Chapter Seventeen: Loki’s Mask

The newcomers were the Punisher and Daredevil.

Yang Xin couldn’t quite figure out why the two of them had arrived together. Perhaps, in some parallel universes, the Punisher and Daredevil—once bitter adversaries among the street-level superheroes—had somehow become allies. After all, the Punisher was the very embodiment of wrath and darkness, a hero who met evil head-on without mercy. Daredevil, on the other hand, was a lawyer by profession, and in some respects, he bore a resemblance to Batman from the neighboring DC universe—a hero of order amidst the chaos.

With two thuds, the Punisher threw down two large black duffel bags in front of Yang Xin, unzipping them to reveal one packed with US dollars and the other brimming with gold, jewelry, and various priceless trinkets.

“I’m here to buy your big prize for my buddy,” the dark hero declared, getting straight to the point.

“Not asking Nick Fury to step in this time?” Yang Xin teased.

“I already owe Nick a huge favor from last time and haven’t paid it back yet. Owing him again would mean being at his beck and call, and if I had to work for him, there’d be nothing left of me—not even my bones,” the Punisher replied, his tone laced with obvious discontent at the mention of Nick Fury.

“Don’t know if this is enough to buy your big prize. If not, I’ll go shake down the gangs for more.”

“And Daredevil’s fine with you doing that?” Yang Xin cocked an eyebrow, casting a meaningful glance at Daredevil. In Yang Xin’s memory, Daredevil had always been a paragon of order—a legal crusader. How would he feel about the Punisher amassing cash and jewels from gangs?

Unfortunately, Daredevil was blind and could only infer Yang Xin’s expression by the rhythm of his heartbeat and subtle sounds.

“To borrow a saying from your Eastern wisdom: take from the people, use for the people.”

“That proverb’s a bit of a stretch, but all right. I get your point,” Yang Xin said, turning his gaze to Daredevil. “Matt Murdock, right?”

Daredevil nodded.

“Frankly, this money and jewelry aren’t nearly enough to buy my big prize. You should know that Nick Fury—yes, that bald director—paid for Frank’s big prize with a mountain of weapons and equipment. Granted, those were mostly WWII-era and on the verge of being scrapped, but even as scrap metal, their value far exceeds these two bags of cash and jewels, so…”

“So?” Daredevil frowned, listening intently to Yang Xin’s heartbeat, hoping to discern his true intentions. Yet Yang Xin’s heartbeat remained steady and calm, revealing nothing.

“Is this really not enough?” The Punisher’s expression tightened. This was everything he’d managed to take from the gangs. The criminals weren’t stupid; they knew the Punisher, though not bald, had grown far stronger. In the past, he’d been just a top-tier special forces instructor—someone they could, with enough firepower, hope to take down. But now, after his transformation, Frank was clearly no longer human, and with a space tiger at his side, no amount of firepower or tactical advantage could stop him. The gangs had scattered, gone underground, and vanished without a trace.

With the gangs in hiding, the Punisher’s sources of funding had dried up. This was the limit of what he and Daredevil could scrape together. As for Daredevil’s motivation in seeking the big prize, it was simple: comparison breeds envy. Once, he and the Punisher had been evenly matched, but now, with the Punisher’s transformation, Daredevil couldn’t accept being left behind. Since their teamwork against the gangs had gone well, they decided to pool resources to buy the big prize.

As for simply taking it by force—setting aside whether Daredevil would even agree to such a thing—Yang Xin could hand out the big prize as casually as tossing a pebble, and with a horde of S.H.I.E.L.D. superhumans at his side, the Punisher wouldn’t dare try.

“What do you want us to do?” The Punisher, seasoned in the shadows, caught on quickly.

“There will be a war here, soon. I’ll need your help,” Yang Xin replied, as if it made no difference whether they were there or not.

“No problem. Fighting is what I do best,” the Punisher said, thumping his chest.

“I’m in too. Gathering intel is my specialty,” Daredevil added, echoing the gesture.

“It’s not just a fight—it’s a war. An interstellar war,” Yang Xin emphasized.

“Excuse me? Did I hear you right—interstellar war?” Both men were at a loss. They were street-level heroes, after all; taking down gangs was one thing, but joining a war—an interstellar one at that—seemed ludicrous.

“Are we really up to it?” Their confidence wavered.

“You are. I say you can do it, and that’s that!” With that, Yang Xin produced the treasure from his system—a mask belonging to Loki.

The mask came from the comedy film “The Mask,” but this Loki was not the one from Marvel. In true Norse myth, Loki was the sworn brother of Odin, king of the Aesir, a being whose power far surpassed that of his Marvel counterpart.

Though just a mask, and usable only at night, it was a perfect fit for Daredevil, who operated strictly after dark.

Yang Xin handed the mask to Daredevil. As Daredevil shook his hand in thanks, his skill was randomly selected: Yang Xin acquired the ability to Hear All Things.

This was the very foundation of Daredevil’s heroism—akin, in some ways, to the super-hearing of Superman in the neighboring universe. Yang Xin was quite pleased.

When Coulson heard Yang Xin mention an interstellar war, he panicked and immediately contacted S.H.I.E.L.D. Director Nick Fury. Upon hearing the report, Fury wasted no time assembling S.H.I.E.L.D.’s elite agents and arrived in less than an hour aboard a Quinjet.

Yang Xin took one look and realized some of these “elite agents” looked oddly familiar. Then it dawned on him—Fury was truly ruthless. They were all Hydra operatives, clearly meant to be used up here.

“Sir, why not inform the military? If there really is an interstellar war, we can’t handle it alone,” Coulson whispered.

“We’re enough. Twenty years ago, Captain Marvel single-handedly destroyed an entire interstellar fleet. We can do it too. Besides, according to our analysis, the Norse pantheon isn’t focused on technology, but on mysticism and individual combat prowess. If we call in the military, we’ll just be handing them the glory,” Nick Fury replied, stroking his eyepatch, absolutely confident in his team’s strength.

With the battle preparations complete, all that was left was to wait. As night fell, the rain intensified.

At that moment, a burly blond man, clearly drunk, staggered toward the camp. Two agents moved to intercept him, but were swiftly and effortlessly knocked aside.

“I’ll go bring him in,” Hawkeye said, stringing his bow and flashing his badge.

The others tensed, ready for action.

“If you don’t want to start an interstellar incident, I suggest you stand down,” Yang Xin said, sipping his coffee, completely at ease.

“What do you mean?”

“That man is none other than the exiled Asgardian prince—Thor.”