Madness of the Serpent

The spirit wondered if its heart would ever stop racing, but once it had, it forced its willful form to relax and attempt to rest – a difficult feat when its body was ready to flee from being startled by Loki’s cruel, yet strangely playful, gestures.

It did not understand from where these emotions were coming. It was not as expressive as Loki, with his easy smiles when he was pleased or his thunderous glares when he was not. It was not as emotive as the… as Barton either, but it was experiencing a plethora of new feelings it had not before.

Was this… typical? Was there any such standard for an entity such as itself?

These thoughts soon fizzled out, however, as it drifted into a state of light rest, lulled by the sound of the purring engines and the rumble under its feet.

Waking sometime later, staring out of the dark window at the black sky beyond, it realized it had slept for a significant amount of time. Its internal clock estimated four hours had passed.

Its dreams had been jumbled and confused, filled with jeering humans, vaguely familiar planets, and a disturbing, blue glow that seemed to consume everything it touched.

The second thing it noticed, after the darkness of the window, was the warmth covering its form. Glancing down, it saw the grey blanket had been replaced over its legs and chest.

Had Loki done this? He was the only other occupant of the air vessel that it could ascertain. But why? So that it was not exposed to the chilled air? Why would he perform such an action? His reactions and responses thus far had not indicated that he was truly concerned for its well-being – only that he wished it to function long enough to be useful.

Blinking slowly, it looked over its shoulder and across the interior space to where its captor lounged.

Loki lay stretched lengthwise along the cushioned furniture, his head turned to the side with his eyelids closed. He was… sleeping.

It could only stare in wonder.

The Jotun-Asgardian’s visage seemed to have de-aged to a time of youth and innocence. The darkness around his eyes was still present, and a stray black lock of hair lay across his temple, but otherwise, he looked like a fledgling version of himself. Even his gangly limbs lent to the image of gentle adolescence, his head cradled against his shoulder as his breath remained slow and even.

There was a pain deep inside its chest, a dull ache which was also somehow jagged and sharp, seeming to pierce straight through its being. It felt like a pain of the soul, not one born of physical injury. The spirit was suddenly alarmed.

Was there something wrong with it?

There was no opportunity to contemplate its curious symptoms as it felt an unpleasant sensation in its stomach, a slight change in gravity that made it feel slightly nauseous.

Loki suddenly jerked, his eyes flashing open as he gasped for breath, his chest rapidly rising and falling in distress. The Jotun-Asgardian looked around in bewilderment before focusing his eyes on the spirit, confusion written in his pale blue eyes. There was a nakedness there, a vulnerability which he quickly shored up with his regal composure and impenetrable mask.

Once he had collected himself, Loki flashed a wide smile, gracefully pulled himself into an upright position and smoothed back his dark, slightly curled hair, as if nothing unusual had transpired.

“It seems we are descending, finally. These human vessels are unbearably and tediously slow. Even an Asgardian skiff could outpace these cumbersome machines.”

This was the first time Loki had mentioned anything about the land which had once sheltered him. It stared at him curiously, wanting to learn to acquire more information on the home of the Asgardians.

“What is an Asgardian skiff?”

Loki gave it a peculiar look, though the spirit did not understand why. The question was a simple one.

“They are small hovercraft used either for transportation or as vehicles of war.”

“It would wish to see one.”

“Unlikely,” he responded, though his tone was more amused than abrasive. “If you were to see an Asgardian Skiff, that would mean you were in Asgard. If you were in Asgard, you would most likely be prisoner by degree of the throne.”

It slightly tilted its head as it attempted to reconcile his words.

“Why?”

His expression was no longer light and humorous, his pale eyes growing darker as his thoughts did likewise.

“It is unimportant,” he snapped, the threatening growl back in his throat. It only stared at him and blinked, apparently becoming accustomed to his rapid change of mood as it felt a lack of fear at his response. It still experienced nervousness at his tone, but it was difficult to feel true fright when the image of his vulnerable face was still at the forefront of its mind.

“We should be discussing the task I assigned.” Loki leaned forward slightly, his elbows braced against his legs as he held his hands loosely between his knees. No… not completely loose. The spirit noticed he had begun to scratch absentmindedly at his left hand, as if he had an itch that could not be sated.

“Trinity…”

Its eyes immediately snapped upwards and stared into his frosty orbs, wary of the darkness that tinged his voice. A slow, curdling grin formed on his face.

“What impression have you gathered of the mortals?”

It broke eye contact with him, unable to meet his hard gaze as it thought back to what it had discovered from the films. Staring at the plush blue carpet, the spirit finally spoke.

“Ignorant. Cruel. Selfish.”

It looked up when it heard his dark chuckle.

“I knew you would see things my way.”

“But… it is not satisfied with the amount of knowledge it has gained. It needs to understand more. The humans, they cannot all be so… so…”

“Weak?” he added, his eyebrows lifted in an expression of feigned helpfulness.

“Misguided,” it finished, meeting his eye to show that it was not convinced that his opinion of humans was the correct one.

Loki smirked gleefully, unable to be shaken from his sudden good-humor.

“Oh, there are a few mortals who are exceptional specimens. But that’s part of the problem, isn’t it? These mortals are exceptions.”

Loki stood from the furniture he had claimed for himself and began to slowly pace as he talked, his hands behind his back, his brow furrowed in thought.

“The majority are spineless curs who would rather have someone else lead, even if they be led over a cliff into an ocean.”

Was… was the Jotun-Asgardian attempting to have a genuine dialogue with the spirit? This seemed to be his intention, as he paused for a moment to stare directly at it, as if he waited for an answer.

It offered no response for a moment, thinking on its reply before it was given.

“From the information provided by the recorded narratives, most humans are misled by a powerful, corrupt few.” As it saw the smug expression on Loki’s face, the spirit interjected, “If they were given another-“

“And who is at fault for being so willingly fooled? Who allowed these ruthless few to accumulate the power to manipulate the many?”

It had nothing to say to that.

Loki looked at it not unkindly, almost sympathetically, as if he pitied its attempts to deliberate the nature of humans while trying to contest that they were still worthy of being spared the fate he meant to give them.

“If it were not human nature to ruin all they touch, then I would not be here now to rule them.”
It searched his eyes, understanding beyond its grasp.

“If they did not court war with unending lust, if their will was not so easily bent like chaff in the wind, their technology would be as advanced as Asgard’s – perhaps more so.” Loki began to pace again, almost agitated, not sparing a glance at the spirit as his words seemed to be focused inwards.

“The mortals are short-lived, but that gives them the impetus to advance quickly, to strive for impossible achievements before their brief lives burn out. If the humans had reached even half of their potential, the Chitauri would not dare touch them, and the Master-“

Loki’s words were cut short as his throat made a strange gurgling, choking sound, his eyes wide with sudden and immediate terror as his hand flew to his throat.

The spirit stared, its heart thudding in its chest at the look of intense fear in the Jotun-Asgardian’s eyes, the pallor of his face giving a sickly impression while his breath hitched in his chest as he practically clawed at his neck.

It felt a surge of conflict-driven hormones rush into its own system, and it rose from its seat, alarmed and frightened as it watched Loki contend with some unseen, unknown force. It was as if they had returned to the underground lair, when Loki had fear driven into him by an invisible power outside of the spirit’s detection.

But then he was breathing. Whatever had occurred was passing, and Loki was roughly rubbing his throat as he gasped for air. It was an almost exact mimicry of what the spirit had done after Loki’s last angry outburst that had ended with his fingers tightly around its neck.

“What is wrong?”

The Jotun-Asgardian stared straight at the spirit with a look of warning, but it waited expectantly for his response, unblinkingly returning the intense glare.

Loki took a deep breath and changed tactics, continuing to massage neck as he gave a shaky but sharp laugh.

“Worry not for me. All of the pieces are falling flawlessly into place. The mortals are even throwing a celebration in my honor, though they do not yet know it.”

Loki walked past it and returned to the lounging furniture, smoothing nonexistent imperfections from his black and green armor as the aircraft’s descent became more noticeable to the spirit’s gelatinous insides.

“Where?” it asked tentatively, glancing back at the thick window to see thousands of lights spread across the ground, beautifully twinkling like fallen starlight.

When no answer came, it looked over to him and wondered at his wide, victorious grin, and what it meant.

“A small human nation-state called Germany.”

______________________________________________________________________

The airplane landed smoothly enough, though the spirit held tightly to the padded armrest, wondering if the winged contraption would go skidding off its designated landing area.

Luckily, no such mishap occurred, and it watched curiously as Barton entered the room from a much smaller compartment at the front of the air vessel. The spirit watched him carefully, but he did not acknowledge its presence as he pulled a long, black case from a nearby latched alcove. Its stomach clenched in distress as it saw its contents.

Loki gingerly, almost reverently, lifted the golden apparatus from its holdings in the container. The azure orb glowed eagerly, as if joyous to reunite with its master, and the spirit felt the familiar, disturbing pull of the power source within the smooth oval.

“You are certain these mortals are trustworthy – that you can rely upon them?”

“They’re HYDRA. So… no. But they want SHIELD’s destruction as much as you – so we’re golden on the iridium.”

The Jotun-Asgardian gave a wolfish smile. “Then I shall see you soon, Agent Barton.”

Agent?

“Yep,” the human replied, picking up a second black case and exiting the compartment without so much as a glance at the spirit. Loki frowned at the seemingly unceremonious departure, muttering something which sounded like “impetuous ape.”

The spirit watched this exchange without comment, expecting to leave the human vessel following Barton’s exodus, except Loki had not moved towards the exit. Instead, he now stood directly in front of it, blocking its path, towering over the spirit with his physically intimidating presence.

It had not fully realized how much smaller it was than the Jotun-Asgardian. It wished, for the first time – and undoubtedly not the last – that it had been created with a larger physique.

“Hmmmm.” Loki hummed in the back of his throat as he put his finger under its chin, tilting its face upwards as he examined it closely.

As with most physical contact it had experienced in its short existence, it found this to be very, very uncomfortable.

Loki seemed to sense this, and the corner of his mouth curled slightly.

“Your attire is not fit for a gala, even if it is only a mortal event. You should be mysterious, intriguing, and formidably beautiful.”

He turned its head to the side, examining its marred cheek as he said:

“Or at the very least, presentable.”

It was about to express its wishes to be left as it was, but its jaw was clenched in fear as Loki brought his sceptre forward. But he did not wield it, or use it to threaten, but placed it on the flat wooden stand where the small computer also resided.

“Let us see what we can do…”

The spirit watched him curiously as Loki made a small flourish with his hand, and it could almost feel the manipulation of light and mass settle on its body like a light layer of dust, solidifying into corporeal fabric.

It felt its hair twist upwards, away from its back and neck, and perch on the back of its head, feeling slight pressure as some unknown object held it in place. The spirit almost stumbled forward as the flat boots on its feet were replaced by black, reflective footwear with a sharp point on each heel. They felt clumsy and awkward, and made the muscles in its legs tighten to a level between discomfort and irritation, but it did give the spirit added height.

But the garment which covered its physical form – that was an object of intense interest. It was glittery, black, and amazingly soft and silky against its bare skin. It ran its fingers over the thin fabric, finding pleasure in the smoothness in the material.

When it brought its eyes back up to the Jotun-Asgardian, wondering at the purpose of the aesthetic illusion, it paused.

Loki was staring at it in a very peculiar way. As if he was confused or unsure, or perhaps lost in the midst of his thoughts.

“This will suffice,” he said dismissively, his glib comment at odds with the strangeness in his eyes.

He lifted the hateful sceptre and walked briskly towards the circular hatch in the side of the air vessel, pausing as he looked back to the spirit.

He held out his hand.

“Come.”

It did not move. His extended hand seemed as treacherous as the sceptre, with its alluring appearance but its ability to bring forth pain.

“You want to gain knowledge about the humans of Earth, do you not? This is your opportunity – to see for yourself how they squander and cheapen their brief lives.”

A chance to travel out into the human world? Was it a trap? A ruse?

It was left to wonder, once again, at his odd actions. What purpose would there be in bringing the spirit to observe the humans? If it was nothing more than an instrument to be used by the Jotun-Asgardian, then why was he making such a concerted effort to shape and mold its opinion of humanity?

Loki’s actions and words were paradoxical. Inconsistent. Contradictory. The impression it had been given was that it was no more than a tool. If this was true, then why was the wielder attempting to convince the tool that its use was warranted and justified?

It should not have been tempted by his words. It should not have wanted to yield to such things. But its nature had always been one of curiosity, and if it wanted to discover the puzzle that was Loki of Asgard and Jotunheim, it would have to take the risk.

It took his hand.

The spirit was unsure what it had expected to happen, but nothing drastic took place. His palm was warm and surprisingly soft, and when he firmly gripped its hand and pulled it along, it did not resist.

Descending the stairs from the air vessel in the tall, impractical shoes was harrowing, but it did not stumble nor fall, and it was reluctantly glad for the Jotun-Asgardian’s steady hand.

The spirit came to a standstill with its body frozen in place as it looked skywards, its hand slipping from his warm grasp as its eyes became as wide as possible. Not in fright or dread, but in total and complete wonderment.

It could see only a pitiful number of them, perhaps in the hundreds, but they were there. Calling, whispering, and holding the spirit in their snare as easily as the sceptre held the humans in its trappings.

“What?” Loki questioned with brisk annoyance, obviously irritated by its abrupt halt.

“The stars,” it said softly, its eyes captivated with their distant but beautiful light.

“What of them?” he asked, his tone more confused than angered.

Instead of answering, its lips pulled upwards at the corners, and it smiled for the first time.

“They are beautiful,” it almost whispered. The spirit half-expected the Jotun-Asgardian to find this distraction trivial and childish. Surprisingly, he stayed silent.

Something was welling in its chest – similar to the ache it had felt before when it watched Loki’s vulnerable state of slumber, but less painful and much more pleasant. It was a comfort, knowing the stars were still there in the universe, shining above its head rather than spread around its form like a dimensionless sea of lights.

But then… the pleasant ache began to deepen, sharpening into a pained wound that was unseen but palpable. Its wonderment became an empty gnawing in the middle of its chest. It felt a distinct yearning to return… home.

This was the first time the spirit realized how truly alone it was. It was stranded on a strange planet filled with stranger creatures, cut off from everything it had ever known or experienced, trapped in a body that permanently separated it from connecting with other beings by solid barriers of flesh and blood.

Its loneliness and isolation was layered in ways it could not articulate, even if another being had been willing to listen to its thoughts.

The spirit could have watched the stars for the rest of the night cycle, staring at the multitude of interstellar bodies which graced the night sky of Earth, mentally tricking itself into believing, even for a microsecond, that it had returned to its limitless territory and capered with the other carefree spirits. To return to a state where its sole existence had been to play with unfettered freedom, caring nothing for wars or invasions or moral quandaries.

At least, that was what the spirit told itself. The truth was far more complicated, as evident by its decision to interfere with the Jotun-Asgardian’s fate in the void. It had cared enough then to react on his behalf – it would be untruthful to feign disinterest now that its situation was uncomfortable and inconvenient.

The spirit’s distant thoughts were interrupted by a light touch on its arm. It automatically flinched away, its head snapping to the side at the one whose touch it had felt.

It was Loki, of course, but the spirit had nearly forgotten his presence as it had become entangled in its own mind. Its eyes slowly widened as it stared in wonder, much as it had stared at the constellations of Earth.

Gone was his semi-roughened battle armor, comprised of black and green leather and gold metal. In its place was long black fabric that covered his arms and shoulders, hanging down to his ankles. There was another layer of dark fabric underneath that covered his upper and lower halves, a white garment that covered his torso, and an off-white strip of soft material with odd green patterns hung loosely around his neck.

Even the bladed apparatus had been transformed into a shortened, benign rod, though the tip was embedded with the azure glow of the orb – a constant warning of the threat which it and both its wielder possessed.

But Loki, he looked… more elegant and less intimidating. Though in truth, both qualities were never absent in the Jotun-Asgardian.

“Come,” he said pleasantly, taking its arm gently in his grip, ignoring the way it flinched at his touch. “The main event does not begin until we arrive.”

Notes