Well, then, mead it is! Please be safe about it, my king. We all know what can happen when your silvertongue gets loosened a little too much... I wouldn't want you to get into more trouble.
Aaah, someone has read stories. Undoubtedly some false ones. But your concerns are unnecessary. There is a fine line between mischief and trouble. Eheheheh
i wondering if TV series is way to bow Tom H out as Loki too, i can't imagine anyone else but at same time understand if move on as Loki in comics has shapeshifted as a woman and a kid so if wanted to introduce Kid Loki or lady loki, they have to move on from Tom's Loki which be sad but understandable.
Little grey Prey, I do not understand what you are babbling about. You might want to ask this to my Admin on their main blog: @starscreamloki
Sterling barely stopped running in time for the doors to miss him but he wasn’t nearly fast enough to avoid Loki’s hand around his shirt collar. He was still reeling from the blow to his middle and air hadn’t fully returned to him just yet.
This rage Loki was directing at him though was a curious thing. Surely he wasn’t upset at having injured the guard. He didn’t think Loki was really one to care so deeply for them it would result in such a reaction.
Blood.
Where had all this blood come from?
Without any effort Sterling’s feet left the ground as Loki pulled him close enough so his breath was fanning over the Human’s face. The coppery smell of fresh spilled blood lingered around him.
“Tell me where the Dark Hold is or else nobody shall have a future,” he growled in the man’s face.
Sterling hadn’t been watching the hologram of Barton. He was too busy trying to escape. Trying to figure out his limits and figuring out how to reach them. As the spear collided with his middle he found himself without air. He clutched his stomach and lowered to the ground, bracing himself against it with his knife hand.
As the lights began to flicker for just one moment he wondered if it was some sort of trick. If this was some attempt to scare him or set him ill at ease. Instead, it had the opposite effect. The guards were the ones looking around in confusion and concern and he was the one with one more chance. Honestly, he wouldn’t get a better one than this with them all momentarily distracted. He pulled himself together the best he could, gripped the knife tighter in his hand, and slashed at the stomach of the guard he had originally targeted and stuck it into the one who had attacked him.
If any of that even landed, with all his strength due to his absolute lack of air, Sterling pushed to his feet and tried to take off running.
Hadn’t it been for the magnificent golden armour, the attack Sterling had made on the first guard would have resulted in a nasty wound. Yet, the feeble metal of the knife barely scratched the golden plate, but it’s trajectory set for an unpredictable pattern the second guard couldn’t dodge.
The knife Sterling wielded bit into unprotected flesh, cutting through the black fabric between two golden metal plates of the guards arm. A hit as good as any, and briefly the guard’s grip on her quarter staff faltered, but she was quick to regain her wits.
No. None of them had underestimated the prisoner, but they had underestimated the time they had been given. This was sooner than they had expected, and their master had warned them for.
There was a first time for everything…
Just as Sterling reached the door in his attempt to flee, the wooden slab swung open and nearly hit him in the face. In the opening stood Loki. His hair was matted, his golden armour dulled by a red sheen blood, and the angry expression which was etched deep into his features made him all the more frighting by more blood covering his face.
Loki’s green eyes, which bore a crazed expression, settled on Sterling. “You!” he snarled between his teeth, his target obvious.
Then, with one swift move the God was in front of the Agent, bloodied fingers reaching to grab the man by the collar to hoist him in the air none to kindly.
There was little to nothing that Loki could ever do to convince him he was doing anything for a noble cause. Especially if it started with his own kidnapping and the threat of his friend’s murder. Sure, he and Barton were but small pieces in the grand scheme of the universe but he wasn’t about to sell out SHIELD without undeniable proof. And even then, he wouldn’t give up something like that to Loki. He’d give it to someone he trusted to do the right thing.
Sterling was still sort of holding out hope that the Barton he was being shown was a trick. A shapeshifted Loki clone he was using to try and loosen Sterling’s lips.
And then the muted scream. Sterling’s entire body shook from the image, staring at it, threatening to dissolve in sorrow before he steeled his nerves and slipped into his professional and determined work persona.
He looked around the room, seeing the guards shift around him. He knew he couldn’t take them on but there was little else he could do. His options were wait here to die or try to escape and die.
Well… Bring it on, I guess?
Sterling decided to test his boundaries. Either he was going to die or he was going to see how valuable he was to Loki. Having been working with Romanoff on knife skills, Sterling found himself grabbing three knives from a knife block in the kitchen. Rushing the guard by the door Loki had exited from he threw one knife, threw the second as he got closer, and then attempted to stab the guard in the thigh in an attempt to get passed him. Despite putting all of his effort and focus into it, he knew it was futile. If it was that easy to get around these guards Barton wouldn’t be in the state he was in.
But he had to try.
The Einherjar and Honor Guard had expected the Human would make an attempt. Whether that had been to escape or attack, it didn’t matter. Yet, none of them had been concerned. What could a Human of maybe thirty summers old do to thousand year old well trained guards such as them? Some of these guards were even older than their master and their battle prowess on par.
They hadn’t moved, but from the corners of their eyes they had followed Sterling’s every move. When the first knife came at the Guard (a simple Einherjar who was less formidable than the Honor Guard also present in the room) he moved quickly and with a golden quarterstaff he knocked the weapon from the air without ever striking home. In one swift move the second knife landed dead in the floor as well.
From the side another Einherjar had moved in, and with her golden quarter staff she made a blow that would make Sterling double over the length of the shaft. Yet, she was a split-second too late and the tip of the knife nicked the thigh of her colleague. Still, both of their faces were devoid of emotion.
The remaining ten guards hadn’t moved a muscle. Why would they intervene or aid? It was unnecessary.
The image of Barton, however, did move. On knees and one hand he began to back paddle, his free hand in front of him as to ward off the attacker. His mouth was moving rapidly, but the incoherent words could not be heard. The person who was threatening Barton came into view - yet, it wasn’t a person.
A darkness so deep and vile began to slowly consume the image. When the darkness had almost swallowed the entire image, a green flash illuminated the dark scene, and the silhouette of Loki appeared in front of the archer. It was very obvious the darkness wasn’t with Loki as he stood between the two, his back towards Barton, his front towards the incorporeal threat.
It was the last what could be seen before Barton and the God got swallowed.
Then, the lights of the living room began to flicker erratically, and for the first time the guards moved a muscle, concern slowly etching itself on their features.
Sterling had been about to spit out an angry no to Loki. A long impassioned speech about how he would never betray SHIELD for this maniac. How he would have to kill him because there was no way he was going to get any information out of him.
But when his eyes settled on Clint, broken and dying, the anger fell from him for a moment, replaced by only sorrow and guilt that he hadn’t been found sooner.
No, no, return to that fire, Sterling. Keep up that anger.
“No.” He said, his jaw tight and his tone definitive. “You will get nothing from me. All you have done is solidify my resolve against you. I will not help you do far worse things to far more people because you dangle the life of one man I have no guarantee you will spare if I help you. And I know Agent Barton wouldn’t want me to. I may hold guilt for what will happen if I don’t help but it will not nearly be as bad as the guilt if I did.”
“Politely fuck off.”
A sickening smile formed on Loki’s lips. “Since you asked so politely.”
Gracefully he stood from his seated position, walking towards the man and giving him a hard stare with vibrant, green eyes. “However, know two things.” He held up on finger. “One, you shall have to deal with the cards you have chosen. And two-” Loki added another finger to indicate his surmise, “-when did I ever indicate that what I want will result in something worse? Did it ever occur that I might try to prevent something?”
Loki shrugged and opened the door to the hallway, taking his leave.
As soon as the door fell shut the Einherjar and Honor Guard moved as one and stationed themselves strategically around the living room, including between Sterling and some doors and windows. They were silent, not looking like they posed a threat, but they were just as dangerous as their master.
Then the illusion of Barton moved, his mouth suddenly tearing wide open to let out a get-wrenching scream which produced no sound, his face contorted in pure agony.
That rush in his brain as Loki exited, it was dizzying. He hated that feeling. His head was pounding, not just from Loki’s departure but from the memory of the day. August 20th, 2012…
He took another step back, a little uneasy on his feet, and glared at Loki once more.
“Sorry.” He breathed the words in an angry whisper. “What was it you wanted again? You’re sort of… all over the place. And you just fucked around in my brain. Can’t blame me for forgetting.”
Despite the joke in his words, he didn’t wear a humorous expression. He had survived a lot of sticky situations but he wasn’t sure he was going to walk away from this one. SHIELD would have picked up the distress beacon before he was taken so they would know he was in danger, but they would have no way of knowing where he was now. With Loki, if they gathered that far, he could be anywhere in the damn universe.
“You’re not. getting shit. from me.”
Loyalty was Sterling’s defining trait. Loyalty to SHIELD. Defiance against enemies. Protocol over comfort. He would never willingly betray SHIELD. He was hoping that held up after supernatural torture.
“I almost admire your resilience. Yet, we both know your spirit will be so easy to break.” The words falling from the God’s lips were simple, yet the tone of his voice held a notion of mirth.
Of a joyous longing of an inevitable prospect…
“How long are you willing to drag this out, Sterling? How long do you plan on torturing yourself?” One eyebrow briefly went to his hairline as he asked the question, before settling back.
“But I shall refresh your memory,” Loki offered, lifting and dropping one shoulder slightly. “What I desire from you is to concede.”
Well, there was a lot more Loki wanted, but the road to those desires began with the Agent submitting to him. If he would do as Loki said, give answer to the given questions, only then would the God ask for more. Such as the whereabouts of the Darkhold and possibly having S.H.I.E.L.D. as his personal project.
“And maybe, just maybe, if you concede, I shall give what you want.” With a flick of his hand and a little magic he created an image of Barton. Yet, the archer looked like he had been dragged through Helheim a hundred times and was one inch away from death.
Long the archer didn’t get to catch his breath, because the God opened a portal beneath him, whisking him away from his home.
The man’s destination: a white room with nothing in it.
It wasn’t the same room as they had been before. Loki had access to his full powers, allowing him to play with his toy. Yet, he wasn’t present in the room. It wasn’t needed; if he wanted to speak with Barton, he could do so through their shared link.
His absence would also create a sense of loneliness and impotence. A barren room, stark white with lighting so bright it was blinding, it’s source unknown. No windows, no doors, just four walls, a floor and a ceiling.
‘Submit to me my Hawk. I shall keep you save. I shall protect your sanity,” Loki shared through their link.
Normally when one wakes from a nightmare that’s the end of it, relief can slowly start to dawn on them, their mind comes to terms with it’s safety, their body follows suit and starts to relax. But the archer gets no chance, not a moment to breath, a moment to separate dreams from reality; he’s falling now, falling with no chance to stop himself, his body struggling though the vast emptiness of the portal until he lands on his stomach, face hitting the ground below him. He lets out a soft grunt of pain as he ‘scrambles’ to draw himself up to his knees, leaned over on all fours now as he looks around. The white room is enough for him to know where he is, to send a familiar shiver of fear down his spine, it’s enough for his throat to tighten, his jaw soon following suit.
It’s different than before, he’s far more broken now than he was before, very little fight remaining in him and that, more so than the God, scares him.
The voice fills his head, a simple command, a simple twisting of words and he flinches in response, trying in vain to shake the words from his mind, to shake the god from the vast hold he has over him. His jaw clenches but his head falls so that his eyes are staring at the white ground below him. “Why are you doing this.” It’s no more than a whisper one mutter out of sheer desperation, defeated and soft.
The question the other posed didn’t surprise the God. If anything, Loki was surprised it took the archer so long before asking. Yet, a straight answer he wouldn’t get.
Instead, Loki prodded through their shared link, but not his voice nor an image was shared. No, it were feelings which passed through the link.
Animosity.
Loneliness.
A need for validation.
A glimmer of hope, only to get crushed by the crippling weight despair.
A yearning, empty and hollow, yet so deep it was frightening.
The jumble of negative emotions was a pure projection of what surmised the God. But it wasn’t only sent with that intent. Far from it, even. The share of emotions was a shrouded answer to answer his Hawk’s question and it was also meant to make the human desperate.
Desperate to take the offer.
‘Submit to me my Hawk. I shall keep you save. I shall protect your sanity.’
