He finds himself on his hands and knees, head spinning from the violent push-and-pull of the uncontrolled teleportation. The ground feels like a ship on the ocean, surging gently, and he has to blink several times before coming to.
Having somewhat found his bearings, he looks up and stares into a vast darkness above, an infinite celestial arch stretching into empty space, a chasm of nothingness interspersed with scattered twinkling stars and purple supernovas glittering distantly.
He knows immediately where they are. The Astral Plane. The space between the realms.
Then he hears Stark's familiar voice behind him, and its predictable exclamation.
"What the fuck?"
He's about to relax, all seems to be as it should be with his unwilling travel companion. But then comes a much less expected and much more worrying exclamation.
"Hey, get off me!"
He whirls around, and to his horror sees a forest of thick, black tendrils, swirling like smoke, slithering around the man, like an octopus reaching out for its prey with its many tentacles. They're slowly but surely winding themselves around his arms and legs, feeling and probing. Vapour rises from the surface of the tendrils, copious layers of whirling steam that evaporates without ever decreasing the mass it came from.
Chaos.
He's well acquainted with that force, that screaming nothingness that feeds on the other forces of the cosmos, devouring them. Having sensed their arrival, it has torn open a rift in the cosmic fabric and its black tentacles are now reaching out like slimy snakes twisting and slithering obscenely. Chaos cannot sense physical presences in themselves, but there are now powerful cosmic forces clinging to Stark from his teleportation device that draws it as surely as iron flakes to a magnet.
His own meagre powers, as he reaches for his seidr, make a tiny smoky tendril come slithering into his direction where it pokes curiously but carefully around him, like a dog having picked up a scent. It undulates indecently against his ankle but without grabbing hold of him. But Loki knows that it will soon enough.
There's an angry but terrified yell as Stark pushes back against his assailant, trying to wrench loose his limbs from the gripping tendrils, but they only grasp him harder, unperturbed by his struggles.
"Let me go, you fucking slimy Cthulhu wannabe! Hey, stop it! What the fuck!"
The panic in Stark's voice is not only audible, but overwhelming.
He pushes against the seal holding his powers. It doesn't budge an inch. He pounds harder, and then much, much harder, like a desperate prisoner throwing himself against the bars of his cell.
Still nothing.
The tendril slithering around him becomes more eager, more interested, as he calls upon his tiny seidr, trying to draw up more of it than he has access to. But the vast mass of Chaos is still focused on Stark as it closes in on him, slithering around his arms and legs, feeling its way around.
The man struggles valiantly and desperately, but Loki knows that this is one fight that Stark won't win.
He wants to barge forth and tear those tendrils off Stark, but he knows his hands will only slide right through that twisting mass if he tries, despite the firm grip it has on its prey. He remembers what one of his magic teachers once said, an old wizard with skin like wrinkled parchment – you don't hold Chaos, Chaos holds you.
He can see the rift from where the tendrils are protruding, the gaping tear in the fabric of space. If the tendrils pull Stark into that rift, into Chaos' centre of absolute nothingness, Stark will disintegrate, his atoms ceasing to exist. Nothing survives contact with pure, undiluted Chaos.
He could still go back. Chaos has yet to get a hold of him, like it has of Stark. His powers, insignificant as they are, are still enough to lead him back to where he came from. Getting to the Astral Plane is what takes immense power, creating a passage in the fabric of space. Returning is easy, one merely has to follow the still open passage back before it slowly closes again. It can be done even with his minuscule supply of seidr.
But he won't leave Stark here.
He tugs desperately at the seal separating him from the endless sea of green so close and yet so far away. It doesn't budge an inch. Helplessly, he watches as more tendrils close in on Stark, almost covering him fully now, his face all but invisible as the smoky blackness swallows him up. Stark's terrified yells are more muffled now, but the utter desperation in them still clear.
No.
He pulls and pushes, rips and tears, but it's impossible. The seal continues to refuse him access, jealously guarding his seidr. He tries to find a rift in it, no matter how tiny, but its smoothness refuses to reveal a single fault line, not even the thinnest of cracks.
Then the tendrils slowly start to withdraw towards the rift, taking their prey with them. Desperately, Loki draws on all his strength, pulling at his seidr, screaming in frustration.
No. It will not take Stark. He will not let it.
He tears, clawing, at the seal, his mind ripped and ragged as it throws itself against the sharp edges of that seal again and again, fighting for access, for entrance. There's pain tearing at him from the inside out, but he ignorers it, sweat dripping.
And now the seal hisses back at him as it starts to actively fight his efforts with all its might, attacking him to keep the seidr from his grasp. It stabs at him as he assails it, trying to hurt him. There's a terrible screaming in his head, his insides feeling like they're about to be torn out.
He can barely breathe. Indescribable pain laces through him, a searing horror that must be about to split him in half any second now. His limbs are burning, his head blazing, and his innards scorching, and there is no relief to be had, only pure, undiluted agony.
But all he can think is, you will not have Stark.
And then, the seal rips.
And, like an unstoppable surge of waves born of triumph and victory, his powers come rushing back all at once, whirling and singing inside of him. The golden green courses through him with the power of a thousand suns, like water from a floodgate thrown wide open, gloriously as it rushes forth, as uncontainable as a landslide. It tears through him, filling every fibre of his being with life.
And just like that, he's Loki of Asgard again, sorcerer and caller of seidr. And Loki of Asgard draws himself up, calling forth upon all his might to strike out against his enemy, that black nothingness, concentrating his formidable powers in a devastating attack.
Chaos roars soundlessly but ferociously in his head, a wall of rage making his ears ring from the massive pressure, and rears up to face this unexpected attack, furious. It comes crushing down on him with the force of a tsunami, but he holds strong, sparkles of green flying all around him as his magic crashes into Chaos.
From the corner of his eye he can see how the blackish tentacles surrounding Stark withdraw from their quarry, now sensing the much stronger force of his seidr. Quickly, he diverts a part of his magic to create an arched dome of green around Stark, to shield him from the swirling tendrils. Some of them, drawn to this newly created manifestation of cosmic powers, slither over the shield, probing but unable either to make their entrance or form a grip around the shiny surface.
Then he strikes again at the massive and yet insubstantial presence, its wrath terrible as it lashes back at him with full force. He stumbles back from the devastating impact, but his seidr still holds forth. He draws upon it again, and it rushes into him as dependably and unfailingly as if it was never gone at all.
Again, Chaos howls in frustration at being denied its prey. It rears up for another attack, black nothingness towering above him, and strikes down on him, raw power concentrated in a crushing blow. He can feel the terrible surge of non-existence emanating from that dreadful presence, and how it hungers for his seidr. The shield of thrumming magic he has quickly formed to protect himself trembles from the impact but doesn't crack. His seidr reshapes itself, seemingly by its own volition, to form a concentrated lance of magic that shoots out in a vicious counterattack towards his foe. He hears himself laughing, and it is not the sound of a slave or thrall held in bondage and servitude in a realm faraway, no, it's the sound of a victor.
He strikes again and again, quickly and swiftly, leaving Chaos no opportunity to form any attacks of its own. It can only roar in frustration and rage as he pushes it closer and closer towards the rift. Its long tendrils undulate impotently, trying to grab hold of an enemy it can no longer reach. The black vapour emanating from its shapeless mass swirl, making it look like a predator breathing its foul breath into the winter air. A tendril rises up to stab at him, but it cannot penetrate his seidr and slides futilely off the barrier.
Another lunge, Chaos throwing itself against him with frightening force, but he counters it with a massive wall of golden green. It's strong, but his seidr is stronger, singing gloriously in his ears. Chaos will not defeat Loki of Asgard today.
He pushes forth, pressing against the furious shape. It's retreating, now, tendril after tendril slipping back into the rift. It slithers and undulates in its rage, but it's powerless against the superior force facing it. There's a final roar of fury and then the last of the swirling non-existence slides back to where it came from. The rift closes seamlessly behind it as if it had never existed at all.
For several moments he stands there staring into the void surrounding him. A cluster of stars twinkle somewhere above him as if acknowledging the powerful presence that has made its unexpected appearance light-years away. He's suddenly awestruck by the beauty of the magnificent view opening up before him. The cloudy purple and pink and white spirals of distant galaxies spread out on the black sky, creating an amazing tapestry like nothing seen in the physical world. He stands listening to the silence for a while; here on the Astral Plane there is no sound, there is only a serene peace, a tranquil quiet that-
Suddenly there's a loud, insistent banging behind him.
"Hey, let me out of here!" Stark shouts as he beats his fists against the green shield of seidr still covering him.
Oops.
He lets the shield fall. Stark looks like he has just been… well, about to be abducted and absorbed by Chaos.
But there is no point in lingering here any longer. Chaos is an insistent force and might decide to make another try for it if they dawdle. The passage that was created during their transport here is probably still open. And if not, it doesn't matter. With his seidr back, he can easily create his own passage back to Stark's lab.
Grabbing hold of the wide-eye man sitting on the ground, he gathers his seidr and pulls them both back to the physical world.