The three Avengers equip themselves at the sight of him, Steve grabbing his shield, Natasha drawing her pistols, Tony activating his nanobots, when Loki raises his hands in surrender, bargaining, "Come now, I know we've had our differences, but is there any need for violence?" I frown in distaste at the pathetic creature before me, a contradicting bundle of inadequacies and narcissism disguising itself as a higher being, as Steve replies, asking with gravity in his voice,
"Why did you come through? Where's Thor?" Disdain fills me as I watch Loki adjusts his position, getting to his knees, an obvious attempt to make himself seem smaller and pitiable. As he opens his mouth, no doubt in a bid to manipulate, I enhance my body and kick out, striking him in the face, sole to skin, relishing with satisfaction as I feel his nose crunch under heel. The others react with alarm, turning to me with vigilance as Loki lays out, a whine of pain leaving him, blood dripping over his mouth.
Noting their reaction, I step away from Wanda, wondering, "What?" I question, genuinely confused, "Brother of Thor he may be, he's still responsible for the deaths of hundreds of humans."
Silence lingers between us, my words striking a chord, before Tony lowers his summoned gauntlet, powering down his ready repulsor and chuckling, "As expected of the Amazon." I whip my head to him at that name, glaring in annoyance, hiding my internal cringing, and open my mouth to argue, when a rumble of thunder booms. We quickly look to the source, preparing for combat in our own way, finding the contained darkness of the Space Stone-created portal flashing.
Crouching down, keeping my sight on the portal, I grab a leg of the prone Loki and drag him to me, then flip him over and lift him by the gather of his coat. Placing my other hand in the length of his hair, I grip it in warning and hold him before me in guard; a disposable, makeshift, Jotun shield wielded in defence. He puts up minor struggle, his nose clutched in pain, before ceasing as the figure of Thor Odinson, Asgardian God of Thunder, charges through the portal.
In the second he's visible, his body beginning to leap, I take in the changes since I last saw him, his time both on, and post-Sakaar, evident. His formerly long hair, stolen against his will by the Grandmaster, now sits chopped short; while a metal eyepatch cover his right eye. My own eyes widen slightly as his start to fill with blue lightning, a godly pressure growing, my body tensing at the expression of anger on his face, when the voice of Stephen interrupts,
"That's enough of that." A creaking of the Sanctum is the only noticeable warning as the space of the Sanctum intensifies, a change occurring far beyond my perception. The pressure instantly vanishes, the lightning of Thor ceasing, as he crashes atop the wooden floor, the rug bundling, before he rolls to his feet, crouched. His face tightens in focus, in expectation of a fight, when his vision fall on those before him, surprise quickly overshadowed by happiness,
"My friends!" He shouts in excitement, quickly standing, the Sanctum reverting to its previous peace. I slowly lower Loki, planting him standing, as Thor approaches with haste, his arms flung wide. Moving over to Stephen, coming to stand at his side as the deep voice of Thor washes over me, his joy evident, I ask,
"How long can you keep that portal open?"
He keeps his sight on the guests as he replies, "Another hour at most, why?" I hum in thought, running the numbers, remembering what I can of Rangarok, then answer,
"Because there's maybe... three to five thousand Asgardian refugees on the other side?"
At that, his scrutiny leaves the Avengers, falling on me instead, his eyes locked to mine. With a small sigh, he responds, "...Right." Putting his attention on the Celestial-assisted portal, he advances on it, whispering under his breath all the while. Stopping before the undulating mist, he extends one hand, Sling Ring adorning it, and spins it out, creating a sorcerer's portal. The ring of orange sparks overlays the existing portal, its border running through the dark form, barely visible.
Stephen holds out his other hand, a clear orb floating above it, the faintest impression of magic circles carved on its surface, and intones, "Contain!" The wormhole fluctuates, its boundaries pulsing and rolling, then loses composition and flows out, spinning into a lengthy swirl and gathering inside the orb. As the last of it enters, disappearing from view and stored away, the visible beyond of the magic portal reveals itself, a nervous looking Bruce Banners centre frame.
Standing on the Bridge of the Statesman, its interior decorated in blue and silver, patterned in the style of Sakaar, he examines the portal with curiosity. He startles momentarily once he notices us, giving an awkward wave and asking, "...Hey?" The sound of his voice pulls Thor from his excited chatter, turning and shouting,
"Bruce! Come on through!"
He looks between us, wondering about permission, when Stephen turns to the side and flourishes an arm, waving him through. Taking the acceptance with thanks, he move closer, raising a leg and tentatively stepping through, planting it on the other side. A sigh of relief leaves him, thankful to have not been bisected, when he clocks his friends, a small moment of indecision visible on his face. Ignoring us, his focus elsewhere, he nears the party, looking over them all, before stopping on one in particular, softly greeting,
"...Natasha."
The woman in question looks at him with clear eyes, checking him over, taking in his state, replying, "Bruce," she starts, smiling, "You look good."
He fidgets, pulling on the sleeves of his jacket, then jokes, "I've been working out."
Movement from Loki, who's been trying to minimise his presence, draws my gaze, wherein I see him manoeuvring behind a bookcase, hiding himself from the sight of Bruce. I snort at his predicament, causing him to look to me, his eyes narrowing into a glare and a snarl forming on his lips, before he hurriedly glances to the conversing Bruce. Sneaking, with the help of a minor illusion, he rushes to me, a quiet word issued as he reaches, "You."
I greet him with a level stare, hints of mockery in my eyes, "Me." I check his nose, evaluating it to be already healing, then taunt, "What do you want, Son of Laufey?"
The heat behind his glare intensifies as he tries to lean over me, unsuccessfully, our heights equal; a worthless attempt to intimidate, "What gives you the right to treat me, a god, with such contempt?" I perceive, with clarity, as a momentary flash of killing intent, a sudden desire to murder me, overcomes him. Reason seems to prevail, the location, nor the company, unsuitable for my disposal, as his face blanks, a sincere smile donning his lips, "I do not like you." He reveals.
I lean in and laugh, my breath washing over his features, a hint of carefully concealed disgust twitching his expression, then, "As if what you think matters." The insult to his parentage, the mockery of his person and position, the disregard of his mind and soul, causes an obvious, growing crack in his composure, his rage bursting at the seams. I catch, from the corner of eye, the figure of Stephen watching, his expression thoughtful but his body projecting caution, so back away.
With a final roll of my eyes, directed at the self-proclaimed God of Mischief, I join Stephen, who warns, "You know he's going to try and kill you, right? He won't succeed as long as he's in the Sanctum, but he's a clever one; he'll figure something out." Keeping my sight on the still, trembling Loki, I manipulate my spiritual energy and cast telepathy, transmitting to Stephen and hinting,
'That's what I'm counting on.'
Fan favourite or not, the Loki before me is a real individual, a being of matter and magic, which he means his actions have substance. There are families in this world that grieve because of him, having lost children and parents, friends and lovers, to his fragile ego. So what if you mistakenly believe your father to love your brother more than you? Who gives a fuck that you didn't become king? Get over yourself, cunt; you're a thousand years old, do some growing, stop lashing out at the world just because you can't deal with your feelings.
Without the protection of his brother, or the fear Odin casts over the universe, there is no way this child would have survived this long. Marvel likes to portray Loki as some redeemable entity, a misunderstood god who only seeks to claim what he believes to be his; but prior actions have proven that impossible. His show was the final nail in the coffin for my understanding of him; a man who only works to benefit himself, who bases his entirety around his insecurities and narcissism.
A deluded being, he is certain of his superiority over those he perceives as lower than him, thinking nothing of the death and destruction he has caused. Even now, in the territory of the Masters of the Mystic Arts, trapped inside with his enemies, I know there to be no single ounce of remorse in his sickened mind. Push come to shove, I've no doubt that he would spin a tale of how Thanos, using the power of the Mind Stone, is the cause of his invasion of the human world.
Thor, blind to the actions of his brother as always, though lesser so in recent years, will assuredly be convinced of his deceptions, disbelieving of the depths of cruelty that dominates his path. The fact that a Loki, however much he believes himself to be different, sits at the heart of the multiverse, protecting us, makes my skin crawl. How is a man, who can only find love with another version of himself, worthy of any purpose, glorious of otherwise?
If he thinks for a moment that I'm going to allow him to leave this world alive, then he is going to be greatly surprised. As I click my tongue at him, thinking on how best to dispose of him without retaliation from Thor, Stephen, dropping the connection and speaking with his voice, asks tiredly, "Anyone else?"
Looking away from the trash and to the Avengers, I think on who else is needed. Of who I remember participating in the Battle of Earth, the main ones missing are… Hawkeye, Spider-Man, Ant-Man, Falcon, Captain Marvel, the Guardians, and others that I'm probably forgetting. Hawkeye I've decided has place here, not with him having retired to be with his family. Spider-Man, while he would be helpful, and eager to help, is too young; at least, I'm not going to be the one to invite him to war. Ant-Man is a matter for the Avengers to handle, while Falcon… actually, where even is he?
Putting that to the side for the moment, planning to circle back to it later, hopeful that Steve has answers, I ponder on Captain Marvel and the Guardians. Captain Marvel, Carol Danvers, is a necessary combatant, one that will need to be collected soon enough, her cosmic power vital to defeating Thanos. Thinking on the Guardians, a note of sadness penetrates my contemplation as I realise their greatest use, of what I know needs to be done.
Calming myself, meditation aiding, I answer, "Not for now, at least. There might be more later, depending, but you don't need to be involved with that, probably." He sighs at my reply, saying,
"You assurance brings nothing but worry."
Bumping him, I decide to finally get the show on the road, tightening my hold on the notebooks, and calling out, "If you could gather round, please?" Their conversation comes to a halt as I move to the centre of the room and start to clear some space, a few nudges with telekinesis opening up the area. After arranging the chairs, making sure there's enough seating, I stand waiting, watching as Tony is the first to approach. He takes a seat to the side, getting comfy and questioning sarcastically, "We singing Kumbaya?"
Giving him a smile, I pass him a book, saying, "With your voice?" A twinkly appears in his eyes at my retort, when I continue, "If you could hold off on reading ahead, thank you." He examines the book, turning it over, then jokes,
"What's this? Is there going to be a quiz? I hope you know I plan on cheating." Rolling my eyes at him, I move back and step forward, offering a book to each who passes, taking their own seats around me. When they're all waiting, book in hand, I open my own and look at those circling me, instructing,
"If you could all turn to page one, I can begin." The shuffle of papers sounds as they do as I say, some folding back the cover, revealing the handwritten text. Clearing my throat and taking a deep breath, I begin, stroking the symbol engraved, an illusion forming before me, the Titan body displaying itself, towering over the room,
"This... is Thanos, the Mad Titan." A sharp intake of breath from the out of the way Loki brings a little attention to him, but I carry on, ignoring him, "I won't be going into too much detail on the history or psychology of this fucker today; you can read my analysis in your own time." I tap the page, indicating its presence, "What I will say is this; he's earned his title. Thanos goes around the nearby galaxies invading planets, wiping out half of all present life in an attempt to fulfil his twisted obsession with death and universal balance.
"To accomplish this, he's spent the last thousand years using his power, intelligence, and charisma, to acquire legions of devoted followers and soldiers." Stepping around the illusion, taking in the expression of my audience, I continue, "I've seen him in action a few times, so have a certain understanding of his prowess and abilities, but obviously know nothing of whatever he's hiding, bar rumours." Raising a jumpered arm, I flex it and detail, "Thanos is a Titan, from the aptly named planet Titan, a species of incredibly powerful, but now extinct, beings.
"Though not a race of gods, lacking in divine mandates and supernatural power, each one possessed equal, or even greater, levels of strength than even Thor here." Silence greets my words, the moment still, until Natasha asks,
"Hold on, if they're so powerful, why are they now dead?"
Turning to her, I wave the book and answer, "It's all in here." She nods, satisfied and understanding, so I carry on,
"Thanos himself is an outlier among his species, born with a genetic mutation known as Deviant Syndrome, granting him increased physical ability, at the cost of looking like he does. His strength is such that he could play with Hulk, tossing him about and slapping him around with ease." I offer an apologetic expression to Bruce, apologising, "Sorry." A flash of green appears in his pupils in response, before he replies,
"O-Oh, I don't mind." Taking note of the Hulk making his feelings known, I turn to Steve, revealing,
"He could probably snap your shield with his bare hands, the action not even making him strain beyond a grunt of effort." A grave look shown on the face of Captain America, his hand rubbing at his beard, but his back straight. Feeling the gravity set in, I move on, "Beyond that, he's durable enough that he could survive atmospheric entry using his own, unprotected body. Drop a nuke on him, teleport him to the bottom of the ocean, stab him in the dick with an Uru blade, he'd live through it all."
A whisper from Tony sounds loudly in the quite room, "...Fuck."
Not looking to him, I start again, "Exactly. And if that's not bad enough, he also has a regenerative healing factor, allowing him to mend most damage done to him in a matter of minutes." To demonstrate, I conjure a small blade and hop, stabbing the illusion in the eye. Landing, I summon the blade back to me, showing as the pierced, bleeding eye slowly repairs. "That's it for what I know about his body, absent appropriate stamina, agility, and reflexes."
Reading further in the book to jog my memory, I say, "Now, on to his powers." A voice from the side, the incredulous Tony, interrupts, complaining,
"Jesus, there's more?"
Humming in confirmation, I reply, "Unfortunately." Clearing my throat, I resume, "I don't know to what extent this extends, but Thanos has some capability in magic, though..." I turn to Stephen, "I'm pretty sure that it's not sorcery, so I can't provide much info there. I will say, though, that I've heard tell that he cursed an insane man with immortality, literally banning him from the Realm of Death. Obviously I can't confirm that, but still..." The extremely serious look that comes over Stephen's face causes my heart to drop, the others following my sight and looking to him.
Standing to the front of the room, away from the seating, he brings his hands together, mimicking prayer, and leans his face into them, eyes closed. A moment passes in tension, each of us awaiting his reaction, when he releases a breath and says, his voice grave, "There's only one way that he'd be able to do that." He flicks his eyes to me, their light piercing, requesting, hoping that it's not what he believes, when I reply, my words the hammerfall,
"...There's a chance that he's the Avatar of Death."
Stephen groans, his annoyance and struggle clear, "Why wouldn't he be?"
Steve, his arms crossed over his chest, his brow furrowed, asks, seeking clarity, "If you could fill us in?" Glancing at him from the corner of my eye, taking in his focus, I look to the lost-in-thought Sorcerer Supreme, requesting,
"Stephen?" He snaps back to reality at my voice, looking around at those gathered, before settling on me. His gaze held for a moment, he starts to speak,
"...When entering the Multiverse from the Mystery, one must experience the Upper Realms, the planes of the incomprehensible, until they reach the border; the Far Shore. Passing through this chaos of neither space nor time, one must skirt the layer of Oblivion Void, pure nothingness, to enter the Neutral Zone. The furthest point of the Multiverse, the White Space Bordering All between realities, where matter and antimatter coexist; the Neutral Zone is there where the facts of the physical world start to form."
The Avengers listen with rapt attention as Stephen speaks, enlightening them to a truth they couldn't hope to touch with a thousand years of searching, as he goes, "On from there lies the Superflow, the connective tissue of the Multiverse, the information space between realities, where dreams and ideas form, where telepathy operates. Existence here is one of metaphor, a conceptual space used by the abstracts to wage war or convene talks. Finally, taking the final step, you'll enter the heart of everything, Spacetime.
"The multiverse is composed of stacks of universes, all layered over each other, containing alternate worlds and dimensions of pure concept, each made and operating on the principal of Spacetime. Spacetime is the reality of the physical, the realm of matter and logic, of energy and rules, of you; embodied by the cosmic entities, Eternity, and Infinity. Their sibling, another of these abstract entities, is Death, the Final Light. Though personifying the greatest fear, Death itself is not malevolent, nor is it antagonistic, it just is.
"It is a vital aspect of everything, responsible for guiding the end and closing the gates, and an important player in the balance. As such, it, along with its twin, Oblivion, appoint a being as their Avatar, to contend with the Avatar of Life." He stops here, taking a calming breath and releasing, finishing with an ominous tone, "If, in fact, Thanos is an Avatar of Death, than he cannot die. Death itself will not permit him entry into its Realm."
The room is still, the air oppressive and stagnant, nary a breath heard, before Wanda, having been quiet all the while, breaks the silence, helping guide, "What does this have to do with us?" She asks, already aware. Smiling at her in thanks, I pick up from where Stephen left off,
"For us of earth, we have a certain connection with him; Thanos being behind the invasion of New York in twenty-twelve." Focusing on Loki, I point at him a speak clearly, "When this fool sought to conquer earth, he convinced Thanos to lend him some of his forces, in exchange for the Tesseract." Loki stands straight, his arms crossed across his chest, but moves closer to Thor for protection, who ignores him, "That brings me to my main point, the reason I've gathered you all here, willing of not."
Activating my spiritual energy, I cycle and maximise it, then thrust my hand out, gripping Loki in a telekinetic hold and lifting him from the ground. Ignoring the reactions of the others, I float him towards me with a gesture, increasing the power as he struggles, and look him in his furious eyes, ordering, "Hand it over, Loki; I know you have it."
He shouts, playing ignorant, "Release me!" I up the force, applying crush, causing him to whip to the alert Thor, crying, "Brother!" Thor stands from his seat, his expression focused, and tensely inquires,
"What is the meaning of this, Wizardess?"
I flick my sight to him, my gaze heavy and sorry, and explain, "Your brother here, is in possession of the Tesseract." My captive ups his fight as I reveal his acquisition, but I manage, saying, "He took advantage of the... chaos, and stole it from the vault while you were fighting an existential battle against her." Turning to his brother, disappointment clear as day across his face, Thor begs,
"Is this true, Loki? Did you delay our struggle, endanger the very lives of our people, all for some powerful trinket?"
Panic flashes in the depths of Loki, his eyes wide, as he tries to twist facts, "It's not what you're thinking, brother. It was just there, I couldn't leave it to be destroyed along with Asgard; you know what it is, how it could aid us, help us find a new ho–" The fist of a god connects with the pale jaw of Loki, his words cut off as he slumps over, floating unconscious before us. No longer needing to waste my energy, I release my hold, uncaring of his condition, letting him drop into the arms of Thor.
He cradles him, his face angled down and sad, before throwing him over his shoulder. Turning to me, his single eye deep and disconcerting, he questions, moving past and ignoring, for now, "...For what purpose do you need the Tesseract?" Quickly glancing to Stephen, checking his stance and readiness, just in case, I answer, wondering,
"I assume you know what it actually is?"
He nods, confirming, "I do." Letting out a sigh, I report,
"So does Thanos."
Thor frowns, an air of nascent kingship emanating from him, the soul of a god present, as he utters, "Ah." Tony, his focus on Thor, a spark of realisation hidden, asks for the room,
"And that means what, exactly?" Tapping the open page of my notebook, I dispel the illusion of Thanos, then flick through, stopping on the needed chapter. A second tap sees a cosmic blue, glowing cube to appear, floating in the centre or the room. Reaching out, I manipulate my magic and adjust the illusion, grasping its from and crushing, the Tesseract shattering with a pulse of liquid energy. Its shards spill over my hand, fading before they hit the floor, leaving only a bright, blue stone lying in my palm.
Pinching it with my other hand, taking it between my fingers, I hold it aloft and release, leaving it to take its place above us. Looking around at them, taking in their varying expressions, I tell, "Inside the Tesseract lies one sixth of universal omnipotence; the Space Stone." Holding a hand over the stone, I slide my palm across the air; coloured, shining stones appearing, which I describe, "While mighty on its own, when used in conjunction with its siblings, Power, Reality, Soul, Time, and Mind, it enables one to manipulate existence on a boundless, near-infinite scale.
"Thanos is on a genocidal quest to gather these Infinity Stones, all in hopes of snapping his fingers and wiping out half of all life in the universe." Steve, his previous silence filled with calculation, speaks, asking with dreadful, dawning awareness,
"...And here? Why would he be targeting us?" With a grim press of my lips, a deep frown of my brows, I unveil,
"Because there are three on earth... and he already has the Power Stone."