Silence reigned in the great hall.
The mention of the Infinity Stones had done exactly what the Monarch intended—unsettled Odin. Even Loki, usually unreadable, couldn't mask the flicker of intrigue in his gaze.
The All-Father's grip on Gungnir tightened just slightly. "You speak of forces not meant to be meddled with."
The Monarch tilted his head, golden eyes gleaming with something unreadable. "And yet, mortals, gods, and mad titans alike will soon seek them." He let the words settle before continuing, his voice smooth and confident. "Tell me, All-Father… what is the greater sin? Seeking power—or allowing another to claim it unchecked?"
Odin's one eye bore into him, searching. Weighing.
Loki, meanwhile, leaned forward, fingers steepled. "You speak as if you know the future."
The Monarch simply smiled.
"I know patterns," he said, swirling the remnants of his drink. "And history tells me that power left unguarded will always find hands to wield it—whether you will it or not." He set the goblet down gently. "The question is… will those hands be yours?"
The tension in the room was palpable.
Odin did not answer immediately. Instead, he studied the Monarch with the scrutiny of a god who had seen millennia pass. Then, finally, he spoke.
"Asgard does not need an outsider to warn us of dangers we have long known."
The Monarch's smirk didn't falter. "Then you know of the one who will come to reclaim what is hers?"
A ripple of something passed over Odin's face.
The Monarch chuckled. "Ah. So you do." He leaned forward slightly. "Tell me, how long do you believe the gates of Hel will remain closed?"
Loki's gaze sharpened.
Odin remained silent.
But that silence was an answer in itself.
The Monarch reclined slightly, satisfaction glinting in his golden eyes. "You cannot stop her, Odin. Not forever. And when she returns, she will burn Asgard to the ground."
"Enough." Odin's voice was steel.
The Monarch inclined his head slightly, unfazed.
Thor, who had been silent for much of this, scowled. "You speak as if you know these things as fact. As if you have seen them."
"In a way, I have."
Thor scoffed. "Then tell us, stranger—what would you do?"
The Monarch smiled, slow and knowing.
"I would not run. I would not hide behind walls of gold and hope time forgets my mistakes." He exhaled, his voice turning colder. "I would face what is to come."
His words rang through the hall like a challenge.
Odin studied him once more. Then, unexpectedly, he let out a low chuckle. "You are an interesting one." His gaze flickered to the goblet before him. "Drink."
The Monarch raised a brow.
"A challenge," Odin clarified, voice carrying the weight of command. "If you are to speak of war and power among gods, then prove yourself. Drink like an Asgardian—or fall like a mortal."
A test.
The Monarch chuckled. "Now this," he murmured, "is a game I can enjoy."
He took the goblet and drank deeply.
Beyond the Feast—The Gathering of Shadows
Hours passed. The feast continued, but the Monarch knew the real battle had already begun.
He had planted the first seed. The first whisper of change. Odin had heard him. Loki was intrigued. And Thor? He was watching. Studying.
Good.
But the Monarch did not come to Asgard merely for conversation.
He had a kingdom to build.
And so, in the dead of night, as the golden halls of Asgard lay in silence, the shadows stirred.
The Monarch walked through the dimly lit corridors, his footsteps soundless against the polished floors. Behind him, darkness twisted and curled, forming into familiar shapes.
Igris emerged first, kneeling. His crimson armor gleamed in the faint torchlight. "My king."
Beru followed, his insectoid form lowering in deep reverence. "We are ready, my liege."
Bellion materialized last, his towering form radiating silent power. His golden eyes flickered as he regarded his lord.
The Monarch glanced over his generals. His family.
Then, he turned his gaze toward the great city of Asgard beyond.
"We begin," he said simply.
And the shadows obeyed.
The Art of Infiltration
The first step was understanding Asgard's defenses.
Heimdall, the all-seeing guardian of the Bifrost, was an obstacle. A dangerous one. His golden gaze pierced through time and space itself.
Which was precisely why the Monarch had prepared.
In the farthest corners of the palace, where the shadows were thickest, he had sent whispers—his lesser shadows, drifting in the unseen places. Nothing too large. Nothing too obvious. Just a presence so faint it would be dismissed as nothing more than tricks of the light.
A test.
And Heimdall did not react.
Good.
His power, his army, was something even Asgard had never encountered. It did not exist in the realms known to the gods. It was something other.
Which meant, for now, it was unseen.
Unchallenged.
The Monarch stood upon the balcony overlooking the city, his golden eyes glowing softly. Igris stepped forward. "Orders, my king?"
The Monarch exhaled slowly. "We begin small. Information. Influence. A presence in the undercurrents of Asgard." He turned his gaze toward the royal palace, where Odin still sat upon his throne.
"Before we conquer the universe, we must first claim the foundation."
Beru clicked his mandibles in anticipation. "And what of the Asgardians, my king? Will they be…" His voice took on a dark amusement. "recruited?"
The Monarch smirked.
"Asgardians are warriors. Proud. Fearless." He let the words hang before his smirk widened. "But even the greatest warriors must kneel before the inevitable."
Bellion's deep voice rumbled. "And what of the All-Father?"
The Monarch's gaze darkened.
"For now, we play the game," he murmured. "We let him believe he holds the strings."
His smirk returned, cold and knowing.
"But when the moment comes…" He turned, facing his three most loyal generals.
"We will remind the gods what it means to fear the dark."
And in the silence of the night, Asgard's golden walls cast long, twisting shadows.
Shadows that did not belong there.