The Sanctuary of the Void.
The night was deep, draped over the golden spires of Asgard like a velvet shroud. Inside the royal guest quarters, the "Witch's Revenge" had finally reached its conclusion. Lulu, exhausted by her own playful intensity, had collapsed into a tangle of silk and crimson hair.
Loki sat on the edge of the bed, watching the rhythmic rise and fall of her shoulders. With a subtle flick of his fingers, he projected a wave of calming psychic energy—a mental lullaby to ensure her dreams remained sweet and her sleep remained undisturbed. He needed a moment of absolute solitude.
Touching the obsidian pendant at his neck, Loki slipped through the fabric of the room. He didn't move physically; he simply phased into his Spatial Dimension.
The void was silent, illuminated only by the pulsing, solar radiance of the Eternal Flame. Loki stripped to the waist, the orange light playing over the lean, hardened muscle of his divine body. He took a breath, drawing a strand of the ancient fire into his lungs. The familiar agony followed—the sensation of molten lead moving through his veins—as he continued the "hundred refinements" of his marrow. But tonight, his mind wasn't on the fire.
He held out a hand, and the Interface shimmered into existence in his mind's eye.
Time Manipulation: Rank 1.
"Let's see what the clock can do," he whispered.
He conjured a small, flickering fireball in his left hand, shaping it into the form of a jagged arrow. He infused the tip with Space Power, giving it the azure glow of a collapsing star—a point capable of tearing through any physical barrier. Then, he focused on the fletching. He channeled the new, cold energy of Time into the tail of the arrow.
BOOM.
The arrow didn't just fly; it skipped through the seconds. It existed at the starting point and the target point simultaneously, fueled by a terrifying temporal acceleration. The target—a floating block of Uru scrap—didn't just shatter; it disintegrated before the sound of the launch even reached Loki's ears.
"A perfect trinity," Loki murmured, his eyes glowing with a violet-red intensity. "Body and Fire as the engine. Space and Time as the steering. Mind and Healing as the hull."
He tried to push further. He closed his eyes, attempting to reach for a temporal node—a ghost of a week ago, a shadow of a week from now. But the energy was too thin. He could feel the boundaries of his world, but he couldn't see past them. He realized then that traveling through the history of this Asgard was one thing, but sliding into a parallel reality—a world where, perhaps, he was already King—was beyond him.
"I'm missing the anchor," he realized. "I'm missing the Eye of Agamotto."
He thought of Lulu's upcoming trade mission. He would give her three "Golden Strategies" before she departed. The third would be a crystal anchor of his own Space Ability—a literal panic button that would allow him to tear through the dimensions to reach her if she ever shattered it. But the first two strategies would be reconnaissance.
Earth. He needed eyes on Kamar-Taj. He needed eyes on the hidden kingdom of Wakanda. He wasn't worried about the "Vibranium" being guarded; a single wave of his upgraded Mental Domination would turn the fiercest Dora Milaje into a loyal servant. He didn't want to conquer them yet; he wanted to claim the territory in secret.
"If the Odin of this world is too stubborn to change," Loki smirked, "I'll just find a world that's more... flexible. Prepare yourself, Midgard. The God of Mischief is looking for a vacation home."
He dumped every remaining point he had into his Time Ability, feeling the gears of his soul click into a more complex rhythm. Then, he stepped back into the waking world.
The Morning After (And the Afternoon After That).
Loki returned to the bed just as the first rays of the Asgardian sun hit the balcony. He barely had time to close his eyes before the "octopus" beside him launched a fresh assault. Lulu, apparently dreaming of a wrestling match, clamped her teeth onto his forearm with a muffled "hmm-hmm" of triumph.
Loki winced, his High-Speed Regeneration instantly sealing the tiny marks. "I told you to have sweet dreams, you terror," he muttered, pinching her cheek until she blearily opened one eye.
"Bastard," she croaked, a sleepy grin spreading across her face. "Don't you dare run. I'm counting... one... two..."
She didn't make it to three. She snuggled back into his chest, her breathing leveling out into a peaceful hum. Loki pulled the duvet over them both and, for the first time in a week, fell into a dreamless, heavy sleep.
It was nearly noon when the "melee" began.
It started with a nudge, evolved into a pillow fight, and ended ten minutes later with both of them tangled in the silk sheets, breathless and fully awake.
"Is it noon already?" Lulu yawned, stretching like a cat. The duvet slid down inch by inch, but she didn't seem to care. She looked at Loki with a suspicious squint. "Why am I so exhausted? I feel like I ran a marathon in my sleep."
"Your imagination is very vivid," Loki lied smoothly, coughing to hide his guilt.
"Perhaps." Lulu didn't dwell on it. She reached out, her fingers tracing the muscle lines of his stomach with the possessive air of a general inspecting conquered territory. "My Prince, a cleaning spell, if you please. I feel like I've been rolled in sugar."
"Done." A shimmer of green light washed over them, leaving the sheets crisp and their skin fresh.
"Perfect. Come here." She pulled him into a deep, lingering kiss, then reached for the gold-leafed cigarette case on the nightstand. She lit a filtered cigarette—one of the first from their new factory—took a delicate puff, and placed it between Loki's lips. "The perfect man. Why are you so captivating to a simple merchant like me?"
"Because we're a match made in heaven," Loki replied through the smoke.
"You pass the test. Smack!" She kissed his chin, her nail dancing near his Adam's apple. Then, her eyes rolled—a sure sign that the "Witch of the Market" was plotting something.
Before Loki could react, Lulu lunged out of bed, wrapped the entire duvet around herself like a giant cocoon, and sprinted toward the side hall, laughing like a maniac.
"Hahaha! Now you know the true power of the Merchant Queen, Loki! How do you like the cold?"
Loki sat there, stark naked and utterly disheveled, the mountain air of the palace chilling his skin. "I surrender! Lulu, come back here before a guard walks past the window."
"Beg for it!" she shouted from the other room.
"I beg you, oh great and merciful Lulu! Return my dignity!"
Eventually, the "Witch" returned, draped in silk and smugness. They dressed in leisure robes and sat down for a lunch that had effectively become a pre-dinner feast. Unlike Goria, who could live on wine and moonlight, Lulu had the appetite of a Viking raider.
The table was laden with delicacies: honey-glazed boar, spiced fowl from Vanaheim, and a towering platter of roasted suckling pig.
"So lavish!" Lulu exclaimed. "Is this an apology for something I haven't realized you did yet?"
Loki pulled out her chair, then, with a flourish of his hand, conjured a bouquet of deep purple violets from thin air. "It is a tribute, my lady. A plea for continued mercy."
"Wow. You really are good at this." Lulu leaned in, her eyes warm with a genuine, unforced affection. "You know I was never actually angry, right? I just like to tease you. I like to remind you of the little boy who used to follow me around the market."
Loki took her hand, his voice dropping into a rare moment of absolute sincerity. "I know. And for the rest of my life, Lulu, you can do with me as you please. May the only joy we seek be found in each other's eyes."
"Really?" she whispered. "One hundred percent genuine?"
"One hundred percent."
"Then big sister wants another kiss..."
The Legacy of the God of Wisdom.
Lunch was eventually finished—at sunset.
Lulu was in an exceptionally good mood, her face flushed with wine and the warmth of the fireplace. She raised her glass, looking at Loki with a strange, hesitant expectation.
"Loki," she said softly. "You said I could do as I please with you for the rest of our lives. I've been thinking... there isn't much I can give a Prince who has everything. But I thought of one thing."
Loki raised an eyebrow, carving a small piece of the suckling pig for her. "And what is that?"
"How about I give you a child to play with? A little Prince or Princess of the Caravan?"
Loki paused, the knife hovering over the meat. The air in the room seemed to thicken. He looked at her, searching for the joke, but her eyes were steady.
"You want a child to play with, don't you?" he asked, a soft smile tugging at his lips. "I have no objections, Lulu. But are you sure? A child is a long-term commitment, even for an immortal."
"I've thought it through," she said, her voice growing stronger. "And Goria? Would you be willing to give her the same?"
"Of course," Loki said, his heart swelling with a strange, protective warmth. "If that is what she wishes."
"Alright then," Lulu beamed, her dimples deeper than he'd ever seen them. "I understand."
There was no further discussion of logistics or politics. But as the night settled in, Loki could feel the change in her. The "Witch" was satisfied. She had secured her place in his future, not just as a business partner or a lover, but as a mother to his legacy.
Women, Loki realized as he watched her finish her wine, were the most complex magic he would ever encounter. And tonight, he was more than happy to be the apprentice.
If you like it, please give power stones.