Madness of the Serpent

The spirit stood on the surface of a dark, meteorite landscape – rotating fragments of rock floating freely through space as distant novae and starfields shown through the eternal night. Interpreting the desiccated landscape through the physical brain it now possessed was a shock compared to the way it had observed the location as a form of energy.

A strange, eerie cobalt glow seemed to illuminate the landscape from an unknown source, and the spirit wondered if everything unpleasant in the universe shone with a blue shade.

It took stock of its bodily integrity, and though it had felt a stabbing agony in its shoulder a few seconds prior, there was no damage it could identify. It held the sceptre in its hand, both of which were now pale and smooth. The orb glowed with the same menacing light as the barren surroundings, but Loki was nowhere to be seen.

It was alone, or so it believed until its eyes focused on a strangely shaped rock formation that twisted upwards onto a distant platform. A robed figure stood at its base while watching the spirit, his pale, chitinous chest, hands, and lower jaw glowing in the twilight.

The spirit cautiously approached the figure as it held the sceptre across its torso, attempting to ignore the twisting in its stomach as it recognized the other presence.

Hideous, mutated, grotesque. This was the horror that had tormented Loki, drawing forth his cries of misery and agony. Many of its bodiless recollections had a fuzzy quality to them, but the memories of this place and this creature was held with perfect clarity.

As the spirit drew closer, the alienoid frowned. Or it interpreted his pale maw turning downwards as an expression of displeasure.

“What is this? How has a human come to possess our sceptre?”

The bizarre, twisted alien words coming from his mouth were easily translated using the acumen of the mind-jewel. The spirit responded in the humans’ English language – not wishing the foul entity to realize just how adept it was at wielding the golden apparatus.

“Release your hold on the Jotun-Asgardian.”

The Other slowly shaped his mouth into a grin, revealing bleeding gums and dark teeth through the cage around his mouth. He gave his response in the human language, his pale tongue somehow not being shredded by his jagged teeth.

“But he is such a useful servant. Petty and small-minded, perhaps, but useful nonetheless. And so wonderfully obedient,” he intoned with a greedy curling of his mouth.

He was a useful tool, and now his time of usefulness has passed. Loki’s words whispered in its mind, a reflection of the treatment he himself had endured.

The spirit began to experience another odd emotion. It retained the heat of anger, but it was of a different category. The thought of this creature abusing Loki, toying with his mind and playing with his will as if he were of no consequence, it made the spirit clench its jaw as a slowly burning emotion smoldered within its chest cavity.

It wanted to harm the robed figure very much – a disturbing sensation that made it feel almost sick with its intensity.

“You respond as if I present a question,” it replied coldly, recalling with no small amount of pleasure the way it had felt to burn the dark alien through his torso. The deeply angered part of itself wished the alien knew its identity. Here stood the spirit he had remanded – returned to seek out liberation on behalf of another.

That was indeed its purpose for having followed the dark tether in Loki’s mind, but the temptation to exact revenge for all the harm this alienoid had caused was difficult to ignore.

“And what will you do if we do not accede to your… request?” he responded, hissing through black teeth as the corners of his mouth curled upwards.

The spirit pointed the sceptre at the hooded figure, the blue orb beginning to thrum with eager energy.

The alien chuckled with ill-natured humor.

“Stupid human female. You are not physically here, you cannot-“

He did not finish his statement as a screech was torn from his pale mouth, an azure bolt of fiery energy exploded into the pockmarked rock next to his hooded head.

Unbeknownst to the sneering alien, golden tendrils of unseen energy had snaked through the air from the orb, briefly cradling his skull as it created a false experience of near-death. The spirit had even replicated the acrid stench of burning fabric, evident by the way the alien beat at the false illusion of his smoking hood.

The Other had been correct – its body was not present in the dark place of cold rock and sinister light. Its mind had been displaced, not unlike what Loki had done to the spirit on the Quinjet after their capture. It had realized soon after its arrival that only its consciousness had been brought forward, and its body most likely still remained on Earth. It could only assume the mind-jewel was responsible for drawing it here, to the source of the dark influence in Loki’s consciousness.

And even if it had been physically present, it did not in actuality know how to call forth the blue fire that Loki was able to coax from the sceptre. But the Other did not know this, and the spirit used his limited perceptions against him.

“We are done speaking. Release Loki. Now.”

The fierce heat of ire kindled in its chest, and it had no need for false confidence. Anger served just as effectively.

The Other, once he had dusted the illusionary debris from his black robes, scowled at the spirit, a hiss slithering past his thin lips.

“Irreverent, unclean primate. Suckling on the power which is beyond her paltry comprehension. Believing herself to be so clever and keen.” The Other gnashed his teeth, shrieking acidic words which grated against its ears. “Blasphemy! Sacrilege! You have sealed your fate by touching what is ours!”

The spirit leveled the tip of the blades towards his chest, its heart accelerating as his words began to form prickles of anxiety down its spine. The probability of the robed tormentor releasing Loki was decreasing with each exchange of hostile dialogue. And despite its enmity towards the robed creature, it did experience discomfort at the idea of fully taking control of his mind and will.

But it would do what was required. It had plunged too deeply to accept anything less than Loki’s total absolution.

“I did not come for empty threats. If you do not-“

“Empty? You believe our threats… empty?” The Other interrupted as he smiled with black mirth, his teeth a latticework of iron spikes.

A low, even, ominous thudding noise rumbled up its legs and seemed to reverberate throughout its bones, though how that was possible, the spirit did not know. The Other’s grin widened with cruel glee.

Thud. Thud. Thud.

Its eyes slightly widened at the unexpected intrusion, drawing the sceptre closer to the illusion of its chest as it realized the sound was emanating from the odd rock formation behind the Other, now clearly a faintly-illuminated stairwell. The alien’s grin grew into sickly proportions at each reverberation through the stone.

Thud. Thud. Thud.

The thunderous footsteps continued as a brutishly large figure made his way to the landing, golden armor adorning his menacing, intimidating frame. It had thought Loki’s silhouette had been imposing, but it was nothing compared to the shadow cast by this hulking figure.

Each stride forward carried enormous weight and confidence, eerie light illuminating the monster’s face from impossible angles. His skin was lavender, the color of poisonous intent, and his eyes shone with the same eerie blue as the surroundings and the orb of the sceptre.

It did not know when it had decided to retreat, but its feet had begun to carry it backwards of their own volition. Its previous anger had vanished as its traitorous body embraced the wrappings of terror. The spirit was unable to move its gaze away from the armored predator, and all semblances of confidence and conviction fled like particles of dust before a solar wind.

“I see you, little ghost,” his deep, baleful voice intoned, his words comprehensive to the spirit now that it had a physical body. Comprehension of his words did not bring any less terror to the spirit. If anything, its fear was deeply intensified by being able to interpret his words, especially knowing it was the subject of them.

It stumbled over its own feet as it continued to retreat, its throat tightening as it approached the metaphorical cliff which would tip it into the precipice of hysteria, as well as an actual cliff that would send its mind spinning into open space.

His terrible words vibrated through the air again, demanding the spirit’s horror with its timbre.

“I. See. You.”

Even though its consciousness had left its body in a dire situation, and it was unknown whether or not it had a living form to return to, perishing at Loki’s hands was far preferable to facing the living nightmare slowly descending on its terrified consciousness.

The spirit squeezed its eyes shut and focused its thoughts on returning to its body, its illusionary form tightly gripping the image of the sceptre. It could hear the monster chuckling as his thunderous footsteps continued to grow in volume, the ground underneath its feet vibrating alarmingly as the noise thudded painfully against its inner ear.

It could not focus. It could barely imagine what its body had even looked like, and terror colored all of its thoughts as the panic reached an unbearable level. It was going to die here – worse, it was going to have its consciousness torn apart and scattered to the darkness. The monster clearly knew what it was, and he would not allow it to escape a second time.

The panic, the fear, the dread of knowing its death was close, it caused the spirit to want to shrivel in on itself and wait for the end. Instead, it silently cried for help from the one entity it desperately needed more than any other.

Loki!

Whether he heard its silent cries or had any awareness of where it was, it did not know. But the spirit was seized in a terrible grip, forcefully pulled down the dark thread which connected Loki’s mind to the nightmare landscape. Still possessing the acumen of the mind-jewel, it severed the connection as it was yanked back to its version of reality. It did not know if this would free or kill Loki, but the haunting laughter vibrating throughout its mind served as a reminder that there were things much worse than death.

It knew the moment its mind had been thrown back into its body because the tip of the real sceptre’s blade hooked into its flesh and scraped across its collarbone, causing it to scream in agony. Nauseating pain consumed its mind as it slid down the wall, covering its howling shoulder with a scaly, armored hand as it struggled to understand what had happened.

The spirit had released the sceptre immediately, and surprisingly, it had clattered to the floor. Loki, for whatever reason, had relinquished his hold on the weapon.

A throbbing haze clouded its vision as it rested the back of its head against the wall, able to see Loki staring down at it in a state of shock, his features dazed and pale. He did not reach for the sceptre at his feet, seemingly forgotten, crimson liquid dripping from the blade onto the dust-covered floor.

Despite the overwhelming sensations coming from the damaged flesh, and the residual traces of terror left smoldering in its mind, it observed Loki’s state to the best of its ability, concerned with how the mental intrusion had affected him.

For the first time in its short existence, the spirit believed it had done something correctly. Loki’s eyes were tear-filled and horrified, but they were his own. The mad light seemed to have fled their depths, as well as all traces of malevolence and cruelty, though he did appear as if he might be ill.

“What… what did you…” Loki choked out in a strangled voice, his lips trembling as he stared at it with an expression almost too painful to observe.

The spirit could not answer immediately, the pain radiating from between its shoulder and neck demanding all of its concentration. This was the most damage it had experienced during the time in its new body, and it took all of its willpower to push past the bright agony to speak the words it needed him to hear.

“Your bonds have been cut and the dark passage in your mind was collapsed.” Loki only stared at the spirit uncomprehendingly, and it drew a breath to add, “Your will should be your own, now.”

It had expected him to appear joyous, or at least content and relieved. Not the confused, overwhelmed expression which was fixed onto his features. Should he not be glad to be free of the foul influence that drove him to such extremes?

It could not wonder for long as it was too woozy to do anything but shut its eyes and tilt its head back against the cool, brick wall, waiting for its vision to return to its previous non-spinning state.

At least it could not feel the sticky liquid of its own blood through the rough armor which covered its hand. It could not feel much of anything through the thick layer of black scales as its monstrous hand attempted to slow the bleeding.

Subtle warmth came from the left side of its body, and it opened its eyes to see Loki kneeling close, a long-fingered hand wrapped lightly around its hardened, pointed knuckles. He did not seem adverse or disturbed by its armored flesh, and it was suddenly concerned he would cut himself on the sharp edges of its plated skin.

The spirit searched his eyes cautiously, but the shadows which had continually haunted his face had truly vanished. The spirit relaxed its tensed muscles and allowed him to move its scaled hand away from the weeping wound.

The Jotun-Asgardian visibly paled as he saw the damage the blade had caused, his graceful fingers carefully pulling back the torn fabric of its uniform in order to examine the wound more clearly. It observed the guilt and distress easily upon his face as he did not attempt to hide his emotions with masks of poise and control. The nakedness of his expression was unexpected but not… unpleasant.

Despite the significant damage he had inflicted on its body, it did not condemn him for such actions. Not after the unspeakable experience of confronting the armored giant. The terror it had felt merely being in the presence of the lavender monster caused it to have fresh concern and worry for what Loki had endured and how it would affect him in the future.

Before, it had only caught a glimpse of the torture the Other had inflicted on Loki while it had been a disembodied spirit. It had not fully understood, could not understand without a mortal shell of its own. Everything he had done while under their influence, all the destruction and death and terror, the threats and the intimidation – it would never blame him.

Never.

“I… I am so…” he began, but his voice cracked too harshly for him to continue.

“Do not apologize,” it responded weakly, attempting to meet his eye despite the burn radiating from its wound, wanting to show him there was nothing to forgive.

His expression was bared and vulnerable, and it saw a glimpse of the person he might have been before the monsters had lain hands on him. It could easily imagine him untainted and filled with light, still possessing hope for the future – the shadows which would someday haunt his steps still far away.

Loki parted his lips and appeared as if he were about to speak, but nothing was said. He remained silent as he fixed his pale eyes on its face, something powerfully indescribable residing behind the firm gaze.

The spirit did not mind the intimacy of the eye contact – it preferred to experience emotions without the barriers and confusion of spoken language. This form of uninhibited communication between physical forms was authentic, honest, and made harboring lies and deceit more difficult. It exposed the true nature of the soul, even enveloped in the opaqueness of the flesh.

It was this intense but silent exchange that caused the spirit to see something it had not noticed before. It had viewed the Jotun-Asgardian as a wayward creature to protect – from his tormentors and from himself. He had been a lost, abandoned soul it had been unable to turn away from, twisted and torn by pain unending. It now realized this was an obscure, incomplete picture of who Loki was and what he represented.

By the expression on his face, it suspected Loki was also awakening to the realization that the spirit was something other than a tool to be used and discarded for whatever machinations he had formed in his mind.

They truly saw each other for what they were and not what they had been perceived to be.

But… what did it mean?

Their intense connection was broken as a booming crash came from the open area of the lounge. Loki’s head jerked towards the sound, his eyes widening in sudden fear at what he saw. Loki turned back and quickly scooped the spirit into its arms and dashed around the corner towards the stairwell, blocking its view of the room. It clenched its jaw to stifle the cry of pain as its torn shoulder was jostled, its world becoming quieter and the lights shimmering as its head felt strangely weightless.

Loki set the spirit on the floor near the stairs, hiding it from sight of whatever had entered the building, and it heard a snuffling, growling noise coming from where the crash had originated.

“Do not move or make a sound. No matter what you hear. Do you understand?” he spoke in a hushed whisper, his eyes pleading urgently. It was not a demand or a threat. He was asking a question as if he expected a reply.

“Yes,” it responded weakly, not quite sure if Loki had heard its softened voice, but he quickly rushed around the corner and out of sight.

A deafening roar startled it from the fuzzy fog trying to envelope its mind, causing it to breathe unevenly as it felt the sharp stab of panic. Had the purple-skinned nightmare followed it across the folds of the universe to drag it back to the dark place?

But then it heard Loki’s returning shouts of defiance. It heard the threats and the malice in his voice, and it almost believed him when he mimicked his previous maniacal personality and venomous words of enmity.

“Enough! You are, all of you, beneath me! I am a god, you dull creature! And I will not be bullied by- Ah!“

Loki’s boisterous monologue was interrupted by a startled noise, followed by several loud crashes.

Fearing what had happened, it staggered upright and hissed through its teeth at the silent screams of its wound. The spirit ignored its enflamed nerves as it leaned against the wall, dragging itself forward until it reached the end of the wall. Cautiously glimpsing around the corner, it saw the giant, green muscled monster from the Helicarrier walk out of view, his massive feet making the floor shake with each step as he muttered “Puny god.”

The spirit waited until it could no longer feet the rumbling vibrations of the beast’s weighty footsteps before it limped across the floor towards the prone figure partially sunk into the floor. The hulking creature had pounded Loki into the ground with aggressive abandon as evident by the depression formed by his body and the surrounding debris.

The spirit sank to its knees, breath caught in its throat as something tightened around its chest.
No. You cannot be... I refuse it.

“Loki?” it voiced fearfully, reaching toward him with its unchanged hand, pausing as it was unused to initiating physical contact. Pushing through its hesitancy, it softly touched his chest. There was no response, but his torso did move rhythmically up and down to draw in shallow pulls of air. His pale eyes remained open and blank, staring at the ceiling with an absence of awareness.

A rush of some unnamable emotion flooded its body as it released the shaky breath it had been holding, the tightness in its chest easing only to appear around its throat.

Human emotions, it was finding, tended to sabotage its ability to act and think clearly, rather than lend any sort of actual benefit to a given situation.

But the irritation it was experiencing from the reactions of its physical body was overwhelmed by the relief that Loki still lived. He did not look particularly healthy, and the spirit wished it had not thrown away the communication device it had been given. It did not know if the warriors would give aid to their conquered foe, but it did not know how else to help him.

It was reminded of the continuing onslaught of the human metropolis as a pack of fliers shot past the opening in the structure, almost one entire side of the room now open to the air as glass lay glittering on the floor.

Wide eyes returned to trace along his face, and it studied the features of its no-longer-wayward Jotun-Asgardian. Unwilling to leave but unable to stay.

Notes