"The interrogation is over."
Despite his words, Emrys remained seated, his gaze fixed on the broken prince.
"Do you... do you need anything else?" Loki asked, his initial arrogance long since hammered out of him. He flinched as Olsen shifted his weight, swallowing hard. "I can be of use. I can help you navigate the Bifrost coordinates... just don't let him strike me again."
"It isn't about the coordinates, Loki." Emrys allowed a small, mocking smile to pull at his lips. "I find myself curious. What was the point of all this? Why risk so much for a throne you clearly weren't prepared to hold?"
Loki went still. It was a question no one had ever bothered to ask him.
"I..." Loki's eyes drifted toward the dark corners of the cell before snapping back with a flicker of his old fire. "I wanted to prove to my father that I am his most capable son. I wanted to show him that I am the rightful heir, not that golden, muscle-bound oaf, Thor!"
"You call him an oaf, yet you believe yourself his superior?" Emrys chuckled, the sound devoid of warmth. "You walked blindly into a trap, allowed yourself to be captured, and—most pathetic of all—you actually believed the lies of a Frost Giant. You and Thor are two sides of the same coin: uniquely, breathtakingly foolish."
In the history of the Imperium, the path to a throne was paved with the skulls of rivals and the absolute control of the military. Yet Loki's "coup" felt like a child's prank. He had purged no factions; he had secured no loyalties. It was a farce.
Odin, the All-Father, was a titan of strategy who had conquered nine worlds. He would never have been fooled by such a clumsy play. Perhaps the Odinsleep wasn't a biological necessity, but a retreat—a way to force his sons to finally grow up. But looking at the mess Loki had made, it was clear he had failed the test.
"You aren't convinced," Emrys noted, watching Loki's defiant glare. "Tell me then: why did you believe Laufey would help you consolidate your rule after Earth was frozen? What leverage did you have?"
"I am his blood!" Loki spat.
"And?" Emrys's eyes were filled with pity. "You think a king like Laufey cares for blood? Once Midgard fell, Asgard would have been next. You would have been the first head to roll to celebrate his victory."
"I had a plan!" Loki shouted, his voice cracking. "If he betrayed me, I would have turned the Bifrost upon Jotunheim! I would have unmade his world!"
"And you think the power behind Laufey—the cosmic force that granted him the Chitauri—would have just watched?" Emrys leaned forward, his voice a low, dangerous whisper. "You aren't a mastermind, Loki. You're a court jester who thinks a crown makes him a king. You play at being a villain because you're desperate for a father's love, but all you've done is prove his low opinion of you was correct."
Loki slumped in his chair, the fire dying in his eyes. He looked as if his spine had been removed. "So... you are here only to mock me? To show me the ruin I've made?"
"No. I am here to give you a choice." Emrys's tone shifted, becoming magnetic and heavy with promise. "In Asgard, you are a criminal. Even if Thor forgives you, you will spend eternity in a dungeon. You will never prove yourself to Odin from behind bars. But beyond the Nine Realms... under my banner... I can give you the chance to truly grow. I can give you a world to rule, provided you have the strength to take it."
Loki looked up, stunned. "You... you are recruiting me?"
"I prefer your cunning to Thor's bluntness," Emrys said indifferently. "Think on it. Opportunities to rewrite one's destiny are rare. Don't waste yours."
Emrys left the cell and stepped into the observation room. Behind the one-way glass stood Thor, his head bowed, his knuckles white as he gripped the railing. He had heard everything up until Emrys had masked the conversation with a psychic shroud.
"Any thoughts?" Emrys asked, leaning against the doorframe.
Thor looked like a defeated lion. "I don't understand... we were brothers. My father, my mother... we loved him. How could he trade millions of lives for a shadow of a crown?"
The guilt of the frozen city hung over Thor like a shroud. In a few days, his world had been upended. His pride had been shattered by Emrys, and his family had been revealed as a nest of lies and betrayal.
"What should I do?" Thor asked, his voice hoarse. For the first time, he looked at Emrys not as a rival, but as a mentor.
"You need to become a King, Thor," Emrys said, walking over to place a firm hand on his shoulder. "Not the brawler who seeks glory in the pits, but the sovereign who protects his realm. Earth is bleeding because of your family's failures. Reclaim your power. Not for yourself, but for the duty you owe the Nine Realms."
"Can I?" Thor's confidence was a ruin. "I am nothing without the hammer. I am nothing compared to you."
"Confidence is earned through trial," Emrys said, his eyes burning with an intense, manipulative light. "Don't ask if you can. Tell yourself you must. Learn from this failure. Humility is the first step toward a crown."
Thor straightened his back, tears shimmering in his eyes. "I will not fail you. I will become the King Asgard needs."
"Good," Emrys said. "Go then. Marcus is waiting. He will help you find the strength that doesn't rely on a trinket of Uru."
As Thor marched out, his chest puffed with a new, desperate resolve, Marcus, the Chief Librarian of the Dark Angels, stepped into his path.
"Come, Asgardian," Marcus said, his psychic hood humming. "We shall see if there is a spark of divinity left in your soul, or if it must be forged anew through pain."
Emrys watched them leave, scratching his chin. "I hope Odin doesn't wake up too soon. I've taken both his sons—one into my service, and the other into a Dark Angel's training regimen. He might actually have a heart attack this time."
He felt a flicker of amusement. He was becoming far too good at this. If the Great Schemer, Tzeentch, were watching, he'd likely be offering a seat at his right hand. Emrys shook the thought away; he had a war to win, and two princes were just the beginning of his collection.