To hide something, there are two main approaches.
The first is to hide a drop of water in the ocean, making it impossible to distinguish amidst the vast expanse. The second is to place the object in an inaccessible location and seal the entrance to that place forever.
"There's actually a third way," said a devil in black sunglasses, sitting in a London bookstore. He reached out into the air as if grabbing something, then mimicked a throat-slitting gesture. "Destroy it."
The story begins half an hour earlier.
Selwyn and Loki grew tired of waiting for S.H.I.E.L.D.'s new regulations to come through. After a quick farewell, they decided to head to Britain. Given that Loki's curse remained unresolved, Selwyn suggested visiting an old bookstore in London. A long-resident angel lived there, and angels were well-versed in lifting curses.
Loki, too, found London agreeable. He had a devil acquaintance who often rested in the area and might offer advice on dealing with the ancient artifact, the Casket of Ancient Winters.
Both men, carrying their own motives, transported to London via a mushroom circle. They found the two individuals they were looking for sitting in the same room, enjoying coffee and afternoon tea as old records played in the background.
"...That's the situation," Selwyn explained. "I'm guessing an angelic miracle might help lift this curse."
"Well… theoretically, yes," Aziraphale admitted nervously. "In theory, angels are skilled at dispelling curses."
He emphasized the word "theoretically," then shot a quick glance at Loki.
Crowley picked up where the angel left off: "But… miracles aren't something you can just perform at will."
To elaborate, miracles performed by angels on Earth were strictly supervised and regulated by Heaven. Every miracle had to be documented and justified as necessary and legitimate. However, this system only applied to Earthlings—Midgardians. Asgardians, as magical beings occupying a similar ecological niche, were not included.
Selwyn's face twisted into a "why is everything so complicated" expression. "Sounds a lot like S.H.I.E.L.D."
"S.H.I.E.L.D.?" Aziraphale asked.
"Strategic Homeland Intervention… Never mind, it's not important," Selwyn said, abandoning the tongue-twisting full name. "So, is there absolutely no way?"
"Well, to say there's no way would be untrue. Angels are, after all, obliged to help those in need. However…"
The issue lay in finding a justification to appease Heaven's scrutiny and completing the accompanying paperwork. Miracles were limited, and neither Loki nor Selwyn qualified for the special privileges afforded to devout believers.
"There's more than one person capable of performing miracles," Crowley said. "I used to work for Heaven, so I still have a few of those skills."
"Then you do it?" Selwyn asked.
"I could, but there's a fee," Crowley shrugged. "Free services have endless waitlists. Paid services are much faster—fitting for you humans and your love of efficiency."
Selwyn: "…"
This was the embodiment of hellish pragmatism.
Crowley's asking price was a bag of dragon dung fertilizer. His houseplants had recently started yellowing, and after threats and scoldings failed, he finally remembered they needed nutrients.
"That's doable," Selwyn agreed, "but aren't you worried about burning the roots? That stuff can grow golden apples, you know."
"Plants don't need to be spoiled," Crowley said dismissively.
After striking a verbal agreement, Crowley removed his sunglasses and scrutinized Loki with his golden snake-like eyes. Then he snapped his fingers. After a moment of silence, Loki flexed his joints and realized that the curse was still very much in place, unchanged.
"You could at least celebrate the fact that it didn't get worse," Loki remarked, looking at Crowley as though he were a second-rate doctor.
"Well, demons are better at cursing than lifting curses," Crowley defended himself. "It's not really my area of expertise."
"Maybe you're approaching the curse the wrong way?" Selwyn suggested. "Instead of traditional curse-breaking, should we think of it as disarming a magical trap?"
Listening to these amateur discussions, Loki, the greatest sorcerer of the Nine Realms, finally snapped. "Enough. Let's not waste more time on this curse."
If it came to it, he could consult his mother back in Asgard. For now, the curse could wait. The priority was to deal with the troublesome artifact.
"I want to know if Hell still has pathways to the planet's interior," Loki said. "If so, I plan to throw something in there."
"Earth isn't a trash bin…" Crowley muttered under his breath but regretfully explained that while such pathways theoretically existed, they hadn't been used in over a millennium.
"And Hell is on lockdown right now, so smuggling something in won't be easy," Crowley added. "You know, that lot up there is always paranoid… They received a prophecy, and now they're telling everyone to prepare."
"A prophecy?" Loki frowned.
"Yes, a prophecy," Aziraphale chimed in. "I've heard whispers as well. It's a divine prophecy from God… the world is nearing its end, and we must prepare before the disaster strikes."
Selwyn: "Wait, the world's end? Like the Noah's Ark kind of end?"
"They weren't very specific—just told us to be ready," Aziraphale explained. "Honestly, I'm worried… If my bookstore is destroyed during the apocalypse, it would be such a shame."
Such a shame.
Selwyn repeated the words in his mind. If Coulson were here, he'd probably have a heart attack. Angels were beings of pure ether; their physical forms were merely a necessity for interacting with humans. Even if human civilization were wiped out, angels could easily weather the storm from a higher-dimensional vantage point.
That said, the world was always on the brink of ending. Countless superheroes, special agencies, and magical organizations were constantly working to prevent it. Selwyn's mindset remained relatively calm.
Loki, however, seemed agitated. He sat tapping his finger against the back of his chair. Crowley, noticing his mood, offered a suggestion: "If Hell is inaccessible, you could try the Sanctum Sanctorum. That's Earth's multi-dimensional watchtower, run by human sorcerers. They're good at spatial magic and might have a solution."
However, whether they'd approve of using Earth's core as a dumping ground was another matter.
Loki pondered this option while Selwyn asked, "What exactly do you plan to throw into the planet's interior?"
"This," Loki said, conjuring a shimmering blue cube into his hand.
The cube emitted a concentrated magical energy that immediately captivated everyone in the room.
"Just so you understand its danger, let me demonstrate," Loki said. He lightly tapped the cube with his finger. A chilling gust burst forth, freezing the record player mid-song and encasing it in solid ice.
Aziraphale gasped in horror.
Crowley muttered, "Well, that does look pretty bad."
"Pure evil," Aziraphale agreed. "And extremely dangerous."
"If its power were fully unleashed, it could reshape Earth into an Ice Age—or even extinguish a medium-sized star," Loki warned.
Such an artifact could never fall into the wrong hands. Loki declared with righteous determination that the Casket of Ancient Winters must be hidden where no one could find it, lest disaster strike.