Chapter 13 : THE TRUTH DEMANDED
The image in Heimdall's viewing apparatus flickered and shifted.
Loki leaned closer, studying the darkness that approached the Mjolnir crater site. It moved wrong—not like a storm, not like an army, not like anything he recognized from the MCU timeline he'd memorized.
"Can you identify it?"
"I see shapes within the darkness." Heimdall's voice carried a note of uncertainty that seemed foreign to the all-seeing Gatekeeper. "Beings of considerable power. But their nature is... obscured."
"Obscured how?"
"Magic. Old magic. The kind that existed before Asgard rose." Golden eyes narrowed. "Someone has cloaked these travelers specifically to avoid my sight."
That's not in the script. The Destroyer was obvious, mechanical, sent by Loki to kill Thor. This is something else entirely.
The darkness on the projection resolved slightly. Loki caught glimpses of figures within—tall, angular, moving with predatory grace. Not Frost Giants. Not anything he recognized.
"How long until they reach the hammer?"
"At their current pace? Hours. Perhaps less if they accelerate."
Thor is powerless. Jane Foster and her team are scientists, not warriors. If something attacks that site—
"Can I send aid?"
Heimdall turned to face him fully, and something in his expression suggested he'd been waiting for this question. "The Bifrost can transport warriors to Midgard. But doing so without the All-Father's authorization would violate centuries of protocol regarding mortal realms."
"I'm regent. My authorization counts."
"Does it?" The question hung in the air. "You've held the throne for days. The council barely accepts your authority over domestic matters. Deploying military force to another realm could be seen as overreach—or worse, as provocation."
He's testing me. Or warning me. Or both.
"And if Thor dies because I followed protocol?"
"Then you would have followed protocol." Heimdall's voice remained neutral. "The decision is yours, regent. That's what regency means."
Loki turned back to the projection. Thor was visible now—still in the SHIELD facility, still mortal, still completely unaware that something ancient and powerful was hunting toward his location.
The original Loki would have let him die. Would have seen this as an opportunity to eliminate competition.
But I'm not the original Loki. And I need Thor alive.
"Options," he said. "Give me options that don't involve open military deployment."
"You could go yourself." Heimdall's tone suggested this was not a recommendation. "One prince, traveling privately, is not an act of war."
"I can barely cast illusions. I'd be killed in seconds."
"Then you could warn Thor through other means. I can project a message through the Bifrost connection—a voice, briefly, if not a physical presence."
Contact Thor directly. Tell him something's coming. Give him a chance to run.
"Do it."
"The message will be brief. Seconds at most. What would you say?"
Loki mind raced. Thor didn't trust Loki—not really, not yet. Any warning from his brother might be dismissed as manipulation. He needed words that would cut through suspicion and deliver truth.
"Tell him: 'Brother. Something approaches that I did not send. Flee the hammer. Protect the mortals. Prove yourself worthy another day.'"
Heimdall raised one eyebrow. "You emphasize that you did not send this threat."
"Because he'll assume I did. Because that's what the old Loki would have done." Loki met the Gatekeeper's golden gaze. "I need him to believe me. Can you convey sincerity through the Bifrost?"
"I can convey your words. Sincerity must speak for itself."
The mechanism hummed as Heimdall channeled power through it—not enough to open a full bridge, but enough to create a thread of connection across the void between realms. Light flickered in complex patterns that hurt to look at directly.
"It is done." Heimdall stepped back. "Whether he listens is beyond my control."
And beyond mine.
The projection shifted, showing Thor's face. Confusion flickered across those mortal features—he'd heard something. His head turned, searching for the source of a voice that had come from nowhere.
Then Jane Foster appeared beside him, touching his arm, asking questions he couldn't hear across the cosmic distance. Thor's expression shifted from confusion to determination.
He started moving. Away from the facility. Away from Mjolnir.
He believed me. Or at least, he believed enough to act.
"The mortals are moving as well," Heimdall reported. "The scientist woman has convinced them to evacuate."
"And the threat?"
"Still approaching. But slower now. As if..." Heimdall's voice trailed off into something approaching wonder. "As if they're disappointed. They wanted him at the hammer."
A trap. This was a trap. Someone wanted Thor vulnerable, mortal, isolated—and they wanted him in a specific location.
"Who has the power to arrange something like this?"
"Few beings in the Nine Realms could cloak themselves from my sight." Heimdall's jaw tightened. "Fewer still would have reason to target the son of Odin specifically."
Thanos. It has to be Thanos. He's moving earlier than the timeline suggested, probing Asgard's defenses, testing the royal family.
Or someone working for him.
"Continue watching. Report any changes to me immediately." Loki turned to leave, then stopped. "And Heimdall?"
"Regent?"
"Thank you for the options. Even the ones you didn't recommend."
Something flickered across Heimdall's face—surprise, perhaps, or the beginning of genuine respect. "The old Loki never thanked me for anything."
"The old Loki made many mistakes."
He walked back along the Bifrost, mind churning through implications. The threat had retreated—not defeated, just delayed. Someone was testing the waters, measuring responses, gathering intelligence.
I need information. I need to know what I'm facing.
And I know exactly where to find it.
The palace archives called to him.
Odin's private collection was legendary among Asgardian scholars—a repository of knowledge accumulated over millennia of conquest and diplomacy. Most of it was forbidden to anyone but the All-Father himself.
But the All-Father was asleep. And his regent had full access.
Loki changed direction, heading for the deepest levels of the palace where secrets lived in dusty silence. The guards at the archive entrance straightened when they saw him approaching.
"Regent. This section is—"
"Open to me." He kept his voice level, authoritative. "Check the protocols if you wish. I'll wait."
The guards exchanged glances. One consulted a crystal tablet, scrolling through regulations he clearly hoped would give him an excuse to refuse. His face fell when he found the relevant passage.
"The regent has full archive access during the All-Father's Sleep," he admitted. "My apologies, prince."
"No apology needed. You were doing your duty." Loki walked past them into the darkness beyond. "I'll be some time. See that I'm not disturbed."
The archives stretched into shadows that oil lamps barely penetrated. Shelves rose toward ceilings lost in darkness, crammed with scrolls and tomes and artifacts that radiated faint magical signatures. Dust motes drifted through what little light existed, giving the air a thick, ancient quality.
Where do I even start?
He began with the index—a massive crystal cube that pulsed when touched, projecting a three-dimensional map of the archive's contents. Categories branched off in every direction: Military History, Diplomatic Treaties, Magical Theory, Cosmological Observations...
Cosmological Observations. That's where information about external threats would be.
He navigated through the crystalline interface until he found what he was looking for: a subsection labeled "Entities of Concern." The classification system was old, predating the modern age by centuries, but the information was still there.
Thanos.
The name appeared in a scroll so old the edges crumbled at his touch. He read carefully, memorizing every word.
"The Mad Titan of Sanctuary. A being of considerable power and greater ambition. Obsessed with concepts of balance and universal correction. Has amassed military force sufficient to threaten multiple realms simultaneously. Approach with extreme caution. Do not engage without overwhelming force advantage."
The scroll is centuries old. Thanos has been out there, building power, for longer than I imagined.
He kept searching. Other names appeared—beings of cosmic significance that the MCU had barely touched on. Celestials. Elders of the Universe. The Living Tribunal. Each entry painted a picture of a universe far more complex and dangerous than any movie had suggested.
I'm not just facing Thanos. I'm facing a cosmos full of powers that could crush Asgard like an afterthought.
A section near the back of the archives caught his attention. Unlike the rest, this area showed signs of deliberate obscurement—shelves moved to block access, dust patterns suggesting things had been hidden rather than simply stored.
He pushed past the barriers.
The scrolls here were different. Newer paper, but content that had been systematically expunged from other records. Military victories with no attributed commander. Conquests that built Asgard's empire but left no named hero.
Hela. This has to be about Hela.
He found a fragment—just a piece of a larger document, torn and partially burned. The words that survived painted a terrifying picture.
"...the Goddess of Death, firstborn of Odin, commander of the Einherjar's most elite forces. Her blade carved Asgard's dominion across the Nine Realms. But her ambition exceeded her father's vision. When she sought to expand beyond the Nine, the All-Father..."
The rest was ash.
Odin had another child. A daughter. Someone so dangerous he erased her from history.
And she's still out there. Imprisoned somewhere. Waiting.
His hands trembled as he returned the fragment to its hiding place. The scope of what he faced kept expanding—Thanos, Hela, cosmic powers that made Asgard look small. And he had maybe a few years to prepare.
Or maybe less. If that darkness approaching Thor was Thanos's doing, the timeline is already accelerating.
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