You know that it's true—I value every single review you give me. I love them, I read and re-read them, and I appreciate them more than you know. But at this point, my schedule is such that I have to choose between answering reviews and getting the next chapter up quicker or answering your reviews. I PROMISE that I'll get better soon at answering each and every one of them.
For the FIRST TWO sections, I listened to "Prince Caspian Soundtrack: Sorcery and Sudden Vengeance."
For the THIRD section ONWARD, I listened to "The Lion the Witch and the Wardrobe soundtrack: The Battle." Couldn't have picked the titles better myself;) Listen while you read. You will not believe how much more thrilling it makes it.
Enjoy!
VVVVV
Chapter 21
"A mother's love for her child is like nothing else in the world.
It knows no law, no pity,
It dares all things
And crushes down remorselessly all that stands in its path."
-Agatha Christie
Jane followed right behind Sif down the darkened hallway. Marie's fingertips brushed the back of Jane's arm—Pepper's footsteps padded almost silently behind Marie. Jane's breathing came in short, shallow breaths, her eyes darting back and forth as they hurried on.
As soon as they had slid out of their cell, Sif had immediately led them out of the dungeons via a small side door only used by guards during shift changeover. The four had climbed up a narrow, twisting stairway, tensely groping their way along in the pitch blackness. Finally, they had eased out into a taller, long, open corridor lit only by one flickering torch every hundred meters. They slipped along like single-file shadows, hugging the wall, saying nothing. Jane was suddenly thankful she wore no shoes—her feet made no sound. She stayed right behind Sif, trying to get her bearings, but she couldn't. She had never been to this part of the palace.
They whispered swiftly down the long hall, then turned right as Sif turned, down a small set of steps and into a dark alcove. Sif slowed, then faced them. Jane, heart pounding, stepped up near her. Sif glanced at all their faces, then held out her arms and pulled the four of them into a huddle, keeping Marie between herself and Jane. Jane wrapped her arms around Marie and Pepper's waists, hoping they could not feel how badly she was shivering. She could only see shadows of their faces in the dim blue light, but she could feel their heartbeats, their breaths, as they all pulled in tight together.
"The palace is dark," Sif whispered, barely making any sound. "I fear for the safety of the king and queen."
Jane's heart jolted.
"What could have happened to them?"
"Remember the net weapon that bound us up?" Sif reminded her. "I am afraid it may also work on the All-Father."
Jane went cold.
"Then what are we going to do?" Marie asked. Sif drew in a short breath and let it out.
"We will do whatever it takes to keep Doom from getting the tesseract."
"If he doesn't have it already," Pepper muttered.
"Doom doesn't have it yet—if he did, we would not be standing here," Sif said. "He must not know where it is."
"But you do," Marie realized. Sif nodded.
"I do."
"You have a plan?" Pepper assumed.
"We dare not break into the main vault ourselves and try to move the tesseract," she said. "We could easily do as much damage as Doom plans if we make a mistake—besides which, the Destroyer would kill us. But perhaps we can stop Doom from entering the vault."
Jane felt Marie's arm tighten around her. Jane swallowed.
"What did you have in mind?" she asked.
Sif straightened for a moment and glanced around, listening. They all grew quiet. Then, she lowered her head next to theirs again, and breathed a reply.
"There are three weapons vaults," she began. "The main vault holds the king's most dangerous and forbidden treasures, such as the tesseract and the Infinity Gauntlet. The other houses the issued weapons for the army. And the third one…" she glanced behind her. "Holds the illustrious weapons."
"What are those?" Pepper asked.
"Retired weapons forged by dwarves or elves, or carrying curses or spells or made of dying stars," Sif explained. "I have no doubt the mass armory is empty, and the other is guarded by the Destroyer. But the third…" She withdrew from them, and descended the last three steps, and turned to a small door. Jane, frowning, followed her, feeling the other women do the same.
"The third…" Sif finished. "Is a museum."
She pushed on the door. And it swung open.
Jane's eyes flashed as Sif disappeared into the blackness of the next room. Jane hurried after, feeling her way through the cold stone doorframe.
As soon as they entered, several lamps blinked to life—none of them very bright, but they provided enough light so Jane could see.
It was a small, gray room with an arched ceiling—stone figures of warriors lined the walls, their heads bowed over their stone swords, decorative and solemn.
And in between these sepulchral forms stood fearsome-looking marble women, garbed in armor, their gazes fixed straight ahead. Before them, they each held out long, flat platters, as if for offerings. But atop each of these platters lay a gleaming sword.
Sif stepped up to the closest one, gazed down at it, then reached out and grasped its pearl handle and lifted the sword from its place. Dust rose into the air. Blade sang against smooth stone.
"Gram, sword of Sigmund," she said, turning and facing Pepper. Her black eyes blazed. "Once broken, now re-forged, it can cleave an anvil in half." Sif laid the sword over and held it in both hands out to Pepper. Pepper stared at it and gulped, then met Sif's eyes. Her expression hardened, and she reached out and took it from Sif. She gasped.
"It's so light!" she exclaimed. Sif smirked.
"He likes you." She stepped over the next sword, considering it. It had a gold handle, and a shorter blade bearing small runes. She reached out and took it up, and turned to Marie. "Lævateinn, forged by Volundr—merely aim it at an enemy and hold on, and it will fight for you." Sif flipped the flickering sword around and held it out to Marie. Awed and quiet, her eyes fixed on it, Marie took the sword and settled it in both hands. She said nothing.
Sif watched Marie for a second, then stepped up to the next stone woman. She stood for a long time in front of that one—Jane's blood turned even colder. Finally, Sif reached out with both hands and lifted that sword off its pedestal—and Jane noticed it still had its scabbard.
This sword was black, from the tip of its sheath to the end of the tang. It bore no markings, no runes, no designs. And when Sif crossed back and stood in front of Jane, her face had gone pale.
"This sword's name is Tyrfing, and I ask you not to draw it here," she said quietly.
"Why?" Jane asked, watching the sword as if it were a snake.
"Because it can cut through stone or metal like cloth," Sif answered. "And each time it is drawn, it will instantly kill someone."
Jane's eyes flew to Sif.
"And you want me—"
"Yes," Sif answered. "You most of all."
Jane froze, staring at Sif, trying to read the feeling behind that dark, stoic gaze. She shivered—and reached out, and took Tyrfing from Sif.
It felt easy in her hands—delicate and cool. Almost fragile. But it retained that snakelike feel. Jane gripped it harder.
Sif turned back, marched down the line of statues, and picked up the last sword. It also had a sheath, and a belt. She strapped it on, keeping its name to herself, and marched toward the other women.
"Come," she clipped. "There are four corridors that lead to the main vault. Each of us will have to guard one of them."
Jane exchanged a wide-eyed glance with Pepper and Marie—but none of them spoke. Then, clenching her teeth, Jane turned, and followed Sif, hearing Pepper and Marie come right after.
AAAAA
Jane breathed—in, out, in, out—and listened. She stood alone in a narrow side corridor, a half-door leading to the main weapons vault behind her, and a long, dark hallway in front of her. She actually remembered being led past this passageway when they arrived—a statue of the young All-Father stood near its entrance. The stairway to the dungeon was nearby, somewhere.
She swallowed. Her mouth was dry.
As Sif had pointed out, the palace was dark. And since the palace, and all of Asgard, mimicked the sentiments of its rulers, that could not be good. Besides which, Jane hadn't glimpsed a single Aesir guard, dead or otherwise. Which meant that all of their fighting force had been sent out to the battlefield or the throne room.
Leaving only Sif, Pepper, Marie and Jane guarding the Cube. Well, along with the Destroyer. A flicker of a smile crossed Jane's pale lips. She never imagined she'd be comforted by that thought.
She had tied Tyrfing to her waist, and it hung there, a barely-perceptible weight. Jane kept her left hand resting on the butt of it, her fingers trembling. Her whole body still felt weak, nausea unsettling her gut.
Sif had placed each of them at different stations, and left them with one command: "If the enemy comes down your hallway, kill him." No one bothered to say that there was no way they could maintain their positions for long if the Skrulls actually charged in en masse—that they would all be murdered, magic weapons or no, unless help came quickly. But there wasn't a point in saying that. They all knew it.
Jane took a deeper breath on purpose, and closed her fingers around Tyrfing.
Then, her breath caught.
She heard something.
She went still.
Footsteps.
Someone was coming.
Jane stayed where she was, frozen in the shadows.
A figure appeared in the far distance, down the corridor.
A figure that moved like liquid—smooth and confident and quiet. A curvy, feminine figure, with swaying hips and short hair…
And a glowing blue gun strapped to her belt.
Natasha Romanov.
All the heat drained out of Jane's face.
And she stepped forward.
Her feet stayed silent as she walked. As she put one foot in front of the other, her hands steadied, her muscles strengthened, and her thoughts disconnected from her body and floated upward and away like vapor. Her focus narrowed, closed, clamped on that striding figure. Her mind went blank.
She paused near the knees of the All-Father's statue. She watched, her body ice-cold, as Romanov walked right past her, her brow furrowed, eyes downcast, as if she was concentrating on hurrying. Without pause, Romanov turned and started down the stairs toward the dungeons. Her boots tapped rhythmically on the stone steps.
Jane followed her.
She trailed Romanov like a shadow, down the wide, winding staircase. A splinter of a thought crossed Jane's mind: Romanov was heading down to bring one of the captive women up, probably for Doom to bargain with.
But they weren't there anymore.
Jane kept one hand on Tyrfing's hilt as she stepped, counting the cold stairs beneath her feet.
Romanov reached the bottom of the steps and opened the dungeon door. It squeaked. Weak light spilled out. Romanov stepped through and headed straight down the middle hallway, passing the cell doors. Jane followed, narrowing her eyes to make them focus. She crossed the threshold, then paused.
Romanov kept walking, resting her hand on the butt of her gun. Then, she slowed. She halted in front of an open cell door, and stared at it.
"Nevozmozhnoe…" she breathed in disbelief, reaching out to touch the edge of the door.
In an eyeblink, she whipped out her gun and pointed it back up the hallway.
Right at Jane.
Jane's heart stopped.
Then, she frowned.
Romanov's eyes didn't focus on her. They started scanning the room, roving back and forth, searching.
As if she couldn't see Jane.
Keeping her gun up and at the ready, Romanov crept back toward the main door, toward Jane, knees slightly bent, feet silent. Jane stayed where she was, perfectly still, eyes narrowed to slits.
Romanov kept walking toward her, listening as she came, taking deep, measured breaths. Over and over, her keen gaze swept directly across Jane, but nothing ever registered on her face.
Somehow, for some impossible reason, Jane was invisible.
Finally, Romanov drew to a halt. She lowered her gun, and stopped just two feet in front of Jane. She let out a short sigh, shook her head, glanced off to her left and scowled.
"Ya budu ubivat ikh."
Jane took a deep breath. She let it out—and released the tension in her chest.
Suddenly, Romanov's eyes flew to Jane's—and widened in shock.
She could see her.
She jerked her gun up.
Jane's right hand grasped Tyrfing and she pulled it loose.
Like a beast let off the chain, it came free of its sheath in half a heartbeat and arched through the air.
The black blade flashed.
It met Romanov's torso with no resistance.
It sliced her open from her right hip to her left shoulder.
Romanov's gun clattered to the floor.
Tyrfing calmed, and settled in Jane's hand as she held it poised high over her head. Jane stared straight into Romanov's eyes, watching her face turn white.
Romanov choked, and dark blood spilled from her lips and down her chin. She collapsed to her knees, wrapping her spasming arms around her chest. She tumbled onto her side. Jane did not lower her sword.
"Miloserdie," Romanov gurgled. Jane's jaw clenched and her gaze unfocused. She stared straight ahead at the far wall. Blood ran down the blade and trickled onto her fingers. Before her on the floor, Romanov choked and gasped and trembled.
It was only after a long, dark moment that Jane realized the dungeon had gone silent.
Then, slowly, Jane slid Tyrfing back into its sheath.
AAAAA
Loki moved swiftly and silently through the shadowed side corridors of the palace toward the throne room, feeling Ulrik and Logan trail after just as quietly. At each corner, he slowed down and sent a small echo spell rebounding off the walls ahead, making certain no one was coming. Three times he did this, watching only the lamps respond to his breath of magic. The final time, he halted completely, feeling Logan and Ulrik press close against his back. Loki took a deep breath. Once they rounded this corner, they would find themselves in the tall, wide corridor that ended in the broad steps leading up to the far end of the throne room. He paused, then turned slightly and glanced at Logan and Ulrik. They looked back at him. Loki went still.
Logan's rugged face was fierce, focused, his bright eyes watching Loki. For a moment, Loki cast a glance over Logan's bullet-hole-ridden, blood-covered shirt and jacket, then lifted his eyes to Logan's once more. Loki swallowed. Logan gave him a steady look—and nodded. Reflexively, Loki lifted his face toward Ulrik.
Ulrik—his brother—gazed calmly back at him, green eyes gleaming in the weak light. Ulrik straightened his shoulders, and gave Loki an almost imperceptible—and grim—smile.
Loki held out his hands, palms up—his right toward Logan, his left toward Ulrik. Logan's expression flickered, but Ulrik understood. Ulrik reached out and grasped Loki's fingers, and held on. The next moment, Logan did the same—a rough, calloused hand closed around Loki's and tightened. Loki stood still for just a moment, gazing back and forth at the faces of these two men, then squeezed hard. Then, he let go, turned, and left them behind. Drawing himself to his full height, he strode out, alone, into the hallway.
Memories wafted through his mind as he walked, footsteps silent, his cape flowing behind him. Pillars lined this corridor—pillars from which hung long, cream-colored linen curtains. He had stood behind that one up there to the right not a year ago, waiting for Thor to enter for his coronation. Then, this place had been illuminated by blazing fire pits and soft, golden ambient light. Now, gloom hung heavy, darkness in the corners and shadows in the open—only a sickly blue light gleamed against the armor of his shoulders and arms, making his memories turn distantly freakish, as the tendrils of a nightmare hanging about him just after waking.
He hesitated at the foot of the stairs and lifted his eyes to the height of them. Then, taking one last deep breath, he ascended.
He counted the steps, each one, as he walked. He let his footsteps make soft padding sounds. He smoothed his stride and his expression with calculation and purpose. He attained the landing. He stopped.
The throne room opened up before him—vast and dark as a cave, now only lit by blue torches on the pillars, and the glowing staves of twenty powerfully-built Skrull who stood in a semi-circle around the All-Father's throne. And in the center of this semi-circle, on the marble floor side by side, bound by tight, glowing nets, lay Loki's mother and father.
And pacing slowly around them like a wolf eyeing its prey was the tall, cloaked form of Victor von Doom.
"I will have it," Doom said, his voice reverberating through the mighty space. "I already know where it is. But I also know what your Destroyer is capable of—and I'm not really in the mood to play with it right now." He bent over Odin, his hands on his hips, and eyed him. "My faithful assistant should be bringing Lady Jane back up here for me right now—we'll see if you're a little more ready to tell me how to disarm that Destroyer once I've cut off a couple of her fingers."
The words made Loki's gut turn.
But he smirked—his most poisonous expression…
And he laughed.
It echoed throughout the chamber. The Skrulls jerked and whipped around to face him, snarling.
Doom straightened and spun to face him.
For just an instant, Loki saw the startlement written across his frame.
Then, his towering form settled, eased, and turned just as liquidly dangerous as Loki's.
"Loki Odinson," he said. He shook his head. "You're kind of like a cockroach, aren't you?"
"You would know all about being a cockroach," Loki smiled, easily tripping down the stairs and striding toward Doom, the Skrull guards, and his parents. "To what do I owe the honor of your visit?"
"Ha—my visit?" Doom repeated, pressing a hand to his chest. Loki shrugged as he came even nearer, and gestured to the room with both hands.
"This is my home," Loki answered, the smile falling from his face as he met Doom's shadowed eyes. "And unless you're here to bring tribute and beg my father's forgiveness…" Loki halted and leveled his voice. "You are trespassing."
"Oh, really?" Doom snapped. "And what are you going to do about it?"
Loki struck him in the face with an open palm.
A sharp clang shot through the room.
Loki's palm stung.
Doom reeled to the side.
The Skrulls roared and aimed their weapons at Loki.
Loki clapped his hands together.
A bright flash blinded the room.
Doom straightened up…
And stopped moving. He stared.
In the air above Loki's left hand hovered the tesseract.
The Skrulls gaped. Loki stayed where he was, the sapphire cube glowing and glimmering, its light flooding the darkness.
"Wh…How did you get that?" Doom demanded.
"I live here," Loki shrugged one shoulder. "The royal family may access the weapons vault at will."
"I will kill your wife for this," Doom snarled. Loki lifted an eyebrow and one finger.
"Careful, Victor," he warned. "I can wink you right out of existence."
"Then why don't you?" Doom asked. "What's taking you so long?"
"Get out of Asgard," Loki ordered, his voice like a whip. "Get out, and take your Skrull filth with you." His eyes narrowed. "While I still have a few threads of patience left."
Doom did not move. He watched Loki's face like a hawk, his eyes glittering in the blue light. Then, he shook his head, once.
"I don't buy it," he murmured. "If you really had the Cube, we'd be gone already."
Loki kept his expression like iron. Doom took a step toward him, then another. The Skrull crept closer too, the tips of their glowing spears edging toward Loki's midsection.
"The master of illusions, right Loki?" Doom canted his head. "This isn't the real tesseract. It's just—"
A sharp snap clapped through the room. Loki's attention darted past Doom—
To see Logan's flashing claws slice right through the net that bound Frigg.
The net retracted and disappeared.
Frigg sat up, gasping, and grabbed Logan's arm.
Doom whirled around.
"Kill them!" he roared, pointing at Logan and Frigg.
Loki made a fist with his left hand, gathered the blue energy floating there, reared back and punched Doom in the side of the head.
Lightning enveloped him. He flew through the air and crashed into the stairs at the base of the throne.
The Skrull fired on Logan and his mother.
Loki's breath caught and his heart locked.
Frigg leaped up, stood in front of Logan and spread her hands.
The bolts struck the empty air and bounced off, harmless.
Loki let out a shuddering breath—
And something slammed into his side.
He crashed to the floor.
Gritting his teeth, he fought back the biting agony that lanced through his ribs and right arm. Gasping, he turned over and clambered onto his knees and back to his feet—
Just in time to see a Skrull aim and fire at him again.
Loki threw up his left hand and knocked the bolt back.
It took the Skrull's head off.
Loki staggered, his vision doubling for an instant as he tried to catch his breath. He squinted, glancing around him—
Doom was getting up off the stairs. And the Skrulls were still firing at Frigg and Logan. Frigg backed Logan up behind her, holding up her shield, and pushed Logan behind a pillar. Odin struggled beneath his net—Loki saw the bindings straining to hold him. Loki took a breath, gathered magic between his hands and began to form a narrow throwing blade, eyeing the edge of Odin's net—
A blast of light rocketed toward him.
He dropped the blade and flung up his hands.
Raw power hammered into his shield, shocking him backward, rattling his bones.
He shoved back and dispersed the blast, blinking past the shattered light—
Doom was advancing on him, lightning bolts sparking and twining around his open hands and wrists.
Loki, biting back the pain of his new injury, swept his hands over each other and conjured hissing, spitting ball of fire. With a heave, he launched it at Doom.
Doom flung out his hands. Lightning launched from them and devoured the fire.
The lightning kept coming.
It skidded toward Loki—
Loki roared, reached out and grabbed it.
It tangled around his hands and clamped his jaw.
Out of the corner of his vision, he saw the Skrulls close in around his mother, battering at her shield with relentless fire. She gritted her teeth and braced herself hard, but Logan could not step out from behind her to help—the bolts would disintegrate him. Odin, with a pained bellow, had managed to raise himself into a sitting position—but he still could not free himself.
Loki threw off Doom's lightning and set his stance, facing the other sorcerer—
Just in time to see Doom leap toward him, a blazing spear of light in his hands.
Loki summoned another shield and held it up. Doom's spear head battered down on it. The force sent Loki down on one knee.
"Loki!" Frigg cried—and splinters flashed across her shield.
"Your mother is calling you," Doom sneered.
Loki slapped Doom's spear away with his own shield, leaped up, formed a knife and stabbed down at Doom's chest.
Doom conjured his own shield, knocked away Loki's blow—
And they tangled.
In a flurry of whirling, vicious, close-quarter chaos, they slashed and hacked at each other like lions, their hands moving like lightning, their blows ringing and glancing across their armor and shredding their capes.
At the far end of the room, something exploded.
Loki leaped back, panting, feeling that he was bleeding from a dozen different places. His eyes found Frigg—the Skrulls aimed at her. Her shield had given out. She drew herself up and stared them down.
Loki's heart lurched.
"Mother!" he cried.
Doom lunged forward and backhanded Loki in the face. Loki's vision spun—blood filled his mouth. He staggered to the side and fell against a pillar.
An icy blast of wind rushed through the chamber.
And suddenly, twelve of the Skrulls were encased in jagged ice.
Loki blinked and swallowed, fighting to right himself.
Logan leaped out from behind the protective pillar, bellowing like a madman, and hacked the Skrull to pieces.
Then Ulrik—towering Ulrik—strode through, hefting the ice casket in one hand and a rock-hard club in the other. With sharp, swift swings of that club, he shattered the frozen Skrulls, sending their pieces flying and skittering across the marble floor. Then, he knelt down in front of Odin.
Loki stood up, turned to Doom and bared his bloody teeth.
Doom swung at him again.
Loki caught his arm and shoved him backward with all his strength. Doom tumbled to the ground.
Ulrik aimed the ice-casket at Odin. A brief blast shot from it, and frost covered the All-Father.
The net crystallized, hardened.
The next instant, Odin flung out his arms, and the net broke into a thousand pieces.
Ulrik grabbed a startled Odin by the shoulder and heaved him to his feet.
Logan dodged two shots from the remaining Skrulls, then charged right at them, claws outstretched. The Skrulls backpedaled and kept firing. A shot clipped Logan's shoulder. He slammed into the Skrulls and hacked them to pieces. Dark blood splattered.
Doom got up and turned on Loki. His cape was in tatters, his eyes wild beneath his mask. He charged.
Loki rose and raced to meet him, gathering power in his hands.
Suddenly, Doom spun. His cape caught Loki across his upper body. Disoriented, Loki twitched back.
Doom held out his hand—
And Odin's staff flashed into being, right in his grip.
Loki's eyes went wide. How had he captured that—?
Doom whirled it. It blasted Loki onto his back.
Loki's vision went black for an instant. He tried to pull in a breath—couldn't—
Cold, razor-sharp metal pressed hard against the base of his throat. His eyes opened. He stared, choking, up at Doom, who held the staff with both hands. Doom leaned down onto the staff. Loki yelped and clawed at it. Blood ran down to his collarbone. He grabbed the staff with both hands and tried to force it away. It didn't move.
"I made the mistake of letting you live before," Doom gritted. "I'm not going to do that again."
He leaned in harder. The staff pinned Loki's windpipe shut.
Flashes of memory crossed Loki's vision.
Playing on wooden horses with Thor when they were boys—
Sitting on his father's knee by the fire—
Listening to his mother sing him to sleep—
The feel of Jane's lips against his...
The sky turning pink at early dawn.
He closed his eyes.
AAAAA
Mjollnir slapped back into Thor's sweaty grasp. He paused, breathing hard—then limped forward, scanning the sky. Tony streaked past, followed by two Skrull fighters, barely evading their peppering fire. Behind the Aesir lines, the smoke of two ships that had crashed in the forest billowed blackly into the heavens and mingled with the clouds.
All around Thor, Aesir and Jotun battled side by side, fighting the Skrull foot soldiers with frenzied fury, weapons blazing in the light of the firefight above.
But they were not winning.
They had driven the Skrulls back, back, into a pass between the mountains, aiming to corral them and finish them off.
But then the fighters, now able to distinguish between their own and the enemy, began pounding the Aesir lines, demolishing half the army. And Tony had nearly died twice preventing them from flying their damaged ships right down into the Aesir ranks.
Now, two evenly-matched forces faced off, the cacophony of their struggle battering against the walls of the wide canyon.
Thor shook off his hip injury as best he could, scanning for his friends. There were Fandral and Hogun, fighting side by side, their weapons darting faster than the eye could track. There was Volstaag, knocking the brains out of two Skrull at once, roaring as he did. Thor started forward on the uneven ground, glancing to his left...
To see Alfrid crash onto his back, three Skrulls bearing down on him.
Thor leaped through the air and hurled Mjollnir.
The hammer bowled through the Skrulls, sending their shattered bodies flying backward and thudding to the rocks. Thor landed hard beside Alfrid and held out his hand.
Alfrid, wiping the blood from his sapphire brow, met Thor's eyes with his red ones.
"You would risk frostbite to help me up?"
"I've had worse," Thor answered, managing half a smile. Alfrid smiled in return, waved him off, and hefted himself to his feet. The two leaders stood for a moment, panting and scanning.
"Something must be done," Thor shouted over the noise. "The ships will be back—Tony cannot manage them all at once."
"The mountain," Alfrid pointed.
Thor lifted his eyes to a mount called Iron Fist—it looked like an outstretched fist, leaning over the canyon. It was as large as half the palace.
"Bring it down?" Thor looked at the giant. Alfrid glanced down at him.
"If we call a retreat, the Skrulls will stay put for a moment or two. As soon as we are clear, bring the mountain down on their heads with that fantastic hammer of yours."
Thor grinned.
"I approve."
Alfrid nodded.
"Very good." He raised his head and took a breath. "Warriors of Jotunheim! Fall back!"
"Warriors of Asgard!" Thor shouted. "Fall back! Fall back!"
The Warriors Three hesitated, glanced at him—Thor waved them back. They instantly broke off and raced back up the canyon.
The Aesir, fleet of foot and mind, disengaged instantly and ran back, following their brethren. The Jotuns, whose strides measured several meters, easily outstripped them. Thor hefted Mjollnir and set his stance, eyeing the Iron Fist. Any moment now...
Movement caught his eye.
His gaze fell down to the plane of the battle.
Three Aesir still stood in the thick of it, hacking with all their might. They had been separated, surrounded. They were going to die.
Three Aesir.
And Captain America.
Thor's heart skipped a beat.
One Aesir fell. Then the other—stuck through the heart.
Steve and the final Aesir stood back to back, the Aesir lashing out with his blade, Steve with his shield. His blonde hair hung across his brow, his face tight and covered in dirt and sweat.
Then, the great form of Sithfall, the Skrull commander, charged toward the fray.
With one blow of his huge, heavy sword, he crushed the last Aesir.
Thor moved.
He threw himself into the Skrull lines, plowing through them—he tried to take off, to fly, but agony clamped through his leg and back. He knocked the Skrull aside as they bit and clawed and stabbed at him. He paid them no attention—his eyes fixed on his friend.
"Steve!" he shouted, his heartbeat skyrocketing. He was too far away—
Steve turned. His eyes went wide.
Sithfall swung his sword. He knocked Steve's shield aside. It went flying.
"No!"Thor roared. He shoved forward with all his strength.
Sithfall spun and plunged his blade straight through Steve's middle.
Steve's head kicked back. His hands jerked up.
Sithfall yanked his blade free.
"No!" Thor wailed. He shoved the last of the Skrull out of the way and threw Mjollnir.
The hammer met Sithfall's skull with a resounding crack. The Skrull commander toppled. The Skrull seethed like a pit of asps.
Thor took two more bounding leaps, then slammed onto his knees next to Steve.
"Thor," Steve shivered, his face turning white as his gray eyes found Thor's. "I...I think I'm...I think I'm hurt." He fumbled for Thor's hands—Thor grabbed Steve's upper body and lifted him up, wrapping an arm around his shoulders.
"We have to get you out of here," he gritted.
Steve thrashed, and squeezed his eyes shut. Tears leaked from his eyes and trailed down his dirty face. Thor's whole chest clamped in pain. He pressed his hand down onto Steve's wound—his palm instantly got hot and sticky.
"Thor!"
The shout jerked Thor's thoughts—it was Alfrid.
Alfrid, telling him to bring down the mountain.
Thor's wide eyes darted about—they were surrounded by Skrull. The Aesir and Jotun armies were clear.
He had to bring down the mountain.
Now.
Thor's thoughts went still. His heart quieted.
He swallowed, and took a deep breath.
He gazed down at Steve.
Steve was watching him.
Steve swallowed hard too, and his eyelashes fluttered. He reached up and took hold of Thor's breastplate.
"Get out of here," he whispered. "Go on, buddy. Go."
Thor shook his head. He wrapped his arm tighter around Steve, then lifted Mjollnir to his lips.
"Take down the Iron Fist," he whispered. Briefly, he closed his eyes as the hammer hummed in response.
The Skrulls clacked, swarming nearer to them.
Thor rose up—
And for one last time, he threw Mjollnir straight up.
Then, he bent his whole body over Steve's shielding him, and closed his eyes.
He left his right hand out, and open, asking Mjollnir to come back to him after its task was done...
But knowing it never would.
He shut his eyes, and pressed his forehead to Steve's.
And thunder split the peak.
To be continued...
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