On the Milano, Quill had music blasting.
Seventies rock, loud enough to rattle the hull.
His dad had just died—a Celestial father who'd wanted to use him as a battery. Yet he didn't look particularly upset. If anything, he seemed lighter, like he'd shed a burden.
Levi ignored him.
Sitting cross-legged in the cargo bay, he closed his eyes and sank inward.
Ego's core fragments had been pure nourishment. His internal energy had surged to a new level. The Celestial lifeform allowed him to manipulate matter as naturally as breathing.
But he wasn't satisfied.
He wanted more.
The Law of Force—violent, imperial, crimson like raging lightning. It carried heavenly authority, domineering and absolute.
The Law of Space—deep blue and cold, intricate and precise. It structured everything.
He wanted to twist them together.
Even he knew it was insane. Odin himself hadn't attempted something like that. But fortune favored the bold.
He summoned a thread of crimson Force and a filament of blue Space.
Two strands thinner than hair drifted toward each other.
They touched.
It exploded.
Not with sound—but with collapse at the level of rules.
In the cargo bay, space crumpled like wrinkled paper. A jagged tear opened midair.
Pitch black. Lightless. Like the void between galaxies.
A terrifying suction erupted. Spare parts, energy canisters—everything was dragged in and erased into fundamental particles without a sound.
"HEY! What the hell are you doing?!"
Quill bolted upright in the cockpit as alarms shrieked. He spun around just in time to see the tear—and Levi struggling against the pull.
"Minor accident," Levi muttered, pale.
He tried sealing it with spatial authority—but the two clashing laws inside the rupture shredded even his own power.
He had opened a gate to hell.
Quill's scream was cut short as he—and his chair—were sucked into the void.
A moment later, Levi lost control as well.
…
Spinning. Twisting.
Like being thrown into a relativistic washing machine. His body was stretched, torn, reassembled.
Without the Healing Factor and Celestial body, he'd be a molecular cloud by now.
Eventually, the chaos ceased.
He slammed onto something solid and smooth.
Blinking, he found himself lying on a bridge made of prismatic crystal.
Below it flowed a river of stars. In the distance rose golden palaces of impossible grandeur.
Ancient, pure energy saturated the air.
Asgard.
He dusted himself off.
Quill lay nearby, foaming at the mouth, unconscious.
At the far end of the bridge stood Heimdall, silent as a statue, sword in hand. His golden eyes locked onto Levi.
From the opposite direction, an old man approached.
One eye. Golden robes. Gungnir in hand.
Odin.
His steps were slow, heavy with age—but his single eye shone brighter than constellations.
"We finally meet, traveler from Midgard," Odin said.
"You knew I was coming?" Levi asked.
"Heimdall sees all in the Nine Realms. Yet you… are an exception." Odin's eye gleamed. "I saw space collapsing around you—but not you. Only when you set foot on Asgard could I truly perceive you."
His gaze scanned Levi like pages in a tome.
"Celestial lifeform. Space and Force intertwined. You walk a difficult path—yet one with vast potential."
Levi felt a flicker of respect. Odin saw through him instantly.
"You must have questions," Odin continued. "About what comes next."
"I'm listening."
A Skyfather's guidance wasn't something one refused.
"Skyfather-tier is both evolution of life and mastery of law," Odin said. "There are several paths."
"First—the weakest. Borrowing power. Midgard's Sorcerer Supreme does this. They draw from dimensional entities. Powerful—but not their own. Lose favor, lose everything."
Levi nodded. The Ancient One.
"Second—endurance. Rely on bloodline and time. Most Celestials grow this way. But the ceiling is low. Ego could have reached Skyfather-tier—had he not obsessed over raw power."
"Third—devotion to one law. Perfect it. Reforge your body as its avatar. I chose the Law of Thunder. The Titan Thanos—his is the Law of Body. Strong. But narrow."
Odin's eye sharpened.
"You pursue the fourth path."
"Multiple laws."
He said it plainly.
"You tried fusing them."
Levi didn't deny it.
"It is the hardest road. Success would surpass any peer. But the difficulty multiplies geometrically."
"Why?" Levi asked.
"Rejection," Odin replied. "Laws repel one another. The moment you ascend through one, your body and soul align with it. Accepting another becomes exponentially harder. That is why Thanos relies on external artifacts like the Infinity Stones."
He gestured. In the air appeared vast oceans of shimmering light—each a sea of law.
"To ascend, your will must cross these seas. Each law is an ocean. Fail to comprehend it, and you will drown—assimilated into rule itself."
Levi stared at the vision.
A key had turned in his mind.
"Thank you," he said sincerely, bowing slightly.
"I am near my end," Odin said calmly. "Asgard requires insurance. My counsel is not free."
"Name it."
"After my death—should my sons fail—you will defend Asgard three times."
"Agreed," Levi answered instantly.
Three interventions for a Skyfather's roadmap? Profitable.
Odin nodded.
He raised a finger and tapped Levi's brow.
Knowledge flowed—not violently, but like a seed planted.
The structure of Yggdrasil. The spatial bonds of the Nine Realms. Ancient rune matrices. Millennia of Asgardian arcana unfolded in Levi's mind.
His Celestial energy, once wild, began to move with disciplined harmony.
He felt a core inside him stabilize—half completed.
Halfway to Odin's tier.
Levi opened his eyes, clearer than ever.
"Beware Hela," Odin added quietly. "My firstborn. Goddess of Death. Stronger than my sons combined. I can no longer restrain her."
Levi nodded.
"That is all," Odin said. "Heimdall. Open the Bifrost."
The guardian planted his sword.
A column of rainbow light erupted.
Levi hoisted the still-unconscious Quill over his shoulder.
For an accidental trip—
Asgard had paid extraordinarily well.
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