Thanos.
The very name casts a nervousness down my spine. A threat, one that was until now merely an idea, a looming problem waiting in the future, is coming. I stand here and now having defeated men and monsters and demons of actual Hell with nary a complaint, my heart full of excitement and anticipation for the act of battle, but this... No being has ever born within me the thought of retreat.
Until now.
That purple fucker is more than mortal, a chosen of Death unbroken by choice and extinction, a millennia of existence shaping him into the most feared being in the cosmos. A madman of terrible beliefs and dreaded actions, unwavering and unswayable in his campaign for universal genocide in the name of so-called balance, his eyes have now set upon earth.
Two, three, possibly four Stones back home, the planet is now on course to be the location of the deciding battle, one which will determine the fate of this reality for the rest of time. And by my own hand, I've found myself on the list of major defenders. My membership to the Masters, my knowledge of the future given over in hopes of changing the outcome, my role in the war settled, I...
I've journeyed with my future self, an ancient woman seemingly at the end of her path, and yet, I have a feeling in heart. A simple one, one that sits in the back of the mind of every being and peacefully waits, patient in its lie until the day you choose to acknowledge it, your stomach turning in on itself to sink,
I'm going to die.
I drift through the infinite of colourful space on the Bridge of a spaceship, stolen from an immortal lording over those he sees as pawns, with two beings of myth standing before me. With magic breathing throughout my form in want to manipulate reality, and Chi, a constant companion cultivated towards the goal of eternity, a question rises in whisper from my sea to sound in mind and remind,
Would that be so bad?
That terrible thought fading low back into the depths, its escape ahead of schedule from the bag, a strange acceptance soothes my spirit in linger of parting call. I stare through the protecting glass to creation beyond, a method of contemplation limited by location and opportunity, and wonder as to how she grew to feel.
She fights as born innate to ourself, an aspect forged true by trouble and abuse, the harsh lashings of a narcissistic mother stuck in the glory of a bygone time marking. Yet, she was calm in the knowledge, a clear fortitude and calm to her that mystifies the me of now, her abandonment of that which drives us forth unsettling.
Who am I without my path?
Movement from the man beside calling me from my musings, his eyes shifting to scrutinise me, my thoughts turn elsewhere, a betrayal of newly born trust aching my lungs. With the lingering taste of grass upon my tongue, the constant awareness of life within my Ring, I can form some idea as to the how, but I've no understanding of the why.
Blood, reminiscent of the sea of Appetentia, coats the inner of my nose, a chaos of death and offering blurring in memory; the squeak of scared child left behind. It reeks of divinity and anguish, an all-consuming abyss suffused throughout its traces, a prison relishing in the cries of ritual and sacrifice, good turned evil.
Thor... He knew something of what was to happen, yet chose not to share for whatever reason he thinks justified. A decision which I sincerely hope doesn't come back to haunt him. His call to quest elsewhere accepted, he clearly believed his choice correct despite current circumstance. A secret he held close in guard until the final moment, the apology telling of his regret, his waiting until the last second made certain there was nothing I could to stop him or help.
Why didn't he ask?
Those he left behind suffered to pick up the pieces of his absence, his very presence uplifting the defenders in bolster against overwhelming odds, I'm fucking furious. God or no god, greater being bound by duty to his mandate and defence of whatever the fuck, he is needed. None of us, bar the cosmic-empowered Carol or the Elder God-bound Wanda, can combat Thanos in a direct fight.
With the Power Stone atop his Gauntlet, and now possibly the Reality Stone, his strength is unmatched, the forces of earth barely enough to withstand his army. Denied the much needed capability of the God of Thunder, Stormbreaker in hand and Hearthlight adorning, we are now down the one individual who could stop all this before it even begins.
Why?
The man, his sight on me, looks with a curious glint in his gaze, an attempt to dissect what he's no doubt seeing, a want to play. I look back with stony regard, my eyes turning to see him, and begin to think, my feelings regarding him currently tempered by cold rational. The green leather of his Asgardian robe donning him in ill fit, his wish to be seen as one of them hidden deep inside, unknown to even himself, I wonder,
What are you doing here?
His use long outlived, his relation to King the only reason he now walks free, his position here is unwelcome by survivors and defenders alike. His only ability lying in lies, deception, his worthless tongue slipping beyond his lips to whisper, a snake in every scenario, there is no reason for him to persist. Death, by my own hand or by that of his victims, is the only fitting outcome for this thing that seeks purpose.
A small smirk pulling the corners of his mouth, a dark, dirty glee unconcealable despite the detail of his portfolio, he opens lightless maw to draw and taunt, "Has my wayward brother abandoned you as he his other lovers, mortal?"
I meet his mocking words with blank face, the hollow ridicule of a dying man unaware of his inevitable fate falling rippleless into my sea. Ignoring him, paying no mind to the attempted hiding of his reaction to my disregard, I look to the woman instead and inquire, looking for clarity on the situation, "I take it you've evacuated your people?"
She replies, stopping her examination of the display above the table between us, "We have, yeah. Couldn't exactly wait for Thor to give the order, so I sounded the alarm and sent them through the portals your boss set up." Pausing, concern growing to don her face, she asks, "What exactly happened?"
I sigh lightly, the sting of his sudden departure slow to diminish, and tell, "...I'm not sure. One second we were talking about coming back, then he starts apologising and bloody vanishes." Fuck you. "When I ran back here and saw him out and about," I loosely gesture to Loki, the move made without care, "I thought he might've had something to do with it." I softly laugh, the sound fading, "But quite frankly, he lacks the ability."
The collected Loki momentarily breaks his calm pretence, the small tightening of his eyes the only indication of his anger, and tries to deride, scoffing, "As if your limited mind would be capable of understanding the heights of my power."
I beg your pardon?
I flick my gaze to him, the weight of my elevated internal magic leaking to pressure and hold him, reaching out in a wash of touching molestation. It slithers across his available skin in violation of his senses, pushing beneath briefly to feel the flesh inside, his smirk contorting in discomfort. His own magic moving through him to resist with a flash of something godly, I break my punishment and pull away, his manner slipping under my reprimand.
He slackens minutely in relief as the last of my spirit departs, a visible bead of sweat running down from his hair to beside his eye. Tuning out his presence, having rebuked him of his picking, I return my attention to Brunnhilde and offer, "I've an idea as who caused his departure, and it's so far beyond us that I'd rather not fuck around and end up buried, yeah?"
She stares into my eyes in search, her study of my face a scan for earnestness, a millennia old warrior gauging the probability through honed judgement. I convey my seriousness upon my features, matching her look to signal the danger, the zero chance odds we'd come out the other side alive. Her examination seeming to find whatever she needs, her tense shoulders relax as her head turns down, her brows furrowing as she curses, "...Balls."
Loki beside, unable to keep his fucking mouth shut, speaks up with haughty tone, "Has brother dear been forgotten so quickly? His newest lay unwilling to save him in his time of need?"
A spark of annoyance, despite my knowing of what he's attempting, births in mind. Spurning him once again, I continue my catch up, needing all the information I can get, to know how long we have, "The Stone? Did you lot manage to get it back from the Collector?"
Please.
Brunnhilde gathers herself with ease, a Valkyrie out of service yet training forever engrained into her person, revealing, "It wasn't easy, but yeah, we retrieved it from his museum. He charged us an arm and a leg to trade for it though. If Thor wasn't there leading the negotiations, I might've just taken his head, the dick."
I exhale in relief, my eyes closing as certain fear drains from me, the procurement of actual reality warping denying our shared enemy one of his greatest weapons. Without it in his grasp, he's stuck with using his acquired energy projection against us, overwhelming as it no doubt is. Mass damage can be fixed and defended against, but the ability to shape the surrounding world in your image with nothing but simple will?
Yeah, no.
The only method we had to potentially counter that was maybe Stephen, what with the Time Stone and his mastery of sorcery, and possibly Wanda. Now that we have it somewhere, its current location unknown to me as of this moment, the Masters can ship it off to a void or something. Or, you know, hide it away in an unreachable dimension, same as we plan with Vision, despite his grudging reluctance.
Thinking on from that to the other, I ask, hoping yet prepared to take action, "...and the Tesseract?"
I hear, the spark fed to steadily grow, as she tells, her own anger clear and directed to the third being present, "It seems, Sarah, that it was lost in the destruction of Asgard."
Heat inside burns in a steady blaze, the fire controlled yet wanting, when the deceiver conjures another deception, a continued tale begun a time ago, "I speak nothing but the truth, ladies, I assure you. I crossed paths with the item in question, yes, but I put the needs of my people before my own, as I've always done."
We don't have time for this.
Ash forming to touch my lungs, the embers of infernal fury threatening to claw its way up and rage, I flick open my eyes. A sharp light in their depths, a free showing of my intent, I flash forward in lunge at the man. His eyes widening as my hand whips out to maul his neck, a leg sliding round to hook behind his own, I trip up and drive him with force into the floor below.
Following the movement, I lower to kneel over him as his back collides with the metal, a breathless, pained whine escaping his empty lungs. I swing Purpose, the blade cutting through the temperate air to press against his throat, then lean in to jam a knee into his stomach. My weight pressing, I lower to loom over him, our faces nearing to inches apart, and ask with a calm, even voice,
"Your brother is not here to protect you, Laufeyson. Think before you speak anew, I've no need to entertain your pathetic misguiding."
Releasing my hand from his throat, I bring to bare a spell, the magic falling from my fingers to gather upon my palm in illuminated bands, the red light flickering across his mug, "I'm going to ask you one time, no more. If you lie once again, I'm gonna remove your face, is that clear?"
He nods a fraction in agreement, careful not to jostle the blade, the promise of my threat forcing him to comply. The Flaying of Visage Touched, a spell for freely peeling the skin from flesh, created to aid in dissection and postmortem examination by Chilean sorcerers, descends towards him, his head turning in cringe from it as I demand, "Where is the Cube?"
His black, tousled hair sliding from his flushed face in caught strands, he stares up at me with angered eyed and grits out between clenched jaw, "I swear I have no idea what you are talking about, magician."
His anger disappearing as quick as it arrived, hiding away behind a veneer of poise, I stare into him with genuine confusion and think, doubting his past shown intelligence,
Do you lack reason?
My nose scrunching in snarl, my own eyes narrowing in irritation, I tell with finality, the words spoken soft and without tone, "As you wish."
I unhesitatingly lower my palm to near his put upon confidence, his composed expression slowly crumbling as he begins to fidget, the spell pressing close to heat his face. Smooth, flowing strips of magic, likewise sourced from the Book of Kharneth, cycle back and forth in oscillating manner, a vibrating saw turning in on itself.
It approaches at stable pace, his coming torture moving forth with certainty, his body attempting to buck and throw me off. A broken pitch of low volume filling the room, the cupped sound of shredded air, I hold his struggle off with ease and press on, touching. The minute teeth champing at the bit, a presence eager for brutality roaring quiet from its distant domain of brass and blood, they cut in, latching on and feeding.
Traceless slices dice his cheek, paper cuts parting flesh to the bone protected beneath, depthless canyons through to the enamel inside. It slits in gouge to carve its way under, scraping the shape of his skull in patterns and inlay, a swirled etching engraving itself in mark and scar. I hold the spell to him, elongating the experience with no issue, feeling nothing for the being I straddle, his form jolting in staggered twitches.
Loki shakes in voiceless agony, sweat forming to coat his face as his mouth stretches wide, his eyes flaring in unfocused sight, their vessels bloodshot and reaching. A rasp manages to escape his throat, a length of blended words issuing in flowing jumble to breath, an iron-scented miasma rising from vein-popped neck.
The principality getting its fill, taking amusement and great satisfaction in the harm of another for personal gain, I pull back, having made my point. A chuckle of waiting, an understanding of humankind greater than a thousand years will grant me, presses against the guard of my mind as I do. The hue of the magic fading from my hand as the presence retreats, my palm lifts from his skin to hover above his face.
I watch him try and regain his composure, his complexion pale and clammy, his limbs shivering and lips trembling. His blurred eyes rotate smoothly to find me, the green of his irises bleeding as he gasps with surprising clarity, hissing, "W-what have you done?!"
Unheeding of his cry, I start on dissecting what I know of his personality, figuring out the methods with which he hid the Stone, by magic or other means. Reason telling that Loki could only be content with the treasure kept on his person somehow, the confidence he has in the breadth of his skills the only surety of its safety, my lips curl into a smile, an idea dawning,
"Cheeky fuck."
An egoistic leech with unfulfilled dreams of power and standing, unwilling to let others in and allow them the opportunity to know him, to help him, I raise Purpose from his neck. Communicating with it, conveying my intention, it leaves my grasp to drift away and float beside, tip barely scraping the ground. It gathers my Dao to borrow, the foundation of my Divination freely given over with no concern, our connection enabling the use.
It casts, handling the ability with guidance from me, to interface with complete knowledge in inquiry. A string of gold, the thread now well known and acquainted, runs along the length to wind in loop the guard and wrap in band the grip, its length extending to lead into pierce. A collapse under the skin of the world now detectable, a channel opened to somewhere, Purpose asks of existence, lowering to tap the metal below,
Point me.
The augury guides the sword to tip handle first in our direction, the answer divined to fall and angle towards Loki, uncovering the lie to free the truth. Purpose catches itself to hang before impact, rising to ride the air in slope and circle us once to glide in gentle stop and rest against my back, ready for quick wield in case of need and imparting,
I'm here.
Getting the confirmation I hoped, the mind of the arrogant and selfish operating in predictable fashion, the gold of my eyes revolve to peer. Revelation, the bane of illusion and deception, peels away the layers of guile and trickery to nosy beyond, stripping the shell he fronts to fall on the reality hidden.
His white skin flakes to break off in moult, peeling from him in a resistant showing to bare ice blue, a murmur of ancient, familiar voice speaking enchantment. Lines of ridges in ordered pattern on his true face, the bleed of his eyes leaking further to engulf and cover completely red, I shift the spectrum of my sight beneath the physical.
The shaky border of his form blurs to fade and show composition within, deeper than that of flesh and bone to the formation encapsulating, the ebbs and flows of millennia-born magic and innate divinity appearing. Their definitions unknowable and undefinable as I currently am, my mind translates their showing into something comprehensible; a stream of green energy around a central point, a gleaming crown of backwards sweeping horns scheming inside.
I pass the core, the mantle of his identity, to examine the winding magic around, the current encircling to weave and orbit, dots of brighter colour visible throughout. The stones parting the river, the steps across sitting quiet and unmovable, I follow my magical senses in search of most complex casting.
An Infinity Stone the corporeal form of a fundamental aspect of its universe, no simple spell is enough to hide it away without obvious traces. It took the prowess of Agamotto, child of Elder Goddess Oshtur and one third of the Vishanti, to build a permanent container for the Time Stone. Loki, despite his proficiency with the mystic arts, is no Sorcerer Supreme.
He will have no doubt tried his best to contain it in such a way as to be undetectable, but he simply lacks the necessary learning, his mother's magic unsuited for such a task. A combining of conjuration and illusion the most basic spell needed for something of this magnitude, a deceptively easy magic intending to obscure from discovery that in ones possession, I search for traces matching near enough to the knowledge I hold.
Its function to anchor an object to the physical dominance of a material body, strained, suitable fluctuations from the border surface of his inner power cause me to focus my sight to its source. A fading speck, so tiny as to be buried under passive enhancements reinforcing his body, stands out in beacon to my seeking gaze, a light in the dark shining bright.
The emanations of intrinsic, cosmic energy, a radiation of substance so pure and uncomplicated as to be strangely disappointing, sees me locating the cover. A spiritual branch connecting the two, leading outwards from the ring of his power, I follow its length towards the pocket of its containment, slowly circuiting around us unobstructed.
The next process needing to be taken in step to secure its retrieval, I push the magic of my being from beneath my skin to radiate, blanketing the near area in my scope. Suffusing my domain with force, telekinesis issuing to halt, I put a stop to all obvious motion within, Loki frozen. The orbit put on pause within my grasp, I curl my fingers in fist and clench, my arm lifting to wind.
My punch cuts down free of the restriction, the strength behind whipping the sleeve of my robe, to impact his face. Knuckles drive into checkered cheek with a thump, his head bouncing off to smack the floor and interrupt his consciousness, his eyes rolling and breathing hitching. The control of his spell flickering from abrupt interference, his struck blood splattering my fist, I whip my free hand up to below an empty space.
Palm up and fingers splayed, I intrude in the channel using the openings created, flooding it with my sorcery and disrupting the stability. The spot above beginning to warp, twisting in light blue light, I increase the input in varying bursts, breaking the spell further to crack and disable and open and reveal...
The Space Stone.
It appears in an instant, flooding the room in its stellar glow, illuminated my features with a bottomless light of endless breadth, the calmly rotating cube reflecting in my eyes. A smile forms, growing to split my face as a point of more flickers to life in the dark of my pupils, my hand lifting to feel and seize.
An unharming heat baths my palm, my fingers bending to make contact and take into hold, skin barely brushing, when, "Shit!" I recoil back, my hand flicking to my chest in cradle, the flesh gone. Missing in chunks, disturbing, white bones show as blood pumps to coat my front, my robe gradually soaking through to wet the skin beneath.
Sun-Kissed funnels from the wounds to coat and repair, the damage already healing, as I glare at the Stone and complain, "Oi, what the fuck was that?" The Cube stops its rotation, one face facing, and vibrates, a truly alien mind conveying a strange meaning, barely comprehensible yet somewhat understood.
My glare lessening to an annoyed stare, I click my tongue and twist to the watching Valkyrie, looking to her and telling, "You're gonna have to be the one to handle it, Brunnhilde." I shift my sight to side-eye the Cube, explaining, "This one doesn't seem to like me."
I stand, hand mended proper and usable, and move away from it, considering what it sent over as I come to stop next to the woman, a brow raised in my direction. My placement in this reality orchestrated by two almighty powers working hand in hand, the Tao and the Seedbed making all of this possible, I never put much thought into how the other powers might feel about me.
Twos, bless him, made mention of the cosmic forces' awareness of my presence half a decade back, so I knew at least that they knew, the Elder Gods even making themselves know. The fact of them making no move to instantly delete me from creation, despite the almost certain chance that I'm fucking up something within their permits, left me feeling a little assured in a continued existence.
Now, I'm not so sure.
If the reaction of the Space Stone to me is anything to go by, I don't think the greater powers are exactly happy about having me run about, especially the ones with a more tangible presence. Some must already have a grudge against the present me on account of something that future me has done, a fact that's most definitely gonna keep me up at night.
Thankfully, they've taken no action as of yet, but who knows what they might do once she apparently dies?
I've no reason to suspect any harm from those tied to the highest echelon, those connected to it, Oblivion and his siblings mostly content to just do what they were made to embody. The Mind Stone, set in the head of Vision, also showed none of the aversion its kin has, though it might simply hold more intelligence on account what it is. Not to mention to fact of the Tao being present at the time.
Hopefully, this can all be judge on a case by case basis, the other Stones more open to the fact of me. The Time Stone's of both realities I've lived in have shown no enmity, or even reaction, so I just have to hope its the same with the others. Soul is never going to come into contact with me, as of now at least, while Reality is probably already with Stephen. Unfortunately, Power is already in the hands of the enemy, so what it thinks is basically irrelevant.
I wasn't exactly expecting to suddenly be able to wield the Cube and gain instant comprehension into the Dao of Space, but I would've like to have held it within my grasp. Who wouldn't, honestly? Civilisations have collapsed under their own desire to own its sheer capacity, an incredible source of power capable of splitting the universe in two inciting greed within most.
Looking down to the new flesh of my bare hand, eyeing the golden cracks and the lines of my palm, I consider, peering into the sea of my consciousness,
Do I desire the same?
The deep not replying, the question one not yet ready to be answered, I lower my hand and look to the lying Loki, blood and broken teeth flowing from his mouth. Brunnhilde, having moved over to him and kneeled down, eye level with the Cube, observes it and says to the me off to the side, "You really did a number on him."
I respond, feeling the hot liquid run down my fingers, "Nothing he didn't deserve."
She reaches out cautiously, the memory of my incident fresh in mind, "Not that I don't disagree or anything, but have you thought about how Thor's gonna feel? Despite their conflicts, he's still his brother and all." With both hands out and cupped below, she draws in a breath, gathering resolve, then releases, lifting them to finally take.
With it between her hands and showing no reaction to being held by her, in complete reversal of its rebuff of me, I say, a hesitation to my words, "It should be alright? Troubled times, needs must and all that. If he's fucked off and left us to clean up his mess, he doesn't get to decide how we go about it."
Turning the Cube over to examine it closer, the shifting energy inside swirling along with her messing, Brunnhilde hums, "Whatever you say." She stands, clawing the Cube in one hanging hand, and switches her sight between me and Loki, asking, "We just going to leave him here? He'll recover fast enough, so I don't think he's in danger of getting killed while out or anything."
I move towards her, cleaning the blood from my person with a quick spell, until I stop before them both, checking the damage I inflicted, "...Gonna have to. I'd rather leave him here, but I don't want the next time I see Thor to be me confessing that I killed his brother."
As much as I want to.
A restlessness trying to take me, unsatisfied at the fact I cannot put him down despite the want, I look to her with furrowed brow and confess, "He's my friend, I couldn't live with having to hurt him like that."
She nods, "Understandable. So... How d'you want to do this, then?"
Waving a limp hand in his direction, I offer, "Seeing as you're carrying that, I'll take this one, agreed?"
She smiles, lifting the Cube to my face, making me lean back out of harm's way with a small glare, "Agreed." She tucks the Cube underarm and turns away to start off, the sounds of her steps sounding and growing quiet as she makes her way to the portal room. Brushing down my robe to front a composed appearance, I aim loose hand to the body below and flick a finger, wrapping it in my power and lifting it from the ground.
Keeping him horizontal, his hair draping and life dripping, I lean towards him and whisper in his ear, "Thor's not here right now, cunt." He displays no reaction, the slightest, quickening beat of his heart the only sign, "How long do think you'd last in a vacuum? Your blood will surely keep you going, no?"
Straightening back up, Loki continuing his play, I finish, "I swear to the Nine Heavens above, Loki of Jotunheim, that if you interfere in this war in any way, I'll feed you to such loathsome creatures of reckless creation that your very self will weep for death."
Screaming for forgiveness from its prison in the Outer Dark.
The pump of his blood slowing to a stop, a note of internal magic felt, Revelation keeps watch and divines what he's just done. I witness, a reluctant note of sickening respect forming, as he puts himself in a unwoken state of stasis, a Sleeping Beauty-esque spell put in place with just enough duration as to outlast the war.
Despite wanting to just stick him in a cupboard and call it a day, leaving his fate up to chance, Thanos no doubt on his way here to acquire the Space Stone, I think of Thor. Manoeuvring him as I turn, floating him before my path, I start my walk to the portal home, my return days in the making. The corridor quiet, the Asgardians and refugees having long evacuated, I trace the steps of Brunnhilde, trailing after her.
A few scattered items, clothing and children's toys, a golden bracelet engraved with winding flowers and a hair clip in the shape of bird wings, dot the path back; evidence of a rushed retreat. Life lingering in this now abandoned ship, the shelter and shuttle for a homeless species, I stop before the open door home, the orange of sorcery lighting and visage of Stephen beyond.
Placing a hand on the frame, I close my eyes to concentrate, opening up my senses to the spirituality of this once protector, and speak,
Rest now, Statesman. Your mission is complete.