Madness of the Serpent

Loki's composure had returned to one of serene amusement before he decided to revisit the cosmic being he had summoned, appearing outside her temporary… accommodations. There was nothing but the hint of shadows around his eyes to identify that anything was amiss.

That the words of the Other haunted his footsteps. That the voice of his mother spoke softly from the shadows.

Frigga had appeared to him, once, after his enlightenment at the hands of his allies. He had quickly dismissed her conjured projection, not wanting to be distracted while he plotted and schemed for his inevitable rule of Midgard.

Her soothing, comforting voice had pled for him to return home, attempting to wheedle its way into his heart as it always inevitably did.

I have no home from which to return, he had bitterly growled before sending her image away. Loki had not wanted her bothersome maternal prattling to interfere with his plans. At least, that was the narration he spun in his mind, convincing himself it was the Queen's meddling that irked him – not the fact that her soft eyes had begun to redden at the sight of what her son had become.

No, there was no evidence that he was burdened with anything besides the glory of ruling his future kingdom. Nothing to show that his beleaguered mind sometimes felt foreign and fragile, other times it was manic with energy that left him restless and agitated, pacing through the dimly-lit halls like a caged beast.

Loki was weary, and nothing more. Once his mind eventually quieted from its frenzied cycle, he would be able to close his eyes and rest. Eventually.

In the interim, he had decided to return to the phantom's makeshift cell, though he was not entirely sure of the reason. Had he come see if her language skills had improved? If her knowledge had grown? She had not spoken again, and when he had instructed Dr. Selvig to examine the being once Agent Barton had returned with her – using his various tools of "science" – he had found nothing particularly special or unique about her new form. The only deviation from normality lay in a body temperature that ran higher than that of a typical mortal, and she emitted gamma radiation similar to the Tesseract and the sceptre, though in an infinitesimal amount.

You have given me no knowledge I did not already possess, Loki had snapped, causing the mortal to scurry back to his work on the portal stabilizer in the provisional lab.

Loki turned the doorknob, pleased to see that Barton, who was dutifully stationed next to the door, had kept it securely locked. It seemed the Hawk's ears were not as dull as his wits.

The god knew the assassin preferred to observe from a distance, but he had commanded the lethal mortal to remain close by – both to remind the other humans that the area was forbidden, and because it gave Loki a small amount of pleasure to have such complete mastery over the former SHIELD agent.

The spirit-made-flesh appeared to be staring directly at him even before he entered the room, and she slowly rose to her feet – never taking her eyes from his face. The way her eyes could remain both intensely focused and disturbingly blank of emotions was disconcerting, something he rarely experienced in the presence of another. Ordinarily, Loki was the one to cause unsettling emotions in others, and he was more than a little annoyed that she could illicit such a reaction from him.

The trickster god gave her a bright and graceful smile, wielding his charms as easily as he wielded any weapon. The being's expression remained frustratingly blank, causing his smile to falter. It would be difficult to play mind games or lure her into a trap with his words if there was a distinct lack of feedback. There was not much satisfaction in toying with one who could not be goaded into fantastic displays of emotions, as he had soon discovered from his impassive mind-slaves.

"How are you feeling, Trinity? Growing accustomed to your new… body?" Loki inquired, making a point of dragging his eyes along the entire length of her physique. Slowly. His eyes lingering in places where they should not if one were being civil and polite.

The being's nonexpression never shifted, regarding Loki with as much emotion as the blank wall behind her.

He could not decide if he was impressed or disappointed.

There was one thing that could illicit a reaction from her. And he held it in his hand, drawing closer as he casually moved the blade upwards. Ever so slightly.

Her reaction was immediate and deliciously tangible. The former-spirit attempted to retreat, but there was nowhere for her to go. Her back was pressed against the clammy plastered brick wall, trapped no matter how hard she tried to pass through its solid material.

"You need not fear me, Trinity," Loki remarked affably, his voice tinged with the affront he pretended to feel at being perceived in a threatening manner.

The creation he had named did not respond or take his bait, though he had not expected her to – it had been a weak ploy at best. He was simply… testing the waters.

Giving her another smile which could melt Uru, Loki began to slowly pace a semi-circle around the room, the sceptre casually moving from hand to hand. He did not set it on the table, desiring the celestial creature to be constantly reminded that the thing she seemed to fear most was in his grasp, and never far from hand.

He controlled her fear, not the other way around.

"From our last… discussion, it is obvious that you are not unskilled. There are few within the Nine Realms who can peel back the enchantments of the All-Father."

She had naught to say. Her dark eyes followed only the progression of the sceptre as it passed her by. Perhaps she did not know how she was able to accomplish such an act, or she was unwilling to reveal her potential talents to the god.

"You have power within you. I would use that power to fulfill my destiny on this backwards planet, and claim my rightful place as ruler of these pitifully lost souls."

A small reaction. Even if it was only a brief flickering of the eyes to meet his, it had attracted her attention.

"If you serve me, faithfully and well, you shall want for nothing. I will see to it that you are cared for, and all that you wish and desire will be made yours."

This seemed to be of less interest to her. She returned her focus to the sceptre and its illuminated orb, ignoring his exceedingly generous offer.

Fast as a serpent, Loki crossed the small distance between them, reaching forward and placing his fingers under her chin, forcing her face upwards. He ignored the way she flinched, and the way her skin was unnaturally heated under his fingers.

At least this time, his skin did not betray him with its hideous hue.

"When I speak, you will look at me," he warned icily.

Loki no longer held a smile upon his face. His lips were twisted into a grimace, and his eyes bored into hers, forcing their compliance. Her dark eyes, having nowhere else to look, fixated on him – her dilated pupils threatening to swallow them whole.

This was not how he had envisioned the dialogue with the ethereal spirit to unfold. He was already slipping and revealing too much of his underlying turmoil. Even anger was a liability when it was uncontrolled and undisciplined – it had to be honed to a sharp edge like a well-cared for weapon. And anger was the emotion he had the most difficulty restraining since his arrival to Earth.

When Loki believed he had reined in his temper a reasonable amount by concentrating on his breathing, a hint of a smile beginning to form on his face, she chose that exact moment to finally speak.

It only made things much, much worse.

"A wise king never seeks out war."

Loki snatched his hand away from her chin, the blood draining from his face as his insides were reduced to a mixture of slush and ice.

It was as if the All-Father lorded over him, passing judgement with his hateful, all-seeing eye, peering through his illusions – both magical and psychological – to see the underlying deficiencies and deformities. To see the inner monster that Odin had utterly failed to tame and domesticate.

You have been weighed, measured, and found wanting.

It was not possible. He was not supposed to stand there, his body frozen in shock, his eyes wide in horror. Those expressions were reserved for lesser beings, not for a god.

"What… what did you say?" Loki demanded, his wavering voice undermining the command in his voice.

The being did not respond.

"Oh, no. You're not going to play the mute with me now."

Loki seized her around the neck, his cold fingers pressing into the delicate flesh of her slim throat. He held the spirit being against the wall, her large eyes filled with definable fear as the glowing orb flared brightly, reflecting in the dark pools of her gaze.

"Where did you hear those words?" Loki hissed, the blade of the sceptre a mere inch from the smooth curve of her cheek. She flinched from the cruel blade, which she unwisely seemed to fear more than the god.

"Speak!" he barked, his voice teeming on the edge of hysteria. Loki's desire to obtain the cooperation of the celestial being was overpowered by an all-consuming hatred of the All-Father. Of the unbridled rage at the fact that she had not only unnerved him, but had made him feel fear. Twice.

"It… it was…" she choked out the words, her eyes glassy as she tried to speak, and he loosened his grip the tiniest amount.

"It was… an impression… it remembers from… before. When it… found you," she stammered, her eyes wide as his fingers flexed tighter around her neck.

"You did not find me. Thanos found me. He saved me from oblivion – you were nothing more than an irritating wisp that drew His ire with its foolish antics." Loki's eyes were wild with the need to curb her lying tongue. To make her see her error: that he owed her nothing, and she owed him everything.

The celestial being parted her lips but she did not respond, the only noise she made were the small gasps of air she tried to pull into her lungs. Loki blinked and loosened his iron grip, not having realized his fingers had tightened once more.

"That… that is not…" the being paused, her body now visibly shuddering as she attempted to catch her breath.

"Not what?" Loki darkly demanded. Though he had held back his desire to squeeze the life from her, his voice was tinged with barely contained rage.

Her depthless eyes regarded him with the appropriate amount of fear. She appeared as if she wished to speak, and once she did, Loki could sense the peril of her words. The danger if he allowed them to linger in the air, unchallenged.

"That is… not the truth." She took a quick breath, and – as if the hapless creature actually possessed a death wish – she hurried to spill the illicit words from her lips.

"You manipulate the humans while your own mind is tangled in the web of another. Your words ring false and your eyes harbor shadows. You are not-"

Her words were cut short as Loki's fingers closed around her throat, his teeth bared in an expression of unbridled fury.

The god could have crushed her, ground her spinal cord into dust and her windpipe into mash. He could have destroyed her delicate, frail body – ended her existence in the span of a breath. Or tear her into a thousand pieces with his bare hands. Loki was her creator, was he not? He made her, and he could unmake her if he so desired.

And at the moment, he desired it very much.

Loki held the blade near her cheek, tracing the shape of her face down to her neck, the point of the blade hesitating towards the middle of her unmoving chest. It was only an inch away from the cloth of her grey garment.

All he would have to do was bury the tip of the blade into her chest. It would be so simple. So effortlessly easy.

So… disappointing.

Her laughable efforts at causing Loki to question his own memories and actions were nothing compared to his indomitable will. It would be a waste to use the sceptre on a miserable ghost-of-a-creature such as her.

The god would make her obey without it.

Loki slowly lowered the blade away from her body and she took a shuddering breath as he released his vise-like grip on her neck. The being's eyes were still much too wide, like the eyes of a steed who had stepped on a serpent. She looked perfectly balanced between bolting and being paralyzed in terror, but even that was not enough to satisfy him.

"You are mine. Do you understand? I will have your absolute obedience. The sooner you comprehend this, the easier your existence will become."

The god's eyes bored into hers until he was satisfied that his intentions were perfectly grasped before he smoothly moved away from her, attempting to replicate his earlier façade of serenity and control. The only movement his creation made was to rub at the raw, pink hand-shaped imprint on her neck.

Loki felt the stirring of something, witnessing that ugly mark on her bare skin, but he repressed the sensation before it could become something more tangible. Shoved it down, violently. He had to snuff out all frailty and cast out all doubt of his actions.

There was no room for them in a god.

Loki left her cell without another word, his blazing glare lingering on her as the door clicked shut, the bolt locking with a dread finality.

______________________________________________________________________

The spirit had not felt such visceral emotions since it had confronted the omnipotent mind-jewel, and what it was experiencing now could only be described as "horror". Once the sharp fear of suffocation and bodily harm had passed, a cold, dreaded sensation had taken its place, causing its limbs to shake and its muscles to tremble as tightness coiled within its torso.

It knew the Loki was not entirely to blame for his actions – that its enmity should be directed at the one who had torn the Jotun-Asgardian's mind asunder. But it was difficult to loath one who was on another dimensional plane when it was the Loki's own hand which had squeezed its neck with merciless brutality.

The spirit had attempted to explain what it believed, what it had witnessed in regards to the state of the Jotun-Asgardian's distorted will. It had attempted to relate to the Loki by repeating a phrase it had absorbed during their bonding, one that must have been important to him, as it had been imprinted onto his soul so deeply.

Its efforts had been met with volatile anger and threats of violence, leaving the spirit frightened and lost.

As it massaged the agony in its throat, as it sank onto the resting pad and pulled its legs close to its chest, its back propped against the damp wall, it began to contemplate escape for the first time.

But would it escape? Could it escape?

It had seen the heavily-fortified humans running through the corridors. Its door was securely sealed from the outside – and it knew the Jotun-Asgardian had charged the Barton-Hawk with being its vigilant watcher and jailer.

The chances of successful flight were infinitesimal. It would have to remain, and not abandon hope that the Jotun-Asgardian could be reached. The spirit had clearly seen the madness and disturbance in his eyes, and it had to believe whatever sickness had been planted in his mind could be extracted.

The cruel creature which had held the spirit tightly within his painful grasp had fundamentally changed from the abandoned, dying lifeform it had found adrift in the empty void. The Jotun-Asgardian had been filled with anguish, heartache, and yes, even rage, but he had not held in his heart a dark desire to enslave the human species. His eagerness to conquer the human planet was something new and foreign – absent from the being the spirit had shared itself with.

But what could the spirit possibly do with such a frail, vulnerable body? The Loki had claimed it had power within its form, but it felt no such source of vitality or strength. It was as helpless as a newborn offspring before a raging storm, unable to take shelter or flee from the onslaught of the Jotun-Asgardian's wrath.

It had been dragged into this precarious situation for having spared the Loki from certain death in the forgotten edge of the universe, for attempting to end his torment at the hands of a sinister creature, and for collapsing the portal which held promises of planetary slaughter.

And even now, after all of the ill-fortune that had befallen the spirit for its involvement with the Jotun-Asgardian, it still wished to seek salvation for its captor. It could not discern why it felt such a strong need to protect him, but it was there, present and constant.

Perhaps it pitied the Loki. Perhaps it felt responsibility for his pain and suffering. Or perhaps it could not resist the plight of a creature that needed saving. It did not know, as the Jotun-Asgardian had been the first living being it had interacted with. Lifeforms, as a general rule, were not found floating in the empty places of the universe.

But how could it repair the damage to his psyche when the Loki had no memory of his rescue? Had no reason to trust its intentions or believe its words? He appeared more fixated on his obsession with dominating the humans than on listening to anything the spirit had to offer, as evident by the painful throbbing around its neck.

What if saving his soul came at the expensive of its own life, which it had only just acquired?
Would it still try to save the Loki now that it had a physical form?

Everything was different now. Before, when it was nothing but an amalgam of formless energy, it would have sacrificed itself to save another – that was the nature of the selfless, pure spirit-beings. It had had no real identity, no sense of self and individuality, no biological or psychological imperative to survive at all costs.

Now, with a physical form that possessed desires and needs… was it still supposed to be as selfless and willing to sacrifice itself? Or did it have ownership and a right to defend the integrity of its own body?

Autonomy. It now had bodily autonomy. What did that mean?

For the first time, it wished it could speak to the mind-jewel, or at least siphon more of its acumen. Perhaps the boundless mind could inform the spirit as to what it should do, or at least, what it should not do, as its actions clearly agitated the Jotun-Asgardian in his unstable frame of mind.

Still, it did not know how useful the mind-jewel would be in this situation, as the spirit had realized something during its interactions with the Loki. There was a distinction between knowledge and wisdom, and it believed the mind-jewel only had the power of the former, not the latter.

Unsettled thoughts swirled through its consciousness as it unintentionally drifted into a lower state of awareness, its forehead resting against the curve of its knee as its arms remained protectively clasped around its legs. It remained this way for an unknown amount of time, retreating to the sanctuary of the stars in its mind until the door to its now-prison opened, startling the spirit into immediate alertness.

The Barton-Hawk stood over it, an amused smile lighting his face. He carried several rectangular, bound objects in his hand, though it did not know what they were.

"The boss has assigned homework for you, you lucky girl," he said, plopping the heavy objects on the mattress next to it.

It stared up at him in blank confusion, understanding the context of only half of his words. The human seemed to realize this – he was becoming nearly as adept at interpreting the spirit's blank looks as it was at deciphering his overt emotions.

"Homework. Like… preparing in advance. Researching. Gaining knowledge before your next fire-side Kumbaya with Loki. 'She must learn to articulate her thoughts more concisely and clearly' – his words, not mine."

The spirit did not see the point in this, as it grasped words well enough. Its speech being unintelligible had not been the source of conflict during the previous conversation between the spirit and the Loki. In fact, its words had been perceived quite clearly as evident by the brief but naked shock it had seen in his eyes.

"Plus, you're probably illiterate, which I don't think pleases his Royal Worshipfulness." Barton-Hawk spoke the last two words with a sort of mocking tone that mimicked the Jotun-Asgardian's cadence of voice.

It made the corner of its lips twitch for some odd reason.

The Barton-Hawk seemed to view this as an invitation, because he sat down next to it on its sleeping pad, picking up one of the objects as he ignored the way the spirit shifted in discomfort from their physical closeness.

"We've gone dark – no contact with the outside world. Which means no Internet. So we're doing this the old fashioned way." He gently patted the thick stack. "There are a couple dictionaries here, plus a thesaurus. It'll teach you the meaning of words, and different variations of those words. Make you all smart and shit."

Again, it felt its learning abilities being dismissed. Perhaps it did not speak very often, but did that make it less intelligent?

"I'll help you get started, no worries," he said, grabbing one of the heavy items and propping it open on his lap. The spirit glanced up at him curiously before looking down at the exposed pages, viewing the nonsensical symbols covering the sheaves of thin material.

"Words are formed with letters. There are twenty-six letters in the English alphabet, made up of vowels and consonants, and they're combined in different ways. The same letters can even sound different, depending on their arrangement…"

After a paused moment, he remarked, "Hell. You probably don't know what numbers are, either."

The Barton-Hawk was a surprisingly patient guide. He treated the spirit as if it was a young progeny and he was the elder mentor. He never became impatient or sharp, and it began to grow to enjoy his company.

Yes, he was a mind-thrall to the Jotun-Asgardian, but it believed these characteristics were native to his nature. Surely it would be a waste of valuable energy to reprogram every mind-thrall's personality, mannerisms, and habits.

It believed its logic was sound. And in either case, the Barton-Hawk did not threaten or intimidate the spirit in order to make it cooperate. He simply treated it as if it was no different than any other being – as if they were equals. The thought made it feel strangely warm, somewhere deep in its chest.

Eventually, after the spirit stopped asking him questions about how to pronounce certain groups of letters and how they could vary, the Barton-Hawk stopped talking and simply sat in silence, watching it as it read more and more rapidly through the pages of the object called a "book".

It blinked and looked sideways at him, speculating at the look on his face. The assassin seemed to be buried in his thoughts, or in the process of seeking out a lost memory.

Deciding to speak, it met his azure-clouded eyes and asked:

"Why is it here?"

The human gave a small grin and said, "Why are any of us here?"

"You were born," it replied, not understanding his light tone or his obviously-answered question. "It was… not. Why?"

The Barton-Hawk seemed to think for a while, his eyebrows knitted together as his azure-eyes glowed eerily.

"Loki didn't exactly specify why. There's talk among the scientists that you were created to control the Tesseract. Help open another portal. But that doesn't make any sense."

It did not speak, waiting for him to continue. Apparently, the Loki had not commanded him to withhold information from his captive.

"Dr. Selvig is already working on a stabilizing structure to prop the portal wide open. There'd be no reason to use the sceptre and the Tesseract to create something of redundancy, especially given the amount of power needed to build you a body in the first place.

"So it has to be something else. He needs you for something. Loki doesn't do anything without a reason."

As he spoke, the spirit realized it had underestimated the human's intelligence. He seemed to be a very sharp tactician with impressive deductive skills.

"You are mistaken about one thing," it said, slightly tilting its head. He raised an eyebrow.

"It was not created by the Loki – it already existed. It was trapped, in the sceptre's orb. Placed there by a… a terrible fiend from the other side of the portal. As punishment, when it attempted to halt his torture."

"Whose torture?"

The spirit blinked at him. Did he truly not know?

"Loki's."

"Someone tortured Loki?" he asked incredulously, his eyebrows curved upward in an expression of disbelief.

"Yes. Then it was trapped in the sceptre, and it… it woke up, here." Its inner organs churned in discomfort as the lie left its lips. But it did not forget that as kind as the Barton-Hawk had been to the spirit, he was still a mind-thrall. It did not want word of its role in the collapse of the portal to reach Loki's ears.

"I'm guessing you weren't floating around space looking like you do now?"

"No," it replied, watching him closely.

"Loki mentioned something about that. Said you were shaped like a dragon? I don't know, it didn't make a whole lot of sense."

"What is a dragon?"

"It's a mythical beast. At least, I hope so. I mean, I used to think gods weren't real, and look how that turned out." He smiled at the being with far too much levity, and it did not change its facial expression. He continued his explanation, apparently not offended by its lack of reaction.

"Anyway, dragons? Big, scaly, mean. Breathe fire. That sort of thing. Sound familiar?"

It gently shook its head, though it did remember how it would occasionally like to take on the translucent shape of an impressive, scaly creature. Was that the same as these beasts the humans believed to be fictitious?

"It was… it is not sure how to describe it with language. It was without a body. Pure energy with a consciousness, floating in and out of the fabric of the universe, trailing along the curves and hidden tunnels between the dimensions."

The Barton-Hawk made a whistling sound through his lips.

"Sounds like that time I tried mushrooms."

"Mushrooms?"

"I'll tell you when you're older."

The spirit did not understand, but he said it in a friendly tone, his eyes creasing at the corners in an expression which seemed to convey warmth.

They sat in silence, and it returned to the lined pages in its lap, but the spirit could no longer focus on the typed words. Fear for the integrity of its newfound existence kept prodding and pulling at its attention.

It needed to ask something of the human. So it did.

"What will happen to it?"

The warmth slowly left his face, an uncharacteristically blank one replacing it.

"Loki will find a purpose for you. Or he won't. You'll be useful, or you'll have a bullet in your head." The good-natured smile returned to his face, completely discordant to the dangerous words he had spoken. "Either way, you'll have your answer, eh?"

The Barton-Hawk rose to his feet, his expression untroubled and carefree as he seemed to be ignorant of the way the spirit had paled in response.

"Keep on studying, kiddo. It'll make things a lot smoother for ya. Trust me."

The Barton-Hawk smiled down at it, but the spirit's expression remained vacant, concealing the nauseous sensation in its midsection as it returned his glowing gaze.

His demeanor untroubled by the last few minutes of their exchange, the assassin turned and walked to the door, his black garments allowing him to move in complete silence.

Without a backwards glance, he was gone, leaving the spirit in a state of growing dread.

The spirit had underestimated the Jotun-Asgardian's broken and twisted state of mind. It was becoming devastatingly clear that he was a threat. He was a danger to the safety of the spirit and its new body. It could not be sure that in one of his fits of rage, he would not strike it down despite whatever designs he had in mind for it.

Then the spirit stopped breathing, listening closely, straining its ears intently for footsteps or any other sign that the Barton-Hawk was nearby. Gently setting the thick dictionary on the floor next to the pad, it rose to its feet and cautiously crossed the room to the door. Still listening for signs of life on the other side, its ears met nothing but silence.

Giving the dull doorknob a look of apprehension, as if it were a venomous creature, it slowly wrapped its palm around the cool metal. It turned, and met no resistance.

The spirit had not heard the typical, loud click when the Barton-Hawk had exited its confined space. Somehow, it had slipped the assassin's mind to reset the padlock to its prison.

An opportunity had presented itself to the spirit, and it doubted it would receive another. The Barton-Hawk's ominous words echoed in its mind – reminding the spirit that time was not on its side. Once the Jotun-Asgardian realized it was nothing more than a helpless soul trapped in a brittle vessel, he would discard its useless shell.

What would happen to the spirit trapped within? Would it return to the stars, where it could leave behind the unpleasant memories of its brief life? Or would it become nothingness, ceasing to exist?

Besides interpreting written words, speaking a language based on sounds, and understanding nuanced body postures, it was learning something else quite vital to its existence: Self-preservation.

Along with fear and dismay, it was experiencing another new emotion: Desperation.

The spirit opened the door.

Notes