In the beginning, the answer to many questions was a single name: Loki.
Who brought the world to the brink of destruction, only to whimsically save it?
Loki.
Who freed themselves from the grasp of life and death through chains of contracts with the Lords of Hell, rewinding time and rewriting stories?
Loki.
Who started a game, a game of intrigue and tricks to make the world a better place, in order to cleanse the cursed destiny?
Loki.
Now, the game is about to end, and the end of everything often comes not with a thunderous sound, but in utter silence.
The black magpie danced in the sky, heading towards a place far from the Immortal Palace.
Loki followed closely behind it.
He needed an answer; he was uncertain where the bird was leading him, but he believed he could find his way back unscathed. He needed an answer.
The small black silhouette resembled a piece of rag, occasionally tumbling in the air as if enjoying the chase.
Beside a peaceful pond, it suddenly dove into the water.
Loki frowned slightly but quickly realized this modest pond was just an illusion. Everything was fake.
He jumped in after it.
As expected, below was a space neither too big nor small, akin to a cellar in a commoner's home.
The air was murky and pitch black.
The black bird had already vanished into this space.
"Mr. Black Crow?"
Loki straightened up, looking around for the bird's silhouette.
At that moment, a firelight ignited in the distance behind him, emerald green flames shot out from the ground and slowly spread to the sides, encircling him within a fire ring.
As the flames continued to ascend, a figure gradually appeared above them; it looked transparent, like a ghost or a wisp of smoke.
He wore green robes with a golden long-horned helmet, and his face bore shallow wrinkles, the marks of time.
Loki's heart trembled involuntarily; this was his favorite attire, and the long horns on the helmet had his engraved marks.
Then who is this person before him...?
"Time's up, young Loki."
The figure answered in a sharp tone, the voice seemed to have texture, crawling up Loki's legs like a snake.
Not only did the figure respond evasively, but he also looked at him with a mischievous gaze, like he was observing a ridiculous creature.
"You...?" Loki quickly turned around, what he saw leaving him puzzled.
"Even though I would love to play guessing games, as soon as you see me, the mystery is already revealed." The figure crossed his arms, floating in a loose posture, resembling a puff of smoke.
"You know what I'm thinking?" Loki furrowed his eyebrows.
"Ah, that's not bad. Why not guess if I know?" The figure opposite flashed a broad smile, his face showing more wrinkles: "But first, I must remind you that I'm the one you can trust the least, only because I am you."
Loki guessed the answer, yes, who else would it be but himself?
He was Loki, and the other was also Loki, just an older version, possibly from the future?
"Enough, old version of me, what kind of punishment tool have you prepared for me? These flames are just illusions, and they cannot entrap the Prince of Asgard!"
"The Prince of Asgard? Hahaha, that's the best joke you've ever told me." Old Loki seemed to have found his laugh point, laughing back and forth, and even mimed wiping tears with his fingers: "It's a pity, I thought there would be a fair game, but you reminded me of how foolish we once were."
Loki placed his hand on his belt, standing upright, coldly staring at his future self.
"You've returned like a ghost to the present, surely not just to hear jokes?"
"I could tell you, but whether you believe me is up to you." The older Loki raised a hand, pinching his smooth chin: "To obscure the truth from the discerning, seven Black Crows began their journey. They took a piece of my plan to meet someone they shouldn't have, and the last one sought you out."
The Blackbird pursued by Loki appeared from nowhere, landing on the shoulder of the older Loki, whispering in his ear.
With its dark, shiny eyes, it glanced at young Loki, its gaze seemingly filled with disdain. Then, like a small pebble, it merged into the older Loki's chest, disappearing.
He always covered his tracks carefully, with various pranks and scattered descriptions, making it impossible for anyone to see the whole story.
He was the God of Lies, the Deceiver, but that was an old name. Now he was the God of Story.
When he wanted to weave a tale, he ensured that no one, not even the Observers of the Multiverse, or even higher beings, could see anything but a bizarre story of Deathstroke running around.
And in unnoticed corners, what changes occurred in the cosmos, and what others did, no one could know.
All those events that took place had no direct connection to each other; he forcibly pieced them together. But for those caught in the story, who would still care to doubt the story's rationality?
They would only become immersed in it.
But Loki knew Deathstroke too well. There were many who could deceive him for a short period, but none who could do so forever.
The entire Nine Realms, the whole story, was teetering on the brink of collapse. Deathstroke had likely already sensed his existence and could leap down from a hole with a great sword at any moment.
Who could say for sure?
The story kept changing because of a single character, a situation old Loki had long anticipated. He knew that Deathstroke was never part of the story, and he was immune to any interference.
However, it was fortunate that, whether in a story or a trick, Deathstroke was encountering this for the first time at this point in time. He would be misled for a while, and that time was enough.
Old Loki would achieve his goals using his best skill, which was deception.
As for where the remaining six magpies went, Loki did not hesitate to twist the story itself. In his script, there was a small flashback.
The first magpie went to the Revealer above the story.
He was a withered old Light Elf who didn't initially exist; Loki had shaped him in the future and then sent him to the beginning of the Multiverse to start telling the story Loki had crafted.
This blind old elf, like the Observers, didn't have much power. His only ability was to become a 'mystery' within the 'Eternal,' using Loki's story to cover the original tale.
When the magpie arrived at his castle built of scrolls and books, even time did not yet have a precise concept.
Its ghostly white eyes saw the magpie perched on the question mark-shaped window lattice. This was all Loki's prank; he didn't give the Light Elf pupils but allowed him to have sight.
Isn't it funny that a blind man can see everything?
Looking at the gaunt bird, he unfolded the scroll in his hand.
"You've brought word from Loki, but who are you?" he asked in bird language.
This made the Black Crow very displeased, for it was not a messenger, just as a crow is not a scavenger.
Scavengers refer to animals that primarily feed on carrion, such as vultures, storks, hyenas, wolverines, and jackals.
But crows are omnivorous; their diet includes grains, insects, fruits, and other birds' eggs. Even though many people think they are scavengers, they are not. More often, they are raiders.
Still, the Black Crow opened its beak and replied to the Revealer in bird language.
"Watch Loki, wait for the next Nine Realms War. He created an artifact capable of destroying the Multiverse, and he currently convinces himself that this thing is safe. You are to write a contract based on this artifact's message and make a deal with Mephisto. Sign it 'Your dear old friend, Loki.'
"And what benefit do you offer?" The Revealer responded without expression.
"You like stories, so keep this. It's a tale Loki wove, and for a long time, only you will know it."
After the Black Crow finished speaking, it flew out the window again, disappearing into the future filled with white light.
And once all agreements were reached, a book that had never been written suddenly appeared in the Revealer's hand. He opened the pages with his sharp nails and looked at the contents.
Unexpectedly, the protagonist of the book was neither Loki nor Thor, nor anyone the Revealer knew.
It was, instead, a mortal named Deathstroke.
Loki himself did not understand this person, but he filled the entire story with fun and mischief.
As long as Loki understood himself, that was enough. In the story, all anyone could see was a Loki wrapped in the guise of Deathstroke.
The Revealer at first thought Loki wanted to replace this person, to deceive the entire world by fabricating stories. But he quickly realized that the story had no ending. Beyond the few hundred pages was a scribbled prank left by Loki, concealing everything.
Indeed, this story was merely the beginning, and this beginning occurred in 1925, 2,000,000 years after the time the Revealer found himself in...
The Revealer wanted to use this story for his benefit, but he quickly gave up, for whatever he could think of, Loki must have already foreseen, and the God of Story must have long made preparations.
He sighed, gazing out at the eternally white environment. No one knew what his unlit eyes truly saw.
His bony fingers closed the book, and ink gradually surfaced on the cover - not the title, but a long string of words.
'The Mysterious Journey, a comedy in thirty acts, or a tragedy in thirty-one acts? Or perhaps a series in thirty-two acts... Hehe.'
This was Loki's style, eluding understanding. Even he did not know how his own story would end.
Did he not want to? Or was he unable to?
The Revealer silently put away the book, placing it into his chest cavity, then began to narrate a contract in a voice like a narrator's, a contract meant for some Lord of Hell.
The Black Crow will return one day; even if reluctant, it remains a messenger.
And it was unknown how much time had passed, whether it was seconds or millions of years. Just as he finished the last infernal syllable, without even having time to lick his lips, he saw a small black figure flying in from the window, just like last time.
"I've brought news."
The Black Crow spoke in bird language.
"You've brought word from Loki, but who are you?" the Revealer countered in bird language.
This made the Black Crow very displeased, for it was not a messenger, just as a crow is not a scavenger.