He thought he knew everything that had been done to him, but he was wrong. There was a hole in his mind, a tiny thread that stretched across the cosmos, connecting and binding him to . . . to . . .

"Asgardian . . ." The voice hissed in his ears and brain.

The fear wasn't his own, he knew that, but it still crawled inside him like a worm, wrapping around his brain, slowing his mind, and clenching his heart in ice colder than any Joutunhiem winter.

As though from an invisible door, the one known simply as The Other stepped into view. The creature wasn't actually present, he knew that, but that damnable thread in his mind made The Other real and the terror grew.

"This is getting tiresome," Loki forced out.

Pain lashed through Loki, torment impaling body and mind in sheer agony, throwing Loki against the walls of his cell and beating him in white hot fire. "You have failed Him, Asgardian," The Other said, a sadistic smile on his face. "You were warned of the consequences." Loki was jerked to his feet. "This is but a taste. When He comes, this will seem like little more than a pleasant nap."

"And who is your Master?" came a voice.

Loki and The Other looked up and saw Frigga, hands clasped at her waist. She was dressed as Loki had last seen her, three days ago, though there was an amulet around her neck that he'd never seen before. It appeared to be made of bronze, with a single closed eye engraved into it's surface and somehow, with absolute certainty, Loki knew that he never wanted that eye open and looking at him.

"You are not fit to hear his name, Female," The Other sneered.

"Say his name," Frigga ordered. Her voice carried no threat, yet it was velvet whispering over steel. "It took us a while to find the crack in our defenses you're using, even longer to find the link you're using to torment my son."

"Your son? He is a foundling Odin forced you raise in order to feed his ambitions."

"Is that what Baradin told you?" Fridge asked. "Oh yes. We know about him. We know about the cult he set up — the Lady Sif was very happy to lead our warriors against them . . . and happier still to see them hung at the gallows." She stopped in front of The Other. "Your Master. Name him."

"You can do nothing to me, Little Queen, yet I can do everything to him." A fresh jolt of agony crashed through Loki's body and he screamed, his voice hoarse and echoing off the cell walls. "You, and Asgard will fall when He comes."

"No, I think not." Frigga's hands shot out and grasped The Other by his robe as though he was physically present.

"What is this?" The Other gasped. "This is not possible! You cannot—"

Frigga's lips turned upwards in a death's head smile. "Cannot? CANNOT? I am the Sorceress Supreme of Asgard! I stand at the side of Odin the All-Father as his wife, his partner, his queen and mother to Thor, Loki, and Baldur." She pulled and Loki actually felt the wrench in Time and Space as The Other was yanked across the cosmos to be physically present in the cell, in Asgard. "I am Frigga of Asgard, Worm, and there is nothing I cannot do had I cause." She let The Other fall to his knees, hands still fisted in his robe as she loomed over him. Her voice had taken on a strange timbre and was layered with harmonics Loki had never heard before. "Speak his name."

Around Frigga's neck the amulet opened its eye, bathing the room in a strange light and Loki cried out as the connection to The Other snapped. Then, in his mind, other things snapped and broke, letting loose emotions and thoughts Loki didn't even know were there and he cried out again.

None of that compared to the scream of The Other, though.

"Name him." Frigga's voice was barely above a whisper, yet seemed to pound into their ears. "Name him."

"Thanos!"

"Thanos?" Fandral snorted. "Never heard of him."

"He is sometimes known as the Mad Titan," Volstagg replied. "It is said that he stands equal to the Devourer in power, and that even the First Ones fear his might."

"He sounds like a fairy tale to frighten children," Fandral said.

"He is no tale." Volstagg drank deep from his wine cup and there was a haunted look in his eyes. "I was only a boy, but I was there when he was driven into the Broken Void and imprisoned." The big man shook. "If there was ever such a thing as evil, it is he."

"Then what do we do?" Sif asked. "If he comes against Asgard, what hope do we have?"

"We have all the hope," Frigga told them, entering the room. "We are Aesir, the Third Race and the guardians of the mortal worlds. When Malekith and his followers sought to return the universe to darkness, they died on our swords. When Surtur sought to burn the Nine Realms, we drove him back. When Zelion sent forth Union from Narcission to sow chaos, it was Asgard that cast the creature into the fires of Muspelhiem, where it burns eternal." She looked around the room. "If Thanos seeks to test our might, he will join Union in Muspelhiem's flames."

"Yes!" Fandral cheered, rising to his feet and brandishing his sword, only to have Sif bump his arm and glare.

"That leaves the question of Loki," Hogun said. "Is he responsible for his actions?"

"That must be determined." Frigga replied. "The Allfather has agreed to abide by a trial by the Sorcerer's Council under Master Phen of the Vanir. Hogun, travel to Midgard. Bring back Thor and any account of Loki's actions while he was there." Hogun nodded and left the room. "The rest of you are to make preparations, you will be called to testify."

"You were right. I should have told you."

Loki looked up to see Odin standing in the doorway to the garden. Since the revelation that Loki may or may not have been under someone else's control, he had been removed from the prison and placed under house arrest, unable to leave the walls of the castle. His magic had been bound and sealed, and a guard shadowed his steps.

Still, Loki was no longer sure if he wanted even this. The chaos, the destruction, the pain and death that he had left in his wake . . . and part of him longed to do it all again. Who was he? Who was Loki? Was he Laufeyson . . or Odinson?

"May I sit?" Odin asked, gesturing at the bench. Anger that at once was his and something else boiled and rolled within him and he jumped, startled at its fierceness, but whereas once he would have let it take him, now he held it in his grasp.

"Y-yes," he forced out.

"You are right to be angry," Odin told him, sitting down. "More right than I have ever had. I cannot change the past, Loki, but, I can tell you why. But, you must listen. Will you hear me for five minutes? That is all I ask and then, if you wish it, I'll not come to you again."

"I will listen," Loki said.

Odin nodded. "I have told you that a good ruler must have a reason for everything they do. So it was when I found you in the ruins of Laufey's castle; I could not leave you to die. There was so much blood spilled that day, I could not, would not, let one more be on my hands."

"So you took me. Out of guilt," Loki finished flatly.

"You said you would listen," Odin reminded him. "Yes, I did feel guilty. But, when we had returned to Asgard and I was contemplating your fate, I noticed your clan markings and realized who you were, who you could be. I had a glamour placed on you and raised you alongside Thor for the purpose of binding you to Asgard, and through you, the Jotuns. I had hoped that with a king friendly to Asgard on the Frozen Throne, that there would at last be peace between our peoples."

It was clever. Diabolically clever. Except . . . "You stopped my lessons, pushed me away."

Odin looked down at his hands. "Frigga was on Alfhiem with Baldur, a diplomatic visit, and so it was the three of us. That night, just before bed, you came to me, happy and excited that you had mastered yet another spell and began to tell me about it. Oh, Loki, you were so happy, happier than you ever were at my lessons and I realized that you were not both my son and a piece on the chessboard, you were, simply, my son and I couldn't sacrifice both of you to the the throne."

"Sacrifice?" Loki repeated. "I . . . don't understand."

Odin nodded. "There must always be an Allfather. Man or woman, the throne of Asgard cannot be left vacant. Thor will be bound to it, as was my father and his father before him and such will be the fate of Thor's children and their children until the time of Ragnarok comes again. This, Loki, is true of any kingdom."

"Even Joutunhiem."

Yes, even Joutunhiem. A king is ultimately a servant of the people, Loki. It is a burden, and a sacrifice, albeit a necessary one. You are many things, Loki, but a servant is not one of them. A crown would ill suit you."

"It also ill suits Thor," Loki replied, unable to stop himself. "He has pledged himself to the humans."

"Perhaps," Odin said and then chuckled. "Your mother has suggested I name Sif as my heir."

Loki blinked and then he too, chuckled at the thought of Allfather Sif. "That would be . . . different."

"That it would." For a moment, they stared out at the garden and then Odin spoke again. "Loki, your fate is in the hands of the Sorcerer's Council. There is nothing Frigga or I can do. Whatever their judgement, we are bound to abide by it." He rose. "All I can do, Loki, is wish you luck. Luck, my son." With that, he left.

Loki resumed his study of the garden? Luck?

Perhaps.

The question was, given what he had done, would it be luckier to be spared, or to be executed?

Still . . . he could work with that.

It was unlike Shang to be this late, Frigga thought. The ancient Midgardian's sense of duty rivaled Heimdall's, and she was beginning to wonder if something was wrong.

At that moment, the doors to the council chamber opened and a servant entered. "His Lordship the Sorcerer Supreme of Midgard!"

Through the doors came a man dressed in the blue and red of the Sorcerer's Council, his cloak waving gently with the wind of his passage. He was handsome, with a simple mustache, hair black as midnight and gloved hands. The Midgardian Eye was visible around his neck. He was also not Shang.

"I apologize for my lateness," he said, "I didn't recognize the summons at first."

"Where's Shang?" Phen demanded.

Strange blinked. "Shang? Was that—" He broke off. "Shang is dead," he said simply. "I am Stephen Strange."

Frigga examined Strange's Eye with her own. It was indeed the Midgardian Eye around Strange's neck, and it hung there willingly. "Welcome to Asgard, Stephen Strange," she said warmly. "Master Shang was a valued member of this body. I have no doubt you will be as well."

"I would hope so," Strange replied. "I ask your forgiveness, but he never mentioned any Council and I am a little confused."

Frigga studied Strange. He seemed calm, but under it was definite tension. What was the Midgardian expression Thor had brought back with him? A fish out of water. "For now, know that the people in this room are your peers and we bid you welcome to Asgard."

Strange jerked in shock and then recovered. She could see his mind whirling behind his eyes and her confusion deepened. Strange was clearly little more than an half-trained apprentice. His aura was raw with power, as though his training had been entirely about combat and power with little or nothing about a Sorcerer's duties. That was completely unlike Shang as well.

Something was very, very wrong.

Stephen Strange was a genius, and even if he hadn't been one, a rock could tell that something was wrong. The council's reaction to his arrival alone spoke volumes. Sh—The Ancient One— no, the man's name was Shang — clearly hadn't told anyone about the ascension of one Stephen Strange and until the summons, Strange hadn't even known there were other Sorcerers, other Eyes and, now, here he was, in Asgard.

It also occurred to him that he needed to see if there had been any other messages he'd received as he hadn't even recognized the summons for what it was until Wong had returned from the shopping and spotted it. Now, he had a whole new set of questions, since it was clear Shang had spent the past ten years teaching him only what he'd absolutely needed to know and nothing else.

Answers, he decided, he needed answers . . . hell, he needed questions to ask, ones which wouldn't make him seem like a complete idiot.

The question of the questions served to occupy the part of his mind that wasn't focused on the trial until they took a break for a meal when it took over everything, pushing the trial down and out of the way. He wasn't particularly concerned, knowing that he could recall it all later at will, and followed the other Sorcerers out of the room and down the hall to a much bigger room where a central table nearly bent under the weight of so much food and Strange was startled to realize how hungry he was, but nevertheless, selected what he felt was a light lunch before carrying it over to the windows that offered a commanding view of Asgard. Wryly, he reflected that the descriptions of Asgard in Norse myth seemed to have gotten more than a few things wrong.

Sitting down in the chair, he watched the sunlight play off the golden buildings, letting his thoughts sift and mix as the sound of conversation rolled over him.

"Stephen Strange, may I join you?"

Strange looked up to see Frigga and then rose to his feet, 'Your highness, I would be honored."

"Please, we are colleagues, Stephen Strange, call me Frigga, or if you must, Lady Frigga."

"I'm afraid I must," Strange replied, sitting only when she did.

She inclined her head and steepled her fingers. "I do not accuse you, Stephen Strange. An Eye of Agamatto does not allow itself to be stolen, but your elevation is . . . unexpected. Shang's apprentice was named Mordo, last we heard."

Strange inhaled. "Ah yes." He sighed. "Mordo . . ." He rubbed his face with his gloved hands and saw Frigga look at them curiously. Lowering his hands, he looked at them. "I suppose these are the best place to begin." With that, he tugged off one glove and held out his hand.

"By the Void!" Frigga gasped and gently reached out to take Strange's hand in her own. Scars and lacerations criss-crossed the hand, fingers subtly twisted, and she could feel the bones and muscles were . . . unaligned. As ran her thumb over one scar, she felt the hand tremble of its own volition, beyond Strange's control.

"I was very young when I chose to be a healer, simply because I sought the challenge. It wasn't about the rewards of helping people, it was arrogance, and as my skills grew, greed. My family is rich, but I amassed a considerable fortune of my own and a great deal of glory. I had it all, and then . . . there was an accident. I still could have healed, I realize that now, but at the time, all I could see was that I was no longer the man I was. I had been . . . lessened, and I could not accept that. So I began chasing cures, spending money like water, submitting myself to anything, in the hopes that I could get my hands back to what they were. First my fortune was drained, then my family's, until I had nothing left."

Frigga released his hand, and Strange pulled his glove back on. "Is that when Shang came to you?"

Strange nodded. "I had nothing left. No job, no money, and my friends had turned their back on me and my obsession. I had planned to jump into the river and be done with it, but then Wong was there. He offered me a map and promised that I would find my cure and then walked away." He shook his head. "I still don't know why I went."

"And Mordo?"

"Mordo saw me as a rival and an obstacle, he had been practicing Dark Magic in secret, summoning a creature called Dormammu—" Frigga gasped. "You know of him."

"Yes. I knew Mordo desired power, but to go that far . . ."

Strange nodded. "Shang expelled Mordo and fought Dormammu, battling him back to whatever realm he came from, but at a cost, though he kept it from me even as he taught me magic. I give you my word, Lady Frigga, when I discovered he was dying, I did all I could. His last act was to pass me the Eye."

"I do not doubt you, Stephen Strange, and much is now made clear." Frigga sighed. "What were you told about the Eye?"

"Only that is was very powerful and that was never to be allowed to fall into the hands of evil."

Frigga nodded. "Very well. There will be time for a more detailed explanation in the future, but to put it simply, our universe is one of the three children of a being named Agamatto the Observer, who is one of the Vishanti. When the universe came into being, Agamatto divided it into Nine Realms, and to keep it safe from creatures like Dormammu, he used seven of his eyes to make these Amulets, pouring into them his compassion, his strength, and his will to protect and defend against Evil. The eyes were given to the greatest wizard of each realm save for the realm of the dead, and the realm of fire, where even Dormammu fears to tread, less he burn in Muspelhiem's flames. As the Sorcerers Supreme, we are the Gatekeepers of this universe, and we must also oversee the use of magic, Normally, we would not convene for a trial, but Loki is my son and a prince of Asgard, and as you have heard, his actions have endangered three of the realms, and brought us almost to war."

Strange nodded. "He never mentioned any of this."

Frigga shook her head. "I knew Shang for most of his life. If he knew he was dying, then he would have been ruthless in what he taught you." She sighed. "It is easier to create a soldier than it is to create a noble who is a warrior."

"In other words, he expected the Council to finish his sculpture and smooth out the rough edges," Strange said dryly.

"Precisely." Frigga leaned back in her seat. "It is not the first time something like this has happened, but usually, we are told ahead of time. I can't imagine why he never said anything." She sighed and shook her head. "But so be it. When this is over, I invite you to stay here for a while. We shall speak more of the Eye and other matters." She rose and Strange followed suit. With a nod of her head, she waked away.

Sitting back down, Strange picked at his food, but there was a smile on his face. Perhaps he wasn't as far out of his depth as he thought.

—

On the third day of the trial, The Other was brought into the room in chains and under full guard where he was sat on a stool and left there.

"Name yourself," Phen commanded.

"It is known as The Other."

"That is a title, not a name."

"It does not need a name."

Glances were exchanged around the room and Strange leaned forward, eyes intent.

"Then speak of Loki of Asgard." Frigga's tone was unmistakably a command.

From there, it all came out, the Other almost delighting in how Thanos had manipulated Asgard and Jotunheim to war and how Loki had been under Thanos' influence since he was a child. The near destruction of Jotunheim had been an unexpected prize, as had Loki winding up at Thanos' feet after his fall.

Following that, Thor testified, first about the events in the town of Puente Antiguo, then being sent to Earth to retrieve Loki and battling the Chitauri.

"And then we came here," Thor finished. "Loki was imprisoned and I returned to Earth to see to its protection."

At that moment, the doors banged open and a guard burst in, chest heaving. "Great sorcerers! I bring word from Hiemdall! A Celestial approaches!"

"What?" Phen exclaimed.

At that moment the room seemed to shift in ways Strange could not explain, and then a presence filled the room, coalescing into a green armored giant.

I AM JEMIAH, I HAVE BEEN SENT TO SPEAK.

"Gladly we will hear the words of the First Ones," Phen said. He and Frigga looked at each other helplessly.

ALL IN THE UNIVERSE HAS A PURPOSE. THE ONE CALLED LOKI HAS NOT COMPLETED HIS. THOSE ARE THE WORDS OF THE ONE ABOVE ALL.

With that, the giant turned away, and the room was back to normal.

—

"Well, we can't kill him," Sian, the Sorcerer Supreme of Alfhiem said dryly.

The other Sorcerers nodded. They had retired to an antechamber following Jemiah's visit to deliberate.

"Loki cannot be left to go free either," said Tyros of Jotunheim. "For what has been done to my world alone, much less Earth, a price must be paid."

"It is unlikely his purpose can be accomplished from a jail cell either," Sian pointed out. "Though it would help if we knew what that purpose was."

"Bloody Celestials never tellin' nobody a damn thing," grumbled the Dwarven Sorcerer. For the life of him, Strange could not remember his name.

"That's the heart of the matter," Sian pointed out. "Whatever Loki's purpose is, it's important enough that the Celestials felt compelled to step in, can we agree on that?" Everyone nodded. "Then what do we do? He must be punished, but we can't execute him."

"What say you, Stephen Strange?" Frigga asked.

Strange blinked at her, surprised, but it only lasted a moment. "I . . . Loki was under Thanos' influence, but he could have resisted? I mean, he wasn't controlled, just influenced, right?" Everyone nodded. "Executing him wouldn't bring back the dead, so there's no point."

"My people suffered, died, and even now are laboring to much as survive!" Tyros bellowed. "There must be recompense!"

"Let the human speak, Tyros," Phen said quietly.

Strange nodded his thanks. "Nothing can bring back the dead, and as for Jotunheim itself . . . Loki is a sorcerer, put him to work restoring what was lost. Strip him of his titles, channel and confine his magic and send him to aid in the rebuilding efforts. Make him eat, sleep, and work alongside those he would have destroyed. Let him see the Jotuns as people, not monsters."

"The lad speaks wisdom," the dwarf said, stroking his beard. "Aye, me da always said that working the forge will open even a blind man's eyes to the world."

Sian nodded. "I agree with Nordin. Though even if this keeps Loki out of mischief, there's nothing to stop some Jotun from slipping a knife in his ribs some dark night."

"Watching his back will keep 'im busy." Nordin waved a hand dismissively.

"I would prefer blood," Tyros said, "but I believe King Biros will accept our judgement." He looked around the room. "But Loki's safety cannot be guaranteed. We are a . . . direct people."

"I understand, Tyros," Frigga said, and she did, though the thought of losing her son made her heart ache. "Is this the judgement of the Council, then?"

Phen looked around the room and seeing no dissent, nodded. "Then Lady Frigga and I will inform the Allfather."

Strange watched them go and tried to ignore the feeling that something was very, very wrong.

New York City, Earth

534am . . .

Al's Coffeeshop occupied the ground floor of an apartment building in the kind of neighborhood you read about, but could never find; the kind where the buildings, and to some degree, the people, were seemingly untouched by time. A payphone still occupied the corner, and a bodega, little more than a hole in the wall of a larger building, seemed to stare at the front window of Al's like an eye from across the street. Rain sifted down, a late summer shower that promised to be done by morning leaving the streets to shine in the sunlight.

Inside Al's, three young women worked. With an entrance to the subway almost directly outside, Al's saw plenty of business once the morning commute started, but for now, it was quiet and they busied themselves setting out pastries, brewing the coffee, and making sure they were organized and ready.

At the register, Sandi Brandenburg looked up when the door chimed signaled and her face fell as she recognized the man in the door. He was squat with muscle and fat and his hair was thinning. Something about him set off every warning alarm Sandi had, especially the way he looked at her. Like she was a thing. He had been coming in almost like clockwork and while she couldn't prove it, she thought she had seen him at school as well.

"H-hello," Sandi said. "What can I get you?" She couldn't quite keep the quaver out of her voice.

"Sandi," he walked towards her. "Hello, Sandi."

Sandi leaned away from the counter as far she could without actually looking like she was doing so. "What can I get you?"

"Sandi . . . today I'm going to make you happy. Today, and from now on."

"Y-you are?"

"Oh yes."

"Hey, Sandi, the usual."

Sandi blinked as a one gallon mug appeared in her field of vision and then she followed the arm holding the mug back to the large man who was next in line. "Oh, hello, Mr. Wilson! I didn't see you come in!" None of the girls really knew much about Mr. Wilson other than he lived in the building, didn't really like to show his face — as evidenced by the hooded sweatshirt and baseball cap pulled low over his eyes — and that he liked his coffee black, bitter, and by the gallon.

"Yeah, I get that what with Chuckie here staring at you like a piece of meat." Wilson was a large man and you could see the muscle bulking under his clothes. No one was really sure what he did for a living, but he tipped well and didn't hit on the staff (well not much, anyways), which made him him a shop favorite. "Or maybe the Stanley Cup. World Cup? A really shiny cup."

"How did you know my name?" Chuck demanded.

"Oh, you mention it in a few paragraphs, well, dialogue breaks. I've been reading ahead." Wilson waved a sheaf of papers. "And lemme tell ya, you are really not going to like what happens at that point."

Sandi took the mug and all but ran to the coffee machine.

"So just to move this along," Wilson continued, "what were you saying about making Sandi happy? 'Cause from where I'm standing, making her happy would involve setting yourself on fire"

"Shut up," Chuck snarled. "You don't know nothin'."

"I'm pretty sure that was a double negative and given that Brooklyn accent, an insult to the english language. Oh hey, I can recognize accents and abuses of grammar now. Sweet!" Wilson gave the ceiling a thoughtful look,. "Does this mean I have an English degree? Lesee . . . nope. Still don't understand Hemingway's appeal."

Chuck stared at Wilson, then turned back to the counter just as Sandi returned with the gallon of coffee,

"Sandi, we need to go," He grabbed her wrist. "We need to be in Atlantic City by ten."

If a sheaf of papers could be said to said to hit the counter ominously, the one in Wilson't hand did just that as he tossed it on the counter. "Chuck," Wilson's voice was icy cold menace, the voice of a killer. "Walk away. Walk away and never come back."

Chuck had had enough. He released Sandi's wrist and rounded on Wilson, pulling out a very large bowie knife. "No, You walk away. You walk away. I'm a good guy, a nice guy and I deserve a girlfriend. A wife. Sandi and I are going to Atlantic City, we'll get married, and she'll be Mrs Charles Astley and I'll be happy! I deserve to be happy!' He swung the knife and almost lazily, Wilson caught his wrist.

"Told you," whispered the killer, and he twisted, forcing Chuck to drop the knife, which he easily caught and tossed onto the counter next to the papers. With no effort, Wilson lifted Chuck by his wrist, hoisting him up to eye level. "Told you!" With that, he dragged Chuck to the door, and proceeded to drop kick him through the front window, sending hm over the railing of the subway entrance to fall down to the steps below. "Wow!" Wilson exclaimed, the killer gone as though he'd never existed. "Man, did you see how he flew? Hot damn!" He sauntered back to the counter. "You okay?" He asked gently.

Sandi nodded. "Thanks."

"Wade, why did you put a hole in my front window?" Standing in the doorway was an old woman, her hair sticking up at odd angles, and despite the fact that the sun wasn't up. she wore a blocky pair of sunglasses. "That's coming out of your rent." Althea "Blind Al" Tennyson didn't just own Al's Coffee, she owned the whole building. If you listened closely, you could hear that she was British.

"M-My f-fault, Ms Tennyson," Sandi ventured, setting the gallon mug down. "It was that guy again. Mr. Wilson chased him off."

"Through the window?"

"You said doors were expensive," Wilson explained.

Al sighed. "Sandi, if someone is stalking you, it's never your fault. Wade, I appreciate you standing up for my employees, but now I have to explain to my insurance company why I'm expensing a new window." She turned to the window, watching a transit cop come up the subway stairs and then turned back. "Bollocks. Wade, take your—" Wilson, the knife, the papers, and the coffee were gone, there was a twenty on the counter and another in the tip jar. "Arse," Al muttered.

Author's Notes:

I thought Frigga should have a badass boast.

The Kree have long claimed to be contemporaries of Asgard, if not the true Third Race, but they're such narcissists that no one takes this claim seriously. Also, a very young Odin figures greatly in their mythology as the child-god Moden-ell, who was known for a string of unfortunate incidents capped off by a run-in with the Kree equivalent of a bear. He has some rather impressive scars from the incident, but only Frigga is generally in a position to see them and by that point, she has other parts of him on her mind.

The First Race is the Celestials, or the First Ones, second is the Watchers. The Third Race is the Aesir and fourth is the Eternals and their sub faction, The Titans. The exact identity of the Fifth oldest race in the Universe is a matter of debate, though most point to a race referred to simply as "The Ancients", who were responsible for seeding and terraforming a number of planets as well as constructing a spatial gate network. Some believe that this race is also responsible for the creation of the sentient planet Ego, which is a horrible thing to accuse anyone of doing, much less an entire race.

The reason Shang never told the Council is because he knew the look on Phen's face would be hilarious. It was also payback for that trip to Vanaheim no one wants to talk about. Or remember.

Deadpool actually has this entire fic printed out, including the parts not written yet. He takes excerpts from it and performs them on slam poetry night at a bar in the West End. Chapter 15 is a hipster favorite.

No surname seems to have been given for Blind Al, so I made one up. Obviously, theirs is a different relationship here than in the comics, since that one gave me the creeps.