The army was relentless. Whenever he cleared his left his right would become infested. If he looked ahead into what was coming there'd be an attack from his rear, but if he didn't his barriers would break. He would call weapons from his magic, perhaps a dagger or a throwing knife, but he ultimately preferred his hands. It was all to do with what was more convenient. Left, right, a little higher. He's practically dancing with the beasts.

A deadly Fiesta in the middle of Jotunheim.

"Don't let them touch you!" Becomes the chant. More and more come but Loki isn't slowing. He pulses with his energy, roasting the life out of the bloody, vile creatures he's slicing his way through. Another head flew from his ethereal blade and rolled down the icy slopes of this uneven plane. Loki liked that sound. It was oddly pleasing, seated somewhere in the near vicinity of calming. He allows the song to distract him, yet only for a second. It doesn't matter, a second was enough for a single red-eyed monster to slip by his defenses. It grabs him by the leather-wrapped wrist, but not long enough to burn him before he himself grabs it by the throat and rips. It's all very unfair, for before he can see the beast die, a sound hits him like a clash of cymbals. He pushes his kill away as they both fall into a cloud of white. Molten masses start slicing into his skin, ripping him open - disregarding his armor as if it was merely a paper shroud. Shards of red-hot somethings and ice-cold nothings pound into him - Shredding, tearing and burning every inch. It's so bright - a blinding luminescence.
He has too.
He projects a shield; uses reserves to heal himself. He hides from other beasts under the cover of an ebony mist, which to the outside displays a false fight - they will think nothing amiss. No one notices the debris flying out of nowhere. The onslaught continues. With no senses he cannot call out, only burn through his magic at an obscene rate. It's not long before he feels the sting of trying to use magic he's quickly running out of. As quickly as the volley came, it seemed to go. No more spear heads and lesser lava from the sky, and for a few moments at least, he had time to wonder what that was. Yet as his skin finally started to cool and his healing aura dissipated rather abruptly, the attack totally stopped. That was not of Jotun doing - not within their power. The shocked air around him settled again as he called back his wards and clones and whipped his mist back into him, closing his clasp around it to keep it in. As he found time to turn towards the direction of the fallen star, the residual light was faltering, but was swiftly replaced by a shock wave of heat - a dry, painful distortion of the air. His feet lost their grip on the melting ice beneath him, tossing him to his knees as if he were a rag doll. As his head whipped up from trying to steady himself, he found a blue, crackling fire, fitting of it's surroundings. A mangled mess of black and brown metal spires had implanted themselves into these foreign snows. He looked closer, breathing heavy, feeling his nerves start to pull him back, but he would not relent. He peered further, into the black and burnt pieces of red and gold buried beneath a crater of watery, broken ice a few meters from the metal structure. A stray, yet different shard flew past his head, one of metal, ripping up yet more ice, forcing his attention back to the Jotuns as a jealous child would. He swung his body round, taking his fist into the Frost giant's knee caps, throwing him unceremoniously to the ground. The beast slid, thankfully towards a still floor bound Loki, who jammed the hilt of his newly apparated sword into the back of its neck. Then he's being grappled from behind, an icy hand, ripping into his shoulder. It didn't have time to do much damage however as it was cut clean from its owner within seconds, along with its stunned face. He arose from his fall, stepping out of the treacherous pool which had already started to re-freeze. He looked down to his shoulder, a whole layer of leather eaten through by frost, the under layer frayed and iced, steaming with cold.

They - the others still valiantly fighting - had noticed the construction now, but being too busy with giants, they had passed it off and assumed it native.

Then it was all too quiet.

He looked ahead into the heat of battle, they were still swinging their wepons and grunting their war cries. He could hear their racket but something was missing. Something-

Instincts told him to swing back, and so he did, catching a weakly propelled fist in his black leathered hand.

All he knows at present is that it's dark. Dark, tight and a little too hot.

The coppery smell of burnt out machinery, mixes in with something rancid - It gets cold.

Something cracking, flooding. Freezing - It's cold yet boiling, and he's having trouble breathing.

Then there's a shock, a jolting pain-

Light?

He's moving, testing, willing. Come on it's so cold.

Yet, he's sweating, and everything's too tight and he can't see and there's-

Panic.

Panic flashes through him like the ice and the fire dancing within him.

His left glove is working. Working - Jarvis? Nothing.

And as more jagged ice cuts into him from below, the urge to sit overwhelms in.

And it hurts. He's stiff and crooked and his muscles feel both like jelly and dead twigs, fragile and easy to break.

But still the liquid comes in through the cracks in his legs, and his head's still spinning in the pitch black of the helmet.

He rips off the visor, and so then come the torrent of light that burns in his skull, beating every sense with a sharp and merciless stick. But the flare ends, and the blurs start steadying into vague shapes, but still no one thing can be made out.

And then, without method, and without thinking he's trying to stand. Heaving dead muscles, with creaking bones and lifeless metal upright, and every inch of movement feels like miles.

Finally standing, almost, and shaking from side to side, suit leaking all types of man-made chemicals into the slush below, he couldn't, didn't want to believe what he was seeing as the shapes clarified into pictures. Seeing this man he had hoped defeated. He stumbled, not sure why he'd tried to walk. His numbed, metal feet dug below the water level, finding some grip, but welcoming more arctic sludge into his already arctic boots, which he would've felt more, were he not half in shock. He was cramped in his shell, every limb wrapped a little too close. Every movement pinched him, every twist and turn, no matter how small shot pain everywhere, but he didn't have time for that. Didn't have time for any of this. He tried to straighten, but as he did so, his suit sparked, killing the last reminants of the hydraulic systems. A great weight fell on him, but one good thing he'd found about fear was that it pumped a lot of fresh and clean adrenaline into the body. Even if you're drenched and burnt and semi-unconscious. So close now. Apparently he'd kept walking. Then he reminded himself to stop, but of course it was too late. Before he could tell himself to tell his hand to drop, he was swinging a rather pathetically pathetic punch Loki's way. And of course he caught it - of course he bloody fucking caught it you stupid, stupid hand.

I didn't ask for you.

Loki, who was previously looking curiously at his catch, now looked to the crater behind as Tony braced for a fight- he was running out of fuel, running out of everything, except maybe pain - yep, he had plenty of that and he had a curious feeling he was about to get a lot, lot more. Loki's grip tightened on his balled fist as Loki looked back to the conglomeration of blue and grey dots that kept moving rather quickly. Then Tony thinks he fainted because he was suddenly staring up at an unnaturally blue sky, and the pain in his head was back with vengeance. Speaking of things that avenged, or were meant to, where were those bloody Avengers?

He could use them right about now. Like now. As in Loki's just came into his vision with his bloody green everything and his- oh thank god he's gone. Oh no, there he is again. No. No, don't do that, no. Come on Tony, move -

But Tony couldn't move, he couldn't do anything as Loki lowered himself next to him and studied his failing if not completely dead suit. He could swear Loki was talking to him. Lips were moving, warm breath hitting the side of his frostbitten face, the whole works. The problem was that Tony couldn't hear him. His head hurt and he wanted to sleep. Sleep sounded good. Sounded amazing right about now. Yeah.

Let's do that.

Loki hissed at the man, wincing as he pushed his power beyond his limit to keep his re-formed projections up.

"Are you with them?!" The man looked at him like he wasn't there, like he was just another mound of snow and sullied ice. And then something shot through him, that painful snap back of energy in his synapses. He had no more magic to give - his projections fizzled and fell into the nothingness from which they came. He didn't need this, not now. Then his attentions turned elsewhere:

"LOKI!" Thor's scream cut into him. He watched as It was released. Jotun's prized beast. Apparently it was quite big, and a lot faster than it looked. "RUN!"

"What about-" He tried one last time, ignoring the hammering in his chest - his brain consciously un-scrambling as the man's eyes rolled in his head and encased themselves in unconsciousness. With trembling fingers, he hoisted the 'man' up, his weight surprising him. He ran and stumbled. Sif screamed at him, asking what he was doing in a way that suited running for your life. Loki dug around in his body searching for any residue of power, yet as he expected he had none. Fandral had been hurt and was trailing, even behind Loki and his load. It was lucky that the all-father showed up when he did, or else they'd all be dead. Loki was starting to ache. Odin stood there, anger in his very stance and anger in his heart. He threatened off Laufey with words Loki was having trouble hearing. He blinked away his blurring vision. He clamped his feet further into the hard ice to stop the quivering of his legs. His weight was growing with every second.

Then that bright light and pulse of energy brought him back to reality.

They landed rather harshly back in Asgard. A new rush of something flowed into his veins. He had a little strength. Enough to stay conscious with anyhow. Every one of his sinews bathed gluttonously in that glistening Asgardian air. Odin dismissed Heimdall with that cool rage that signified so much more inside him. He could feel his feet again, a good sign he supposed. He could now trust himself enough not to collapse, so he rejoined the conversation.

He ignored Hogun's and Volstagg's silent inquiries as the All-Father said nothing and just stared. He seemed to stare and everything but at an empty spot at the same time. His disappointment had no limits, it seemed. He would've cared more, but he still hadn't the power. Of course he could feel the all-father's rage, it roasted through the air. It ricocheted off the walls and resounded through his ears. He doubted he was the only one feeling his anger though, as he glanced at the way Thor's and Odin's eyes suddenly connected, bouncing sparks from iris to iris. His mischievous side chuckled loudly in his ears, until he realized he still had the metal man slung over his shoulder. With a few quick sums and quickly played scenarios, he tried to sneak his way out of the room, using that way he had trained up so well.

"Wait-" He froze, biting his cheek trying to avoid smirking at a time like this. He turned back, Odin's hand outstretched towards him. "The rest of you leave. We will have words later." The three instructed to go brushed past him, all trying to hide their looks towards his unusual cargo. Sif and Volstagg had one arm around Fandral's shoulders, Fandral had had better days. He couldn't help it, it slipped.

"You would laugh at a time like this?!" Sif hadn't quite shut the door so her shudder was evident. Loki straightened his face, bending one knee to slide the still sleeping man to the floor, his shoulder thanked him for the effort. He stayed crouched on the floor as he replied.

"I was not laughing, father." Odin went to snap again, but stopped. He took in an almighty breath as he gazed upon what Loki had brought back with him, as if he had not noticed it before.

"Why did you bring that thing - where did you find it?"

"I found him in the frozen lands, father. He is no Frost Giant, he would not have been spared." Loki looked at Thor, who was growing impatient. He could taste Thor's troubled mind.

"And you brought him back." It wasn't a question, more an accusation. One Loki didn't appreciate.

"Should I have left him to die?" Loki bowed his head at Odin's fury. His cry hit him like hot oil, then, with a little effort, slid right off. He had more important things to worry about. As he gazed at the suited male, he realized just what had made him take the man with him. He was curious. Fascinated. He could feel a new obsession worming it's way out from inside him. He had mixed feelings about that idea at present.

"Father." Loki laughed inwardly at Thor's stupidity. All Odin's rage turned cruelly on his brother.

"And you!" Thor flinched. "You would lead a war on Jotun again, against my orders?!"

"They started this war father, it is stupid to let them come to us!" Loki was sure they shared various other arguments, but he tuned off, until:

"You are a Cruel boy!"

"And you are an old man and a fool!" Loki was impressed, taking his mind off his new prize to almost admire Thor's effort. Shame it wouldn't do much good, for anyone. He must have fallen back into the land of dizziness and weakness for he had missed yet another whole chunk of their conversation. What happened when he came to, Loki certainly wasn't expecting and certainly made him stay alert. As Loki and Odin stood in the room, alone with the aroma of a freshly banished Thor, for the first time in his life, he wasn't sure what to say.

"Loki-" Odin turned to him, eyes a little redder than before. "Leave, and take your souvenir - I do not want to see him, or you, until dinner. If he requires assistance, give it to him, but if he causes any trouble..." Odin left the ending blank, book open, and walked out of the room, placing a hand on Loki's head as he passed.

He wasn't sure what he was feeling. His brother, sent away. Banished by their father's hand. The warm streaks fleeing down his face gave some indication, but not one he was fond of.

No. A problem for another time, even if it was cutting into him like glass. He could mope later.

Loki smirked freely and proudly as he transferred himself and his 'souvenir' to an empty bedroom via newly re-acquired magical means.