Rogue Replacement: A Marvel Story

Chapter 63

Arc 5 - Ch 16: The Rainbow Bridge

Date: Friday, June 3, 2011.

Location: Asgard

The brothers crashed through the Observatory dome, landing on the Rainbow Bridge. Thor regained his footing first. But as he rose, he saw Loki, hanging precariously from the edge of the bridge. Loki's fingers desperately held to the smooth, glassy surface.

"Thor! Help me!" Loki's voice was tinged with a note of desperation.

Thor's face held a resigned concern as he approached the edge of the bridge. He knelt to grasp his brother's wrist. But as his fingers closed around Loki's arm, his hand passed through the trickster's image.

At that moment, Thor realized the truth. The Loki hanging from the bridge was nothing more than an illusion, a cruel trick designed to catch him off guard. And even as the realization dawned, he heard the telltale shimmer of magic behind him, the sound of his true adversary materializing out of thin air.

Thor whirled around, his instincts screaming at him to defend himself, but he was a heartbeat too slow. Loki, the real Loki, lunged forward with Gungnir clutched in his hands. The blade sank deep into Thor's chest, piercing through armor and flesh with sickening ease.

Thor let out a roar of pain and rage as Loki lifted him into the air, his body impaled on the spear like a grotesque trophy. With a cruel, almost casual flick of his wrist, Loki sent Thor flying across the bridge, his wounded form crashing to the iridescent surface.

Thor, his chest heaving with the effort of drawing breath, struggled to rise to his knees. The wound in his chest was deep, a gaping hole that pulsed with each labored beat of his heart, but still he refused to yield, his eyes blazing with the unquenchable fire of a true warrior.

To Thor's dismay more Lokis began to appear, each one an exact duplicate of the last, their faces twisted into identical sneers of cruel amusement.

Thor, his strength failing, his vision blurring with pain and exhaustion, swung his hammer again and again, each blow passing harmlessly through the illusions that surrounded him. It was a futile effort, a desperate stand against an enemy that seemed to be everywhere and nowhere at once.

The illusions of Loki closed in around him, each one brandishing Gungnir with a look of vicious triumph, their laughter ringing in his ears like the tolling of a funeral bell.

"I was always more clever than you," the Lokis taunted in unison, their voices blending into a discordant chorus of mockery and scorn. They circled Thor like a pack of wolves.

But Thor refused to be cowed. He raised his head to meet his brother's gaze, his voice ringing out with unshakable conviction. "Yet still not clever enough," he declared, his words carrying a promise of retribution yet to come.

And with that, Thor raised Mjolnir high into the air. The sky above the bridge began to churn, the clouds parting to reveal a maelstrom of lightning and thunder. With a roar, Thor summoned the full might of the tempest. Mjolnir acted as a conduit for the raw, primal energy of the heavens. A massive bolt of lightning struck from the sky, then erupted from the hammer's head, branching out into a dazzling web of electricity that arced and crackled through the air around the god of thunder.

Strands of lightning found their mark, striking the illusions of Loki that surrounded Thor and shattering them into nothingness. The duplicates vanished in a blaze of blinding light, their forms dissolving until only one figure remained.

The force of the lightning sent Loki flying backward, his body crashing to the surface of the bridge. Gungnir, the mighty spear of Odin, was knocked from his grasp, skittering away across the iridescent surface like a discarded toy.

Thor, his chest heaving with the effort of his exertion, staggered to his feet and approached his fallen brother, his eyes blazing with a mixture of anger and pity.

Loki flinched away from Thor expecting the worst.

But to Loki's surprise, Thor simply placed Mjolnir on his chest and stepped away. He had no desire to inflict further harm upon his brother, no matter how deep the betrayal had cut.

Loki attempted to rise, his limbs shaking with the effort. But he found himself pinned in place, his body held fast by an immovable weight upon his chest. Mjolnir's enchantment rendered it impossible for any but the worthy to lift. Loki could only lie there, trapped and helpless, as Thor turned away.

As Loki struggled futilely against the immovable weight of Mjolnir, Thor turned his attention toward the dire situation unfolding around them. The Bifrost, now fully activated, was firing a powerful beam of energy directly into Jotunheim, the icy realm of the Frost Giants. The bridge beneath their feet vibrated with the force of the energy surge, the colors of the rainbow pulsing and shifting in a dizzying kaleidoscope of light.

Thor's eyes widened with growing alarm as he watched the beam intensify. He knew the catastrophic consequences that would follow if he failed to act, the destruction that would be unleashed upon Jotunheim if the Bifrost was allowed to run unchecked.

In stark contrast to Thor's mounting concern, Loki watched the unfolding scene with a smug, almost satisfied expression. Pinned to the ground by the enchanted hammer, unable to move or intervene, he seemed content to observe the fruits of his labors, the culmination of his schemes and machinations. His green eyes followed Thor's every move, a glint of malicious amusement dancing in their depths as he watched his brother grapple with the impossible dilemma before him.

"Look at you, the Mighty Thor," Loki taunted, his voice dripping with mockery and disdain. "With all your strength, what good does it do you now, huh?"

The words struck at the heart of Thor's predicament, a bitter reminder of his helplessness in the face of the impending catastrophe. Despite his immense power, and his unrivaled prowess in battle, he felt utterly powerless to halt the chain of events that Loki had set in motion. The Bifrost continued to channel its destructive energy into the Observatory.

"Do you hear me, Brother? There's nothing you can do!" Loki declared, ceasing his struggles entirely.

But as Thor looked down at the Rainbow Bridge beneath his feet, its surface shimmering and undulating with the force of the Bifrost's power, a sudden realization dawned upon him. His eyes widened with a mixture of understanding and grim determination as he grasped the only course of action left to him. A sacrifice that would change the fate of worlds, but at a cost almost too great to bear.

With a heavy heart, Thor extended his hand towards Loki, summoning Mjolnir back to his grasp. The enchanted hammer flew obediently to his outstretched palm.

Loki sat up, staring at his brother in confusion, unable to comprehend why he'd been released.

Thor raised Mjolnir high above his head, his eyes fixed upon the tumultuous sky above. Lightning danced and arced around the hammer's head. And then, with a decisive motion that seemed to split the very heavens themselves, Thor brought Mjolnir down upon the Rainbow Bridge with all the strength he could muster.

Hairline fractures spread out from the epicenter like a spider's web of gleaming, iridescent cracks.

Loki's eyes widened with sudden understanding. He managed to stagger to his feet, his expression a mask of disbelief and growing horror. "Stop!" he cried, his voice raw with desperate urgency. "What are you doing?!"

But Thor paid no heed to his brother's pleas. He raised Mjolnir again and again, the hammer seeming to grow heavier with each passing moment as if the weight of his decision was bearing down upon him like a physical burden.

Each blow was more devastating than the previous, creating a resounding boom that echoed across Asgard like the tolling of some great, cosmic bell. The cracks in the Rainbow Bridge widened and deepened, the structure groaning and shuddering under Thor's strikes. The Bifrost's energy, once focused and controlled, now spilled out from the fissures in chaotic, uncontrolled bursts, the very air shimmering with the force of its release.

Loki tried to pierce through Thor's resolve, to stay his hand before it was too late. "If you destroy the Bridge," Loki warned, "you'll never see her again."

The implication was a clear reminder that if the Bifrost was lost, Thor stood to lose his pathway back to Earth. To Jane.

For a moment, Thor hesitated, his grip on Mjolnir faltering ever so slightly. The weight of Loki's words settled upon his shoulders like a mantle of lead, the realization of the sacrifice he was about to make threatening to overwhelm him.

But then, he whispered a plea, "Forgive me, Jane." in a quiet acknowledgment of the price he was about to pay.

Thor steeled himself once more. He knew, with a certainty that there was no other way, no other path that would not lead to even greater tragedy and loss.

Loki leaped forward, Gungnir clutched in his hands like a spear of vengeance. His eyes blazed with a feral, desperate light as he intended on running his brother through from behind, putting an end to this madness once and for all.

With a final, mighty heave, Thor brought Mjolnir down upon the Rainbow Bridge for the tenth and final time. And with that devastating stroke, the fate of the Bifrost, and of the realms it connected, was sealed.

The destruction of the Bifrost was a moment of unparalleled chaos and devastation that would forever be etched into the annals of Asgardian history. As Thor struck the decisive blow, the very foundations of the bridge shattered, unleashing a torrent of rainbow energy that exploded outwards with unfathomable force. The shards and fragments of its once-pristine surface scattered like stardust across the churning waters below.

The blast was a maelstrom of light and sound, a cacophony of raw, primal power that seemed to rend the very fabric of reality itself. Loki and Thor, caught at the epicenter of the explosion, were violently hurled into the air like rag dolls, their bodies tossed and buffeted by the sheer magnitude of the energy that surged around them.

A wave of destruction raced along the length of the Rainbow Bridge, a relentless tide of shimmering, iridescent energy that tore through everything in its path. The once-pristine surface of the bridge cracked and splintered, great chunks of crystalline material breaking away and tumbling into the void below. It was as if the very bones of Asgard were being ripped asunder, the lifeblood of the realm spilling out in a dazzling, terrifying display of cosmic fury.

The Observatory, the crowning jewel of the Bifrost, was consumed by the unleashed forces. The intricate mechanisms and delicate instruments that had charted the stars and guided the passage between worlds were ripped apart, their components scattered like leaves in a hurricane. The building itself crumbled and fell into the void as the wave of energy tore through its very foundations.

Amidst the chaos and the destruction, Loki and Thor were launched high. The massive wave of Bifrost energy engulfed them and pulverized their bodies amidst the debris. Once gravity reasserted its hold, they plummeted through the air, and their bodies hurtled toward the emptiness below.

In a last, desperate gambit, Thor managed to grab hold of one end of Gungnir. Loki, his eyes wide with fear and desperation, clung to the other end, his knuckles white with the strain of holding on for dear life.

Their fates were seemingly sealed by the unstoppable force of the Bifrost's destruction. But just as they braced for the inevitable, a powerful presence suddenly intervened.

A strong, unyielding hand closed around Thor's ankle, halting his descent. Thor dangled there, suspended over the abyss, Gungnir clutched in one hand and Loki hanging on for dear life at the other end.

Loki craned his neck to look up at their savior, his eyes widening with shock as he beheld the source of their salvation.

Standing at the edge of the shattered Rainbow Bridge, was Odin Allfather, the king of Asgard and the mightiest of all the gods. He had seemingly awakened from his Odinsleep at the critical moment and had arrived just in time to intervene in the fate of his sons. His weathered face was etched with lines of wisdom and grief. Loki searched his father's face for some sign of approval, some glimmer of redemption or acceptance. But what he found instead was a look of profound disappointment, a sadness that seemed to reach into the very depths of his soul.

"I could have done it, Father!" Loki cried out, his voice raw with desperation and longing. "For you! For all of us!"

But Odin merely shook his head, his eye filled with a sorrow that no words could adequately express. "No, Loki," he said, his voice heavy. "I only ever wanted you to be my son."

At that moment, something seemed to break within Loki, a final, fragile thread of hope and belonging that had been stretched to its limit. With a look of utter devastation, he released his grip on Gungnir, his fingers slipping away from the spear's haft as he let himself fall into the maelstrom below.

"No!" Thor cried out, his voice cracking with anguish and despair as he watched his brother disappear into the swirling vortex of energy. But it was too late. Loki was gone, swept away by the tide of destruction along with the shattered remnants of the Bifrost and the Observatory.

Odin hauled Thor up onto the broken edge of the bridge. "I'm sorry I couldn't save your brother," Odin murmured, "I tried, Thor. I tried."

Thor looked up at his father, his eyes red-rimmed and haunted by the memory of Loki's final, terrible choice. "I know, Father," he said softly, his words barely audible over the roar of the Bifrost's destruction. "I know."

"I'm not your father," the figure before him said.

Thor's body went rigid with shock as Odin shifted and changed before his eyes. He watched in stunned disbelief as the Allfather's visage melted away, revealing not the king of Asgard, but the Midgardian man, Tyson.

Thor's eyes widened as recognition dawned. Tyson, the mortal he had met on Midgard, now stood on the shattered edge of the Bifrost in his father's place. Thor's mind reeled, struggling to make sense of this revelation.

"Loki bested me in combat," Tyson explained, his voice low and solemn. "Your father remains in the Odinsleep. I returned just in time to stop you from falling into the void." He paused, regret flickering across his face. "I hoped that taking Odin's form would encourage Loki to turn from his destructive path, but I was wrong."

Thor stared, dumbfounded by Tyson's admission. This unassuming mortal had not only intervened in Asgard's affairs but had gone so far as to impersonate the Allfather himself in a desperate bid to sway Loki. Thor's shock slowly gave way to a swell of gratitude.

"I appreciate what you tried to do for my brother, Tyson," Thor said finally, meeting the mortal's eyes with sincerity. "Loki made his choice. You bear no blame for that."

Tyson had fought for Asgard, Thor realized, and though his efforts had failed to alter Loki's fate, the attempt spoke of courage and compassion. Loki's actions were his own; Tyson had tried to steer the embittered god from his course.

Thor placed a hand firmly on the mortal's shoulder, hoping to convey the depth of his thanks. Tyson had proven himself a true friend to the realm on this day.

— Rogue Replacement —

Tyson stood in the corridor deep within his mind. The doors lining the hallway were a gateway to a unique set of abilities, a remnant of someone whose life he had touched. As he retraced his steps towards the beginning of the hall, his mind was drawn to two individuals in particular.

Illyana Rasputin with her burgeoning mastery over the arcane arts and her mutant ability of teleportation. Her power could grant him the ability to appear and disappear at will on the battlefield. The idea of outmaneuvering Loki was a tempting prospect. And then there was Jean Grey, the formidable telepath and telekinetic. With her power, Tyson had defeated an army, had stalemated Magneto. He could engage Loki from the skies, unbound by the constraints of gravity, and rain down destruction upon his foe from above.

But as Tyson drew closer to their doors, his pace slowed, a flicker of hesitation staying his hand. The prospect of wielding such immense power was undeniably alluring. Yet, he found himself grappling with the potential consequences of using those powers to stop Loki and alter the course of events that had been set in motion.

This moment of indecision was not born of fear or doubt in his abilities but rather stemmed from an understanding of the delicate balance involved in changing the future.

Tyson realized that the actions he took could have far-reaching effects.

He understood the chain of events that would unfold if Loki's path continued unaltered. Loki's fall from the Rainbow Bridge would inadvertently lead him to Thanos, the Mad Titan. It was a path that would see Loki armed with the scepter containing the Mind Stone, an Infinity Stone. And would ultimately lead to the formation of the Avengers and the invasion of New York.

Tyson knew that with either woman's abilities at his command, he had the power to alter this course, to stop Loki here and now, and potentially save the Rainbow Bridge from destruction. The temptation to intervene, to prevent the imminent catastrophe, tugged at his very soul.

But even as he contemplated the possibility, Tyson's mind turned to the broader implications of such an intervention. The Battle of New York, while devastating in its scope and impact, had a pivotal outcome that could not be ignored. It had resulted in the Mind Stone being removed from Thanos's possession, a crucial step in the larger war against the Mad Titan that would span years and affect countless lives across the universe. A war that Earth had no idea was coming. Infinity War didn't start when Asgard was destroyed, or when Thanos retrieved the Power Stone from Xandar. The opening move was when Thanos sent Loki to retrieve the Space Stone from Earth.

Tyson grappled with the ethical dilemma that lay before him, the question of whether it was justifiable to allow the Battle of New York to unfold, to accept the destruction and loss of life that would follow if it meant keeping one of the Infinity Stones out of Thanos's hands. Was preventing that one battle worth the risk of the Mind Stone remaining under the control of one of the most dangerous beings in the cosmos?

Deep in his heart, Tyson knew that the stakes were higher than just one city, one battle. The fate of half the universe hinged on controlling the Infinity Stones, and his decision now could have profound consequences for the outcome of that larger conflict.

Choosing a door wasn't just a choice about which power could be used to defeat Loki; it was a moment where his actions could fundamentally reshape the flow of events to come.

As he stood there, lost in thought, Tyson's mind drifted back to the words of the Ancient One, spoken to him months earlier. She had told him that she could foresee no outcome in which he prevented the destruction of the Rainbow Bridge. Her statement had rankled him deeply at the time.

But now, as he reflected on her words with the benefit of hindsight, a new understanding began to dawn within his mind. It wasn't a question of capability, of whether he possessed the power or ability to alter the course of events. Rather, Tyson recognized, it was a matter of choice.

In every future the Ancient One had glimpsed, he had made the conscious decision not to interfere… Unless she'd just been manipulating him the whole time. Telling him what she needed to, to encourage the sequence of events she desired.

This realization was a revelation, a moment of clarity that cut through the fog of doubt and indecision that had clouded his thoughts. Tyson couldn't know the Ancient One's goals, but he could grasp the bigger picture, the larger tapestry of cause and effect.

He knew, deep down, that the greater good sometimes required sacrifice, that the fate of billions could hinge on the outcome of a single battle. And he understood, with a heavy heart, that allowing the Mind Stone to fall out of Thanos's grasp, even at the cost of the Rainbow Bridge and the lives that would be lost in New York, was a price that had to be paid.

The destruction of the Rainbow Bridge was a pivotal moment in the grand scheme of things. It was a necessary step on the path that would lead to the eventual defeat of Thanos.

If the Ancient One was telling the truth if there was no future where he stopped the destruction of the Rainbow Bridge…

It was because he chose not to stop it.

In every future, he must have chosen the Infinity Stone over the Rainbow Bridge.

But with that realization came a new problem that Tyson had to confront.

The destruction of the Rainbow Bridge would leave him stranded in Asgard.

His thoughts turned to Illyana's power. Her mutant ability allowed her to teleport across dimensions to Limbo and could theoretically cover vast distances. But even as he considered it, Tyson remembered the unpredictable nature of Illyana's power. She could cover any distance, but the further it went, the more unpredictable the results became. Not spatially, he'd end up where he wanted, but it could send him hurtling through time. After the battle with Azazel, Illyana used her power to send Omega Red back to Russia; Tyson never determined the mutant's fate.

The risk was too great, and the possibility of ending up in a distant past or a far-flung future was too high.

But then, a sudden realization dawned on Tyson. His gaze fell upon another door, one he hadn't initially considered a viable option, and a flicker of excitement stirred within his chest. He peered through the small window set into its surface.

The red-skinned, demonic mutant, Azazel.

Azazel's power was his best chance to return to Earth safely and accurately. It was an ability that could bridge the gap between worlds and dimensions, and unlike Illyana's power, he needn't worry about temporal displacement. It was the best solution to his predicament.

But even as he reached for the door handle, Tyson hesitated, a flicker of doubt passing over his features. Amora had assured that the psyche he chose wouldn't overwhelm his own, that he would retain control.

And yet, the memories of his previous encounters with Azazel lingered in his mind, a reminder of the forceful presence that had once threatened to consume him entirely. The ancient mutant had been a formidable adversary, his will and ambition overwhelmed Tyson's own. With Azazel's demise at the hands of Illyana, Tyson had thought the danger he posed had passed, but now, faced with the prospect of taking on Azazel's power once more, he found himself grappling with a new wave of uncertainty.

But he had to ask himself. Was it possible that if Azazel's personality were to become dominant, would he still hold to Tyson's current objective? Azazel had been a being driven by conquest and sought to rule over the demonic realm of Limbo. As he considered the nature of his plan, the full scope of what he hoped to achieve, a flicker of understanding passed through his mind. The goal of securing an Infinity Stone, of harnessing such immense power was a plan that should appeal to Azazel.

This realization solidified Tyson's resolve, easing the apprehensions that had clouded his thoughts. He recognized a parallel between his own goals and the ambitions that had driven Azazel.

And so, with a newfound clarity and a nod of self-affirmation, Tyson reached out and grasped the handle of the door. He took a deep breath, steeling himself for the rush of power and knowledge that he knew would follow, and then, with a final, decisive twist of his wrist, he opened the door to Azazel's room and stepped inside.

Tyson's eyes snapped open, his consciousness surging back to the forefront of his mind. The weight of Azazel's psyche pressed against his own. It was there, undeniably potent, but as Amora promised, it was not overwhelming. He could feel the demon's power, experience, and knowledge coursing through him.

Taking a deep breath, Tyson centered himself. He hadn't considered Azazel's magic when selecting his door, but it was a welcome bonus. Tyson focused on it, understanding its intricacies as if he'd spent years studying the arcane arts. With a gesture and a muttered incantation, he cast an invisibility spell. The air around him shimmered briefly before he vanished from sight.

Tyson focused on his destination, picturing the Rainbow Bridge where he knew Thor and Loki were locked in battle. In an instant, the world around him blurred and shifted. A cloud of sulfurous smoke engulfed him, and when it dissipated, he found himself standing inside the Bifrost Observatory, peering through the hole they made in its wall as they battled. Even invisible he remained cautious to avoid detection. He watched surreptitiously as Thor and Loki clashed in a furious duel. The bridge beneath their feet pulsed with energy.

Inside the observatory, Tyson could feel the raw power emanating from the structure. Monitoring the battle between Loki and Thor made him not feel so bad about his own loss to the trickster as he saw Loki holding his own against the god of thunder.

Ultimately, Thor won the battle, but then came the realization that he couldn't stop the Bifrost.

He raised Mjolnir high. Tyson realized what was about to happen. This was the moment. Thor was going to destroy the Rainbow Bridge.

As Thor brought Mjolnir down with earth-shattering force, Tyson braced himself. The impact sent shockwaves through the bridge, fractures spreading like spider webs across its surface. The air itself seemed to scream as the ancient structure began to tear itself apart.

Tyson watched, invisible and silent, as Thor continued to rain down strikes on the bridge.

The Bifrost shattered beneath Thor's final blow. He saw Loki's form blasted away by the force of the explosion, tumbling through the air.

Tyson felt the pull of opportunity; Loki was vulnerable, overwhelmed. Drawing on Azazel's power, he teleported, reappearing in mid-air next to Loki's flying form. Time seemed to slow as Tyson reached out, his fingertips barely grazing Loki's hand. The contact lasted only a fraction of a second, but it was enough. Tyson felt the familiar rush of energy as his life-draining touch activated, pulling a portion of Loki's essence into himself.

His earliest memories were of trying to keep up with his brother Thor. Always smaller, always slower, he learned early on that his strength lay in his mind. While he joined Thor training with weapons, he also devoured books of history and magic, finding solace in knowledge and illusions. His first successful shapeshifting was a moment of triumph. Changing into a snake to trick Thor, he reveled in the power of deception. It was a small victory, but one that set the course for his future. As they grew, the differences between the brothers became more pronounced. At feasts and gatherings, he watched as Thor basked in adoration while he lingered in the shadows. Envy took root, along with a desperate desire to prove himself worthy. His skill in magic flourished under Frigga's tutelage. Illusions, telekinesis, and energy manipulation became his tools. He learned to use cunning where he lacked brute strength, often outsmarting his opponents. His pranks grew more elaborate and sometimes cruel. He turned Sif's golden hair jet black to match his own. As Thor's coronation approached, fear and resentment reached a boiling point. He couldn't bear the thought of kneeling to his brother for eternity. His scheme to disrupt the ceremony by letting Frost Giants into Asgard was a desperate gambit. The truth of his heritage hit him like a physical blow. He was the monster parents tell their children about at night. Confusion turned to anger, then to a terrible purpose. If he couldn't be the golden son, he would prove himself the better king by any means necessary. With Odin in the Odinsleep and Thor banished, he finally sat upon the throne of Asgard. But the power he'd craved for so long felt hollow. Sending the Destroyer to Earth was an act of fear as much as malice, a frantic attempt to prevent Thor's return.

Caught in the explosion, Loki didn't even register what had happened.

Tyson vanished from the turbulent sky in a puff of sulfurous smoke. He reappeared at the edge of the destroyed bridge, avoiding the wake of the explosion.

Without hesitation, Tyson called upon Azazel's shapeshifting powers, transforming his appearance into that of Odin Allfather.

As Thor fell past him, Tyson-as-Odin lunged forward, his hand shooting out to grasp Thor's ankle. He felt the weight of the thunder god, but his own strength combined with what he absorbed from Loki's, it was like holding a baby, hardly straining his muscles.

Thor looked up in surprise, his blue eyes wide with a mix of relief and confusion.

— Rogue Replacement —

At the precipice of Asgard, Thor and Tyson stood together, their forms silhouetted against the shimmering expanse of the cosmos. The shattered remnants of the Rainbow Bridge stretched out before them, a once-magnificent structure now reduced to jagged fragments that glittered like broken glass in the ethereal light of the realm eternal.

The bridge's vibrant colors, once a dazzling spectrum of hues that pulsed with the heartbeat of Asgard itself, were now muted and fractured, a pale echo of their former glory. Beyond the ruined bridge, the vastness of the universe unfolded before them, a tapestry of distant stars and swirling nebulae that painted the heavens in shades of purple and gold. It was a sight that simultaneously inspired awe and underscored the profound isolation of their position, a reminder of the immense distances that separated Asgard from the other realms.

Thor, his hand wrapped around the haft of Gungnir, the spear of the king, bore a solemn expression as he turned to face Tyson. His blue eyes, usually alight with the fire of battle and the joy of camaraderie, were clouded with regret and a deep, abiding sadness. Mjolnir lay a few feet away on the remaining, intact portion of the Bifrost bridge.

"I'm sorry, my new friend," he said, "But without the Bifrost, there's no way to get you home."

Tyson, his gaze fixed on the starry expanse before them, replied with a quiet assurance. "I think I have a way home," he said.

But before he could elaborate, the sound of footsteps clicking against the fractured surface of the Rainbow Bridge drew their attention. They turned as one to see Amora approaching, her lithe form moving with a grace and poise that seemed at odds with the chaos and destruction that surrounded them.

She came to a halt before Thor, her emerald eyes lowered in a gesture of respect and contrition as she sank to one knee. The golden tresses of her hair spilled over her shoulders like a waterfall of spun sunlight, framing a downcast face that was at once beautiful and regretful.

"My Prince," she began, her voice carrying a note of genuine remorse. "I'm sorry for my part in this. I could not go against Loki while he wielded Gungnir. I was ordered away, and despite my preferences, I couldn't bring myself to commit treason."

Her confession carried the weight of the duty that bound her to Loki's command. Thor regarded her with a mix of understanding and sorrow. Tyson sensed the tension that threaded through the moment and spoke up in Amora's defense.

"Amora came to me when I was weak and defeated," he said, "While she followed the orders she was given, she undoubtedly helped me by boosting my power and allowing me to assist you. Indirectly, she was the one that saved you."

Thor considered the complexities of loyalty and duty. But Tyson was acutely aware of the fleeting nature of the abilities he'd gained from Amora's boost and knew he couldn't delay his departure for much longer.

"I'm unsure how long I'll be able to maintain this power," he said, his tone tinged with a note of urgency. "I should go."

At his announcement, Amora looked up from her kneeling position, her eyes wide and pleading. "Wait, please," she implored, her gaze darting between Tyson and Thor. "I have shamed myself with my part in this mutiny perpetrated by Loki. I must atone for the mistakes I've made." She turned to Thor, her voice low and earnest. "As you underwent a trial on Midgard, I must do the same." Then, shifting her focus to Tyson, she spoke with a quiet intensity that bordered on desperation. "Permit me to join you in your return to Earth. Please."

After a moment of contemplative silence, Thor spoke with a soft yet firm authority. "Rise, Amora," he commanded, his hand extending in a gesture of acknowledgment. "You were deceived, as all of us were, by Loki's tricks."

He paused, his eyes searching her face as he weighed the gravity of her request. "But if you feel this is needed, you have my approval." Then, turning to Tyson, he added, "But ultimately, he is the one making the journey to Midgard, and he is of Midgard. I leave the decision to him."

Tyson studied Amora with a keen, appraising gaze. He knew her well enough to recognize the ambition that burned within her, the thirst for power and influence that drove her every action. Yet, her sudden desire to leave Asgard and accompany him to Earth puzzled him. She was poised to gain favor and standing in the aftermath of her indirect aid to Thor.

She'd positioned herself to benefit regardless of who was victorious, and from Tyson's perspective, she'd succeeded. So, what did she stand to gain from this unexpected decision? What hidden motives lurked beneath the surface of her contrition and her plea for redemption?

And yet, even as these doubts and questions swirled through his mind, Tyson couldn't deny the strategic advantage that Amora's presence on Earth could offer. Her ability to amplify his powers, to boost his abilities to heights he had never before achieved, was a boon that could not be ignored.

With the looming specter of the Battle of New York on the horizon, Tyson realized that Amora could be a deciding factor. Her magic, combined with his formidable gifts, could turn the tide of the conflict in ways that he couldn't achieve alone. Especially if a new event or unexpected adversary intervened.

And so, despite the lingering uncertainty that gnawed at the edges of his thoughts, Tyson made his decision. He would accept Amora's offer, would allow her to accompany him back to Earth and face whatever trials and challenges lay ahead.

It was the pragmatic choice.

Whatever her true motives, whatever hidden agendas she harbored, Tyson knew that he could use her power, her knowledge, and her cunning.

Tyson agreed with a simple nod, "Yes, you may join me," he stated plainly to Amora. Though he did not fully trust the enchantress, he would accept her aid for now.

"Tell Jane Foster I am sorry," Thor began, his voice heavy with regret. "I promised a swift return to her, but without the Bifrost, it may be some time before I can find my way back to Earth."

Tyson nodded solemnly, sympathizing with the god's plight. "I will. Send my regards to the Warriors Three, and Lady Sif in particular… You have my condolences for Loki," he replied, carefully.

Thor nodded, his eyes clouded by a mix of sadness and resolve. "Thank you, Tyson. Though his methods were misguided, Loki was still my brother."

Tyson held his tongue, aware that Loki yet lived, choosing not to reveal this knowledge. Instead, he sought to redirect the conversation to more positive matters.

"You will make a fine king, Thor," he continued. "Asgard could ask for no more capable a leader in these trying times."

Thor gazed towards his kingdom in the distance with Gungnir in his hands, his expression growing determined as the weight of kingship settled upon his shoulders. "I will do my best for Asgard and its people," he vowed.

"On that, I have no doubts," Tyson affirmed, "Good fortune to you, Thor. Asgard's future shines bright under your guidance."

Tyson paused, a sudden thought crossing his mind. "Actually, one moment. Before I go…" he said, his voice trailing off with curiosity and a hint of determination.

He turned and walked towards where Mjolnir lay on the ground. Thor watched with a confident smile, while Amora's expression grew confused as Tyson approached the legendary weapon.

Tyson bent down, his eyes fixed on the hammer's intricate engravings and its worn leather handle. He reached out, his fingers wrapping around the grip. For a moment, he hesitated.

Then, with a deep breath, he lifted.

To his surprise, and the utter astonishment of Thor and Amora, Mjolnir rose from the ground as easily as if it were a common tool. Tyson felt its power thrumming through his arm, a sensation both exhilarating and terrifying.

He turned to face Thor, the hammer held firmly in his hand. The god of thunder's eyes were wide with shock, his mouth slightly agape as he struggled to comprehend what he was seeing. Amora, too, seemed frozen in disbelief, her emerald eyes darting between Tyson and the hammer he so effortlessly wielded.

Tyson walked towards Thor. The weight of Mjolnir in his hand felt right as if it had been crafted for his grip.

He stopped before Thor, holding out the hammer. "I believe this belongs to you," Tyson said, his voice steady despite the magnitude of the moment.

Thor stared at Mjolnir, then at Tyson, his expression a storm of emotions; disbelief, awe, and a glimmer of pride. He seemed rooted to the spot, unable to move or speak.

Amora failed to process what she was witnessing. Her lips parted as if to speak, but no words came out.

The moment stretched, filled with the weight of unspoken questions and implications. Tyson stood firm, arm extended, offering the hammer to its rightful wielder.

Finally, Thor stirred. He reached out slowly. Tyson looked into Thor's eyes as the god of thunder's fingers brushed against Tyson's as he grasped the hammer, and for a heartbeat, both men held the weapon of legend. The Asgardian didn't feel the pain or pull of Tyson's life drain as he absorbed the god's power through their contact.

He was born in the golden realm of Asgard, a prince destined for greatness. His earliest memories were of his father's grand halls, his mother's gentle wisdom, and the mischievous grin of his brother Loki. As a child, he dreamed of battles and glory, play-fighting with wooden swords in the palace gardens. As he grew, so did his strength and skill. He trained relentlessly, mastering the art of combat under Asgard's greatest warriors. His prowess with axe and sword became legendary, but it was the hammer Mjolnir that called to him. Lightning crackled through the sky as he raised it high, accepting the weapon. He swore to use it to protect the Nine Realms, a vow he would strive to uphold throughout his life. Alongside the Warriors Three, Lady Sif, and his brother Loki, he adventured. Each victory added to his legend, but also to his pride. As his coronation day approached, he felt invincible. The crown of Asgard was within his grasp. But fate, and Frost Giant intruders, intervened. His rash decision to attack Jotunheim revealed the depth of his arrogance. Banishment to Midgard came as a shock. Stripped of his power, he found himself alone in a strange world. It was there, among mortals, that he began to learn true humility. When the Destroyer arrived, threatening the innocent people of that town, he made the ultimate sacrifice. In that moment of selflessness, he proved himself truly worthy of Mjolnir once more. Returning to Asgard, he faced his greatest challenge yet, confronting his brother Loki, now twisted by jealousy and rage.

Then Tyson released his grip, and Thor accepted Mjolnir back into his possession.

Thor hefted Mjolnir, testing its familiar weight. He regarded Tyson with newfound respect and wonder, clearly seeing the mortal in a different light after witnessing his worthiness in wielding Mjolnir.

Amora studied Tyson with keen interest. His brief contact with the Asgardian prince hadn't gone unnoticed.

"If you ever get comfortable with that spear, feel free to toss Mjolnir back to Earth. I'll take good care of it," Tyson said, chuckling lightly.

"I'm sure you would, my friend," Thor responded, matching his mirth.

Tyson turned to face Amora, his expression hopeful. Their final words and well-wishes had been exchanged with Thor, and now the time had come. He extended his hand in offering, palm open, inviting the enchantress to take the next step with him.

Amora accepted his grasp. Her delicate fingers curled around his.

Closing his eyes, Tyson summoned the mutant ability granted to him by Azazel. He focused his mind, visualizing his suite before calling on the infernal powers that lurked within. A whirling vortex of smoke and fire began to swell around the entwined figures, growing in size and intensity. The unnatural flames licked harmlessly at their bodies as the vortex enveloped them completely.

In but a blink, Tyson and Amora vanished from sight, transported away.

— Rogue Replacement —

Tyson and Amora materialized in his suite at the Four Seasons Downtown, the sudden shift from the ethereal realm of Asgard to the stark modernity of the hotel was jarring in its abruptness. Though the room spoke of wealth and refinement, it couldn't match Asgard's majesty.

But Tyson had little time to appreciate the surroundings, for the moment his feet touched the plush carpeting, a wave of weakness crashed over him like a tidal surge. His legs trembled beneath him, his muscles turning to water as the last vestiges of Amora's power boost drained away, leaving him hollowed out and fragile.

Staggering towards the bathroom, his senses reeled and his vision blurred at the edges. Tyson barely made it to the toilet before his stomach heaved and convulsed, emptying its contents in a series of violent spasms. The room spun around him like a dizzying carousel, the walls and floor blended in a sickening whirl.

But in his misery, Tyson was dimly aware of Amora's presence at his side. With a gentleness that belied her usual air of haughty detachment, she gathered his hair in her fingers, holding it back from his sweat-dampened face as he retched and heaved.

Her touch was feather-light, almost tender as she stroked his hair and scalp, her fingers tracing soothing patterns against his skin. "I neglected to warn you," she murmured, her voice a soft caress in the stillness of the bathroom. "The aftermath of a boost can be rough. But was it not worth the power it granted?"

Tyson, lost in the throes of his wretchedness, could barely process her words, let alone muster the strength to respond. Just as he thought the worst had passed, another wave of nausea slammed into him like a physical blow, doubling him over the toilet once more as his stomach clenched and heaved.

He hadn't even eaten since vomiting earlier on the Rainbow Bridge. How did he still have so much to throw up?

It seemed to go on forever, an eternity of misery and weakness that left him shaking and spent, his forehead pressed against the cool porcelain in a vain attempt to ground himself. But finally, mercifully, the spasms subsided, leaving him hollow and aching in their wake.

It was then that he felt the gentle caress of Amora's magic. She cast a refreshing spell that swept over him like a cool breeze on a summer's day. It cleansed his mouth and body, banishing the sour tang of bile and the clinging remnants of sweat and grime, leaving him feeling clean and refreshed.

But even that small mercy could do little to alleviate the bone-deep exhaustion that had settled over him like a leaden blanket. Collapsing back against the bathroom wall, the tiles cool and solid against his skin, Tyson was struck by how utterly alien this weakness felt. Since absorbing Sabertooth, he had never experienced such vulnerability, such a profound sense of his mortality. It was as if the god-like strength and resilience that had become his new normal had been stripped away, leaving him as fragile and helpless as any other human.

In a scene that would have seemed surreal to any onlooker, Amora bent down and scooped Tyson into her arms, cradling him against her chest like a child. She moved with an effortless grace, as if Tyson wasn't well over five hundred pounds, carrying him out of the bathroom and into the bedroom.

Her actions were suffused with a tenderness. She carefully laid him down on the plush bed. Leaning down, she brushed her lips against his forehead in a soft kiss, the gesture at once comforting and strangely solemn. It was as if, at that moment, she was acknowledging the bond between them.

As Tyson lay there, his body heavy and aching with weariness, he looked up at Amora, his mismatched eyes searching her face for hints of her thoughts. She watched him in return, her gaze filled with a curious intensity as if she were trying to unravel the mysteries that lay behind his mortal façade.

"Why didn't you stop Loki?" she asked at last, her voice laced with a hint of frustration. "I was watching. I know you could have killed him, or at least saved him. Why did you seemingly waste the power I gave you?"

Tyson drew in a breath, gathering the tattered remnants of his strength to answer. "I couldn't kill Thor's brother," he said, his voice weak but firm. "In your own words, despite his misdeeds, he saved Odin. And frankly, his actions on Earth hadn't justified such an extreme measure. The worst the Destroyer did was cause property damage."

Tyson drew a ragged breath before continuing his explanation. "After I touched Sif and saw her memories, I knew something was amiss with Odin. When he had rescued them from their attack on Jotunheim, the Allfather had seemed feeble and weary. And soon after, he had slipped into the Odinsleep." He shook his head slowly. "According to Sif's recollections, Odin had already postponed sleep to oversee Thor's coronation. Had he been forced from his rest prematurely, I suspect, the Allfather would have been left dangerously weakened."

Tyson's voice, though still weak, carried conviction. "Regardless of my quarrel with Loki and his reckless actions on Earth, my foremost priorities were aiding Thor and ensuring Odin had time to recover. The security of Asgard and its king took precedence." He paused, chest heaving with the strain of speaking at such length. "Yes, I likely could have intervened to save Loki at the end. But after the bastard stabbed me in the eye and disintegrated half my body, I felt no particular motivation to save the fucker from the fate he had chosen."

Amora chuckled at his vulgar language. "I see your point," she said at last, her tone softening with understanding. "Your approach was more about the bigger picture, the long-term consequences."

Amora's expression turned grave as she considered the wider implications of Tyson's actions. "While your choices may have been best for Asgard and yourself, I fear they will have dire consequences for the other realms," she said somberly. "Jotunheim will undoubtedly seek vengeance for the attack on their world and the murder of their king. Such an act of aggression cannot go unanswered."

She paused, gaining a faraway look. "With the Rainbow Bridge destroyed, Asgard is isolated from the other realms. Without the Bifrost to provide stability and order, Asgard’s protectorates will be left to fend for themselves." Turning back to Tyson, she fixed him with an intense stare, her eyes flashing. "Loki and Thor's feud will have long-lasting consequences. Their actions have destabilized the delicate balance between the realms. Chaos will spread, war and bloodshed will follow."

Tyson was quiet for a moment, gathering his thoughts. Amora's words weighed heavy on him, the implications of what had transpired on the Rainbow Bridge sinking in. But he knew Thanos losing the Mind Stone was worth the cost.

"How did you know?" Amora asked, breaking the silence. "How did you know the bridge would be destroyed?"

Tyson hesitated, scrambling for a plausible explanation. He could hardly tell the Asgardian sorceress that her universe was fictional entertainment from his previous life.

"I...I had a vision," he said finally. "With the psychic abilities I absorbed previously, I foresaw what would transpire between Thor and Loki on the bridge."

Amora arched one sculpted eyebrow, skepticism writ across her lovely features. "A vision told you the bridge would shatter? Do not insult me with such a transparent falsehood." She fixed him with an intense emerald gaze. "I glimpsed your memories. I would have noticed such a vision."

Tyson suppressed a cringe. "Alright, you've caught me," he admitted. "Once I had knowledge from both you and Lady Sif, I understood the forces at play, it wasn't hard to deduce how events would unfold." Even as the words left his mouth, he knew Amora would never accept such a flimsy explanation.

Sure enough, Amora let out a silvery peal of laughter. "Come now, let's not pretend," she purred, with a knowing smile. "You are brave, and strong, and worthy. This I do not dispute. But clever?" She shook her head, blond tresses swaying with the motion. "You are many things, Tyson the Mirage, but clever is not one of them."

Despite the exhaustion weighing down his limbs, Tyson felt a spark of irritation at her condescending words. "I was clever enough to catch you, wasn't I?" he shot back, pride stung.

Amora's smile only widened at his retort. "On the contrary, I believe it was my own cleverness you absorbed that allowed you to best me." She trailed one long, elegant finger down his cheek. "And the demon's cleverness that had you absorb a hint of life force from both Asgardian princes, to carry a piece of them inside you."

Her words gave Tyson pause.

She wasn't wrong.

Tyson nodded in acquiescence, the simple gesture taking more effort than he cared to admit. "Believe what you want," he said tiredly, exhaustion draining the fight from his voice. "Just know that I had my reasons for allowing events to play out as they did."

"Why did you come here?" He asked, his voice little more than a whisper as he tried to shift the topic.

Amora's hand stilled in his hair, her fingers resting lightly against his scalp as she considered her answer. "Fine. Have your secrets then, Mirage… I knew you'd be weak after the boost faded," she said at last, her voice uncharacteristically gentle. "I couldn't let you get killed now. Without the Bifrost, without Asgard, Earth will be vulnerable. You're strong, but not strong enough to defend this realm… yet. I came here to ensure you don't die before you are."

She leaned in close, her breath warm against his skin as she whispered an enchantment, the words thrumming with a subtle magic that seemed to emanate from her very being. Her lips brushed against his in a soft, lingering kiss, the spell passing between them like a shared secret.

"Rest now, and grow strong," she murmured, her voice a soothing lullaby in the stillness of the room. "I'll be watching."

And with those words, Tyson felt himself slipping away, his consciousness fading into the gentle embrace of a magical slumber. His last coherent thoughts were concern with Amora's words. If she'd be watching, it meant she wouldn't be staying with him.

He tried to object, "Wait…"

But he only got out a single word before the darkness claimed him.