Lies

Inside the golden-domed hall, Deathstroke stood facing Odin. Heimdall stood behind Odin, leaning on his greatsword without moving.

He was like a statue, or a mannequin in a shop window, utterly devoid of presence.

Magik and the others, however, were secretly preparing for battle under the pressure of Odin's imposing aura.

Hamill had already discreetly contacted the Ancient One as a precaution. He knew part of Ancient One's plan, but he could not be sure whether Odin was truly trustworthy.

"I saw it. Ravens report everything in the Nine Realms to me, and your agreement with Hela remains within the limits of my tolerance."

Odin spoke calmly, and he was even courteous enough not to lapse into archaic language.

If it had been Thor, he would have been difficult to understand even when speaking to mortals. He seemed to forever carry the burden of being an "idol," keeping everyone at a distance.

Gods were idols by nature, and there was nothing wrong with that. But idols were merely one step in the process of creating gods from men. Constantly emphasizing that one was an idol brought no benefit.

After all, the followers of the Norse Gods were not Japanese idol nerds who believed their idols did not even need to use the bathroom. What the Norse Gods truly were had been made perfectly clear in the old tales. Everyone knew.

Warlike, fond of drink, burdened by an inescapable tragic fate—these labels were all attached to the Aesir. Just as mentioning Olympus over in DC made everyone think of an ethical melodrama.

If a warrior's Intelligence and Charisma were the first essentials for survival in the American comic world, then the second was this: if one wanted to live longer, never believe anything a god said.

Odin constantly had the phrase