- Black Tarantula - Male Reader x Marvel

Chapter 37: A Matter of Trust

[An Unknown Place, Beyond the Reach of Mere Mortal Men]

The Isle of Silence lay forgotten in the void between worlds, adrift in the spaces where even gods dared not tread. It was a place spoken of only in hushed tones, even among the learned scholars of the Nine Realms, a prison reserved for those whose transgressions had reached the ears of the All-Father himself. A cruel and eternal exile.

A thick, oppressive mist blanketed the isle, stretching endlessly in every direction, an enchanted veil concealing it from all who were unworthy, or unfortunate, enough to find it. Below, the ocean slumbered, dark and unmoving, its waters so still that they mirrored the abyssal sky above. No sun shone here, nor did moon or star cast their light upon the desolate rock. The very air was thick with an unnatural stillness, a silence so absolute it seemed to swallow all sound before it could be born.

And yet, the Isle of Silence was not as quiet as its name would suggest.

For though the enchantments upon this place forbade the utterance of a single spoken word, they could not suppress the will of the prisoner who resided here. And he was not a creature of brute force, nor of mere words. His defiance ran deeper, twisting through the very fabric of reality itself.

He did not need a voice to spread his influence.

He did not need a body to enact his schemes.

His power was of the mind, of the unseen, of whispers carried on the wind, reaching ears that did not even know they were listening.

Even now, his thoughts stretched beyond the mist, slithering through the great cosmic expanse, sifting through the known realms, planting seeds of chaos in the hearts of men. A shadow upon the minds of kings, a doubt upon the tongues of warriors. Trickery, deception, misdirection, these were far greater weapons than any sword or hammer, and he wielded them with an artistry unmatched.

It was what set him apart from his oafish rival.

Ah, his dear, beloved brother. The golden child. The champion of Asgard. The heir to the throne, so gallantly adored by the All-Father. Strength without thought, a king without cunning. He, who had always been favoured, always been cherished, not for wisdom, not for intellect, but for the simple accident of his brute strength. A mindless warrior, elevated beyond his worth. And what of him? The son who had studied, who had sharpened his wit like the finest of blades? The son whose mind could unmake kingdoms as easily as the other could break bones?

Cast aside. Banished. Locked away on this wretched, lifeless rock.

All for daring to reach for what should have been his.

No matter.

There would come a reckoning.

He had been patient. He had let the chains of exile bind his body, knowing full well they could never contain his mind. He had watched from afar, waiting, scheming. But the time for waiting was drawing to a close. The moment would come when he would cast aside this prison and take what was rightfully his.

He would force his brother into battle, but not on the terms of some foolish, honour-bound duel. No, that was his brother's folly, charging into battle headlong, never thinking, never seeing the trap laid before him. This time, the fight would be dictated by his hand, sculpted to his advantage.

And when that moment came, when the stage was set...

There would be no contest.

There would be no mercy.

There would be only victory.

A faint shimmer of emerald light flickered in the darkness, reflecting off the gilded horns of his helm, casting an eerie glow against the mist. Even in exile, even in disgrace, he still bore the look of a prince. Regal, yet dangerous.