Transmigrator

Loki lay prostrate on the ground, the bones of his hand screaming in agony under the crushing weight of a heavy metal boot. He struggled to lift his head, only to see a pitch-black palm with five splayed fingers nearly touching the tip of his nose. Countless particles of light swirled into a vortex at the center of that palm, and a deep blue radiance bathed his face.

Cold sweat began to bead on the God of Mischief's forehead. In that moment, for the first time, a visceral premonition surged from the depths of his soul: I'm definitely going to die. All the arrogance and pride of an Asgardian were instantly cast aside. He felt utterly small and helpless, while the towering black iron figure before him loomed like the God of Death himself, silhouetted against that eerie blue glow.

To Loki, this moment stretched into an eternity, but in truth, it was barely half a second. The palm cannon on the black armor charged in an instant, and a beam of light blasted forth, locked squarely on Loki's face.

Yet the trickster god seemed to have a stubborn hold on life. The devastating energy blast failed to blow his head off. Out of thin air, fiery sparks erupted, tracing an arc that carved a circle in the air, forming a circular magical array like a shield before Loki. The energy bolt slammed into the spell shield and detonated, but the shield stood unshaken.

The black helmet tilted slightly, and the glow behind its V-shaped visor seemed to flicker.

Meddlesome fool, he muttered inwardly.

Loki, still frozen in place, couldn't grasp how he'd escaped death. But before he could process it, more sparks sprayed beneath him, tracing another circle—this one seemed to be a spatial teleportation array. Loki let out a startled "Ah!" as he plummeted through it, his drawn-out cry cut short as the array vanished.

A robed mage in yellow stepped slowly from some corner of the lab. She wore a hood, her face mostly hidden in shadow, but her build clearly marked her as a woman. Her arms, pale and slender beneath the wide sleeves, seemed slightly at odds with the plain, simple robe.

"Ancient One," said the figure in black armor, crossing his arms. "I can't say I'm surprised to see you here, but I'm definitely not happy about it either."

"After so long apart, won't you spare a moment to chat?" the mage asked calmly.

The man shrugged. "Suit yourself."

The yellow-robed mage gestured, and their forms seemed to warp—or rather, space itself appeared to twist and fold. They spun and were sucked into a single point in space, vanishing in the blink of an eye.

Agent Barton crouched behind cover, staring at the spot where the three mysterious figures had disappeared. He felt like he'd suddenly become a bystander watching a show. He turned to Director Fury.

"So," he asked, "what do we do now?"

Nick Fury's face was grim, his lips pressed into a thin line.

"I don't know."

The black-armored figure and the yellow-robed mage stood on the side of a twenty-story building, defying physics entirely—their bodies parallel to the ground, while traffic flowed on the bustling street dozens of meters below.

No one noticed them, of course. This was the "Mirror Dimension," a mirror of reality that existed but was nearly imperceptible, accessible only through the proper spells. Nothing that happened here affected the real world.

The mage clasped her hands behind her back, hidden in her wide sleeves.

"There's no need for a mask in front of me," she said, pausing before calling out the armor's wearer by name, "Michael Passo."

The armored figure didn't respond. He gestured, and sparks erupted, carving a circular portal in the space behind him. The armor covering his body disassembled piece by piece, hundreds of components peeling away and flying into the portal.

Beneath the armor was a young man, no older than twenty, with eyes as sharp as an eagle's. He was lean, with unruly black hair, giving off the impression of an arrow held taut, ready to fly.

The mage lowered her hood, revealing a bald head that gleamed in the light.

"What brings the Sorcerer Supreme, guardian of the dimension, to seek me out for a chat?" Michael glanced at the rushing traffic below. "Don't you have an entire plane to worry about?"

Ancient One studied him for a moment before answering indirectly. "It seems you didn't heed my advice after all."

Michael tilted his head. "You mean trying to kill Loki? Trust me, I'm doing this world a favor. If he dies here, we save ourselves a lot of trouble down the line."

"You don't belong to this world. You crossed over from a higher dimension far removed from us, so you may have some knowledge of this world's future trajectory. But we discussed this back in Kamar-Taj," Ancient One said.

"Of course, I haven't forgotten," Michael replied flatly. "You said I shouldn't interfere with major events that shape the world's history, because you believe fate shouldn't be tampered with. You were my teacher, you personally taught me magic, and led me into the door of the mystic arts. I respect you deeply in most ways, truly. But I still don't understand why someone with your boundless power would be bound by so-called fate."

Ancient One shook her head gently. "The more you know, the more you understand. If you alter history to erase one disaster, the world will find another way to fill the gap. Loki may bring some calamities, but his fate isn't over yet. He has a pivotal role to play in the future. Disrupting the natural order on a whim will only invite unimaginable catastrophe."

"I don't buy that," Michael said. "I only believe I control my own destiny. The path ahead is mine to forge; so-called fate is just an excuse for avoidance. That's why I left Kamar-Taj in the first place—our core beliefs clashed."

He paused, glancing sideways at the Sorcerer Supreme.

"You must have known I wouldn't follow your path in the end," he said softly. "But still, you taught me everything you had."

Ancient One looked at him meaningfully, her eyes flickering for a moment before turning back to the view beyond the mirror. On the other side, people hurried by, and cars flowed like an unbroken stream through man-made streets.

"You're different," she said after a long pause. "Your mastery of science and technology is profound, and your aptitude for magic and spells is equally rare. What's more valuable is your talent for merging the two—something I've never seen in anyone before."

It was true. About three years ago, Michael had appeared at Kamar-Taj's door, asking her to teach him magic. That same afternoon, Ancient One taught him the basics of spell construction and warned him that the only secret to mastering magic was relentless practice.

From her experience, most people needed months of practice to complete their first basic spell array. Some geniuses might shorten that to a week or two. But even she hadn't expected that the next morning, this young man would flawlessly demonstrate the array's construction—and even make crude, personalized tweaks to the hand signs she'd taught him.

That night, Michael hadn't slept. Instead of mechanically repeating the exercises as instructed, he recorded energy fluctuations during spellcasting, plotted curves, and built models to analyze magic from a scientific perspective. To him, every practice session was an experiment, and collecting data from each attempt helped him improve the next.

Science and magic were both ways of understanding and applying the laws of the universe, just from different angles. They were interdependent and interconnected.

From then on, Ancient One recognized this young man's uniqueness. She might have once considered training him as the next Sorcerer Supreme, but she abandoned that idea once she was sure he wouldn't follow her teachings obediently.

"But knowing I might interfere with this world's original path, you still taught me without holding back," Michael said, eyeing her sideways. "Maybe you just won't admit it, but deep down, you want change too, don't you? You can foresee the disasters that will batter this world. You say fate can't be defied, but inside, you hope someone will try to turn the tide."

Ancient One shook her head. "I taught you magic because your nature isn't evil. I believed you'd use it for the right purposes."

Michael shrugged. "Say what you will. But I've made my stance clear—I'm just a seeker of knowledge, not some noble hero."

Ancient One smiled faintly. "You just haven't realized it yet. But when the time comes to choose, I know you'll make the right decision."

They fell silent for a moment. A loud horn blared from the street beyond the mirror, and a biting wind swept along the building's surface, rustling the mage's thin robe.

"So," Michael spoke up again after a while, still staring through the mirror at the brightly lit streets, "what are you going to do with Loki? You're not planning to let him go back to whatever he was up to, are you?"

Ancient One shook her head. "I have some ties with Odin of the Asgardian Realm. Loki will be handed over to the Asgardian Realm."

"Fine, since he's in your hands, I guess I won't get another chance." Michael waved a hand, turned, and gestured. The mirror surface cutting across the building seemed to respond to his command, rapidly shifting and splitting open like a door.

Michael stepped perpendicularly toward the opening, pausing just before leaving to half-turn.

"You know," he said, "what I mentioned to you before still stands."

Ancient One's expression remained calm. "If you mean my death, I know."

Michael frowned. "You sure you don't want the details?"

Ancient One smiled. "Everyone dies, and I've lived long enough. I can feel my end approaching, but that's how it's meant to be. Don't worry about it."

Michael shook his head, still unable to grasp her perspective. But he said nothing more, turned, and stepped through the gap in the mirror, leaving the strange dimension. The mirror sealed shut behind him, smooth as if it had never cracked.