The pressure under Frieza's foot increased slightly, and Loki immediately let out a pig-like shriek.
"Ah! No! Don't kill me!"
At this moment, Loki retained none of the dignity of the God of Mischief. He pleaded incessantly, like a terrified vagrant, "I was wrong! I truly was wrong! Please, spare me!"
Dignity? In the face of death, what good was dignity?
As long as he could live, he'd even call him father.
"Spare you?"
Frieza coldly snorted, his eyes icy. "You turned my building into this, costing me billions. Now you think a simple 'I was wrong' is enough for me to let you go?"
"What benefit is there for me if I spare you?"
Hearing this, Loki grasped at it like a drowning man clutching a straw, weeping and shouting, "If you don't kill me, I'll do anything for you! I have money! I have magic! I can help you rule this planet!"
Frieza curled his lips in disdain. "Ruling a planet is something I can do myself. I don't need a waste like you."
"Furthermore, you are the infamous God of Mischief, the God of Lies. How do I know you're not trying to deceive me right now?"
"What if I let you go, and the moment my back is turned, you stab me?"
As he spoke, Frieza pressed down with his foot, as if he genuinely intended to crush Loki's head the next second, spilling his clever brains all over the floor.
"No! I swear! I swear upon Odin's name!"
Loki was scared witless, trembling and howling loudly, "Don't kill me! Spare my miserable life! I truly can serve you! I can sign a contract! A soul contract!"
Hearing the words "serve you," the foot Frieza had on Loki's head paused slightly and he thoughtfully stroked his chin.
True, he was definitely going to venture into the intergalactic real estate business in the future.
Such a massive enterprise couldn't be run by him alone. Even with clone techniques, he wouldn't be able to handle it all.
Look at Frieza, he had the Ginyu Force, Zarbon, and Dodoria under him. He traveled in a spaceship and had subordinates to fight his battles—that was status.
Right now, he was a lone wolf, without even someone to pour him tea or water.
Although this Loki was weak in combat and had questionable morals, the guy was smart, durable, and, most importantly, decent-looking. Taking him out as a lackey or a watchdog wouldn't be too embarrassing.
If he ran into trouble with the likes of Thor or Odin later, throwing Loki out to take the fall wouldn't be a bad idea either.
At this thought, the killing intent on Frieza's face gradually receded, replaced by a satisfied smile, like a farmer selecting livestock.
He slowly withdrew his foot and smoothed out his slightly wrinkled pants.
"In that case..."
Frieza looked at Loki, who was panting on the ground, and elegantly extended his hand.
"Then you shall be the very first member of my Frieza Force."
"Feel honored, wild child. This is the greatest fortune of your life."
Loki lay on the ground, staring at the hand reaching out to him.
Although his heart was filled with humiliation and resentment, he still reached out his trembling hand without hesitation and grasped Frieza's, like a drowning man clinging to his last hope of survival.
"Yes... yes... Master..."
Frieza watched the scene, the smile on his lips growing wider.
Although having a god as a subordinate sounded quite impressive, Frieza couldn't help but frown upon seeing Loki's current state.
His green robes were tattered and torn, the golden, antler-like helmet was askew, and his face was still smeared with the dust and blood left over from being ground into the floor.
This was simply too shabby.
As the Emperor of the Universe and a future cosmic real estate developer, having his top henchman dressed like this would only embarrass him in public, wouldn't it?
If he went to negotiate land deals with developers from other universes, they might mistake him for a scrap collector.
"Listen, Loki."
Frieza disdainfully nudged the still-playing-dead Loki with the tip of his foot, his tone dripping with displeasure. "That outfit of yours doesn't suit my taste."
Loki flinched and scrambled to his feet, but he dared not stand straight. He hunched his back, trying his best to appear a head shorter than Frieza. His face, usually marked by a cunning smile, was now etched only with terror and confusion.
"M-Master?" Loki's voice trembled.
He was genuinely terrified from the beating, his internal organs still aching faintly.
"This... this is Asgardian royal attire. Isn't it good?"
In his view, this was the most noble symbol in the Nine Realms. Even if it was slightly damaged, it still carried the style of the Divine Realm.
"Royal? Ha." Frieza sneered, his eyes filled with contempt for such a provincial aesthetic.
"It's tacky, cumbersome, and completely unstreamlined."
"If you've joined the Frieza Force, you need to look the part."
Frieza extended a finger and pointed at Loki. "Transform into a white and purple combat suit. It needs to be high-stretch, form-fitting, breathable, and most importantly, the kind that shows off muscle definition."
Loki froze.
White and purple? A bodysuit? What kind of bizarre aesthetic was this? Was this monster, who possessed terrifying power, actually a pervert?
But he dared not refuse. Swallowing his humiliation, he channeled the meager divine power left in his body.
As a flash of green magical mist passed, Loki's Asgardian robes vanished, replaced by a white and purple bodysuit created exactly as Frieza had described.
It was tight, painfully so.
Loki felt like a sausage stuffed into a casing, extremely uncomfortable.
Frieza scrutinized him from head to toe, stroking his chin with a nod, but his eyes still held a hint of criticism. "The colors are right, but it's missing something."
"The shoulder pads! Don't forget the shoulder pads."
Frieza gestured with an exaggerated arc over his own shoulder. "Those sharp, yellowish-brown shoulder pads that jut out on both sides. They are the soul. Understand?"
Loki was screaming internally, 'What legitimate combat suit has these anti-human shoulder pads! They don't just obstruct vision, they're practically guaranteed to snag your neck!'
Out loud, however, he could only meekly reply, "Y-Yes, the shoulder pads."
Another flash of green light.
This time, Loki had completely transformed into a Frieza Force grunt... no, he looked like a member of the Ginyu Force. He wore a white bodysuit with purple lining, a chest plate, and two ridiculously exaggerated shoulder pads.
He was the spitting image of a cosplayer who had wandered off the set of Dragon Ball and into the Marvel Universe.
"Perfect."
Frieza clapped his hands in satisfaction, gazing at the brand-new Loki before him, wearing the expression of an artist admiring his masterpiece.
Now that's more like it. This is what a cosmic army should look like.
Although Loki's face wasn't quite alien enough, making the look slightly jarring, the overall vibe was nailed.
"Excellent. From now on, this will be our company uniform." Frieza circled Loki, growing more satisfied with every look.
"You have great potential, Loki. I see a future for you as a squad leader."
Loki looked down at the rigid armor on his chest, then turned to examine the shovel-like things on his shoulders. A thousand obscenities screamed silently in his head.
What bizarre outfit was this? How was he supposed to maintain the dignity of the God of Mischief wearing this? If Thor saw him now, the big oaf would surely laugh himself to death.
"This uniform... it's truly magnificent, Master. Your taste is simply... ahead of its time." Loki forced himself, grinding the insincere compliment out between his teeth.
"Hmph, naturally."
Frieza didn't care whether Loki was sincere or not.
Good-looking?
That was for others to decide. What he wanted was the perverse satisfaction of creating a perfect, one-to-one replica of the Frieza Force.
Just imagine capturing Tony Stark, stripping off that red and gold tin can of his, putting him in this white and purple bodysuit, and then stamping the character 'Frieza' on his chest.
Tsk, tsk, the thought alone was thrilling.
And Black Widow and Wanda...
Frieza's gaze deepened slightly.
Of course, female employees would get slightly better treatment.
Wearing these combat suits in public was corporate culture, perfectly fine. But when reporting privately... the bodysuit could stay, but black stockings were absolutely essential.
That was the kind of perk a great villain—ahem, an Emperor of the Universe—should enjoy.
Thinking of this, Frieza's mood brightened considerably.
He turned around, his gaze passing through the shattered floor-to-ceiling window and settling on Stark Tower not far away.
There, a blinding column of blue light shot straight into the sky, tearing a massive hole in the sky. The Space Stone's energy device was running tirelessly, maintaining the wicked portal.
Countless Chitauri grunts were pouring in continuously, devouring the city like locusts.
"We've watched the show long enough. Time to get down to business."
Frieza adjusted his suit and tie. Although he made others wear bodysuits, he preferred suits himself. After all, he was the boss and needed to maintain his prestige.
"Let's go, Ginyu... no, Loki." Frieza almost called him by the name of the purple captain who performed awkward poses.
"Where are we going, Master?" Loki asked cautiously.
"To the top of Stark Tower." Frieza looked at the blue light, a flash of greed in his eyes.
"I'm very interested in that Space Stone. I need to see it up close."
Besides, according to the original script, the Avengers should be nearly finished assembling. Once they're fighting fiercely, that so-called Security Council will prepare to drop a nuclear bomb on New York.
That would be his moment to shine.
At that point, he'd crush the nuclear bomb in his left hand and obliterate the Chitauri mothership with an energy wave from his right. Wouldn't the fear points just come pouring in like a torrent?
This is business planning, this is called leveraging the situation.
"Then... how are we supposed to get there?"
Loki looked at the Chitauri chariots swarming outside, then looked at the air in his hands—his scepter was broken, his airship was destroyed, and he was currently just an infantryman.
"How?"
Frieza gave him a look reserved for imbeciles, then elegantly extended his right hand.
"Take my hand."
"Huh?" Loki was stunned.
Two grown men holding hands?
"Stop talking nonsense!"
Frieza grabbed the back collar of Loki's humiliating combat suit impatiently, lifting him like a misbehaving kitten.
"Hold on tight. If you fall and die, I won't be responsible for resurrecting you."