Chapter 3: Widow's Target.
(Mathew's P.O.V)
Loki didn't waste time.
"You've been creating timelines," he said. "That's not your job."
I kept looking around the space we were in. It was nothing like Earth. Nothing like anything. It didn't respond to me. I couldn't feel the usual pull under my skin. No atoms bending. No time threads waiting to be redirected. I tried to flex my power just to test it—nothing happened.
Loki caught it.
"You're not in a place that listens to you," he said. "I made sure of that."
I turned back to him. "You said timelines. Plural."
"Correct." He leaned forward, still playing with the glowing strings in his hands. "You've split the timeline twice. Created a full parallel structure."
"I didn't—" I stopped myself. "I was trying to fix it. I made a mistake. I've learned from it."
Loki raised an eyebrow.
"I just want to go home," I added. "To my wife."
He dropped the string he was holding. It hovered mid-air beside him.
"Mathew, you don't seem to realize that your 'fix' didn't undo what happened. It created a separate fork. That New York you destroyed? Still gone. Still real. That loss? Still permanent."
He lifted his hand, and one of the green strings drifted forward between us, unraveling into a visual thread. A frozen image of the crater. Ash, silence, and the faint outline of bodies. The aftermath of what I did.
I stared at it, my chest tightening.
"I didn't mean to," I said quietly.
"I know."
"I can fix it."
Loki sighed. "That's exactly what worries me."
He waved the image away. It vanished.
"I understand what you're feeling. I've been there. Obsession. Regret. Guilt that doesn't fade. But there's a line, Mathew. Between trying to make things right and refusing to let go. Especially when you can rewrite the world every time you feel bad."
I said nothing. There was nothing to say. He was right. And I hated that.
After a moment, I looked up at him. "I still want to see her."
"I believe you," he said. "But you don't want to bring trouble with you."
I nodded.
"This is a fresh start," I said. "No destruction. No resets. Just a second chance."
Loki's expression shifted. More serious now.
"Then we need to talk about what happens next."
I waited.
"You can't go back with your powers," he said. "You're too unstable. Too capable. One bad moment, one nightmare, one flash of grief—and everything unravels again."
He stood from the throne and walked toward me, green strings floating beside him like weightless threads.
"So here's the choice. You give up your power and return to Earth, to Jules, to whatever life you want to build. Or you keep your power and stay here. With me."
I looked at him.
"A prisoner?" I asked.
"A safeguard," he said.
I didn't answer. Not yet. I was still thinking about what I'd seen.
And everything I might lose. Or rather, everything I would gain. I'd like to say it took long to give my answer. That I agonized over the choice. But in the end it only took a few seconds.
(General P.O.V)
Loki and Mathew appeared on a quiet corner street in New York City. The traffic was light, the sky overcast, and the air carried the usual city smell of people, movement, and coffee. Loki adjusted the sleeves of his coat as he looked around, casual as ever. Mathew stood beside him, quiet.
Loki tilted his head. "Feel any different?"
Mathew looked down at his hands. He flexed his fingers once, slow and uncertain. "I can't hear the wind anymore," he said. "Or see the light of life in my mind."
The counter in his head was gone.
He paused, then gave a small nod. "But it was worth it."
Loki smiled and patted him on the shoulder. "Only a few people across the entire multiverse would give up Absolute Power for something like love. You're in rare company."
Mathew chuckled under his breath. "Now I just feel like a fool."
Loki shook his head. "No. Sometimes love is the greatest power of all. I've seen it. People doing the impossible because of it. You're not weak. You're brave."
Across the street, Mathew's eyes settled on a familiar shop. A small coffee place tucked between a bookstore and a florist. The glass front was clean. The logo hadn't changed. Inside, people moved about, chatting and laughing quietly.
His gaze lingered.
He and Jules had their first date there. And after that, dozens more. Over the years, they'd claimed the corner booth so often that the staff started calling them regulars. One time, someone joked they should hang a picture of the two of them on the wall.
Mathew didn't need to see it to know it might still be there. Some part of him hoped it was. That maybe, in this version of the timeline, fate had kept that moment alive.
He remembered every conversation in that booth. Every argument that ended with laughter and two cups of overpriced coffee. That place had always brought them back to each other.
Then the memories shifted. The invasion. The Skrull drop ships. The panic. Jules dying in his arms. The grief. The awakening of his mutation. The destruction that followed.
Loki's voice cut through the spiral.
"Stop torturing yourself."
Mathew stayed silent.
"It wasn't your fault," Loki said. "You didn't ask for that power. You didn't create the pain. That guilt belongs to your mutation. And now it's mine."
Loki raised a hand. Red streaks of Mathew's power curled around his fingers like threads of smoke. He stared at them with quiet interest.
"That burden is mine to carry now."
Mathew looked at him.
There was a flicker of something inside him. A sharp edge. Distrust. Doubt. But it passed.
Loki snapped his fingers.
Mathew's clothes were restored. No dirt, no damage. His face was clean-shaven, fresh.
Loki pulled a small black card from his coat and handed it to him. "Unlimited funds. Buy her something nice."
Mathew took it and nodded. "Thanks."
He looked back at the coffee shop.
He already knew exactly what Jules liked.
-0-
Mathew's sense that something was off hadn't gone away. After parting ways with Loki, he went straight to the coffee shop across the street. The same one where he and Jules had spent so many mornings together.
It looked the same. The walls, the colors, the layout. Familiar enough to pull at his chest.
He ordered a box of pastries and two creamy cups of coffee—both exactly how Jules liked them. The baristas were polite, but they didn't recognize him. Not by name. Not by face. Nothing. That was odd. They used to know both him and Jules. Regulars. Every weekend.
When he glanced at the wall near the counter where the framed photo used to be, he saw it was still there—but the couple smiling back wasn't him and Jules. Different people, same spot. Same frame.
Mathew didn't say anything. He thanked them, took the box and cups, and stepped outside. On the sidewalk, he pulled out his wallet and checked the address on his ID. Same apartment. That calmed him a little. The coffee shop must have just been a detail changed by this timeline. Not everything could carry over perfectly.
Still, it lingered in the back of his mind.
He looked down at himself. The magic repair job Loki had done earlier was wearing thin. His shirt was wrinkled again, pants worn at the seams, and his boots were still old. He wanted to surprise Jules, not show up looking like he crawled through a construction site.
He headed into a nearby clothing store. Clean interior, modern shelves. He picked out a blazer, fitted trousers, and a shirt that looked close to something Jules once bought for him.
But the longer he stayed inside, the more he felt it.
Like someone was watching him.
He glanced over his shoulder more than once, but the other customers weren't paying him any attention. No cameras on him. No eyes lingering. Still, it itched under his skin. He tried to shake it.
He brought the clothes to the register.
The cashier scanned them, smiled, and waited. Mathew handed over the black card Loki had given him.
The terminal beeped. Declined.
The cashier tried again. Same result.
"Let me run it one more time," she said.
Still nothing.
Mathew frowned. "I guess I'll just—"
Before he could finish, a voice behind him spoke up.
"I've got it."
He turned.
A woman with red hair, sharp eyes, and a confident stance stepped forward and handed over her card. She didn't ask. She didn't hesitate. Just paid.
"You look good in that suit," she said, watching him.
Mathew blinked. "Thanks. You didn't have to do that."
She smiled. "Did it anyway."
They stepped outside together. Mathew was still holding the bag when he spotted her leaning against a parked sports car just past the entrance.
She looked at him with amusement. "You gonna ask how to pay me back, or was that your subtle way of asking for my number?"
Mathew gave a tired smile. "I was just trying to be polite."
"Well, polite works on me," she said. "Name's Natalia."
He thought about it and decided to give a fake name.
"Franklin Richards." he said, nodding. "And seriously, thanks. I'll pay you back. Just give me a way to contact you."
She tilted her head. "You always this smooth? Or is the tall, dark, and brooding thing natural?"
"I don't brood," Mathew said. "And I have a wife."
"No ring," she pointed out, glancing at his hand.
He chuckled. "You're right. But I'm taken."
She raised her hands in mock surrender. "Fair enough."
Mathew turned and started walking toward the nearest bus terminal. He had no idea how he was going to pay for the fare now. The card failure was still gnawing at him.
A few steps later, the car pulled up beside him. Natalia leaned out the window.
"You're really gonna try to ride the bus with a dead card?" she asked.
He looked at her.
"Persistent," he muttered.
"Get in," she said.
He did.