Over the past few days, Noah Vale had pieced together how the Interdimensional Chatroom measured power.
It wasn't elegant. It wasn't philosophical.
It was simple.
How much damage you could do in a single hit.
At the lowest tier, you were just an ordinary human. No surprises there.
A step above that meant pushing past normal physical limits—enough force to shatter bricks with a strike. Climb higher, and you were breaking through walls, then tearing apart entire rooms.
By the time someone reached Noah's current level, they needed to be capable of bringing down a full-sized building with a single, all-out attack.
Beyond that, the scale escalated fast. Wiping out a city block in one blow. Then an entire city.
But raw numbers didn't tell the whole story.
Two people at the same level could be worlds apart in a real fight.
Speed, durability, reaction time, energy output, recovery, special abilities—every variable mattered. Some fighters leaned heavily into one strength while leaving glaring weaknesses elsewhere.
A powerful telepath, for example, could dominate most opponents—unless someone showed up with the right protection. Then the advantage flipped instantly.
On the other hand, someone built purely for physical combat might bulldoze through almost anything… until they ran into an ability they couldn't punch their way out of.
Plenty of so-called unstoppable figures had gone down in absurd ways. Overwhelming strength didn't guarantee survival. It just raised the stakes.
Noah's own path leaned heavily toward physical dominance. He didn't rely on a single devastating move—he was the sustained damage.
If he could level a building with one punch, then his real strength came from what followed. His speed allowed him to chain those attacks together, turning seconds into a storm of destruction.
To others, reaching his level required everything they had.
For Noah, it was just his baseline.
"Alright," Noah said, glancing at Tony Stark. "I've given you a roadmap. What you do with it is up to you."
Before Tony could respond, Noah vanished.
There was something he needed to confirm.
He stepped through a portal and arrived at Kamar-Taj.
The courtyard was alive with motion. Students trained under careful supervision, practicing precise gestures and controlled movements, shaping sparks of magic into disciplined forms.
At the center stood Ancient One.
Noah walked straight toward her, ignoring the curious looks from the surrounding trainees.
"You saw what happened with Thor," he said. "So why didn't you warn them?"
It didn't sit right with him.
Given her connection to other realms, she should have known. Should have stepped in. At least done something.
The Ancient One turned to her students. "Continue your training."
Then she walked out of the courtyard.
Noah followed.
Once they were alone, she spoke.
"Time can be observed," she said calmly. "But interfering with it comes at a cost."
She folded her hands behind her back as they walked.
"As long as the overall outcome doesn't spiral into catastrophe, I don't intervene. That applies to Thor… and to my own students."
She glanced back toward the courtyard.
Several of those students, if left to their natural paths, would fall into darkness. Others would die in the conflicts ahead.
She knew it.
And still, she chose not to interfere.
Noah exhaled through his nose. "Got it. You only step in when things get really bad."
"That's one way to put it," she replied.
Then she stopped walking.
"There's something else you should know."
Noah looked at her. "Go on."
"You don't need to prepare for that duel anymore."
He blinked. "What?"
"Asgard has already evacuated," she said plainly. "Everyone has fled—except Odin."
For a moment, Noah just stared at her.
"I'm sorry, what?"
"Odin awakened the moment Thor died," she continued. "He used his foresight to look ahead… and saw the outcome."
Noah's expression shifted.
"He realized he couldn't win," she said. "So he ordered his people to leave. They're already gone."
She paused.
"He stayed behind. Alone. Waiting."
Silence stretched between them.
Noah slowly lowered his head, processing it.
Then he started pacing.
"Hold on… hold on…" he muttered. "So that whole 'one-month duel' thing…"
His steps quickened.
"…was just a delay tactic?"
He stopped, dragging a hand down his face.
"Wow."
A short laugh escaped him, sharp and disbelieving.
"He really sold it, too."
For a moment, he just stood there, replaying the conversation in his head. Heimdall's tone. The timing. The confidence.
It had all felt genuine.
And he'd bought it.
Noah clicked his tongue. "That's… actually impressive."
Then he looked up at the Ancient One.
"You realize I could still go after them, right?" he said. "If I leave now, I might catch up."
He studied her expression.
"You're basically handing me their escape route."
She met his gaze with a calm, unreadable smile.
No explanation.
No justification.
But her reasoning was clear.
If Noah had spent an entire month preparing—pushing himself harder and harder, building momentum for a fight that never came—
And then discovered he'd been strung along from the start?
That wouldn't end well.
Not for Odin.
Not for Asgard.
Not for anyone.
Noah wasn't someone who let things go.
And wasting his time?
That had consequences.
The kind that lingered.
For a very long time.