14. sometimes a wild god
. . .
Fitz fled down stairs and corridors, the communicator still fritzing in and out. No solid connection could be made – but he'd heard Jemma's voice at least once amidst the white noise, and that goaded him to go faster. He kept enough caution to not just charge blindly around corners, but each intersection was either empty or, occasionally, littered with one or two solidly knocked-out Roxxon employees. He was panting and out of breath when he reached a huge metal door that had been forced open. "First big storeroom. They can't be far," he gasped, using the hope to gather some wind back.
"Fitz!" The delighted yell came from somewhere deep within. His name jangled again from the communicator, suddenly sharp and clear until it broke into a screech of feedback. He slapped at the volume control, his ears ringing.
He saw Simmons first, her hair stranding free from its knot. Then Coulson, dropping a wrench from where he was fretting at an absolutely enormous crate. That's at least thirty feet tall, thirty-five maybe, Fitz thought absently. Then Simmons was giving him a bear-hug and his thoughts scattered.
They came back in a rush when Coulson got close. "You were sent in alone?"
He pulled away from Simmons and looked at the rest of the team. "No, sir. I-he-um." Why had he thought Loki's plan to be a good one? "They've – a team from The Hand's blown through. May tracked them coming, we tried to get a march on 'em. May's moving the plane. Loki stayed behind to delay the first wave and buy us more time." He watched a visible pause crawl over Coulson's face, like a beetle that had just been shown a Michael Bay movie and asked to consolidate its ideas on Stoic philosophy. "I thought that was a good idea then."
"He's got a way of making you think dumb things are good ideas." Coulson put a steady hand on Fitz's shoulder. "Not saying you made the wrong call yet, Fitz. We heard them breach the lobby from here. Meanwhile, you're with us, and that ups our odds of getting a workable solution on that exit."
"Things got complicated, sir?"
"Always do." Coulson glanced back at the gigantic crate. "Let's go check on your clutch call first. If things haven't gone totally screwy, we could use him down here, too. Triplett! Toss me Mr. Friendly."
. . .
"Is it a good evening? Rather hard to tell from so far down here... through the wreckage of explosions... a small troupe of armed mortals. I'm told you use little programs to check the weather. I'll be honest, I haven't bothered and the wireless seems to be a bit unreliable at the nonce." Loki watched the small man step further back, placing himself among his warriors.
"Oh you are amusing. I'd heard stories of the trickster prince, a charmer even as he all but defeated SHIELD's finest." A bell-like tinkle of a laugh came from all the speakers in the room. "It's an absolute pleasure to meet you. Well, not face to face yet, of course. We'll remedy that later."
"Pleasurable meetings seldom require an armed force." He resumed his place behind the guardsman's desk, choosing to lean against the pockmarked wall rather than take his seat. He glanced at the cameras set at several places in the ceiling, no doubt offering this Raina a show.
"Consider it an honor guard."
He smiled, amused by the easy tone of her voice. "You try to vie for my attention. Flattery... grants you a little time to plead your case."
"I shouldn't need to flatter. The outcome is obvious, as I suspect our goals are similar. What I can offer is what you've desired. A unified planet to stand watch over, to rule justly. All you have to do is help us reach out and take it."
"If it were that easy, I'd have thought the matter long since complete. I've certainly given it my best shot."
"We're a fractious people, Loki, though we're at our best given a cause. You gave them one and it drove your plans to disaster. Together, we might have another cause. A simpler one. A better one. For both our species."
Oh, he could smell her avarice even through the electrical current. It had a familiar twang, touched with the sort of demand for conquest that drove countless lords among the nine realms. This one had drive. Motivation. He spared her a tiny piece of admiration, though her human arrogance was in itself not vastly unusual. He tilted his head, his eyes never leaving her emissary from The Hand while he thought of her other tool, the petty creature named Quinn. "I've heard such speeches before. You seek ascension for yourself." His voice took a slightly disapproving tone.
"Of course! Well, of a sort. Humanity is faced with finding its place among the great races we're only just discovering. Your race chief among these. We need to survive, and to do that, we must adapt. Evolve. Only the strong will survive this, but those that do will be ours. Yours, if you desire."
"These will be greatest of your warriors." The smile widened. Behind his eyes, something else began to flicker. His admiration left without a whisper.
Pride filled the connection between them. "The best we can make, without flaws and without equals. We look to Asgard for inspiration. We honor you."
"Oh yes," Loki said mildly, the flickering light in his eyes beginning to burn inside his mind with the images of the strongest men of Asgard. Of Odin in battle. Of Thor in his storms. Of himself, alien even among his family, ever set aside to fester amidst his tomes and his magic. Incongruously, unwillingly, he thought of the flustery woman that brought him a tart flavored with transient memories of home, of Coulson's bemused and cautious trust, of Fitz's open and easily startled face. Fleeting, weak little misfits. They had no place in this woman's dream, even as he held no place in Asgard without taking it. His anger and pride spread to fill the dark places inside himself. He placed his hand on top of the duffel bag, glancing at each of the guards in turn with a charming smile. "Asgard is a regular utopia."
. . .
Coulson grabbed Fitz's arm, assessing the group he'd glimpsed before ducking back beyond the junction. "Too many in there!" he hissed into the scientist's ear. "Have to wait for a better play."
Fitz turned to him, eyes wild. "He's going to turn on us," he whispered back, frantic. "Stop him. Trigger the damn thing. We have to do something now!"
Coulson's grip tightened, both on him and on the destroyer gun. "Wait." Fitz openly gaped at him. He mouthed the word again, then went back to calculating just how screwed they were if Fitz was right.
. . .
"Help us stop Agent Coulson and his friends now, and you'll have everything you could ever use. Access to everything we've found, in this world or from others. We've stolen things from SHIELD that – well, I'm certain you'd believe in them, but your usage of them might be even better than what we could ever engineer."
"It sounds so very thrilling. On the face of it, I don't know how I could ever refuse." The ninja was watching him carefully. He smiled back, estimating how much their weapons would sting, whether their tranquilizers would have any effect. The answer, to his dismay, was a troubling 'maybe.' His hand slid imperceptibly inside the duffel bag, feeling a little taste of triumph in his forward planning. Yes, he thought coldly. For their arrogance, their presumption, not this mercy I might grant instead. They will show me none.
"Then you'll join us." She sounded delighted.
His hands flexed, shifted carefully inside the bag to unsnap the thin case where it now lay atop precious cargo. The ninja still saw nothing, heard nothing. "I regret that you've a grave misunderstanding."
Now the ninja moved, stepping back with eyes widening. Loki's pleasant smile grew and melted into something insane to behold, his jaw falling into the hanging grin of a wild animal about to lunge on the kill.
The Hand's minion barked a series of orders. Loki moved quickly, completing the job he'd so cautiously set in motion. The unburied case flicked open, and he put the pieces of the Berserker staff together in a flash before permitting its power to take hold of him.
He let his fury ride.
. . .
"Oh, crap." Coulson dragged a stunned Fitz further down the hall, taking cover in a side room and waited for the sounds of destruction. The device in his pocket began to scree in a soft, insistent alarm at odds with the scale of what it registered.
. . .
In seconds they would learn what others had been hard-taught. The quickest of the mercenaries took their shots, bullets thudding off the barely budging chest of the alien demigod. Startled by the lack of reaction, they paused for a microsecond. Paused again at the rising staff and its orange glow, at the bone white hands that clutched it, at the rising, flowing tower of pure motion – regally armored now in green and gold and black and a mask made of hate.
He slammed into them with only the sound of a rattling laugh deep in his throat, scattered three with a swipe of the staff and then brought it down upon the closest figure. His vision was still straight through the veil of red, his tactics still clear if alight with the need to destroy. More bullets pinged off of him without drawing notice. His hands clenched, noting the rest either sacrificing themselves for a return volley or taking cover to regroup. He needed more than mere fury to withstand what was coming.
He needed his rage.
. . .
There is more than fire in a Frost Giant's anger, even in one raised secretly beyond their traditions. There is a bitter cold.
With his spirit encased in that ice, Loki could burn.
Magic crackled along him, through him, and men died before they could scream.
. . .
Raina shoved herself away from the console, her breath caught hard enough in her throat that her hand flew up to grasp at it. Her eyes were wide and white, looking at the dead monitors. The carnage had stopped the feed, probably snapped the relevant machines right off the walls. She was blind and deaf to the aftermath, but she'd seen enough to know her men lay in pieces.
Quinn poured another shot of whiskey and saluted her with it before downing it. "It's not often I get to say 'I told you so,' sweetheart. But I did tell you that guy was nuts."
She whirled on him, not really seeing. "He's mine," she said, her voice thin with surprise and a serene fury of her own. "Your way, Quinn. We'll kill him since we must. But he's mine.We send the rest in as soon as they're ready. Go tell Matsu'o."
. . .
More!
He whirled at the sound of footsteps behind him, a thirsting wild joy still flickering along the lines of his face. Blood spattered his boots and his pale hands. Come to me and die!
"Loki."
He gave a ragged inhale, not fully comprehending the short outline of a man in the doorway. What dared speak his name?
"Loki." The sound of something powering up, a tickle of familiarity.
Exhale, the slow rasp. Something intangible stayed his hand. His glittering eyes narrowed at the figure.
I am Loki of Asgard, and I am my rage's master. It obeys me, serves me, and for this I will feed it at MY whim.
Coulson watched the green-grey eyes flicker in the bone-white face, half-masked by strands of wild hair. In his Asgardian armor, the effect was familiar and dangerous. He readjusted his grip on the destroyer gun and waited to see if he was going to have to make a shot.
It wasn't like he minded.
"Coulson." The man's name came in a slow, haggard drawl. Loki licked his lips, looked at the gun and then down at the staff he still held. With a reflexive spasm of his hand, he dropped it. It snapped into its three fragments. "Just a relic for would-be warriors," he managed to say. His voice became rough gravel as his energy abruptly drained. Despite himself, his now-free hand flung out to steady his body against the desk. His chest stung in a dozen places, faint bruises that would ache for some few hours. Adrenaline long since ate the few tranquilizing shots the dead managed to send his way. A bitter smile touched his lips. "A wearying toy, I'll confess."
"Do you need help?" asked Coulson in a careful voice. He took a single step towards the sagging demigod, offering his hand. His eyes itched for a second when Loki's regalia suddenly decided to be an unassuming sweat drenched T-shirt and hoodie combo again.
Loki shook his head, ignoring sweat as it ran into his eyes to sting them. "I will be fine. I have enough fury left to feed on, keep me moving until we leave this hole." The gaze lifted to regard him, something like sanity filtering back in along with a sour grimace. "You watched."
Coulson said nothing, his hand still outstretched.
"I did this for myself," he spat, tired enough that the words held little anger and a taste of exposed defensiveness.
"Thank you anyway," Coulson said earnestly, almost a whisper. "Now. Let's work on getting out of here before the next band arrives."