Yet tonight he had seen something that would linger long after the bruises healed.
Me.
He did not understand me fully, not yet. But seeds had been planted. When the time was right, those seeds would bloom. For now, I let him rest.
I stood on the rooftop of the crumbling building, the night air thick with smoke and the hum of neon lights. Beyond the sounds of horns, engines, and street vendors closing their stalls, I listened for something else. Something far beyond the city.
And there it was—a vibration, faint yet unignorable, stretching across the stars. It was like a drumbeat carried through the cosmos, a rhythm no human could hear. But I could.
I closed my eyes. The vibration sharpened, pulling me westward, far from India, across the dark waters of the ocean. It led me to a land of deserts and steel, to a cube of power pulsing in the hands of mortals.
The Tesseract.
I had known it under other names, in other cycles of time. A fragment of infinity, dangerous in every hand it touched. Now it stirred again, restless, and it was not alone. Wrapped around its call was something older than the cube itself—a shadow I knew too well.
Kali Purusha.
The embodiment of chaos, the eater of order, the shadow that rose whenever dharma faltered. Its whisper carried through the portal, clinging to the Tesseract's awakening. The cube was not just opening space. It was opening doors that should have remained sealed.
I turned from the skyline of Mumbai, and the city dissolved. To mortal eyes, it would look as if I had vanished into thin air. In truth, I was already walking across a barren desert half a world away.
The S.H.I.E.L.D. facility sat like a fortress carved from steel, rising out of the New Mexico sands. Floodlights cast sharp beams across the fences, illuminating the ground like a stage. Watchtowers loomed, soldiers patrolled, and helicopters circled the perimeter with restless engines.
Inside, the facility pulsed with tension. Agents moved quickly but carefully, carrying equipment, checking weapons, whispering hurried updates into radios. They all knew something was wrong, but not one of them understood just how wrong.
I walked among them, dressed in a plain suit, my false identification clipped to my pocket. To their eyes, I was Dr. Narayan Das, an academic flown in to consult on the strange readings coming from the cube. My footsteps were quiet, my presence barely noticed. Mortals rarely question what they believe to be ordinary.
The corridors smelled of oil and disinfectant. The hum of generators shook the walls. Alarms flickered faintly above doors, not yet screaming but warning enough.
At last I reached the chamber.
The Tesseract floated within its steel frame, contained by heavy arms of alloy and cables that hummed with power. The cube glowed a deep, impossible blue, its light shifting in pulses like a living heartbeat. Monitors around the chamber showed waves of energy climbing to impossible peaks, then crashing down again.
Dr. Erik Selvig stood closest to the glass, his glasses slipping down his nose as he scribbled frantic notes. He muttered calculations under his breath, shaking his head. Sweat glistened on his brow.
Nick Fury watched from the center of the room, arms crossed, his single eye sharp as a blade. The director of S.H.I.E.L.D. radiated the sort of calm that comes not from serenity, but from years of surviving disasters. Yet even he could not hide the edge of concern tightening his jaw.
"It's been unstable for hours," Selvig said, voice thin with tension. "Like it's trying to… talk."
Fury didn't look away from the cube. "And you're sure it isn't just a fluctuation?"
"This isn't a fluctuation. It's—" Selvig swallowed. "It's communicating."
Fury turned his eye toward me. "And what's your take, Doctor?"
I stepped closer to the containment glass, letting the light bathe my face. The energy hummed, vibrating against my skin like a living thing. I could feel the call, not to me, but to something else—something on the verge of stepping through.
"It is not speaking," I said quietly. "It is calling."
Fury's brow furrowed. Selvig blinked, confused. Before either could press me, the Tesseract pulsed violently.
The cube's glow intensified, light flaring like lightning trapped in glass. The containment arms groaned, sparks showering the floor. Monitors screamed with static.
Alarms blared. Red lights filled the chamber. The cube flared again, then again, each pulse faster than the last.
And then it happened.
With a sound like fabric tearing across the sky, the cube ripped open a portal.
A vortex of blue fire spun into existence, roaring like a storm trapped in a tunnel. The floor shook. Dust rained from the ceiling. Agents shouted, weapons raised, their voices lost in the thunder of the portal.
Through the swirling light, a figure stepped forward.
He was tall, armored in black and green, a gleaming horned helm rising above his head. His face was sharp, his eyes gleaming with something between hunger and amusement. He walked with the arrogance of one who believed the world was already his.
Loki of Asgard.
The agents reacted instantly, rifles clicking as they drew aim. "Step away from the cube!" one barked, voice cracking under the weight of fear.
Loki tilted his head, the faintest smirk on his lips. He raised his scepter lazily, as if swatting at flies. A pulse of blue light erupted from its tip, slamming into the nearest squad.
The soldiers collapsed without a sound. Weapons clattered uselessly to the floor. Others froze, their eyes glowing the same eerie blue as the scepter. With a mechanical turn, they aimed their rifles—at their own comrades.
Screams echoed. Shouts filled the chamber. Selvig stumbled back against a console, his papers scattering across the floor.
Nick Fury drew his pistol, steady as ever, though his jaw tightened. "I don't know who you are," he growled, "but you just made a big mistake."
Loki smirked wider. "I am Loki of Asgard," he purred, voice rich with mockery. "And I am burdened with glorious purpose."
The chamber erupted in chaos—agents firing, the enthralled turning against them, bullets sparking against steel and concrete. Through it all, Loki strolled forward, his scepter glowing, his smile fixed like a mask.
And beneath his voice, I heard it.
The whisper.
Not his own. Not Asgardian. Not of this world.
The voice of Kali Purusha.
It twined around him like smoke, feeding his arrogance, pressing him forward, whispering of conquest and chaos. Loki thought he was free, that he was clever, that he was winning. In truth, he was being used.
The cube had not just opened a door for him. It had opened a door for the shadow.
I stepped forward, my voice cutting through the gunfire and the screams.
"Loki Odinson."
The name halted him mid-stride. His eyes snapped toward me, the smirk faltering for just an instant. He studied me, suspicion flickering.
"And who," he asked slowly, "dares to speak my name here?"
The chamber fell silent for a heartbeat. Even the gunfire seemed to pause as Loki's sharp gaze locked onto me. His smirk wavered, just slightly, but then returned like a mask pulled tight.
"And who," he said again, voice curling with suspicion, "dares to speak my name here?"
I took a step closer, my eyes steady on his. The cube's light painted the room in blue fire, casting shadows that danced like specters. "I am one who knows you," I answered, my voice carrying not only to him but to the presence that whispered behind him. "And I know the shadow that guides your hand."
Loki tilted his head, curiosity flickering in his eyes. For all his arrogance, he was clever enough to recognize when another force stood beyond mortal understanding. His fingers tightened on the scepter, its glow pulsing in response.
Nick Fury glanced between us, his pistol still raised. "What the hell is going on here?"
Neither Loki nor I answered. Our gazes were locked, two storms colliding in silence.
The cube pulsed again, the portal behind Loki swirling violently as if echoing our confrontation. Sparks rained from the containment frame. Consoles shorted out, monitors cracking under the pressure of uncontrolled energy.
"You are not of Asgard," Loki said slowly, his smirk fading into calculation. "Nor are you of Midgard. What are you?"
I did not answer him with words. Instead, I let my form shift, just enough for him to glimpse. For the agents around us, I remained Dr. Narayan Das. But for Loki, for the one touched by shadow, I allowed the illusion to fracture.
For the briefest instant, he saw the skin of the universe peel back. My aura burned with light older than his realm, the mark of one who had walked through cycles uncounted. In my eyes, he glimpsed the reflection of Vishvarupa—the cosmic form, the all-encompassing being that held suns like dust.
Loki's smirk cracked.
But then he laughed.
It was not the laugh of amusement, but of defiance, forced to cover fear. "Another pretender," he sneered. "How many gods must crawl out of the void to compete with Asgard?" He raised the scepter, pointing it at my chest. "Shall we see whose power endures?"
The chamber exploded into motion.
The enthralled agents opened fire, bullets sparking against consoles and walls. Others screamed, diving for cover. Fury shouted orders, his voice drowned out by chaos.
Loki lunged forward, the scepter blazing with blue fire. Its tip struck where I stood, detonating in a surge of raw energy. The floor cracked beneath the force, steel warping, glass shattering into shards.
But I was not there.
I moved through the blast like wind through reeds, untouched, my form blurring. Appearing behind him, I raised my hand, fingers glowing with golden fire.
"Enough."
I struck his armor with a palm strike that carried not only force but resonance, the sound of a thousand conches echoing through the chamber. Loki staggered, crashing against the containment frame. The cube flared in protest, energy rippling across the room like a tidal wave.
Agents collapsed, clutching their heads. Selvig fell to his knees, his glasses sliding across the floor. Fury braced himself against a console, teeth clenched.
Loki rose slowly, blood at the corner of his mouth. But instead of rage, his smile returned, sharper than before. "Yes," he hissed. "Yes, I see now. You are not of Midgard at all."
The shadow whispered louder now, its voice twining through his words. Break him. Use him. Bind him to the chaos.
I heard it, clear as thunder. My gaze flicked to the cube. Through its glow, I saw the faint outline of something pressing against the veil—a shape with too many arms, too many eyes, a darkness that writhed with hunger. Kali Purusha was close, its essence feeding Loki's arrogance, twisting his will into a weapon.
I clenched my fist. This battle could not drag on. If the cube shattered fully, the shadow would slip through unchecked.
Loki lunged again, his scepter slicing arcs of blue fire through the air. I met each strike with open palms, redirecting the energy, golden sparks clashing against azure lightning. The chamber shook with each impact, steel bending, alarms shrieking.
At last, our blows collided with full force.
Blue and gold light erupted, swallowing the room in blinding brilliance. Windows shattered across the facility. Vehicles outside were thrown into the sand like toys. Helicopters spun in the air, their pilots fighting desperately for control.
When the light faded, both of us stood panting, the floor around us cracked like broken earth.
"You cannot win," Loki snarled, his voice echoing with more than his own. "The shadow favors me."
I met his glare with calm. "Then you are already lost."
I struck, this time not with hand or fist, but with mantra. My voice resonated with the sound of the primordial syllable, Om, vibrating through every molecule of the chamber. The air itself shimmered. The enthralled agents collapsed, their eyes clearing. The consoles steadied, their alarms silencing.
Even the cube paused, its pulsing slowing, as if listening.
Loki screamed, clutching his head. The shadow shrieked with him, its outline writhing within the cube's glow. But it did not leave him. Not yet.
And in that pause, in that fragile silence, Loki struck his final blow.
He thrust the scepter into the cube.
The chamber detonated.
Light erupted, swallowing everything. Fury shouted, Selvig fell back, agents were thrown across the floor. The portal behind Loki roared open wider, pulling debris, consoles, even armored crates into its maw.
And when the brilliance cleared, both Loki and the cube were gone.
Only silence remained.
The chamber was a ruin, consoles sparking, steel twisted, walls blackened. Agents groaned as they pulled themselves from the wreckage. Fury stood slowly, his pistol still in hand though his eye was fixed on the emptiness where the cube had been.
"He's gone," Selvig whispered, his voice trembling.
I closed my eyes. Yes. Gone—but not alone. The shadow had followed him, whispering, feeding, guiding. Midgard's danger had multiplied beyond calculation.
Fury turned toward me, his face dark with questions. But before he could speak, the ground shook again.
A thunderclap rolled across the desert, not from the sky but from the earth itself. Lightning flashed through the clouds, splitting the night with blinding fury.
And from the storm came the sound of a hammer striking the heavens.
Thor had arrived.
I opened my eyes, the glow fading from my hands. The game had changed. Loki had taken the Tesseract, but he was not the only one touched by forces older than Midgard. Thor would come for him, yes—but he would not understand the true danger. Not yet.
Because Loki was no longer merely the God of Mischief.
He was the chosen vessel of Kali Purusha.
And only I could sever that bond.