The New York City wind carries all regret with it

by hillbythetree

New York. The street, burning. God, the thing spoke to him. Loki realizes that this game he's played has consequences on every end. A very short piece set during the Battle of New York City.

God, the thing spoke. Loki hadn't even noticed the Chitauri a few feet away, pinned beneath a concrete slab— and did it even see him? But it had spoken. Forgetting the pain in his leg, Loki drew closer. Blue flames flickered weakly from beneath the Chitauri's askew visor. Its voice sputtered in black mucus, but it was saying something.

"Rreemah…" it hissed, "Rreeeemah…"

As the Chitauri spoke, its head fell back, and it snarled before coughing out another syllable. Its words were swords and daggers, dropped and clattering on a stone floor. The same word— "Rreemah"— a name? What was it saying?

Suddenly, it jerked, reaching beneath the boulder— Loki drew his spear back quickly, but the creature was only clutching a gaping hole, trying to keep back an oozing black slime.

Loki would have felt something like contrition, had he allowed himself to recognize it. Instead, he drew back. He whirled, grabbed the horn of a passing Chitauri cruiser, and felt the jolt as it rushed him into the air, leaving the beast slack-jawed in the dust and the ashes of the burned city.