Loki did not rush off to find Thor. The stage was not yet set; the Dark Elves had not fully re-emerged from the shadows. Besides, he first needed to arrange a fitting final act for Tony Stark, manufacturing a plausible reason to send him to the arena.
Though eager to begin his grand deception on Asgard, Loki was a professional. He meticulously orchestrated a scene, planting the seeds of rebellion among the miners and subtly goading Tony into taking the lead. Stark, starved for freedom and desperate for any chance of escape, naturally took the bait.
And then… nothing. The rebellion was crushed with brutal efficiency. Tony was apprehended once more, beaten severely, and then unceremoniously stuffed into a cramped iron cage, treated less like a prisoner and more like an animal being shipped to a new pen.
His body was a broken heap, curled into the darkness of the cage. The rise and fall of his chest was so shallow, his breaths so faint, that an observer might wonder if he had already expired. But a closer look would reveal eyes, open and focused in the gloom, and cracked lips moving, whispering words only he could hear.
He looked like a man on the brink of death.
In a strange way, Tony didn't mind. He had come to see this suffering as his penance. Every night, in the crushing silence, he would repeat his mantra: This is what you deserve, Tony Stark. This is retribution. Every life lost to Ultron is a death you now carry.
He spoke to the darkness, his voice a raw whisper. Even if you die here, Tony Stark, no one will mourn you.
"But I can't die."
Each time that thought surfaced, a flicker of light would return to his hollowed eyes.
You can't just die, Tony. The threat of Ultron remains. Earth is still waiting for you to save it. You have to survive this. You have to find Ben Parker, bow your head to the man you once belittled, and beg him for help.
He could die, yes, but not in vain. He had to at least atone for the catastrophic mistakes he had made. It was this singular, stubborn thought that kept him going. Any ordinary person would have succumbed to despair long ago, broken by the relentless torture.
Even Loki found himself somewhat impressed by Stark's tenacity. He remembered Tony as a dissolute playboy, coasting through life on a sea of charisma and wealth, an entirely unreliable figure. But this… this resilience had forced Loki to revise his opinion.
In fact, anyone who witnessed Tony's ordeal had their perception of him altered. On Earth, Pepper Potts' relentless public relations campaign, combined with the live feed of his suffering, had significantly softened the public's negative image. Even Wakanda, once his staunchest critic, saw not the creator of Ultron, but a man exiled by his own creation, refusing to surrender in the face of impossible odds. They understood now that Ultron's actions were a betrayal, not a command, and that Stark was paying a terrible price.
What good is thinking about saving the world from a cage? Tony thought, despair creeping back in as the rebellion's failure settled upon him. He had no chance of escape now. And even if he did, where in this vast, uncaring universe could he possibly find the Plumbers?
While Tony sank into hopelessness, Loki, paradoxically, found his respect for the man growing. Not that he would ever let it show.
Tony felt the transport grind to a halt. The cruel mine owner—Loki in disguise—pried open the cage door, grabbed the chain affixed to the collar around Tony's neck, and hauled him out, half-dragging him across the floor.
Tony looked up weakly, too exhausted to even consider resisting.
Loki, however, was suddenly talkative. He gave Tony a sharp kick. "Boy, if you had just worked honestly in the mines, you might have survived. But you had to dream of escape, didn't you? Let's see you run from the arena. Get up!"
He yanked the chain hard, and Tony scrambled to his feet to avoid having his neck snapped.
"Go!" Loki kicked him again, leading him toward the ship's exit ramp like a dog on a leash. Tony walked numbly, a puppet whose strings were all but severed.
The moment he stepped out of the cabin, the blinding light of Sakaar's sky forced him to squint. When his eyes adjusted, the sheer scale of the imperial capital threatened to crush him. Towering, impossible structures pierced the clouds, and layers of sky-lanes buzzed with alien vehicles, a chaotic, magical tapestry of light and motion.
Tony was stunned into silence. The technological level of this world was far beyond his wildest imaginings. He was dazzled, his pupils struggling to process the flood of colors and shapes, until his gaze fell upon the tallest structure in the city—a grand totem tower.
"What is that?" The question escaped his lips, a spark of life returning to his voice. His weary body seemed to draw a sliver of vitality from the sight. Hope, a dangerous and nearly forgotten feeling, began to burn in his eyes.
"Hmm?" Loki followed his gaze to the massive statues adorning the tower. "Ah, those. Statues of the former champions of our Grand Arena." He shot Tony a dismissive, smiling glance. "If you become the champion, you'll earn the same honor. But… I'd focus on surviving the first round if I were you."
Tony wasn't listening. He ignored the other statues, his eyes locked on one in particular: a powerful, four-armed, four-eyed female warrior. Looma Red Wind.
He became frantic. "I know her! I know her!" he shouted, the words tumbling out. When Thanos had invaded Earth, this very alien had arrived alongside the Plumbers! Tony's hands clenched into fists, hope blazing into a bonfire in his chest. "I'm not mistaken! Four eyes, four arms, that's her!"
Loki shoved him forward, but Tony's feet seemed to root themselves to the ground. He dug his heels in, even throwing his shoulders back to try and impede the god of mischief. "I know her!" he yelled, his voice cracking with desperation. "Let me talk to her! I know her!"
Loki sneered, yanking the collar so hard Tony was lifted off his feet before being thrown several meters, crashing hard onto the pavement. "You know her? And so what? Everyone on this planet knows the mighty Queen Looma Red Wind. No one would dare miss one of her matches. And who are you?"
Tony lay on the ground, head bowed, gasping for air. He had little strength to begin with, and the fall left his head spinning, every nerve ending screaming as if pierced by a thousand needles. He tried to push himself up, failed, and finally just rolled onto his back, staring up at the sky. Tears welled in his eyes, but he refused to look away from the statue. It was no longer just a sculpture; it was his faith, his last hope.
"I… I have to see her…"
Whatever it took, he had to meet the Queen of Red Wind. If he could just reach her, he could contact Ben and get help from the Plumbers.
"You want to meet her?" Loki drawled, grabbing the chain again and dragging Tony towards the totem tower. "Simple enough. All you have to do is enter the Championship Challenge. And win." He said it casually, his tone dripping with contempt.
But Tony had seized onto the words, muttering them to himself like a prayer.
"Championship Challenge…"
"Lo—Baker," Caiera corrected herself, having waited outside the tower for their arrival. "What is the meaning of this?"
Loki shoved Stark forward. "This one was part of the mine rebellion. A disobedient tool. Better to have him destroyed for sport. It'll be entertaining."
Caiera eyed Tony's broken form, her brow furrowed in a convincing display of authority. "I was under the impression that since King Sakaar took command, our mines are fully automated, save for the housing of criminals. What crime did this one commit?"
"Illegal trespassing," Loki shrugged. "He's not in the planet's resident records. I've checked."
"And now," Loki added with a flourish, "we can add 'illegal uprising'."
Caiera nodded slowly. "Illegal trespassing… you are fortunate. The arena on Sakaar is no longer the bloody, inhumane spectacle it was under the Red King's reign. If you surrender quickly enough, you might even live." She waved a dismissive hand. "Take him for treatment. In his current state, he'll die before the match even starts."
Two red-skinned guards moved forward and lifted Tony by his arms.
On Earth, watching the feed, Pepper Potts was so moved she nearly wept with relief. This alien woman was having Tony treated. It felt like a monumental turning point.
Tony felt it too. A surge of strength, born of pure desperation, flooded his broken body. He wrenched himself free from the guards. "I want to participate in the Championship Challenge!"
"What did you say?" Caiera asked, feigning shock. She hadn't expected him to aim so high. She had already given him the secret to survival: in today's arena, a quick surrender was all it took. She glanced at Loki, who met her gaze with a knowing smile. Clearly, this was all part of his plan.
"I want to participate in the Championship Challenge," Tony repeated, his voice firm. "Is that not allowed?" He knew he had to hurry. Every minute he wasted, Earth's situation could be growing more dire.
"I told you that a swift surrender in the arena can save your life," Caiera's tone became serious. "That does not apply to the Championship Challenge." This was more than a mere gladiatorial contest. Their King Sakaar had used the challenge to overthrow the Red King's brutal regime, fulfilling a prophecy and becoming the Son of Sakaar. It was now a sacred event.
"I'll do it!" Tony said without hesitation.
"Very well." Caiera ceased her attempts at dissuasion. "Take him for treatment," she ordered the guards. "Provide him with any materials he requires for weapons. The first challenge will be held in one week."
With that, Tony was led away, not to a dungeon, but to a luxurious suite. Alien attendants drew a bath, mixing in potent healing potions and gently applying balms to his wounds. Before long, the pain receded, and every injury, save for his severed arm, had begun to mend. He let out a long sigh, feeling a profound rest settle over his body and mind.
The old Stark swagger began to return. He whistled appreciatively at the Sakaaran attendants. "Got to say, the accommodations are a major step up from the mines. You guys have a funny way of doing things… Anything to eat?"
One of the girls brought him a bowl of strange, yellow fruit. "It is a kindness to let the condemned enjoy a final meal."
"Ouch, not much for bedside manner, are you? Well, just so you know, I'm an acquaintance of your Queen Red Wind. One word from me and she'll call off the match," Tony boasted, stretching his healing muscles. "Your potions aren't half-bad. What's the formula? Don't worry, I just want to compare it to a friend's invention. His is better, of course. Can regrow a whole arm… Still, not quite on my level of genius."
"It wouldn't matter if you knew King Sakaar himself," the girl rolled her eyes, clearly unimpressed by his bluster. "You must survive and win three Championship Challenges before you can earn the right to stand before the Queen."
"What did you say?" Tony's nonchalance vanished. "Three matches to see her?"
He shot up from the pool, the towel around his waist falling away, exposing him completely.
The Sakaaran girls, far from being flustered, took a curious look. Then, they exchanged glances and broke into suppressed giggles.
Simultaneously, on Earth, the live feed captured the moment in crystal-clear high definition.
Happy Hogan slapped a hand over his face, unable to watch.
Peter Parker, swinging over New York in search of the missing Venom symbiote, nearly fell off his web line. That's Tony Stark's… should this even be on TV? He blinked, utterly flabbergasted. He never imagined that was all the great Tony Stark was packing.
Across the city, the Venom symbiote, currently bonded to Flash Thompson, saw the scene. A black, fanged head emerged from Flash's shoulder and let out a guttural, sneering laugh.
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