Loki simply raised his right hand, palm open.
And pulled.
Gravity didn't ask permission.
A hundred meters away, in a different alley three streets over, the boy rematerialized mid-stride—only to find himself suddenly yanked backward as though an invisible hand had grabbed his collar. His feet left the ground.
"What the hell—?" He yelped, arms windmilling, wallet flying from his grip as he hurtled through the air like a ragdoll on a string.
He slammed back-first into the brick wall of the original alley—right in front of Loki—with enough force to crack the mortar but not enough to kill.
Loki had calibrated it perfectly.
"Hey! Release me I'm just a little kid!" The boy gasped, pinned spread-eagle against the bricks by an invisible weight that pressed him flat from chest to toes.
He couldn't move and couldn't breathe properly.
Loki walked forward slowly, hands still in his pockets.
He stopped a meter away.
Looked the boy dead in the eyes. No mercy.
"Listen here kid." He said quietly. "I don't have time playing with minors'—woah, hold up... that sounded insane."
He clears his throat, "I have no time playing with kids." He paused then adds, "That somehow came up worse."
"I have no time playing with you people."
A sword materializes out of nowhere from his hand exactly an inch away from the kid's neck.
"Give or die?" He said coldly.
The boy tried to speak. "W-wait! Y-you can have it back..."
He reached out for the wallet and hand it over to him. "Here!" The pressure on his chest made every word a wheeze.
Loki reached out, plucked the wallet from where it had fallen, dusted it off, and slipped it back into his pocket.
Then he leaned in slightly.
"Next time you try to rob someone," he said, voice low and conversational, "make sure they're not me."
He released the gravity.
The boy dropped like a stone, collapsing to his knees, coughing violently, tears streaming from the sudden return of oxygen.
He quickly ran away in fear.
Loki turned his head to leave.
Behind him, a clap—the man voice's amused—spoke from the shadows at the alleys. "Impressive control. Most would just killed the child already."
Loki stopped. A man stepped into view.
Tall. Thin. Dressed in a long black cloak with silver embroidery that shimmered strangely.
His face was hidden under a deep hood, but the lower half visible showed pale skin, thin lips curved in a merchant's smile, and a neatly trimmed goatee.
Around his neck hung a pendant shaped like a coiled serpent eating its own tail—the unmistakable sigil of Eosysêr, the realm that had been leaking into Earth for millions of years.
Everyone knew that symbol. "A person from Eosysêr?" Loki muttered
"Oh? Impressive! You even know how to identify a person's identity very well!"
"Yes I'm from this world you spoke of 'Eosysêr'"
"It is not a parallel universe in the sci-fi sense, nor is it a purely spiritual other side like the afterlife."
"It is a parallel physical plane that has been connected to Earth via naturally occurring."
"Eosysêr is the reason Earth has magic, monsters, elves, dragons, vampires, and most of the 'fantasy' elements in modern life."
"It is also the reason humanity has spent the last few thousand years fighting, dying, and occasionally winning against things that should not exist."
The man inclined his head slightly, smile never wavering.
"I knew that." Until Loki raised his weapon.
The man's face quickly replaced with panic one hand raised in a protective manner "Wait—! R-relax... No need to draw a weapon."
"I represent certain… interested parties from across the veil. We've been watching you for some time now." He slowly lower his hand.
"A man who can bend gravity like paper. Fascinating."
The man spread his hands in a placating gesture.
"No need for hostility. I merely have an offer. One that could make your life… significantly more comfortable. And significantly less boring."
Then he added: "We're always looking for talent. And talent like yours… is very, very expensive."
Loki stared at him for a long moment.
The man's smile didn't falter.
"Think about it," he called after Loki's retreating figure. "The invitation remains open. We'll find you again when you're ready."
Loki didn't answer.
Giant teddy bear still slung over his back like a cosmetic skin in a video game.
"Care for more? Follow me."
Loki followed the cloaked man deeper into the alley without a word.
The narrow passage twisted unnaturally—corners appearing where straight walls should have been, shadows stretching longer than physics allowed.
They stopped at a blank brick wall.
The man pressed a gloved palm against a single unmarked stone. A low hum vibrated through the ground. The bricks rippled, then parted silently, revealing a heavy iron door set into darkness.
No handle. Just a fist-sized crystal ball embedded in the center, pulsing faintly with violet light.
"Touch it," the man said, voice oily and amused. "It will take you to the underground market."
Loki stared at the crystal for two seconds.
Then reached out and placed his fingertips against it.
Reality folded.
One moment he was in a secret room; the next he stood on cold flagstones in a vast, torch-lit underground bazaar.
The air smelled of iron, incense, sweat, and something faintly feral. Rows of brick arches stretched into shadow, each containing a cage.
Iron bars thick, chains rattling softly. Low whimpers, growls, and the occasional hopeless sob drifted through the cavernous space.
Slaves.
Dozens of them.
Secret Chamber beneath the Eiffel Tower...
The chamber was cold, circular, and lit only by four floating orbs of soft azure light.
At the center stood a single obsidian plinth, and upon it rested the artifact: a fist-sized black prism veined with slowly pulsing violet lines.
The air around it hummed with low-frequency pressure, as though the object itself was breathing.
Two elite beast-race guardians stood watch, as they had for the last seven years.
Kael'vorn — male pantherine (black panther traits), 1.68 meters tall. A hand-to-hand martial artists black belter.
Sylvaraen— female vulpine (three-railed arctic fox lineage), lithe and 1.78 meters, silver-white fur shimmering with frost, clad in flexible mithril-kinetic weave. Her weapon is a spear trailing with lightning runes.