Chapter 145
Arc 9 - Ch 12: Loki
Location: The Void at the End of Time
Illusions all around. But Tyson had expected this trick. Misdirection was Loki's go-to. Multiple fake targets allowed the real ones to be positioned to capitalize on his confusion, waiting for him to waste energy on phantoms.
But electricity didn't care about illusions.
He raised Mjolnir's crackling head high. The air in the bunker grew heavy, charged with potential energy.
He slammed Mjolnir down onto the concrete floor. The impact created a shockwave that radiated outward in a circle of crackling blue-white lightning. The energy spread across the floor like water, dispersing the illusions as it passed through them. Each false President Loki shimmered and vanished in a flash of green light.
The real President Loki was thrown backward, body skidding across the floor until he collided with a pinball machine. Cyclist Loki tumbled head over heels, trophy clattering away. Frost Giant Loki was knocked off his feet, sliding several yards before stopping against a wall.
Only Hulk-Loki remained standing, massive legs braced against the shockwave. The muscular variant charged forward, arms swinging as he barreled toward Tyson, mouth open in a roar.
Tyson planted his feet and swung Mjolnir in a powerful uppercut. The hammer connected with Hulk-Loki's jaw with a sound like thunder, lifting the massive variant off his feet. His head snapped back, body following in an arc that sent him sailing across the room. He crashed through a stack of crates before coming to rest in a heap of splintered wood.
That should've knocked him out. Would've knocked out anyone with a normal skull.
But Hulk-Loki had that gamma-enhanced thing going on, same bullshit durability that made the Hulk such a nightmare to fight. The massive variant was already stirring in the wreckage, shaking off an impact that would've killed a normal person ten times over.
At least Hulk-Loki was predictable. Point him at a target, watch him charge, rinse and repeat. No tactics, no cunning, just overwhelming force applied in the most straightforward manner possible. Made him dangerous in the way a natural disaster was dangerous, but also exploitable if you stayed smart about it.
The real question was how many times Tyson would need to knock him down before the message penetrated that thick skull.
Judging by the roar already building in the variant's throat, they weren't there yet.
Not even close.
Hulk-Loki pushed himself up from the wreckage. His eyes locked onto Tyson with single-minded fury.
Tyson's gaze flicked across the room. President Loki was pulling himself up near the pinball machine. Cyclist Loki took off, not even bothering to retrieve his trophy. Frost Giant Loki rose near the wall.
And there, crouched in the shadows near a stack of old arcade cabinets, a variant dressed in black tactical gear. A Ninja-Loki? Silent, still, watching the chaos unfold with calculating eyes.
Maybe it wasn't about beating Hulk-Loki. Maybe it was about pointing him in the right direction.
His illusions had worked beautifully on Abomination. Hulk was a different beast entirely, he hadn't had to try using his power on Banner's alter ego, but he imagined the rage made Hulk harder to fool. They'd worked on Loki, at least briefly. Toss-up odds, but worth a shot.
Tyson locked eyes with Hulk-Loki and reached out with his mind, creating a perfect duplicate of Ninja-Loki. The illusion materialized beside Hulk-Loki, throwing a series of rapid punches at the massive variant's ribs. No force behind them, just visual trickery and the suggestion of impact.
Tyson prepared his adamantium weave anyway, knowing it was his only chance of binding something with the strength of the Hulk. Creating cuffs strong enough to hold him was doable, but it would thin out his available metal significantly. He'd be vulnerable if President Loki or Frost Giant Loki decided to capitalize on the opening.
Hulk-Loki roared and swung at the illusion. His massive fist passed through empty air.
He dispersed the illusory Ninja-Loki in a shimmer of green light.
Hulk-Loki's head swiveled in confusion. Then his eyes locked onto movement near the arcade cabinets where Tyson created a similar shimmer of green light revealing the real Ninja-Loki's location.
Recognition flashed across Hulk-Loki's face.
He charged.
The floor shook with each thunderous step as Hulk-Loki barreled across the room. Ninja-Loki's eyes widened behind his mask. He rolled to the side, but Hulk-Loki adjusted course with surprising agility for something that size.
Ninja-Loki vaulted over a broken pool table, hands moving in precise gestures that suggested he was preparing some kind of spell. Hulk-Loki crashed through the table like it was made of cardboard, splinters exploding outward chasing the ninja variant.
Misdirection accomplished.
Tyson turned his attention to the other variants, first, a flash of blue movement. The Frost Giant Loki had recovered and was charging toward him, conjuring shards of ice that flew like thrown daggers. More ice formed around his left hand, extending outward into a jagged spear. Tyson deflected the ice shards with Mjolnir, the frozen projectiles shattering against the hammer's surface. The Frost Giant closed the distance, thrusting forward with his ice spear while his right hand slashed with a curved dagger that appeared from nowhere.
The attack came from two angles at once; the ice spear aimed at Tyson's chest while the dagger slashed toward his throat.
Tyson twisted sideways, avoiding the spear by inches. Cold radiated from it as it passed, leaving a trail of frost in the air. The dagger came next, forcing him to lean backward. The blade passed so close that its cold wasn't just temperature. It was aggressive, almost alive, reaching for him like grasping fingers. Where the ice spear passed, frost crystallized on his exposed skin. Tiny needles of ice bit into his flesh, sharp enough to draw blood. The sensation crawled across his forearms, his neck, anywhere the cold touched.
Not painful enough to slow him down.
Just enough to remind him what would happen if the Frost Giant landed a solid hit.
Frostbite. Hypothermia. His blood turning to slush in his veins. Could his regeneration fight that off, or would that be enough to kill him? Turn him into a Tyson-cicle and shatter him. Better to not find out.
The Frost Giant pressed his advantage, not giving Tyson time to counter. The ice spear retracted and thrust again, aiming lower, while the dagger slashed horizontal. Each attack flowed into the next. This variant was a superior fighter, that much was clear.
After a moment, the pattern emerged. High thrust, low thrust, horizontal slash; each attack designed to force a specific defensive response. Tyson had fought enough during his time at Chikara Dojo to recognize when someone was testing him, probing for habits they could exploit.
The Frost Giant wasn't just attacking. He was learning.
Every parry, every dodge, gave him data. The variant's mind was working, adjusting angles with each exchange. The ice magic added another layer with its environmental control, temperature manipulation, terrain advantage.
This wasn't a brawler like Hulk-Loki. This was someone who understood that winning fights happened before the first blow landed. In the setup. The positioning. The information gathering.
Which meant Tyson needed to feed him false data. Make him think he'd found a pattern that didn't actually exist.
Tyson parried the dagger with Mjolnir's handle, the metals meeting with a sharp clang. The force of the block pushed the Frost Giant's arm wide, creating an opening. Tyson drove his shoulder into the variant's chest. The impact sent him stumbling backward.
But the Frost Giant recovered quickly, red eyes reassessing his opponent. With a gesture, more ice formed around his hands, extending into claws. At the same time, icicles began to form on the ceiling above Tyson, growing rapidly into deadly spikes.
The icicles detached from the ceiling, plummeting toward Tyson like a rain of spears. Simultaneously, the Frost Giant lunged forward, ice claws extended and dagger flashing.
Three threats.
Two visible.
The falling ice from above meant to limit movement options rather than guarantee a hit. The Frost Giant pressing from the front with claws and dagger was the real danger, skilled enough to capitalize on any opening.
And the third threat, the one that made his spider-sense warn louder than the visible dangers, was someone behind him.
The setup was textbook. Pin the target between multiple attacks, force them to commit to defending against one threat, then exploit the opening created by that commitment. The question was whether they expected him to know about the backstabber.
If they did, it was a bluff.
If they didn't, it was their kill shot.
Tyson had been tracking the variants' positions even while engaged with the Frost Giant.
The dagger was Uru.
Likely President Loki.
Predictable.
The pompous bastard favored waiting for the target to be distracted, then going for the back. Without looking, he twisted his torso and leaned right. The dagger sliced through empty air where his kidney had been a heartbeat earlier. President Loki's momentum carried him forward, his expression shifting from victory to confusion as his target simply wasn't there.
"How—"
President Loki's words cut short as Tyson pivoted fully.
The Frost Giant charged from ten feet away. He was experienced, dangerous, wouldn't make the mistake of trying to catch or block Mjolnir. He'd dodge, which meant the hammer would occupy him for maybe two seconds, forcing evasive movement that took him out of the fight temporarily.
President Loki was off-balance. Dagger extended in a failed strike. Close enough that Mjolnir's reach advantage became a liability.
Thor's hammer excelled at distance, at overwhelming power, at smashing through defenses. But in close quarters against an already-committed opponent?
Wasted potential.
Better to use it as a distraction against the more dangerous threat, create a window of opportunity. Two seconds with President Loki isolated was all he needed.
The math was simple. One throw, one brief opening, one decisive advantage.
Tyson hurled Mjolnir toward the charging Frost Giant. The hammer streaked across the bunker like a comet, trailing blue electricity. As expected, the variant knew better than to attempt blocking. He dove sideways, body twisting mid-air as Mjolnir passed through the space he'd occupied a split second earlier. The hammer continued its path, embedding itself in the concrete wall with a thunderous impact that sent cracks spiderwebbing across the surface.
Tyson now stood weaponless.
But he was never truly without a weapon.
He extended his right hand, fingers splayed. Nexus materialized in his grasp.
With his left hand, Tyson snatched President Loki's wrist, still extended from the failed strike. Skin contact was all it took. The life-absorption flowed once he made the connection, pulling energy and memories both. Tyson had learned to control the intensity; how hard to drain, how deep to pull.
Right now, he went hard. Holding nothing back.
President Loki had information he needed, and the variant had earned no mercy.
He was born a prince of Asgard, second son to Odin Allfather and Frigga, though the truth of his heritage remained hidden from him for centuries. From his earliest days, he lived in the shadow of his brother Thor, watching as the firstborn son received the lion's share of their father's attention and the adoration of the Asgardian people. While Thor excelled in combat and displays of strength that pleased the warrior culture of their realm, he found his talents in magic, strategy, and the subtle art of manipulation. His mother nurtured these gifts, teaching him illusion magic and the secrets of seiðr that few Asgardian men bothered to master. These abilities earned him the nickname "God of Mischief," though behind the mischief lay a wounded heart that yearned for recognition.
Childhood pranks evolved into more elaborate schemes as he matured. He found he could accomplish through cunning what Thor achieved through brute force, though rarely did his methods receive the same praise. When Thor and his friends embarked on adventures, he accompanied them, often saving the day through clever solutions that went unacknowledged in the sagas told afterward.
The defining moment came during Thor's coronation ceremony. Unwilling to see the throne passed to a brother he deemed unready, he secretly allowed Frost Giants into Asgard's vault. The resulting chaos postponed the coronation and led Thor to make the rash decision to invade Jotunheim against Odin's orders. It was a clever plan that worked perfectly. During their ill-fated excursion to the realm of the Frost Giants, he discovered the truth of his birth. He was not Odin's son by blood but a Jotun himself, taken as an infant during the war with Laufey. This revelation shattered his identity and sent him down a path of self-destruction. When Odin fell into the Odinsleep, he seized the throne, determined to prove himself worthy despite his monstrous origins.
His attempt to destroy Jotunheim failed when Thor returned from exile on Earth and stopped him. Rather than face Odin's judgment, he let himself fall into the void between worlds; certain death awaited him. Instead, he landed in the clutches of Thanos and The Other, who twisted his pain and ambition to their purposes and sent him to Earth to retrieve the Tesseract. His invasion of Earth failed spectacularly when the assembled heroes known as the Avengers defeated him and his Chitauri army. Returned to Asgard in chains, he expected execution but received imprisonment instead. When Dark Elves attacked Asgard, Thor came to him for help, needing his knowledge of secret pathways between realms. He successfully faked his death and turned his attention to Earth.
He had seen firsthand the primitive political systems of humans during his attempted conquest and recognized an opportunity. If direct conquest had failed, perhaps infiltration would succeed. Using his shape-shifting abilities and considerable charisma, he created the identity of a political outsider, a successful businessman turned politician whose purpose was to "Bring glory to America." His natural talent for oratory, combined with illusion magic and subtle mind manipulation, quickly won him a devoted following. Humans were so eager to be led, so desperate for someone to tell them what they wanted to hear. The election proved easier to manipulate than he anticipated. Carefully crafted speeches that appealed to human fears and desires; he didn't even need the well-placed enchantments on voting systems to secure his victory. On inauguration day, as he placed his hand on a religious text and swore an oath he had no intention of keeping, he fought back laughter at how simple it had been to achieve through deception what he had failed to take by force.
One moment, he was signing documents in the Oval Office, surrounded by sycophantic advisors; the next, armored figures emerged from a glowing orange doorway.
They sentenced him to pruning, and he ended up in the Void. In this wasteland, he found other versions of himself, variants who had similarly strayed from their predetermined path. Using the charisma and cunning that had won him the presidency, he gathered these Lokis into a faction that acknowledged him as their leader. With his horned presidential campaign button proudly displayed on his lapel, he established dominance in this new realm. It was a poor substitute for the Earth he had nearly conquered, but he was nothing if not adaptable.
Centuries of memories hit him, pouring through the connection between his palm and President Loki's skin. Tyson had learned to sort the incoming flood, filtering for what mattered. Political schemes and theatrical speeches dissolved into background noise. He didn't need to know about campaign rallies or debate tactics.
But there.
Thanos.
That snagged his attention. Tyson pulled at that thread, dragging forward connected memories. Torture, manipulation, the invasion of Earth. President Loki had been The Other's puppet, sent to retrieve the Tesseract. He shared the identity crisis leading to self-destructive choices with his Loki. President Loki feared rejection, needed to prove his worth, and would sacrifice everything for recognition.
Beneath all the schemes and posturing, just another broken variant trying to matter.
He didn't hold back his life-absorption, eliciting a pained gasp from the variant. President Loki attempted to pull free, but Tyson's grip was unyielding.
"Let go of me, you oaf!" President Loki snarled, his free hand conjuring another dagger that he slashed toward Tyson's face.
Tyson ducked beneath the wild swing, maintaining his iron grip on President Loki's wrist. He twisted the captured arm sharply, forcing President Loki to his knees with a pained grunt.
Frost Giant Loki recovered from his evasive maneuver and circled back, ice reforming around his hands into jagged blades. His red eyes calculated his approach.
President Loki's memories continued flowing, but Tyson focused on what he needed right now. Combat intelligence. The variant had fought alongside other Lokis for years in this wasteland. Tyson pulled forward tactical memories of how the different variants operated, their preferred strategies, weaknesses they tried to hide.
Frost Giant Loki was former royalty from Jotunheim, not Asgardian at all. Stronger than the adopted prince variants, more experienced in actual warfare versus misdirection. He favored overwhelming force combined with environmental control, using ice to shape the battlefield to his advantage.
Hulk-Loki was barely sentient anymore, all rage and minimal strategy.
Cyclist Loki was pathetic even by Loki standards, no real threat.
With President Loki trapped in Tyson's grasp, a direct assault against him risked harming the variant. Not that the Frost Giant particularly cared about President Loki's well-being, but the distraction could provide an advantage.
"Release him," Frost Giant Loki demanded. "Or I'll freeze you where you stand."
Tyson kept his grip firm on President Loki while raising Nexus defensively. "Try it."
Frost Giant Loki charged, sending a barrage of ice shards flying ahead of him, forcing Tyson to swing Nexus in a defensive arc. The soulsword sliced through the frozen projectiles, reducing them to glittering dust.
But the ice attack was merely a distraction.
Frost Giant Loki closed the distance, both ice-bladed hands slashing toward Tyson's chest in a scissoring motion. Tyson parried with Nexus, the soulsword meeting the ice with a sound like breaking glass. Sparks of magical energy erupted where the weapons met and his ninjato cut through the magic.
President Loki, still held firmly in Tyson's grasp, was beginning to weaken. He attempted to capitalize on the distraction. He drove his elbow backward, aiming for Tyson's ribs. The blow connected, but Tyson barely registered the impact.
Frost Giant Loki pressed his attack, ice reforming instantly as Nexus shattered his blades. Each strike came faster than the last, forcing Tyson to divide his attention between defending against the relentless assault and maintaining his hold on President Loki.
The blue-skinned variant feinted high, then dropped low, sweeping his leg toward Tyson's ankles. Tyson jumped over the sweep, pulling President Loki with him. The sudden movement had him swinging President Loki to collide with Frost Giant Loki. The blue variant snarled in frustration.
"You're in my way, fool!" Frost Giant Loki growled.
"I had no choice," President Loki retorted, still struggling against Tyson's grip.
Tyson used the momentary confusion to his advantage, swinging Nexus in a wide arc that forced Frost Giant Loki to leap backward. Frost Giant Loki responded by stomping his foot, causing a wave of ice to spread across the floor toward Tyson. The ice climbed rapidly up Tyson's legs, attempting to root him in place.
But Nexus cut through the ice, slicing through the magic as easily as it did any other material.
With a roar that seemed to shake the foundations of the bunker, Hulk-Loki charged toward the ongoing fight. He must have defeated or driven off Ninja-Loki and remembered who he was supposed to be fighting. Tyson sensed the approach through his spider-sense tingling at the base of his skull. He calculated trajectories in an instant, recognizing the opportunity presented by the mindless assault.
As Hulk-Loki closed the distance, massive fist drawn back for a devastating blow, Tyson waited until the last possible moment.
Then, with perfect timing, he sidestepped, pulling President Loki with him.
Hulk-Loki's momentum carried him forward, his massive fist unable to change course. The punch meant for Tyson instead connected squarely with Frost Giant Loki's chest.
The impact was catastrophic. Frost Giant Loki had no time to evade or defend. The full force of Hulk-Loki's strength crushed through ice armor and flesh alike. A sickening crack echoed through the bunker as Frost Giant Loki's chest caved inward. The blue-skinned variant's red eyes widened in shock and pain, then dimmed as life fled his body.
Frost Giant Loki crumpled to the floor, his dagger clattering to the ground beside him.
Hulk-Loki turned to attack. The massive variant's momentum carried him forward several steps before he managed to stop himself.
But Tyson, but he wasn't there, neither was President Loki.
His tiny eyes, set deep in his brutish face, darted around in confusion before settling on movement across the bunker.
There, amid the chaos of the main melee where dozens of Lokis fought each other, he spotted President Loki's distinctive suit and Tyson's imposing figure.
"SMASH THOR!" Hulk-Loki roared, his limited vocabulary matching his limited intelligence. The muscular variant charged toward the fray, knocking aside other Lokis that stood in his path. Smaller variants scattered before him, unwilling to test themselves against his raw strength. Hulk-Loki barreled into the center of the fighting, swinging massive fists indiscriminately at anything that moved.
As Hulk-Loki disappeared into the melee, the air shimmered near where he had been standing. The illusion of empty space dissolved, revealing Tyson still firmly gripping President Loki's wrist. The presidential variant looked significantly weaker now, his face ashen and drawn. The life-drain had taken its toll, sapping his strength and vitality.
"A clever trick," President Loki admitted, his voice noticeably weaker than before. "Using my own illusion magic against us."
Tyson maintained his grip. "I've fought Loki enough to know your tricks."
President Loki's shoulders slumped in apparent defeat. His usual confident posture gave way to something resembling resignation. "Alright," he said. "You win. I give up. The Loki army will be yours to command."
The words were convincing, the body language perfect.
Yet, Tyson's spider-sense tingled sharply at the base of his skull, a warning of imminent danger.
A flicker of movement. The dagger that had seemed to fall from President Loki's grasp earlier reappeared in his hand. It had been an illusion all along. With surprising speed for someone so weakened, President Loki drove the blade toward Tyson's side, aimed between his ribs.
The moment stretched.
Tyson's spider-sense had given him warning with enough time to dodge, disarm, or simply tighten his grip and yank President Loki off-balance before the strike landed. He'd seen the micro-expressions; the slight tension in President Loki's shoulder, the shift in his center of gravity, the way his eyes tracked the gap between Tyson's ribs.
From President Loki's memories, he knew this exact move. The feigned surrender, the hidden blade, the sudden strike meant to catch an opponent in their moment of perceived victory. It was Loki's signature betrayal, used successfully dozens of times across his long life.
So why not dodge?
Well first, because his adamantium weave would stop the Uru dagger. But that wasn't enough. He needed Loki to know that challenging him was a mistake, that he'd grown so far beyond fighting Loki that even an entire mischief of Loki's couldn't defeat him. He needed Loki to feel how hopelessly beyond the god of mischief he was. And to do that, President Loki needed to believe his attack was working. Needed to commit fully to the strike, to put everything into this one attack, to feel that surge of triumph that would distract him from what came next.
A dodged attack meant a continuing fight, more tactical exchanges, more opportunities for President Loki to escape or for other variables to interfere.
But an attack that landed, that created a psychological moment where President Loki thought he'd won, dropped his guard, and stopped fighting.
A dagger sliding between his ribs was the price of certainty.
His healing factor made it a price he could afford to pay.
Tyson used his ferrokinesis to create a small part in his adamantium weave.
Pain lanced through his side as the blade penetrated flesh and muscle and pushed into his organs. He'd accepted the strike, knowing what would follow.
President Loki's face brightened with triumph, weak smile playing at his lips despite his deteriorating condition. "If I'm going to die," he rasped, twisting the dagger deeper, "I'll be taking you with me."
The blade had pierced his liver, angling upward toward his diaphragm. On a normal opponent, this would be a killing blow. Massive internal bleeding and compromised breathing.
President Loki had calculated exactly that outcome.
In the variant's eyes, the flash of vindication, the certainty that he'd turned a losing situation into victory through superior cunning. That certainty was exploitable.
In these seconds, while President Loki's brain was still celebrating its cleverness, Tyson would close the trap completely.
The variant was already weakened from life-drain, already physically diminished. This strike represented his last real chance to escape or equalize the fight. Once President Loki realized it hadn't worked, he'd have nothing left.
No energy for another attack, no tricks remaining, no hope of survival.
Checkmate arrived the moment he committed to the dagger thrust.
Blood seeped from the wound, staining Tyson's clothing. Yet his grip on President Loki's wrist never faltered. Instead, Tyson reached down with his free hand and grasped the hilt of the dagger.
"Sorry," Tyson said calmly. "Only one of us will be dying today."
He pulled the blade from his side. President Loki expected blood to gush from the puncture wound, but instead watched in horror as the wound closed almost immediately, the flesh knitting itself back together through Tyson's healing factor.
The look on President Loki's face was worth the pain.
That precise moment when confidence shattered into disbelief, when a plan that should have worked encountered a variable he hadn't accounted for. Tyson had seen that expression before on other opponents who'd thought they'd found his weakness, exploited his opening, secured their victory.
President Loki's centuries of experience told him that a hidden blade worked because it exploited the psychological tendency to lower your guard when you think you've won. Solid logic. Sound tactics.
The problem was that it only worked if your opponent matched your assumptions.
Healing factor wasn't something President Loki accounted for. Somehow, he'd never encountered a variant in the Void that possessed Wolverine's abilities.
The hidden blade tactic had succeeded exactly as designed.
It just hadn't mattered.
Just as it would fail against Thanos, it failed against Tyson.
"Impossible," President Loki whispered.
"Not for me," Tyson replied.
President Loki struggled weakly against Tyson's grip, but his strength was all but gone, and he knew in that moment that he was hopelessly outmatched.
Then Tyson felt the snap.
Like a rubber band stretched beyond its limit, the metaphysical tether holding President Loki's essence to his physical form broke. What had been a steady flow became a flood, a rushing torrent of life, memory, and power.
President Loki's body went limp, like a marionette with cut strings. It was now an empty vessel, devoid of the spark that had made him Loki.
Tyson staggered backward and dropped the body as President Loki's entire essence poured into him.
It wasn't just energy.
It was everything.
Memories, emotions, knowledge, and power all flooded into Tyson's mind and body at once.
The sensation overwhelmed him, like being submerged in a river of someone else's consciousness. Tyson saw flashes of President Loki's life. His childhood on Asgard, always in Thor's shadow; the moment he discovered his true Jotun heritage; his fall from the Bifrost into the void; his failed invasion of Earth; his rise to political power; and finally, his pruning and arrival in the Void.
Tyson's body changed to accommodate not just the life force but the magical abilities that had been President Loki's. He felt the variant's seidr, Asgardian magic. The knowledge of illusions and shape-shifting settled into his mind like books being placed on shelves, organized and accessible.
Along with the memories and powers came President Loki's personality. A new cunning and a heightened appreciation for manipulation and misdirection tried to take root in his mind. But he fought off the influence. The variant's silver-tongued charisma and political savvy became part of him, tools to be used rather than traits that defined him.
President Loki had lived a long time, longer than Sabertooth and the others he'd absorbed combined. The process was almost painful, like trying to pour an ocean into a lake. Tyson's consciousness strained to contain and organize the influx of his entire existence.
The sheer volume threatened to sweep away everything that made him himself. His body tried to accommodate not just life force but the fundamental magical architecture that had defined a Jotun prince pretending to be Asgardian.
No, that was wrong. Odin changed Loki; he was an Asgardian.
Tyson's cells restructured themselves to hold seidr, creating pathways for magic that hadn't existed moments before.
It hurt.
God, it hurt.
Not physically, his healing factor processed that pain automatically, but mentally, emotionally, existentially.
For a handful of heartbeats, he genuinely couldn't remember if he was Tyson, who had absorbed Loki, or Loki wearing Tyson's face.
The panic of that moment, the fear of losing himself entirely, forced him to grab onto the core of who he was like a drowning man clutching a lifeline.
Those anchors held.
Barely.
Until he spoke aloud.
I'm Tyson Smith. I'm Mirage. I'm Tyson. I'm Valravn.
Finally, the flood subsided. Tyson remained standing, breathing heavily as he sorted through the wealth of new information and abilities. He looked down at his hands, half expecting them to have changed somehow, but they remained his own.
Yet he was different now.
The knowledge of centuries of Asgardian life, the mastery of illusion magic, the political acumen of a man who had manipulated his way to the highest office in a nation, the body of a Jotun, all of it was now part of him, accessible like memories of his own experiences.
He could feel the variant's cynicism nestled in his thoughts like a comfortable chair he might sink into if he wasn't vigilant. The seductive logic of manipulation whispered at the edges of his mind.
Why fight when you could deceive?
Why struggle when you could scheme?
Why be honest when lies served better?
And the terrifying part was how reasonable it sounded.
President Loki's memories came with justifications built in, sophisticated rationalizations that made every betrayal seem like the smart play, every deception merely tactics.
Tyson had absorbed power before, but this was the first time he genuinely feared losing himself to what he'd taken.
Sabertooth's rage and instincts had been animalistic, obviously wrong, and easy to identify. Magneto's conviction had been far harder, and he hadn't recognized it until the Ancient One had pointed it out to him. But once it was recognized, it became easier to filter.
President Loki's cunning felt like a different beast.
Thoughts he might have had himself, just slightly more developed, more refined. The boundary between his own strategic thinking and Loki's manipulative brilliance blurred dangerously.
He'd had this psyche in his mind for a minute, and he was already concerned.
How long before he stopped noticing the difference?
Tyson flexed his fingers, watching as green-gold energy danced between them. He closed his fist, and the energy vanished. With barely a thought, he created an illusion of himself standing a few feet away. The duplicate was perfect in every detail, indistinguishable from the original. Yet it was different from his illusions using Jason's power, solid, existing in the world, yet not.
The possibilities whispered through his mind in President Loki's voice, seductive and cunning.
With illusion magic this sophisticated, he could be anyone, anywhere. The political acumen that came with the memories showed him exactly how to leverage this power; not through brute force, but through careful manipulation, strategic deception, making people believe they'd chosen actions he'd orchestrated them toward.
Don't challenge entire armies; manipulate them by appearing as their commanders.
It would be easy.
So easy.
And wasn't that the problem?
President Loki's perspective felt natural, almost comfortable, like thoughts he might have had himself. He could feel himself wanting to try some of those tactics, to test how effective Loki's silver tongue would be in his mouth.
This was how he'd lose himself, not in one dramatic moment of possession, but gradually, one convenient rationalization at a time, until he looked in a mirror and saw a monster wearing his face, convinced it had made all the right choices.
Tyson stood over President Loki's empty shell, understanding crystallizing in his mind.
The dagger strike.
He'd let it happen, despite his adamantium weave would've stopped it, because he'd needed President Loki broken. Needed him to feel that crushing moment when his best trick failed, when his centuries of cunning amounted to nothing against an opponent who simply was too powerful to fight.
Demoralization.
That's what he'd been doing.
Breaking President Loki's spirit so thoroughly that when Tyson absorbed him, the variant's psyche would be too shattered to fight back. A weakened consciousness was easier to suppress, easier to keep contained in the corners of his mind where it couldn't influence his decisions.
Otherwise, President Loki would be riding him around like a Tyson suit, wearing his body while whispering suggestions that sounded reasonable, steering him toward choices that served Loki's interests rather than his own.
Tyson had seen what happened when someone absorbed a consciousness without breaking it first. Magneto's convictions had influenced his initial decisions. President Loki possessed centuries of experience in manipulation and deception. If Tyson had absorbed him while the variant still believed he could win, still thought himself clever enough to escape or scheme his way out, that consciousness would have fought for dominance every single moment.
The dagger strike had been psychological warfare against a future threat.
Smart.
Disturbingly smart.
The kind of tactical thinking that felt suspiciously like something Loki himself would do.
"I might have to fight this guy again, inside my mind," Tyson murmured, dismissing the illusion with a wave of his hand.
He'd had a solution for settling the psyches in his head. Kaine still wasn't completely sated, and now he'd have to deal with President Loki.
Cyclist Loki had scurried off somewhere, escaping in the fighting. The bodies of President Loki and Frost Giant Loki lay broken and still. President Loki's face remained frozen in that final expression of disbelief, while Frost Giant Loki's chest was a concave ruin of shattered ice and flesh.
His hands weren't shaking, but they should have been. He'd just killed two people, variants, whatever semantic distinction made it easier to swallow, and his heart rate was barely elevated.
The combat adrenaline was fading, leaving behind the cold recognition that he'd executed President Loki methodically, had used the variant's own tactical patterns against him, had let him believe the dagger strike worked just to psychologically devastate him in his final moments.
That wasn't self-defense. That was calculated execution.
Frost Giant Loki's death had been more a consequence of redirecting Hulk-Loki's attack, but President Loki? Tyson had made choices throughout that fight specifically designed to end with absorption and death. The ease of those choices disturbed him more than the violence itself. Each life he took made the next one incrementally easier to justify. Sabertooth had been survival. Healer had been necessary. Jason an accident. Magneto and Kain intentional.
And now President Loki's death had been what? Intentional? Practical? Strategic? Efficient? When had he started thinking about lives in these terms? The realization unsettled him. Each death had come more readily than the last, the hesitation diminishing with each life he took.
He flexed his fingers, still feeling the residual energy from absorbing President Loki's essence. The variant's memories swirled within him, centuries of cunning and deception now accessible like entries in a library.
But with those memories came the uncomfortable awareness of how easily President Loki had justified his own acts of violence and manipulation.
He forced himself to look at the bodies, to acknowledge what he'd done rather than let it become just another combat memory filed away and forgotten.
If he stopped feeling the weight of these deaths, he'd become exactly the kind of monster he was trying to stop.
The sounds of battle had begun to fade. Most of the fighting Lokis had either fled or fallen. The bunker that had been pristine minutes ago now bore the scars of magical combat, scorch marks on the walls, ice patches on the floor, and furniture reduced to splinters.
Sylvie picked her way through the debris, followed by the Lokis who had allied with her. Old Loki with his elaborate horned headdress, Kid Loki clutching his alligator pet, and the original Loki they had been seeking. They approached cautiously, eyeing the carnage around Tyson with wary respect.
Loki looked down at President Loki's body. A body that looked exactly like his own. A body that was his own, save a few minor decisions. But when he glanced up at Tyson, he seemed to recognize the regret in his eyes.
A recognition that transcended words passed between them in that look.
Loki had killed before, betrayed before, justified actions that his better self knew were wrong. The understanding in his eyes told Tyson he recognized the same internal struggle, the same war between necessity and morality, between what you had to do and what it cost to do it.
It was the look of someone who'd walked this exact path, who knew precisely where it led if you weren't careful. And Loki's path had led to his death. In Thanos grasp, or Tyson's, it mattered not.
Still, he couldn't judge the man. Loki wasn't in a position to judge anyone's morals or moral compromises.
Solidarity between them? Almost, though neither of them would name it that. They'd both made choices they couldn't take back. They'd both discovered that power came with prices that weren't always obvious until you'd already paid them. And they'd both have to live with what they'd done, carrying those deaths forward into whatever came next.
"He would've done worse to you, trust me, I know," Loki said, his voice lacking its usual sarcastic edge.
Tyson tapped his temple. "I know, too. Well, I do now." He gestured to the gathered variants. "Guess this is just one big gathering of Lokis."
"Lokis and a Frog-Thor, that is," Sylvie added, nodding toward the far corner of the bunker where Throg was engaged in combat with a variant wearing what appeared to be a racing cyclist's outfit. The diminutive amphibian wielded his tiny Mjolnir with surprising effectiveness, sending the cyclist Loki tumbling backward with each blow.
Tyson raised his hand, focusing on the metal in Throg's hammer. Using Magneto's powers, he gently pulled Throg away from his fight, lifting the frog god through the air and bringing him toward the group.
"We need to go," Tyson said as Throg landed on his palm.
Throg gave a reluctant but understanding croak, glaring back at Cyclist Loki before jumping to Tyson's shoulder. The tiny god settled there, his miniature cape billowing slightly as he adjusted his position.
"The way I see it, leaving with you is better than staying with these backstabbers," Kid Loki said.
Tyson knelt beside the bodies of President Loki and Frost Giant Loki. He carefully retrieved their identical Uru daggers. Rising to his feet, he offered one dagger to Sylvie and one to Loki. "These might come in handy."
Sylvie took the dagger without hesitation, testing its weight with an appreciative nod, and slipped it into her belt.
Loki looked skeptically at the dagger, his eyes darting between the weapon and Tyson's face.
"You saw what happened to them," Tyson said, gesturing to the dead Lokis and answering the unasked question. "I'm sure you'll make better choices."
Loki took the dagger and tucked it away.
Old Loki began weaving a spell. Green energy coalesced between his palms, expanding outward to form a shimmering portal. He had seen countless variants come and go during his time in the Void. Most fell into predictable patterns; they formed temporary alliances born of necessity, betrayed each other at the first opportunity, and eventually either died or learned to survive alone. These Lokis following this Thor-variant should've fit that mold. President Loki's faction had just collapsed in spectacular fashion. Standard Void politics.
Except this felt different.
The way Kid Loki looked at the Thor-variant, like he'd found something worth believing in. Old Loki recognized that expression because he'd worn it himself once, millennia ago, before cynicism and isolation had ground it away. And the Lady Loki, Sylvie. The way she looked at the Thor-variant. Trust displayed so openly it made Old Loki uncomfortable to witness. That kind of vulnerability got you killed in the Void. Should've gotten them killed already.
Yet here they were.
Not just surviving but seemingly thriving through cooperation. It challenged his fundamental understanding of how Lokis operated. Made him wonder if his certainty about their unchangeable nature was wrong.
He didn't like that feeling.
"Let's be off," he said. "This location has been compromised, and there are far worse things in the Void than quarrelsome variants."
The group gathered around the portal. Kid Loki went first. Old Loki followed, his elaborate horned helmet ducking slightly to clear the portal's edge.
Loki hesitated, looking back at the bunker that had briefly served as a sanctuary.
"Coming?" Sylvie asked, pausing at the portal's threshold.
Loki nodded, joining her. They stepped through together, their silhouettes briefly outlined against the portal's glow before disappearing.
Tyson was the last to approach.
He paused at the portal's threshold, looking back at the bunker one final time. President Loki's and Frost Giant Loki's bodies lay where they had fallen.
The bunker had been the Lokis' sanctuary, filled with salvage from across the multiverse, defended against Alioth and the chaos outside, and served as a refuge in this wasteland.
Now it was a tomb.
The silence inside felt accusatory, like the walls themselves judged what had happened here. Tyson had walked in looking for Loki and walked out carrying another Loki in his consciousness, having killed multiple variants, and likely been fundamentally changed by the absorption.
The person who entered this bunker wasn't quite the same person leaving it.
The corpses bothered him.
Leave them here to be consumed by Alioth? The thought sat wrong in his gut. He'd gone so far as to take a Loki within him. Why leave the rest to rot? He summoned Nexus from his soul. Using his magnetism, he sent the ninjato spinning through the air toward President Loki's body. The blade cut through fabric and flesh to expose the chest cavity. Another gesture, and Nexus repeated the process on Frost Giant Loki's corpse.
Tyson reached out with his magnetic senses, then pulled, drawing the metal from the bunker's walls and floor. Steel beams groaned as he stripped away fragments, forming them into two small containers. The metal flowed like liquid, encasing each heart in its own protective shell.
The containers lifted into the air, hovering before him. For good measure he wrapped the bodies too.
Nexus slashed horizontal, the enchanted blade cutting through reality itself. A portal opened, revealing the house in Limbo, the familiar interior, the container where he'd stored the other hearts he'd collected.
He guided the four new containers through the portal, watching as they settled beside the others. He willed the portal closed and Nexus vanished, returning to his soul.
Throg croaked questioningly from his shoulder.
"Yeah, we're going," Tyson assured the amphibian. "But we won't be staying in the void much longer. It's nearly time to get out of this place."
He turned toward Old Loki's portal, where the others waited, and stepped through without looking back.