Alex Ray stared at Loki's face, his gaze brimming with complex emotions—curiosity, confusion, and a flicker of something deeper... maybe fear.
His silence wasn't due to a lack of words. Rather, his thoughts churned like a storm-ravaged sea—wild, relentless, impossible to calm.
He needed answers. About himself. About the future. About this strange, familiar world that wrapped itself around him like a memory he hadn't lived.
"Loki," Alex finally said, voice low and steady, "what exactly did you mean by 'last meeting'? What do you mean... my previous life?"
"Don't be so tense," Loki replied, his voice calm, cryptic. "You don't belong to this world. And yet... you do."
The ambiguity only deepened the weight on Alex's chest.
Since stepping foot in this place, it felt as though an invisible hand had been pushing him forward—directing him, nudging him toward this encounter.
Loki's words confirmed a feeling that had haunted him for some time.
There was a secret buried deep inside him. And today, maybe... he'd finally uncover it.
"In your past life," Loki continued, "your soul didn't belong to this universe. But in this life... your soul is now rooted here. Imprinted. You are a part of this reality—of this Marvel world."
"You are, truly, one of us."
"And if you don't believe me," he added, "then ask yourself this—why, after traveling across so many multiverses, have you never encountered your variant?"
"Because you've always been... different."
With those words, it all clicked for Alex. He had traveled through time and space—but it wasn't this life that began that journey.
It had started in another.
His past self had been the true time traveler. Somehow, in this current life, he had been reincarnated. Reborn into this universe.
But why did Loki know this?
What was his past self like?
Why were there no memories of that life?
And what about the so-called Marvel memories he carried?
If Loki was right... did that mean even his knowledge of this world was part of a larger illusion?
Loki chuckled, his laughter echoing across the vast space like a soft chime.
There was mischief in his tone, but also a profound weight—like he'd glimpsed truths no mortal could comprehend.
He casually spun the branch in his hand, and it shimmered with timeline after timeline, radiating untold possibilities.
"Comics?" Loki repeated, almost mockingly. "What a narrow, simplistic term."
"There is no clear boundary between what is real and what is imagined," he continued. "Perhaps what you call reality is just a sketch... drawn by beings from a higher dimension."
"And you?"
"You're simply a character, walking through the page."
He looked out beyond the throne room, his gaze distant, almost reverent.
"How can you be sure that the universe you came from wasn't itself a comic?"
"That every choice you made, every breath you took, wasn't already inked in the margins of someone else's design?"
"Like an actor on stage," Loki said softly. "Even if you know the script... you still perform."
"But that's what gives life meaning."
His voice turned warm, resolute.
"Real or fake—it doesn't matter."
"As long as we experience it, live it, love it... it is real. Because reality isn't objective. It's what your heart believes to be true."
He waved the branch gently. The timelines danced, flowing like rivers of light.
"These threads—this vast weave—they form the universe we live in. I can see them. Nudge them. But I cannot fully control them."
"Because every being has free will. And every choice... births infinite new possibilities."
"That's the difference between me and Kang."
"Kang writes his scripts in stone. His actors follow his orders, word for word."
"I? I let the characters write their own lines."
To Loki, the notion of a "comic book universe" was meaningless. At his level, it didn't matter whether their world was real or imagined. Even if some omnipotent being penned the entire script, Loki didn't care.
To the people of the Marvel Universe, Loki was their "screenwriter." Their "narrator." Their god.
And sometimes, when boredom struck, his favorite hobby... was scripting these mortals' lives.
Because even if he told them it was all scripted?
They wouldn't believe him.
If things went well, they'd credit their own efforts.
If things fell apart, they'd curse fate.
They never imagined that the outcomes were written from the beginning.
That was human nature.
Take Deadpool, for example. A being aware of the fourth wall. He knew it was all a comic.
But he still played the game.
He still fought, loved, joked, killed—just to survive.
And the truly unhinged version of Deadpool? The one who tried to destroy the entire Marvel Universe?
Loki knew him well.
He'd watched that version—a bloodthirsty maniac—try to defy the script.
Try to rewrite everything through slaughter.
But even that... was just another story.
Part of the plan.
Each rebellion triggered a response. A correction.
And no matter how many times he tried, Deadpool always failed.
Because the universe could always be rebooted.
So what was the point of knowing you were fictional?
Loki believed... ignorance was bliss.
Sometimes, the less a person knew, the freer they became.
Ignorance allowed people to live fully, embrace choices, and cherish existence.
After hearing all this, Alex Ray didn't know what to believe.
Maybe Loki was right.
Maybe the universe he came from was also a comic.
Maybe even his system was a product of someone else's imagination.
Was everything he experienced... scripted?
Were his so-called friends—his allies, his enemies—nothing more than characters someone else created?
The thought made his stomach twist.
Alex despised the idea of being controlled.
Even if there was only a one-in-a-million chance...
He wanted out.
Everything pointed to a single truth: his existence, his powers, even the system embedded within him—they were arranged.
By someone else.
Someone from his past life.
Desperation rose in his chest.
He had to know.
"Is there a way to escape it?" he asked.
"To break the script?"
"There might be," Loki said slowly. "But I don't know it."
"You might."
"Or... your past self might have."
"But if he did..."
"He failed."
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