Fear Factor.
This concept might sound a bit fuzzy, but for Frieza right now, it was the hardest currency available. It was his capital—the foundation for him to settle down, thrive, and even run wild in this Marvel reality.
The system interface kept the explanation simple: he could harvest this emotional energy endlessly, just by making living beings fear him.
The key prerequisite, of course, was that his actions had to be Frieza-like.
Somehow, he had let out his signature "Oh ho ho ho" laugh without even thinking. Looks like he was getting into character fast.
This whole idea of harvesting "Fear Factor" reminded him of his past life in real estate. The anxiety and panic of those desk jockeys looking at their mortgage bills every month—wasn't that just another kind of "fear"? The only difference was that back then, he was collecting cash; now, he was collecting the shivers of a terrified soul.
Fundamentally, it was all the same business.
"If I'm going to do this, I'm going to do it big."
Frieza swirled the last half-glass of red wine in his hand. The scarlet liquid clung to the glass, dripping slowly, looking exactly like the blood about to be spilled across this world.
If he was just going to kill a few alien scrubs and save a few crying civilians, he'd be no better than those superheroes running around in their spandex, playing dress-up.
A hero?
The word alone made him sick.
Can a hero generate fear? No. Heroes just create dependence and that repulsive, sickening feeling of security.
That's a losing game, and Frieza never, ever takes a loss.
His plan was to become the owner of this planet, the ultimate Sword of Damocles hanging over the heads of every human and every Avenger!
"System, if I wipe out all these Chitauri, who are swarming around like gnats, how much Fear Factor can I get?" Frieza asked in his mind.
> [Answer to Host: Although the Chitauri are hive-minded biological weapons, they still possess the biological instinct for fear. If you can eliminate them all with absolute, crushing dominance and inflict a devastating strike on their mothership, the Fear Factor yield will be extremely substantial.]
"Excellent."
The smile on Frieza's face grew wider—an elegant yet cruel expression, as if he were looking at a flock of sheep ready for slaughter.
The plan was already forming in his mind: simple, brutal, and highly efficient.
First, these idiotic alien trash who dared to tear up his property had to die. And not just die, they had to die with an artistic flair, demonstrating the terrifying power of Lord Frieza to the entire world.
But that wasn't enough.
If he just killed the invaders, humanity would cheer him on as a savior.
Absolutely not. Cheers are worthless.
So, after he finished off the trash, he would simply take over this blue planet.
He would announce to the arrogant Nick Fury and those "circus performers" flying around the city—
From today on, Earth belongs to Frieza!
Every inch of land, every building, every breath of air on this planet belongs to him, Frieza!
What if they disagreed? What if they tried to resist with their pathetic shields, hammers, or tin-can armor?
That would be simply wonderful.
He was looking for an excuse to show off his 530,000 power level anyway.
What if they surrendered right away?
Frieza stroked his chin, a hint of playful malice in his eyes.
He would give the natives a tiny sliver of hope, and then personally extinguish it.
Just like Cell, that green insect guy from Dragon Ball, he'd organize some kind of "Frieza Games" or a "World Martial Arts Tournament."
And the location...
Frieza's gaze drifted through the swirling smoke and landed on a massive stadium not far away.
It was Madison Square Garden, the home court of the NBA's Knicks and a landmark in New York.
Coincidentally, it was also an asset he had acquired just last month.
Although the roof now had a gaping hole blown into it, that just added a beautiful, post-apocalyptic aesthetic, didn't it?
Right there!
He would use the most famous arena in America, broadcast live to the whole world, to personally break Captain America's legs, crush Iron Man's arc reactor, and kick the Hulk around like a soccer ball.
The despair and terror from that spectacle would absolutely max out his system's energy bar!
"Truly, a perfect business plan."
Frieza was immensely pleased with his genius idea, almost wanting to applaud himself.
From a New York billionaire to the Ruler of Earth—it was a big jump, but hey, what can you expect from a man with a cheat code (the System)?
Just as Frieza was reveling in his beautiful future plans,
BOOM!
A shrill engine roar, accompanied by the crash of breaking glass, violently interrupted his thoughts.
The massive picture window was smashed open, showering the room with glass shards like rain.
A strange-looking, smoking alien personal flyer, a Chitauri chariot, barreled into the lavish office like an out-of-control cannonball.
The piloting was so terrible it looked like a bumper car accident.
"Sht! Damn Hawkeye! Damn Barton!"
With a string of furious curses, the speeder slammed into the expensive mahogany desk, instantly turning the five-thousand-dollar piece of furniture into splinters. It slid across the floor, finally stopping less than six feet from Frieza's feet.
A man in a dark green robe, wearing a horned golden helmet and holding a glowing scepter, tumbled out of the wrecked flyer.
He was covered in dirt, his cape had several burn holes, and his once-immaculate hair was a mess, as if he'd been hit by lightning.
It was the architect of the New York invasion, the Asgardian Prince of Mischief—Loki.
Clearly, he had just been ambushed by the sharpshooter Hawkeye outside and was forced to crash-land in this high-rise that was, for the moment, still standing.
"Cough, cough..."
Loki scrambled to his feet, dusting off his robes, attempting to reclaim some of his godly dignity.
He looked up and saw Frieza, impeccably dressed in his suit, standing by the window elegantly sipping wine.
There was a living person here?
And judging by how calm he was, he didn't seem to be at all scared by the apocalypse raging outside?
But to Loki, a mortal was a mortal. No matter how well-dressed, they were just an ant he could crush at any time.
Perfect. His ride was trashed, and Stark Tower was right next door. He needed a new way to get there to oversee the final phase of opening the portal.
Loki straightened his collar, instantly adopting that haughty, condescending look of a god.
He tilted his chin up, looking down at Frieza as if he were a lowly insect.
"Mortal! You are very fortunate to witness the arrival of a God with your own eyes."
Loki's voice was theatrically bombastic, and he stamped the tip of his scepter hard on the floor.
"I am Loki, King of Asgard, and your future ruler!"
"Now, bend your pathetic knees and kneel before me!"
He had used this opening speech once before in Germany, and it had been a huge success. The mortals had all dropped to the ground like scared rabbits.
He was certain this pale-faced man would be no exception.
However.
One second passed.
Two seconds passed.
The silence became intensely awkward.
There was no kneeling or begging for mercy, and no signs of shivering fear.
The blonde man was still standing there, one hand in his pocket, the other holding his wine glass, looking at him with an expression that—
How to describe it?
It was the look a bored man gives a circus clown performing a ridiculous stunt. He was watching him with detached amusement.
He even took a small sip of red wine, letting out a satisfied sigh.
"Ah... '82 Lafite. It really only tastes right when you're watching a show."
Ignored!
Completely, utterly ignored!
Loki's eye twitched, and a surge of humiliation and anger rushed through him.
As the Nine Realms' Greatest Sorcerer (self-proclaimed) and a Prince of the God-Realm, when had he ever been treated like this?
Even that 'Tin Man' (Iron Man) had at least traded insults with him! This mortal dared to treat him like he was invisible?!
"Are you deaf, mortal?!"
Loki took a step forward, the blue gem on the tip of the Mind Scepter flashing dangerously.
"I command you! Now, immediately! Go prepare a sports car for me! Any four-wheeled tin box will do!"
"I need to get to Stark Tower. If you delay my grand plan, I will show you what it means to wish for death!"
Loki's threat was explicit, and combined with the constant explosions and screams from outside, it was definitely intimidating to an average person.
But Frieza simply tilted his head.
He finally looked directly at Loki.
In his deep eyes, there was no flicker of emotion, only an unnerving, bone-chilling calm.
"The... King of Asgard?"
Frieza's mouth curled into a slight, showing his white teeth. His voice was gentle, as if he were chatting with an old friend.
"If I recall correctly, weren't you picked up from a pile of Frost Giants by that old man Odin?"
"A foundling, an adopted wild child, coming to Earth to play a childish game of 'King'?"
BAM!
That line was like a nuclear bomb, precisely striking the most sensitive, most painful nerve center in Loki's soul.
Loki's face instantly flushed a deep crimson. All his aristocratic grace vanished, replaced by a look of sheer hysteria.
"How do you know that?! Shut up! I am a God! I am the son of Odin!"
Loki roared, violently raising his scepter, the sharp tip pointing directly at Frieza's forehead.
The Mind Stone was glowing with an eerie blue light, ready to fire a lethal energy blast at any second.
"Since you have no desire to live, I'll grant your wish!"
"I will turn you into my slave, force you to kill everyone you care about with your own hands, and then leave you to scream yourself to death in these ruins!"
Facing the imminent threat of death at point-blank range,
The smile on Frieza's face didn't fade; instead, it grew even brighter.
It even held a hint of pity.
He gently swirled the wine in his glass, watching the vortex, and then let out his signature laugh.
"Oh ho ho ho ho..."
The laugh was high-pitched and elegant, yet it carried an unnerving, hair-raising evil.
The sound echoed in the spacious office, causing Loki's hand holding the scepter to involuntarily tremble.
That laugh... why did it sound more villainous than his own?
Frieza stopped laughing, slowly raising his eyelids. The depths of his eyes, which moments ago were merely human, now seemed to be burning with a purplish-red flame.
"Loki, you are nothing more than a minor prince from a remote star system, not even legitimate royalty."
"Who gave you the guts to use that tone when speaking to the Emperor of the Universe?"