Life in the Red Ring Mine was far more horrifying than one could imagine, but Thor did nothing, said nothing. The tremors threatened to shake him off his perch several times, yet he showed no intention to change his position.
When it was time to finish work, the Sakar Supervisor strolled over and announced, "Count yourselves lucky. It's not hungry today. Come down from there quickly. Don't waste my time."
The new miners clumsily climbed down. One of them, stiff from a long period of immobility, slipped and fell screaming into the abyss. His shrill cries disappeared, and no one found it in themselves to even glance his way.
Everyone was immersed in the relief of surviving yet another day, and in the dread of the grim fate awaiting them. Expressions of complex emotions mingled on their faces—elation mixed with fear. All except for Thor, who remained expressionless.
Thor's behavior caught the attention of the Supervisor. As he led the slaves back to their cells, he pointed to Thor and signaled to the prison guards. One guard responded with a malicious grin, nodding in understanding.
The areas where the slaves resided were extremely gloomy. Each cell was like a coffin, so narrow that turning around was impossible. The so-called meals were poor-quality supplements commonly found in the interstellar marketplace. Some slaves made noises in their own language – apparently indicating their inability to absorb the supplement – but the guards paid them no mind. Very soon, the cells fell silent again—everyone seemed to have succumbed to despair.
Thor stared at the supplement in his hand, giving its packaging a light squeeze. Used to years of interstellar warfare, he had naturally seen such items before. But he had never had cause to pay them any mind. Even the most common soldiers of Asgard would not need to resort to these low-quality substances.
Yet, he painstakingly ripped open the package and poured it into his mouth. The strong taste of chemicals assaulted his senses, but Thor didn't react. He leaned against the wall again, silent and unmoving.
Then, the cell dimmed as the lights faded out. When Thor woke up next, it was to a jolting pain.
Guards yanked at the iron chain affixed to his shoulder, pulling and jerking at him. Thor bled profusely, yet remained silent. A guard taunted him, "Are you mute or what? Answer me, or I'll give you a real good show!"
Thor looked at him but gave no response. The guard seemed to be further incensed by his silent defiance. He jerked the chain violently, pulling Thor to the floor. Thor coughed miserably; his dirty hair obscured his vision, the dust on the floor choking his breath.
Thor lay on the floor, hacking dryly at the dust. Blood loss clouded his vision and left him lying on the ground, letting the guard drag him forward by the chain. Eventually, the guard stepped on his shoulder and savagely pulled at the chain, dragging a scream from Thor's throat as his body spasmed involuntarily. Veins bulged onto his neck and his eyes nearly burst from their sockets.
After the spike was removed, Thor's arm was completely numb. His face pressed against the filthy floor, he could see the terrified expressions on the faces of the alien prisoners in the adjacent cell.
Still, he said nothing, did nothing. His eyes reflected no fear or pain—just the vacant stare of a dead man.
The guard had achieved his purpose. Holding the iron chain once attached to Thor, he approached another cell, selecting another slave as his next victim and driving the spike into the captive's body.
Thor's breathing slowed. Slowly closing his eyes, his face displayed a look of despair so deep, it defied description. It was as if all his emotions had converged to a single point of eruption, a look which lasted for only an instant before it morphed into numbness and apathy.
Slowly, he dragged his broken body to follow the Supervisor out of the cell. The dawn's light forced him to squint, but he saw nothing, thought nothing—merely continued forward. The chain was no longer attached to his body, but the sound of its dragging echoed ceaselessly in his ears, as if it would never stop.
Several days later, Loki's body, once mostly spectral, was now almost entirely solid again—only his right leg still bore black, viscous material that continued its diligent work. Shiller poured a cup of coffee for Loki and asked, "Did you sleep well last night?"
Loki didn't answer, taking a mechanical gulp of his coffee instead. Shiller glanced at the working Venom once more and said, "You should thank its previous hosts. All of them were very hardworking, able to work continuously for days without rest. Otherwise, you'd still be nothing more than a disembodied head."
"What are you thinking?" Shiller asked as he settled into an armchair, "Or rather, what are you regretting?"
"I..." Loki began, to which Shiller continued, "You never thought that you'd find it so difficult to see your brother suffer, right? You thought that you would derive pleasure from his predicament, that you would relish seeing him disoriented, tormented, feeling avenged and amused, right?"
"And when you discover that you can't, it begs the question—why?"
"You accomplished everything you set out to do. Yes, you beat up Thor's team severely, injured them gravely, stripped yourself of your godhood and started all over again, even threw Thor into the intergalactic dump to fight for his survival..."
"Mission accomplished, plan succeeded. Now you should be leisurely sipping coffee and chatting with me, both of us laughing at Thor's miserable state. Yet, you realize you can't even pretend to."
"Now, there's a problem," Shiller said, putting his coffee cup on the table next to him. He continued, "You've successfully made yourself feel horrible with a series of brilliant moves. I must say, the title 'God of Mischief' really suits you. When you get ruthless, you even fool yourself."
Shiller then turned back to Loki and asked, "What was it that made you believe you'd derive satisfaction from Thor's misfortunes?"
Loki never replied, but Shiller spoke again, nonchalantly, "I must say, I really appreciate the behavior of you two brothers—hurting each other, creating fireworks for my amusement. If everyone were as considerate as you two, life would be truly wonderful."
Shiller then placed a hand on Loki's bedside and smiled at him. Loki saw a seemingly genuine smile, but behind it, he sensed the sharpness of fangs.
"Welcome to the Arkham Sanatorium. We provide a variety of medical services, including rapid body repair. You'll be on your feet in less than an hour."
Loki stared at him and asked, "What's the cost?"
"It seems like you know me well. But don't worry, if you're not taking up the throne, Thor will undoubtedly pay the bill."
Loki did not appear happy, but he pursed his lips and said, "I accept, proceed quickly."
"Alright..." Shiller touched the Venom in Loki's calf, which halted momentarily before a surge of pure energy enveloped it. The Venom's size immediately doubled, and its efficiency increased by more than tenfold.
"But you must understand..." Shiller continued, "Although your body has been repaired, your divine power and authority are nowhere near restored. You're just like your brother now, robbed of power. You're a mere mortal with good physical fitness...Oh, and your physical fitness isn't that good either."
Shiller glanced at Loki and said, "Right now, you are a mere mortal, even weaker than Thor when he first came to Earth. At least he was stronger."
"Beloved as the wisest and most cautious in Asgard, I can hardly believe you'd go to such lengths to save someone you claimed to despise. Could it be?"
With that, Shiller picked up his coffee and left the room. Loki lay on the bed looking at the ceiling. After a while, he murmured to himself, "Just a common man..."
Back on Sakaar, things had changed. Thor's uniqueness had been discovered by Prince Asya, the overseer of the Red Ring Mine.
Prince Asya is the younger son of the Red King Anmo Asya, the man Thor had seen at the top of the mine that day.
Unlike most Sakaarians, Prince Asya was small in stature, but his impressive intelligence had always earned him his father's favor.
When Thor was brought to Prince Asya, he was frail. His once strong body had started to wither due to malnutrition, his once charming face had become hollow, and his eyes had sunk even deeper into the sockets. He was barely recognizable as the robust warrior he once was.
Unlike the ordinary Sakaarians trapped on this planet, Prince Asya took a drop of Thor's blood, smelled it, and said, "Aesir?"
He smirked, "You, who call yourselves the richest and most noble race in the cosmos, why would you resort to such a crude method to expel your own kind?"
While Thor stared at him, Prince Asya continued, "Look at you, an Aesir turned my slave. I should really let everyone see you in your pitiful state..."
"Is this what all of you Aesir are like?" Prince Asya paced around Thor. "Well, it figures. You war-obsessed fools who favor fighting over thinking—this is the fate you deserve. You can't even mine properly, you imbecile."
Anger welled up in Thor's eyes, but Prince Asya paid him no mind and instead ordered his subordinates, "Take him away, heal his wounds, feed him, and prepare him for the combat competition next week. I need a good dog."
"Oh, right! Didn't the High Lord say he has caught an Asgardian as well? They might know each other..."
"Isn't the High Lord also participating in next week's grand duel? This is getting interesting!"
Prince Asya burst into laughter, "The Aesir always preach about unity and honor. I wonder what it would be like to have two of them fight each another to death?"
One of the Sakaarian guards who had escorted Thor added, "I heard that the High Lord's captive is his enemy, someone who cheated him in a bet. The High Lord gave him a good beating and has him locked up now..."
"If you suggest a duel between the two, the High Lord would certainly be delighted. He might even put in a good word for you with His Majesty the Emperor."
Prince Asya clapped his hands excitedly, "Take him away and treat him!"Then he inspected Thor again with a look of disgust, "Does he look like an Aesir? Clean him up and bring out that old golden armor. Isn't that the way Aesir like to dress?"
Prince Asya raised his arms and announced loudly, "Let all Sakaarians bear witness to how the 'noble' Aesir will tear each other apart like dogs in the duel! Ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha!"