Madness of the Serpent

Loki brooded in sullen silence, meticulously going through his plan repeatedly. There were no leaks he could identify, no unquantifiable variances save one.

Most likely, SHIELD would keep that unknown variable locked in a cell, ignorant to her potential and abilities with the sceptre. He knew the Director was a clever mortal, but he also knew the man was wary and suspicious, and would view any aid offered by Loki’s creation as a potential snake waiting to bite an outstretched hand of cooperation.

Loki believed she would be helpless enough, trapped on the floating fortress. Far from him and the Tesseract, she could do no harm. Once the humans were crushed by his marauders, he would rip to pieces what was left of SHIELD and retrieve what was his. He was far from done with Trinity – she was deluded if she believed otherwise.

Speaking of the celestial cube, it was secured in a case next to the mortal scientist, ready to seek its new home in the holdings of the completed portal device. The enslaved pilot had stopped at the prearranged meet with Dr. Selvig’s van, and Loki had levitated the massive machine into the aircraft. He had been briefly worried that his lessened magic would not be able to lift the complicated machine, but he had held his concentration well enough. Too much hung in the balance for his magic to fail him now.

And now they were descending towards New York City – the island known as Manhattan specifically.

As the aircraft neared the city, Loki heard voices begin to inquire as to the purpose and trajectory of the unknown aircraft, causing a sly grin to be coaxed from his lips. Holding the sceptre in his hand and focusing his will, he expanded his reach outwards, plying into the minds of all who were concerned with the aircraft and its destination.

Loki touched the minds of the air control personnel in contact with the Quinjet, making it so the aircraft would be ignored. They could still see the aircraft on their instruments, but they would think nothing of it and would continue on as if the appearance of the aircraft was perfectly in line with their expectations. No alarms would be raised, and Fury’s pets would be too late to stop him.

It was incredibly exhausting. The sceptre was a daunting weapon with an untapped well of energy, but the strain it put on his own mind to shape the perceptions of a handful of mortals was shamefully tiresome.

As they approached the flat top of the tower, Loki realized he had miscalculated the size of the area. It was too miniscule to fit the mortal aircraft, and the pilot began to descend toward the landing platform built into the side of Stark’s shrine of overcompensation.

“No!” Loki snapped impatiently, rising upwards and bracing his feet evenly against the flooring to maintain his balance as the pilot halted the descent. “Hold near the edge – I will guide the machine down.” It had to be placed on the highest point of the structure. There was no other option.

The mind-slave pressed several buttons, and the ramp began to lower towards the rooftop. The rushing air tousled Loki’s curved, black locks in the wind, also buffeting Dr. Selvig as he remained silent – the mortal looking particularly ill from the long-term effects of the orb’s dominance.

Reaching down into his well of unreliable magical potential, Loki pointed his palm at the bronze and silver machine. Concentrating with all of his might, he levitated the machine from the aircraft, down the ramp, over the two feet of empty air, and gingerly placed it near the edge of the rooftop. Loki ignored the cold sweat on his brow and the way his fingers trembled.

“Your turn, doctor,” Loki mocked, panting but still able to smirk at the frazzled mortal.

The man stood hesitantly and eyed the gap between the rooftop and the aircraft. He also staggered as rose to his feet, and Loki made a noise of irritation. The man was growing weak, and as entertaining as it would be to watch the mortal fall to the concrete below, he still required his expertise until his dark legion of destruction made planetfall.

Curling his lip in annoyance, Loki pointed his hand at the mortal’s chest and lifted him up, flicking his hand to toss him onto the rooftop. The man tumbled to his knees, and the dark god grinned wickedly at the man’s clumsy, fragile form.

Picking up the white metal case, he levitated himself, sceptre in hand, onto the gravel-filled rooftop, unable to hide his growing weakness as he stumbled upon landing. Dr. Selvig had managed to pull himself to his feet, and the air still buffeted them even after the Quinjet departed.

Loki wondered with an off-hand curiosity what would become of his mind-slave now that he had no instructions for him. Would he simply wander the skies of Midgard, eventually falling from the air once his vessel ran out of fuel?

Pushing the deliciously macabre thoughts from his mind, he pushed the case into Dr. Selvig’s arms, his face no longer mirthful but impatient with anticipation.

“I trust you know what to do with this,” he inquired frostily.

“Oh yes, sir. I’ll begin to power the device, but… it will take a few minutes. Once the initiation is started, it can’t be interrupted.”

With a sly grin that erased all signs of exhaustion and painted his features with manic glee, Loki stated, “Do not concern yourself with that, mortal. Leave it to me.”

________________________________________________________________

“Try this on.”

Agent Romanoff had returned only a few moments after she had departed, given the command by the Captain after the spirit’s revelation. She had volunteered to find the more conspicuous garments the spirit, as she claimed to have more experience estimating the correct dimensions of its form simply by observing. None of her SHIELD counterparts had suspected the agent of either duplicity or of facilitating the breakout of a captive, and she left the spirit to adorn the garments she had acquired.

The suit was sleek and black, and it fit its feminine form like a second skin. The spirit felt oddly self-conscious as it moved in the tight garment.

After it had pulled on the black boots, which helped it not feel so exposed and vulnerable, it positioned itself in front of the reflection within the bodily waste room in order to examine its visage. It still did not perceive itself as being human, nor did it truly feel it possessed a specific gender, but it was amazed to observe how different it looked wearing the SHIELD garments.

The silhouette of its physical form was perfectly outlined in the combat suit, and it wondered how having such a garment would protect it from conflict in the coming battle. It did not look impressive in a way that was intimidating and threatening, but its form did appear strangely pleasing to its own now-human perceptions.

What would the Jotun-Asgardian think if he could see it now, clothed in the wrappings of his enemies? It brushed the mental scenario aside as it failed to suppress the shudder that ran through its body.

The spirit pulled its long black hair from the opening of the suit, made sure all of its various fastenings were correctly positioned, and opened the door to step into the hallway where the humans were waiting. They had already gathered their battle weapons and gear, such as the Captain’s shield, Barton’s stringed weapon, and Romanoff’s various firearms and knives hidden throughout her suit.

The shield-warrior raised both of his eyebrows as he observed its new state of dress. Agent Barton gave a smirk that would have fit just as easily on Loki’s face, and Agent Romanoff nodded in approval.

“Not bad. Black looks good on you.”

“Black looks good on everyone,” Barton remarked sarcastically, winking his eye at the spirit while the Captain sighed heavily.

“Let’s get moving before the Director wonders why we’re commandeering one of SHIELD’s prisoners,” the Captain said in a serious tone.

“Not everyone can pull off a catsuit. She has the femme fatale image down perfect,” Agent Romanoff continued as she walked beside Barton, both of whom walked behind the Captain. The spirit walked slightly behind the two agents, trying not to appear conspicuous to the nearby humans who were not privy to their deviation.

“There’s more to being a spy than just looking pretty,” came Barton’s reply.

“Fury has kept you around, hasn’t he?”

“You really think I’m pretty?” he asked, blinking his eyelashes at her.

“I am never sharing my interrogation tactics with you ever again.”

The spirit slowly came to the realization that the distracting banter was not entirely without a purpose. The two agents seemed to have an incredibly strong bond, and the spirit wondered if it had been difficult for them to be apart. For one of them to be in danger, and the other unable to assist them. To feel helpless as the other committed harmful acts out of his control – knowing he could not be saved from himself.

It could relate to the sentiment.

“So, explain how the portal collapsed the first time. Loki never did figure it out, as far as I could tell. It was actually kind of weird… he didn’t seem that upset about it when he initially crossed over,” Agent Barton said quizzically, looking over his shoulder at the black-clad spirit who was attempting not to fidget in its skin-tight garments.

This presented it with a dilemma. How could it simultaneously convey the truth while remaining vague enough so that the assassin would not realize it knew the intimate details of the collapse because it had caused the collapse? Even though the humans were allowing it to augment their team in order to halt Loki’s end goal, it did not wish to reveal the extent of its abilities – especially when these abilities were still unknown and unexplainable.

“Too much energy was introduced to the formation of the portal, overloading its integrity and causing it to collapse within itself.” It was not a lie, exactly.

“Did the sceptre cause the portal to open? That was Fury’s belief, that the orb is a product of the Tesseract. Maybe the sceptre can also close any portals Loki manages to open,” Agent Romanoff added, and the spirit said nothing. It was skeptical as to how useful the sceptre would be in closing a portal, as the mind-jewel was only effective in controlling and manipulating the thoughts of living beings.

No, most likely, the Tesseract had been activated by something else – by the humans themselves if Loki’s claims were true. The Tesseract and mind-jewel seemed connected, this much was true, but one did not seem to command the powers of the other.

But it was not going to share its thoughts with the humans. It did not enjoy hiding information from them, but it did not know them well enough to truly trust their intentions.

“There’s our ride,” the Captain said, pointing across the expansive hangar they had just entered, his gloved finger indicating a stationary Quinjet. The spirit kept its eyes forward and tried to emulate the confidence and determination of its temporary companions as they strode purposefully across the bay, struggling to keep pace with the capable humans.

As they ascended the ramp of the aircraft, a human stood from the cockpit, looking understandably confused.

“Hey, you guys aren’t authorized to be in here. And… isn’t that the detainee from-“

“Son, just don’t,” the Captain interrupted, his tone brokering no argument.

The human, clearly seeing that he was not in control of the situation, nervously moved aside and let the group pass as he wiped sweat from his brow. The Captain gave the male a final look, which caused him to quickly depart from the air vessel.

“Where to, fearless leader?” Barton asked as he quickly placed himself in the left pilot seat, Romanoff doing the same to the seat on the right.

“Stark Tower,” replied the shield-warrior, closely observing the hangar until the hatch had sealed firmly behind them.

The spirit fastened itself to one of the seats with the safety restraints, its heart beginning to race as it felt it was standing on the edge of a significant event. Whatever was to come, there would be no retreat. The time for indecision and hesitation had passed.

“Are you serious?” came Barton’s incredulous response.

“Not very subtle, is he?” responded his red-haired companion as she worked the various controls to initiate the aircraft’s engines.

“Who? Stark or Loki?”

“Equally applicable.”

As the Quinjet lifted into the air, it slowly pivoted toward the opening before rushing forward, causing the spirit to grip its seat as gravity tugged on its body. Alarmed voices began to demand to know the purpose of the unauthorized take-off; Romanoff flipped a switch to silence their protests as she spoke to one of their absent companions.

“Hey Stark, slight change of plans. We have an extra passenger, one that may be able to interfere with Loki’s portal-making plans, or at least throw him off his game.”

“Huh? Who?”

“Ms. Frost has volunteered to lend her help,” replied Romanoff, glancing back and giving the spirit a small, reassuring smile, to which it did not know how to respond.

It could hear the reaction through the metallic bud hidden in one of the folds of its ear, placed there by the red-haired agent as they had climbed onboard. Unfortunately, the response was indecipherable as it was only a loud, drawn-out noise of exasperation. The flying gold-and-red humanoid could be seen briefly from the viewing port before he increased his speed ahead of the aircraft, leaving a trail of mist in his wake.

“And Cap agreed to this without resorting to fisticuffs? He used his words and everything?” inquired the Stark human inside his airborne suit of armor.

“Yes, Stark. I decided her… expertise and history with Loki would be beneficial for the mission,” the Captain replied, resting the shield onto his back as he held onto the handholds on the ceiling, electing not to use the seat restraints. The spirit did not fully understand what the metal human had meant, but by the way the Captain avoided looking in its direction, it guessed it had to do with the violent confrontation in its cell.

“I’m happy you’ve kissed and made up, but how on Earth will having the Prince of Darkness’ girlfriend along be a good thing?” the disembodied voice asked.

“Prince of Darkness?” the Captain asked in slow confusion.

“Yeah. You know, Ozzy Osbourne? Please tell me you know who Ozzy Osbourne is.”

“If Loki manages to open a portal-“ Barton began to reply, but he was never given the chance to finish his statement as the metal human interrupted him.

“Agent Barton, is that you?” he asked incredulously, his tone rapidly transforming from playfulness to genuine curiosity. “How?”

“Still not a hundred percent sure about that,” Barton replied uncertainly. “Only that Trinity saved my ass.”

“Clint has a tendency to be rescued at his most dire moments by beautiful women,” Romanoff remarked, her expression attempting neutrality as the corner of her lip twitched.

“That must be a terrible burden to carry,” Stark replied with a sigh in his voice. “I truly pity you. Now back to me and my extremely important questions. How will Frost-girl be able to assist the Mighty Avengers?”

“Trin may or may not be able to close portals, and we are not using that name,” Barton replied evenly.

“And I may or may not have woken up next to five buxom, statuesque Swedish models after a night of alcohol-induced revelry, but there’s conveniently no evidence for that either.”

An awkward moment of silence followed, during which Barton coughed and the Captain’s face turned a curious pink color.

“You do realize we can all hear you,” Romanoff asked, her tone of voice slightly dulled.

“Give my sincerest apologies to the 91-Year-Old-Virgin. My point is, it’s easy to talk yourself up in order to impress your pals, but the proof is in the pudding.”

“Either way, we’ll find out soon – the decision has already been made,” the Captain replied, his tone terse as his companion pushed the boundaries of contention.

“Then you’re wasting your time. If the portal device can be dismantled, it’ll already be done by the time you get there. Later, plebes.”

The sparkling metallic figure of the odd human gave a bright flash, and he was soon lost over the horizon of the human metropolis.

None of the occupants of the aircraft spoke, and the spirit focused its gaze on an empty portion of space. The humans were bickering over whether it would be of significance to the coming battle, which served the purpose of making it feel exceedingly… unwanted.

“That virgin comment was unnecessarily harsh. My nickname is much better,” Barton responded, his cheerful voice suddenly filling the heavy silence.

“Hawkeye?” Romanoff responded immediately, as if eager to engage in conversation.

“Nah. Trin gave me a new nickname, and I’m rather fond of it.”

Romanoff’s head turned as she observed her companion, an eyebrow arched questioningly.

“Oh? What is it?”

“Barton-Hawk,” he responded with a look of something akin to pride, causing Romanoff to give a half-grin.

“That is kind of adorable.”

“Right?”

The Captain shook his head at the playful dialogue of his teammates, but a slow smile was forming on his face despite his apparent disapproval. The spirit did not understand the source of their amusement, as the name it had bestowed upon the agent was one of observation, not endearment. But it did not necessarily mind that they seemed to derive enjoyment from something it had done. It was preferable to reactions of hostility and anger.

Romanoff caught the Captain’s movement, and said, “If it makes you feel any better Rogers, I’m only fifty percent sure Stark won’t plummet to the ground before he makes it to his tower for repairs.”

“I hope not. Otherwise, how will we defeat Loki if Tony’s not there to talk him to death?” the Captain asked, drawing laughter from Barton as he maneuvered the aircraft over the expansive water towards the massive human civilization.

The mannerisms and attitudes of the humans were astounding. They were flying headlong into an inevitable war between intergalactic dimensions, and they were bantering and jesting as if nothing momentous was about to occur.

It supposed that was the point. As they flew over the breathtaking skyline of the unknown city, following the faint trail of the metal human’s propulsion system, it began to appreciate their levity as its limbs slowly began to fill with the jitteriness of adrenaline.

“What is the name of this human territory?” asked the spirit, its eyes admiring the buildings and waterways it glimpsed through the viewing port.

“New York City,” the Captain responded, looking down at it curiously as it glanced up at him. His expression was drastically different from the mask of indomitable anger that had first greeted it, and it was glad for that.

“Do many beings occupy this area?” it asked, hoping to ease the previous tension it had caused with the shield-warrior.

“Uh… yes?” he responded, his tone unsure and questioning. “You… don’t know much about people, do you?”

“Only what Loki has allowed it to see.”

The Captain’s expression changed slightly, the blue eyes looking through the eyeholes of his helmet becoming softer.

“I bet he gave you a pretty terrible impression of us,” he accurately estimated.

“It was not flattering,” it replied, remembering his earlier violent behavior in its cell. The human seemed to sense this, as he paused, looking down. His expression seemed… remorseful.

“I’m sorry for losing control, earlier. Did I hurt you?” he asked with what seemed to be genuine concern. Why would he bother his thoughts regarding if he had caused injury, especially when his anger was not entirely unjust?

“It is unharmed,” the spirit replied, believing this to be the truth. It had not checked for damage, but it was not experiencing any new physical discomfort.

The Captain seemed to appear relieved, but his expression remained concerned. “It was wrong of me, what I did. I was taking out my frustrations on you. I… I don’t think I was even doing it because I was angry at Loki.”

It studied his face, its eyebrows slightly furrowed in confusion.

“I mean, yes, I despise the Asgardian, but I think I was angrier at myself. Agent Coulson seemed to… admire me. I blew it off because it made me uncomfortable. And then he was killed, and…,” he trailed off, and there was a haunting in his expression.

“You believe you bear a portion of the blame,” it guessed.

He pressed his lips together and his eyes drifted to the viewing port and the atmosphere outside. They were quickly passing over the metropolis now, no longer over the water.

“But you are not at fault for Coulson of SHIELD’s death. Loki himself drove the blade into his flesh, and even he is not fully responsible for his actions.”

The Captain’s eyes focused back onto its face, narrowing them.

“You really believe that?”

The spirit regarded him solemnly.

“From what it has witnessed, it does.”

He stared at it in perplexity before responding.

“So, this thing you think is controlling him. The ‘Other’. Is he one of these Chitauri aliens?”

It was suddenly aware that the two agents guiding the aircraft had stopped speaking to each other, and were most likely listening to the conversation with keen interest. It chose its words carefully.

“It does not believe so. Those creatures are simple brutes. They are not the ones you need fear the most.” The spirit paused as it tried to form its words into an image that the humans would be able to comprehend. Its own memories and perceptions of the time when it had been a bodiless being were difficult to interpret with a spoken language.

“Envision a physical form. These Chitauri, they are the flesh and bones that move the body, causing it to lash and tear and strike at its opponents. The Other, if it is correct about the role he occupies, would be the mind, controlling the movements and deciding the intentions.”

It did not mention the low, ominous laughter it had sensed during its confrontation with Loki’s tormentor. The spirit did not know the source of those dreadful sounds, or its influence in the overall situation. Instead, it studied the Captain’s expression, and he nodded, saying, “I understand so far. But where does Loki fit into this picture?”

“Loki… he would be its heart.”

“Its heart?” the Captain asked, his expression and tone one of surprise.

“Yes,” the spirit confirmed, looking up at the human, unable to hide the tinge of sorrow to its voice. “At the center of it all, every sinew and tendon and organ fueled by his presence, yet he is a slave to the mind – unable to cease his actions, even if he wished to do so.”

Before the Captain could respond, it experienced a rush of vertigo, causing it to hold its head with its hands as the world swayed precariously despite the aircraft remaining on a steady and even plane.

“Is something wrong?” the blue-clad warrior asked, his voice seeming to hold some kind of concern for its welfare, though it did not have to discern why this would be so.

The spirit ignored his question as it unstrapped itself from the seat, stumbling to the front of the air vessel as it stared through the viewing port. It placed its hands on the back of Barton’s seat to steady itself as its wide eyes focused on the aqua-hued energy which flowed into the sky, opening a large, gaping maw into the dimension of the chitinous, ravenous beasts known as the Chitauri.

Its chest tightened in fearful dread as it saw tiny figures begin to descend through the swirling portal that hung in the sky like a festering wound. A sparkling figure raced upward to meet the invading creatures, greeting them with beams of light and blossoms of fire.

“How were you going to close that thing again?” Agent Barton asked as they flew towards the azure light, which seemed to be emanating from a towering structure in the middle of the island city.

“It… does not know, precisely.”

“You were planning on winging it?” Barton demanded with a voice somewhat shrill.

“It does not understand.”

“Improvise. Play it by ear. Make shit up as you go.”

“…yes.”

“Oh, you have got to be kidding me.”

“Stark, we’re on your three, headed northeast,” Agent Romanoff interrupted, speaking into her ear device as the Quinjet neared the battle-engulfed tower.

“What, did you stop for drive-through?” came Stark’s disembodied voice in its ear, strained with tension as it saw several Chitauri hovercraft giving chase to his battlesuit as he fled from the tower. “Swing up Park. I’m gonna lay ‘em out for you.”

Romanoff pushed several buttons as they flew over a wide avenue, a muffled shuttering noise resounding as projectiles began to fly from the undercarriage, exploding several Chitauri fliers heading past on a perpendicular path.

It held onto the seat tighter as the aircraft took an upwards trajectory, bursting through a plume of black smoke as it circled the enormous structure which proclaimed STARK on the side in enormous lettering.

The spirit felt its heart squeeze in its chest as it saw a familiar gold-and-green clad figure battling on one of the promenades of the tower. His horned visage was highly visible as he fought a silver-and-red figure, yellow hair flying in the wind as he was smashed into a glass barrier.

“Nat?”

“I see him,” Romanoff responded to Barton as the aircraft slowed, turning to face the pair of Asgardian brothers as they vied for control of the other’s movements.

As the aircraft began to rain projectiles upon the lone figure of Loki after he had thrown Thor down at his feet, the spirit exclaimed “No!” as glowing sparks peppered the area around him.

The Jotun-Asgardian looked upwards to the air vessel, and it knew he was aware of its presence onboard – that it had come with the warriors to interfere with his troubling actions.
Loki seemed to pause, giving it a glimmer of hope that he would-

The spirit slammed into the side of the aircraft, glittering lights flashing before its eyes as a jet of blue light burst against the vessel, destroying one of the engines.

“Hang on!” a muffled voice yelled, and an arm of hardened muscle fastened around its middle, firmly holding it against a blue-clad torso. It was too disoriented to remain balanced under its own power, and as the Quinjet began to descend in an uncontrolled tilt, it shut its eyes tightly and waited for death to reclaim it.

Notes