Loki was shaking. Thanos withdrew the scepter and this time he had not even the strength to reach for it, he felt alive and in pieces, as if he would have to rebuild himself from scratch. For a moment he could not remember his own name, but then it came to him, and with it he was grounded, and he looked up.
"You are ready," said Thanos. "Come." And instead of putting down the scepter, he walked away holding it, out of the room, and the air that came in was cool. So Loki stood up, leaning against the wall for support. Black spots danced at the edges of his vision and he had to close his eyes. His skin felt stretched upon his bones, as if he were a fire consuming itself.
He wondered how long they had been here. Some part of him would not be surprised that empires rose and fell while he was gone.
He took shaky steps out of the room, Thanos almost across it already, and hurried as much as he was able to catch up. Perhaps those who Thanos had used the scepter on before had died before they could be of any use. He felt like dry grass in the wind.
They walked out of the hall, and out, and farther out—out of the building until they stood in the snowy plain. The Chitauri gathered around them like flies to a carcass.
"Here is your new general," Thanos proclaimed, in a voice the likes of which brooked no argument.
"What?" Loki said, and he felt the unmoving, angry stares of the Chitauri on him.
"Come here," Thanos said. Loki walked as close as he dared, afraid against everything that he would reach to grab the staff, but Thanos only laughed. "It is yours now." he said. "I am allowing you to use it for the purpose of getting me the tesseract."
And he held out the staff, and Loki took it.
At once the foreign power raced through him, and he felt new. He stood up with such a smile as might frighten the stars, and beside him Thanos said, "You may ask whatever you wish."
The thought took only a moment to coalesce. Such a bright, tempting thought—that he would make them all kneel before him. But that was to be his reward upon reaching Midgard. And so he only turned to Thanos and asked quietly, "If I may."
"Yes?"
"When we reach Earth—" Loki swallowed, his breath felt much too thin to sustain him, and he wondered if he would be killed at last for his reaching, "may I rule it?"
Thanos looked at him. And he felt sure he had gone too far, and braced for the final blow. But he smiled. "Of course. It is a little realm, after all, and there are much better fruits to give my lady Death. Do not be so concerned, my pet." He reached out and trailed a finger along Loki's throat. "Death will come for you all, in the end."
Distantly, Loki wondered if that was a threat. And he was seething. How would he control his army if Thanos insisted on treating him like a child in front of them all?
But when he turned to look at them spread before him he realized that it did not matter. They were too loyal to Thanos not to obey him, and now he had the staff.
And at that thought, the staff in his hand hummed like a living thing, delighting in the promise of destruction.
"Now, little sorceror," Thanos said, "Make a portal."
And the weight of failure was heavy. "I can't make one big enough to bring the whole army through."
"That is what the tesseract is for, is it not?"
"Oh," Loki said. "Yes." He closed his eyes and willed his magic. The power of the staff rushed in eagerly, almost overpowering his own magic, but multiplying it tenfold. And yet it was so much harder to control, always going to thoughts of destruction. He grit his teeth, sweat sheening his brow, and tried to find the doorways that had once been so easy for him. And finally, at last, when he was beginning to fear he would never find it, something opened.
He felt the call of the tesseract through the portal, and the staff gave an answering hum. It drove up into a song, an unbearable song, beautiful and deadly.
he stepped forward, and as the end closed behind him he thought again, I must not lose my purpose. I must not—
he stumbled. He was in a dark room, and the air was hot. He stared around in incomprehension, before it finally occurred to him that yes, he had done it—
"put down the staff."
The words came as if from far away. He turned, and looked—to find he was holding the staff still. And it prompted him with glorious purpose, and he turned.
.
.
.
THE END