Madness of the Serpent

Steve held one arm tightly around the waist of the strange woman, his other hand gripping the ceiling handhold as the Quinjet began to fall from the sky. Frost had hit her head against the interior hull when Loki had blasted out one of their engines, and the Captain had grabbed her quickly to secure her from further injury.

Glimpsing up to the smoke-obscured cockpit window, Steve was amazed at the archer’s expert maneuverability with the aircraft. Somehow, Agent Barton was able to control its descent, only once clipping the side of a building with the right wing as they came down hard in a relatively empty plaza.

Either they had incredibly good luck or Barton was an inhumanly skilled pilot. A little bit of both, more than likely.

Breathing only a fraction faster than normal, but otherwise completely unaffected by the rough landing, he checked on the girl’s condition. She had a red mark on one temple to match the older cut on her cheek, but otherwise, she looked unharmed. Stunned maybe – she didn’t make a sound or panic from the near-miss as most civilians would have.

“You all right to walk?” he asked her once the Quinjet was completely stationary, and she affirmed her readiness with a singular “Yes”, her hand feeling along the scrap on her head. He released his hold and she seemed able to stand of her own accord, so he grabbed his shield and nodded to Agents Romanoff and Barton.

“It’s going to be pretty hectic out there, so stay close,” he said, making sure Frost looked him in the eye to indicate she was alert and understood his words.

“Ready?” Barton asked, giving the girl a smile much too enthusiastic considering they had just been in a plane crash.

“Yes,” she responded again, her expression unreadable as she glanced around at the trio.

“Come on,” Steve commanded, leading the charge down the ramp, glancing back to make sure his teammates followed. Agent Romanoff trotted after him with a cool expression on her face, while Agent Barton looked forward with eager anticipation.

In contrast to her non-expressions on the Quinjet, Frost’s eyes were now wide as she took in the panicked crowds and the flying aliens. At least in that regard, her reaction was a bit more human.

Steve rounded the corner and saw Stark Tower proclaimed itself only as STA, having lost the massive R and the K which normally marked its oddly vintage-style exterior.

“We got to get back up there,” he yelled, running down the avenue, swerving around the upturned and smoking vehicles towards the elegant façade of the Grand Central Terminal, the antique clock and surrounding limestone Roman gods and heroes a stark contrast to the yawning swirling hole directly above.

All four of them slowed to a stop, their heads craning upwards as they heard an ominous rumble vibrating through their bones, the source of the thunderous noise emanating from the skyward portal.

Steve watched in disbelief as a creature the length and width of a skyscraper swam through the portal, metallic spines covering its tarnished gold shell as it glided through the air. Iron teeth parted as it roared its arrival, its sea-creature fin plowing through the statue of Hermes atop the iconic station.

To make the situation hairier, there were chittering, screaming aliens jumping from hidden pockets in its underbelly, clawing their way across the brickwork of the old buildings as they roared in what could only be interpreted as delight.

“Stark, are you seeing this?” Steve asked, his mind trying to process what was happening to his city.

“Seeing. Still working on believing,” voiced the inventor’s tart response from the miniscule earbud. “Where’s Banner, has he shown up yet?”

“Banner?” the Captain questioned, watching Stark streak past as he honed in on the colossal beast.

“Just keep me posted,” the billionaire responded curtly, his mind probably on other things at the moment. Like the mega alien worm gliding through the air spaces of New York.

“We need to find cover,” Steve proclaimed, looking in particular at the two assassins. Romanoff glanced around and almost instantly found a vantage point which put them in the safest position with the greatest advantage for line of sight along the elevated avenue.

“Over here,” she stated succinctly, and Barton, Steve, and the Frost woman followed closely after her. They ducked down behind the vehicle, and Steve noticed the girl was still staring after the massive flying creature, though the look on her face was unusual – more amazed than frightened or shocked.

It served as another reminder that the woman was not truly what she appeared to be, and was a direct result of Loki’s manipulation of the Tesseract. Steve didn’t have the faintest idea what that meant down the line, and it was far too late to second-guess himself about bringing her on the mission.

“We’ve got civilians still trapped up here,” Agent Barton observed with a tight voice, but was interrupted as a new pack of hovercraft passed overhead, raining destruction on those still trapped on East 42nd Street. Steve spotted a familiar horned figure on one of the alien vehicles.

“Loki.” He watched the Asgardian viciously mow down the stranded vehicles, though strangely enough, he seemed to be going for what would make the biggest explosion rather than what would kill the largest amount of civilians. Either he had terrible aim or he wanted to attract their attention.

“They’re fish in a barrel down there,” Steve observed, turning his head and pausing when he noticed a member of their troop was missing.

“Where is Frost?”

Barton spun around, seeing the empty space where the woman had been just a moment before. Agent Romanoff bent down and picked up a small, silver object from the dusty street.

An earbud.

“Goddammit!” Barton exclaimed as his teeth clenched in frustration. “Stupid! What is she thinking?!”

“Did she bail on us?” Romanoff wondered, her voice calmer than Barton’s as she looked around, though the girl was long gone.

“No,” Steve said, the certainty in his voice causing them to look up. “I think she’ll try to reach the portal and attempt to stop what Loki has started.”

“We’ve got to go after her,” Barton remarked immediately, and began to stand until Agent Romanoff reached up, grabbed his arm, and jerked him back to the ground. Two bolts of purple light streaked above Barton’s head and slammed through the passenger-side window of the taxi cab the assassins were huddling against.

“There’s no time,” the woman agent yelled as she drew her two pistols, executing the nearest Chitauri who had been stupid enough to place his head into exposed space.

“How can you say that, Nat?” he asked incredulously, staring his partner in the face as he drew his tactical bow and notched an arrow. “She’s just a kid.”

“You know she’s not,” Romanoff answered, holding his gaze with her own. “Let it go, Clint. Wrap it up and push it aside. Right now, we’ve got a mission to complete,” she said in a rather calm voice for someone who was laying down cover fire against the squad of alien invaders who were advancing on their flank.

“Romanoff is right,” Steve said, hating to say the callous words, but he saw the logic in the agent’s words as he held his shield protectively near the two agents. “Frost made her choice. She’s on her own.”

The Captain glanced skywards to the besieged tower, the ugly truth clear but unspoken as he took in the sight of the invaders raining down from the dark opening almost directly above.

She would most likely never make it to the tower alive.

______________________________________________________________________

The spirit had known, as soon as the Jotun-Asgardian had flown overhead and made eye contact despite the great speed with which he traveled, it would have to leave the Captain, Romanoff, and Barton. Loki would have little reason to believe it had not betrayed him, and if it had any hope of reaching through to him, of sealing the portal and stopping his accelerating self-destruction, it would have to face him while isolated.

The highest probability of confrontation would be to ascend the Iron Man tower where the portal device was now fully operational. The spirit did not know how it would achieve this, but it knew the first step would be to reach the building without being observed. And this would be no small feat.

When the human warriors had been distracted with Loki’s purposeful displays of destruction, it had slipped away, using the stationary ground vehicles as cover so it would remain hidden from their sight. It remained partially hunched as it traveled down one wide stone path which curved around the ornate stone building the behemoth beast had scrapped with its armored appendage.

The gargantuan beast, when it had undulated gracefully through the sky after emerging from the portal, had had a peculiar effect on the spirit. There was something strangely intimate about the imagery of the massive creature gliding through the air, ferociously roaring to announce its presence and challenge all who would oppose its might. The sensation stayed with the spirit, even after the behemoth had disappeared from sight.

As the spirit briskly moved down the stone-paved lane, it noted the area was surprisingly empty of living entities, both of the Chitauri invaders and the fleeing humans. Most of the creatures were either on the flying machines or were scaling the faces of the structures, terrorizing the trapped humans within.

Unfortunately, it was not entirely empty, and some of the vile creatures were on foot, patrolling the narrow passage for stray humans. It ducked behind a yellow vehicle with a small sign on its roof, its heart racing as it waited for the creatures to sense its presence. It had no indication of how adept their senses were, or if they even saw in the same light spectrum as its own human form.

The straightened, narrow lane was thick with abandoned vehicles and curling black smoke which wafted from smoldering debris littered along the ground from destroyed hover vessels – the direct result of the metal human’s battle prowess at the invader’s first wave.

The spirit crawled under the yellow vehicle in order to avoid being seen by a Chitauri which was passing across the vehicles to the spirit’s side of the lane. From this angle, it could see their clawed, armored feet, slowly stalking through the concrete habitat of the humans.

The spirit began to crawl on its elbows and stomach, pushing itself along at an agonizingly slow pace. It had little choice, and it paused as four sets of clawed feet began to pass on each side, inches away from its face. The feet on its left paused, metallic talons lightly scratching against the smooth, ashen surface of the stone ground.

It felt its heart leap into its throat and its lungs demand more air as its mind began to unintentionally pick through the most disastrous possibilities. What if the creatures had infrared vision? The thick smoke would do little to shield it from their sight if that was so. Or what if the creatures had a keen sense of smell? What if they could detect the right mixture of carbon dioxide which would indicate the exhalation of a human being?

After several long, agonizing seconds, the Chitauri soldier moved on. The prone spirit inwardly sighed in relief, clenching and unclenching its trembling hands. When it was able to move without uncontrollably shivering, it began to crawl forward once it had lost sight of the tan-lavender feet and legs of the invaders.

Crawling under the undercarriage of the next vehicle, it continued on in this manner, peeking out occasionally to see how close it was to its destination. The building belonging to the Iron Man was colossal and impossibly tall, the top of the structure stretching out of sight into the blue atmosphere. It was also discouragingly far when one was forced to travel on one’s belly.

It continued to maneuver under the vehicles, some of which still vibrated, the strong stench of fuel from above and rubber from below filling its nostrils. It was enough to make its stomach turn with nausea, but it did not slow its pace as it inched closer and closer to its goal. It was grateful for the resistant suit Agent Romanoff had found, though the fabric at the knees and elbows were not thick enough to prevent the bruises that would appear later – if it lived long enough to observe such damage.

Cautiously pushing its head out from under the last vehicle, this one large and brown with the words UPS scribed on the side, it observed no Chitauri in sight. It crawled out from under the vehicle and was about to run to the dark, glass doors of the Iron Man building, when it heard an alert chittering noise a few inches from its ear, just around the front corner of the vehicle.

Dropping to the ground, it scrambled back underneath the ground vessel, crawling between the large, black wheels as the Chitauri gave a snort, testing the air as its legs slowly rounded into the space the spirit had occupied a moment before. It curled next to one of the vehicle’s wheels, pulling its knees to its chin as its muscles trembled violently from the near-encounter.

The Chitauri continued making snuffing noises, and a thin, deadly sharpened, glowing purple blade entered its field of vision as the alien prodded under the space with its weapon. The venomously bright blade began to move towards its head, and the spirit slowly backed away from the lethal edge.

Its back was prodded by an unyielding force, and it jerked its head over its shoulder to see the silver coat of another vehicle. But this one was too low to crawl beneath.

There was nowhere to hide, no crawl-space to scurry under to hide from the insidious predator. It was tantalizing prey, an exposed target, vulnerable to fang and claw if the Chitauri chose that moment to simply look over its shoulder.

This last denial of safety and refuge was too great for the spirit to accept, and something inside of it snapped.

Not looking to see if the Chitauri soldier was still preoccupied, the instincts of its body took control as it scrambled to its feet, sprinting across the exposed ground as it raced toward the entrances scrawled with gold lettering declaring it had arrived at the correct destination. The boots the agent had provided made almost no noise as it fled, and as it reached the doors, it could see its own animal-panic reflected in the onyx glass.

But it was the sole reflection staring back. The single Chitauri was still bent towards the ground, sniffing the air around the front of the vehicle it had just vacated.

Its heart threatening to burst through its chest, its panic too strong to contemplate what would happen if the doors would not open, the spirit pushed at the silver band across the doorway. Unexpectedly, the door did not swing open, but moved forward in a circular fashion, and it realized the opening to the building was a circular cylinder that must revolve in order to gain access.

Panting and shaking with a mixture of elation and terror, it looked back at the still-revolving entryway as it tried to gain control of its wildly pumping heart. It felt an odd, hysterical bubbling sensation inside of its chest, and it had the uncontrollable urge to begin… laughing?

Human bodies were either incredibly flawed, or this particular one was broken.

The illogical impulse was extinguished when it noticed the star-field of glowing violet pinpoints of light reflected in the darkened glass before its eyes, a reflection of the dimmed space behind its form.

Slowly turning, willing its sight to be mistaken, it came face-to-face with a dozen Chitauri warriors, their desiccated limbs holding various glowing weapons as their skull-like heads turned at the source of the intrusion. The creatures seemed caught-off guard by its unexpected appearance, and they hesitated. None moved for several seconds as their limited intellect contemplated the novel situation.

And then, as if by unseen communication, they raised their bladed spears as one, howling their uninhibited rage at the intruder.

Unlike its uncontrollable flight of panic from its confrontation with the singular Chitauri, its body was now completely petrified and disobeyed all commands to move as it stared at the horde. The muscles and tendons of its flesh remained unresponsive as it faced the screaming creatures, mind equally frozen as it stared toward the source of its impending death.

The Chitauri soldiers aimed their luminous violet-tipped blades, and a series of clicks and whirs sounded from the space above. The aliens paused, tilting their heads and looking upwards as an instrument lowered from the high ceiling, expanding its lengthwise dimension as it aimed downwards.

A high-pitched whine began to fill the air as the object began to glow in strips of light blue along its length, before bright bolts of light began to rain down on the occupants below, drawing forth the pained screams of the Chitauri as the jets of condensed energy pierced their bodies.

It did not recall telling its body to move, but primal instinct seemed to have taken over as it covered its head with its arms, as if its flimsy flesh could possibly halt the barrage of deadly energy. The world around the spirit continued to explode, and it strangely did not experience any pain as the violent sounds of the energy weapon and the screams of dying Chitauri filled the tall, elegant lobby of the building, echoing and augmenting across the hard surfaces.

Just when it could not go on, silence filled the space, the absence of sound almost as startling as the cacophony of destruction.

It took several seconds to finally open its eyes, and several seconds after that for it to unclench its fingers from the hold on the roots of its hair. Its body was shivering as the adrenaline chemical continued to flood its system, useless and distracting.

Slowly uncurling its reluctant limbs, it surveyed the startling scene, unable to reconcile the fact it had somehow been left undamaged.

Chitauri corpses littered the tiled floor, orange-glowing pockmarks littering their bodies and the ground all around. Even the long, glass front had been shattered behind it, leaving the space open to the air as natural light filtered inside, glittering off the disturbed particles in the air.

Glancing down at its body, it verified it had remained untouched by the bolts of energetic plasma, though there was a splattering of blue liquid on its lower legs, spilled from the corpses at its feet.

It heard a soft, chiming noise, and its eyes widened in fear, but the source did not originate from the weapon attached to the ceiling. That object remained still, faint white mist curling from the opening of the barrel as its glowing inner light began to fade. The noise it had heard was revealed to be a set of doors parting across the expansive interior, soft white light cascading from the entryway into the dark, ruined room.

Waiting to see if anything emerged from the small room, it tried to still the trembling in its legs as its fists clenched at its side. But nothing emerged.

“Please step into the elevator, Ms. Frost. I fear the Chitauri on the Park Avenue Viaduct may have heard the commotion.”

Its head jerked upwards, examining the destroyed interior and the untouched ceiling, but it did not see the source of the cordial voice. The spirit looked over its shoulder to see the congregating Chitauri warriors making their way towards the glass-strewn building.

Seeing no other recourse, it walked briskly towards the opening in the wall, rapidly stepping over the smoking bodies of the dead creatures, listening intently for the sound of weapon discharges to indicate it had been sighted.

The tiny room was barely spacious enough for a handful of humans, and it stood empty, open and inviting. The spirit stepped into the room where the doors shut swiftly behind it.

The spirit spun around in panic, its body still on edge and flighty from the overexposure of adrenaline as it felt the ground beneath it move. Or more accurately, it felt the room move.

“Welcome to Stark Tower, Ms. Frost,” the disembodied voice spoke pleasantly.“I did not mean to startle you. I informed Mr. Stark of your arrival, and he instructed me to escort you to the top floor.”

“Did you prevent its death?” the spirit asked, breathing easier now as it sensed the immediate danger had passed. It leaned against the side of the soft, fabric wall, trying to slow its breathing as it wiped the soot from its face.

“If by it, you mean yourself, then yes. I suppose one could say that.” The voice paused, adding, “I activated the security systems as soon as you entered the lobby. Mr. Stark recognized you and said something to the effect of ‘Thank God that idiot girl didn’t get herself killed.’”

“Oh.”

“That is Mr. Stark’s manner of expressing relief. From his reaction, I would say he is quite satisfied with your arrival.”

It watched the numbers on the wall slowly increase as its heart began to return to a reasonable pace, though its muscles now felt drained and its body yearned to do little more than rest.

“Who are you?” it asked the voice.

“My apologies. I am Jarvis, Mr. Stark’s personalized assistant program. I run his security suites, the software to his combat suits, as well as menial everyday tasks. I can also recommend the recipe for a mean martini, if I do say so myself.”

Jarvis. The same name given by the Iron Man as the one who had assisted him in revealing SHIELD’s secretive information. It made sense – an intelligence program that could retrieve information without being seen. This caused it to ask its next question as the transport box lifted it toward the upper levels of the tower.

“Do you have a physical vessel?” it asked inquisitively, able to sense the intelligence from its vocal cadence and use of language. It had experienced sentience as a non-biological entity itself – there was no leap in logic needed to believe this Jarvis could experience self-awareness and emotions just as the spirit did.

“I do not, Ms. Frost. I have no need of one, as I function quite capably as I am. Would you perhaps like some refreshments? We have almost reached the penthouse.”

“Its body does require hydration,” it conceded, its throat becoming parched at the idea of soon quenching its thirst. Its lungs were ragged and raw from its close encounter with the sinister creatures of Loki’s summoning, and a brief pause to replenish its body was warranted.

The doors parted after the vertically displaced room came to a halt, and it cautiously peeked through to see a spacious room with glass and stone walls overlooking the sprawling city.
Glass littered the floor near the space where it estimated a pane used to occupy, overlooking the outcropping where the Asgardian brothers had warred. Beyond that was a large, circular platform of unknown purpose.

“There are an assortment of alcoholic beverages on the fully stocked bar, but I believe you will benefit more from the water bottles located in the mini fridge rather than Mr. Stark’s personal collection of spirits,” added the disembodied voice of Jarvis.

“Spirits?” it asked quickly, looking with wide eyes at the dark brown containers displayed before it.

“Spirits are another term for distilled liquor, Ms. Frost.”

It did not know how to respond, unsure if it was disappointed or relieved by the information. However, it did not see any vessels of water where Jarvis had indicated, and its confusion must have been apparent to the computer entity. It must have been able to visualize the spirit and watch its movements, even without a body.

“You will find the water bottles below the counter, Ms. Frost. Simply pull on the door handle.”

It spotted the object he indicated, a small, knee-high compartment, and removed a chilled container of water from the cold space within. It investigated the object, unable to discern how to open the container until Jarvis helpfully instructed it to twist open the top. The spirit quickly consumed three-quarters of the liquid inside, experiencing gratitude towards the computer program for its patient assistance.

Wiping the spilled water from its chin, the spirit remarked, “It does not see the Tesseract. Or… Loki.”

“The Tesseract is located on the roof of Stark Tower, and is only accessible by maintenance ladder, which you will find near the door along the back wall.” The spirit turned its head towards the aforementioned section of the room and saw a glass door hidden away along the back side of the loft.

“As for the villain Loki, he departed after battling with the Asgardian Thor.”

The spirit slightly frowned at the phrase “villain”, but it supposed it could not fault the intelligence entity describing him as such.

“There is one other item of interest, though I am not sure how useful it will be to you, Ms. Frost,” Jarvis commented as it was about to turn towards the back entrance. It paused, slightly turning its head in a gesture of curiosity.

“The sceptre is currently located on the balcony, left unattended by its owner.”

Loki had abandoned the golden apparatus?

It approached the glassless window, crunching on the shattered crystals as it carefully leaned over. True to the computer program’s word, the bladed weapon lay on the curved walkway below the window, having been blocked from view by the previous angle.

“If you wish to retrieve the object, there is a door to the balcony on your left, Ms. Frost. Please do be careful – winds are currently at five to ten miles per hour with gusts of up to twenty.”

“It will do so,” the spirit replied distractedly, its mind already focused on the glittering weapon as it set the water container on a table on its way out of the glass door leading to the balcony.

As it approached the deserted sceptre, the pull and undeniable draw of the object began to fill its various senses. The glittering edge blazed with white heat, its blue orb glowing with a hypnotizing hue. The spirit reached down, its fingertips pausing mere inches away.

It knew it should be focusing on the Tesseract and closing the gateway. But it could not leave the deadly weapon for another to stumble upon. What if Loki came back to retrieve it? What if-

The questioning and doubt in its mind melted away as its small hand wrapped around the golden handle, the metal warm and alive under its palm as it lifted the apparatus from the sun-lit walkway.

Power coursed through its limbs and thrummed under its skin, causing it to close its eyes as the weariness and fragility of its muscles and bones were replaced by a pleasurable, unstoppable surge of force. The sense of vitality felt natural and correct, as if this were a state of being with which it should have been familiar.

Reopening its lids, it saw the human towers and monuments lay before it with new clarity, the sprawl of civilization as expansive as its sight could reach.

The spirit jumped down to the circular platform below, a distance four times its own height, and landed heavily on its feet, its vitalized muscles easily absorbing the shock. It walked slowly to the edge, gazing outward at the fragmented, segmented island city below.

It curiously expanded its mind outward, and witnessed the tendrils which bound the mind-jewel to the hundreds of Chitauri warriors plaguing the metropolis. Its physical brain, which relied heavily on visual and aural interpretations of information, “saw” the strands of connectedness as golden links, glittering, humming, and almost alive as they connected all of the Chitauri to the artifact.

Interestingly, all of the aliens had a second strand, this one jagged and violet, trailing from their minds to what resided on the other side of the shimmering sky portal.

The golden strands were the exact same threads that had connected Loki to the orb when it had come across him in the underground lair, as well as the strands that had entangled the mind of the human Loki had claimed for his slave in the country of Germany.

Curious, it reached out with its mind to pluck at one of the golden strands, as if it were strumming the strings of a musical instrument. The Chitauri attached to this particular strand – the pilot of a flier – slightly wavered as he glided between two skyscrapers. Curling its thoughts around this golden strand, it twisted and severed the vibrant connection. It could see the Chitauri shake its head back and forth, as if clearing its senses, but it continued along its destructive path just as eagerly as before.

Cocking its head to the side, the spirit traced its mind along the violet strand linking it through the portal to the dimension on the other side. With an abrupt, almost vicious mental gesture, it sliced through the dark strand. The body belonging to the strand went limp instantly, the entire alien aircraft plummeting towards gravity and slamming into the side of a building in an impressive array of blooming fire.

A deeply alien grin spread across its lips.

It was startled from its enticing discovery by an explosion from above. It blinked away its strange musings and looked skyward as a familiar black, green, and gold figure flew through the air, slamming into the balcony and shattering the glass barrier. Loki’s helmet flew from his crown as he rolled to a stop against the other glass barrier, groaning in pain.

The spirit quickly grabbed the terrible power of the mind-jewel and slammed it back into its orb, forcing it into isolation in the container. It had almost lost itself to the seductive lure of the mind-jewel, and it had nearly forgotten Loki and the Tesseract completely as its mind had fed upon the images of the golden-violet web spread across the human city.

Its concern for Loki outweighed its hunger for the mind-jewel’s power, but not as much as it would have comfortably confessed. It knew it could not trust itself to confront Loki while it wielded the acumen residing within the massive mind, so it forcibly jammed the omnipotent presence as far into the orb as was possible.

The mind-jewel did not take kindly to this show of force. An unpleasant hum filled the hollows of its skull, but it ignored the sensation and drove the presence of the mind-jewel back until it could no longer hear its unpleasant vibration – until it could no longer sense the minds of the Chitauri, or the humans, or Loki. It forced it away until the spirit was left with nothing but the raw energy coming from the orb.

It would have to do if it was to convince Loki to stop the destructive path he travelled without inadvertently making him a mind-thrall in the process.

During this battle of wills between it and the sentient force within the orb, Loki had slowly risen to his feet, the expression on his face a mixture of anger, wariness, and something unknown. His battle garb was dusted and dulled, but other than a collection of scraps on the left side of his face, he did not seem to be greatly injured. He looked… worn.

The Jotun-Asgardian leapt from the balcony onto the platform as easily as it had done moments earlier. He slowly approached the spirit, his pale blue eyes roaming its form as he took in its new appearance and tousled state.

He gave a small chuckle, his tired expression forming into a weary grin.

“I knew you would return to me. You will always return to me. It is inevitable.”

The Jotun-Asgardian stood before it, his height dwarfing its own in a show of physical dominance. He held his hand forward, outstretched. Waiting.

“Give the sceptre to me. Now.”

Notes