Chapter Three

I Am The Oncoming Storm

"I am a little bit of loneliness,

A little bit of disregard,

Handful of complaints,

But I can't help the fact that

Everyone can see these scars."

"An army of dead?" Odin repeated, stepping backwards rather gracelessly and sitting slowly into his throne. Thor stared silently, respectfully and dutifully at his father as confusion ran over the old man's face. Loki could not bring himself so look at Odin. Not properly.

The blonde nodded, noticing that his father was truly at loss. "We believe so. As you suspected, Loki is adamant that there is a disruption in the flow of the dead into the afterlife. It is very feasible, father. How do you propose we act?"

Much to Loki's discreet irritation, Odin continued to labour his response; evidently spending a long time contemplating their various approaches. In the Frost Giant's opinion, the answer was obvious. Regardless, he chose not to intervene; with shackled hands and powerless, Loki was in no place to propose anything. Besides, he did not wish for any further animosity. Not right now. "Go. Have Heimdall grant you passage through the fastest route he can make available for you."

Thor nodded. "Yes, father." He agreed, turning on his heel, fist tightly gripped around Mjölnir.

"Wait." Odin ordered, standing once more. Both men turned to face their father, who wore a concerned expression upon his withered features. "Do not do this alone. There are those in Midgard who will assist you; seek them out first, if you can."

Before they could leave, they were stopped once more; this time, but Loki. "I, too, have a condition." He said, calmly.

Face expressing disbelief, Thor shot round to look at his brother. "I do believe you are in a position to make demands-" he began, but trailed off as he saw a look of genuine worry on Loki's face. Emotion seemed so foreign upon Loki's features that it actually stifled Thor of breath and send a sharp shiver down his spine. When Loki showed true emotion, that was when the situation was dire.

"I do not wish for Hela to be harmed. If possible." The dark-haired God pleaded, eyes showing way further to his genuine concern.

Odin turned to leave, however. "You had your chance to be a father a long time ago, Loki." He replied. Not coldly, almost sadly. "Times pass and sacrifices must be made for the greater good. I trust you will do what you must, Thor. Do not let him out of your sight."

Loki hung his head and followed Thor out of the icily silent room.

. . .

Carl Wadding was a regular guy. Sort of. He worked in a mortuary.

Regardless, he was pretty average. Reaching just short of 5'11", he had plain features and boring, green eyes. His hobbies included football, smoking and the occasional drink - he'd seen too many damaged livers to dare drinking much more. For some reason, he still continued to smoke, despite all the black lungs he'd handled. Smoking was more relaxing than drinking, so it was worth it in his view.

Besides, Linda said she liked the smell. Linda was his second wife, after the first one left him and took the kids off to the UK. Bitch.

Oh well, he could be worse. Like this poor sod in front of him. The naked man on the table was 87, identified as Nigel King. Cause of death appeared to be heart attack. As was surprisingly common, he'd died on the toilet. It was quite sad and a little horrifying, but nothing to be phased by. Not for his job.

Carl was only beginning the job, beginning to remove the brain when it happened.

The stiffy moved.

Carl screamed as dead Nigel King grabbed his arm with an iron grip, as though rigor mortis had occurred for a second time, around his arm.

Nigel sat up, head half cut open, a sloppy grey mass of brain tissue visible through the large incision.

Carl hollered incoherently, erupting into blind panic as he tried to shake away the dead, old man. Quietly, at first, he heard a metal rattling. Someone running to his aid?

Adrenaline pumping through his veins, Carl managed to throw the living-dead guy across the room. Nigel King's hand remained latched onto his arm, however.

But Carl barely noticed; he had found the source of the rattling.

There metal cots behind him, piled up to the ceiling. And those drawers were moving. But not alone. The hands and feet of dead people began to appear, desperately trying to escape their drawers. They jumped and fell to the ground, moving, silently; an army of dead people.

. . .

"You need to see her, Loki."

Reluctantly, Loki turned to Odin. Azure eyes, filled with hate. Anger. Rage.

What was it that made Loki feel so constantly offended? Was it his parenting?

With a grunt, Loki looked away again. "I do not see why." he retorted, "She is a spoiled child, throwing a tantrum."

"She is your spoiled child." Odin snapped back, his own expression now contorted with anger, too, "What makes you feel as though you are not required to be a parent? Have I ever given to you the impression that anyone had that right?"

Loki did not respond, much to Odin's offense.

Hela was not Loki's only bastard child. There were others and surely others to come, given the man's tendency to lure beautiful women to bed with his silver tongue.

Regardless, Odin hated that Loki did not care for these children. Hela was the only child Loki chose to give quarters within the palace in Asgard, primarily because he could not leave her with her mother. Things were more complicated than that, apparently. He never learned the story, nor did he care for it. He just wanted Loki, his son, to be a decent parent. A child from a broken hone was almost certain to become a broken child. It was unfair.

"Loki, she is honing abilities far beyond her expected capabilities. Do you feel no pride? She is a talented sorcerer, like yourself." Odin continued. Briefly, Odin thought he saw something within Loki's eyes - a break in the anger. But it was fragile and it fled, almost instantly.

They spoke no more that day. Loki simply turned on his heel and disappeared. In truth, he was proud. In truth, he did care. But the positivity was outweighed by the fear; his own upbringing had felt so broken. For so many years, his father had made him feel so inadequate. He'd rather have had no father at all, than one that made him feel so small.

That was his fear; he was so scared of being an awful father, that he would rather not be a father at all. He wished Hela had a mother to live with, a mother that would tell her that her father was a dead hero. Instead, she had no one except for the unwanted son of Odin. She only stayed within Asgard, because he could not live with himself if he threw her to the streets. Odin would not let that happen, either.

A thousand maids could have their faces marred, for all he cared. Anger made a person stronger, anyway.

. . .

Normally, Loki was not one for premonitions; but today was incredibly different. As they reached the golden gates, where Heimdall, brother of Sif and guardian of Bifröst stood, it shook him – a sense that something, something very bad was happening.

"Havoc is occurring within Midgard." The giant warned, hands resting firmly upon his ornate long-sword.

Thor nodded to his friend. "We are aware. My father has sent us to offer assistance and retrieve Hela." He replied. For a moment, Heimdall did not speak.

"Tony, too?" he questioned. The man's deep voice rose like a sharp, terrifying pain along Loki's spine.

The God stepped forwards rapidly, almost tripping due to his imbalanced, shackled state, "What about him?" he asked, causing an eruption of confusion upon both Thor and Heimdall's features.

Again, silence. The awful kind. The kind that did not need to be broken, for its perpetual, tense state spoke a thousand words; Tony was dead. Loki knew it.

"Heimdall, you must grant us passage to Midgard." Thor insisted, breaking the silence; he would question the horrified expression on his brother's face later.

In response, Heimdall began walking. There were no further words for some time.

. . .

They would all be here, shortly. Or they'd better be.

What the hell was going on?

Something ridiculous.

Something he was going to sort out.

"Good. You're here. You took your sweet time." He growled, turning to face the team that had assembled before him, "I assume you've been informed of our situation."

Only two members of his team nodded. The other two looked amongst each other, rather lost.

"Hey, where's Tony? Couldn't be bothered to get here on time?" Captain Rogers joked, seeking approval amongst his peers. Natasha and Bruce only looked to him in horror, then to Nick.

Nick Fury said nothing for a moment, but his expression alone stunned Steve into silence. "Tony Stark was admitted into hospital earlier today. He will not be joining us." He said, furrowing his brow.

The Captain looked a little lost for a few moments, which was enforced by the genuinely sad expressions upon Agent Romanov's and Doctor Banner's features. Agent Barton, considerably calm – as per – frowned, "Tony? What for?"

"Uh, suicide. He's not doing good." Doctor Banner answered, when no-one else seemed to want to. The expression of confusion on the Captain's face was soon overrun by genuine upset and guilt, while Clint only blinked in disbelief.

Nick Fury, growing increasingly impatient, allowed the news to settle in before breaking them away from their disbelief, confusion and sorrow. "I hate to disrupt this moment, but we have more pressing issues." He warned, watching as the Avengers displayed a mixture of offense and concern. "Believe it or not, it appears the dead may be rising."

Bruce broke into an awkward chuckle, "No way, zombies?" he asked, in amusement and shock, before coughing and forcing a more sensible demeanour, "You mean, people rising from the dead? Are they hostile?"

Nodding, Director Fury adjusted in his seat and then stood up, "Yes, which means we are faced with a moral dilemma. We will have to desecrate the bodies of the deceased in order to protect the living. I trust you will all be able to make the right decision."

There was a series of nods from the group, though some were not as confident as he'd have liked. "Another thing – we have reason to believe Asgard are involving themselves. Thor and Loki have reportedly arrived on earth."

"Loki?" snapped Natasha, pressing two delicate, red brows together in anger.

The Director nodded. "You've been trusted to make the right decisions. So has he, apparently. Now get out there and try to prevent as many casualties as you can, am I understood?"

This time, the nods were completely confident.

. . .

"You are of no assistance, here, brother." Thor said firmly, narrowing his blue eyes onto the thin, hunched figure of the Laufeyson boy.

Loki turned to him, rather slowly, with a clenched jaw. Thor had released the shackles upon Loki, (there were other Asgardian soldiers nearby) yet he continued to feel trapped by the other man. "A few more moments, or have you no patience, Thor Odinson?" he chided. His azure eyes looked exceedingly tired, Thor noticed; adorned with greying bags beneath them and narrow, red lines and blotches in the whites. Had he been crying, or was he simply very tired? Thor decided he didn't want to know the answer.

"I do not have patience, not when there is such imminent danger." he growled, through gritted teeth. Despite their situation, he was still very intolerant of Loki. He would not, by any means, forgive him. Not for a long, long time. But, Loki was still dear to him. Still, deep down, his brother. The flames of brotherhood were hard to douse, he had learned.

Eventually, Loki rose from Tony's bedside. "He died, Thor. Do you understand what that means?" He asked, rhetorically; it was less of a question and more of a challenge.

"I understand. But he is alive, now. So let us do what we can. Father says Hela will struggle to enter this realm in her natural form, unless she travels through the abyss." Thor explained, hoping to coerce Loki into co-operation, "Even then, she will struggle to enter Midgard without being noticed."

Loki shrugged and ran a hand through his mid-length, jet-black hair. "She is intelligent." he said, rather vaguely. He risked a brief, fleeting glance at Tony's nearly lifeless body. The man's condition was stable, he's been told, but that offered him no comfort. While Tony slept, nearly comatose, he was susceptible to any kind of torture Hela wished to inflict upon him. Hopefully, she would be too busy to harm Tony further.

Loki looked back to Thor, realising he had not finished his sentence. "She is intelligent. Like me, she chose the path of scholarship and sorcery, rather than strength and force. That makes her a more difficult foe. She can persuade and coerce. Not to mention, the army she has managed to collect. You understand this? She will have planned things very, very carefully."

In response, Thor nodded. He then gestured for Loki to walk with him. Although anxious about leaving Tony - what if Hela send someone to harm him, kill him? -, Thor had ensured that Tony would be under constant watch. As if summoned by his fear, four men in gold Asgardian armour entered the room. Evidently, Heimdall had sent them down and they'd been waiting for the two brothers to leave.

"Yes, we are aware. I hope you are also aware that I have been assigned your guard?" Thor checked.

Reluctantly, Loki nodded. "I am." he confirmed, sourly "Now, do try to pay attention. I understand you lack the intellect I have, but I beg of you that you do your utmost to understand me."

Thor simply shot Loki a dirty look. Loki continued, "We need to assess how we believe Hela will try to enter Midgard. If she wishes for anonymity, she is capable of taking over the mind of someone, if she catches them just upon the brink of their death."

Rather suddenly, Thor understood why Loki seemed so anxious about Tony; what if Hela took control of Tony? For some time, Tony's heart actually stopped.

"So, Tony-" Thor began, but was cut off by the other shaking his head.

"She knows we'd be expecting that. I am very well acquainted with both Hela and Tony. I would not be fooled if that happened." Loki reassured, "Besides, I was moving to express my doubt that she will take a human form. She is too arrogant and too filled with damaged pride for that. She'll make a spectacular appearance, I suspect. But first, she'll lay some foundations."

The blonde looked quizzical. "By that, you mean what exactly?" he asked, as they came to a stop outside the hospital.

Loki swallowed, glancing around their surroundings as he spoke. "I mean, she will begin to infiltrate Midgard with her deceased army. As Goddess of Death, she is within her power to take over a human form when they are gracing their grave. She is also capable of retrieving the bodies of dead and returning souls to them, though she is forbidden to do so. Of course, if she intends war, then she will care not for rules, but for tactics. These creatures do not last long – the strength of her sorcery makes them able to move for some time, before the bodies are rendered completely useless and the soul moves onto the next host that it finds."

For what seemed an excessive amount of time, Thor only stared blankly at his brother. When Loki eventually returned the gaze - two shades of blue meeting -, he could see the genuine concern. What was it that made Thor care so much about this realm, he wondered?

That woman, the one he met all that time ago, probably.

Loki was indifferent. Internally, he longed for peace. Safety. Security. But was he genuinely concerned about the welfare of the humans? Not really. Not at all. But, he understood the imbalance Hela's actions would create. He also understood that this was, largely, his fault. For failing, as a father, as. mentor. As a being, really.

He cared for regularity. But really, solely, he wanted things to be normal for Tony.

He couldn't get it out of his mind; it was rotating, round and round. Why had Tony tried to end his own life? Loki had tried his very best to warn Tony – stay away from the darkness! The void, the abyss was trying to beat him. It was not like Tony to lose.

He was overcome with a sudden, heavy sense of failure. Swallowing it down, he turned to Thor, who seemed to be talking.

"She intends to use the bodies of human deceased for her army of dead souls?" he questioned, looking equally as disgusted as he did confused. "That's despicable."

Loki shrugged, shamefully. "She is her father's daughter."

Thor did not respond.

. . .

The nightmares were intense. Short, but recurring. One would disappear and he'd feel as though he was beginning to clear, beginning to reach consciousness, to escape these cruel taunts that Hela was inflicting. Just as he could see the surface of reality, just as his fingertips grazed the edge of consciousness, she snatched him back again.

Pulled him under. Falling. Landing. Aching.

Pain. Everyone was draining him. He refused to accept it. Every time she tried to drown him, he'd kick and scream and try to swim back up.

Every time, he got a little bit closer, before she forced him into another nightmare.

But he would not give in. He refused.

Tony Stark was renowned for his stubborn, persistent ways. Everyone said it; that Tony Stark would piss off death.

Well, it seemed it was true.

Coughing and spluttering, Tony finally swam to surface.

Awake. Alive. And angry.

. . .

Loki had never been so disappointed to be right in his life.

"Sweet Valhalla..." Loki gasped, incandescent blue eyes lighting with the rare fires of genuine terror.

Thor turned to his brother, questions rising on his lips; yet dissolving as he saw the answers he seemed.

There must have been hundreds of them. Maybe thousands. People.

Not people.

They were dead, so clearly dead; most of them naked, with organs and body parts missing. Some were clean, freshly stitched up, but bare. Others were dressed in fine clothing, but covered in dirt and decaying.

They had co-ordination and movement, however. They were dead, but they were acting so lifelike.

They attacked in unison; Loki watched in horror as a group pounced on a screaming woman and tore into her flesh with a sharp piece of debris metal.

"This is Hela's doing." Loki spluttered. But, Thor was paying little attention. His hand was clasped tightly around his hammer and, rather suddenly, he began running. Charging.

Four walking-dead were knocked out by a single swing of his brother's Mjölnir. Loki wondered, for a second why Thor looked so desperate; and then, he saw. Thor ducked down and grabbed the almost-victim of the mob; a small, screaming child.

Hela had sent dead souls into the bodies of dead humans and told then just to kill, blindly, hadn't she? Once, that would not have disturbed Loki. Once, this was his dream; for his daughter to have similar ideals of world domination. Now, he felt his stomach curdle in disgust.

Once, he was Loki of Asgard; burdened with glorious purpose. Never had he understood or wanted that purpose. Now, he was just Loki. Loki, a foolish man, who needed to untie the tight knots of his past wrong-doings.

There was hoard of them, surrounding himself, now. Loki growled and shot a few of them down with a short shot of ice from his palm. As he fought off Hela's army, he felt a sense of concern. Maybe he did care. He definitely felt guilty; Hela was his daughter. She was damaging this world, an innocent world, and what had he done to stop her?

Not enough, that was for sure.

Briefly, as the crowds that launched him, he noticed the woman from before had got back up. But, there was no life in her eyes.

Without his sceptre, Loki felt particularly weak – though he was particularly grateful for his freedom of the shackles. He couldn't stand around and fight, he needed to find Hela. He needed to stop this madness.

Thor placed the young boy within the vicinity of the hospital. The people within gave him odd looks, but he did not care.

"Care for this child. Lock your doors. There is danger outside!" he warned. The nurses looked at him incredulously.

The child whimpered for his mother and Thor felt a stab if guilt that he and not been able to save her. "You must believe me. There are people, dead people-"

This was a hospital. People came to hospital when they were ill, or injured. That meant-

Screams erupted through the building.

People died in hospitals.

"Get everyone out of here, now!" he screamed, as people began to panic into action. A nurse picked the little boy up and ran. Thor ran, too, intent to clear some of the way for those trying to leave the hospital. As he made for the doors, a hand grabbed his shoulder.

"Where's Loki?" Tony demanded.

The two of them ran through the exit, to catch a glimpse of Loki dispersing into the distance. Thor screamed after him, but Tony held him back.

"Get people behind locked, barricaded doors, up flights of stairs – these people are dead physically, but not mentally. Arm as many people as you can with anything – a lot of these bodies have decomposed, won't be hard to knock 'em down. Rigor mortis will stop most of them being able to do anything hugely physical, but they're still as smart as a regular person. Remember that." Tony ordered. Thor held back for a second, taking in the other's appearance; Tony looked truly broken. His skin was shockingly pale and there were puncture marks in his arms where Tony had obviously ripped needles out of his skin. Thor did not let his eyes pass over the heavy covering around his wrists.

"I understand." The Asgardian confirmed.

Tony nodded. "Good luck. I'm going after Loki." He said, jogging unevenly away from Thor, before he had time to argue.