“Humans... They are not the cowering wretches we were promised. They stand. They are unruly, and therefore cannot be ruled. To challenge them is to court... death.”
At these words, the Dark Lord rose from his throne and grinned. He envisioned a future. A future in which the world was his, and his alone. He envisioned himself sitting upon a throne of corpses, gazing at his trophy: the world in flames, the bodies of its occupants strewn about, completely lifeless.
“I fear not the power of humans. They are weak. But they take us for fools, and that I cannot tolerate. The boy, the Asgardian, he is ready to lead, and our force will follow closely. The world will be his, the universe mine. And the humans, what can they do, but burn? But should the boy fail, I will be there to claim the world as my own, and I will bathe the starways in his blood. Humans... they do not stand a chance against our power. Their world will soon come to an end. This, I am sure of. In just a few short days, I will put my plan into motion, and they will never see us coming. The world... their world... will be mine.”