Marvel's Strongest Mage

The sky wept with thunder.

Bolts of lightning split the heavens, hammering down in jagged arcs—white fire slashing the black night. One of them struck with divine fury, crashing through the roof of the prefab command post and slamming directly into the one figure who had dared lay hands on Mjolnir.

Loki.

The blow lit the sky for miles.

Inside the compound, alarms exploded in a deafening chorus. Red lights spun in all directions. SHIELD agents sprang into motion like ants disturbed from their nest. Every sensor on-site screamed the same message:

Security breach. Maximum threat level. Intruder detected.

A cloud of scorched smoke swirled around the epicenter—bitter, acrid, charred. The scent of burnt sand mixed with something far more unnatural: the singed leather of Asgardian robes. Loki stood at its core, smoke rising from his shoulders, a slight twitch in his fingers the only sign that he had been caught off guard.

He hadn't moved and didn't need to. He was in awe.

Because just seconds before, he had lifted Thor's hammer.

Even if just a sliver off the ground—even if only for a breath—he had done what few in the cosmos ever could.

Mjolnir had responded to him.

It wasn't full acceptance. Not yet. But it was more than he'd ever been granted before. And it meant everything.

After centuries of shadows, of being Odin's "other son," of scheming in the margins while Thor basked in golden glory… Loki had proof now. Proof that he was worthy.

He could be King. Rightfully. Legally. Without trickery.

No longer the traitor or the monster. No longer the adopted son of Frost and Lies.

He could rule.

And that hesitation—that single heartbeat of disbelief—was what let the lightning strike him cleanly.

But Loki was still Loki.

He exhaled once, deeply.

Then straightened and smiled.

Below, chaos reigned.

Tony Stark was already in motion, his armor half-deployed. Without his helmet but still encased in high-grade plating, he didn't hesitate. His left gauntlet flared as a sleek, upgraded repulsor cannon pulsed to life.

"Target acquired," Jarvis confirmed.

Tony didn't wait.

He fired.

A beam of concentrated light screamed across the room—only to pass straight through Loki's body and slam into the back wall.

Phantom.

Tony's eyes narrowed. "Damn it."

He'd seen a dozen Loki tricks before. Hell, he'd read about more. Illusions. Clones. Ghosts.

But this was worse.

Because the moment he'd fired, Loki had tried again to lift the hammer—and found resistance.

It barely moved. A half-centimeter, at most. He could feel it fighting him now, anchoring back into the earth, as if realizing it had slipped for a moment.

The crack in the wall was closing.

And Loki knew—if he let go now, he might never lift it again.

Not tomorrow.

Not in another thousand years.

Now or never.

So he held tight.

Around him, the world exploded into motion.

An arrow whistled through the air—not just an arrow, but one of Barton's, the kind rigged to detonate. It passed through the illusion, then erupted in midair, a sunburst of shrapnel and flame that blew Loki's phantom wide open.

The trickster grunted as his real body was forced to reappear, smoke licking off his cloak.

"Eyes on target!" shouted one of the SHIELD agents over comms.

Automatic rifles swung around. A barrage of gunfire thundered out, bullets stitching the walls and floor where Loki stood.

But none struck true.

Phantom. Phantom. Phantom.

Each bullet passed through empty air.

Even Phil Coulson, seasoned as he was, couldn't land a shot. His gun hand trembled as five different Lokis shimmered before his eyes. Each identical. Each perfect. Which was real?

Coulson couldn't tell.

None of them could.

Then came the wave.

An invisible ripple pulsed out from Loki, centered on his chest—a psychic shockwave of terrifying precision.

The entire base stilled.

Then collapsed.

SHIELD agents crumpled to the floor one by one, eyes rolling back, rifles clattering to the ground.

Jane Foster, Daisy Lewis, and even Dr. Selvig… all fell without a sound.

Only Coulson remained conscious, one trembling arm braced on the table, eyes wide with strain. But even he couldn't track the illusions. Loki's form splintered and shifted, dancing through his vision.

And Tony?

His armor screeched warnings in his ear.

"Neural attack detected. Defensive protocol activating."

"Thank god for Version 4.8."

Weeks earlier, when Magneto broke out of containment, Stark had begun studying ways to block mental tampering—Charles Xavier had been on his radar since day one. Now, an electromagnetic lattice shield lined the inside of his helmet.

The only reason he was still standing and thinking.

Even Loki raised a brow. "Interesting."

In that moment, Daniel—watching from the shadows—recognized something else:

Loki wasn't just playing anymore. He was calculating. Testing. And enjoying himself.

Stark's defenses had bought him a few seconds. But not much.

Because Loki wasn't done.

He turned toward Stark, eyes glowing faintly green, and raised a hand. Magic flared.

Stark pivoted—too late.

From the far end of the camp, a new arrow screamed through the sky—another explosive. Hawkeye again.

Loki's eyes flicked up.

With a flick of his fingers, the arrow reversed mid-air. A moment later, something heavy crashed to the ground outside—its fate sealed by forces unseen.

But the distraction worked.

Stark dove sideways and unleashed a series of crisscrossing repulsor blasts, the lasers tearing across the compound. Each beam struck a different Loki illusion—none of them real.

Tony gritted his teeth.

He couldn't land a hit. Couldn't even see the real target.

And then—Loki smiled.

A cruel, amused smirk.

He wasn't worried. Not even slightly.

But before he could deliver a finishing blow, Stark suddenly turned and shouted into the night:

"What are you still doing hiding? TAKE THE DAMN SHOT!"

Daniel froze.

Loki turned and narrowed his eyes.

Someone else was here.

Someone neither of them had accounted for.

Daniel went still atop the prefab roof. How did Stark know?

How did he even detect him?

Daniel's mind raced.

Was it just a bluff?

A guess?

Or had Stark spotted him the moment Loki did?

No time to answer.

Loki's head snapped toward Daniel's position.

And then—boom.

The roof where Daniel had been crouching detonated in a blast of force, tearing through the structure like paper.

Daniel had already moved, rolling down the slope of the adjacent unit, barely dodging the invisible strike.

But now, it was clear:

Stark had outed him—on purpose. A tactical gambit. Loki's attention had shifted, buying Stark the second he needed.

And Tony didn't waste it.

From the side, the Iron Man suit flared to life once more—twin repulsor beams blazing, he took aim and fired a high-density cross-laser that carved through the air like molten light.

The beam screamed toward the trickster god…

And this time… it might actually land.

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