Chapter 21 : THE DESTROYER'S ECHO
The alarm cut through the palace like a blade.
Loki was halfway through a lunch he didn't taste when the warning bells began—not the general alert that signaled external threats, but the specific sequence that meant something had gone wrong inside Asgard itself. Inside the palace.
Inside the vaults.
He was running before he consciously decided to move.
Guards converged from every direction, their armor clanking in the corridors, weapons drawn against a threat they couldn't identify. Loki pushed past them, using Loki's muscle memory to navigate shortcuts through the palace that most soldiers didn't know existed.
The vault level was chaos.
Keepers shouted conflicting reports. Security runes pulsed with agitated energy. And at the center of it all, an empty pedestal where something massive and terrible had rested for centuries.
"The Destroyer." A keeper's voice shook. "Regent—the Destroyer has activated."
No.
No, I didn't—
I didn't do anything.
"Show me the activation logs."
The keeper led him to a crystal interface that recorded every interaction with the vault's contents. Loki hands trembled as he manipulated the display, searching for evidence of who had commanded the ancient weapon to wake.
Nothing.
No command sequence. No authorization code. No trace of anyone approaching the Destroyer's pedestal in days.
"This is impossible." The keeper's voice climbed toward panic. "The automaton requires direct command from the throne. Someone must have—"
"No one did." Loki stared at the empty logs, his mind racing through implications. "The activation was autonomous."
"That's not possible. The safeguards—"
"The safeguards assume someone is actively ruling." His throat tightened. "Odin is asleep. I'm regent, not king. The Destroyer may have interpreted the... the ambiguity as a threat."
Or the timeline is forcing events to happen regardless of my choices.
The Frost Giant breach occurred without my interference. The unknown threat approached Thor without my involvement. And now the Destroyer activates without my command.
Some events are locked. Some things have to happen.
He ran for the Bifrost.
The journey felt endless—corridors blurring, guards scrambling to keep up, his heart pounding with a fear that had nothing to do with physical exertion. If the Destroyer reached Midgard before Thor proved worthy...
He's still mortal. Still powerless. The Destroyer will kill him. Kill his friends. Kill Jane Foster and everyone around them.
And they'll blame me.
Heimdall stood at his post, golden eyes fixed on something only he could see. The Bifrost mechanism hummed with recent activity—the telltale signature of a passage completed minutes ago.
"It's already through."
"The automaton commanded the bridge open." Heimdall's voice carried something that might have been frustration. "I could not refuse passage to a royal weapon operating under apparent authority."
"I didn't authorize this."
"I know." Golden eyes met his. "I see no deception in you, regent. But the Destroyer carries Odin's signature. It believes itself commanded."
"Can you recall it?"
"The automaton does not answer to the Bifrost once deployed. Only the throne can command its return."
And I'm not truly on the throne. I'm a placeholder. A regent. Not enough authority to override a weapon that's decided to activate.
Loki slammed his fist against the observatory wall. The impact sent pain shooting through his hand—good pain, grounding pain, something to focus on besides the helplessness threatening to overwhelm him.
"Show me."
The viewing apparatus materialized an image of Midgard. New Mexico. The small town near the Mjolnir crater site, where Thor had made friends and enemies and started learning what it meant to be human.
The Destroyer walked through the streets like a god of fire and metal.
Buildings burned. Cars exploded. Mortals ran screaming from a threat they couldn't understand and certainly couldn't stop. And walking toward the chaos, weapons drawn, expressions determined, came Sif and the Warriors Three.
They're going to fight it. They're going to try to stop a weapon that can level armies.
They're going to die.
"Where is Thor?"
"Behind the mortal lines. Watching." Heimdall's voice tightened. "He is attempting to organize an evacuation."
Good. That's good. He's protecting people instead of charging in.
But it won't be enough. The Destroyer won't stop until its target is eliminated.
Unless...
"The enchantment." Loki mind raced through possibilities. "Odin's enchantment on Mjolnir—whosoever holds this hammer, if he be worthy, shall possess the power of Thor. The Destroyer's attack might be the catalyst Thor needs."
"You believe he'll prove himself worthy?"
"I believe he has to." The words came out more prayer than certainty. "Because if he doesn't, everyone on that battlefield dies. And that includes my brother."
The image showed Sif engaging the Destroyer directly. Her blade struck the automaton's hide and bounced off without leaving a mark. It backhanded her across the street, sending her crashing through a storefront window.
Volstagg charged next. Same result. Hogun. Fandral. Each warrior thrown aside like toys.
Come on, Thor. This is your moment. This is where you choose to be more than you were.
Thor stepped forward.
He walked past the fallen warriors, past the evacuation lines, past the mortals who tried to pull him back. He walked toward the Destroyer with nothing but his mortal body and a spine made of something stronger than muscle.
"What is he doing?" Heimdall's voice carried wonder.
He's sacrificing himself. He's choosing to die so others can live.
He's becoming worthy.
The Destroyer's faceplate opened, revealing the fire that burned at its core. Energy gathered for a killing strike.
Thor stood his ground.
"Brother," Loki whispered. "Please."
The blast came—a lance of power sufficient to destroy armies. It struck Thor square in the chest.
He flew backward, broken and burning, landing in the dirt like a discarded puppet.
No.
No, that's not—
That's not how the story goes.
Then: a sound. A whistle cutting through the chaos. Something bright streaking across the New Mexico sky.
Mjolnir.
The hammer tore free of its crater and flew—not fell, flew—toward the broken figure in the dirt. It reached Thor's outstretched hand at the exact moment life should have ended.
Lightning exploded from the impact point.
Thor Odinson rose in armor that hadn't existed seconds before, power crackling around him like a storm made flesh. The mortal was gone. The god had returned.
Loki watched his brother face the Destroyer—watched lightning meet fire, watched worthy meet unstoppable—and felt something crack open in his chest.
He did it.
The timeline demanded the confrontation, but Thor made the choice himself. He chose to sacrifice. He chose to be worthy.
He's coming home.
The Destroyer fell. Thor stood among the wreckage, hammer raised, triumphant in a way that meant something now because he'd earned it.
"The crown prince has proven himself," Heimdall said quietly. "The enchantment is broken. His power is restored."
"How long until he returns?"
"He has matters to address on Midgard. Hours, perhaps. A day at most."
Hours. A day.
Time to prepare for what comes next.
Loki turned from the viewing apparatus, his mind already calculating. Thor would return. Odin might wake. The regency would end. And someone would have questions about why the Destroyer activated in the first place.
I didn't send it. But how do I prove that?
How do I explain that the timeline itself seems to force certain events regardless of my choices?
He walked back toward the palace, leaving Heimdall to his eternal watch. The rainbow bridge stretched beneath his feet, and somewhere across the cosmic void, his brother prepared to come home.
Be ready, he told himself. For the questions. For the suspicions. For whatever happens when Thor returns to find Loki on the throne.
Be ready to be the brother he needs instead of the enemy he expects.
The palace gates waited ahead, and beyond them, a future that had already started changing.
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