Svartalfheim. A realm of infinite darkness.
For millennia, this dimension, home to the Dark Elves, has been a scene of ruin and desolation. Shrouded in an eternal twilight, the skeletal outlines of shattered temples are all that remain, forgotten corners of a world consumed by an endless night. This place is, in every sense of the word, forgotten.
For thousands of years, no living soul has set foot upon this desolate land. A deathly silence smothers the planet, broken only by the mournful wail of the wind as it sweeps across the dead wilderness and wanders through the skeletal ruins.
But today, this world of nothing has suddenly stirred with life. Its former master has returned, and he has received several unexpected visitors.
Deep within the ruins of the grand temple, a massive sarcophagus ground open of its own accord. From within, a man clad in obsidian armor, his face pale and sharp-featured, opened his piercing, blood-red eyes.
He was Malekith, the dread king who ruled this dark world five thousand years ago.
He was not a tall man, yet his presence filled the cavernous chamber. He stepped from the upright sarcophagus, his gaze sweeping over the empty, silent temple. A look of profound, cold hatred twisted his features as he looked up into the darkness.
"You could not stop me, Bor," he whispered, his voice a dry rasp. "When I reclaim what is mine, the Nine Realms will once again be shrouded in darkness. And when that day comes, I will make all of Asgard pay the price for what you have done!"
Millennia ago, in his quest to dominate the Nine Realms, Malekith had found and harnessed the power of the Aether—the Reality Stone. He had succeeded where countless others had failed, transforming the raw, destructive power of the cosmic gem into a weaponized, liquid form that anyone could wield. The Aether could bond with a living host like blood, granting the carrier the godlike power to reshape reality itself.
With this power, and the coming of the Convergence—the rare cosmic alignment when all nine realms would intersect—Malekith would have been able to plunge all dimensions into eternal darkness, defeat any foe, and become the undisputed master of all creation.
His plan, however, was foiled before it could be realized. The Bifrost had descended upon him.
Bor Burison, Odin's father and the king of Asgard at the time, had stolen the Aether. He then waged a brutal war against Svartalfheim. Without his ultimate weapon, Malekith was no match for the might of Asgard. In the wake of his defeat, he and the last of his people were sealed away, condemned to an endless sleep.
"But everything has changed!" Malekith clenched his fists, his voice thick with hate.
The seal's power had waned. Even Bor's divine magic could not last forever. Malekith had waited for this moment since the last Convergence, a wait so long that the World Tree itself felt reborn. Soon, the nine realms would align once more. His chance was coming.
"It seems to be a little earlier than I anticipated," he mused, a flicker of puzzlement crossing his face.
Though he had foreseen this day, there was an anomaly. The divine power of the seal hadn't simply eroded with time; some deeper reason had caused Bor's magic to become impure and decay prematurely. Malekith was surprised, but did not dwell on it. Five thousand years could change many things. Waking sooner only gave him more time to prepare. His first task was to awaken his people and sire a new generation of Dark Elves.
Malekith reached out with his power, forging a connection with the World Tree. In that instant, the dead dimension seemed to gasp back to life. Across the ruined landscape, the dust-covered forms of his warriors began to stir. From a cosmic perspective, one could see the dead branch of Svartalfheim on the great tree Yggdrasil begin to draw vitality once more, as infinite power poured back into the dying realm.
But just as quickly, he felt something was wrong. His connection to the World Tree wavered.
Malekith's eyes snapped open, his expression one of astonishment. "The energy of the World Tree… has changed?"
How could this be? He was stunned. He had expected the world to be different after five millennia. He assumed Bor would be long dead, and perhaps even Bor's son would be nearing his end. But he had never dreamed that the fundamental energy of the World Tree itself could be altered. What had happened? Who could possibly possess the power to shake the very foundations of Yggdrasil? Had someone finally defeated the king of Asgard?
Malekith could never have imagined the truth: that the Asgardians themselves had willingly introduced a new power, grafting a new branch onto the tree and feeding its roots with a foreign vitality. He could sense it now—a new, vibrant energy woven into the ancient magic of the Nine Realms. It was insignificant in the grand scheme of Yggdrasil's immense power, like a single drop of potent fertilizer in a vast ocean, but it had brought a new, vigorous life to the entire system.
This was not a setback. This was an opportunity.
Malekith grew excited. If his plan succeeded, he would not only conquer the Nine Realms but also claim this more powerful World Tree and the new, unknown tenth realm this energy originated from. No, he corrected himself, it would be the eleventh realm. As an ancient being, he knew the Nine Realms had originally been ten before the highest, Heven, had been torn from the tree and cast into nothingness. Now, a new realm had emerged, and its vibrant power was tantalizing.
He was not wary of this new energy. If the World Tree itself had integrated it, then it was his for the taking. He didn't care where it came from, even if it was the power of some Dimensional Demon. Malekith knew how those entities operated. Once their power was loaned, it was nearly impossible for them to reclaim it. It would only return to them upon the death of the borrower. This was why no Demon Lord in their right mind would lend their power to an Asgardian. They knew that once Odin had the power, he was more likely to use their own weapon to hunt them down and slay them, claiming not just the loan but all their power for himself.
He did not know of the Ancient One, Earth's Sorcerer Supreme, but he understood the principle perfectly. Once his plan succeeded, the World Tree would be his, and this new dimension would be his as well. Still, he would be cautious. If the World Tree itself had changed in five thousand years, who knew what had become of Asgard?
Just then, a commotion arose from outside the temple. His newly awakened Dark Elves were gathering, kneeling in reverence to their king. And with them… were two outsiders.
"Lord Malekith," one of his sorcerers hissed, kneeling before him. "We have brought two unexpected guests."
Several of his cursed wizards dragged two figures forward. Malekith had assumed they were together, but they eyed each other with wary suspicion, each seemingly baffled by the other's presence.
One of them was Loki.
After learning of the Dark Elves from Ben, Loki had returned to Asgard and, in a rare moment of unity, discussed the threat with Odin. The father and son had formed an alliance, deciding to use the coming crisis to train Thor. Odin wanted to temper his son into a true king; Loki simply wanted to watch his oafish brother suffer. To orchestrate Thor's "trial by fire," however, he needed to understand the other main actor in the play. He had come to Svartalfheim himself to gather intelligence. As for playing the traitor, he was intimately familiar with the role.
What he hadn't expected was that someone else had the same idea. As he was led forward, he studied the figure walking parallel to him. The man had a single, shark-like fin cresting his head, a gaunt face, and wore a wide, concealing robe.
Psyphon recognized Loki instantly. He had never met him, but Vilgax had acquired all of Thanos's intelligence after his defeat. He knew all about the Battle of New York and the beings who now called themselves the Plumbers.
This man is one of them, Psyphon thought, immediately deciding to keep Vilgax's name out of the conversation. He would have to tread carefully.
The two were brought before Malekith, who regarded them with cold indifference. "Who are you?" he demanded.
At his glance, a hulking, ferocious monster stepped forward. The creature was built like a behemoth, its powerful body seemingly indestructible. Curved, demonic horns grew from its head. This was Kurse, the most powerful warrior in Svartalfheim, a being with strength that dwarfed even Thor's. Just standing there, his oppressive presence was suffocating.
Loki had no doubt that if his answer was unsatisfactory, Kurse would tear his head from his shoulders. But it was in moments like this that Loki felt most alive. He savored the thrill of dancing on a razor's edge. To deceive a being of such ancient power would be a true accomplishment.
He took a step forward, offering Malekith a slight, gentlemanly bow.
"Allow me to introduce myself," he began, his voice smooth as silk. "My name is Loki Odinson. Son of Odin, the current king of Asgard."
Before the last word left his lips, a wave of dark energy slammed into him. Malekith's face became a mask of pure fury, and the crushing pressure from Kurse intensified, threatening to tear him apart. Malekith was so taken aback by Loki's sheer audacity that he was almost amused.
Son of Odin? The Prince of Asgard? Is this man a fool?
The absurdity of the situation stayed his hand. He descended from his ruined throne, strode before Loki, and seized him by the throat. Loki did not resist.
"Son of Odin," Malekith hissed, his voice dangerously low. "What brings you here to die?"
Loki met his gaze without flinching, a ghost of a smile playing on his lips. "I have come to pledge my loyalty to you," he said, his dark green hair swaying. "To help you destroy Asgard. And to kill Odin."
Malekith stared, then let out a cold, sharp laugh. "You lie!" he snarled. "You are Odin's son. Why would you ever submit to me?"
"You are mistaken," Loki said slowly, raising his free hand. In it, an ice-blue, ornate box materialized—the Casket of Ancient Winters. As its chilling power radiated outwards, Loki's skin began to shift, the pale flesh turning a deep, icy blue.
Malekith's eyes widened. He recognized the Casket, but more importantly, he recognized the transformation.
"You are not Asgardian," he breathed, a new, calculating light in his eyes. "You are a Frost Giant."