If history had taught the Nine Realms one undeniable truth, it was this — never, ever offend a woman who treasures her hair.
Three centuries had passed since Loki's "harmless little prank" involving Sif's beloved golden locks, but the rage still burned as fresh as the day it happened. The moment she faced him now, that fury erupted like a star going supernova.
Her sword danced with lethal grace, a blur of silver and vengeance. Each strike was swift, precise, merciless—driving Loki back step by step, leaving him no time to breathe.
But Loki was no ordinary sorcerer. His movements, though seemingly desperate, carried an eerie fluidity. He ducked, twisted, and countered, the Eternal Spear in his hands deflecting each blow with a crack of energy and sparks.
Still, he couldn't shake a creeping sense of dread. No matter where he moved, her blade seemed to gravitate toward one very particular target—his hair.
"Oh, come on," Loki muttered under his breath, parrying another furious slash. "That was three hundred years ago!"
Sif didn't answer. Her sword spoke for her, a flash of cold steel lunging straight for his chest.
This time, Loki didn't dodge. The blade passed clean through his torso—without blood, without pain—before his body shimmered and dissolved into nothing.
"Damn it!" Sif hissed, realizing too late. "An illusion!"
The real Loki materialized at her flank, eyes glittering with cruel amusement. The Eternal Spear flared with blue light.
ZAP!
The energy bolt hit her square in the ribs, blasting her across the hall. She slammed into a marble wall with a resounding crash and crumpled to the ground.
If the feud had been simmering for three centuries before, it was going to burn for another three hundred after this.
Loki straightened his coat, brushing off the imaginary dust, and turned toward Darren with a thin, wicked smile.
"Well, well," he purred. "Looks like it's just you left, mortal."
ZAP!
Without warning, he fired a beam of pure energy.
Darren dove sideways, rolling behind a marble pillar. When he came up, a pair of elegantly crafted daggers gleamed in his hands.
Loki's eyes widened in outrage. "Those are my daggers!"
"Yours?" Darren blinked innocently. "No, no, these are mine."
"They've got my name engraved on them, you thief!"
Darren glanced down—sure enough, Loki Odinson was etched right into the hilt. He scowled. "You carved your name onto my daggers? The audacity!"
Loki nearly popped a vein. "I—what—you—" He gave up, choking on his own indignation.
Before he could recover, Darren lunged.
The twin blades flashed through the air, singing with sharpness that could slice through divine armor. Even Thor's flesh wouldn't have survived those edges.
Loki knew it too—he didn't dare block head-on. Sparks flew as his spear met Darren's daggers in a violent exchange of blows.
CLANG!
The clash reverberated through the chamber. Loki's hands numbed instantly; the shock nearly tore Gungnir from his grasp.
How the hell is this mortal so strong!?
"Brute," he spat through clenched teeth. "You think raw strength is enough to beat a sorcerer? Let me show you what real power looks like!"
The air rippled. Loki's form shimmered, splitting, multiplying—one into two, two into four—until a dozen Lokis surrounded Darren from every side, each wearing that infuriating grin and holding a spear of his own.
"Ha-ha-ha-ha!" their laughter echoed in unison, bouncing around the golden hall.
But Darren wasn't fooled.
Thanks to his "Fiery Insight" perk, illusions were about as effective as cheap smoke. Through his vision, he saw clearly: the real Loki, crouching low, creeping behind him like a kid trying to steal cookies, spear raised and trembling as he aimed at Darren's lower back.
Darren couldn't help rolling his eyes. Really? A kidney shot? That's your big move?
He kept still, feigning ignorance—until the perfect moment.
"Illuminate!"
A blinding burst of pure white light exploded from Darren's body.
It was as if a dozen flashbangs had gone off at once.
The real Loki—right behind him—took the full blast straight to the face.
"AAAAH! MY EYES!"
Loki screamed, staggering back, clutching his face as tears streamed down his cheeks. "That—! That was magic! You're a mage!?"
"Sharp eye," Darren said proudly. "Didn't think you'd see through my disguise so fast."
"Disg—?! You—ugh!" Loki howled in fury.
But Darren wasn't about to waste the opportunity. With Loki blinded, he triggered his "Kick 'Em While They're Down" passive and charged.
The twin daggers danced again, raining strikes faster than lightning. Loki swung wildly, barely deflecting the blows, his eyes bloodshot and watering as he tried to regain focus.
Ten rounds. Fifteen. Twenty.
Finally, Darren slammed into him with a shoulder bash that sent the Trickster God sprawling across the floor, skidding to a halt in a heap of bruises and curses.
The hall fell silent.
The duel of mages—one armed with illusions, the other with sheer audacity—was over.
"Enough!" Loki roared, forcing himself up.
His eyes glowed red, his skin paling before it shifted—blue veins spiderwebbing across his face as frost patterns bloomed on his cheeks. His true nature emerged at last: the Frost Giant prince.
In his hand, a cube of deep, glacial blue appeared, glowing with cold light—the Casket of Ancient Winters.
The legendary relic of the Frost Giants, capable of freezing entire realms. Only one of true Jotun blood could wield it.
Loki lifted it high.
In an instant, a storm of freezing air exploded outward. The very atmosphere cracked with the sound of ice forming in midair. The marble floor glazed over in seconds, crawling outward in a surge of frost that devoured everything in its path.
Darren's instincts screamed. He backpedaled fast. "BT!"
The mech reacted instantly, tossing Mjolnir aside as its massive hand scooped Darren up. With a roar of thrusters, BT blasted into the air, rising above the spreading sea of ice.
Below, the world froze solid.
But Loki wasn't looking at them anymore. His attention was caught by something else—something behind him.
Mjolnir.
The hammer began to tremble.
A deep hum filled the hall as sparks danced across its surface. Then, without warning, it shot into the air like a comet, streaking straight toward the massive doors.
And there—
Thor stirred.
His eyes snapped open.
His right hand rose, instinctively, perfectly timed—
CRACK!
Mjolnir slammed into his palm.
Thunder roared.
A storm of lightning burst forth, wrapping around Thor in a cocoon of blinding power.
For a moment, it looked like something out of an anime transformation sequence—light flaring, armor materializing, dust and grime dissolving away as if ashamed to touch him.
When the brilliance faded, Thor stood renewed. His wounds were gone, his armor gleamed, his hair practically sparkled.
Darren couldn't stop himself. "Great. He even got a blowout. Must be nice."
Thor lifted his hammer, feeling divine strength surge through him once more. A grin spread across his face as he called out, voice booming through the hall:
"I am Thor, the God of Thunder! For the glory of the Northern Gods!"
Loki stared, dumbfounded.
Then sighed.
"…He's broken. My brother's officially broken."