There were three Lokis here—aside from that short-tailed alligator Loki, there was himself.
An elderly Loki, a burly Black Loki, and a chubby little Loki.
Loki was currently in a small air-raid shelter, filled with things the other Lokis had collected.
Water, instant food, magazines, little toys, and a candy cane throne that might have been used in a circus performance. Sitting on it was a chubby little Loki. He was very young, but he was the only one here who could be called king.
Because he had killed Thor.
The Lokis sat in a circle, exchanging their stories.
"Tell us your story." The chubby little Loki on the throne spoke to the Loki wearing a long golden horned headdress.
This Loki looked quite old, and his clothing had a more... godlike style. If it had been washed regularly, it should have been a gleaming traditional Vanir Gods mage robe.
The elderly Loki held his cup and said, "Me? No one would want to hear my story."
But Loki did not think so. He raised his hand. "Actually, I'd really like to hear it. I've been wondering, because we..."
Loki gestured with his hands, but eventually said what he found difficult to bring up. "...After all, weren't we all supposed to die? Thanos killed us after Ragnarok."
After all, everyone here was Loki—what was there they could not say to themselves?
Although he and Sylvie had been separated after using the TemPad, Osborn had said he would find them. There was no need to rush just yet.
The name "Thanos" stirred the elderly Loki's memories. "Thanos?"
He set his wineglass aside and began telling his story. "Everything in my life had been normal, until Thanos attacked our ship."
Loki asked, "You didn't try to assassinate him?"
"Of course not." The