29. true believers

. . .

"This is Nick Fury, sending out a targeted alert. I've got men on the ground in New York City that need specialized assistance."

Tony Stark flung the set of bolt cutters across the work bench, tugging the collar of his mangled rock t-shirt up to wipe some sweat off his face. "Pepper?" he belted out, ignoring the forced voicemail message coming in stereo surround sound from not only his personal prototype Starkphone, but all of his suits lined up in their displays. "Sweetie? Where's my soldering iron? The one I got special last week? The one that was really expensive and you were all pissed at me because I was supposed to be at some boring charity thing instead of a Home Depot?" He bit his lip and winced to himself. "I should really not be bringing that up right now." He craned his head around the door of his workshop, trying to spot her somewhere in the tower's sprawling penthouse apartment. "Look, honey, I know you're probably busy checking for damage from that random-ass earthquake-"

"Sir." JARVIS interrupted him with its dulcet, vaguely peevish tone. "Ms. Potts is not present at this time. I believe she's still in Singapore at a separate charity event that you outright declined. On-site crew is active and assessing tower damage in her stead. Updates have been sent to you at two minute intervals, which I note you have examined none of them."

"Oh, right."

"-that need specialized assistance. All personnel on deck in Avengers Tower are requested and-"

"JARVIS, turn that thing off."

"I cannot, sir. Mr. Fury has coded this specific version of his message to be quite insistent."

Tony put his hands on his hips and glowered balefully at his blueprints. "I'm busy."

"Your help has been personally requested, sir."

"Oh, my God." He flung his hands in the air. "All right, sure, whatever. I'll go do the thing if it'll stop all my crap from whining. Prep me."

"If I may, sir, I would recommend the rather dramatically named Godkiller iteration? I have been assessing the missive from Mr. Fury and-"

"Sure, okay, whatever." He flapped his hand hurriedly. "I want to get this done by lunch."

"It's past lunch."

"You've got my point."

"Of course, sir."

. . .

Thor does not text.

His mighty hands are strong and broad and his mind is far quicker than his brute strength belies, but he cares little for the tiny and primitive device foisted on him by his human friends. He does not question the anger of tiny birds, nor does he think overlong on what fruit did to upset ninjas quite so thoroughly. Jane can communicate through it, those hours he spends upon Midgard, and once he used it to order a ridiculously large pizza. Which he ate. Alone. With great satisfaction. For these reasons and the purposes of his friends he keeps the device close. Just in case.

Now the slim toy fumbles through his fingers as he fights to turn the blaring voice off. He understands the worry in Fury's voice and he will go, bringing all the strength of Asgard in his hands to bear on the behalf of his friends once more. But by Odin's beard, why did no one teach him how to turn off the speaker function?

Privately, grimly, he wished his brother was around to pluck the toy from his hands and fix it for him. Always with that long-suffering arrogance and pity mixed deep together into the lines of his pale face.

Not for the first time, always touched with old regrets, he wondered where Loki was.

. . .

Bruce Banner rubbed two fingers in long, slow circles in the sweet pressure spot right between his brows. The message on his phone repeated, the target location close to where he was finishing lunch. Another repeat cycled, insistent, the sounds of it muted in his durable pants pocket. He could tell it had something to do with the mild earthquake that had rattled the city, a simple logical conclusion. A news broadcast discussed the breaking alert on a TV bolted to the wall above the sandwich counter, talking heads with professionally concerned expressions. And still the scientist sat in his contemplative silence, thinking to himself that he really rather quite liked the shirt he was wearing. The urgency in Nick Fury's voice was palpable, though, and he knew he could just go down to the shop and replace it after. There would always be an after for him in his permanent symbiotic relationship with his monster.

Whatever horrible thing he was being warned of in the tense message, he felt sure the other guy would get over it with no lasting problems.

He finished his sub sandwich, licked the last taste of italian dressing from his fingers, and tossed his garbage with polite fastidiousness. He might as well enjoy the next few minutes of being a rational, civilized person. Already the barely tamed rage was simmering just below the top layer of skin, waiting to be needed.

Waiting to go feral.

Deep down his heart leapt in joy. Somewhere close by there was a thing that needed smashing. He liked smashing. He was good at it.

By the time he had only a couple blocks left to Bleecker, he was smiling in a way that made people cross the street.

. . .

"We've got to be near the bottom of this place. There can't be much more left to check." Coulson ran in Loki's fast-moving wake, the demigod using his recent burst of fury to feed him enough recycled energy that he seemed nearly revitalized. Like an energy drink of pure emotion, he figured. And like the drinks, Loki was bound to crash at some point. Phil hoped like hell it'd be a while yet.

The tunnel they'd found creaked frighteningly every few seconds, fragments of mortar and brick drifting down onto them. Now and again they heard sounds filtering through the subterranean path, something like a sonorous whale song filtered through a modulator set to Hell Incarnate.

"Don't say things like that out loud, Coulson. If we get down here and find a mirror set to a whole other system of rubbish to sort through I may, quite literally, snap for all time and space. I will open this gods-damned book and eat the pages in futile desperation. And I will blame you as I do it."

"That would probably be fair at that point." He nearly ran into Loki's back when the tall figure stopped abruptly. "Oh god, now what?"

"Be cautious. The wall's broken through again; we'll have to climb and I don't know what we're going to see."

. . .

Tony set himself to hover over the ruined house on Bleecker Street and slapped at the faceplate of his recent experimental Iron Man suit. The Godkiller was optimized to neutralize Asgardian technology up to a point. That point was, so far, when Thor's test-punching started denting the crap out of the paint job. Well, it was still experimental. It also one of several suits that could function blind, using JARVIS as an external operator. It was an option meant for deep sea jobs or other places with limited visibility. "Okay, cute stunt. Turn my eyes back on."

"I cannot advise that, sir. Please allow me to control the visual input/output from here."

"JARVIS, I swear I am going to downgrade you to a toaster oven if you don't start listening to me the first time I tell you to do something."

"I apologize, but I am reading a single multi-dimensional entity emerging below. An unaltered visual of this event may induce severe mental damage to standard homo sapiens neurology. My readouts speculate that a number of lesser targets are preparing their imminent emergence from underneath its, ah, tentacles. I recommend allowing me to guide you towards these targets for combat."

Tony kept the hover toggle on standby, eyebrows arching up into his hairline as he double-checked JARVIS's figures on his suit's HUD. "Okay, then."

"STARK!" The joyous roar filtered into his audio feed as dual proximity alerts chimed on the display. "By all the gods, now we've a fight!" The words were followed by a whir of sound – the warrior god chucking Mjolnir at something rushing close. Stark heard the critter squeal as something wet and fleshy tore. He reflected that, no, he was not going to turn JARVIS into a toaster oven today. "Disgusting things begin to rise from this monstrous pit, Stark. There shall be no soft rest this night after such battle."

He toggled the speaker with a grin, nailing something with a tracked repulsor shot as it boiled up from the wreckage of the house. "What's up, Mighty Mouse?"

"Stand fast with me, my friend, but not alone!" Thor laughed as a monstrous bellow joined the unseen fray. "Banner is here!"

. . .

Coulson pushed himself away from Loki, more than a little jarred by how abruptly his face had gotten pushed into the fabric of the black hoodie. The slithering sound that had for a long second been too loud and too close began to drift into the distance. "Couldn't take a second to warn me we were gonna have a big ol' bear hug moment?" He looked up at Loki's white face and immediately regretted saying it.

"No, Coulson. That was nothing for mortal sight." He readjusted the straps of the ruined bag and glanced over his shoulder, gesturing at the wide gap that opened out onto the hole where much of the library once was. "Nothing, in any world, should have so many eyes, made of so many shapes. It saw us, Phil. It saw us well, and to my horror, I think it didn't care. It spared us no further thought, did not bother to strike." He laughed, no mirth in it. "They believe we can do nothing. If you had seen, you might think it correct before your brain bled out in a bleating struggle with your lost sanity."

Coulson looked past Loki to the ruined entrance of some small cistern at the end of the path, not really up to chewing that mental image over. "Well, I didn't. Thanks. And that room up there looks like our best shot yet."

"I hope so. Truly, I hope so."

. . .

The stumpy, trunklike man plucked the ruined stogie from his lips, flaring his nostrils to give it a sniff. No shame in wasting a bad smoke. He dropped it and crunched it underneath his heavy boot, flickering his sharp gaze up to watch the fight going on a few neighborhoods over. Around him, humans surged to get out of the area. Some stopped to vomit, many wept. He took his hands out of the pockets of his thick leather jacket and crinkled his nose as he breathed in a long, deep whiff to mark the scent of participants.

Yeah, I don't like the smell of those things, either. Never seen anything, any man or mutant, with that many arms all bent up like that. And I just bet the professor would have a few things to say about bein' neighborly when your neighbor's in need.

With a roll of his shoulders and a feral grit of his teeth, his claws came out of his knuckles with an easy snikt!

Besides. I always like me a good goddamn fight.

. . .

"Stark!" Something clanged against Thor's hammer and dropped with a whining scree.

"'Sup?" Four targets incoming. He revved up the close-quarters contingency and let his firepower fly. Three dropped. The last banged into him and they spun together for a wild, whirling few seconds before Tony put his fist through what he could only assume was the thing's head. He swore he could smell something like ancient rot and sea water even through the airtight pressurization of the suit.

"There is something small and blue and red whipping around on what appears to be a white rope."

"...Okay?" The tactical readout on the faceplate monitor kept informing him of different varieties of 'this is not good.' He ignored it, trying to figure out what the Asgardian warrior was going on about.

"More of the white rope is wrapped around his head to shield his eyes."

"I know that feeling."

"HEeeeey guuuUUUYS!" The young male voice dopplered by with a merry cheer. "THIS PARTY KINDA SUCKS! ANYONE FOR PIZZA AFTER?"

"Thor, I have literally no idea who that guy is."

"He fights to help, at least. I have seen several of these squamous things caught in web and dropped back whence they come. What about some grunting little man in black with a great many claws upon his fists?"

"Oh yeah, that guy. I know that guy. He punched a friend of mine once."

"He is an enemy?"

"No, he's just really into punching people."

"Oh, good. He fights viciously and well. I believe I like him."

"He smells and I think he's Canadian. Yes, I consider that a negative in this context." A warning jangled on his screen. "Uh, look out!"

"SMAAAAAASH!"

. . .

"Do you hear that?"

"What, the chaotic sounds of what is surely an absolutely epic fight complete with my brother posing strongly every time he thwacks something in the general region of the face with his ridiculous magic hammer?" Loki sighed and jammed his shoulder against the splintering, out-of-joint door again, grunting. "I've seen that show before. Not really in the mood for a repeat viewing right this moment." He sagged away. The door gave slightly, but he was still going to have to hit it at least one more time. He took a second to shoot a glance at Coulson. "You didn't tell anyone I was here, did you?"

"I don't think it went out on the alert, no. You don't want to say hi?"

He flung himself at the door again, grim satisfaction filling his face as the top bolt popped free. "I'm not dressed for company. Help me. One more, together, and we're in."

Coulson set his shoulder beside Loki's, taking charge of the count. On three, they slammed in and for their victory nearly tumbled into the room.

"OH, COME ON." Loki's voice was a bitter, agonized howl.

The room beyond the broken door was layered in glittering white stone, iridescent in its beauty. A single blue pennant etched with some mystical design still fluttered, but half of the wall it once decorated was gone. Along with most of the floor, and worst of all, whatever once stood on the splintered marble pedestal in its center.

. . .

His claws plunged through the gelatinous flesh of some small, hideously mewling creature, tearing some organ free he was pretty damn sure he never saw in any field medic manual. Close by, the gigantic green beastman who, weirdly, did not smell like a mutant, absently wiped goo off a fist the size of a mailbox before wading against another line of small, tentacled monstrosities. "I don't know about you, Jolly Green, but I'm probably gonna have to put my claws right through my skull and erase this whole damn day after this."

"SMASH!" said the hulking figure, just before it smashed something unrecognizable into something more unrecognizable.

"Right? I like you, bub. You know what you're good at, and there's nothing like being the best there is at what you do." He grinned at the possibly amiable response roar and plunged back into the fray, not wasting his time with noticing that the hole within the ruined house appeared to be getting bigger.

. . .

Coulson scrabbled at the ruined edge of the room, staring down into the pit and hoping like hell nothing horrible would drift up directly towards him. More than once he squinched his eyes shut as some motion started in the terrible blackness below the white room, waiting for Loki to tell him it was clear. He pulled himself nearly off the ledge and caught his breath in hope. Maybe ten feet below him, he saw the edge of a book. Another inch – yes! The cover bore the same image as the mansion's strange and still-intact window. He could see the edges of its pages fluttering in the hot, fetid breeze coming up from the void below.

"Loki, I see it. I swear, that's it. Come here."

"I'll lose grip on your ankle."

"I'll be fine, check this."

The demigod's profile filtered into his side view. "Coulson," he said. His voice was weary and full of grief. "We can't get to that. It hangs on mere inches. One more creature from the depths swings too closely and it's gone, utterly lost to us." He started to pull back from the ledge. "Just let it go. Let us face the end with some honor."

"What? No!" He pushed himself half-up to watch Loki shake his head slowly, his face a rictus of exhausted despair.

"I've failed. Again. As forever. As eternity dictates. It ends."

Coulson went slack-jawed as something snapped inside him. He grabbed the black hoodie on either side underneath Loki's throat and shook him with all his strength, so much raw adrenaline behind it that he actually made the Asgardian wobble. Slightly. "YOU HAVEN'T EVEN TRIED!" He roared the words into the struck man's face, his green-grey eyes going wide and startled at the violence implied in his tone. Something rushed up from below and Coulson turned his face away with a wince. Instinctive nausea from the mere presence of the Chthonic slave-thing turned his gut even as the demigod sat limp in his hands. "God damn it, we're not out yet. We get things done 'round here." He let go of his grip on bunched fabric.

"Couls-" Loki put a hand out to stop the human as he rolled to pitch himself over the side and into the hole. His mouth dropped in shock and he crawled forward once more.

"Incoming!"

He jests with me, thought Loki, still stunned. Then he nearly took a heavy book to his face, reeling backwards as his hands flew up to grab the tome and check its condition. It tingled against his fingers in a warm, comforting rush of sensation as he read the title, writ plain upon its face. Unable to fight off the sudden flood of relief that made his eyes blur, he gave the Book of the Vishanti a full-bodied hug before gently tossing it to the side to check on the human.

Coulson appeared to already be halfway back up the crumbling wall, clinging to treacherous fingerholds like a crazed spider-monkey. At the sound of his rustling above, Phil looked up. "I don't skip arm day."

Loki's mouth opened and closed, his face flushing once. "I'm a faithless arse this day."

"Yeah, yeah you really are. But we're having a super bad time of it here and that makes hope look extra distant, right? Now, can you give me a hand? I'm not as whipped as you, but our last meal was a crapload of pancakes ages ago and I'm heading for a carb crash like you wouldn't believe."

Wordlessly, Loki pushed himself half down into the ruined gap and reached his hands out to pull Coulson safely up to him. Much to his own surprise he found himself hugging the human, too. Oh sweet stars, don't tell me now this other book is going to force me to do nice things until I kill myself in saccharine despair. The thought was half rationalization, half morbid private joke. Phil's muffled voice came out of the mass of thick-woven wool, the confusion in it still crystal clear. "Did another one of those things just fly up?"

"Sure, yeah. Go with that." He uttered a tiny, exhausted laugh.