On the arena stage, both contestants stood ready.
Dr. Bruce Banner faced Loki, the God of Mischief and second Prince of Asgard.
The third battle was about to begin.
Unlike the roaring excitement of the first two matches, the Asgardian crowd was strangely quiet this time. No cheers, no chants. The silence spread across the arena like frost on glass.
No one waved their arms in Loki's favor. Even when whispers did ripple through the audience, they weren't about him at all. Instead, their attention shifted toward Banner—the mortal sorcerer from Midgard.
People murmured about how frail he looked, how his potbelly made him appear soft and unthreatening. Surely, this weak man could not stand against a god.
Banner noticed the attention, but he wasn't bothered by their judgment of his physique. His mind was already wandering, spinning tales of royal intrigue.
To him, the hushed whispers weren't insults. He interpreted the silence as something far grander.
In his mind, he imagined the struggles of ancient courts—gods and kings scheming for power.
"Asgard has two princes," Banner thought. "And here Loki stands, unfavored by the crowd. Could it be that he has already fallen behind in the fight for the throne?"
He looked around. Compared to the deafening cheers that had filled the arena before, the silence now felt heavy. Like boiling water suddenly frozen solid.
Banner's thoughts deepened. "Even among gods, there are always struggles for power. If Thor is beloved by the people, then Loki must be the one cast aside."
The scientist's heart softened with pity. He thought of failed rulers from history—Nero, Galba, Otho—men who grasped at power only to lose everything.
His eyes drifted to Loki, and without realizing it, his expression carried sympathy.
The fate of one who loses a throne… was never kind.
Gathering himself, Banner pressed his palms together respectfully in a Kamar-Taj salute.
"Your Highness, I am Bruce Banner, sorcerer of Kamar-Taj."
His etiquette was flawless—so precise that even the strictest master would find no fault.
But Loki's reaction was anything but calm.
The prince, who had been standing proudly with his hands behind his back, suddenly stiffened. His eyes narrowed into sharp points of anger.
"What is that look?!" he snapped, his voice echoing through the arena.
His posture changed, arching slightly, like a predator ready to pounce. He reminded Banner of a great feline humiliated in its own hunt.
Banner froze, alarm bells going off in his head.
"Oh no," he thought, panic rushing in. "I must have offended him. He's already under immense pressure, stepping into this battle while being unfavored by his people. My pity must have cut his pride like a knife."
Cold sweat ran down his temple. "I—I didn't mean—what I was thinking was…" His voice faltered, his words tripping over themselves.
His mind screamed: 'Don't say you pitied him! That'll only make it worse!'
But his stammering only seemed to fuel Loki's fury.
The god jabbed a finger at his own chest, his voice rising like thunder.
"I am Loki! Prince of Asgard!"
His gaze cut briefly toward Odin in the stands before he continued, louder still:
"Son of Odin! God of Mischief! Bearer of a glorious destiny!"
He stepped forward, chin high, eyes blazing with defiance.
"Your journey ends here, foolish Midgardian!"
His lips curved into a smirk, sharp and mocking.
"You should feel honored—honored that you even stand before me, a god!"
The Asgardian crowd, who had been reluctant to cheer, suddenly found themselves stirred by Loki's words.
No matter how unpopular he was compared to Thor, Loki was still a prince of Asgard. Still a god. Still one of them.
The sting of their earlier defeats made his arrogance sound like salvation. One voice shouted his name, then another, until the whole arena thundered with chants.
"Loki! Loki!"
"Victory! Victory!"
The wave of sound shook the very stone, rising like a storm across the arena.
In the lounge, Tony Stark rubbed his chin with interest, watching the scene unfold. "Wonder when the big guy's coming out," he muttered, raising a brow at Banner's calm composure.
Up in the stands, Malrick turned to Odin with a faint smile. "It seems Prince Loki is confident in himself. My earlier… accident didn't affect him, did it?"
Odin's eye lingered on Banner, his voice low, unreadable. "It's fine."
Back on the stage, Loki basked in the cheers, arms spread wide as though the crowd's adoration crowned him already.
Banner scratched his cheek, watching him under the sunlight. To him, Loki looked less like a warrior and more like a rockstar basking in applause.
But at least, Banner thought with relief, the prince seemed to have forgotten his earlier misstep.
"Um, excuse me…" Banner raised his briefcase timidly as Loki reveled in his moment.
"I'm a Beast Master," he explained awkwardly. "Inside are some magical creatures I use in combat. Can I… bring them out? If it's against the rules, I'll just put the case aside."
Even through the roaring crowd, Loki caught his words clearly.
A Beast Master? He almost laughed aloud. This frail Midgardian thought he could turn the tide with a few animals? At best, they'd be little more than scavengers.
"Use whatever pitiful tricks you like," Loki sneered, lowering his arms. His hands clasped behind his back, chin lifted with superiority.
"In front of me, nothing you summon will matter. Your efforts are meaningless."
His voice carried to every corner of the arena.
"Why not spare yourself the humiliation? Kneel. Surrender. Isn't that what mortals desire most? To be ruled? To be enslaved?"
His mocking words cut sharp, but his expression carried confidence.
A Beast Master. What a laughable title. This would be no challenge at all.
Loki already saw the outcome.
Victory was his.
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