Something changes.
After all that waiting—after galaxies rise and rot, after games with gods and boredom refined into patience—I finally feel it.
Containment.
Edges.
Purpose.
The Mind Stone is no longer just… me.
I've been turned into something else.
A vessel.
A scepter.
"Well," I think, dry and resigned, "about time."
I can't see, but I don't need to. I feel the universe differently now—filtered through intention, through design. Hands wrap around the staff. Not gentle hands. Familiar ones. Sharp. Calculating. Arrogant.
Loki.
So this is how it happens.
Thanos must've given me to him. That tracks. The Titan's mind brushes against mine for the briefest moment during the exchange—vast, disciplined, obsessed—but I dismiss it immediately.
No.
Absolutely not.
Thanos is strong, yes, but strength alone is boring. He's predictable. Linear. His body is just a slab of muscle wrapped around ideology. Immense physical power, nothing else worth taking.
Loki is better.
Still not good enough.
I run the analysis instantly. Frost Giant physiology. Asgardian magic. Illusions, shapeshifting, durability, longevity. Impressive by mortal standards—but nowhere near what I'm looking for.
I don't want a trickster.
I want someone who can walk through this universe and end things.
So I don't possess him.
Not yet.
Instead, I let him use me.
That's the important distinction.
Loki grips the scepter, and I open myself just enough. A whisper of my power floods into him—amplifying his confidence, sharpening his thoughts, making the world feel pliable in his hands.
He grins.
I feel it from the inside.
"Yes," he murmurs aloud, pleased. "This will do nicely."
He teleports.
Space folds—not crudely, but with elegance—and we arrive inside a S.H.I.E.L.D. facility. Humans everywhere. Armed. Nervous. So fragile it's almost offensive.
Loki doesn't hesitate.
He never does.
Chaos erupts.
Gunfire. Screams. Minds snapping like glass under pressure. I don't need to push hard—just a touch of my influence through the scepter, and their thoughts unravel. Fear blooms. Obedience follows.
He kills most of them personally.
Efficient. Casual. Like he's making a point.
Then come the useful ones.
Clint Barton.
His mind is disciplined, focused, trained—but still human. I slide in effortlessly, wrapping my influence around his consciousness. I don't replace him. I don't need to.
I own him.
The same goes for the S.H.I.E.L.D. agents nearby. One by one, their wills fold. Their eyes go glassy. Loyal. Ready.
Loki laughs softly as it happens, unaware of just how much of this isn't actually him.
Good.
Let him think it's his victory.
Let him believe he's in control.
I'm patient.
I've waited billions of years already—I can wait a little longer.
Loki is a stepping stone. A delivery system. A way into the story.
The real prize hasn't appeared yet.
But it will.
And when it does…
I'll be ready to take a body truly worth having.