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Adrian's eyes narrowed as he spotted the blond man nursing a drink across the cabin. Why are you just watching, Odin? he thought, perplexed. Odin, the ancient protector of the Nine Realms, had barely lifted a finger during the zombie crisis. Adrian couldn't understand it. Even if Odin had lost some of his fighting spirit over the centuries, Adrian would have expected him to at least instruct Heimdall to open the Bifrost and bring the Asgardians to Midgard.
When the undead plague first broke out, the noble Warriors Three—Hogun, Volstagg, and Fandral—had jumped headfirst into the fight. But they hadn't gotten a single sign of support from Asgard until the chaos was well beyond control.
The thought stirred a simmering frustration in Adrian. For Thor, the future God-King of Asgard, facing down flesh-eating zombies must have felt like a terrible humiliation. The Avengers had fought and sacrificed, while Thor's father and his realm watched from afar.
But Odin hadn't acted until Thor was injured by a stray blast of cosmic power. Odin was ruthless, sure, but he wasn't just an old man clinging to his throne. The Odin I know was a fighter, Adrian thought. Not someone who'd stand by while his son battled monsters.
Across the cabin, Thor let out a loud, carefree laugh, shaking his can of beer. "Huh? Me? I've got no idea!" he said, flashing a broad grin. He was so blissfully unaffected that Adrian couldn't help but chuckle. No wonder every Loki looks at Thor like he's an idiot, he thought.
"So…where's Loki?" Adrian asked casually, keeping an eye on Thor's reaction.
The question wiped the grin off Thor's face. He scratched his head, a somber look crossing his features. "Loki? Haven't seen him in…oh, a year or two, maybe?" Thor replied, taking a long sip. "But he's clever. If anyone can survive, it's him. He'll be fine—probably hiding, as usual, turning disaster into a game."
Adrian nodded thoughtfully. If anyone could predict this chaos and slip away unnoticed, it'd be Loki, he mused. Not every version of Loki across the multiverse became a "God of Stories." Some were just mischief-makers, slipping in and out of trouble whenever things got too dangerous.
His mind drifted to the "Fear Itself" storyline, remembering how Odin in the 616 universe had even considered burning the world to protect Asgard and Thor from a great serpent's wrath. But what if the Odin here didn't care as much about his son and was only focused on saving Asgard itself?
A pang of sympathy hit Adrian as he glanced at Thor, who seemed lost in his drink. If Odin's real goal was to abandon his son to save Asgard, it could explain his inaction. It would be ruthless but strategic—leave Thor to fend off the zombies and save Asgard by retreating to a secret dimension, safe until the universe cleansed itself.
What kind of "god" sacrifices his own son just to save his kingdom?
Adrian's thoughts were interrupted by a voice crackling over the intercom. "Ladies and gentlemen, we've arrived in Latveria!"
He immediately stood, and the rest of the crew gathered around the windows, eager for a glimpse.
But Latveria was nothing like they'd imagined. The streets were eerily silent, covered in creeping vines and foliage. There were no swarming zombies, no signs of destruction—just ghostly calm. It was too quiet, a chilling reminder that sometimes silence was more terrifying than chaos.
Adrian felt the unease ripple through the cabin. Even Thor's carefree grin had faded as he peered out the window.
Without warning, a voice crackled through the Quinjet's radio. "This is Latveria capital control. State your flight number immediately, or we will open fire."
The pilot's hands tensed around the controls, beads of sweat dotting his brow.
Adrian grabbed the communicator, keeping his voice steady. "We're SHIELD agents, requesting permission to land and seeking instructions."
There was a long, tense pause. Then a voice returned, dripping with annoyance. "Latveria does not tolerate unauthorized aircraft in its airspace. You have thirty seconds to change your course and leave."
Adrian rolled his eyes, speaking directly into the communicator. "We're here on a mission to escort Susan Storm to Latveria for a critical operation. We have urgent business with your leadership and need to discuss cooperation."
Silence hung heavy in the air as Adrian lowered the radio. Outside, Doom's fortress loomed like a menacing shadow in the distance.
The pilot's eyes darted nervously to the timer on his console, each second ticking down felt like an eternity. Everyone braced, expecting an explosion at any second.
Finally, the radio crackled to life, this time in a cold, mechanical voice: "Permission granted. Doom has authorized your landing."
A collective sigh of relief filled the cabin as the Quinjet began its descent.
As they approached the landing strip, Adrian couldn't shake a creeping sense of dread. Why did Doom invite us here? It seemed almost too convenient, as if they were stepping into a carefully laid trap.
When the Quinjet finally touched down, a row of armored guards greeted them, faces hidden beneath their helmets. One guard stepped forward, his voice muffled but firm. "Lord Doom awaits. Follow me."
Adrian nodded, glancing at the others as they filed out of the Quinjet and onto the tarmac. Thor hefted his hammer, giving Adrian a reassuring smile. "Don't worry, Adrian. If Doom's planning anything, we'll give him a show he won't forget!"
Adrian couldn't help but smile back, though his mind remained vigilant. Latveria's eerie silence, the skeletal buildings, and the overgrown streets felt like a city frozen in time, untouched by life or death.
They were led through narrow, twisting corridors within the fortress, the silence almost deafening. Finally, the guards stopped at a massive door adorned with Latverian symbols. It slid open, revealing a grand hall with high arches and a throne at its center.
Seated there, cloaked in green and silver armor, was Doom himself.
"Welcome," Doom intoned, his voice resonating through the hall. His face remained obscured behind his metallic mask, but his gaze bore down on them, sharp and calculating.
Adrian stepped forward, maintaining his composure. "Doctor Doom. We're here to discuss a possible alliance," he said evenly.
Doom's eyes narrowed, and a hint of amusement played at the corner of his mouth. "An alliance, is it? Curious how swiftly your SHIELD and so-called heroes have come crawling to Latveria," he replied, voice dripping with disdain. "Tell me, Adrian…why should Doom lend his strength to you?"
Adrian met Doom's gaze steadily. "Because the zombie threat won't stop at your borders. The world is crumbling, and even a kingdom like yours won't last forever alone. Together, we have a chance."
Doom leaned back on his throne, fingers steepled in thought. After a long, tense pause, he spoke, "Very well. I'll consider your offer. But I warn you—Doom is no one's pawn."
Thor let out a loud laugh, breaking the tension. "We wouldn't dream of it, Doom! But maybe if we work together, we can save this world—and make it worthy of a real feast afterward."
Doom's expression softened for a fleeting moment, and then he inclined his head. "Perhaps. We shall see."
With that, the doors closed behind them, sealing their fate within the heart of Latveria.
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