Madness of the Serpent

“…Let’s do a head count, here. Your brother, the demigod. A super soldier, a living legend who kind of lives up to the legend. A man with breathtaking anger-management issues. A couple of master assassins…”

Loki had glanced back at the man who battled in mechanized suits of armor, an entertained smirk adorning his face.

“… and your girlfriend.”

His sneer froze.

“What?”

“Yeah, you know. Long dark hair, easy on the eyes, has a perpetual deer-in-the-headlights expression? That one.” Stark poured another glass of whatever passed for alcohol on this backwards planet, his tone far too casual. “When Pepper’s pissed at me, she usually makes me sleep in another bedroom. Or attend a board meeting.” Stark paused to take a gulp of the alcoholic beverage, swallowing the liquid as he tipped his glass towards the dark god in a gesture of off-hand insolence. “Not join up with my sworn enemies. Whatever you did to her, must have been pretty bad.”

Throwing the arrogant, brazen mortal from the top of his tower had done much to lift Loki’s mood after that encounter – it was a pity he had survived the fall.

But he had not truly believed the builder’s words. He had trusted the human’s suspicious nature would have kept them from accepting any aid from his creation. The phantom’s association with him should have been enough to taint her integrity in their beady eyes.

But as the small SHIELD aircraft hovered overhead, Loki knew he had been wrong. She was there, aboard the aircraft, embedded with his enemies. The Quinjet’s attack on the god had solidified the suspicion he had not realized he had greatly feared – she had chosen a side, and it had not been his.

In an action which could only be described as lashing out, Loki had jerked the sceptre in the direction of the aircraft, releasing a powerful bolt of destructive energy in a plan to end her existence in a blinding fit of rage. But his wrist had flinched at the last moment, and the blue bolt of energy had slammed into one of the engines rather than directly into the cockpit – his intended target.

Loki had watched the aircraft descend in a black billow of smoke – temporarily frozen from the realization of what he had done – his lapse in attention allowing Thor to tackle him in the chest, striking him in the face repeatedly with his bare fists. The god was unable to block his brother’s furious blows, Thor’s strength invigorated by seeing the likely death of his allies.

But as Loki descended upon the city moments later, having commandeered a Chitauri flier after he had escaped the ferocious beating at the hands of his adopted brother, he knew she still lived. Her dark figure had been crouched next to the supersoldier and the assassins, which included his former slave. He would not have been surprised if she had had a hand in Barton’s release as well. Her betrayal seemed to know no bounds.

Loki’s festering thoughts of what he would do when he laid hands on her were interrupted as the Other barged into his mind, roughly opening his consciousness and forcing his attention in a brutal show of force that nearly unseated the god from his aerial perch.

“This… is a little resistance?” the Other growled in the form of a question.

“Your force lacks… finesse,” Loki responded with some difficulty. His hands clenched the handholds of the flier even as its sharp edges cut into his palms, still reeling from the unexpected mental intrusion.

“Our warriors are fearless! They welcome a glorious death…” he finished with a soft hiss. Loki felt his smugness like an irritating tic buried in his brain matter.

“That may actually be the problem,” Loki responded evenly, attempting to smooth over his frustration with the brutish, stupid creatures he had been sent instead of the well-disciplined army he had been promised.

“Then lead them, king! You wield the sceptre, do you not?”

Loki paused as his eyes darted back and forth, abrupt realization striking him in the gut.
“The sceptre…”

“Did you… lose it?” the Other accused, his acid tone vibrating in Loki’s mind like an angry hive of insects.

“I will give you your precious Tesseract as promised – do not contact me further. I have a war to wage,” Loki snapped in hot frustration, viciously forcing the pilot to turn the flier around as he shut the Other out of his mind. The amount of willpower it took nearly left him breathless, further increasing his prickling fear.

The hooded Vizier had never been able to reach Loki’s mind when he was not wielding the sceptre. Until now, he had believed that was the only available means the alien had of reaching his thoughts. It was unpleasant enough that their interactions left Loki feeling sullied and violated. Now, it seemed, he could not even count on his own mind as refuge from the robed envoy.

This frightful revelation had been chased from his attention when Barton’s arrow, caught in hand, had exploded directly in his face. He had tumbled through the air to crash onto the balcony of Stark’s gaudy palace, pushing himself onto his hands and knees as he stared down at the lone figure below in disbelief.

And there she now stood, bold as brass with Loki’s sceptre held upright in her hand, dark eyes watching him intently. Her expression was the same somber one he remembered, but her attire was in the sleek style of a SHIELD assassin – though it was now covered in dust and soot – along with the blight blue stains of Chitauri blood along her shins. She was bleeding from under one ear, and there was an additional mark on the side of her temple to match the one on her cheek.

It seemed, despite her newfound allies being incompetent chaperones, she had managed to ascend the tower built to worship the ego of Anthony Stark.

An impressive but unpleasant surprise – one he would soon address as he slowly approached her after leaping down onto the landing platform. Loki took note of the way she pulled his sceptre closer as he approached.

“I knew you would return to me. You will always return to me. It is inevitable.”
Her response was to fix her round eyes on his face, silent with her words but expressive with the depths of those dark orbs. She was had never been shy with eye contact before, but she seemed especially audacious now. It should have come as no surprise – the humans were a fantastically arrogant lot, and an impressionable spirit would only emulate what she saw.

Loki stretched out his hand, generous in his allowance of her to hand over his weapon voluntarily.

“Give the sceptre to me. Now.”

The former celestial being stepped away from him.

A lazy, vicious grin spread across his face as the dark god took a step forward. She responded by moving back again.

“You have only so many steps you can retreat, Trinity. Hand me the sceptre, and I will forgive your transgressions. You were in the possession of the mortals, I can understand-“

“You are wrong,” she responded, her face turned upwards to look at him in full. It was as if she were not even listening.

“Oh?” he asked, placing one boot forward which was matched by another step back.

“You are also right.”

Loki paused, peering at her dubiously.

“The humans, as a species, are dangerous. They are brutal, and undeniably cruel, and full of selfishness and violence.”

His grin widened into a menacing show of teeth.

“But individually, they are also kind. And act in ways that are… surprising.” Her eyes never left his, even as his expression grew colder with each word. “They can be incredibly generous and illogically brave, overcoming their internal biases to accomplish greater goals.”

The edges of Loki’s smile began to curdle into a grimace.

“In summation, what the humans are and are not is irrelevant. That-“ she stated, indicating the swirling hole above their heads, “is not the solution.” The phantom met his eyes once more, the dark orbs seeking to see right through him, as they so often did.

“You must know this can only end in the destruction of life. It does not believe that is what you truly desire. Think carefully on how much suffering this action will cause.”

Heat flashed through his mind, his searing and unstable temper flaring at the arrogance of her words, as if she presumed to know him. As if she could hold him in judgement for his actions and determine their worth. She, who owed him everything!

“How dare you!” Loki seethed through his teeth as he towered over her smaller figure. She flinched but did not retreat, and this small act of defiance caused the darkness in his mind to completely engulf everything that he was.

“Your meager words are that of a child pretending to grasp comprehension! You spout fanciful ideology, but you are intolerably ignorant. That may have suited your needs when you were nothing more than an inconsequential wisp, but you are in my world now.” Loki lowered his head, their faces inches apart as his voice became sharp and jagged shards of glass.

“You do not even have the sense to save yourself, let alone these pathetic primitives who would reward your championship with a life in captivity!” Her eyes had grown wider at each word, but Loki did not relent until he had finished milking the poison from his fangs.

“Stupid, ungrateful, worthless shadow. You grasp nothing, because you are nothing. I should have left you to rot in your tomb for all the use you have been to me!”

The glassiness of her eyes, the loss of color from her face – it should have brought him an inordinate amount of pleasure. The verbal injection of hate-filled venom should have satisfied his desire to pain her. But it only filled him with hollowness, the rage consuming everything it touched.

Pursing his lips together, he reached forward to snatch the bladed weapon from her hands, planning to end the conversation before it could become more asinine. Loki had had enough of her childish sentimentality and idealism. Toying with her and attempting to twist her innocence into his darkness had been amusing while it lasted, but it was time to put play-things aside and claim her as his – as he should have done from the moment she was brought into existence by his hand.

The god was not prepared for what came next.

An astonishing concussive force emanated from the sceptre just as his fingertips brushed the metal, hitting him squarely in the chest and throwing him back as a surgically clean line was sliced between them, carved deep into the stone of the launch pad.

His creation staggered backwards but managed to remain on her feet. A loud, heavy groan rent the air as the platform angrily shifted under her feet.

Their eyes met as the platform dropped.

The girl-which-was-not slipped forward, landing on her stomach as the fall of the platform was abruptly halted at an extreme angle, the sceptre knocked from her grasp as she slid backwards. Her fingers clawed uselessly for purchase as she quickly approached the edge, the sceptre matching her descent towards the precipice.

He would have enough time to grab one or the other – not both.

Loki launched himself forward, hand outstretched to grasp the object he coveted most.

______________________________________________________________________

It did not have time nor breath to react as the ground gave way, the air knocked from its lungs as it slammed onto the slanted surface, the instrument flying from its fingers. Its empowered strength also slipped away, just as it was needed most.

The ground did not completely separate from the towering structure, but it was angled too steeply to remain stationary. Sliding towards the abyss, the spirit desperately tried to slow its descent by digging its fingers into the surface, gasping as the brittle nails did little more than bend and split.

Its body continued to resist the inevitable even after its mind was too laden with shock to process the situation. Events were happening too rapidly as its feet kicked empty air, followed by its knees and hips, and it knew this was its final moment. Only one thought flashed across its mind:

Abject failure.

Just as its body left the platform, as its fingers grabbed and missed the railing it had slipped beneath, a hand rushed forward and grabbed its wrist with crushing, life-saving pressure.

Hanging precariously in the rushing wind, its feet dangling over oceans of empty space above the gridded city, it looked upwards into the face of its rescuer.

Loki stared back, his expression a mixture of naked panic and fear as his eyes revealed the part of himself that was not completely broiled in madness and fury.

The Jotun-Asgardian had lodged himself against the wires between the posts which acted as the platform’s barrier, the metal strands taut with strain as the intact portions of the platform held up the parts which were collapsing. It was uncertain how long the segment would hold, as the sounds coming from the unstable structure sounded like the dying groans of a mechanical beast.

The spirit could only stare upwards in disbelief. There had been several moments when its life had been in peril, and it could never have imagined the prevention of death would come from his hand. The Jotun-Asgardian, who had attempted to destroy it aboard the Quinjet, now appeared as if the possible death of the spirit was of great concern to him.

A glittering sparkle of gold caught its eye, and it moved its head to observe the sceptre was also caught in the wires. Loki’s eyebrows creased and he turned his head to follow its line of sight. Its gaze quickly returned to him, eyes widened as it realized its mistake.

The maddening light returned to his pale eyes as Loki fixed a piercing glare onto the spirit, gritting his teeth as he yanked roughly upwards with frightening strength. It flew past him, thrown high enough to land on the intact portion of the platform. It slammed onto its side, gasping for breath as the jut of its hip throbbed in pain from the collision with the hard surface.

Dreaded urgency fueling its muscles and tendons, it scrambled to its feet and fled towards the glass doors which would return it to the interior of the building. Once Loki reached his sceptre, he would come for it. The small part of himself that remained intact and whole would not spare it from his wrath.

“The stairs to the penthouse are on your right, Ms. Frost,” greeted Jarvis’ jarringly calm voice as it hurried into the building, a floor below the recreational room. “Please remember to take the ladder from there to reach the portal device at your earliest convenience.”

There was no air left in its lungs with which to respond, but it felt grateful to the intelligence program as it quickly ascended the stairs, muscles aching in the tight grip of panic.

Observing no other presence in the recreational room, it fled across the black, slated floor towards its destination. It had almost reached the secluded back-door when a bright pain pierced the back of its head, forcing it to a halt by an unyielding hold on its hair.

“You think you can run?” snarled a cruel voice in its ear. The breath caught in its throat was released in a pained cry as Loki’s merciless grip yanked on its hair, dragging it back into the room.

Notes