"The Earth spins eternally, tracing a predetermined path, hurtling through cosmic distances no one comprehends in their fleeting lives," Doom said, arms crossed, his eyes shrouded in the shadow of his hood. He seed to be lecturing Valeria, but his words were aid at Deathstroke.
Su Ming’s face remained impassive, as always, betraying no emotion.
Since Doom began assembling his devices, the three accompanying Su Ming—Ciri, Magik, and Hamir—wore looks of confusion. Doom felt compelled to explain; how could they revere his genius if they didn’t grasp the machine’s power?
"Thus, any ti machine is inherently a space machine. Without spatial coordinates, ti lacks aning," Doom continued.
Su Ming nodded, picking up the thread. Having ventured beyond the multiverse with Ciri, he understood that ti varied across worlds, its flow starkly different when crossing realities. Here, ti couldn’t exist independently of the Marvel universe. Doom was rely noting that his temporal tech evolved from spatial transport.
But a space machine sparked an idea in Su Ming.
"Sotis I think you could earn a physics degree," Doom remarked, shifting topics when Su Ming stole his point.
Su Ming drew his greatsword, plunging it into the ground, slicing the stone floor like cake. "Simple chanics solve most problems. Degrees don’t grant authority, and at critical monts like these, diplomas won’t keep you alive."
"Well said. Strength is all that matters," Doom agreed, nodding. "But pretending to be a brute before Doom is futile. I know who you are."
Branded a terrorist by the United Nations, hunted by 70% of Earth’s nations, with the U.S. constantly plotting to topple his regi and surviving multiple nuclear strikes, Doom and Latveria stood unshaken—by his strength alone.
Yet, at the End of Ti, annihilation lood beyond his power. He needed allies, hence the deal.
The catch? Never fully trust Deathstroke. What you see or hear might not be true.
Ironically, even Su Ming didn’t know his future self, rendering the topic moot.
He turned to Valeria, engrossed at her computer. "Valeria, can you call your brother? Your Uncle Doom is off to save the world."
Valeria sighed. The world’s supposed villain was now its savior—what were the heroes doing? Still, she tapped her computer. Franklin, in his self-made world, could stay connected if he chose.
"We fight Loki here, avoiding Odin’s wrath in the past," Doom revealed, planning to summon Loki via the ti machine.
Trap Loki, attack together, and even his cunning would fail.
"But that risks drawing this Loki’s attention," Su Ming countered. "Between facing the End of Ti Loki or pre-Ragnarok Odin, I choose the latter."
In Su Ming’s plan, everyone had a role. His? Confront Odin. Facing a top-tier Allfather wasn’t a guaranteed win, but holding him off would give Doom ti to handle the past Loki.
Then, a figure materialized from thin air, floating cross-legged like the Joker on a playing card, clutching a flaming skull.
The skull’s fire illuminated the dim basent, bright as a wedding hall.
"Thanks, Deathstroke. You’re the first to admit I’m stronger than Odin," the figure said.
It was Loki—specifically, the Loki from the final mont before the End of Ti, stripped of titles like God of Stories or Asgardian prince. Just Loki.
Abandoning stories and sches, he reverted to his purest form: a master deceiver, his deadliest state.
Su Ming facepald. Loki’s narrative was so fragnted—Prince Loki, Kid Loki, Lady Loki, Agent Loki, Old Loki, God of Stories Loki, End of Ti Loki, All-New All-Different Loki—that, like Kang the Conqueror, each felt like a distinct entity.
How many Lokis existed? No answer. As the ultimate trickster, his actions were unknowable. Like asking how many Jokers road DC’s main Earth. So said one; Justice League mbers like Hal might say three or four.
But ask Batman, and he’d say: one Joker ans infinite Jokers. Not because "everyone has a Joker inside," as the clown claid, but because his psyche never stopped shifting. In seconds, the sa face could house a terrorist, a romantic poet, a bloodthirsty butcher, or an innocent child. Unless you wore black with pointed ears, you’d be dead by the third shift.
Batman fought not the Joker’s body—a re vessel—but his chaotic spirit. Even without the Joker, DC’s world would spawn Big Jokers, dium Jokers, Mini Jokers. The universe’s dark essence ensured that chaotic spirit endured. Only Batman persevered, while even Superman, the Justice League’s beacon, fell to Injustice Superman in a battle of ideals.
Loki’s appearance now had a purpose.
Doom reacted faster than Su Ming, hurling lightning spears without chanting. His armor stored pre-recorded spells, played at superhuman speed, making his casting near-instant. While obscure rituals required preparation, lightning and lasers were second nature.
"Oh, I’m terrified," Loki mocked, grinning as he raised the flaming skull, absorbing the lightning into its eye sockets.
"Yummy," the skull chattered.
"Quiet, little skull," Loki snapped, swatting it like a fly before gently stroking its cranium, as if apologetic. His deep eyes scanned Su Ming’s group, then Doom, who launched another spell.
"Easy, Doctor. I’m not your enemy. I hear you’re after my past self. How about I join you?" Loki said, deflecting another attack.
"Leave, or die," Doom replied, unfazed. Magic duels were his forte.
Loki stroked his chin, blocking another strike. "Fine, I surrender. How about a ga instead?"
With that, he vanished like fading bubbles.
Doom snorted. "Invisibility? Think I haven’t seen that? Valeria."
"Uncle Doom, you promised no more killing," Valeria said, propping her chin, legs swinging on her hovering chair.
"I know. Do your part," Doom said, readying a wide-range spell.
"Fine. He’s there," Valeria pointed.
Doom’s fireball struck, blasting a figure from thin air, tumbling far. The flaming skull, unhard, chattered mockingly at Loki.
"My invisibility, seen through by a little girl? Ti to retire," Loki groaned, sitting up, barely hurt but visibly exasperated.
Valeria gave him a sympathetic look, shrugging. "If you had an invisible mom, you’d know how I trained."
"Your temporal-spatial signature is unique, like a fingerprint, distinct from your past self. Our instrunts can track it," Doom explained, tucking his hands beneath his cloak. "That’s why Doom showed rcy. Thank your king’s grace and flee while you can."
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