A basin of icy water splashed over Loki's face, shocking him back to consciousness. As his vision cleared, the first thing he saw was the mountain of muscle and scars that was Olsen. Loki's heart nearly skipped a beat. The memory of the beating he had endured—the sheer, mechanical efficiency of it—had left a dark, psychological shadow on his mind.
"Hello, Mr. Loki," a voice called out.
Loki squinted, focusing on a young man sitting comfortably across from him. "Merlin Emrys, I assume?"
"Indeed," Emrys replied with a thin, polite smile. "I hope you're ready to be cooperative. It would save us both a great deal of unpleasantness."
Loki tried to move, but his wrists were bolted to a specialized containment chair. Despite the blood matting his hair and the deep purple bruises blooming across his face, he forced an arrogant sneer. "I suggest you release me immediately, mortal! Asgard's legions and the hosts of Jotunheim are already poised to flatten this wretched world. My father will not be merciful."
"That isn't the answer I'm looking for," Emrys said, tapping a rhythmic beat on the table. "Why did the Frost Giants invade Earth? What is the current status of the Odinsleep? I need facts, not threats."
"You're dreaming!" Loki spat. "It is a privilege for your lowly species to be ruled by a god. To imprison the King of Asgard is a capital offense. Your world will burn for this insolence!"
Emrys didn't stop tapping the table. His expression remained calm, almost bored. "Loki, I need you to understand a fundamental truth. There are things far more painful than death. If you refuse to speak, I have no choice but to let my associate handle the 'negotiations.'"
"Hah! You wouldn't dare kill me," Loki laughed, though it sounded hysterical. "I am your only shield against the All-Father's wrath. Release me, and perhaps I'll make your death quick."
"I've always admired stubbornness," Emrys said, standing up and nodding toward Olsen. "It makes the eventual breaking so much more satisfying. He's yours, Olsen. Don't kill him, but make sure he understands the gravity of his situation. I'll be back in an hour."
"With pleasure, Lord Emrys," Olsen said. A rare, feral grin split his scarred face, revealing teeth like a row of tombstone markers. "We may be Fallen, but our techniques for 'extraction' are as refined as any Interrogator-Chaplain's."
As the door hissed shut behind Emrys, a cold dread began to coil in Loki's stomach. "Wait! What are you doing? Step back!"
CRACK.
A punch landed squarely on Loki's nose without warning. Cartilage shattered, and stars exploded in his vision.
"Silence, heretic," Olsen growled. He grabbed a handful of Loki's raven hair and slammed his forehead into the steel table—once, twice, four times—until the screaming stopped and became a wet, rhythmic whimpering. Olsen leaned in close, his breath smelling of ozone and old blood. "Now... it's time for your confession."
When Emrys returned to the bridge of the Helicarrier, the air was thick with a different kind of tension.
"Status report," Emrys said, looking at Tony Stark.
"We have a problem," Tony said, his usual snark replaced by a grim, focused intensity. "A big one. How's the prisoner?"
"He's reconsidering his silence," Emrys replied with a shrug. "He'll be singing soon. He'll tell us the color of Odin's favorite slippers if I ask. What's wrong?"
Tony didn't answer. Instead, he swiped a hand across his tablet, projecting a massive holographic image in the center of the room.
The image showed a small town in the Midwest. It was entirely encased in a jagged, translucent blue frost. It wasn't just snow; the buildings, the cars, and even the people were frozen mid-stride. The despair on their faces was preserved in perfect, terrifying detail, like a museum of frozen screams.
A dark, blue-skinned figure stepped into the center of the frame—a Frost Giant of immense stature, his eyes glowing like embers in a blizzard.
"I am Laufey, King of Jotunheim," the giant boomed, his voice a guttural rumble that seemed to vibrate the deck plates. "Humans, hear me. Release my son, Loki, or I shall turn your world into a wasteland of ice. Every twenty-four hours, a city will fall until the Prince is returned."
In his right hand, Laufey held an ornate, glowing blue casket.
"The Casket of Ancient Winters," Thor whispered, his voice trembling. "It... it shouldn't be possible. That artifact belongs in my father's vault. It is the heart of Jotunheim's power."
"If it's in the vault, why does King Blue-and-Ugly have it?" Steve Rogers asked, his brow furrowed in anger.
"The 'good brother' must have smuggled it out," Barton snarled, his hand tightening on his bow. "And didn't you hear the King? He called Loki his son."
"Loki is my brother!" Thor roared, though the conviction in his voice was fraying.
"Your brother is an accomplice to genocide, Thor!" Barton snapped back. "He just handed them the weapon to freeze ten thousand people in their beds!"
"Enough!" Nick Fury shouted, rubbing his temples. "We aren't here for a family therapy session. The question on the table is: Do we release Loki to stop the freeze?"
A heavy silence fell over the Avengers.
"If we let him go, we're just handing them their strategist," Barton argued. "He won't stop. He'll just lead them from the front."
"We might not have a choice," Steve Rogers said quietly. "If we hold him, we're sentencing millions to a slow, freezing death. We can't let a city die every day while we sit here and debate ethics."
"Laufey was smart," Tony added, his face pale. "He didn't just send this to us. He broadcast it globally. The Internet is on fire. Every government on the planet is going to be screaming for S.H.I.E.L.D. to hand over the prisoner within the hour."
The weight of billions of lives seemed to press down on the room. But in the corner, Emrys leaned against a console and spoke with a cold, absolute certainty.
"We are not releasing him."
"Excuse me?" Steve Rogers turned on him, his eyes wide. "Do you understand the stakes? Millions will die if we don't comply!"
Emrys met the Captain's gaze with eyes as cold as the void between stars. "I understand perfectly, Captain. But you clearly do not. In the Imperium, we have a saying: A compromise with the Xenos is a death warrant for the soul. You don't negotiate with monsters. You exterminate them."