Fear Points.
This concept might sound vague, but for Frieza right now, it was the ultimate hard currency—the capital he needed to establish himself in this world, and even to do as he pleased.
The explanation on the system panel was simple: as long as living beings experienced fear because of him, he could continuously harvest this emotional energy.
Of course, the prerequisite was that his actions must align with the character of Frieza.
Somehow, he had just let out an involuntary 'ohohoho' laugh. It seemed he was getting into the role quite quickly.
Harvesting Fear Points...
This reminded him of his previous life when he worked in real estate.
The anxiety and panic felt by those salary slaves burdened with mortgages every month as they stared at their bills—wasn't that just another form of "fear"?
The only difference was that back then he harvested money, and now he harvested the trembling of souls.
In essence, there was no difference at all.
"If I'm going to do this, I might as well go big."
Frieza swirled the remaining half-glass of red wine. The crimson liquid clung to the side of the glass, slowly sliding down, eerily resembling the blood about to spill across this world.
If he simply killed a few alien scumbags and rescued a handful of crying civilians, wouldn't he just become one of those superheroes who wear spandex and play make-believe?
A hero?
The word itself made him sick.
Can a hero inspire fear?
No. Heroes only breed dependency and that sickening sense of security.
That was a losing business proposition, and Frieza never engaged in losing business.
What he intended to be was the master of this planet, a Sword of Damocles hanging over the heads of all humanity—and all the Avengers.
"System, if I annihilate all these Chitauri, who are swarming like flies, how many Fear Points will I earn?" Frieza asked mentally.
[Although the Chitauri are biological weapons with a hive mind, they still retain the biological instinct for fear. If you can completely annihilate them with an overwhelming display of power and inflict devastating damage on their mothership, the Fear Point yield will be extremely substantial.]
"Excellent."
The smile on Frieza's lips intensified—an elegant yet cruel grin, as if he were looking at a flock of lambs waiting for the slaughter.
The plan had already taken shape in his mind: simple, brutal, and highly efficient.
First, these alien trash who foolishly destroyed his property must die. They must not only die, but they must die artistically, in a way that ensures the entire world witnesses his terrifying power.
But that wasn't enough.
If he merely killed all the invaders, humanity would cheer him as a savior. That wouldn't do, cheering was worthless.
Therefore, after dealing with this trash, he would casually take control of this blue planet. He would announce to that self-important Nick Fury, and to those "circus performers" flying around the city—
That starting today, Earth belonged to him.
Every inch of land, every building, and even every breath of air on this planet belonged solely to him, Frieza.
What if they disagreed? Or tried to resist using their ridiculous shields, hammers, and tin suits of armor?
That would be simply marvelous.
His 530,000 power level was just looking for a place to be displayed.
What if they simply surrendered?
Frieza rubbed his chin, a hint of playful malice flashing in his eyes.
Then he would give these natives a little hope, only to personally extinguish it afterward.
Cell could organize a Cell games, so why couldn't he organize a "Frieza Games" or a "World Martial Arts Tournament"?
As for the location...
Frieza's gaze cut through the layers of smoke and landed on a massive stadium nearby.
That was Madison Square Garden, the home of the NBA Knicks and one of New York's landmarks.
Coincidentally, that was an asset he had only acquired last month.
Although the roof now had a massive hole blown through it, didn't that actually lend it a certain post-apocalyptic aesthetic?
That was the spot.
In this most prominent location in America, broadcast live to the entire world, he would personally break Captain America's legs, crush Iron Man's Arc Reactor, and kick the Hulk around like a soccer ball.
That level of despair and fear would absolutely overload the system's fear point gauge.
"What a truly perfect business plan."
Frieza was immensely satisfied with his genius idea, he almost wanted to applaud himself.
The leap from New York's wealthiest man to the planetary ruler was significant, but what did that matter when he was a man blessed with a system?
Just as Frieza was immersed in his wonderful plans for the future—
BOOM!
A harsh engine roar, accompanied by the massive crash of shattering glass, brutally interrupted his train of thought.
The massive floor-to-ceiling window was violently smashed, sending countless shards of glass spraying inward like rain.
A strange-looking, alien single-person flyer burst into the luxurious office like an out-of-control cannonball.
It was a Chitauri chariot.
But the piloting skills were so atrocious it looked like someone was driving a bumper car.
"Shit! Damn Hawkeye!"
Accompanied by a flurry of exasperated curses, the vehicle slammed heavily into the expensive solid wood desk, utterly destroying the fifty-thousand-dollar table. It then slid along the floor, finally stopping less than two meters from Frieza's feet.
A man in a dark green robe, wearing a golden helmet shaped like antlers, and holding a glowing scepter, tumbled awkwardly out of the wreckage.
He was covered in dust, his cape had several burn holes, and his meticulously styled slicked-back hair was now so messy it looked like he had been struck by lightning.
It was none other than the mastermind of the New York invasion, the Second Prince of Asgard, the God of Mischief—Loki.
Clearly, he had just been blindsided by the sharpshooter Hawkeye outside and was forced to crash-land in this skyscraper, which still looked relatively intact.
"Cough... Cough..."
Loki awkwardly climbed to his feet, dusting himself off, attempting to salvage some of his godly dignity.
He looked up and saw Frieza, dressed in a sharp suit and elegantly sipping wine by the window.
There was actually a living person here?
And judging by his calm demeanor, he didn't seem frightened at all by the apocalyptic scene outside?
But to Loki, a mortal was a mortal. No matter how well-dressed, they were merely ants that could be crushed at any moment.
Conveniently, his ride was broken, and Stark Tower was right next door. He needed new transportation to get there, take charge, and initiate the final phase of opening the portal.
Loki adjusted his collar, his face instantly shifting into a look of arrogant, overweening pride. He slightly lifted his chin and looked down at Frieza with a condescending gaze, as if observing a pathetic insect.
"Mortal, you are fortunate enough to witness the arrival of a god."
Loki's voice was theatrically bombastic, and he slammed the tip of his scepter heavily onto the floor.
"I am Loki, King of Asgard, and your future ruler."
"Now, bend those foolish knees and kneel before me."
He had already used this opening speech once in Germany, and the effect had been phenomenal. Those mortals had instantly dropped to their knees. He believed this pale-faced man before him would be no exception.
However—
One second passed.
Two seconds passed.
The air became uncomfortably silent.
There was no kneeling for mercy, nor the anticipated trembling.
The blond man was still standing there, one hand in his trouser pocket, the other holding his wine glass, observing him with a gaze that... how could one describe it?
It was the gaze one would give a clown performing tricks in a circus—a look of detached, amused interest.
He even took a small sip of the red wine, letting out a satisfied sigh.
"Ah... '82 Lafite. It truly only tastes right when you're enjoying a show."
Loki's eye twitched, and a surge of humiliation and rage instantly flooded his mind.
As the self-proclaimed foremost sorcerer of the Nine Realms and the Prince of Asgard, when had he ever been subjected to such treatment?
Even that metal man had to exchange a few words with him, yet this mere mortal dared to treat him like he was invisible?
"Are you deaf, mortal!"
Loki took a step forward, the blue gem atop his scepter flashing with a dangerous light.
"I command you, now, immediately! Go prepare a sports car for me. Even a four-wheeled metal box will suffice."
"I must get to Stark Tower. If you dare delay my grand plans, I will show you what it means to beg for death."
Loki's threat was explicit, and combined with the constant explosions and screams echoing from outside, it would certainly be highly intimidating to any ordinary person.
But Frieza merely tilted his head slightly.
He finally looked directly at Loki. In those deep, dark eyes, there was not a single ripple, only a chilling, profound calm.
"The... King of Asgard?"
Frieza's lips curved slightly, revealing a set of pearly white teeth, his tone soft, as if he were chatting with an old friend.
"If I recall correctly, weren't you picked up from a pile of Frost Giants by that old man Odin?"
"An adopted wild child, running to Earth to play a childish game of king?"
BOOM!
That sentence was like a nuclear bomb, precisely striking the most sensitive and vulnerable point in Loki's heart.
Loki's face instantly flushed a deep crimson, his original elegant, noble demeanor vanishing completely, leaving him looking somewhat hysterical.
"How do you know that?! Shut up! I am a god! I am the son of Odin!"
Loki roared, raising his scepter abruptly, the sharp tip pointed directly at Frieza's forehead.
The Mind Stone was emitting a faint blue glow, as if a deadly energy beam were about to shoot out at any moment.
"Since you clearly wish to die, I shall grant you that honor."
"I will turn you into my slave, force you to kill everyone you care about with your own hands, and then leave you to howl yourself to death in these ruins."
Faced with the immediate threat of death, the smile on Frieza's face did not vanish. Instead, it became even more radiant, it even carried a hint of pity.
He gently swirled the red wine glass, watching the vortex spin inside, and let out a string of his signature laughter.
"Ohohoho..."
The laughter was high-pitched and elegant, yet permeated with a spine-chilling wickedness.
The laughter echoed through the empty office, causing Loki's hand gripping the scepter to tremble involuntarily.
That laugh...
How did it sound more like a villain than his own?
Frieza stopped laughing and slowly raised his eyelids. Deep within those eyes, which had once been human, purple-red flames now seemed to burn.
"Loki, you are merely a minor prince from a remote star system, not even considered legitimate royalty."
"Who gave you the courage to speak to the Emperor of the Universe in that tone?"