Chapter 230

At the entrance to S. . . . . .'s lab, Loki looked at Eddie and said, "You're saying you want to use my body to consume another symbiote?"

Venom cut straight to the point: "I'll give you thirty percent of my power as rent. Believe me, that's already a lot."

He glanced at the chaos inside the lab and added, "The energy still lingering in him should be pure…"

"I refuse," Loki answered bluntly.

There was no special reason, nor was it because he didn't want the energy—Loki, like most people of his kind, was a skeptic; he did not wish another sentient being inside his mind.

Venom showed no surprise, only continued: "One of my hosts was once Tony Stark—he ascended to uniqueness through magical power and infinite wisdom. You've surely heard of it…"

"Don't you want to feel that wisdom?"

Loki fell silent. People like him shared another trait: absolute confidence in their own intellect.

As a participant in the entire Nul event, Loki knew Stark's story well. As a sorcerer, his understanding of arcane knowledge far surpassed that of humans—he knew clearly that the energy Stark received from the demonic gods was insufficient to elevate any single-universe being. The only possible explanation lay in Stark's extraordinary intellect.

People like them were strange: they believed themselves the smartest in the universe, yet remained curious about the intelligence of others. Loki had to admit—he was intrigued.

"Among my hosts, there is another whose intellect rivals Stark's. I can't name him, but I think you won't be disappointed," Venom added another weight.

The Illusion Demon watched Loki's expression soften. She wanted to remind him that Venom had once played in feces, but she couldn't bring herself to speak.

"You're an Asgardian—your body can withstand two symbiotes residing within you simultaneously. You're also a sorcerer, with a mental barrier capable of resisting chaotic assaults on your mind…"

"You'll suffer no loss, yet you'll experience the peak wisdom of the human race. How about it? Interested?"

"If you'd asked me this two months ago, before I came to Earth, I'd have given you a definite no. But recently, I've witnessed the wonders of the human species—I am indeed curious…"

The Illusion Demon's words of warning were already on her tongue, but Venom glanced at her, and she closed her mouth, saying nothing.

Venom's host-switching method was simple: he made Eddie place one hand on Loki's shoulder. Eddie twitched, then Loki instinctively lifted his head and stepped back two paces.

He heard Venom's voice echo in his mind: "…Huh???"

"What's wrong?" Loki asked.

"No… nothing." Venom's voice still carried lingering confusion. Loki pressed: "What's next?"

"I need to adapt to this host's body. We'll meet again in a few days."

After saying this, Venom fell silent. Loki felt no trace of a symbiote within him. After leaving S. . . . . .'s base and returning to the streets of Manhattan, Loki was about to activate his teleportation when Venom's voice spoke again: "Don't teleport. Let's walk back."

"Is this some peculiar habit of your species?"

No, it's good for your mental health. Because soon, I'm going to read you your physical examination report.

Physical examination? Do symbiotes even have this function?

"It's the most basic function of a symbiote. But I usually don't feed reports to users—knowing how many cells make up a human body holds no meaning."

"It holds none for the Asgardians either," Loki replied.

"That's exactly the problem."

"What?"

"The Asgardians…"

"What about them?"

"I'm curious," Venom's tone was complex. "What made you so firmly believe for all these years that you are an Asgardian?"

"I…" Loki felt he hadn't understood the symbiote's grammar. "What do you mean? What do you mean, I believe I'm an Asgardian?"

"It's a euphemism," Venom's voice echoed in Loki's mind. "My conclusion: you are not an Asgardian."

"…What did you say???" Loki stopped walking, stunned and bewildered.

"Symbiotes have endured Asgardian lightning attacks. That assault inflicted fatal damage on most symbiotes—and etched that power into our genetic database."

"I just performed a detailed comparison. I'm certain: you are not an Asgardian."

"What are you talking about?" Loki asked, disbelieving.

"You'd better believe my conclusion. It's an innate symbiote ability—we are the most accurate diagnostic machines in the universe."

"I sense your reluctance to accept this. But even your surface memories held clues."

"Your physical constitution is weak—far below that of your peers. You lack the innate strength of an Asgardian. You can't lift those massive hammers or greatswords…"

"Don't you ever feel out of place—in your body, your strength, your personality?"

Loki froze. He raised his hand, then lowered it after several seconds. He turned and walked back, his steps stiff.

On Manhattan's streets, even though summer had passed, the midday sun remained intense. Loki walked down the center of the sidewalk, not even stepping into the shadows along the buildings.

He had once looked down on non-magical humans, mocking how they wasted most of their lives traveling. Now he realized: walking was not merely a means to reach a destination—especially when you had no destination at all.

Loki didn't know where he was going, yet he kept walking—as if, in every Asgardian dusk, he had become a tiny black dot crossing the great bridge before Xiangong, passing one archway after another.

That path to Xiangong had always seemed endless in his memory, for it was the only place in Asgard where magic teleportation was forbidden. As a child, he had complained endlessly—this long walk wasted his life.

But at some point, he began to enjoy it. He even wished it would stretch longer—so he never had to enter Xiangong's gates, never have to face the one person he dreaded most.

What made it even more absurd: right now, the only thing offering him comfort was the simple, mortal act of walking on solid ground.

Time flies when you think. Unconsciously, Loki had reached his apartment door. He turned back—his path had been nothing but an ordinary street, not Asgard's grand, majestic bridge. Before him stood only an apartment entrance, not the gate of Xiangong.

The elevator doors opened. Footsteps echoed through the empty corridor. The soft click of the key in the lock felt jarring. When the door opened, Thor, adjusting an electric clothes rack by the floor-to-ceiling window, turned and asked: "Why are you back so early? Don't you work anymore?"

Sunlight streamed through the window, casting a faint halo around Thor's back—like the aura around Odin's throne. Loki blinked, momentarily lost. He took two steps forward, then leaned against the wall and knelt halfway—as he often did when paying homage to Odin.

Thor's expression turned alarmed. He hurried over: "What's wrong? You… wait, your divine power hasn't been stripped—you shouldn't be sick. Then why…?"

He pulled out his phone to call for help, but Loki stood up, shoved him aside, and walked into his bedroom, slamming the door shut with a bang.

Thor was baffled. He muttered a few words, then returned to adjusting his clothes.

Loki leaned one hand against the door, trembling. He took several deep breaths, then dragged himself to the bed and slumped against the headboard.

"What are you still doubting?" Venom's voice echoed in Loki's mind. "From what I sense, your intellect is truly exceptional—you should have noticed the subtle clues in daily life."

"Or has your self-deception grown so powerful you can actually fool yourself into believing you're a duck among chickens?"

"No… I'm just thinking…" Loki's voice carried complex emotion.

Leaning against the headboard, Loki's throat moved. He looked up at the ceiling.

One obvious truth: if he was not an Asgardian, then Odin could not be his biological father. Thor could not be his real brother.

Loki had questioned his weak constitution before, but he dared not ask Odin, the Allfather. His mother Frigga always explained it away: it was congenital weakness, bad luck.

Loki didn't know how he'd convinced himself with such a flimsy excuse. But in his memory, what lingered more was resentment toward injustice and envy toward Thor.

As he sifted through his memories, hidden fragments surfaced: all the children preferred playing with Thor—he could lift the heaviest stone. In dueling contests, Loki always stood at the back row, watching from afar, knowing he'd never be called to fight.

"I taste a hint of vengeance in your emotions—but it's tainted with too much filth. The flavor is foul. I dislike it," Venom's voice suddenly trembled. "Vengeance should be pure. What have you mixed into it?"

Loki ignored him. After the initial shock, his emotions grew more tangled. If Odin's past favoritism now made sense, what about recently?

Loki thought back, confused. He hadn't done anything special—yet his treatment had completely reversed from Thor's.

Thor had been cast onto Earth, weaponless, powerless, starving and freezing—while Loki stood among countless cosmic demon gods. Odin introduced him as his son, Prince of Asgard, the most gifted and promising sorcerer in the Nine Realms.

Then Odin left him a place on the Power Channel. Soon after, he began pouring power into him. Finally, he granted Loki the rank of a true god—the first among his peers.

Loki had never dreamed he'd receive such honor. Even without Thor, Asgard had many outstanding warriors—those who charged ahead, held the rear, remained loyal to Odin, the future pillars of Asgard.

One reason Loki had stayed on Earth was his unwillingness to face them. He could imagine their skeptical glances—as if he were a thief who stole Thor's rightful glory.

In truth, not just they—he himself doubted it too.