Odin’s throne was vast, forged entirely of gold, as if fused with the Golden Palace itself.
Yet, throughout history, no matter the realm, thrones were almost always unyielding.
Those with backrests lacked cushions; those with cushions didn’t reach the backrest; and those with both left the armrests out of reach.
In short, thrones existed to make kings uncomfortable.
It was said this was to keep rulers vigilant, focused on governing with care.
So, while others might envy soone seated on the throne, those who sat upon it found no comfort at all.
Governing a realm was much the sa—easy to admire, hard to do.
Loki was a pri example. He thought Asgard’s prosperity made ruling seem pleasant, but once he sat on the throne, its ancient debts drove even a cunning mind like his to frustration.
Not everyone was fit to be a king. Su Ming knew he wasn’t.
He disliked tedious affairs and being chained to a throne. Instead, he preferred leveraging existing systems to build small, shadowy groups in the background.
Odin’s brother was an unfit king.
The Serpent was once mightier and more ruthless than Odin. Wherever his destructive blade pointed, annihilation followed.
If Odin’s early wars aid for conquest and enslavent, the Serpent’s purpose was far simpler:
Total extinction.
As the God of Fear, he fed on terror, growing stronger with every ounce of dread he collected.
The Serpent was mad—a cold, calculated madness. He destroyed everything in sight to prevent the prophecy of Ragnarök from coming true.
If he could eliminate the enemies foretold in the prophecy, wouldn’t all be well?
But Ragnarök wasn’t an ordinary prophecy. Etched into the rules of the world at its creation, it was the foundation of gods and life’s cycle.
The Serpent failed to kill any of the prophesied foes. Instead, his attacks turned strangers into mortal enemies.
In a way, he fulfilled the prophecy himself, as he and his enemies were all part of it.
It was like carrying the millstone of fate on his back, searching for a way to shatter it, only to find the other half of the grindstone.
Back then, Odin idolized the Serpent—brave, fearless, the epito of an Asgardian warrior.
But as ti passed and none of his goals were achieved, the Serpent grew desperate, his thods increasingly cruel.
He slaughtered infants of other races and obliterated entire worlds.
To Odin, this was unnecessary cruelty. He believed his brother was ill.
So, he sought answers from the World Tree, hoping to cure the Serpent. A breeze stirred, and the Tree gave him a prophecy:
"Odin’s son will battle the Serpent, slaying him, but Odin’s son will fall after taking nine steps."
The Serpent was beyond saving. His madness and slaughter were unstoppable, his fate to destroy worlds sealed. The only way to stop him was death.
Such was fate—until the Serpent fulfilled his destiny, he could not be killed.
Odin, unmarried and childless at the ti, dismissed the prophecy.
But the Serpent didn’t. Hearing that Odin sought to "cure" him, he took it as a betrayal. What illness? His brother must be plotting against him.
Thus, the Serpent and Odin clashed, sparking a civil war among the Aesir.
Surprisingly, more chose to side with Odin.
The Serpent had pushed Asgard past all limits—slaughtering the defenseless, destroying hos, torturing enemies. These were not acts of honor.
Without honor, Asgardians lost purpose. The army rebelled, aiding Odin to victory.
Odin was crowned by the people and army, thrust onto the throne against his will.
He hadn’t wanted this. He only wanted to save his brother.
But after his defeat, the Serpent’s gaze toward Odin was filled with pure hatred. There was no going back.
Odin, no ordinary man, knew the point of no return had co. He resolved to kill his brother.
Yet, as the prophecy foretold, only Odin’s son could end the Serpent’s life in mutual destruction.
Neither the Eternal Spear, Bor’s sword, nor any thod Odin devised could kill him.
Though hacked to the brink of death, the Serpent clung to life.
With no other choice, Odin imprisoned him in the deepest depths of Earth’s Mariana Trench, sealed with enchantnts and guarded by every venomous sea dragon he could muster.
As ti passed, Odin’s wisdom grew. Thor, his only trueborn son, was born, and Odin knew the prophecy would fall on him.
But he couldn’t bear to send Thor against the Serpent, so the matter was delayed.
The Serpent likely remained in his underwater prison, cursing Odin daily.
The clues were aligning. Hydra’s presence here was a sign. Could it be led by Red Skull’s daughter?
Breaking the Serpent’s seal required a warhamr—the Goddess of Winter’s Steel, held by Germany, which fell in the Arctic.
Like Mjolnir, it could only be wielded by one with a specific quality: a heart devoid of hope, as cold as winter itself.
Both the Mustache and Red Skull tried and failed to lift it. Their ambitions and visions for the future were forms of hope.
So, the Mustache built a structure around the hamr, guarded by trusted SS forces.
In the comics, Red Skull’s daughter, Sin, lifted the hamr, freeing the Serpent and triggering the event Fear Itself.
But that was supposed to be far in the future. Regardless, Su Ming planned to return to Earth and check the Arctic for the Winter Hamr.
That would take ti. For now, the priority was halting Asgard’s war.
He rubbed the throne’s armrest, the cold tal giving him an odd sensation. Looking at Frigga and Gullveig below the dais, he asked, "Do you rember the Serpent?"
"The Serpent!" Frigga’s eyes widened, her usual composure shattered.
"The Serpent?" Gullveig looked confused, clearly unaware.
Frigga, however, rembered. Shock crossed her face. "But Odin said the Serpent died suddenly on the throne, long ago."
Su Ming waved a hand, beckoning Gin and Brunnhilde to join. If they were to face the Serpent, they needed to be prepared.
"Clearly, Odin lied. The prophecy says the Serpent and Thor will die together. He couldn’t bear losing his son or admitting he tried to kill his own brother."
Frigga took a deep breath. The pieces of Ragnarök were nearly complete. Save for the Wolf’s Winter, the prophecy’s players were falling into place, and the gods’ fate hung in the balance.
"What do we do?" Frigga asked, at a loss.
"I can handle the Serpent, but it’s not free. Even Odin couldn’t do this. Deal?" Su Ming lit a cigarette, puffing smoke in Odin’s guise.
"Done," Frigga agreed without hesitation.
"Good. Frigga, use your magic to heal Heimdall. Gullveig, take your people and secure the Golden Palace. Block every entrance. Do I need to spell it out?"
Su Ming flicked ash, assigning tasks as if it were second nature.
"What about us?" Brunnhilde asked eagerly, rubbing her hands. She didn’t know the enemy, but they sounded formidable, and she was intrigued.
"You’re free. No more serving the All-Palace. In exchange, I need you to go to Sakaar and tell the Grandmaster that Odin wants to bet with him."
Su Ming, one hand on the Eternal Spear, the other holding a cigarette, seed in high spirits.
Using another’s identity, wagering another’s chips, and dragging the universe’s greatest gambler to the table felt exquisite.
The Grandmaster, one of the Elders of the Universe, had infinite life and endless boredom. He mastered every ga and loved bets. Odin’s na was enough to get him to the table.
The Grandmaster was no weakling—immune to aging and disease, resistant to physical attacks, with powerful regeneration. His cosmic energy allowed flight, mind control, matter manipulation, and ti-space leaps.
Brunnhilde’s emotions were mixed. Freedom was hers, but leaving the All-Palace left her directionless.
Perhaps she wouldn’t return from Sakaar.
Still, since Deathstroke demanded paynt, she’d deliver his ssage. The future could wait.
"What’s the bet?"
"I bet his arena champion can’t beat phisto."
Brunnhilde pondered. "The current champion is a half-man, half-machine horse-headed guy. Very strong. phisto’s not known for combat."
So, it’s Beta Ray Bill. Even better.
"I know, but I’m betting on it. If the Grandmaster wins, Asgard’s heir, Thor Odinson, will be his gladiator in seventy-two years. If I win, his champion fights for Asgard in seventy-two years."
Su Ming laid out the stakes, putting Thor on the table.
"Why seventy-two years?" Brunnhilde asked, puzzled by the odd number.
"Seventy-two makes think of change. Don’t sweat the details. The Grandmaster will love this gamble full of unknowns."
Su Ming exhaled smoke, leaning back against the throne’s backrest.
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