Asgard - Royal Hangar Bay
"Run your hands, you low-life bastards!"
The shout of the Asgardian soldier echoed harshly through the hangar, his tone carrying contempt and barely restrained violence.
With that command, fifteen prisoners from many different alien races were quickly herded and stuffed inside the waiting spacecraft. They stumbled over each other, chains rattling, some protesting in languages the guards didn't bother to understand or care about.
The prisoners ranged from hulking reptilian beings to small, insectoid creatures—all of them convicted criminals, rebels, or political prisoners being transported off-world.
One of the Asgardian soldiers also followed behind them into the ship's hold, his golden armor gleaming even in the dim interior lighting. His hand rested casually on his sword hilt, ready for any trouble.
With that final boarding, the spacecraft door sealed shut with a hiss of pressurization.
Everyone on the ground crew backed away to a safe distance as the vessel's engines began to hum with building power.
The spacecraft took off slowly at first, rising steadily from the platform. Then with a sudden burst of acceleration, it left the ground behind in the blink of an eye, shooting upward through Asgard's atmosphere toward the stars beyond.
After the ship vanished completely from sight, becoming just another point of light in the sky indistinguishable from actual stars, Thor finally sighed deeply.
The breath carried tension he hadn't realized he'd been holding.
He turned and started walking toward the palace, his red cape flowing behind him, his footsteps heavy with thought.
After walking through the familiar golden corridors for a while, passing guards who saluted and servants who bowed, he finally came to stand before the throne room's massive doors.
The gates opened in the familiar fashion they'd opened a thousand times before—smooth, majestic, accompanied by that distinctive sound of ancient mechanisms perfectly maintained.
The ceiling soared above him with countless chandeliers hanging from intricate supports, their light casting dancing shadows. Murals depicting Asgard's glorious history covered every wall—battles won, realms conquered, heroes celebrated.
Everything was very familiar to him. He'd grown up in this room, had witnessed his father pass judgment from that throne countless times.
But the only thing that was now unfamiliar, the single element that made everything feel slightly wrong, was the person currently sitting on the throne.
It was no longer his father Odin. Instead, his sister Hela now occupied that seat of ultimate power, looking simultaneously natural and strange in that position.
The whole of Asgard had celebrated when Hela officially took the throne three months ago. A new era, they'd proclaimed. Odin's firstborn. The Goddess of Death ascending to rule the realm of the living.
Her eyes were currently scanning a parchment scroll, some administrative document, with boredom clearly etched across her face. Ruling, it seemed, involved far more paperwork than glorious combat.
Noticing the sound of footsteps entering the throne room, her eyes naturally drifted upward toward Thor.
"It's already done, sister," Thor reported simply.
"I told you to call me 'King' from now on," Hela said, her tone carrying slight annoyance. "Or 'Your Majesty.' We're in the throne room, Thor."
"Okay, sister," Thor replied with his characteristic oblivious cheerfulness. "I will keep that in mind for the future, sister."
"You—" Hela started, then stopped, suddenly feeling a headache building behind her temples.
Looking at Thor's innocent face, that genuine expression of good-natured compliance.
Thor wasn't stupid—contrary to what many believed, he was actually extremely smart when he needed to be, capable of brilliant tactical thinking and deep strategic insight. But that was the problem: "when he needed to be."
For everything else, for normal social situations and political protocols, he operated on pure instinct and good intentions. Which often led to... this.
"Okay, you can go now," Hela said with a dismissive wave, deciding this wasn't a battle worth fighting today.
Hearing the dismissal, Thor hesitated slightly, shifting his weight from foot to foot.
"Sister, is it really fine to send just one soldier to escort them?" he asked, genuine concern in his voice. "Those are dangerous prisoners. Some of them are war criminals, others are powerful sorcerers or warriors. One guard seems... insufficient."
"And besides," he continued, his tactical mind finally engaging, "we could have sent them through the Space Stone directly. Instant transport, no risk, no vulnerability. Why did we need to use that spacecraft anyway? And such an old model at that? Those vessels are decades out of date, barely maintained."
Because the entire point is for the ship to be vulnerable, Hela thought but didn't say aloud. Because we need Earth to succeed in capturing it.
"You don't need to know about it," Hela said firmly, her tone brooking no argument. "Go do your assigned work. You'll be busy soon enough."
Although Thor felt a little confused about what seemed like a genuinely braindead decision from his usually competent sister, he naturally didn't want to push the issue and risk getting beaten to a pulp. Hela's temper was legendary, and he'd been on the receiving end of it enough times to know when to retreat.
So after hesitating for just a moment longer, he directly left the throne room, the doors closing behind him with that same majestic sound.
Looking at Thor's receding back through the narrowing gap in the doors, Hela also fell into deep thought. She had her own preparations to make, her own role to play in this elaborate performance.
According to Elric's intelligence briefing, there was a woman called Captain Marvel currently associated with Earth—someone extraordinarily powerful, close to or even surpassing Thor in some aspects of combat capability. Energy projection, flight speed, raw destructive power.
She'll be Asgard's main enemy in this manufactured war, Hela thought strategically. At least the main real enemy, the one posing genuine threat.
As the King of Asgard, Hela naturally wouldn't go to fight personally in the initial stages. That would be beneath her station, would show weakness, would suggest Asgard couldn't handle a primitive world without their monarch's direct intervention.
She would only enter the conflict when the fighting reached Sokovia itself, when the war escalated to the point where her personal involvement became politically acceptable. Before that, everything would be left for Thor and the Einherjar to handle.
Anyway, Hela mused, a slight smile playing at her lips, I've already sent the ship with the Asgardian soldier who's been mentally influenced by Loki toward Earth. The pieces are in motion. Now it's all up to Loki to execute his part of the plan, to sell the deception.
Let's see how much entertainment you can provide, little brother, she thought with dark amusement. Let's see if you're still the master manipulator you believe yourself to be.
SHIELD Underground Base - Command Center
In the classified underground facility, a red alarm suddenly started blaring throughout the entire base, the sound sharp and urgent.
WOOP WOOP WOOP
Agents who had been lounging around, doing routine monitoring or playing cards during what they'd assumed would be another boring shift, suddenly snapped to full alert.
"Contacts! We have contacts!" someone shouted.
"Quickly, turn on the system!" another voice commanded. "Power up the Retractor! Now!"
After a moment of controlled chaos—people running to stations, hands flying over controls, voices calling out confirmations—the massive machine at the center of the facility began to activate.
The large device started to spin, its enormous mechanisms coming to life with a deep thrumming sound that vibrated through the floor and walls.
At its center was a large circular platform, with several massive mechanical arms extending upward from the edges, forming a structure that looked almost like a birdcage. No—it was a birdcage, just made from gigantic mechanical components rather than simple wire.
The rotation speed increased steadily, faster and faster, the arms becoming a blur of motion. Energy began to crackle between them, creating a web of light.
With a sudden explosion of displaced air and released energy, it abruptly stopped.
But now, inside the cage of mechanical arms, a spacecraft was hovering in place—pulled from its dimensional jump mid-transit, trapped like a fish caught in a net.
This machine was called Retractor-33x2, and its primary task was revolutionary: to directly intercept any artificial space jump or wormhole transit within approximately 1 billion kilometers, a radius that essentially covered their entire solar system.
Although it should have been completely impossible to build something like this with Earth's current technology tree and available materials, Earth couldn't be considered normal."
There were cheating materials like Vibranium, which defied normal physics. And even though the Space Stone itself had been stolen by two unknown thieves, SHIELD had still managed to store significant amounts of spatial energy before its disappearance, captured in specially designed containment batteries.
Using these unique resources—Vibranium frameworks and stored space-time energy—they'd managed to knock this interceptor device together in just one month of intensive work.
Before the captured spacecraft could even settle properly or attempt to restart its engines, it was already surrounded by countless SHIELD soldiers. All of them held advanced energy weapons.
Every weapon was trained on the vessel, fingers on triggers, safeties off.
"Capture them alive!" Fury's voice came through every soldier's earpiece, somewhat anxious despite his usual iron control. "Whatever happens, don't fucking shoot unless I give the explicit order! We need them intact!"
The spacecraft's door began to open slowly, a ramp extending with a mechanical whir.
Everyone tensed, weapons tightening against shoulders, eyes narrowed behind tactical visors.
But instead of prisoners or soldiers emerging from the opening, suddenly a small metallic object was thrown out—compact, cylindrical, blinking with an ominous red light.
Before anyone could react, before training could overcome surprise, a sudden white light flashed from the device.
The intensity was overwhelming, designed to completely blind anyone looking directly at it. Soldiers cried out, stumbling backward, hands flying to their eyes.
And with that perfectly timed distraction, a sudden sound of gunfire erupted from inside the spacecraft.
BANG BANG BANG BANG
You guys can check out my patreon with some extra chapter, and want to support this story.
patreon.com/LMStar666