"How can you trust someone
who has not proven their
worthiness?
Simple, you don't..."
--
Truth be told, Loki had little to no idea on why he was sent here. He knew he was going to be punished, but the idea of sending him here was preposterous. He remembered clearly the day of his trial. Oh, how could he forget.
He had been chained down to the ground in the middle of the throne room, the elders surrounding him, sitting on their high chairs with their chin up. They were trying so hard to keep a calm and brave facade, but one can not lie to a liesmith.
He could smell it, the sweet and tangy smell of fear. It was getting into his head, making him go high and gnawing at his restraint not to just break his bonds and cause more.
They're foolish to think such measly restraints can contain him.
But no, he waited patiently on what they were going to decide. Patience is the key to success, he learned that the hard way. He was too impatient the last he attacked, too arrogant in his forces he didn't think of the possibilities that the measly humans had their own force.
After all, Pride was one of the deadliest sins, and soon, that Pride is what will bring down all of Asgard on their knees.
The air was full of unease, a clear sign they were disturbed by his presence. He couldn't stop the feral grin making its way onto his face. The tangy taste lingering in the air increased as with the presence of his grin. Oh, how he loved the wonderfully sweet taste of fear.
Cowards...
A single, lone eye caught his attention. A single blue eye of the All Father. It was reflecting all sorts of emotions, but one stood out the most— pity.
...disgusting...
Outside, he may might have looked indifferent, unfeeling, unattached. Grinning dangerously like a madman, uncaring about what was going to happen. But beneath that mask, a hurricane was hidden.
The ocean inside churning with hate and contempt, gnawing, begging to be released. To unleash vengeance upon the All Father to satisfy its nerves. He could feel the magic, the seidr all around him, tempting him, begging to be taken and used to wreak havoc upon Asgard.
...kill him...
Not now...
...break him...
...not yet...
...bring him on his knees...
...patience...
...destroy them all...
...soon.
--
It's been a few months, the time ticking by so fast it was like a blur. Yet no one came to him, not even Clint himself.
The air around Loki seemed to grow colder with every second that has passed, biting, gnawing, caressing his every nerve with malice. Yet even then Clint ignored the warnings and watched him from afar, his curiosity and wariness getting the best of him. With eyes as sharp as a hawk— hence his code name, Hawkeye— he watched his every move, noting them down in an invisible space in the back of his mind. Like a hunter watching its prey, Clint mused silently.
...but you are not the hunter now, are you?
Clint tensed as the suffocating aura flooded him, bringing him down, dragging him to the bottom of the pit, chained. He could feel the heavy glare, and the pressure increased. His knees wobbled and he fell, clutching, scratching at his throat as stars danced and darkness went in and out of his vision. Fool...
No...
...weak...
...no...please...
..useless...
...stop it...
...pathetic...
Nonononononoican'tbreathesomeonesavemehelpmeSTOPIT—
Just as quickly as it came, the pressure disappeared and Clint dropped to the ground. His vision was incoherent. He felt the burning sensation in his eyes, threatening to break free and trail down his cheeks and onto the ground.
Natasha...help...please...anyone...
And then he drowned in the increasing darkness.
--
Steve was never one to believe in gods, as in, plural. No, he only knew one god, and that whom he was fairly certain won't be fighting over poptarts, swinging a hammer that nearly decapitated him while his red cape swishing around behind him like a fox's tail.
"Imbecil..."
And for once, Steve agreed, no matter how insulting that word was. At times like this he wished he had never insisted on joining the army.
He could feel a nagging sensation at the back of his mind, telling him to be wary of this man, no, god. He could feel it, the invisible chains wrapping around him, dragging him, demanding his submissiveness. No, he thought, not to this god.
He tried to barricade his mind with iron bars, anything to block it out, anything. But it was persistent, like a battering ram destroying the fortress he had built, reducing it to splinters and ashes. Unstoppable...
He could hear it, destroying every single wall he made, tearing it down like a hurricane. He could feel it, gnawing at his ressolve, biting his bones, shattering him from the inside out.
Help...please...
He couldn't hold it back anymore, the frost creeping in into his mind, slowly, surely, definitely. He couldn't breathe, the ice preventing him from thinking clearly, clouding his vision with frost. Please, he pleaded desperately, no more. He had spent enough time to remember the cold embrace of frost, the loneliness of the darkness that once engulfed him. It was worse than any chain man could find, better than any prison ever made.
No...don't let me in that cold hell again...please...
It was hellish, burning in a different way, a slow and torturous way. Licking, nipping, taunting him with isolation, destroying his every reason to live— people. Steve was a social man, he cared more for others tthan for himself, that was one of the reasons he was called 'captain'. He remembered the nightmare clearly, chained in a glass-like prison, unable to do anything, helpless.
SomebodysavemeIcan'tholditbackanymoresavemehelpmeANYONE—
"STEVE!"
His vision swam in and out of focus, barely registering anything but the voice. It was familliar, not quite soft but still brought a sense of calmness. He whipped his head around to meet deep blue orbs.
Clint?
"Barton? What happened to you?"
Barton's clothes was disheveled, as if the bed had been far comfier than usual and he just can't resist it. He was shivering slightly, skin pale and almost translucent, reminding Steve about the moment earlier he'd rather forget.
In the midst of pallid skin, the red stripes stood more prominent, like bloodshed in the middle of winter, coating the ground in rubies,simply eye-catching. Clint was panting slightly, and he knew that the captain saw the state he was in and had probably assumed the worst.
"What happened to me?! You might want to check the mirror captain, 'cause you're not that good yourself..."
He saw the slight shift of Steve's shoulders, the uncertainty flickering for a few moments in his eyes as he avoided staring right back in his own. He could feel the doubt in the air, the worry of his state.
What are you going to do about it, captain?
It was an unspoken challenge, as he stared at Steve, his face set in a iron mask. He never did like the foul taste of pity, and while it wasn't it, it still treaded too close to the dangerous waters, taunting the demons, stirring them, riling them up. Come on Steve, he thought, drop it.
"Barton, I—"
The familliar crack and and buzz of the AI saved him from furtger interrogation, and he had never felt more glad for that than now. The voice of JARVIS filtered through the room.
'All Avengers are required to be inside the meeting room in five minutes, director's orders'
Clint inwardly groaned, it was never a good sign when the director got involved. The last time he did, it was for the whole Ultron shenanigan. To be fair, it was mostly Tony's fault, and Clint did agree in becoming an agent, but nevertheless, he had come to dread the word 'director'.
Well, let's see what the pirate has in store for us...
--
In all his years, he had never expected the director to be the one to bring him here of all places. Inwardly, he cursed the fates for his damnable luck. He was sitting patiently, shadows serving as a barrier between him and the other as they slowly start filtering in to the room. One by one, the empty chairs disappeared, the air that once occupied them changed into a group of seven.
Seven half-bloods shall answer the call...
An unwanted memory played through his mind, remembering him of the pain it brought. He could smell the blood, the coppery liquid pooling around him, dripping from his every wound.
To storm or fire the world must fall....
He could feel it, the heat of battle, the bloodlust. It was destroying his resolve, shedding every single bit of things that made him human. He could feel the hurricane brewing, the hot feeling of his blood burning, tensing in anticipation, yearning for war.
An oath to keep to a final breath...
His memory flashed backwards to a painful event, coated in wine. Bittersweet. He still remembered the sky-blue eyes and the mischievous smile, and he could still see the dull, broken look of those eyes, as if a storm had come and refused to go away. The smile now painful, a grimace.
He still remembered the day when he left him behind, the day those broken but still beautiful eyes lost their spark. The day he had taken the knife for Olympus, for him.
"...do you still love me?"
Luke...yes...I still do...
It was that day when he felt it, the feeling of loss, the mourning for the death of a comrade, a brother-in-arms. It still stings, even though his own heart had dulled all those years ago.
And foes bear arms to the Doors of Death...
A flash of brown, hazel eyes and a waft of cinnamon accompanied by a military-cut and a thwack of an arrow. A journey North and the smell of wax. A flash of red and the aroma of dust. And finally, a feather of a raven and the cold embrace of the sea. Drowning, trapping, enchanting.
Then it was hot, burning him, dragging him to hell. He remembered the gasoline flowing down his throat, coursing through his veins. The pain of endless running, fighting, surviving. The snap as something within him broke, tainting him, destroying his innocence.
Noir...
He remembered the small sanctuary he had, the feeling of comfort he found in his supposed enemy. It gave him a feeling of hope, hope that he could escaoe the darkness inside him, to be free. But then the tiny little bubble of hope was destroyed, so quickly, so devastatingly.
"Tell the stars I say hello..."
No...don't leave me...
"I can see the stars again m'lady..."
...please...
A loud bang interrupted him, saving him from his memories, allowing him to run away from his past, even if only for a little while. He turned to see that Fury had come into the room. It was starting soon, and it was fraying his nerves with a taste of anticipation.
Storm in the waiting...
--
"The idea of waiting is sometimes more excruciating than the act, because you can just feel the storm brewing, yet you don't know when the lightning will strike"
~ Silver
So how was it? I know some of you are confused, but it'll make sense as the story goes.
And how 'bout that quote in the end? Patience...dear readers...patience.
Please please please please review, I'd like to know what you think about this story.
And to a few of you:
• Guardian'sDragonOfDeath : Thanks, and btw, love your username.
• Dragonette716 : Thanks for the info, I'll try to watch out for it in future chapters.
• Guest (u know wat I'm talkin' about): Sorry, but I just love leaving cliffhangers. I know I'm a freaking sadist. XD
• linn li : Glad to hear about that linn... :)
• ChaoticMinds : Thanks for the tip, I'll look out for it in future chapters. I absolutely adore your username.
• Guest (another one?! Get an account will ya?) : Well, being mysterious is my forte...
• Guest (seriously?) : Well, be sure to be on the lookout for future chapters.
• A-Ravenclaw-Demigoddess (Annabeth? dat u?) : Like I said, it'll all make sense, and I'm glad to hear you're interested.
Wew, that's about it. See ya guys on the next chapter, au revoir!