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Chapter 320: Thor’s Wrath: My Brother Was Beaten Up?
🕑 Added 2025-09-12 17:21:02 +0000 UTC
"Forget it. Whatever agreement the other me reached with Asgard has nothing to do with me."
After a long silence, Alex finally came to a decision. His thoughts had circled endlessly, but in the end, clarity settled over him like calm water after a storm.
Since he had resolved to gather the Infinity Stones for himself, his future path had already diverged completely from that of his counterpart in the parallel universe. Their fates might have shared a starting point, but they were destined to follow different trajectories—two roads that neither ran parallel nor crossed.
The other Alex’s experiences could serve as references when convenient, but they weren’t gospel.
To be frank, that version of Alex hadn’t walked a flawless victor’s path either. The final fate of the mutants in that universe remained a blur. There was every possibility that before he could collect all the Stones or gain the power to challenge Arishem, he had already fallen, erased like a grain of dust in the cosmos.
In blunt terms, that Alex’s life wasn’t the perfect cheat-sheet answer key. There was nothing worth copying wholesale.
With that realization, Alex’s gaze grew calmer, more resolute.
"Keep him locked up for now," he instructed Erik, his tone steady. "When someone from Asgard comes, we’ll return Loki to them."
The decision wasn’t made lightly, but once made, Alex left no room for doubt.
Erik studied him, reading that familiar air of unshakable confidence. Alex always spoke as if the world itself bent naturally around his will. Seeing that assurance, Erik gave a slight nod. He didn’t press further.
---
Asgard.
The Rainbow Bridge Observatory.
The endless void stretched outside the shimmering dome of the hall, the cosmos painted in streaks of gold and violet light. Inside, beneath towering pillars of Asgardian architecture, stood a solitary figure clad in dark armor, a massive sword planted firmly before him.
Heimdall. The eternal watchman of Asgard.
His very stance was a declaration—unyielding, immovable, as if the cosmos themselves rested on his shoulders. His presence alone filled the chamber with a pressure as heavy as mountains.
Beside him stood a man no less striking: broad-shouldered, golden-haired, his red cape trailing like a river of fire. In his calloused hand rested a hammer of deceptively simple design, yet the air itself seemed to hum with the weight of its divine might.
Thor, the God of Thunder.
"Heimdall, are you certain? You saw Loki? Truly?" Thor’s voice shook, each word carrying a tremor of barely suppressed emotion. His usually even breathing had grown ragged, each inhale sharp as though it scraped against his chest.
For two long years, he had believed his brother dead.
Every day since that loss had been a torment. He had replayed their last confrontation a thousand times in his mind, words spoken in anger haunting him in quiet hours. He could still hear Loki’s anguished cry echoing in his memory: “I never wanted the throne. I only ever wanted to be your equal!”
The words pierced him even now, sharper than any blade.
Thor’s heart clenched painfully, his warrior’s composure cracking. If what Heimdall said was true, then—
"Thor," Heimdall replied with the solemn calm that defined him, his gaze like molten gold. "When have these eyes ever deceived you? I too believed Loki gone. Yet he lives. On Midgard. At this very moment."
Thor’s face split into a smile, raw and almost childlike in its simplicity. "By the Norns… it’s true? He’s alive? He’s truly alive!" He laughed, a sound full of relief and disbelief mingled together.
Heimdall, however, remained still. His expression was unreadable.
Loki’s return was hardly a matter for joy in his eyes. Had they already forgotten that just two years ago, Loki had nearly doomed Asgard by opening the gates to the Frost Giants while Odin lay in his Odinsleep? His mischief was not harmless trickery but a reckless gamble that risked realms.
And beyond that, Heimdall knew a secret most did not—that Loki was not Odin’s son by blood at all.
All things considered, the gatekeeper’s heart held little warmth at the thought of Loki’s return.
"Tell me, Heimdall," Thor pressed eagerly, stepping closer, his knuckles white around Mjolnir’s haft. "Where is he now? What is he doing?"
"On Midgard," Heimdall answered gravely. "But…" He paused, then sighed. "His situation is not good."
Thor blinked, startled. "Not good? What do you mean? Midgard is populated by mortals. Fragile creatures. They could not possibly harm Loki. What threat could he face there?"
Heimdall hesitated for only a heartbeat before speaking the truth. "Simply put—your brother was struck down in battle. Defeated. And afterward… he was thrown into a prison cell."
The words landed like a thunderclap.
Thor’s eyes widened, his jaw falling slack. For a moment he looked as though he hadn’t heard correctly. "Wait—wait! Heimdall, did you just say my brother was beaten? On Midgard? By a mortal?"
"Utterly defeated," Heimdall confirmed without embellishment.
Thor’s voice jumped an octave, incredulous fury flooding his tone. "A mortal bested Loki? That cannot be! Impossible! You expect me to believe a man of Midgard could so much as scratch him?"
"They were no ordinary mortal," Heimdall said quietly, his voice carrying weight. "Our understanding of Midgard may be clouded by old thinking. This one… this Alex… his strength eclipses even many warriors of Asgard."
Heimdall’s golden eyes narrowed slightly, recalling the sight—Loki tossed aside like a ragdoll, the Midgardian’s blows faster than his sight could follow. The image still unsettled him.
It was exaggerated. It was absurd. Yet it was real.
Thor stood there, struggling between disbelief and outrage. His hands clenched into fists, the air around him already trembling faintly with static.
After a long, stunned silence, he ground out, "Then I will go to Midgard myself."
Heimdall tilted his head slightly. "The Rainbow Bridge remains shattered."
Thor’s answer came without hesitation. "Then I will beg Father’s aid. He will lend me the dark energy to cross."
With that declaration, Thor swung Mjolnir in a sharp arc, lightning flaring across the chamber. The God of Thunder took to the skies, his mind consumed with a single thought—his brother had been humiliated, and he would not allow it to stand.
---
Krakoa.
Far from the shimmering halls of Asgard, life on Krakoa moved with its own rhythm.
After securing Loki in the deepest cells, Alex set the matter aside without another thought. In his mind, the trickster god was little more than an annoying interlude.
Asgard itself held only one figure worthy of his caution, and that was Odin. The All-Father’s presence was a weight not even Alex could dismiss entirely. Yet even so, it was unthinkable that Odin would descend personally over something as trivial as a foiled theft.
The likeliest scenario was the one Alex had seen in fragments from another timeline: Thor descending to Earth in a storm of thunder, clashing with so-called heroes for the sake of his brother.
But Alex was no Iron Man.
He smiled faintly at the thought. If Thor came, so be it.
Before resuming his usual affairs, Alex gave only a single instruction to Krakoa’s people: if the sky split with unnatural thunder or the air filled with strange storms, they were not to panic.
As for Loki, locked behind reinforced walls, he had already regained the infuriating calm of the so-called God of Mischief. His lips curved in that familiar sly smile, the expression of a man who believed he still held hidden cards.
Because Loki knew with absolute certainty—his dear brother Thor would come for him.
And when Thor arrived, Loki was certain, the nightmare for Alex would truly begin.
