The Man of Iron has lived up to Loki's expectations. Aside from his talents with mortal science, evidence for which Loki has already seen in abundance, it is clear he possesses a great deal of courage as well. He was willing to swap words with the Lie-smith himself, to challenge, threaten and stall one much more powerful without even the protection of the armour he has made. Another worthy mortal.
It seems there are many more of them than he had anticipated of this realm. But perhaps it is not so strange. This threat he has conjured, this piece of shadow-theatre, naturally calls for the best of Midgard to be assembled against it. Their monsters, their weapons, those he knew of already, but he underestimated the quality of their warriors. As a people they are intriguing in their mixture of qualities and values, some of which Asgard would prize and some which they would find contemptible and base. But Loki thinks there is strength in such a mixture. Strength that in time, the other realms will learn to fear.
(Ragnarok. Asgard's skies dark with the smoke of a thousand fires. The dying screams of her warriors. Mortals swarming the walls numerous as a swarm of wasps, wrapped in the fruits of their seid.)
But that is a future still centuries off, though Loki hopes one day to see it. For the moment, he must return his attention to the coming battle. The portal the Tesseract is weaving is growing ever stronger, a harsh buzz that rasps against his seid-senses, a heavy potentiality that suffocates and cloys the very air. It is reaching its peak, its tipping point. He turns his face to the heavens, expectant.
The portal opens with a terrible explosion of power, ripping through warp and weft and twisting, pulling, forcing together two locations in a way that while similar to the Bifrost is yet somehow worse, far worse to his finely tuned understanding of the universe and of Yggdrasil. An ugly, primitive, unwieldy thing.
The Tesseract does not easily lend itself to mortal science.
Loki readies himself, makes sure his masks of megalomaniac and marauder are holding tight over the truth of his plans. Now is the most crucial time, for the Chitauri will be closer than they ever have been since his imprisonment by them, and he cannot afford for any little mistake to allow them to divine the deadly revenge he intends to bring upon them and all their people. He must continue to fool them until it is too late, until they are upon the brink of their own destruction.
He strides out onto the balcony of Stark's building, calling his armour to him once again. Metal and leather assemble around him, crafted proof against most anything these Midgardians could bring to bear against him. If they have more of those Destroyer-based weapons, it will even stand up to a few strikes from those, if he is caught unawares.
From the sky high above attack platforms come streaming down, their engines screaming. An equally fast red-gold blur shoots upwards past the tower to meet them. Tony Stark, flying into battle without even the comfort of his allies and teammates in support. Again it is bravery, but also perhaps something more. Loki knows several details of the mortal's life before the forging of his suit, knows that he, much as with Barton's shield-sister, has much blood on his hands that he is trying to atone for.
How much will Stark do to wipe away the monstrosities of his past? If he is anywhere as determined as Loki is and has been...
Still, no mortal heroes' lives shall be given this day. The Chitauri are arrogant, and the army they gave him small next to the teeming masses that swarm upon this world. And, judging by the oh-so-familiar tingle of seid at the edge of his perception, Thor will be upon this place very shortly. They may have bested one of Asgard's before, but Loki had been weak from his fall, and was in any case no true god, no true Aesir. When Thor's wrath falls, they shall not withstand it.
Thor draws ever nearer. Loki can feel him, drawn through the sky by Mjolnir's pull. He prepares himself for the confrontation he knows is to come. His sceptre is lengthened to its battle form. He is armoured, helmeted, swathed in the trappings of his power and his birth. His hate is hot and growing, a bitter, burning thing.
Thor lands on the platform before him, resplendent in his own battle gear. His chain shines in the sunlight. His cape is a fluttering banner of crimson. His hair shows no tangles from his flight, remains as always the colour of fields of wheat at summer's height, of gold burnished and polished and wrought into the finest adornments.
Once Loki loved him, and believed he was loved in turn. No longer.
"Loki," Thor shouts up at him. Mjolnir is humming in his grip, his will meshing with its seid. The weapon obeys its master. Oft has Loki felt his brother's anger in this way, as spell-craft, as violence waiting eagerly to be unleashed. Never has he felt it directed against himself, not even on the bridge when Thor tried to stop him doing that which he would have eagerly done himself not days before, had he the wit to have thought of it. "Turn off the Tesseract or I'll destroy it!"
"You can't!" Idiot. Weak-witted fool, as ever. Did he not pay attention to the tales of their youth, listen to the truth of the Tesseract's phenomenal power? Or was that too close to seidr for him, no great battles and warriors to hold his attention and thus ignored? "There is no stopping it. There is only... the war." Of course such obvious melodrama will slip past him. Once Loki would have believed Thor knew him well enough to see through these most obvious of all his lies. There is no subtlety here.
But no. It seems Thor has never paid him attention enough to see what is right before his eyes.
(Monstrous Loki, am I? Loki always lying, Loki the taken-for-granted, Loki weakling, Loki womanly, Loki the pitiful and dishonourable! Shall I show you the true monster? Shall I inscribe every single one of my 'imagined' slights upon your skin? Shall I reduce you to a shade, the mewling, pathetic, despised creature like you always thought me to be?)
"So be it," Thor says, and Loki can no longer hold back his rage.
In the heat of his anger he is in no mind for spells. Most paths of seidr require the cool, determined application of will. Using hate as a well-spring of power leads to nothing good, and he is wise enough to remember that much at least. However the mere blasts of energy channelled through his sceptre are simple and basic enough to be safe.
So he attacks. His strength is fuelled by emotion, churning through him as he swings his staff, arcs that weave together, one after another, inscribing great patterns in the air. Sparks erupt as from the forge – indeed in another's hands Mjolnir might have served that purpose instead of as a tool for war. Loki may not have Thor's strength, but neither is he weak. His blows would easily be enough to bruise if they connected, to break bones at a lucky hit.
Spinning, he fires a bolt of blue energy, missing Thor by inches. In this moment all thoughts of past fellowship or of a slow and proper revenge are forgotten in the haze of bloodlust, or the sheer need to end him. All his hurts, all the simmering anger tamped down has come together into this one white-hot moment, the desire to see Thor broken at his feet, his blood soaking the floor, the charnel stink of death heavy on the air. His second blast of uncontrolled magic is met by Mjolnir, another pyrotechnic deflection. One of the letters proclaiming Stark's ownership of this tower becomes a casualty, plummeting hundreds of feet down to the streets below. Loki is fairly confident that there are no mortals to be hurt by it though. He's sure he would have felt some of Clint's concern if the evacuation hadn't proceeded as planned.
Even if that were not so, it would not stop him.
Loki is holding back nothing save his seid, and the same is true of Thor. For all his claims of remaining brotherhood, Loki is sure he will not hesitate to strike a fatal blow if he leaves a sufficient opening. He cares not. Either this will end now, with one of their deaths, or it will continue on into the future, promise of more battles to come, more blood, more pain, the chasm between them that cannot be breached continuing to grow.
With every thrust that fails to land, every blow averted, Loki's anger only grows. The war in the skies around them fades away. There is nothing but the battle, this vicious struggle fuelled by the pain of a thousand small cuts ripped open into jagged oozing wounds by un-sought-for truth and the agonies of the void.
(Kill him. Kill him! Rip out his heart and consume it before his dying eyes!)
Yet suddenly there is a familiar voice in his head forcing him to split his attention away from Thor, accurséd True Son.
Hey Boss, Clint Barton says. We're coming in hot. These bastards really are swarming, huh?
Yes, Loki replies, seeming to his surprise almost to split off from his rage, another self at this point; one entirely capable of carrying on this battle by instinct alone. There are many points of comparison. It is strange to suddenly find a calm place in the midst of the storm of his feelings. A place where he can look at his actions objectively and realise that this is futile. In an obvious show of strength Thor will always prevail, yet in his anger Loki seems to oft forget this. Thor has also his own role to play in the greater battle, a role that Loki himself is taking him away from.
He has allowed emotion to master him once again. He should know better.
Can you provide me with a distraction? he asks his soldier.
Sure. Where do you need me?
At Stark's tower, Loki replies. Can you still pilot that craft with one of the engines damaged?
Uh, I should be able to, Barton replies warily. But I really would prefer if we weren't on fire. I'm guessing you've got a good reason for this though.
It seems that he and Thor know each other's close combat styles too well if he can keep up this fight and talk to his servant at the same time, Loki thinks to himself, ducking aside from another swing of Mjolnir. Yet at this point there is little hope of flight, nor is he confident he has his hate under control enough to use his seid.
I fight Thor, he admits. If he sees his companions in distress, surely he will go to your aid. Then I may slip away and leave him to slay the Chitauri.
There is a moment's hesitation, and then; Sounds reasonable. I've done more improbable things.
Brief moments later Loki hears the sound of propeller engines coming in to circle the tower. He manages to throw Thor aside long enough to aim his sceptre at the flying craft, trying as best he can not to target any area too vital. He has no wish to cause his hawk harm. This is show-craft only, not truly meant. The bolt of energy strikes one of the whirring rotors, made in miniature mimicry of those on the parent craft, that flying fortress. Smoke billows. Thor looks up.
Yet instead of leaping to the rescue, as Loki expected, his fool not-brother instead lets out a cry fuelled by anger of his own and leaps at him, bearing him to the ground and beginning to lay about him with fists, fists of all things! Loki can scarce believe it. He struggles against the hold, the shots too close to block and the pain that blooms with each act of Aesir strength, but he has never bothered with training for wrestling. It is the last thing he ever expected to need.
Oh fuck, he catches Clint thinking. Oh fuck, so much for that plan. No, it's cool, it's cool, we're not crashing, we're just uh, descending with style. I can do this. I can do this.
Barton? Loki asks, managing to be worried despite the more pressing concern of Thor's weight pinning him down and the hand that's currently pummelling his – thankfully helmeted – head into the ground.
I'm fine. I'm fine. Whoo. I totally stuck that landing.
Loki can be thankful for that much, though it didn't exactly turn out as planned. For all his struggling, he's not any nearer to getting free, and though he is certainly tough this isn't exactly fun. At least this is nothing compared to the damage Mjolnir would be capable of inflicting.
Of course, this is precisely when the Chitauri commander makes the decision to send in the first of the great war-beasts. Precisely what Loki was intending Thor to be in charge of killing, were he not busy trying to punch his face in.
Thor pulls him to his feet, hands fisted in the leather at his throat. He shakes Loki as though he's some kind of unruly pup, perhaps one of the royal hunting dogs that's gotten in where it shouldn't. Perhaps he believes that he can beat sense back into him?
"Look!" Thor shouts, far too near to his face. Loki is more concerned with cataloguing his hurts than paying attention, to be honest, though he still looks at whatever Thor is trying to rub his nose in. "Look at this! Look around you."
The city is burning, it is true. The Chitauri swarm everywhere, yet seem not to have spread out beyond the limits of this island district, so there is that. The damage to buildings is irrelevant in the scheme of things, and he doubts there has been over-much loss of mortal life. Yet Thor can have no way of knowing about the evacuation, he realises, and he's not likely to notice from up here. He supposes laughing would not be greeted favourably at this point. Mind, he's still a little dazed.
"You think this madness will end with your rule?" Thor asks. Does he really still believe that is Loki's ambition? That it was Loki's ambition? Surely he's spoken to Moth- to Frigga? She of all Asgard at least showed him some kindness, some affection, hard as it was to get. And she must have seen his reaction when they handed him Gugnir at Odin's bedside. But perhaps even she misbelieves him now? Thinks him false all along, the conniving, treacherous Frost Giant, the snake, the poison in their midst.
Again they prove they have never truly known him. And Thor yet thinks to claim brotherhood? Kinship? Arrogant still, for all he's learned. No. Loki will never again look to his so-called family for love. He will be what they think of him. He does so hate to disappoint.
"It's too late," he says, calmed enough now to use his seid to call one of his smallest throwing knives into his hand. "It's too late to stop it."
"No," Thor replies, as though his mere words will make it so. As though his godhood gives him that power. "We can. Together."
Hah. Together? Use Loki's seid as your useful tool once again and then cast him aside once his part is done, without acknowledging him or his aid? Yes, Loki knows what 'together' means to Thor when it comes to him. Never the same as it meant when used to the Warriors Three, or to Sif. So no, even were all this real and he had found some measure of guilt he would not agree to use his own hard-won knowledge to do what Thor never could, and shut the Tesseract down.
He smiles. His fist flashes forward and the little knife pierces through Aesir armour into Thor's side.
Thor collapses backwards, momentarily brought down by the strength-sapping enchantment Loki spells onto all his blades. It will not last long, and the wound is hardly enough to do Thor much harm, though it will not heal with the customary swiftness.
There is a look of such betrayal in Thor's eyes and Loki simply does not understand it. Or did he think Loki's monstrousness extended only to mortals? "Sentiment," he says, and while his hate is still his hate he seems to discover that it is not all there is. But there is no time to reflect upon whatever this signifies. A Chitauri skimmer is coming this way and he intends to be on it.
And then Thor strikes. He lifts him up and throws him and the sceptre skitters away over the platform. Loki is caught entirely by surprise, and Thor lifts him again and throws him down, tossing him about as though he's naught but a toy. Loki gasps as his ribs bruise. He is still following the path of the approaching craft with his seid however, and so it is an easy thing to simply roll and let himself fall, catching onto a metal framework a fathom or so below.
There will be plenty of time to deal with Thor as he deserves once the battle is over. Time to think too. It's clear he sorely needs it.
There are many things that Thor does not understand about Loki. Nor does he refer only to the current madness that has taken over his brother, and the things it inspires him to do. All throughout their lives there has been this gap between them, for while Loki has always known him well enough to trick him with his words, Thor has never been able to make his brother do anything he did not want to. Thor has never been able to see into his brother's heart, nor divine the meanings behind his actions. As much as he loves him, Loki is oft a mystery to him.
For one, he has never really been able to comprehend his brother's use of magic. They were both brought up in the same way after all, with the same knowledge that all Asgard shares. The ways of seidr are woman's work, so do all know. It is not as though Loki has not strength, cannot wield a warrior's weapons if he so chose. He may not be the most accomplished with their use, but nor is he the worst. Many warriors could count themselves less skilled than Loki. Yet ever he has shied away from the honourable, correct way of doing battle, taking to his unmanly pursuits.
Mistake him not; Asgard has its place for such arts, even on the battle field. But they are for women. And if Loki found himself inclined that way, towards their use, even then it would have been acceptable if he had taken up the appropriate sex to go with it. Just as Sif has taken up a man's role to join Thor and his closest companions on the battlefield, so too could Loki join the ranks of the Valkyries, Asgard's battle-mages. Those women are fearsome indeed, crafting their own ensorcelled weapons and flying to the fight on ethereal wings formed from their spell-craft. Would that Loki could have gone to war as one of their number!
And so this is the thing that Thor does not understand about it; since it is clear to all that to be a sorcerer 'tis only proper to play a women's role, why did Loki not do so? Even one as unversed in those arts as Thor knows that there are spells that would permit him to change his appearance, though even staying as he is might have been acceptable had he acted correctly. It would have been the right thing to do to, becoming in some part Thor's sister rather than playing at this strange in-between thing. But no reason did Loki ever give for the choices he made, or at least none that made any sense.
Not that it makes Thor love him or cherish him any less. But it is confusing that he is so adamant about it. But that is an old grievance, and he has long ago accepted that he will never know why Loki chose that path. It is impossible to make Loki see the sense of the matter, and so Thor no longer tries.
Here on Midgard though, it seems things may be different. It has been many centuries since he was last here, and much has changed in the mean time. Tony Stark is clearly a man of power, perhaps of princely birth himself by how others act around him, allow him liberties. Yet he practises the mortal seidr much as his dear Jane did. There has been little time for Thor to question him on the matter, and he did not wish to push with things so delicate still between the members of their warband. Mayhap there will be good reasons for his less than honourable behaviour, or indeed, perhaps Stark is a woman as the Midgardians count these things. Either way, there is a possibility that the Man of Iron may be able to shed some light on his brother's choices.
But that is all meaningless if he cannot get his brother back in his right mind. For now there is little he would not give to have things back as they once were, when they were as close as any two could be. He does not believe – or does not wish to believe – that Loki has been this malevolent creature all along. Though his brother has oft been given to lies and mischief – other dishonourable things not worthy of a prince, yet other choices Thor fails to understand – surely he is not capable of such an immense false-hood. Thor would have seen such jealousy surely, if Loki had been coveting the throne that was rightfully his own for so long? It is some strange madness that has overtaken him, a fever of the mind perhaps, and if Thor can take him back to Asgard, back to his family, they can surely cure him.
He pays no heed to the doubts of his Warriors Three, who say that mayhap this is due to his Jotun nature rearing its head. Loki may be a Frost Giant born, but he is not like the rest of that foul breed. How could he be, having been brought up one of the Aesir? Loki is not a monster. Loki is his brother. That is fact, that is truth, and naught else matters. His actions here on Midgard are those of an ill mind, no more.
Besides, what few of their number has he killed? Eighty or so, the warrior-woman claimed, and those the delicate little soldier-folk as peopled their flying fortress, not the elite battle-band he has joined. Any warrior of his Father's court would be ashamed at so few, so of course Thor had tried to make his excuses for Loki's poor showing. And for all his attempts on Thor's own life, none have yet done any lasting damage. Thor knows his brother. If he truly wanted him dead he surely would be dead, through some method he would not see coming.
So it is that he once again tries to reason with his brother when he lands on the roof of the Man of Iron's stronghold. And so it is that he joins battle with him again with a heavy heart, much as they did before on the Bifrost. It is not until he sees Loki fire upon the flying craft that he loses control of himself. Not because of the surety of those mortals' death – faceless mortals he does not know, he assumes more of SHIELD's folk – but because of the look on his brother's face. That look of gleeful joy, such as he has worn many times in the past at the culmination of one of his many pranks. But this is no prank, and Thor cannot bear to see the emotion so perverted.
He loses his temper.
The battle becomes a close-quarters brawl, one in which he has the advantage. Yet his anger leaves him as quickly as it arose, he masters himself again and once more resorts to words, hoping to reach his brother. Words have never been tools he is skilled in using, and he cannot help but think if only he were better with them he would be able to help Loki as he ought to be helped. If it were he who had fallen to such madness, he has no doubt that Loki would be able to bring him back.
For a moment he begins to hope that Loki is at last listening. Then the knife is plunged into his side.
Thor staggers back, weakness suddenly sapping the strength from his limbs. There is a brief few seconds where he fears he has badly mistaken his brother, where he fears the blade is poisoned and feels the anguished sting of betrayal. But it is not long before he feels the sensation receding. Just another of Loki's little spells then. He is relieved, and guilty that he doubted so.
In the end it is not long before Loki escapes him, fleeing from the heights with the aid of one of these creatures that compose the army he has summoned. Yet Thor still has hope for him. All is not lost. He truly believes that Loki may yet return to them, that things will be as they once were, Loki fighting at his side instead of turned against him.
He must have this faith; else what kind of brotherhood could he claim?
The streets of Manhattan are aflame. The Chitauri skimmers are armed with some kind of energy weapon, Clint notes, and they are firing them indiscriminately, flipping cars, tearing through buildings, sending fire licking up where there is material easy to burn. He can only imagine what chaos there would be if people were still in the area. Thankfully whatever strings Fury pulled seem to have done the job, and he can't see any civilians anywhere. The city is deserted, and it would be a ghostly and unsettling sight under any other circumstances.
"We need to get back up there," Captain America is saying. There's a steely determination on his face that Clint is pretty familiar with. In fact he's intimately familiar with the man's history, could hardly not be with Phil as a lover, but he hasn't had time to put two and two together until now. Looking at him, he has no trouble believing this man is a soldier and a commander; that he's led men into battle before. He may have been out of his element on the carrier, but now Rogers is slipping back into a place he knows, a place he spent years inhabiting. In overt war like this, Clint will defer to his authority.
"Wait," the Captain says, something catching his eye from the street below. "There are armed men down there."
"Police maybe," Clint says, risking a peek over the balustrade. "Or the National Guard, if Fury managed to persuade them this was a serious threat. Don't look very organised though."
"We could use all the help we can get," Rogers replies. 'Tasha grasps his meaning immediately.
"We've got this," she assures him. "We're good."
"You think the pair of you can hold this lot off for long enough for me to make contact?"
Clint grins. Violence he can do. Violence he's good at. And it will be good to work out his stress, the tension growing at the back of his neck for every moment he doesn't know for sure that Phil is safe. "Captain, it would be my genuine pleasure."
He nocks an arrow to his bow, stands and fires in one smooth motion. These aliens may not be anything he's killed before, but they're human shaped, and they must have similar enough anatomy to humans, because the one he hits goes down just the same. After that it's simply the business of dealing out death. He's in his element, much like Captain Rogers. This is what he knows how to do.
Battle is like a dance, spinning, dodging, whirling to plunge arrowheads into unprotected flesh before pulling them free and loosing them from his bow. That's how he sees it, and the metaphor is only borne out by the glances he catches of Natasha. She embodies it, utterly graceful and poised, already having liberated one of the Chitauri's energy weapons and figured out how to use it against them. It's more help than her pistols. Then again, though she's never less than capable, for her if she has to resort to shooting it usually means things have not gone according to plan.
It's easy to lose track of time, with wave after wave of Chitauri drawn to the pocket of resistance they are creating. It doesn't seem like it has been too long however before the lightning comes down. It's great bolts of blinding light, filling the air with the taint of ozone and burned flesh. Thor. He's alive, and he has finally arrived.
Captain Rogers returns from briefing the muggles – as Clint has kind always thought of non-spies – at about the same time. Clint has to look away from their conversation, pretending he's checking his bow. It's not that he personally feels any particular animosity for the Aesir prince, but he's intimately acquainted with Loki's feelings for the man, and being too friendly would feel somehow disloyal.
Not that he really ought to be concerning himself with disloyalty considering that Loki only got him on side in the first place with brain-washing, but he supposes he can understand the lengths a person in his circumstances might be driven to. He has somehow grown to like this particular alien.
Tony Stark's voice comes over their comms. "Thor's right, we've gotta deal with these guys," he says.
"How do we do this?" 'Tasha asks. They've all fallen to looking to Rogers to take the lead, it seems. Makes sense. There's this indefinable air of command about him.
"As a team."
"I have unfinished business with Loki," Thor says, perhaps partly to assert his own authority. He is a prince where he comes from. He'll hardly be used to taking orders.
"How 'bout you help us deal with the problem at hand first?" Clint says. A little snide, he knows, but he can't help it, and he doesn't think anyone really notices.
"Loki's going to keep the fight focused on us," the Captain says, and begins outlining their battle plan. He's soon interrupted though by the putt-putt-putt of a small motorcycle coming up the rubble-strewn street. The man on it is wearing a purple-ish shirt and loose fitting slacks, has curly black hair with a sprinkling of grey through it, and is smiling ruefully.
"So," he says, dismounting. "This all seems... horrible."
Clint... has no idea who the hell this is. If he was someone the military brass sent he would have arrived with a whole lot more style. If he were some local without enough sense to follow the evacuation order, the others wouldn't be looking at him like they know him.
"I've seen worse," Natasha says, and the man gives her a little nod like she's referencing some kind of shared experience. But Clint knows most of the significant folks she's run with in her time with SHIELD, even if only through a photograph in a file, and he's not one of them.
"I'm sorry," the man says.
"No, we could use a little worse," she replies, and none of this is making things any clearer.
"Stark, we got him," Rogers says.
"Banner?" comes the query, and oh! Clint gets it now. Dr Bruce Banner, aka the Hulk. This is good. This fits well with Loki's plan, though it hadn't been one of the prerequisites. A 'berserker', as he'd called him, is just what they need to take out the big stuff. Clint, unlike the others, is well aware that this one big fish is not the only one they're going to have to deal with.
Of course it's right about then that Stark swings round the corner of the nearest building, said big fish right on his tail. It comes in low enough to be scraping against the cars that still strew the street, abandoned. Stark jets past them and Banner smiles a little, turns and heads to meet it.
"Now might be a really good time to get angry," Rogers says.
"That's my secret Captain," Banner says. "I'm always angry."
And then he turns into the jolly green giant and punches a space whale in the face.
It. Is. Awesome.
Stark also makes it explode, which is less awesome. Either way it really pisses the rest of the Chitauri off, judging be their angry cries from all around.
It's the six of them against an army. The Avengers Initiative, finally assembled against a threat they were formed to defeat.
The Chitauri are going down.