Chapter Seventy-Three: Loki Has Been Captured Too

Michael and Thor talked for a long time. Once he felt he had learned all he needed, Michael took his leave. No sooner had he stepped out than Loki slipped in through the door, confident that no one could see him.

“Loki, what are you doing here?” Thor exclaimed, surprise mingling with a trace of happiness.

Feigning deep concern, Loki replied, “I had to come see you.”

“What’s happened?”

“Father is dead.”

“What?” Thor could hardly believe it. How could their father die so suddenly, when he had seemed fine before?

Loki looked into Thor’s eyes and spoke softly, “Your exile, the threat of renewed war—he couldn’t bear it. Don’t blame yourself. I know you loved him dearly. I tried to talk to him, but he wouldn’t listen. He laid Mjolnir before you, knowing you couldn’t lift it—such cruelty. Now the burden of the throne falls on my shoulders.”

Fighting back sorrow, Thor asked, “Can I go home?”

Loki replied, “The truce with Jotunheim requires your exile—forever.”

“I see... Isn’t there any other way—”

Before Thor could finish, Loki interrupted him, “Mother also opposes your return. I came only to say farewell, brother.”

“I’m so sorry.” Thor was wracked with guilt, blaming himself for everything.

But this was exactly what Loki wanted. As long as Thor was weighed down by guilt, he would never be able to lift the hammer again.

“No,” Loki said, now performing as though he had won an Oscar. “It’s I who should apologize.”

“Thank you for coming to see me,” Thor said, fully believing Loki’s story.

“Farewell, then.” Loki, satisfied his goal was achieved, prepared to leave.

“Goodbye.”

“Goodbye.”

Loki moved through the base with a light step. Any agents who passed him either failed to notice him or took him for one of their own.

He soon reached the very center and gazed at Mjolnir. Cautiously, he glanced around, then reached out to try and lift the hammer.

Just then, Michael appeared behind him.

Sensing someone’s presence, Loki looked over his shoulder and saw Michael standing directly behind him. Loki’s posture, bent awkwardly over the hammer, suddenly felt exposed and undignified.

This was the same man who had just been talking with Thor. Had he somehow seen through Loki’s illusion spell?

“Oh, damn,” Loki muttered under his breath. Not only was the hammer immovable, but now there was someone standing right behind him—how infuriating.

“You mortal,” Loki snarled, rising and pulling a dagger to stab at Michael.

Michael blocked the attack, then swept Loki’s ankle, sending him tumbling to the ground.

Nearby agents noticed the commotion and began to gather. But instead of intervening, they watched in confusion. Loki’s mind magic had made them believe he was a colleague, but agents were naturally suspicious, even of their own. It wasn’t unusual to question a fellow agent’s behavior.

So, watching one of their own get beaten up, they simply observed.

Loki was caught off guard. As a sorcerer, close combat was not his strength. His attacks only succeeded when his target was unprepared; under normal circumstances, they rarely worked.

He attempted to conjure an illusion and escape, but Michael’s training in white magic countered Loki’s black magic perfectly. Furthermore, as an illusionist himself, Michael could easily see through Loki’s tricks. He lashed out a whip, dragged Loki back, struck his wrist to disarm him, and snapped a pair of handcuffs onto him.

Loki tried to fight back with his free hand, but Michael blocked it with a magic shield and kicked him hard, sending him flying.

For all that Loki was the son of a Frost Giant, his hand-to-hand skills were pitiful, showing none of his heritage’s strength. Michael even wondered if he was really a Frost Giant’s descendant.

Loki’s talent lay in black magic. By all accounts, he was among the mightiest sorcerers, capable of crossing dimensions and space itself. Yet Michael saw no sign of such power—this Loki seemed unimpressive, so much so that the online community had dubbed him “Sister Loki,” the true heroine of the hammer saga.

To Michael, both the Ancient One and later Doctor Strange were leagues above him, and even Ebony Maw had more presence.

Loki glared at Michael, seething. Here he stood, about to ascend the throne, and now being humiliated like this.

“Damn you, insect! I am Loki, god of mischief, and I will grant you nothing but death!”

Furious, Loki reached for his staff, intending to unleash powerful black magic and obliterate Michael.

He waved his hand, but nothing happened. The magic was gone.

“What’s going on? Where are my spells?”

Michael shrugged. “The handcuffs are specially designed. While you wear them, you can’t use any black magic. They were made just for you.”

“Damn it, mortal! Do you know who I am? I am—”

Before Loki could finish, Michael summoned a gust of wind, sending him flying out of the base.

“Wretched, lowly human! You’ll regret this. I swear it, by Loki, god of mischief!”

Loki had barely regained his feet when Michael appeared before him, seized him by the throat, and tossed him aside.

For the next few moments, Michael batted Loki around like a ball, enjoying himself. When he’d had enough, he locked the cuffs tight and dragged Loki back, dumping him at Thor’s feet.

Thor, seeing his brother thrown back again, couldn’t help but be surprised.

“My brother, you’ve returned so soon.”

“It seems someone is determined not to let me leave.”

Michael produced a steel muzzle and clamped it onto Loki.

“Mmmph! Mmmph!” Loki protested.

Michael grinned. “Not bad, is it? Modified from a large-dog muzzle. Do you like it?”

“Mmmph! Mmmph! Mmmph!” Loki’s response was unintelligible, but if it could be translated, Michael’s entire family would probably be cursed.

Watching Loki’s face turn red with indignation, Thor couldn’t help but laugh.

“Brother, this thing is wonderful. I finally have a way to make you quiet.”

Coulson entered and asked, “Why did you restrain him? Did he do something wrong?”

Michael smiled. “Do you really know who he is? What’s his name?”

Coulson studied Loki’s face. It looked familiar—he was sure he knew him, but couldn’t recall the name.

With a snap of Michael’s fingers, that sense of familiarity vanished. Coulson realized he didn’t know this man at all.

“What’s going on? Who is he, exactly?”

Thor replied, “He’s Loki. My brother.”

The god of mischief?

Coulson looked at Loki again, his eyes now wary.

“So this is Loki, the god of mischief. You’ve all just fallen under his mind magic—a kind of hypnosis. He made you believe he was your colleague. Be careful. He can talk you into disaster. Under no circumstances should you remove his handcuffs or his muzzle.”

“Understood,” Coulson replied solemnly.

Michael took a blood sample from Loki, left him there, and walked out.

Thor teased Loki for a while, then gradually fell back into sorrow.