-2-

Light deprivation only made the images from his past more vivid; additionally, it caused every brush of his skin against the sheets to seem amplified to a monstrous degree. There was no division of day from night, and so he dozed frequently, not knowing at times if he was truly awake or facing an elaborate nightmare. How deliciously ironic, he chuckled softly (the sound of it causing his eardrums to ache), that he should have the ability to bring everything around him to such desolate darkness, and yet he could not bear the presence of it for any length of time without going slightly mad. Currently, the Lilin thought he was very much awake, but the pictures before his eyes were so lifelike - so terrible that they had to be cruel memories.

It had been the first of very few days of light on this hemisphere of Algorant, and the number of total hours of daylight would be very limited. Blackout had awakened just before the promise of dawn, the first he would have seen in nearly four months. His cellmates were sprawled carelessly along the floor around him; there were no beds or blankets of any kind, and there were six inmates packed into every bare area of floor. The surrounding cells were segregated only by walls of bars, and so there was no privacy afforded in the sea of enclosures. They were animals in pens, and their fates would be much the same: they would exist for the use and benefit of their unknown masters, and then they would die or be killed to serve another's purpose. A death by the ravages of time was beyond their expectations.

There was a dim glow of artificial illumination present within the holding areas, and so he could observe his surroundings only somewhat hazily. There were no windows in the cells in order to reduce the possibility of escape, and so any pre-dawn rays from the planet's nearest sun would be invisible to the prisoners; however, the Lilin had made a deal with Forty-Three which was going to allow him to bathe in the radiance of the elusive star for most of the day, such as it was. Although he would be required to perform hard labor for the latter part, he would be allowed on patrol with the Badoon for at least the first half-hour of the frugal minutes of sunlight.

Kaal stirred in the neighboring cage, gathering his wasted arms to his chest as if to seek a warmth which was unobtainable. The raven-haired man still bore the remnants of the wounds he had received in the Eye the previous day, although even the deepest lacerations were starting to knit together with roughly scabbed tissue. Most of the inmates were members of hearty species which healed more expeditiously than average, and Kaal was even more fortunate in this respect. His crown of blackened hair sat unruly upon his shoulders, and his eyes searched the dimness, dead and unfeeling. His usually unblemished skin was marked with several different stages of open sores - some seeping, and others crusted with mending tissue. He cracked each knuckle of his left hand sequentially, the sickening resonance spreading deftly throughout the silent space.

The grinding of the unkept hinges on his cell caused the Lilin to disregard Kaal for the moment. The misshapen head of Forty-Three appeared with little pretense, gesturing for the demon to follow him. He rose as softly as he could, although he had to pause an instant in order to extend his cramped muscles after another night spent on a hard stone surface. Just as he was stretching the muscles of his tormented neck, the sound of choking - raw and deliberate - came from the next cell. It was not Kaal, but rather an emaciated Arcturan with a belly rounded obscenely from either starvation or parasites. His hands were dripping with blood and sputum from the effort of trying to regain its breath, and his face was deepening from its native pale pink shade to a deeper, purplish color, unable to draw a proper breath. Forty-three produced a key from the heavy ring of them at his waist and began to rattle the rusted lock in an attempt to assist the struggling being. The demon's ebony-haired rival remained listless and mute, studying the veins in his gaunt forearms with far more interest than the creature who was dying almost at his feet.

When the door finally opened with a loud groan of protest, Forty-Three rushed to the side of the gasping Arcturan . . . only to find that the being was immediately able to breathe again. However, the Badoon found his own airway constricted by the firm, finely-honed edge of a dagger pressed expertly to the nape of his heaving throat. "Open the door, you wretched cur," Kaal commanded him, the curl of a sneer playing upon his lips.

Forty-Three must have immediately recognized the voice that goaded him because his hands instantly began to tremble as they clutched at the air around his neck, instinctively raising to free himself from the press of the blade that threatened him. "I will - I - I will - " he stammered gracelessly, stumbling backward with a jerk from his captor. "Just spare me, Gorharath . . . Let me live."

'Gorharath' was the Badoon word for 'devil' - their Lord of the Dead and tormentor of wayward souls. Blackout almost chuckled at how easily the guard allowed this epithet to spill from his panicked lips; it was demeaning how these figures of authority allowed the much slighter prisoner to intimidate them into weeping and begging at his feet, like supplicants rather than jailors. These entreaties did not serve the Badoon well, however, as he was lying slain beneath the footsteps of his captor, his throat sliced heinously, the head nearly severed the second the inmate's feet met the bare ground.

The Lilin was not certain to this day why he had followed him, whether it had been out of curiosity, or to determine if Kaal could lead him to freedom . . . or if he had intended what actually occurred to happen all along. The landing area for the incoming ships was not so far beyond the Eye, and Kaal knew that journey all too well. He easily managed to find all the shadows and nooks into which he could fold his diminishing frame between the holding chambers and the fighting arena, and Blackout found himself using them moments later, trailing his steps, mesmerized. As the bedraggled prisoner made his way toward the hangars, two more Badoons had fallen to his cryptic blade (where could he have obtained a weapon like this in the open cells, and where could he have been concealing it?) He then soundlessly approached the entry doors where a third guard was standing watch, unaware of the lissome darkness which was bleeding towards him from the periphery, and in whose wake Blackout was being dragged numbly like a living shroud. This sentry he only threatened, surprising him from the side and then coiling his nimble limbs around him in a serpentine fashion until one knife was at his throat and another at his back (another dagger - but from where?) The Badoon then had no choice but to comply with his assailants request to allow him entrance into the control room. Kaal then grievously wounded his hostage by driving the blade into his back and then throwing the creature aside, howling in agony and bleeding profusely, but still very much alive.

This disturbance called the attention of those in the control room - there were two Kodabaks (large and swine-like in appearance) as well as two more Badoons who were hunkered over illuminated screens - and they immediately came to investigate. The first two to venture out into the steadily increasing half-light were the Badoons, and each swiftly suffered a pointed object to the forehead. The Kodabaks then retreated inwards to protect themselves, but it was mere seconds before they were laid out, stunned by the electronic weapons carried by the Badoon guards who had just met their fates. The deathly shadow then slipped into the open room and crept over to the controls which opened the main hangar doors, visible from behind a wide pane of glass at the rear of the chamber. Kaal turned towards them as they parted, his body shifting to face their movement as torpidly as if he were made from clay: the rays of the newly risen sun were just beginning to peek over the horizon beyond, and the vast space was being bathed in extraordinary light. He was enthralled by the illumination, having not seen sunlight for months, probably years, and he inched toward it, stupefied, as if he could not determine the veracity of what he was seeing.

The demon breached the interior at that moment, moving as soundlessly as he could manage. He could see Kaal drifting sluggishly toward the brilliant radiance, so enraptured by the sight that he was utterly unaware of his surroundings. It was as if the light were transforming him - his eyes ignited with color as the rays of the sun explored them, and his face softened, losing age and malice as the glow engulfed him. His lips melded into a genuine smile, and his eyes glistened with the ebb of tears. A pained, breathy laugh stammered out from between his clenched teeth . . . and then blackness, overwhelming and impenetrable. The anguished wail which followed brought a remorseful ache to the Lilin's chest. He was unsure of why he had done this, why he had chosen to strip the man of this one happiness among endless days of pervasive pain, but it served a dual purpose - Kaal was blind and therefore completely vulnerable to attack. A company of heavily-armed Badoons subsequently rushed in, and Blackout withdrew the illusion. That was the last time he had seen Kaal, that vicious, haunted look in his eyes boring through the Lilin as the doors closed behind him, the multitude of Badoon guards trying to hold him fast as he howled and struggled against them with a force even he should not have possessed.

'Curse you!' the restrained man had spat at him as he was dragged away, shrieking and clawing like a fatally wounded animal. "Damn you! I will find you, you faithless demon! I will repay you in your own miserable blood . . . I promise you that you will gladly skin yourself alive rather than face what I will do to you when I find you-' Kaal's vows continued even after the sound of the guards blows began to intermingle with them, followed shortly by the crunching of distressed bone. His muffled blasphemies continued as the assault went on for what seemed like an impossible amount of time.

Blackout's continued demonstrations of his loyalty were what had allowed him his advantage among the throngs of the malicious and depraved with whom he had been cast down. It was only later when he had learned the similar secret that Kaal had been keeping so buried beneath that pale, perfect skin of his: he was a sorcerer - a being of exquisite magical power who could kill without weapons, or conjure his own as long as his magic was not bound. He had harbored this mutinous secret and used it to his advantage, and so while others had hungered and thirsted and suffered, the mage had been able to eke out just a little bit more than his condemned brethren could by using his magic when there was no one present to witness it. He deserved whatever fiendish trials had befallen him after he tried to escape, and so why should he weep for this trespass against one who was just as duplicitous as he had been? Besides, his associate had gone on to earn his own favor with the Master when he had learned to control that damnable Cube of which everyone seemed to be so fond, and he was not looking too worse for wear during their confrontation at the Raft. They were practically complicit in their crime of thriving in adverse circumstances . . . so why these tormenting images?

During the entire memory, the details had been unspeakably pure, so much so that the deranged sorcerer's words could be heard echoing off the walls of his current enclosure. Was this all a persecution instilled by his own remorseful mind? If he reached an unsteady hand out into the all-consuming blackness would he feel the sinewy form of his rival standing proudly in the darkness, feel the stuttering breath of his laughter seconds before he felt a blade breach his throat? The Lilin could feel beads of moisture forming along the line of his brow, and his breaths were coming hurried and shallow.

"I will find you . . . " came a voice in the void, so convincingly real that goosebumps shivered across the surface of his flesh. "Demon . . . " the voice continued in a whispered hiss, and the words were so distinct that the sound hung in the air for several seconds afterwards. Then there was a waft of air as if a body had passed by within inches of where he sat so vulnerably in the blackness. The frequency and intensity of his heartbeats increased, but he ground his pointed fingernails determinedly into his palms as he tried to master his swelling fear, a motion which must have drawn blood because he could feel a warm wetness traveling downward in rivulets across the skin.

"I will not die here!" the Lilin pledged to the emptiness. "If you wish to seek your revenge then do it! I can do nothing but wait for it as I am bound here, caged like an unruly animal!" He paused to growl with contempt at the darkness, but no further sounds or movements could be detected. "Face me and be done with it, instead of taunting me from the shadows like a coward!" he challenged through heaving breaths.

There was no reply.

*.***.*

"He's doing it again, sir," Agent Fallon stated into his headset. "Do you want me to send over the audio?"

Agent Phil Coulson was standing at a self-service checkout station of the all-night supermarket near the townhouse he was currently calling home. "Of course. So what is he yelling about this time?" The cheerful electronic voice from the machine interrupted to give him his total and explain his payment options.

"Pretty much the same as usual: daring someone or something to come at him. He seems fairly obsessed with someone being out to get him, I would say," Fallon informed him without humor.

"I have a fair idea of who that might be," Coulson responded. The voice then reminded him to take his receipt and thanked him for shopping with that particular chain of grocery stores. As if he had a choice at 2 a.m., which should actually be their tagline.

"Have you heard from the team in Oklahoma?" Phil asked hopefully as he crossed the half-lit parking area. His ego was still very tender from not being informed of the Loki incident, as well as the boorish decision to take him into custody under such circumstances. Admittedly, there was also a tiny fraction of his psyche which was not exactly celebrating the idea of seeing his murderer again, face-to-face.

"They are en route to the Vault with the cargo now. Preparations are being made here at headquarters for a transfer when the facility is appropriately secure."

"I appreciate the administration keeping me informed of these developments," Coulson sniffed sarcastically. "Are there any further annoying details which I might lose sleep over tonight?"

"Well . . . " teased the voice of the junior agent.

"Why do I feel like I'm going to regret asking that?" Phil grunted. These long days were not doing much to help his patience.

"Tony Stark has insisted on overseeing the construction himself," Fallon confessed. "He says he doesn't want any more clandestine extraterrestrial torture facilities being built by the government. He wants to make sure - and I quote- 'that fascist Asgardian fiend gets treated in a manner he doesn't deserve.'"

Someone up there clearly didn't like him; having to tolerate Stark and his prima donna demands at every turn was the last thing that was going to make this endeavor run smoothly. "Very good, Agent Fallon," Coulson breathed half-heartedly. "The agency thanks you for your extraordinary service in this time of crisis." 'Wow, Phil,' Coulson thought to himself, 'That sounded incredibly cold and impersonal . Bravo. Add a cantankerous undertone which constantly says 'but if you fail me, I will make your life unbearable,' and you could practically be Nick Fury. ' If there was going to be a new kinder, gentler S.H.I.E.L.D. era, then he was going to have to lead by example. "Listen, R.J.," he started again, "I appreciate you keeping me informed, but it's late, and you've been putting in some long hours lately . . . "

"Yes, sir. That's my job, sir."

"Isn't there anyone waiting for you at home?"

Fallon chuckled good-naturedly. "Just a fat Persian cat that goes by the name 'Maleficent.'"

"Well, she sounds lovely," Phil sighed. Were they all married to the job after all? "You should go home for a while and be with her. Read a book - call your parents."

"Afraid that I won't get another chance for a while, sir?" Coulson could hear that he was still smiling, despite his admission that his life was mostly empty.

"Right . . . yes." He didn't have the heart to say what he was really thinking: that it might be his last chance.

"I appreciate your concern, sir, but I know my priorities. Besides, there will be time for all that after retirement, right, sir?"

Phil sincerely hoped the lump in his throat wasn't audible. "Of course there will. Goodnight, R.J."

"Goodnight, sir."

The agent stood frozen under the hum of the dim overhead lights of the parking lot, willing himself forcefully not to shed the tears that he could feel burning behind his eyes. Was this to be his final burden to bear as one of the hidden guardians of this planet? To watch unstoppable evil racing towards everyone he's ever known and being unable to tell anyone that all of their lives were about to end, violently and senselessly?

Coulson fumbled for the keys to the company vehicle he had driven home with him. He placed the bags on the passenger's side and slid into the driver's seat with an exhausted exhale, reaching blindly for the controls to tune in some easy listening to soothe his nerves. Before pulling out, he took a moment to skim through some neglected e-mails and text messages which had been lingering throughout the day. Among these was one from a blocked origin that simply read: "When Loki decides to cooperate, play him the audio. He speaks 36 alien languages, on good authority." It was signed 'BW.'

'Well, then - maybe the fate of the planet is looking up', Coulson mused, but he did not dare to let even the trace of a smile venture across his lips.

*.***.*

Deep within the Rocky Mountains, the former Prince of Asgard was sitting cross-legged and motionless, his countenance fixed in quiet repose. The capabilities of this Midgardian penitentiary were indeed formidable, but his power had grown to the extent that he was able to penetrate its magical defenses, albeit with an extended bout of intense concentration. He was able to contact others for brief periods . . . and others, sadly, could reach him. As he was posed serenely on the bare floor of his reinforced cell, he could sense the consciousness of his Master attempting to commune with him through the layers of confining rock.

"Did we not have an understanding, my friend?" the deep, resonant voice spoke into his mind, its words just the dullest whisper through all the space and earth that lay between them.

"We have a perfect understanding, my Lord," he communicated in return. "My preparations are nearly complete. You will have what you require in mere days."

"Do not disappoint me, my Dark Prince," He bellowed across the vast distance that separated them. "I have plans which cannot linger, and if you fail me again, I will see that all you hold dear is ground into dust. You cannot hide from me - as you have discovered."

Loki bowed his head, ashamed of the weakness he had shown which had led him to this vile servitude. His voice cracked as he replied, betraying his humiliation, "I am yours, my Lord. I serve you gladly and utterly."

"Excellent, my friend," the voice boomed heartily. "I must have it by Terra's next full moon or you will find that I am a man of my word." The words hovered malevolently in the air for several moments before the threat finally dropped. "If you do not deliver it, then I will destroy your brother and all of Asgard with him - the only home you have ever known will burn to embers, and it will be your transgressions that will be its cause."

Loki visibly flinched at this omen, deepening his shame by his blatant show of sentiment. "I will see it done," he vowed steadfastly. "Have no doubts in this regard: I will bring you what you desire," He felt the presence of the other leave him then, and he communicated his relief in an elongated sigh.

'I will bring you what you desire,' he vowed to the empty blackness, "Indeed, I shall . . .'