Loki had never felt more humiliated in his life.
For a moment, he wondered if Asgard would ever hold a place for him again. The stands, filled with Asgardians, had gone quiet, yet to him, it felt like a crashing tide of mockery echoing in his ears.
If he could go back, he would have forced Volstagg or Hogun into the arena instead of himself.
Damn it.
That infuriating Kamar-Taj sorcerer was still letting this abominable beast trample him. Rage boiled through Loki's veins, his skin flushed red from his neck to his cheeks. Pinned under the Graphorn's heavy foot, he thrashed, struggling for an opening to turn the tide.
Just then, Banner's suitcase began to shake.
A moment later, a Niffler scurried out, nose twitching and eyes glinting with mischief. It climbed free, and behind it, a stream of Cornish Pixies burst into the air like an unruly class set loose after school.
The tiny, iron-blue tricksters scattered, screeching as they swooped around the arena. Banner called for them to return, but it was pointless. Fortunately, the arena's energy shield kept them contained. Unfortunately, their attention quickly shifted to Loki, who was already being swarmed by magical beasts.
The Niffler darted to Loki's shoulder, claws digging at shiny ornaments. In an instant, his crown was gone. Loki turned in disbelief, only to see the creature gleefully shoving it into its pouch.
"You wretched little vermin! Put that down!" he snapped, reaching for the crown.
But the Niffler was too quick, dodging with agile leaps, while the Cornish Pixies swooped in like bees defending their hive. They tugged at his hair, yanked his clothes, and pulled his mouth in every direction.
Loki's fury blazed higher, burning away restraint.
"Enough!" he roared, voice cracking with raw hysteria.
Divine energy erupted from him, blasting outward like a green explosion. The force hurled every creature—Graphorn, Niffler, Pixies, even the massive Norwegian Ridgeback—across the arena.
In the center of the blast, Loki stood tall with disheveled hair, his red eyes burning with unbridled rage.
"I am a god!" he thundered. "You ignorant, pitiful, wretched creatures! How dare you humiliate me?"
Though his body bore only superficial scrapes—nothing compared to the punishment he had once endured without a mark—the insult had pierced far deeper than any wound.
His thoughts sharpened into a single, consuming desire: to drag that Kamar-Taj sorcerer from his Hippogriff and drive a dagger into him a hundred times.
Loki's hands flung wide, summoning his twin blades. With a single step, dozens of identical figures appeared around him, filling the arena. Each was flawless, a perfect reflection of the god himself.
From above, riding the Hippogriff, Banner froze. He recognized the spell—it resembled the Form of Ikonn—but Loki's mastery of illusion was beyond anything Banner could attempt.
The illusions encircled the magical creatures as they rose shakily to their feet. With no hesitation, the duplicates attacked, blades flashing.
"Not good," Banner muttered, tightening his grip on the Hippogriff's reins. The dragon and Erumpent could withstand a few stabs, but the Pixies and Niffler would be shredded. And Loki was no ordinary knife fighter; this was the prince of Asgard, a god versed in sorcery.
"Move, quickly!" Banner urged, steering the creatures aside and drawing his wand.
But before he could cast, the truth revealed itself.
The Loki clones struck—and passed through their targets. Daggers sliced through scales and feathers without leaving a mark. One stabbed straight through the panicked Niffler, which squealed and flailed, only to realize it was completely unharmed—its stolen crown still half-stuffed into its pouch.
The magical creatures quickly caught on. Loki's swarm of copies wasn't real at all. They were nothing but illusions.
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