"Your adoptive father is dying."
Loki didn't even flinch.
He remained sprawled across the narrow cot of his temporary cell, arms folded behind his head, gaze fixed on the ceiling as though he hadn't heard a thing. A slight sneer tugged at the corner of his lips.
"He's definitely going to die," he said coldly. "Asgardians have long lifespans—many can live for five thousand years or more. And Odin… my 'beloved' father… he's already passed that age."
He chuckled without humor. "No matter how mighty he is, no one can live forever."
"You misunderstand me."
Joseph's voice broke the quiet. Calm, composed, and piercing.
The temporary holding cell was dimly lit, its stone walls bare and oppressive. Joseph's footsteps echoed softly as he entered. He didn't hesitate; he walked straight to the lone stone bench and sat down casually.
"I'm not saying he's going to die in a few centuries," Joseph said. "I'm saying… Odin will die within five years. At most."
That made Loki sit up in an instant.
His eyes locked onto Joseph's face with unblinking intensity, as if trying to read a lie in his expression. "That's… a very specific number," he said slowly, guardedly. "How can you be so sure?"
"I'm not."
Joseph gave a half-smile and snapped his fingers. A porcelain teacup appeared in his hand, swirling with fragrant steam. The scent of rich, herbal tea filled the cell instantly, warm and soothing—at odds with the tension in the air.
"It's a guess," he admitted. "But an informed one."
That only made Loki more suspicious. "Based on what?"
"Observation. Reasoning. And a little bit of… storytelling instinct."
Loki narrowed his eyes. "You're bluffing."
"Am I?" Joseph took a sip of his tea and smiled, not breaking eye contact. "You've lived in Asgard for over a thousand years. You know Odin's temper and habits better than anyone. So let me ask you: When we arrived in Asgard, what was his first reaction?"
Loki answered instantly. "He wanted you gone. Immediately."
"Exactly." Joseph raised a finger. "Does that sound normal to you?"
"Yes," Loki said without hesitation. "He's arrogant. Always has been. He looks down on mortals. He thinks himself above them. Stubborn, inflexible, and—most importantly—afraid of change."
"No," Joseph said calmly, "it's not normal."
He leaned forward slightly. "Odin isn't just a crotchety old man. He's the Lord of the Nine Realms. Every word he speaks carries the weight of nine worlds. Every gesture has political consequence."
He let that sink in.
"And we didn't come to Asgard as a group of wandering strangers," Joseph continued. "We came representing Midgard—a civilized delegation from Earth. A planet that, like it or not, is stepping onto the galactic stage."
Loki blinked. He hadn't considered that angle.
He recalled now the formal ceremony Joseph had orchestrated before they left Earth. The flag of Midgard, the diplomatic wording, the grand public broadcast—it wasn't for show. It had meaning.
"Exactly," Joseph said, watching Loki's expression shift. "If Odin really wanted us gone, he could've simply told Heimdall to keep the Bifrost closed. We wouldn't have even made it here."
Loki stiffened. "But he didn't."
"No. He didn't." Joseph nodded. "Which means… he was aware of us. Aware of who we were. And yet, when we arrived, he acted out in hostility, trying to dismiss us like children throwing stones at his gate."
Joseph's voice lowered, more thoughtful now.
"On Earth, we call this kind of behavior 'twisting.' It's a contradiction. A man caught between what he wants to do and what he must do."
Loki remained silent, but his fingers had curled slightly into his tunic.
Joseph pressed on.
"This contradiction tells me that Odin is unsure. That he's frightened. That some part of him doubts whether he still can rule the Nine Realms as he once did."
"And what would cause such doubt?" Joseph asked softly.
Loki finally responded, voice hoarse. "…Weakness."
Joseph nodded. "Exactly."
He sipped again. "He's afraid of being exposed. Afraid of what people will see when they realize his strength is no longer what it once was. And so, he allowed us entry to appear civil… but lashed out in arrogance to maintain the illusion of control."
The words hung in the air like smoke.
Loki's eyes narrowed. "You don't have proof."
"I don't need proof," Joseph said. "But I have something better: precedent."
He turned to face Loki directly. "Your brother told us stories back on Earth. Of your exploits. The Destroyer. The Frost Titans. The schemes you orchestrated while Odin slept."
Loki's jaw tensed.
"And yet, Odin—who is supposed to be the mightiest of gods—was caught completely unprepared when Laufey, the King of the Frost Giants, nearly assassinated him in his own palace."
Joseph's voice took on an edge. "You and I both know that shouldn't have happened. Not unless Odin was already too weak to react."
"That's…"
Loki tried to reply, but his voice faltered.
Because deep down, he'd wondered the same thing. Back when Laufey came so close to striking the killing blow, Loki had assumed it was a trick. Or that Odin had allowed it to happen.
But what if it wasn't a choice?
What if it was frailty?
"You see it now, don't you?" Joseph asked gently. "That moment wasn't a fluke. It was a symptom."
Loki stared blankly at the floor.
Joseph leaned back on the bench, the empty cup in his hand magically refilling itself. "And that's why I did what I did in the Bifrost hall. I wanted to provoke him. Push him to act."
"Which he didn't," Loki said, almost whispering.
"No," Joseph said. "He watched. Watched as his best warriors were defeated. Watched as we crushed their morale. Watched—and did nothing until the very end, when it was safe."
"Because he couldn't afford to reveal just how far he's fallen."
"And if what I suspect is true…" Joseph paused, voice solemn, "he may only have one use of his divine power left."
The silence in the cell was suffocating now.
Loki sat frozen, pale. Sweat beaded on his brow. His mind raced—flashing through memories, calculations, possibilities.
It all lined up. Every contradiction. Every odd behavior. Every subtle tremor in Odin's voice that Loki had ignored.
Joseph had just forced him to see the truth he'd long refused to admit.
The truth that terrified him more than death itself.
"…What do you want from me?" Loki finally whispered, voice trembling.
It was the question Joseph had been waiting for.
He smiled warmly, like a merchant preparing a deal too good to refuse.
"Cooperation," he said. "You're brilliant, Loki. Cunning. Ambitious. You've been imprisoned and ignored, but you haven't lost your hunger."
Joseph's voice dropped, soft but tempting. "What if I told you… we could help you become King of Asgard?"
Loki blinked.
"From prisoner to ruler. From exiled trickster to the throne you've always dreamed of. Imagine it—Thor kneeling at your feet. The Golden Throne, yours. The Nine Realms, yours."
He let the vision sink in.
Loki's throat bobbed. "You're… manipulating me."
Joseph shrugged. "Maybe. But that doesn't make the offer any less real."
"I…"
Loki knew he should say no.
But his heart had already leaped ahead of him.
"What do you want?" he asked again, more forcefully.
Joseph's smile widened, but he didn't answer—not yet.
For now, it was enough.
He had planted the seed.
Whether through logic, manipulation, or raw desire, Joseph had broken through Loki's pride and reached the one thing that truly controlled him—his ambition.
The moment Loki accepted Odin's death as inevitable…
Was the moment his rebellion was reborn.
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