Fandral felt awkward.
As the proudest of the Warriors Three, every stain on his life had come from Old Bridge Town.
A proud Asgardian warrior, knocked unconscious by a wizard at close range.
Was there anything more humiliating?
Volstagg, on the other hand, was easygoing. Perhaps all he remembered besides food was Thor.
John looked past the two of them toward the Bifrost.
"Asgard certainly keeps busy."
Volstagg failed to catch John's meaning and said proudly, "Asgard protects the Nine Realms. Naturally, we're busier."
John applauded without a shred of sincerity. That sounded much like the United States claiming to protect the world.
Still, Asgard, where imperial authority reigned supreme, was somewhat different from the United States, which elected someone new to stir things up every few years.
At least they wouldn't sprout up just because oil appeared on someone else's doorstep.
John watched the strangely shaped people with interest.
There were only nine realms, yet their races came in all sorts of bizarre forms.
Midgard seemed a little better in that regard. Though skin colors differed, at least there weren't any major differences.
As for the fellow with ram's horns who looked like a demon, John even wondered whether they had dragged him out of hell.
Fandral felt uncomfortable being around John. Before Volstagg could say anything else, he cut in. "We have to escort the prisoners to the dungeon, so we'll take our leave."
John waved them off. He hadn't intended to keep them company anyway.
Fandral left with the escort.
Before they departed, John's gaze lingered briefly on the Masked Man passing beside him.
His brow furrowed slightly, and his pupils narrowed into vertical slits.
His gaze settled on the man.
"Chaos particles."
He saw chaos particles inside the man's body.
Yet this fellow didn't seem to