Madness of the Serpent

An explosion vibrated through the airborne ship, causing the spirit to be thrown from the slumber mat onto the floor from the concussive force. The deep rumble continued throughout the metal substratum, causing the lights to flicker with the threat of extinguishment, a low groan traveling throughout the skeleton of the flying behemoth.

Crawling to its knees, gasping for breath as its heart hammered in fear from being jostled in such a startling manner, it braced its shoulder against the wall, desperately wishing it knew what was happening outside of its windowless cell.

One possibility was obvious and most likely correct – Loki was acting on his purpose for being captured. It could only hope that purpose would not end in its painful death, and given the state of the Jotun-Asgardian’s unraveled mind, the end result of this event did not look promising.
It began to hear a blaring alarm sound through the ship, muffled by the thick walls surrounding its small prison. Either Loki had escaped where he was being held, or there was an additional source to the explosion.

After waiting for a minute or two in its frozen position on the ground, a deep, rumbling roar echoed through the metal walls, and its breath caught in its throat as its blood seemed to freeze in its veins. Whatever had made that horrible noise did not seem mechanical or chemical in nature.

It sounded decidedly… organic.

The spirit pulled itself to its feet, leaning against the cold, metallic wall in the event another vibration shook the facility. The spirit rubbed its knee through its thin grey clothing, investigating its surroundings but finding no handholds for it to remain balanced.

Luckily, no more bone-jolting explosions seemed to be forthcoming, but it shivered as it heard a second roar. The sound was full of rage and anguish, and the spirit hoped desperately it would not discover the cause of the noise.

Whatever Loki’s plan, it hoped he remembered they were a far distance from the planet’s surface.

A third roar echoed through the air structure several minutes later, and the spirit gave a start when its door suddenly slid open, and it could only stare in disbelief at the familiar face which greeted it from the doorway.

“Well, look who I found,” Barton said, a smile on his sweaty face. The warmth of his voice was somehow lost as azure eyes stared out from the dark circles around his sockets, the skin covering his cheekbones appearing raw and chafed. It recognized the look of sleep deprivation, as it suspected it had seen it on Loki’s own visage.

“Barton-Hawk?” the spirit inquired, speaking the original name it had used for him without realizing it had done so.

“Barton-Hawk. That’s cute,” he replied, his glowing eyes rapidly covering the interior of the cell in which it was contained, a stringed weapon in one hand while his other hand rested on the entryway.

“Are you well?” it asked, more concerned for his wellbeing than its own, even in the midst of the airborne siege.

“Peachy-keen. His Royal Godliness wants you to pick something up for him, so get to it. One level down, in the main lab.” The human disappeared from the doorway, only to reappear a second later, his eerie crystallized eyes focused on the spirit in a serious manner.

“Avoid the big green dude. He’s a dick.”

And with that mysterious warning, the assassin vanished a second time, already far from sight by the time the spirit exited its cell.

Even without the vague instructions left by the assassin, the spirit would have been able to locate the golden apparatus. In the back of the mind, it could feel the presence of the mind-jewel – drawn to the orb cradled within its blades. The pull had dulled with the separation of distance, and it had forgotten all about the weapon once they had entered the ship.

But now, it paid closer attention to that connection. Standing in the middle of the stone grey hallway, it cocked its head as the bright lights illuminated its surroundings in a steady glow, the lights having ceased their flickering. It was not listening for an audible sound, precisely, but it felt like a noise of the mind. It had only to follow the mental sensation to find the insidious source.

It ran through the various identical hallways, carefully looking around corners as it did so, finding odd relief in stretching its limbs after being sedentary for so long. Only the roars of the unknown entity made it move faster, causing it to bump into two heavily armored humans in black wearing the insignia of SHIELD on their sleeves.

They ignored it, running around the spirit and continuing their brisk pace with guns drawn across their chests. It blinked in confusion, but took advantage of their lack of attention and continued on its course into the bowels of the floating metal construct.

Sensing the orb of the sceptre somewhere below, it searched for a means of descent until it found a series of steps. It had to hide only once as two females and a male ran past, the SHIELD emblem displayed on the sleeves of their uniforms. The spirit did not understand the reason the first group of humans ignored its presence, so it hid in a side chamber until the sound of their footsteps faded.

Despite its reluctance for the destruction Barton was no doubt causing, judging by the distant sounds of the humans using their weapons, it had to admit he served as an excellent distraction for the spirit to reach its destination without harassment.

Once it entered the room where the golden apparatus had been held in the vision Loki had shown it, the spirit stopped short, eyes wide in alarm. The room was almost unrecognizable; sparks from severed cables showered the floor, the tables were bent or broken, and rubble and smoke littered the catastrophic scene.

Though the golden weapon was out of view, it could still sense its attention – a presence in the back of its mind, watching with vague curiosity and aloof intentions.

The spirit found a pile of concrete shards next to the completely twisted metal table on which the sceptre had previously sat upon. The large window to the outside atmosphere had not shattered, which was a pity, otherwise the bladed instrument might have been lost from decompression.

As it dug with its hands to pull pieces away from its buried goal, it could feel the mind-jewel waiting with eager anticipation.

The spirit warily observed the pieces of the weapon as they revealed themselves, a mixture of fear and curiosity as the exposed blade winked wickedly, its sharp curves neither nicked nor dented from the explosion that had clearly taken place.

As it pulled the last piece of concrete away, the spirit stared down at the sceptre without moving. It lay sparkling in the flickering artificial light, shimmering with reflections of electrical sparks, its orb slowly pulsing like a coiled creature’s steady breathing.

Trembling, delicate fingers reached forward toward the golden shaft, the intricate details of the handle calling to the creases of its palm.

It could not resist, and suddenly, it did not want to.

The spirit grabbed onto the metallic instrument and clasped its eyelids shut as a powerful sensation surged up its hand, into its arm, and across its chest. The energy rolled throughout its entire body, holding the spirit in its grasp as it was helpless to resist the tidal force.

The sensation was far from painful – it was quite the opposite, both seductive and heady as the fear completely melted away from its mind. There was nothing to fear. The spirit found it could easily siphon off the excess energy given off by the jewel, and it was enough to hold it enraptured in its intensity.

The presence of the mind-jewel was palpable, but contained within the orb where it could not harm the wielder. It could operate the mind-jewel however it wanted, separated from the raw power by the casing of the azure orb.

As the spirit held the warm, golden shaft in its tight grip, it opened its eyes to stare down at the object of its previous terror. It was no longer afraid. Why would it be, when the consciousness within the orb was bound to its will, forced to obey its every command?

The spirit was jolted from its trance as two large beings burst through the grating of the floor, raining more debris and sparks into the room.

It jumped to its feet and retreated to the entryway, gripping the sceptre tightly in its hands as it cautiously watched the yellow-haired Asgardian, who stared first at it, then at the sceptre, his eyes wide in alarm.

Before he could speak, a large, green creature towered over them both.

By luck or by providence, the beast did not notice the spirit as he snatched up the Asgardian in his large fists. He tossed Thor about the room with careless aggression, crushing him into the floor and throwing him into a wall as if he weighed nothing. The Asgardian grunted in distress, and the spirit stood frozen in indecision.

It had the sceptre – there was no reason to not immediately search for Loki. But it could not just leave his brother to be beaten and broken by this terrifying creature, could it?

As the beast was about to descend on the Asgardian once more, the spirit gripped the metal shaft tightly as it shouted at the impossibly muscled beast.

“Stop!”

The beast paused and looked back in confusion, blinking stupidly.

It blinked in return. It had not actually expected the looming creature to listen.

Out of the corner of its eye, it saw a dark shape hovering in the distance through the large bay window. It barely had time to turn its head before the glass was shattered, displaced air rushing through the opening as the dark shape sprayed the back of the beast with pellets which only seemed to ricochet harmlessly from his green skin.

This broke the spirit’s temporary paralysis, and it backed from room as the beast turned and roared in fury.

The Asgardian shielded his head and jumped clear on the opposite side, staring back at the spirit once he obtained safety from the beast and the weapons trained on the hulking form.

Before Loki’s brother could decide to give chase – now that the green beast had decided to leap out of the window onto the air vessel which had attacked him – the spirit ran, the sceptre gripped tightly in hand.

Despite now being the target of the Asgardian, it found the idea of fear difficult to experience with the sceptre in its palm. The warm metal seemed to thrum against its skin, creating a slight vibration up its forearm that traveled down into its legs, giving it the impression that it could continually run for a limitless amount of time. The sensation was engrossing, and it wondered how Loki always seemed to hold the apparatus with a casualness that did not indicate any sort of sensation whatsoever from the shaft.

Perhaps it would ask him, if it could find him and he was not in a throat-gripping frame of mind.

Where will it find Loki?

It had barely conjured the question in its mind before it instantly knew the answer. On the same level as the laboratory, contained in a special isolation cell far away from the detention area where the spirit had been sequestered.

The spirit had not even attempted to tap into the abilities and secrets of the jewel and it was already obeying its desires. It could begin to understand why Loki found it so easy to wield when it had once been an instrument of his torment.

Testing the assumption that the mind-jewel would obey its mental commands, the spirit focused its attention on a group of approaching humans. They were additional SHIELD soldiers, racing down the hallway, and it wished the desire to remain unnoticed by them.

Standing against the wall, it realized it need not have bothered, as the humans gave it a noticeable berth in the narrow hallway. They did not so much as glance in its direction.

The spirit stared down at the weapon in awe, but it was shaken from its reverie as the aircraft began to slowly tilt to one side.

There was little time remaining.

The spirit paused as it took in the reality of Loki’s cell once it reached its destination, having arrived without being caught by the humans or Thor. The space was far different from its own confined quarters, and it was not so much a room as it was a circular glass and metal container, shining a sickly pale light down on the Jotun-Asgardian.

Loki was sitting on a ledge built into the side of the spherical tank, but he looked up as soon as the spirit entered the room. He appeared puzzled as his pale eyes traced over and past where it stood. He slowly walked to the glass, his eyes narrowed as his hands clenched at his sides.

“Reveal yourself,” he commanded, and the spirit was startled to realize it was invisible even to the Jotun-Asgardian’s perceptions, at least partially. It took the time to truly observe his appearance, spared from his intense gaze as it scrutinized his towering form.

He was the same creature it had spared from a drawn-out, miserable death in the darkest void. It had offered its energy to bring him life, even intertwined itself within his core. It had tried to spare him again from the hands of the twisted tormentor.

So what had happened to Loki to so fundamentally change his manners, his thoughts, his desires?

Perhaps it wished to stop the Jotun-Asgardian from reigning destruction on the humans. It could possibly put him under the control of the mind-jewel and force him to stop his dangerous plan. Molding the wills of others was the express purpose of the artifact from what it had observed thus far.

Would that be the right course of action? Objectively, it would seem to be. So why did it feel so… wrong?

Was controlling another, even to do so for the betterment of others, the correct use of the weapon? Or was it morally reprehensible to remove the ability for a being to make decisions for themselves, even if those decisions brought harm to others?

“I know you are there,” Loki said in a low growl, interrupting its internal debate as it stared up into his face, made bleak by the unnatural lighting from above.

It willed itself to be seen, and the surprised look on Loki’s face indicated he had not expected the spirit to be the unseen intruder he had somehow sensed in his presence. He cleared his throat and smoothed over his expression of astonishment, a quick smile spreading across his pale features.

“You have been successful, I see.” Loki paused, seemingly waiting for a response, but it offered none. The strange sensation from the golden apparatus was pulling its focus inward, and it took concerted effort to focus on his words.

“The controls for my release are located on this side,” he instructed, wasting no time as he walked to another facet of his transparent cell, the spirit mimicking his progression from the outer walkway as it returned its attention to his form. He appeared unharmed, and it estimated that Thor had not accepted the leading human’s suggestion to torture his brother for information.

“But… be cautious,” he warned as the spirit approached the indecipherable panel, eyes narrowed as it studied the conduit through which the Jotun-Asgardian could be freed. “Do not press the large, red button. Do you understand how to work a computer console?”

Tracing its eyes over the translucent screen as it carefully allowed a trickle of knowledge to flow into its consciousness from the limitless mind-jewel, it replied:

“It does now.”

Reaching its hand forward, it input the commands which would unlock the pressurized, magnetized glass door. The display on the computer was now as familiar to the spirit as… well, anything else in this strange world.

Glancing to the Jotun-Asgardian, it did not miss the relief that briefly flickered in his eyes as he turned, quickly striding to the exit and stepping from his circular confinement.

The spirit did not move, and Loki purposefully approached where it stood, his footsteps slowly traversing the grated walkway as he gave a charming smile that indicated confidence which never quite reached his eyes.

“I knew my trust in you was well-placed. Hand me my sceptre.”

It did not want to part with the sceptre – or rather, with the mind-jewel inside of the orb. It cared not for the wicked blades, nor did it really desire the ability to manipulate perceptions and dominate mental abilities.

But it did enjoy the powerful energies thrumming just under its skin, its limbs tingling with strength and vitality.

“Now… please.”

It noticed the growing unease in Loki’s eyes. The realization that perhaps, in all of his planning, in all of his scheming and plotting and strategizing, he had miscalculated when he had not factored in his creation and her possible connection to-

Its muscles tensed at the realization it was actually skimming Loki’s mind, unconsciously observing his thoughts as soon as he formed them.

The spirit placed the shaft of the sceptre in his hand, quickly releasing before it could unwittingly cause damage with its reluctance to part with the object.

Immediately, the feed of energy was severed and it felt suddenly frail and vulnerable. It had to take several breaths and brace its hands against the nearby railing in order to stop itself from collapsing from the sudden absence of strength. Already, it yearned for the vitality and absolute confidence which came from holding the apparatus – two experiences which had been completely foreign to the spirit in this body.

As Loki stared down at it, the sceptre gripped firmly in one palm, he appeared almost…

There were heavy footsteps outside of the entryway into the vast room, and suddenly the large, dirty, battle-weary brother of Loki appeared in the entryway from the opposite side of the room.
A grin slowly curled on Loki’s lips that appeared more mischievous than malicious.

Thor’s startlingly blue eyes passed over them without so much as pausing, instead focusing on the door of the cell which was reopening on the other side in an illusionary escape attempt by an illusionary Loki.

“No!” he yelled in horror, running forward and leaping at the mirage, which crouched in a show of bracing for an attack.

The Asgardian passed through and landed heavily on the floor of the cell.

Loki reached past the spirit and input the commands to close the door. It watched in mounting concern as the Jotun-Asgardian dropped the illusion, standing squarely in front of the glass with his hands resting behind his back.

“Are you ever not going to fall for that?”

Loki gave a low chuckle as Thor stared at him in growing frustration, the solid grey hammer held tight in his hand as he appeared prepared to smash in the glass of the enclosure.

“I’m being quite rude, aren’t I? You have not been properly introduced,” Loki remarked genially, glancing back to where the spirit remained frozen, transfixed by the scene.

“Trinity, meet my golden brother, Thor Odinson,” he said, flourishing his arm in a grand gesture toward his captive.

“Thor, meet Trinity Frost. She’s… well, you could say she’s the newest addition to our well-adjusted little family.” The grin he fixed onto his brother was filled with dark humor as indicated the spirit, who stood slightly further down the walkway.

“I daresay Mother and Father will be pleased. They are so fond of taking in strays.”

The spirit focused its gaze on Loki, head slightly tilted as it tried to interpret his statement. Thor, as well, appeared not to comprehend his words, his eyebrows drawn together over his bright blue orbs.

“Imagine it Thor: I wielded the power of the Tesseract to create a completely unique being, and the humans used it to forge the tools of their destruction. They sent out the siren’s call to all who would listen and attracted the cognizance of a Mad Titan.” Loki’s voice, at first amused and light, gradually evolved into a bitter snarl by the end of his explanation.

“And yet, they claim I am the monster,” he snarled, the color of his voice nothing short of pure loathing and hatred. The spirit could almost feel the negative emotions radiating from his presence, and it tried its best not to recoil from his wrath.

“What have you done, brother?” spoke the deep voice of the yellow-haired Asgardian, his eyes desperately searching between Loki and the spirit, who could not completely hide the apprehension it experienced from Loki’s thunderous emotions.

“What I have always done, brother. I am only looking after my own interests.”

This garnered an instant reaction from Thor as he brought his heavy hammer down against the glass of the cage in an expression of fury.

An ominous rumble traveled through the room as the cell shook, a web of cracks appearing in one small portion of the glass. The spirit glanced up and realized the cage was being held with large, powerful clamps which looked as if they were in the process of giving way.

Thor and Loki seemed to realize this as well. The two brothers stood stock still, and for a moment their faces were identical in an expression of surprise.

Then the enclosed brother silently pled with his eyes as the free brother gave a soft chuckle, slowly turning his back with a surreptitious grin on his face.

“The humans think us immortal. Should we test that?” Loki asked in sudden good humor as he approached the transparent display.

The spirit looked between the two Asgardians and was about to speak when something unpleasantly warm pressed between its shoulder blades.

“Move away, please,” spoke the oddly pleasant voice of Agent Coulson of SHIELD from behind, apparently having crept into the room during the sibling confrontation.

The spirit slowly looked over its shoulder at the agent, only able to see him and the black object he held in the periphery of its limited vision.

Loki stood completely still, examining the object pressed into its back with his pale eyes, his expression somehow different. Serious. No longer smirking and chortling. His eyes were clear and focused, as if the madness had temporarily lifted from his mind.

He slowly moved away from the panel.

“You like this?” Agent Coulson asked, pushing the object harder into its back, forcing it to walk forward. “We started working on the prototype after you sent the Destroyer.”

Loki moved further away from the panel and slowly began to approach, his palms facing forward in a show of non-threat.

“Even I don’t know what it does,” Coulson said, the pressure on its back lessening as he came to a stop.

“Do you want to find out?”

It heard a high-pitched whine as the object in his hands came to life, and it felt the sizzling heat of the object through its thin grey garment.

Its eyes widened in fear as it stared silently at the Jotun-Asgardian.

That was when it noticed something out of place. The golden apparatus was not in his hand, and had not been since the human had-

“Urgh!”

It whirled around at the cry of pain, the sickening sound of something sharp slicing through flesh and bone accompanying the noise of agony. It stared, dumbfounded, unable to process what was happening even while its eyes observed with logical precision.

Loki had slid behind Coulson of SHIELD without the spirit even noticing, either with the power of the mind-jewel or with his own acumen of light manipulation.

He was killing the human. That was obvious from the red-tipped blade which had sprouted from the center of his chest.

Even though it knew Loki must have taken a life before this, even though it knew what he was capable of, it still could not move. It could not breathe.

“No!” came the tortured cry of Loki’s trapped brother from behind, helpless to stop the lethal wounding of the human as he slammed his fist against the glass cage wall.

Loki retracted the cruel blade, now dripping with the scarlet liquid which fueled these bodies, and moved past the human as he collapsed, the heavy weapon on his lap slowly dimming as if in synchronicity to the being who held it.

Loki did not look at the spirit as he brushed past, his expression hard and cold as he returned to his previous task.

The spirit continued to stare down at the human in shock, unable to turn away from the red color blossoming across the light blue fabric covering his torso. Coulson of SHIELD stared back at it, his eyes glazed with moisture, his lips slightly parted as he gasped for breath.

It could hear the strained, belabored breathing of the human, could hear the harsh breaths of the Asgardian, and yet it found it could not breathe.

Air was finally pulled into its lungs as a large gale of air rushed past, pulled down through the opening in the floor as Loki caused the aperture to slide back to reveal the vast sky far below.

The maddening smile had returned as Loki stared at his brother, a hand resting on the display as the other gripped the sceptre, its bloody grin shining around the eye of the orb.

Loki’s hand hovered above the release while staring at Thor, as if waiting for the Asgardian to plead for his life.

Thor remained silent.

The spirit was also without speech, its mind thoroughly paralyzed, unable to process in a logical and clear manner the events as they were happening.

The Asgardian slowly walked backwards, examining his surroundings before stopping. He was gauging where the direct center of the circular chamber was located and stood there, his feet slightly apart. He was resigned to what he knew was coming next.

Loki pressed the button.

“No,” it tried to yell. Nothing emerged but a faint whisper, its body as uncooperative as its mind, its lungs refusing to obey.

The massive clamps were released, and the circular cell plunged out of view in a loud screech of metal scrapping against metal.

The Asgardian was gone.

The spirit could not look away from the empty space which the chamber had just occupied. Two living, sentient beings, dying before its eyes.

And it had done nothing.

“You’re going to lose,” a quiet voice spoke from behind. It slowly turned and saw Coulson of SHIELD still clinging to life. He was staring up at Loki, who appeared curiously unexpressive for having just sentenced his brother to a death-fall.

“Am I?” he asked, the hint of a smile on his lips.

“It’s in your nature,” the human replied, maroon liquid trailing from the corner of his mouth. Despite his predicament, his voice was surprisingly steady and his eyes, while beginning to dim, were devoid of fear.

“Your heroes are scattered,” Loki replied, eyes narrowed as he began to slowly approach the fallen human.

“Your floating fortress falls from the sky.”

He held out his arms, eyebrows curved inwards in perplexity.

“Where is my disadvantage?”

“You lack conviction,” the male responded, his voice filled with plenty of his own.

Loki’s eyes changed, for the briefest of moments – exposing a brief, naked vulnerability.

“I don’t think I’m-“

A fiery ball of orange slag slammed him in the chest, carrying him backwards and blasting him through the wall, leaving behind a melting, glowing hole which smelled of melted metal and burning flesh.

“So, that’s what it does.”

Staring at the hole in terror, the paralysis on its body broke as it rushed to the smoking crater in the wall, every fiber of its body electrified at the prospect of the Jotun-Asgardian being mortally wounded.

But it saw he was still alive, groaning in a collapsed heap as thick smoke rose from somewhere near his torso.

Its mind blind to growing panic, it was about to enter the gaping hole when it heard the strained, soft voice of Coulson of SHIELD.

“I wouldn’t have… have shot you… You know that, right?”

Forcing its eyes to be dragged away from the groaning Loki, it gazed back at the fallen human. Even now, even witnessing these monstrous acts, it illogically wanted to shield the Jotun-Asgardian from harm.

But the human was dying. And he deserved to have his last words heard.

The spirit commanded its shaking, awkward body to move, kneeling in front of the Coulson of SHIELD, its eyes unable to look elsewhere but the fleshy wound in his chest.

“It is sorry,” it said, feeling there was nothing else it could say. It did not blame him for attacking the one who had mortally wounded him, and it felt a painful pressure in its chest at the sight of the fading light in his eyes.

“It did not mean for this to happen,” it offered uselessly when he did not speak, its eyes strangely burning as its mind tried to deny the situation, and how awry it had become in so short a time span.

“Whoever you are… you don’t have to… to follow him. He’s not your… responsibility….”

The spirit’s eyes snapped upward to meet his, widening at his startlingly perceptive words. The human merely stared back, smiling slightly despite the agony he was no doubt experiencing.

The human’s time was near. It could sense the soul within, preparing to leave its mortal shell. The ache in its chest became twofold – sorrow for playing a part in his death, and a hollow emptiness at knowing he would soon experience freedom in a way that was now denied to the spirit.

It reached out a slightly trembling hand and placed it on his shoulder. It did not know the appropriate methods of offering comfort, but this felt right. The human gave it a small smile before closing his eyes, leaving the spirit to wonder why there was such a deep pain in its chest accompanied by an alarming tightness in its throat.

Feeling numb, unsteady, and completely exhausted, it stumbled its way to the smoking wound in the wall. Loki was within, panting as he managed to rise to his hands and knees, his garments and hair wafting streams of acrid smoke.

Without waiting for instructions or demands, the spirit knelt down and braced its shoulders under his arm. Gingerly, it pulled him to his feet, and he did not resist. In fact, Loki braced his weight willingly against the spirit’s physical form, awkwardly holding the sceptre in one hand while he gripped its shoulder with the other.

The power of the weapon had traveled onwards and knocked through another wall, allowing the spirit to pull Loki into the next room, which the spirit was grateful for. The strain on its emotional state was enormous enough without having to see the fallen human a second time, or be reminded of what Loki had done to his kin.

The spirit led Loki as carefully as possible into a hallway, identical to all of the others, before stumbling as the colossal air vessel began to descend on an uneven plane once more. Loki’s shifting weight caused it to stumble as it struggled to keep them upright, but its legs shook and it felt a strange queasiness in its chest. The two fell to their knees, and it could not move under Loki’s arm, let alone pull him to his feet again.

It held out its hand across his body.

“Hand it the sceptre.”

Loki was still panting, his breath harsh and uneven as sweat beaded on his pale forehead. A dark circle of burned flesh was stamped onto his chest, and it was uncomfortably reminded of the burn mark it had left on the chest of the alien creature in another lifetime. The scorched circle on his chest was deep enough to reveal the surface of his bones, and it knew the wound must have been causing him great pain.

“Your injuries are grievous. You must trust it.”

“Not… an… it…” he responded weakly, a ghost of a smile on his pallid face. But he handed over the weapon despite the misgivings he no doubt had regarding the spirit handling the golden apparatus.

As soon as its fingertips touched the metal, it felt the seductive and now-familiar surge that filled its limbs with potential force and energy.

Gripping his side firmly, it pulled them both into a standing position with ease. It also made a conscious effort to not think. Not about concealing them from the perceptions of others, nor about wishing to mold the will of the humans to its benefit. No thinking anything at all.

This turned out to be impossible for a being with a brain.

“Where do you wish to go?” it asked, and before Loki could open his mouth, the response came across its mind. There was an aircraft waiting on the surface of the Helicarrier which would lead him to a prearranged meet with Dr. Selvig, who would have the Tesseract and-

“Yes, it sees the Quinjet. Please stop thinking, it is distracting.”

This caused Loki’s mind to light up in alarm, and it quickly thrust the sceptre back into his hands. He took the weapon and it nearly trembled with relief – it had managed to hand off the golden instrument before it had completed its thought of wishing Loki would be mentally silent.

The hum of energy left its bones as soon as its palm left the metal shaft, but it was more than willing to part with the weapon this time. It was also able to walk easier under the weight of the Jotun-Asgardian now that some energy had been restored to its weak body.

“You need mending,” it remarked, looking up into his face, unsure as to how his race healed themselves in instances of physical damage.

“I will be made whole, soon enough,” he replied, his tone gruff as they began to ascend a set of metallic stairs. By the time they reached the top, the spirit was sufficiently winded, but Loki seemed to be looking more alert and healthy, glimpses of pale bone no longer visible from his chest.

“You failed to mention the sceptre grants you the power to hide yourself from my sight… as well as allow you to walk freely through my thoughts.” Loki’s tone of voice was even, but it could feel the sharp edges waiting out of view. The grip on its shoulder was uncomfortably tight.

“There was little time afforded to share this information,” it replied, wincing and raising its hand to block the sunlight which blinded as they left the inner workings of the massive air vessel called the Helicarrier. The strong air current in the exposed atmosphere caused its long hair to become rebellious in the wind. Loki’s hair, ordinarily sculpted into perfectly coordinated locks which curled upwards at the end like barbs, was now frazzled and unkempt, matching the expression on his face.

The spirit led them across the flat surface of the massive aircraft towards the Quinjet it had seen in his mind. Debris littered the surface of the behemoth vessel, and smoke flew into the sky from several different locations.

Loki released his grip and walked gingerly up the ramp once they reached the small transport, limping and using the sceptre as a means to brace his weight as his legs seemed unable to fully support him.

The Quinjet was empty, save for an unfamiliar human to pilot the aircraft.

“Where is Barton?”

“Obviously not here,” Loki replied, settling himself into the nearest seat with a wince of discomfort.

“We must locate him.”

“We must do nothing but leave,” he replied bitingly, lightly touching the rapidly healing skin on his chest, a wave of green light replacing the armor which had been burned to a cinder by the strange weapon Coulson of SHIELD had wielded against him.

“Stop this foolishness. He was a useful tool, and now his time of usefulness has passed.”

It stopped just short of the edge of the ramp, his callous words triggering something – a change inside of the spirit as an unseen, unknown line was crossed.

“No.”

The Jotun-Asgardian looked up, his pale blue eyes narrowed dangerously.

“What did you say?”

The spirit took an uneven breath, steeling its nerves, having made a conscious decision of what it would do regarding its wayward Jotun-Asgardian.

“You wished for it to see what you see. To have its own perceptions join yours.” It focused its full gaze on his, trying not to shiver before his electrifying vision. “This is how it must do so. It has to find another way to your side of understanding.”

It took a step back.

“You will not. You will come to me. Now.”

It perceived the slithery tendrils of the mind-jewel reach out, hungrily searching for the spirit to ensnare its mind in a sinewy web of deceit and irresistible control. The Jotun-Asgardian had moved beyond violent words, and was now attempting to take it by force.

Lifting its head and squaring its shoulders, it took another step back. It would not go, and it mustered all of its willpower to focus on this one thought:

It will not go.

The tendrils of mental dominance evaporated before it could touch the spirit, wisps of golden threads vanishing in the wind.

As the aircraft began to lift into the air, the closing hatch slowly blocking their view of one another, Loki’s expression broke.

It would have been so much more preferable if he had glowered in seething anger. If he had raged like an inferno or screamed his threats at the top of his lungs.

Anything but his wide eyes, red around the rims, his lips pressed tightly together as his eyebrows creased into an expression of naked pain.

Anything but that look of utter devastation which haunted it long after the Quinjet had disappeared into the sky-sea of blue.

Notes