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Chapter 317: Loki, Hand Over the Scepter!
🕑 Added 2025-09-11 16:48:32 +0000 UTC
Though Alex spoke with perfect calm, dismissing Asgard as if it were a mere curiosity, his words didn’t instantly settle the doubts gnawing at Raven and Hank.
After all, these were not just stories—they were the myths they’d grown up with, the tales whispered to children and studied in books. To be told, in such a matter-of-fact way, that the gods were simply “aliens”… it overturned the foundations of their worldview.
Hank, ever the rational scientist, was the first to give voice to his hesitation.
“So, Alex… this Loki, is he really the God of Mischief from those myths? Even if we accept your explanation—that he’s only another alien—how strong is he? Are you certain we can handle him?”
“As for Loki’s strength?” Alex shrugged, utterly unbothered. “It’s nothing to worry about.”
His words carried no hesitation, no caution—just a dismissive certainty that left Hank blinking.
Alex leaned lazily against the railing, his tone bordering on conversational. “The so-called God of Mischief is better at playing tricks than fighting. Half the time, his ‘cunning’ only works because his brother Thor is too simple-minded to suspect him. Any sensible opponent would see through those games in a heartbeat.”
Hank tilted his head, unconvinced.
Alex continued, voice still light but eyes sharp. “And while he’s one of the Nine Realms’ top spellcasters, his repertoire is… disappointing. A few illusions, a handful of flashy tricks, nothing that would trouble us. His weakness? On full display, every time.”
He let the memories play out—Loki blasted across the room by Iron Man’s repulsors, slammed into the ground by the Hulk, outmaneuvered even by Hawkeye of all people. “If you’ve seen the tapes from that Avengers battle, you’d know—Loki was beaten by everyone. Even the archer had his moment.”
The corner of Raven’s mouth twitched. It was hard to reconcile the grandeur of myth with the picture Alex painted.
But Alex wasn’t finished.
He straightened, eyes glinting faintly as he let his power ripple just enough to remind them of who he was now. “And me? I’ve grown far beyond what I was thirty years ago.”
---
[Host: Alex]
[Age: 67 years]
[Speed: 3100 m/s]
[Strength: 7200 tons]
[Constitution: 4900 (Average healthy adult male: 10)]
[Psychic Power: 5000 (Average healthy adult male: 10)]
[Current Template: Homelander (Silver Stage 380000/1000000)]
[Abilities: X-Ray Vision (Advanced), Super Hearing (Advanced), Heat Vision (Advanced), Flight (Advanced), Cosmic Energy Absorption]
[Origin Points: 29]
---
Just in his normal state, Alex’s strength surpassed 7,200 tons. If he truly unleashed himself, his explosive force could climb into the tens of thousands.
What could Loki possibly do against that?
This was the same Loki who had once been toyed with by the Hulk—an opponent Alex now regarded as little more than a warm-up.
Raven and Hank exchanged a look. Alex’s tone was almost insulting in its casualness, yet it was that very confidence that finally reassured them. If he, of all people, wasn’t worried, perhaps there really was no need for fear.
“Alex, here—it’s started again.”
Hank pointed toward the containment device where the Tesseract was secured.
Alex turned. The Cube was no longer dormant. Its crystalline core pulsed erratically, brilliant blue light flaring and fading in uneven bursts, like a heartbeat out of rhythm. Energy monitors beside it spiked wildly, alarms flashing red as readings surged beyond normal parameters.
The sight only deepened Alex’s certainty. Yes. He’s coming. Right on time.
He crossed his arms, the ghost of a smile playing on his lips, and began chatting idly with Raven and Hank, as if they were merely waiting for a guest to arrive.
Minutes trickled by. Then—
“Your Majesty, Dr. Hank—the Cube is fully activated!”
The monitoring staff’s anxious report was unnecessary. The Tesseract no longer flickered; it now blazed with a steady, blinding light. The lab was bathed in cerulean radiance, shadows dancing on every wall.
A deep hum filled the air, vibrating in their bones.
Then, with a sound like a thunderclap muffled by glass, a beam of energy erupted forward. At its end, the light swirled, condensed, and tore open space itself.
A portal bloomed in midair.
From it stepped a tall figure clad in emerald and gold, robes flowing, a gleaming scepter in hand. His horned helmet gleamed beneath the Cube’s light.
Loki.
The second prince of Asgard. The God of Mischief.
He emerged with the poise of royalty and the smirk of a trickster, his eyes sweeping across the chamber. He had expected shock, awe, maybe even the desperate fear of mortals facing a god.
Instead, the people before him regarded him with unnerving calm. No trembling, no gasps of reverence—only cool, steady gazes.
The smile froze on his lips. A flicker of unease rippled through him. Something here was… wrong.
Midgard was supposed to be primitive, weak. He remembered well how mortals once groveled in the dirt before Asgardian presence. But now? These faces met his with indifference, as though he were nothing but another traveler.
Still, his eyes fell to the Cube, blazing brightly at his side.
His smirk returned, sly and triumphant. No matter. The Tesseract is mine.
“Loki.”
The voice cut across his thoughts like a blade.
From the gathered few, a young man stepped forward. Tall, sharp-eyed, looking no older than his twenties. Yet his gaze carried a depth and weight that made Loki’s instincts scream.
He spoke with the faintest trace of amusement, as though this entire encounter were beneath him.
“Hand over the scepter. If I have to take it myself, things might get… awkward.”
Loki blinked.
For a heartbeat, he thought he’d misheard. Then incredulity flared across his face.
This mortal—this boy—knew his name? And dared to speak to him in such a tone?
Demanding his scepter?
Loki, famed for his wit and cunning, found himself at a rare loss for words.
“…”
For once, the God of Mischief was utterly dumbfounded.
