The music in the underground club was too loud, even by Tony Stark's standards. On the other hand, that may be because the amount of alcohol that currently circulated within his system was enough to kill a normal person. He stumbled out of the small space that reeked of booze, sweat and cheap colognes, and found himself at the parking lot behind it. James Rhodes - Rhodey as Tony liked to call him - his childhood buddy, came running after him a few moments later.

"Tony, wait! Where do you think you're going?"

"Duh, 'm goin' home."

"Not with your car, you don't." Rhodey stated with his serious face on, crossing his hands in-front of him.

"Watch me." Tony shrugged ignoring the protest, and before his friend was able to reach him and pull him back, he stepped in his not-so-discreet car and hit the road without another word.

Rhodney exhaled, giving up. He wasn't particularly worried about the drunk billionaire, he was an exceptional driver even in his state. He would give him a call though, early in the morning, if only to punish him for ditching him like that. He knew what had set Tony off like that and that was the only reason he had let him go. If he really wanted to, the billionaire would be squirming and struggling with a pair of cuffs in Rodney's backseat by now. Tony never reacted well to questions that hit vital spots -meaning his dad- and the blondie that was sitting on Tony's thighs not-so-long ago was way to nosy. And, yes, the alcohol didn't help. At all actually. He shaked his head before ripping his eyes from the street - from which Tony had disappeared only moments ago by drifting at a sharp turn - and headed to his own car.

The un-wordly headache that rang in his head was perfectly out of tune with the increasingly annoying ringing of the phone that was discarded somewhere near his face. He struggled to open his eyes, grunting. With a burst of will-power, he slowly sat up in his bed, managing to save himself from slamming face-first at the floor at the last second. With one hand he pressed hard at his temple while the other was used to support him by gripping the bedpost like his life depended on it.

He reached for the ever-annoying phone and picked it up.

"This better be a life or death one or else..." He grunted.

"Good." A male voice answered ignoring Tony's threat. "You're still alive."

"What do you want, Rhodey...? It's still morning. Mornings are meant for sleeping."

"It's twelve-thirty a.m., Tony."

"Exactly." Tony spat out, and began hanging up. He needed coffee and a bottle of strong painkillers.

"...I guess it's to be expected after everything you drunk yesterday. Hangover much?" Tony could hear the characteristic 'you-got-what-you-paid-for' smirk forming on the other man's lips. He rolled his eyes.

"Yeap, that's it. You got me." He exasperated theatrically - as much as his throbbing head allowed him to anyway. "Can I go now, mum? At least let me drink my coffee before the lecture."

"Yes, you can go, but you have to pay for the next round as compensation for ditching me like that."

"Yeah, sure, whatever." he sighed and hung up.

The previous night was just a big blur filled with alcohol, platinum-golden haired chicks and deafening, incomprehensible sound of music and human speech. He shaked his head in an unconscious effort to clear it a bit, but regretted it immediately as he barely made it to the toilet to empty what little were left in his stomach.

"Jarvis..." He coughed and spit in the sink trying to rid his mouth of the foul taste, with not much success.

"A cup of black coffee is ready at the kitchen, sir."

"Jarvis."

"Yes, sir?"

"I love you."

"I appreciate that, sir."

"Do we have any painkillers? The strong ones."

"I'm afraid we're out of those, sir. I could order some, they should be here within the next hour."

Tony frowned. He walked bare footed to the kitchen and grabbing his coffee he downed half of it in two gulps.

"You do that. We could always use more of them. Me on the other hand, I can't wait that long."

He walked back to his room, mug in hand, picked up the first pair of worn-out jeans and AC/DC shirt he found in his path and put them on, completing the image with his dark sunglasses. Sun wasn't his friend when he suffered from a hangover, especially the one he bore at the time.

"I'm going out to grab some pills, don't wait up." He informed Jarvis and strode off to drive downtown.

It was worse than he imagined it to be, walking amongst the crowd with his headache. He hurried towards the drugstore, bought three bottles of different painkillers and almost gulped down half a bottle before he remembered that he just wanted to calm the ringing between his ears, not commit suicide.

After a while he decided he didn't want to go back to the mansion. It was boring, too empty with just him and Jarvis, if the AI counted as a presence. He was too tired and his mind still fogged, so no work could be done in his workshop, so there was no point.

After his graduation from the MIT, his father had allowed him to move to the Malibu mansion he was still residing in. There was no point to live in the main-house, he was too independent to need looking after and his father was never home, always traveling, searching for some lost technology or some shit. He didn't need him anyway, he was used to always be alone, growing up and moving on with his own power. Jarvis was his most prized creation, his house keeper, baby-sitter, assistant, companion, friend. He did have Rodney and Pepper, but it wasn't the same. There were many things he couldn't confine with them, many secrets that he couldn't share and that kept eating him alive.

Now, after his father's death, he still didn't want to move to the family mansion, too many bad memories, too much Howard Stark and not enough Tony Stark. After the whole Iron Man ordeal and the near death experiences from which he survived mostly because of the legacy his father had left him, he had nearly forgiven Howard, though it was still a very sour subject. Not sourer than Obadiah though.

He absent mindly rubbed his hand on that spot on his chest, where the glowing devise that kept him alive was placed between his ribs. He wandered around for quite a while before idleness and hunger got the better of him. A strong sweet smell breached his nostrils and he followed it by turning his head, only to find himself in-front of a small but quite classy-looking cafe. He walked in without a second thought, the aroma of the donuts compelling him like a siren.

Inside, the shop was better than he expected. Calming milky colors on the walls and comfy looking couches besides the strategically placed tables. He walked to the counter and looked over the menu. At least it had quite an impressive variety of sugary stuff. Tony liked those. He ordered two of each kind, and a latte. After receiving his ridiculously huge box of an order and his drink, he picked a table with view to the street and sat there munching his sugar-coated treats in silence, observing the people passing by to kill some of his time.

Then something caught his eye. Right across him, at a table that was placed besides the wall in a way that only someone from Tony's table had clear view, sat a dark looking, hooded figure. Tony didn't stop his chomping on the donuts but now his attention was completely focused on the weird figure. It was a man, taller than Tony but obviously trying to hide it by slumping his shoulders. He had ordered a simple black coffee -which he hadn't even bothered to touch- and was looking around nervously, like he was waiting for someone or something. Iron Man's 'suspicious activity bells' rang the vigilante hymn, and Tony stood up and casually approached the man. Caution wasn't in his vocabulary after all.

"Hello there." He greeted with confidence. "Is there something wrong, you seem quite distressed." He added with a raised eyebrow.

Indeed the man was sweating like a pig, and his eyes darted around in paranoia. The man's neck snapped as he turned sharply at Tony, obviously ready to smite the nosy stranger with his fury. The only thing that came from his mouth though, was a high-pitched squick, loud enough for Tony to hear but not enough to gain the attention of the rest of the shop's customers. The man's eyes widened in shock as he recognized the famous billionaire, also known super-hero. He stumbled up from his seat and hurried to put distance between them.

"Hey, easy there, I'm not gonna eat you, I just want to ask you a couple of questions." Tony tried to placate him by raising his hands in a peaceful gesture.

The stranger didn't seem to listen and his eyes darted between Tony and his seat, as if he was weighting his options. With a last murderous look to the one that had disturbed him, he sharply turned around and dashed out of the shop, disappearing in seconds. Tony didn't even have enough time to blink twice as the man was gone like smoke in the wind. He was left dumb-founded in front of the now empty table trying to figure what the fuck had just transpired. He was spared of the strain in his already tired brain when his attention fell on a weird looking tome, dumped under the chair where the hooded man sat. It must have fallen from him and he seemed to prefer to run for his life for seemingly no reason, than retrieve the obviously quite rare and expensive book. Tony shrugged and picked up the tome, inspecting it. He usually didn't show interest in anything non electronic, the ink hurt his eyes, but something compelled him to pick up the book. Curiosity spikes pricked the back of his neck, and he smiled to himself. It had been a while since he had something to kill his time with by trying to figure it out. He took the book and the donuts box with him and headed back to his mansion.

He hadn't had enough time to step in his house and leave his findings on the kitchen counter, when his phone rang. On the other side of the line, Pepper Potts had to give one of the long lectures she was renown for to convince Stark Industries' CEO to move his ass and go to his office to have some work done. Tony left the book behind, intending to study it when he got back.

When the billionaire was finally released from his secretary's clasp, it was already midnight. A bright full moon was visible in the clear night sky, and Tony was so tired that no after-party thoughts dared cross his mind. He stumbled to the bar on his living room filling a glass with a generous amount of refined scotch, which he gulped down in seconds before re-filling it. He grabbed the glass and the bottle and headed for his room, when his gaze fell on the ancient-looking book that sat idly on the kitchen counter. He weighted his options -(exhaustion+weird book)* alcohol^square* boredom=something to do before getting a crazy hangover VS [(alcohol+exhaustion)*2]*boredom=crazy hangover- and decided to at least humor his curiosity before collapsing.

By the time he reached his room, his mind was already quite numb. He needed it to be like that, or else the memories crept back up and tormented him mercilessly. He drank himself to collapsion every night in order to spare himself the pain that the reminder or torture and betrayal caused him in his sleep. He shoved those thoughts aside laying on his bed and fiddling with the book. It was worn and leather bound with deep red and gold colors faintly recognizable under the strain that age had forced on the obviously once glorious cover. The title, if there ever was one, had faded long ago, giving away no indication of the subject. Tony gingerly opened it in the first page, vaguely aware that any wrong movements might make the yellow-ish pages -was it made of parchment?- rip and shatter. The context page was of no help either. The book was written in a language unknown to him, with letters similar to the English alphabet but with fancy under-tones and curves all around them. He grumbled to his Lady Luck. First book he had taken interest in in years and it turns out he wouldn't be able to read it. He could have Jarvis translate it for him, but he didn't feel like it. He opened it in a random page, hoping for any old illustrations to look at. He turned a few pages, studying absent-mindly the old texts and moving on to the next page without really trying to read. It was pointless anyway. Snuffling a deep yawn he turned one more page. This time the content actually managed to catch his attention. It was a drawing - a symbol, maybe, drawn with what once might have been deep red ink, now faded to a red-ish brown. Tony thought it looked like a snake that coiled around itself, blending with the perfect circle that surrounded it, one with the page but still radiant. It was beautiful, in an odd way. Beneath it the was a small text. Could it be the description of the symbol? Tony looked back at the snake. It seemed so still that for a moment he could swear he saw it move. He turned his attention to the few sentences beneath it and tried to read them as he would do with the familiar English ones. Oddly enough, the words that came out as a breathless sound seemed to make sense. He couldn't understand the words he was mouthing, but he somehow knew he pronounced them correctly.

"Vaere bundet av og til min vilje" He read just before the last sentence.

The air in his ears seemed to buzz, an echo of the strange language rolling on his tongue.

"Jeg kaller deg!"

He stared at the letters for a few more moments before he lost interest and went back to studying the ancient snake. When he looked closer, he could make out patterns around the snake's coils, and inside the circle. He recognized a tree with thick branches that spread out across the background, surrounded by obscure figures and more weird symbols. He placed his finger on what he thought to be the snake's head, and slowly traced the slightly faded lines of the picture, caressing them. He couldn't understand why, but he was so fascinated by that simple drawing...! He continued gingerly tracing the lines, leaving not one, not even the smaller ones, not touched by his curious and calloused fingers. Slowly he dragged his finger back to the head of the snake that was located near the edge of the page, close to the old bindings of the book.

"Ah!'

He felt a stinging pain at the tip of his finger, and watched as deep red drops dripped on the snake and added to the painting. With confusion written all over his face he reached and stretched the book until he found it.

"What the fu- Who the hell leaves razors between the pages of books!?" He took the offending metal out from between the old papers and held it to the light. He could recognize the faint red glimmer of his own blood on the sharp edge. "Fuck...!" He threw it away, carefully noting not to step on it later. He didn't want to think what kind of germs a random razor could hold.

Putting the finger in his mouth, the alcohol lingering on his tongue burning on the small cut, he threw the book by his feet on the bed. He had lost all interest in literature. With a last sharp grin at the black humor his Lady held, he turned back to his drink, forgetting razor and book all-together, while he consciously attempted to banish his demons with alcohol.

With his attention on his glass and the old book discarded by his feet, it was normal how he didn't see the way the snake shuddered under the small red blotches. And of course he didn't see the way it's eyes shone green and it came to life, consuming the blood up to the last trace. The small sentences that accompanied the picture also shuddered and flashed brightly, obscured by the other pages of the book, as it had closed by itself when Stark carelessly tossed it away.

Tony couldn't hold back his yawn this time. He was exhausted. He declared himself drunk enough to sleep safely and left his glass and scotch on his nightstand, fully intending to spend the next fifteen hours in a blissfully uninterrupted sleeping state. Witch, much to his dismay, didn't get the chance to.

A cracking sound filled the large bedroom, and strong wind seemed to swipe everything in the room, grabbing it from it's place and swirling it in a whirlwind of chaos. Tony jumped up, stunned, and looked around in an effort to understand what the hell was happening. No windows were open in his house, but even if they were, by the laws of earthly physics, no such phenomenon would be able to occur. The wind tore the book by his feet open, but oddly enough wasn't able to swipe it away. It simply turned it's pages rapidly, until it reached the page with the snake drawing. Tony glanced at it and noticed the missing blood. He couldn't remember wiping it away, but even if he had, wouldn't it have left marks? He was impressed by himself, noticing and considering such things while a Katrina took place just a few feet away, in his bedroom...! He fully blamed the alcohol for this. He focused his attention just in time to witness the snake with the faint red outlines slowly rise from the pages of the book. He gazed at it, with his mouth hanging open, while it rose and reached up to the tall ceiling, until it stopped and turned to look at him. The green bright gems that were it's eyes burned him with their intensity and he couldn't look away. The snake held his gaze for a breath, before it turned away sharply and dove towards the floor with a speed that it didn't seem capable of possessing. Tony, ignoring the chaos that still took place around him, bolted up to see where the snake had hit the ground. It hadn't. It collided with the floor and started melting back into the pale red ink that it was before, only this time bigger and imprinted on Tony's bedroom floor. First the enormous head, then the scaly body and last, the tail. And then the world went brilliantly white.

Vaere bundet av og til min vilje : Be bound by and to my will

Jeg kaller deg : I summon thee, I call you

AN- This is something I had idly sitting in my flash drive many months now and decided to give it a go and see if people will like it. I have not by any means given up on AOTM, and now that I have my computer back (and hoping that this time it'll actually stay here) I shall once more focus on bringing you the next chapter. :)

Chapter 2 is still under construction. I've written it actually but it sucks... I'll be going over it again once I find some time.

Cheers~! :)