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Flarfegnugen	By : Zemothy Category: Marvel Verse Movies > Avengers, The Views: 6627 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I don't own or profit from the movie Thor or the Avengers, nor do I own or profit from anything related to Marvel comics or anything related.

Chapter List
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“Agent Coulson, status report,” Nick Fury barks over the walkie-talkie on Phil’s table. With a soft groan he reaches for it, nearly dropping it and falling back onto the bed as he attempts to pull his pants back on.
            “Nothing to report yet Sir, getting dressed as fast as I can…” he responds tiredly, but shakes it off and buckles his belt over his white dress shirt.
            “Emergency catch you with your pants down, Agent?” The humour could be heard over the crackling device, something interfering with the signal.
            “Uh, you could say that, Director. I’ll report when I know the situation.”
            “Good. Get Agent Barton there with you, you might need him.” The walkie-talkie goes silent, leaving Phil to finish dressing in peace. He hurries out of the room and down the hall, contacting Agent Barton on the com.
            “Agent Barton, I need you in… Well I don’t know where yet. Where are you?” Maybe he should have asked the director if he knew where exactly the problem was happening. The whole building shakes, a loud roar coming from south and… down? That was impossible, C level was the lowest level in the building.
            “I’m standing-ssk- D level,” was all Barton’s first transmission came out to. Phil grumbles and taps the walkie-talkie against his palm. “There’s a huge fucking dragon here. I need-kkshk-on, my arrows aren’t doing shit to its armour.”
            “Alright hold on, I’ll be there as soon as I can.” Well, as soon as he could figure out how to even get to D level. He runs down the hall, passing several people going the opposite direction, before turning a corner and slamming into someone’s face. Both men are knocked on their rears, Coulson quickly pressing his handkerchief to his left nostril to stem the trickle of blood that starts. The other, a lithe blonde with poison green eyes, scrambles to his feet and helps the other up.
            “I’m so sorry, I didn’t see you there,” he says, brushing off the back of Phil’s jacket. “Uhh, Phil Coulson, right? I was just looking for you, Fury told me to meet up with you and take you to D level.”
            “Don’t worry about it, I’m fine. Yeah, you’re… Viktor Reed. I remember you, uh, you consulted on a briefing a while ago.” Wait, had he missed a transmission from Fury? He didn’t remember hearing anything on the radio. “Hey do you know what’s up with the radios? I keep getting interference.”
            “Yep that would be me,” the blonde flashes a proud smile, apparently happy Phil had remembered him. “Oh, yeah, that’s… Well, you’ll see. Come on, D level is this way.” Viktor leads him down a long corridor, down some stairs, stumbling a little as the roaring grows louder, shaking the building more. The closer they get to D level, the more the roaring actually sounds like words. Before Phil could make out what those words were, the corridor in front of them collapses, a large, scaly black claw retreating from the hole. Viktor scrambles up the debris pile and into the large rotunda, disappearing off to the right. Coulson blinks as he reaches the top, his grey-blue eyes taking in the surprising sight of a large black dragon thrashing around the rotunda.
            “My g-“ As he speaks, the dragon roars once again, Viktor’s name easily translated from the animalistic sound. A voice coming from below him causes him to look down, blinking at the walkie-talkie that was suddenly working perfectly.
            “Coulson, come in. Are you at the site?” comes the director’s voice, and he responds with a simple ‘yes’. “Okay, what’s going on?”
            “Well, Sir, there’s… a really big dragon here. And he’s really pissed off, or at least that’s my interpretation of the situation. Barton’s up top, but nothing he’s throwing at him is making a dent. What’s your call?”
            “Wait did you say dragon? Uh, I’ll get you backup.” Fury’s tone sounded worried, but Phil didn’t ask, as he was suddenly distracted by Viktor flying through the air into the adjacent wall. The dragon stops thrashing and pins him there with a large claw, his tail nearly swiping Phil into the next wall as it swings left to right. The brunette waves to Barton, signaling him to cease fire before running over to the mobile platform that was nearby. He watches Viktor for signs of life, carefully controlling the platform closer to the centre of the room.
            “Coulson… I think they’re talking…” Barton whispers through the com, sidling over closer to Viktor’s position against the wall from his vantage point, trying to hear what they’re saying. However, he nearly falls off as the dragon lets out a booming laugh, and starts to shrink. Within a few seconds, and some disgusting popping sounds later, instead of a dragon there was now a man with long black hair and piercing red eyes standing naked atop the platform in the middle of the room, holding Viktor tightly by the throat. His words ring clearer, though still hard to discern from the growling rumble behind the sound.
            “Viktor...” the smooth tenor starts, showing off a set of sharp white fangs as he smirks at the blonde. “You should have known better than to come here.”
            “Hah, you know you can’t kill me,” the blonde chokes out, starting to pry the much taller male’s hand off his throat. “You’re useless without your power.” The hand tightens, causing the blonde to choke more.
            “And what makes you think that I can’t just put my hand through your chest and kill you?”
            “Because I know how Alex died.” Those words trigger something in the raven-haired male, his eyes widening before narrowing sharply. A humming sound starts up in the ravenette’s direction, causing the blonde to laugh hoarsely.
            “You killed him…” the hand around Viktor’s throat tightens even further, his laugh stopping and gurgling in his throat.
            “You… can’t use it…” His green eyes flick to Agent Coulson as he silently steps onto the platform. An arrow meant for the ravenette’s eye-socket comes flying out of the shadowed heights of the room at high speeds, only to stop dead in its tracks before the male’s temple. Viktor’s eyes widen in horror as he lifts further off the platform and back a little, out of the other male’s grasp. Phil hears Barton give a soft curse over the com, then scrambles to get a hold of something as gravity suddenly seems to switch directions. A dark aura surrounds Viktor, the air inside the chamber sucking in towards him. A loud crack sounds, and the blonde is gone, his scream echoing throughout the rotunda.
            Phil Coulson rights himself, staring tiredly at the back of the ravenette’s head. This night had gone on for long enough, and Barton was, unsurprisingly, out of arrows. The brunette pulls out his gun, stepping up to the other male, who doesn’t turn around despite the suited man not taking efforts to walk quietly. Phil clears his throat, the other turning around slowly, the gun rising up to the taller male’s head.
            “Goodnight.” The gun fires, and Agent Phil Coulson returns it to its holster, staring at the sprawled-out body before him. “Now if only I could sleep…”

Asgard weapons vault.
            The pulsing blue casket before him, Loki, god of tricks and sharp wits, stares dumbly at it. It had been a day since his nightmare, and through many others which for some reason he did not seem to remember, he was now standing in front of the casket of the frost giants, hand just inches from its surface. He shakes his head, trying to rid himself of this blatant idiocy his mind had conceived since the night before. The hum of the power the casket holds bores into his eardrums, images flashing before his eyes. Images of power, glory, and triumph over Asgard. With a cry he stumbles back a little, then forward, his hand snapping out to catch himself. As soon as his fingertips touch the casket, a crack is heard, throwing Loki backwards several feet. Pain laces up his arm sharply, as well as through his back and skull, shivering from both pain and cold. Voices call to him, but seem as though they are worlds away, his vision growing dim as the object of his desire drops to his side.
            “Loki…” Thor’s voice is just a whisper as the ravenette slips off into unconsciousness.
            “…We need to tell him, Odin…” his mother’s voice whispers, everything still sounding so far away from him. Slowly, though, her voice grows louder, a sharp throb in his skull causing him to groan. Frigga turns and gives a happy sigh, moving over to her son’s bedside as he tries to sit up. “Loki, don’t, you’re injured and you need to rest,” she urges gently, placing a delicate hand upon the ravenette’s bandaged shoulder.
            “Mother…” Loki murmurs softly, still trying to sit up despite his mother’s urging and the pain coursing through his body. A particularly harsh twinge persuades him to lie down again, hissing softly through his teeth. Odin storms over, obviously infuriated.
            “And this is why I warned you never to touch the casket, Loki,” he shouts, single eye glaring at his son, who cowers a little at the sudden loudness. “You could have been killed!”
            “Odin, please, don’t yell at him. It was an accident, you heard what Thor said. And you know Thor is a terrible liar.” She blinks as Loki snorts softly, turning to face away from them. All he could think of was how they seemed like maggots to him, and he wasn’t sure why, though he had the inkling that it was from touching the casket. Perhaps the frost giant’s rage at the Asgardians was channeled through the object into Loki, but he shakes that idea off as Thor enters the room, having heard his father shouting. No, he’d always felt this way, he’d just never realized it until now.
            “I don’t need you to protect me, Mother. Father is right, it was stupid.” Maggots, all of them. Even Thor. No, especially Thor. The ravenette does his best to roll onto his side and curl up, the sudden change in attitude shocking the family. Thor reaches out to his brother, but recoils as Loki hisses viciously at him, glaring over his shoulder. “I need rest, and I wish to be alone.” Frigga silently grasps Thor’s shoulder, pulling him to stand and leave with her and Odin, the thunder god’s face laying bare the worry that filled his heart, leaving the ravenette to his increasingly-acidic thoughts about them. Forming a plot in his mind, he drifts off to sleep, and once more dreams of triumph over Asgard, this time with him leading the charge.
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