Skyl flicked the fountain pen and found that all the ink inside had already been used up. He had originally planned to revive Galactus, but for now, he had no choice but to put that on hold.
Come to think of it, why did Galactus always seem to die in the most careless ways imaginable?
Skyl still remembered that in the Marvel Zombies universe, Galactus had been killed by a bunch of zombified superheroes using a giant science cannon, and after he died, they turned him into an all-you-can-eat zombie buffet. At that point, anyone could practically stroll up and take a dump on his head.
In any case, Asgard's disaster had been resolved perfectly. Skyl had recovered the Pen of Creation in time and kept the situation from escalating into something even more terrifying.
Odin was deeply curious about Skyl, and just as respectful. He had seen the neuron-like web in the sky slowly fading away, watched the projection of that apocryphal plane dissolve, and understood that Skyl could summon an entire dimensional realm. The level of power he had displayed was already on the scale of a single universe.
After swallowing her grandfather, Jormungand coiled up into a lump and promptly fell asleep with little snorting breaths. Everyone else was deeply wary of the dangerous creature and didn't dare go near her.
The revived Asgardians still remembered the horrifying, world-ending scene from before.
The world-serpent's howling body had filled the entire sky. East, west, north, south—no matter which horizon you looked toward, all you could see was the endless length of the serpent.
At the time, her smooth, scaleless skin had scraped through the atmosphere, forcing moisture out of the air and forming a thick lid of storm clouds over the land. Vast electrical charges gathered inside those clouds and birthed terrifying lightning storms, as if there were another continent hanging overhead, a forest made not of trees but of lightning branches stretching for hundreds of miles.
Under that sky and upon that earth, there had been nothing left but thunder. Every shout, every cry for help, had been drowned out. Despair spread like seawater flooding back inland. The horror of that catastrophe was impossible to put into words. It was like San Francisco in the 1906 earthquake, ancient Pompeii beneath Vesuvius, or Hiroshima and Nagasaki under atomic fire.
The Asgardians had never managed to organize any meaningful resistance, because Odin had been in the Odinsleep at the time, and Prince Loki's rule had failed to command universal obedience, throwing every order into chaos. Back then, the gods had cried out that Ragnarök had arrived, that fate itself had come and could not be defied. Because of that, many Asgardians had abandoned the will to resist.
Natural disaster and human failure had struck at once, reducing the glorious divine realm to ruin.
Now that the gods had returned to life, their terror of Jormungand had carved itself into their bones. In their long lives, it would probably linger for thousands of years.
Skyl picked Jormungand up, and the little snake automatically curled around his arm. Now both of his arms were wrapped in cosmic tapeworms.
Compared to her mother Gali, the newborn Jormungand was clearly even stronger. That was not only the lingering benefit of her earlier use of the Pen of Creation, but also the simple truth that the next generation had surpassed the last.
With Gali unconscious and Jormungand thoroughly unwelcome, the only guest at the palace banquet was Skyl.
It was the wizard's first time attending a feast on this scale.
The massive wooden tables were large enough for eight horses to run across them. Brilliant cuts of meat and fruits and vegetables from all Nine Realms were piled everywhere, varied beyond counting and present in ludicrous abundance. It reminded Skyl of an old animated movie where food covered the whole world. That was more or less the scene in front of him now.
The gods raised cup after cup to the wizard, constantly expressing both gratitude and lingering fear. Once they got drunk, they started acting like a bunch of rowdy Midwestern uncles, throwing arms around Skyl's shoulders and blurting out every heartfelt thing in their chests.
A thoroughly tipsy Odin slapped Skyl on the shoulder and delivered a long, solemn, overly elaborate speech of thanks.
The rough meaning was simple enough: Brother, let me tell you, if you hadn't shown up this time, Asgard would've been finished. From now on, you're a friend of Asgard. If you run into some idiot anywhere in the Nine Realms, just tell them you know me. Odin. That name still carries weight.
By the time the two of them were calling each other brothers, Thor had somehow ended up as Skyl's honorary nephew. Galactus had beaten him half to death, but after his mother Frigga treated him with magic, he at least looked partly human again. At the banquet, he happily drank and ate meat while the octopus-like tentacles sprouting from his face from Mora's contamination wriggled faintly.
Odin told Skyl that he had rendered immense service to the people of Asgard and absolutely had to be rewarded, so he should go to the royal treasury and pick whatever he wanted.
There were quite a few treasures in the palace vaults, but Skyl was not especially interested. The only thing he asked for was their magical knowledge.
Odin was not stingy in the least. Not only did he agree at once, he also said that Asgard had a fast-track method for learning magic. Guaranteed instruction, guaranteed results. Graduate in nine days and leave with a certificate. Little brother, you've got extraordinary bones—want to give it a try?
The moment Skyl heard that, he thought, As expected of the old true gods of Asgard. Their foundation really is deep. His curiosity flared at once.
"And what method is so amazing that it sounds like that?"
Smiling, Odin pointed to his right eye. He wore a golden eyepatch over it, but in truth, he had gouged it out himself.
Legend said that Odin had hung upside down from the World Tree for nine days and nine nights, endured the constant piercing of a spear, then sacrificed one of his eyes to gain access to the well of wisdom. After drinking from it, he had comprehended the runes.
So the magical ritual Odin offered Skyl was exactly that sort of thing: sacrifice part of the body in exchange for magical knowledge. Odin believed that, with Skyl's abilities, he would certainly survive the ritual and benefit from the well.
"I'll pass," Skyl said immediately. He had no desire to become a one-eyed man.
For the next stretch of time, he remained in Asgard. The libraries there were opened to him, and Skyl was free to choose whatever knowledge interested him. Still, compared to the true magical inheritance of Asgard, only a small portion had ever been written down. Most of it existed in the minds of the gods themselves.
To thank Skyl, Queen Frigga personally came by every day to guide him for a while. She openly admitted that Skyl was a master whose power surpassed her own. Not only could he draw inferences from a single example again and again, he could also spot flaws and omissions in Asgard's magical system. As a result, it was often Frigga who ended up being taught.
Those days were peaceful and leisurely. Gali and Jormungand woke one after the other, and every day they did nothing but eat enormous amounts of food, then play and bicker. Put together, the two little troublemakers didn't have the combined mental age of a ten-year-old.
That carefree behavior gradually helped even the people who had once feared them let go of their prejudice.
As the homeland of the guardians of the Nine Realms, Asgard truly could be called paradise compared to Earth. The sleeping chamber Skyl was given was practically a palace in itself, with a bed large enough for an elephant to dance on, along with a hot spring bath whose steaming magical aura was enough to soothe any wound.
Female attendants draped in light gauze moved gracefully back and forth through the chamber. Their figures were elegant, their faces lovely. They constantly carried golden and silver platters loaded with vivid fruit, vegetables, and fine wine. Some plucked harps, others played pipes, filling the chamber with gentle music.
Any need a guest might have could be satisfied. It was like some over-the-top old-school butler from an SNL sketch about serving British royalty: washing your face, brushing your teeth, dressing you, feeding you—if you didn't want to move a muscle, they could handle everything. And they absolutely would not prank you, either. The meals they brought were never anything cursed like pickled pig's feet and gas-station burritos.
Skyl asked them why they did this work.
The attendants answered that this responsibility was something they had been born with. Asgardians either became warriors and won immortal glory, or they served the divine realm as commoners in every kind of trade, keeping it running. To become an attendant of the palace was itself a great honor.
"With your nation's power, you could easily create magical servants to handle all this, couldn't you?"
"Yes," the attendants replied with blooming smiles, as if Skyl had asked a rather silly question. "But why would we? That would waste too many resources. Besides, we live quite comfortably as we are."
Skyl asked no further. After spending a month and a half gathering and organizing the fundamentals of Asgard's magical system, he prepared to say goodbye.
Gali and Jormungand had very nearly eaten the Asgardians into poverty. The moment everyone heard they were leaving, they all sent them off with tears in their eyes, though the smiles tugging at their mouths were so wide they nearly reached the backs of their ears.
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