Stuttgart, Germany
The gala glittered with crystal chandeliers and polite laughter—the kind of old-money event that pretended the world outside didn't exist.
Then the lights flickered once.
Every screen in the hall cut to static. Every phone died. The orchestra stopped mid-note.
Loki walked through the main doors as though he owned the building. No grand entrance, no thunder—just a man in a perfectly tailored black suit, green scarf fluttering like it had a mind of its own.
People noticed Loki.
He didn't speak. He simply looked at the crowd and smiled the way a wolf smiles at sheep.
Panic started polite, then became a stampede.
Loki raised one hand. Green light flared. Every exit slammed shut and sealed with gold Asgardian runes.
A single duplicate of himself appeared beside him, then another, then a dozen, until the room was full of Lokis, all smiling the same smile.
The real one walked forward, boots silent on marble.
Outside, in the museum courtyard, guests spilled into the cold night air. Security tried to herd them back inside. Didn't work.
Loki stepped onto the fountain's edge.
The duplicates vanished.
He raised the scepter like a conductor's baton.
"Kneel."
No one did.
He sighed, almost disappointed.
Then he flicked the scepter.
A wave of green energy rippled outward. Every person in the courtyard dropped to their knees as though invisible hands had forced them down. A hundred terrified faces looked up at him.
Loki walked among them slowly, boots clicking.
"Is not this simpler?" he asked the night. "Is this not your natural state? It's the unspoken truth of humanity—that you crave subjugation."
He stopped in front of an old man who refused to lower his gaze.
The old man's voice shook but held.
"There are always men like you."
Loki's smile thinned.
"Look to your elder, people. Let him be an example."
He raised the scepter. The blade tip began to glow.
The old man didn't flinch.
But before the attack hits the old man, a repulsor blast took Loki in the chest.
The impact lifted him off his feet and hurled him twenty yards across the courtyard. He slammed into the fountain, marble cracking under the hit.
Mk-43A descended in a streak of white and gold, repulsors flaring void-white. The suit hovered ten feet above the ground, chest RT glowing like a dying star.
Tony Stark's voice came out amplified, dry, and very, very calm.
"You know, I was having a perfectly good night until you decided to play dictator cosplay."
The crowd looked up—some in terror, some in awe.
Loki rose slowly, brushing dust off his coat. His suit melted away into full Asgardian armor, horns curling from the helmet, cape snapping into existence like it had always been there.
He tilted his head.
"Iron Man. The man who plays at being a god in a tin suit."
"Tin is so 2008. This is twenty-percent unobtanium and one hundred percent bad news for you."
Loki smiled.
"Then come, mortal. Show me what your toy can do."
He lunged.
Tony met him halfway.
The first clash was sound and fury—scepter blade met gauntlet in a shower of green sparks and white plasma. Tony twisted, slammed an elbow into Loki's jaw, then fired point-blank repulsors into the god's chest.
Loki laughed, took the hit, and vanished.
Tony spun—too late. The scepter speared toward his back.
Tony triggered the Event Shell. The strike slid sideways through distorted space and punched harmlessly into the ground.
Loki reappeared ten feet away, eyes narrowed.
"Clever."
"Genius, actually."
Tony launched. Missiles streaked from shoulder pods—micro-warheads that detonated into containment fields instead of shrapnel. Loki sliced through three with the scepter, duplicated himself to dodge the rest, then hurled a dozen golden throwing knives that curved mid-air.
Tony's armor unfolded micro-shields, deflecting them like rain.
They collided again.
Tony grabbed Loki's cape, spun him like a discus, and threw him through a stone pillar. Marble exploded.
Loki rolled with it, came up laughing, and slammed the scepter into the ground.
Green energy surged outward in a ring. The blast caught Tony mid-dive, sent him tumbling across the courtyard.
He righted himself in mid-air, repulsors flaring.
"Okay, Reindeer Games. Let's dance."
He came in low and fast.
Loki met him with a flurry of strikes—scepter spinning faster than human eyes could track. Tony blocked with forearms, took a glancing blow that dented the left pauldron, then countered with a palm repulsor that caught Loki under the chin and sent him staggering.
Loki wiped blood from his lip and grinned.
Tony charged again.
This time he fought smarter—using the Event Shell to redirect every strike, letting Loki overcommit, then punishing him with short, brutal bursts. A knee to the ribs. A repulsor to the back. A shoulder-check that cracked the fountain again.
Loki teleported behind him, scepter raised for a killing blow.
Tony spun, caught the shaft with both gauntlets, and head-butted the god so hard the helmet cracked.
Loki stumbled back, dazed for the first time.
Tony hovered, chest RT charging with a rising whine.
"Last chance. Drop the stick and come quietly."
Loki looked at him—really looked—and something shifted behind his eyes.
He smiled, slow and deliberate.
Then he lowered the scepter and went down on one knee.
The courtyard was silent except for distant sirens.
Tony landed, repulsors still glowing.
"Smart choice."
Loki looked up, blood on his teeth.
"Is it?"
A Quinjet dropped out of the sky, ramp already lowering.
Natasha Romanoff stepped out, sidearm drawn but not raised.
Tony glanced over.
"Romanoff. Fashionably late."
"Traffic," she said. "You know how it is."
She clasped Loki in Asgardian-grade restraints—apparently SHIELD had them tucked away just in case. Loki didn't resist. He didn't even blink.
Natasha looked at Tony.
"You good?"
"Never better."
She hauled Loki up the ramp.
Tony watched them go, then looked at the kneeling crowd still frozen in fear.
He raised both hands.
"Evening's canceled, folks. Go home. Hug your kids. Tip your bartender."
Repulsors flared. He shot into the night sky.
Behind him, the Quinjet lifted off, carrying a god in chains.
The first battle was over.
The war had just begun.