Marvel: Son of loki

Chapter 1: The Veil Between Gods and Men

New York City, 2012.

The city was abuzz with life, a tapestry of chaos and order woven into the streets. The sun dipped below the skyline, painting the glass towers in hues of orange and gold. But beneath that veil of normalcy, forces beyond mortal comprehension stirred, invisible to all but a few. Among those few was a man whose existence had been kept secret for centuries.

In a quiet, upscale neighborhood in Manhattan, a shop that seemed out of place stood at the corner of a narrow street. It was the kind of shop you'd overlook, where the name was worn and faded, the windows frosted with age. Yet, for those who knew its significance, the owner was far from ordinary.

Behind the counter sat Aldric, the son of Loki, though few knew his true name or origin. To most, he was simply the shopkeeper—aloof, eccentric, and never one to share more than a few cryptic words. But today, something was different. His eyes, which often gleamed with quiet amusement, were clouded, deep in thought.

At a glance, Aldric appeared no older than thirty—a man with striking, sharp features, framed by shoulder-length black hair. His eyes, however, held an otherworldly depth, cold and calculating, but with an almost playful glint. He could have passed for a mortal, but his presence suggested something far more dangerous.

He had seen empires rise and fall. Watched as gods played with the lives of men like chess pieces, all while silently observing, waiting. He was patient, after all. He had been patient for three hundred and forty-four years.

Aldric smirked to himself. Immortality has its perks.

Beneath the floorboards, sealed by layers of ancient wards and protective runes, lay Ryūjin Jakka—a sword of such immense power that its mere presence distorted the flow of spiritual energy in the shop. Few dared approach the blade, though Aldric wielded it with ease. Fire was its true nature, though Aldric preferred to use his Almighty and Visionary abilities to manipulate reality itself when need be. He often found physical combat… beneath him.

The bell above the door rang, snapping him out of his reverie. A woman stepped inside, her eyes darting nervously, as if uncertain of her decision to enter. Mortals were always drawn to him, even if they didn't understand why.

"Looking for something?" Aldric's voice was smooth, confident—too confident, like someone who knew they were better than everyone else in the room.

The woman hesitated before stepping forward. "I—I heard you… help people."

Aldric's smirk widened. "I do. But only the ones worth helping." He leaned against the counter, his eyes scanning her as though dissecting her very soul. "What is it you want?"

"I—I need a cure… for my daughter. She's sick… the doctors say—"

Aldric held up a hand, silencing her. He didn't need to hear the rest. He could see it in her eyes, the desperation, the pleading. But he was not a benevolent god, at least not today.

"Why should I care?" he asked coldly, his voice cutting through the room like a blade. His god complex, nurtured by centuries of watching mortals stumble through their insignificant lives, was clear in every word.

The woman's eyes widened in shock. "B-but, I was told—"

Aldric sighed, waving his hand lazily. "Mortals, always begging for something. Do you know what you offer in return? Absolutely nothing." He paused, eyeing her trembling form. "But I suppose… I could make an exception. After all, it amuses me."

With a flick of his wrist, a small vial appeared in his hand, filled with a shimmering liquid. It wasn't magic, not in the traditional sense. Aldric didn't rely on simple tricks—his powers were rooted in kido, hado, and the arcane arts that rivaled even the great Zatara. The liquid in the vial wasn't a cure, but a reality-altering potion that would shift the probability of her daughter's illness ever existing. It would erase it as if it had never been.

The woman took the vial with shaky hands, her voice barely a whisper. "Thank you… thank you."

Aldric chuckled softly, his gaze distant. "Run along now," he said, turning his back to her. "But remember, I'm not doing this out of kindness."

As the woman fled the shop, clutching her miracle, Aldric's smirk faded. He wandered to the back of the shop, toward the hidden staircase that led to his sanctum. Here, among the arcane symbols and enchanted relics, he felt most at peace—if one could call it that. Aldric was not a peaceful man, not really.

His mind drifted to Loki, the father he had never truly known. When Loki walked the mortal realm, Aldric remained in the shadows, watching, waiting. The All-Father had sent his wayward son to Earth for a reason, and Aldric couldn't help but wonder if that reason was now intertwined with his own fate.

Loki, he thought, your time on Earth has come again. Let's see if you even remember the child you left behind.

Aldric's eyes glowed for a moment, the power of the Almighty flickering within him. He could see the threads of fate, the shifting possibilities. And in one of those possibilities, he saw Loki—standing atop Stark Tower, leading an army against this pitiful world.

"So," Aldric murmured to himself, "the god of mischief finally makes his move." His smile returned, but this time, it was colder, more sinister.

Let the mortals fight their little war. I will be watching. And if the time comes… I may even interfere.

With a final glance at the city skyline, Aldric turned, the heat of Ryūjin Jakka humming beneath the floorboards. This was not the beginning of his story—no, that had begun long ago. But it was certainly a new chapter.

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